Day 5 - A Day to Forget
11 gennaio 2025, India ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C
16:00
No wake up / mad panic / toilet dashes during the night. Success! I sleep pretty well - maybe a shade under 8 hours, but good restful and REM sleep. I’m ready for anything! All I’ve got to look forward to this morning though, is packing and leaving. My train’s not till 15:30, but I need to be out of my room around 12:00. I mooch in bed for a while, decide against breakfast (just in case, like) and order some black coffee instead. What arrives is rank. I *think* it might once have been a relative of tea, but it’s difficult to say. It’s definitely never know the forbidden love of a coffee bean.
I check out a little before midday. I need to get some food, and find somewhere to chill for a few hours before heading to the station. I head back to Panchayat, where Manas and I beered a couple of days ago. I’m their only customer. A pattern emerges. They claim to be open 24 hours a day, so for all I know, a huge crowd left only moments ago. I order some chicken and roti from the Tandoor. Delicious. To err on the side of safety, I avoid beer, and drink water instead.
Around 14:30, I figure I should probably head to the station. Confusingly, Lucknow has 3 distinct stations within 100m of each other - Lucknow NE, Lucknow Junction and Charbargh. To be honest, it might be 2 stations with 3 different names. I can’t be sure. I inevitably get dropped off at one of the wrong ones. It takes me a few minutes to figure this out, but I get there in the end. Around this time, I discover that my train has been delayed around 2-2.5 hours. These kinds of delays are very much standard on the India railways. I’ve spent plenty of time sitting on top of my rucksack on a railway platform, generally unaware of the when my train is coming in. Happily, availability of 4G coverage means I can actually keep on top of when I’m gonna be leaving. Back in 2007, there was a lot more luck than judgement, and I’m amazed I didn’t get on at least one entirely incorrect train…
So - couple of hours to kill. on what appears to be THE most uncomfortable bench seat ever. FFS.
17:45
Still waiting.
On the plus side, there’s some excitement when monkeys steal some passengers’ food.
22:20
As I FINALLY board the train around 18:30, my stomach winces. Oooooooh great. I dump (pardon the…) my bags, and head straight for the toilet. I don’t wish to be indelicate, but it’s rather like someone has turned on a tap. All comes out pretty quickly.
Back in my seat, I start to feel a little feverish. Today is worsening at quite a rate. I ignore the food offered by the train staff, and focus instead on hydration, and the occasional dash to the toilet. I’m shivering in my seat, but then suddenly roasting hot. Quite dull really. Oooh, we’re about 20 minutes from Tundla Junction, where I’ll jump off the train, and get a cab over to Agra, about 30 minutes away.
00:30
Ok - today can just get in the fucking bin. Disembarking the train at Tundla Junction, I am met by a powerful thunderstorm. Absolutely pooning it down. Thankfully, my waterproof is easily accessible in my rucksack.
All of the signs at the station are in Hindi, which makes it tricky to figure out how to get out. I’ve booked an Uber, which I eventually find about 10 minutes walk from the station. Probably some local regulation that says only the rickshaw drivers are allowed close to the station.
Those of you that have visited India will know that driving is not one of the special skills that the populace of the country possess. Fortunately, the roads are pretty empty, but my driver still manages to make the journey a fairly hair-raising one. We hit every pot hole going, aqua-plane through some deep puddles. My driver is variously on his phone, or watching music videos - while he ‘drives.’ At one point, having hit a particularly vicious pot hole, he opens the driver door while we’re doing 50mph, I guess to see if he’s blown a tyre. All of this is topped off by my seatbelt not working. Deep, DEEP joy.
We’re about a mile away from my guesthouse, when we’re met by some metal barriers across the road, and my driver says he can’t go any further forward. I had heard this might be the case, as traffic regulations around the Taj Mahal are very strict. However, in my current state, and with the weather doing what it is, it’s a bitter disappointment.
I set off in the direction of my guesthouse. Walking along has, let’s say, some detrimental effects. About half way there, I determine that I’m not going to make it without a toilet stop. It’s nearly midnight, and everything is closed. Look - let’s just say it’s definitely the first, and hopefully the last time that I have to avail myself of a plant pot as a toilet. I reassure myself that the next time I’m struck with the urgent need to visit the facilities, I’ll be safely ensconced in my room.
I arrive at Joey’s Hostel just before midnight. I just wanna get to my room and collapse into bed. My fever is worsening, and the stomach gripes are almost constant. 15 minutes later, I’m still waiting for the reception dude to figure out how to check me in. I’m verging on losing my shit - which is ironic, I guess. The other reception dude finally takes pity on me, and takes me to my room - which is not ready. It’s being cleaned. I’m boiling. Dude takes me to another room which IS ready, and I can finally bring to a close a day that started out with some positivity, but has ended up being one of the toughest days of travelling I can remember having.
As Scarlett O’Hara so famously said, tomorrow is another day…Leggi altro
Day 4 - Shit outta Lucknow
10 gennaio 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 11 °C
11:30
I wake naturally, and without even the merest hint of grogginess, around 09:30, and declare it a successful sleep. I ping Manas, and we arrange to meet at his place early this afternoon. I’m peckish, so arrange for some breakfast to be brought to my room. It’s apparently included in the room price. I don’t think there’s a dining area, so in-room eating appears to be the best and only bet. I’m restored by my masala omelette, and masala chai. I use the time to brush up on my Hindi. There is one, and only one phrase I’ve ever learnt:
भाड़ में जाओ। नहीं, मुझे यह नहीं चाहिए।
Loosely translated, this means, “Fuck off, no - I don’t want it,” and is my go to when being pestered by tuk-tuk drivers, beggars, peddlars and the like. If you want to play along at home, the Latin alphabet version is:
Bhaad mein jao. Nahin - mujhe yah nahin chaahie.
If you want something shorter and snappier then I heartily recommend a vigorous, “Bhaad mein jao!” accompanied by a quick wave of the hand. Works wonders.
Uh-oh. Tummy rumblings.
16:45
Well isn’t this just the bee’s knees. Ritesh and Apurva joked last night, asking whether my stomach would be upset after my visit to Al-Zaiqa. I’m not sure if it’s that, or the effects of international travel, or a somewhat boozy day yesterday - or a combo of all three. Whatever - it’s caused me to need to cancel today’s plans. I tell Manas that I’ll ping him later if I’m feeling up to heading out for some food. Around 12:30, I put my head back down for more sleep, and have about another two hours. Feels like a properly deep sleep as well. I have a dream during this sleep, that I’m heading to the airport, but haven’t packed any clothes in my suitcase, so have to take a cab back to my house to get some, and end up missing my flight. Deeply, DEEPLY disturbing.
I reconcile myself to a day of resting, movie watching dozing, and rehydration sachets. Hopefully (fingers crossed, touch cloth etc etc) this will end up being my one upset stomach incident of my trip. I’ll drink (blackcurrant and chalk flavour rehydration sachets) to that.
21:30
Around 18:00, I decide I’m up to a foray out to get some very plain food. The street outside the hotel is still crazy busy, and noisy. In the dark, the risk of getting mown down is significantly higher. I take it relatively in my stride.
About 5 minutes walk from my hotel is Central, a café/restaurant type place that’s well reviewed. I mean - I’m only here for rice, but still - it’s nice to know other people have enjoyed eating there. It’s chilly out - around 11C. I’m actually wearing my hoodie, and beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have packed a second. I’ve got a green microfibre fleece type thing, intended for the early starts in tiger country, but may have to bust it out in Agra. I’m literally the only person in the café. They had to turn the lights on (and doubtless, fire up the stove) to accommodate me. I can imagine they were more than a little disappointed at the meagre nature of my order. Anyways, my steamed rice, tandoor roti and mineral water dinner is as exciting as it sounds. But it hits my stomach, and doesn’t upset things too much. There are a couple of twinges and cramps, but back at my room, there’s no urgency for the toilet. This is good news.
I’m disappointed not to have been able to visit Manas’ Dad’s village today. Would have been a fab experience. I’m minded though that on such a long trip to India, I should expect to lose a few days here and there to a dodgy tum. I’ll do everything I can to keep the number to a minimum… Moving day tomorrow. Agra awaits!Leggi altro
Day 3 - I should be so Lucknow...
9 gennaio 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 10 °C
12:40
A little jet leg hissy fit meant I didn’t fall asleep until gone 02:00 last night. I could feel myself getting tense and fidgety at the frustration of it. Thankfully, I drifted off just moments before petulantly getting up. My body woke me a little before 09:00. Not the greatest of sleeps, but manageable. After 20 minutes of seeing what the day has to offer, I’m conscious my eyes still feel heavy. I turn the light off, pop my headphones back in, and am soon back in the land of zizz. An emergency alarm set for 12:00 is the next thing I’m conscious of hearing. I’ve had somewhere North of 9 hours, and that’s a good thing. I’m glad of my headphones. My hotel is on a busy street, and without them, I suspect I’d have been woken hours ago. There’s a barrage of traffic noises. It’s a particularly beepy interchange apparently. I’ll capture some video/audio of it later, so you can judge for yourselves.
I feel much better for a good sleep. My foot is better, if not yet perfect. I start to make some plans for the day. Manas recommends I spend some time at Bara Imambara - one of the largest Nawab Muslim shrines, and home to some incredible Nawab architecture. I need sustenance first though. I had some snacks on the train last night, but it’s been a long time since my Kathi roll in Delhi…
23:40
What a day! I drag myself out around 13:30, and head down to Chowk, a busy market area 10 minutes walk from my hotel. It’s carnage and chaos rolled into a ball of cataclysmic cacophony. Definitely the source of this morning’s car horn chorus. Walking up the road, I’m conscious of needing to keep an eye on the many, MANY scooters and motorcycles on the road, otherwise they’ll career into me. I also quickly become aware I need to keep an eye on the pavement, so I don’t walk through any muck on the road. It’s a lot to process.
I walk through an area that’s probably best described as the textile market - mostly Western knock-offs rather than anything local. It’s getting, if anything, even busier. I can’t believe there aren’t more car-crashes. It’s 14:00, and I’m definitely hungry. Manas pings me to let me know he’s gonna head over my way soon. I tell him I’m heading for a bite to eat. He pings me back just a few minutes later, saying I should head to Tunday Kebab. I reply saying that I’ve just sat down in that exact place. Kismet.
He recommends some food to order, and I’m not gonna argue. Some mutton kebabs, which are of the smoothest and softest texture of any meat kebabs I’ve ever had. I’ve seen something similar made before. They’re lightly spiced, and without chilli heat - but incredibly tasty. Served with some hot, steaming, flaky paratha, a mint and coriander chutney, and some raw red onion. It’s an incredibly tasty combination. I’m mindful to eat with my right hand. The left is traditionally kept for arse wiping in India, so eating with the right is a sign of cleanliness. I’m not the most effective, but I’ve caught looks before for eating with my left. I order a couple of grilled chicken pieces - Tangri style, and they are perhaps even better than the mutton kebabs. Grilled to a burnished finish, char marks a plenty, and a beautiful spice flavour. The chicken itself tastes of chicken - it has texture and flavour where UK chicken often features neither. My lunch is incredibly good, and costs me about £3.
It’s a 40 minute walk to Imambara. Manas is heading in from outside town, and says he’ll pick me up along the way. The temperature is in the high teens, and I enjoy the lack of heat as I march Westwards. I walk through some of the most hectic parts of town, and find myself loving the vagaries of the parts I pass through. I’m catching a lot of looks - I know it might initially seem like it’s my svelte figure, or dashing good looks that are attracting looks, but I think, I THINK it might be that I’m a white face. One guy is staring so hard at me as he rides past on his motorbike that he nearly crashes into a car. I’m quite the tourist attraction.
Traffic is slow, and I actually reach Imambara before Manas catches up to me. It’s been a good post prandial march, and despite the fairly chilly weather, I can feel pinpricks of sweat on my forehead. Manas arrives, and we head into Imambara. It’s a 17th century Muslim shrine, built by one of the Nawabs, the rulers of Lucknow for centuries. It’s an impressive edifice, and as Manas tells me, is one of the largest structures made entirely out of stone, and without iron. We wander around the labyrinth, and then around the main hall of the complex. I’m surprised to find a display in the main hall which talks about the use of Hebrew language and reference to the Torah - the holy book of Judaism. Again, Manas comes through with the detail - which is that different sects of the Muslim religion have differing levels of connection to Judaism, despite what recent history of the Middle East would tell us.
From Imambara, we head East into town. Manas has a driver, called Arun, who is our impeccable charioteer. We stop at a bar called Panchayat. We start with some Indian made craft beers, which quickly run out. We end up drinking frosty cans of Budweiser. We chat, we laugh, we philosophise, we drink beer. It’s tremendous fun to hang out together. After 5 beers, we head deeper into the city centre, and stop for some food at Al-Zaiqa. Manas has been coming here for 30 years. It’s very unassuming to look at, but the food - by the Power of Grayskull, the food. We have a chicken curry - a chicken leg in a rich, spice laden gravy. There’s no chilli heat - just the most sumptuous depth of flavour. Manas orders a chicken masala. Now, I thought ‘masala’ referred to an India spice paste. Well, it does - but it also refers to a dry curry like this. I’ve never eaten anything like it. It’s rich with coconut, cardamom and clove. Banging. We mop it up with more flaky, buttery paratha. Manas tells me that the right hand / left hand thing is no longer a thing, but I can’t bring myself to use my wiping hand.
Manas’ childhood friend, Ritesh, joins us. He lives in Ireland these days, down in Cork, where my Dad was based for a few years. We finish up at Al-Zaiqa, where a couple of people ask to have their photo taken with me as I walk out. Honestly, I feel like I’m in a pound shop version of Take That. Fake Fat maybe. Manas makes a quick call, which I subsequently learn is to Ritesh’s wife, Apurva, encouraging her to come out for drinks. She acquiesces, despite having been ready for bed, and looking after their 3 year old, Aria. We head to a car called Social - just up the road. Manas orders us a vodka and sugarcane drink. It’s delicious. Strong with booze, sweet with sugar, but weirdly - not overly so. A couple of rounds is enough. I’m definitely feeling ready for sleep, and Manas is looking increasingly refreshed. Ritesh receives a call from his Mum saying Aria is refusing to sleep, and that’s enough to encourage he and Apurva home. We call it a day, but a successful one.
Tomorrow, Manas is taking me to the village where his Dad grew up, 45km outside of Lucknow. I want to make a good impression, so need a decent kip…Leggi altro
Day 2 - Indelible Memories
8 gennaio 2025, India ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C
11:00
I’m in the back of a cab, barging its way through traffic on the highway into New Delhi. I can’t remember how many times I did this journey - to the city or to the airport in 2007, but it was a LOT. Leaving the airport, memories start to come flooding back, and they’re not all pleasant ones.
Flight was a breeze. Shorter than advertised though, which means I’ve only had a handful of hours of sleep. I’ve a 6 hour train journey later, so will try to catch up a bit.
One thing I’ve definitely not missed about India is the glacial pace of bureaucracy. India has (relatively) recently implemented an eVisa system, not dissimilar to the USA’s ESTA programme. At the immigration queue, each and every passenger takes around 5 minutes for the guard to check. How and why, I’m not sure. Apparently there are biometric gates on the way, but they’re not here yet. What should take 20 minutes, takes an excruciating 90. When it’s finally FINALLY my turn, the immigration agent gives my passport a cursory glance, asks for my phone to see my visa, which is also allocated a cursory glance, takes my fingerprints, stamps my passport, and waves me through. Less than 90 seconds. What they’re doing the rest of the the time is beyond me.
Delhi is a polluted city, by any measure. The World Health Organisation have a pollution scale, where a score of 5 is considered good. Anything under 10 is fine, really. Brighton? 8.9. London? 9.2. Delhi? A slightly laughable / slightly scary 102.1 It’s not significantly worsened in the past 10-15 years, but neither has it improved. The traffic on the highway seems just as busy to me. On the plus side, the cars do seem newer, and thus (one would hope) slightly less polluting? As we creep into the city centre, the smog is palpable. There’s a distinct haze lurking over the city. I’m not here long enough to worry about air quality, but I’m glad of that…
12:30
Officially a bit weirded out now. In the weeks I was stuck in Delhi post-mugging, I spent much/most of the time I wasn’t trying to sort out new travel documents at a café / bar / restaurant called United Coffee House. It’s on Connaught Place, the hub of so much of New Delhi life. It’s also a convenient 15 minute walk from New Delhi train station, whence my train departs this afternoon. Sitting here, now, in UCH, is instantly being transported back to 2007. It hasn’t changed at all. It’s done out in a kind of quasi European grand café style, aided by the French music playing. By India standards, it’s an expensive place to hang out, but I distinctly recall that my mugging left me feeling animosity towards anything traditionally Indian, and I craved something that felt more like home. It only lasted a few days, but UCH was my comfort blanket at the time. I even remember the seat that I used to sit in, day in and day out, whilst I tried to rewrite my journal, which had been stolen along with my camera and passport. There’s someone sitting there today, otherwise I’d have grabbed it as a strange little tribute…
The last couple of miles to reach New Delhi station were the epitome of chaos. Cars/rickshaws driving the wrong way down the street; traffic police directing traffic in the exact opposite order than the traffic lights; pedestrians throwing themselves into the road. New Delhi station itself is equally chaotic. My driver drops me ‘somewhere’ and I proceed to try and work out how to get to the cloakroom, to leave my luggage for a few hours. It takes a few attempts, but I’m ultimately successful. I remember in 2007 I was apprehensive, perhaps overly so, of anyone who tried to talk to me. This was only at first, and on my initial arrival into Mumbai. That feeling is absent now. I’m unsure whether it’s simply good muscle memory from previous trips to India, or a general ease that comes with more experience travelling the world. It’s probably a bit of both. At the station, my beard garners several compliments, one of which suggests I look like Aladdin? Or was it Ali Ba-Ba?
Walking back down to Connaught Place, I’m asked every 10 seconds or so whether I want a tuk-tuk. I do not, and having politely declined the first few invitations, I quickly settle into a firmer, ‘No, no,’ accompanied by a firm shake of the head, which does the job. The weather is actually a very lovely 16C and sunny. January is mid-Winter in Delhi. The afternoon promises 22C, and overnight might get down as low as 7C. Walking through the sunshine, there’s a gentle warmth on my skin, that I’ve not felt since we were in Brazil back in October. The further South I go, the hotter it’ll get. Mid 30s in some places…
My first beer back on Indian soil is, of course, a Kingfisher. There are other domestic beers, but only Kingfisher tickles my pink bits. I’ll be interested to see if beer culture has changed much in the past decade. In the UK, I drink cider, IPA or stout. Over here, I’m expecting beering to be largely lager based. Manas, though, has told me that in some of the more cosmopolitan parts of India, there’s a burgeoning craft beer scene. Mumbai aside, I’m not sure how many of my planned stops count as cosmopolitan though…
16:15
From UCH, I wobble 5 mins around Connaught Place to Nizam’s - purveyors of the finest Kathi kebab rolls I’ve ever had. It’s busy - peak lunchtime trade. The whole menu is tantalising, but I’ve come here for one thing - a double mutton / double egg Kathi roll. Spiced goat shish kebab, yoghurt sauce, some shredded cabbage. A paratha has some egg liberally applied to it, before having the goat/yoghurt/cabbage situation wrapped up in it. The whole kit and caboodle is then fried on a plancha type thing. It is beyond brilliant - as good as I remember. Time is marching on. It’s 14:30, and my train is due to leave at 15:30.
NDLS is far busier than this morning. I pick up my rucksack, grab some train supplies at a little platform kiosk, and head to platform 9. The train is sitting at the platform, waiting for us. 15:30 comes and goes, and we’ve not been allowed to board. I ask a guard if he knows how long we’ll be delayed. He does a sort of combo of a shrug and a head wobble. The Indian head wobble could dominate an entire book, so loaded is it with nuance and complexity. The same physical gesture can mean any of:
1) Yes
2) No
3) Maybe
4) I don’t know
5) Good
6) Okay
7) I understand
8) I don't understand
I have yet to determine if there are idiosyncrasies that determine which of these is intended. My understanding to date is that it’s the same gesture, and it’s down to the recipient to decipher its intended meaning.
We board the train around 15:45. It’s warm on-board. The train will be air-conditioned once we get moving, or so I’m promised. I’m in a window seat. The train looks comfy enough. 4 seats across the carriage, with plenty of leg room. My hope is to get some sleep, as I’m properly jaded.
We finally get underway at 16:15, around 45 minutes later than scheduled. Manas is in Lucknow at the moment, and has incredibly kindly offered to meet my train, and drop me to my hotel. I ping him to let him know we’re already delayed, and that I’ll let him know if we make up any time. My experience with Indian trains suggests that, if anything, it’ll be the other way…
21:45
Well, I don’t think we’ve lost a ton more time, but we’ve not made any up either. Looks like we’ll be about 40 minutes late into Lucknow, which is not a disaster. I’v also managed to catch up on about 3 hours of sleep, which feels like a decent result. I certainly feel less like dogshit. The train’s been a cakewalk. I recall in 2007 initially thinking of a 7 hour train journey as a behemoth undertaking, and I guess in the UK it would be. By the end of my trip, it felt like the merest of puddle jumps. This is admittedly a fairly light introduction to my train trips over the next month. Nagpur to Goa’s the peak - 24 hours from Nagpur into Miraj, an 8 hour layover in Miraj, which is not much more than a train junction, then an 8 hour overnight train into Margao, 30 minutes drive from Patnem.
I’m conscious that I’ve not seen another white face since leaving the airport at 10:30 this morning. Not a one. I don’t know if January is typically a quieter month for Western travellers, or if numbers are just down from where they were 17 years ago. Time will tell. I don’t know what to expect in Lucknow as it’s new to me. Agra will be my first chance perhaps to take a more considered view. Agra was notably busy with tourists when I visited.
None of this is a bad thing BTW. I spend some time on the Lucknow train chatting to Kabir. He’s in his 30s, and heading home to see his family, having spent Christmas and New Year with his wife’s family in Gujarat. I ask if he’s Christian, but no - he’s one of countless Hindus who now celebrate Christmas annually. I ask him what to look out for in Lucknow, and he gives me some recommendations of things to see. Particularly, he names a few places to try Nawab cuisine, and specifically the mutton pulao so famous in Lucknow. I first saw this on a Rick Stein TV show about 10 years ago. I cannot WAIT to try this worldie of a dish.
In other news, I appear to be having one of my much rarer than they used to be but still utterly annoying when they happen arthritic flare ups. My left foot is not in a great way. Hopefully settle down overnight. Fatigue can be a trigger, so keeping fingers crossed that a decent night’s sleep helps reset…
23:45
The train finally rumbles in at 22:40, only 35 minutes late - not a bad result. Manas is waiting for me on the platform, bless him. It’s great to see him, to finally meet him. I recruited Manas to work at SHL a couple of years before I left. We worked very well together, but formed a stronger bond than that. We’ve remained closely in touch since I rage quit in the middle of 2022. A large part of why I’m in Lucknow is that it’s his hometown, and he’s here for a couple of days while I’m visiting. We’ll hook up around lunchtime tomorrow, and likely spend Friday together as well. We’ll also grab some time in Mumbai, where he’s now based, right at the end of my trip. Will be great to bookend a month of exploring…
My hotel is basic, clean, good value. Does everything I need it to. The top up sleep I managed on the train plus a little bit bit of jet lag means I’m not quite sleep ready just yet. I throw on a movie, and do some reading ahead of the rest of my journey…Leggi altro
ViaggiatoreHearing the word Margao brought back great memories of our first trip to Goa with Neil, Phill and Denise and during our first week in North Goa hearing the toot of the train in the distance from our “luxury” tents on the beach was really comforting. ❤️
Day 1 - I've been here before.
7 gennaio 2025, Inghilterra ⋅ ⛅ 5 °C
14:00
Are you bored yet? I’m definitely not. And yet, and yet - this is the last planned trip of my sabbatical. A cause for sadness, and yet one for joy. I’ve travelled to India perhaps 5-6 times, but most of those have been trips to Goa, with very little exploration of the huge country beyond. Only once, in 2007, have I travelled more widely. That trip was an eye-opener in so many ways. It was, first and foremost, the first time I ‘travelled’ as opposed to holidaying. Low budget, throw some clothes in a rucksack, see where you end up sort of territory. It told me that (then) I could get by on a total budget of $30 per day, including my accommodation. It was a trip over my 30th birthday, a gift to myself. It was 3 (and then 6 - more of that later) weeks of the most sublime experiences. I arrived a raw and apprehensive, and somewhat uptight character. I left with a hugely different view of travelling in general, and India specifically. When I look back at my time overseas since then, it’s dominated by trips off the beaten path, in some cases into the unknown, and always to places that will fascinate, surprise and in some cases shock.
So - the 3 week / 6 week thing. It kinda needs some explanation, and I’ll try to be brief. The 3 week trip over my 30th was sensational. A genuinely eye-opening and jaw-dropping experience. I spent my first week in Goa, I tracked tigers in Bandhavgarh, I visited the mountainous spice plantations of Kerala, and wondered at the majesty of the Taj Mahal. At the end of all of this, I spent 1 night in Delhi, as a pit-stop before flying home - and got mugged. Rucksack stolen containing passport, and perhaps most devastatingly my camera, with a memory card in it that covered the second half of my trip - The Taj and tiger park. The following 3 weeks were variously spent dealing with India bureaucracy, and getting out of Delhi to visit places I’d not though I’d have time to travel to. The mugging left me concussed, and for the first few days at least, scared. By the end of the 3 weeks, while massively ready to go home, I’d rediscovered my love for India, a love that has persisted until now.
This trip on which I’m embarking today is covering a few bases. I promised myself back in 2007 that I would reconstruct the second half of my journey - visiting Agra to see the Taj, and heading back out into tiger country. You’ll hear a fair bit about that along the way. I’m also heading back to Goa - where Vicki will meet me for 10 days. We both love Goa, and are heading back for the first time in a decade. I’m also visiting some new places en route.
It’s the longest single trip I’ve ever planned. The 2007 extravaganza ended up clocking in at 6 weeks, but that was hardly my intention. This time around, I’ve got 5 1/2 weeks to play with. I’m planning to use trains as my primary method of long distance travel. I’ve loved using trains in India since my first experiences. They’re a brilliant hotbed of social interaction, an amazing place to wile away the hours, and simply one of my very most favourite travel experiences. I have 4 overnight trains, with a variety of sleeping arrangements. I expect to enjoy all of them. I’ve brought a pack of cards in the hope that I can get another cribbage card school up and running on at least one of the trains.
Most of all, I’m excited to see if the India I fell in love with is still there. India has developed massively in the past 17 years - socially and economically. I remember at the time finding that there was a burgeoning middle class, with whom I struggled to connect. Far preferable to me were the everyday working people I met - tuk-tuk drivers, restaurant workers, bar staff. I forged firm, if fleeting friendships. I’d love to find the same attitudes, the same openness and kindness. Time will tell.
For now, I’m happy to be midway to Heathrow, in the back of a National Express coach - a place that’s become familiar and comforting to me over the past 12 months. Onwards, to Heathrow Terminal 3!
17:00
I’ve been here before n’all. ‘Here’ right now is the Curator at Heathrow’s Terminal 3. The terminal itself is its usual shitshow, but The Curator is a place of repose. It’s the last time for quite some… No - actually, we’ll fly out of here with Ali and Karin to New York in June. But other than THAT, it’s deffo the last time for quite a while.
I get chatting to a couple in the bar. They’re also headed to India, but starting in Mumbai, before heading South to Goa, Kerala, and then up the East coast, to Puducherry and Chennai - all by way of celebrating their collective retirements. I comment (v cautiously) that neither of them look to be in their mid to late 60s. Happily, they’re not. Early retirees at 57 and 60 respectively. I love that they’re heading off on a self-guided back-packing trip, and find myself wondering if I’ll be doing the same in 10-15 years time…
There are a lot of young people in the airport. By ‘young’ I mean 18-25. I’m intrigued as to where they’re going, as T3 is predominantly a long haul destination. I find myself judging that most are off on some kind of gap year type thing. I didn’t get around to that at a similar age, but have plenty of friends who did. India, Nepal, SE Asia and Australasia were the destinations of the day, and I’m curious whether that’s the same today. I let curiosity get the better of me, and ask just such a youth, who’s standing at the bar, where he’s off to. “Prague” is the answer. I did say it was *largely* a long-haul terminal…Leggi altro
Day 7 - The Last Hurrah.
27 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ ☁️ 0 °C
16:45
Bastard cough is coming back. Nutsacks. I’ve got some Doxycycline at home, so will dive in when I get back tomorrow. It’s another gorgeous day on the mountain. The sky is the craziest blue, and there’s a warmth to it that I’ve not felt the past few days. My legs feel much better this morning, and I ski for a good couple of hours before needing a break. When I do feel the need for a sit-down, I park up at Moslbahn, and grab a Weissbier. The sun’s strong up here, and I actually bang some sunscreen on.
Back on the slopes, many of the pistes are starting to cut up. It’s been a few days since the last fresh snow, and there are bumps popping up all over the place. I get to the bottom of quite a steep red run, and can feel it in my knees. 20 years of playing hockey on early generation astroturfs has left my knees in a fairly shocking state. I’m absent an anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee, and have no cartilage left in my right. I’ve been very pleasantly surprised how well they’ve stood up to 6 days of skiing. Rather than call it quits, I head back over to the Penken Valley, where there are a series of long, sweeping blue runs. I fill my boots.
I grab some lunch at the Panorama Bar - a Bauerngrostl. No? Me neither. It shares DNA with a corned beef hash. Smoked meat, fried potatoes, sauerkraut, and a couple of fried eggs. It’s a big bowl of awesome.
I’ve planned to call it a day around 14:30. I’ve got to get organised this afternoon, as my transfer is alarmingly early tomorrow morning, and I want to get out to watch the Brighton game this evening. I squeeze in another 3-4 runs, and whilst the temptation is there for just one more, I know that’ll be the case whenever I stop.
Back at my room, I have a stinking hot bath, largely as a physiotherapeutic mechanism. It’s a brilliant way to relax. Guess I better do some packing. BORING.
22:30
I have an early dinner, and just overlap with Rod, Charlie and Dave to say goodbye. We exchange numbers. This is a regular Christmas jaunt for them, so who knows - maybe we’ll bump into each other again in future. I head out in search of football. I’ve seen tons of places advertising Sky Sports, but this evening’s game is on Amazon, which complicates matters. After a fruitless search at Ellie’s, Scotland Yard and Mike’s, I give up. I watch the game on my iPad back in my room. It’s not the best of games, and finishes 0-0. Brighton have the better of it, but can’t buy a goal. Our form is pretty disastrous at the moment. We’ll come out of it, but our push for a top 6 finish is stuttering.
The game finishes a littler after 22:00, and I need to be up at 05:30. Scheiße.Leggi altro
Day 6 - My everything hurts.
26 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ 🌙 -3 °C
14:30
I can feel that I went for it yesterday on the mountain. My calves are aching, my thighs are burning, my feet are whining, my back is crunchy. In fact, my everything hurts. If I had a hangover, and a banging head, I’d probably give up on today and go back to bed. Clear headed as I am, I decide that my ageing and aching body will fall into line, and do what’s asked of it. Here’s hoping…
I’ve not eaten breakfast once this week. I’m up and out before 09:00, and on one of the first cable cars up the Ahorn, which I suspect translates as A-hole. The skiing on the Ahorn is limited to a few runs. They’re good, but it’s not a full day’s entertainment. There’s a great warm up slope though. Steep in places, wide, always powdery. I run down it a few times to limber up, and can feel my legs coming back to life.
Carrying on from that run down the mountain is one of my favourite red runs. It’s steep, but the pistes tend to stay fairly smooth. My knees aren’t up to the really bumpy stuff any more, but I enjoy the steepness and speed of the run. I spend a great hour or so running various combinations of these two pistes.
Around 11:00, I take a break, and sit outside the White Lounge, the ice bar at the top of the mountain. The views are staggering. Nothing not to love. Even at 11:00, there are some cool tunes kicking out. I limit myself to a single beer, and am back on the slopes a little before 12:00. Another hour of traversing up and down the mountain, and I’m feeling properly peckish, so stop for some lunch. A grilled Wurst, some Sauerkraut, and a sort of bacon dumpling thing. Not the lightest of fare, but very tasty.
Getting back on the slopes, my legs are starting to tighten up again. I could push through, but I suspect after yesterday’s efforts, my body is just asking me to take a bit of a break. I pay heed. After a couple of quick runs, I’m on the cable car back down the mountain, and tucking into a Weissbier shortly after that .I’m not entirely sure why I’ve developed such an attachment to this style of beer. It’s hardly new to me, but I’ve never enjoyed it as much as I have here. Gonna have to see if I can track down some Franziskaner when I get home…
22:45
I spend a good couple of hours in the spa. The jacuzzi washes away much of the muscle tension I’ve been feeling, and the sauna leaves me feeling almost light-headed. Back at my room, I take a quick nap - maybe 40 minutes. It’s properly deluxe.
To reward myself for a fine afternoon’s sensibleness, I crack open a bottle of wine. Austria wines tend to the bright end of the scale, with lots of fresh acidity. The Spar over the road has a Moskateller (Moscatel) wine which is off-dry, but still crisp and shiny. It’s a very easy drinker. I read for a bit, write for a while, then realise I’ve yet to watch the last ever episode of Gavin and Stacey, which aired last night in the UK. I quickly download it - well, I quickly start the download process. The WiFi in the hotel is pretty shit, so the download itself takes some time. I curl up on my sofa to watch, with a cold glass of wine.
Dinner is once again excellent. Roasted belly pork, well cooked, accurately seasoned, super crispy crackling. I’m also rather taken with tonight’s dessert, which is a kind of deconstructed Tiramisu. I’m not normally a fan of these reworked / rethought desserts, but this really works. It’s ultra light, and very tasty. For an as yet unknown reason, there is a bag-piper in the dining room. Full Scottish regalia. I don’t enjoy the sound of bag-pipes. It always sounds to me like someone is molesting a weasel. Rod, being a proud Scotsman, disappears at one point to put in a request of the piper. He returns with (for him) sad news. The piper is a local chap - Tyrolean by birth, and has no knowledge of the traditional Scots songs that Rod wants to hear. He’s a little deflated.
Rod, Dave and I decide to head out for a couple of beers. We end up Barrique, which is more of a wine bar than anything else, but they’ve got some properly good wine on their list. We share a bottle of a sensational Austrian red - A Zweigelt, which is a pretty rare grape outside of Austria. It’s got a lot in common with Pinot Noir - heady perfume, silky tannins, bright acidity. Yum.
Around 22:00, I declare victory, and head back to the hotel. I’m keen to make the most of my last day on the mountain tomorrow, so want to make sure I get a half-decent sleep…Leggi altro
Day 5 - Dreaming of a White Christmas...
25 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ ☀️ -7 °C
16:00
I sleep through the night. Finally feel like this bastard cough is on its way out. Sounds like so many are suffering with it. Most recent victim is Vicki’s Mum and Step-Dad, who now won’t be joining the fam Xmas in Guildford as they’re struck down.
I’m out early doors. I want to make the very most of what I think are going to be great conditions today. The snow kept up until late into the evening, but today will be bright and sunny. Banging combo. I've definitely seen snow on Christmas Day before. I think a couple of times my life. A touch of snowfall though, and not a wintry wonderland. I have SO been looking forward to this. The lifts are fairly quiet. I’d wondered if some might skip skiing today - in favour of what, I’m not sure. I’ll take it though. The views from the top of the mountain are staggering. Incredibly beautiful and serene. I ski for around an hour, before stopping for my now customary mid-morning coffee.
Around 11:00, I’m due another rest. I’ve ended up in a corner of the mountain with which I’m unfamiliar. I ski past a mountain bar called Panorama. Their balcony hangs over the side of the mountain, and has the most incredible views. A beer fairly quickly becomes two. The terrace is filling up. Some German kids (early 20s maybe?) ask if they can share my table, and I agree. We chat away for a while. They buy me a schnapps. They have names, but I don't remember any of them. They ask If want to ski with them for a while, and again I agree.
Around 12:30, they’re ready for lunch, so we go our separate ways. I’m loving slope time today, so push onwards. The snow conditions are fantastic. With sun forecast for the next few days, the slopes will likely get icier and bumpier. By Friday, they’ll be tricky at best. Today, though, they’re in sensational condition. Finally, around 14:00, I decide I should eat. I stop at one of the big, canteen style restaurants at the top of the mountain. My Christmas lunch is a turkey schnitzel, with potato salad and cranberries. Delicious. And filling. Much needed, in fact.
I ski for maybe another hour, but I can feel my legs starting to suffer. I’ve managed to ski more than I thought I would on this trip. WAY more in fact. At the start of the week, I found myself wondering how I’d fill the time when I wasn’t up to skiing. Now, I’m unsure whether I’ll have any time to do anything BUT ski, as I’m enjoying it so much, and my body’s allowing me to do pretty much as much of it as I want.
I’m back in Mayrhofen town centre by 16:00, and it’s quite the joy to take my ski boots off. The only recourse is to treat myself to a beer at my favourite downtown bar. There’s definitely some rest and relaxation in my immediate future, but I’m in no urgent rush to get there…
22:30
My aching body demands the jacuzzi, and who am I to deny it what it needs? I spend a wonderful hour in the spa flitting between the sauna and the jacuzzi. Much needed, much deserved. Dressed, I head out for a wander. The town is busy - busier than I think I’d expected. In my mind, I’d half expected most of the hospitality businesses to be closed this afternoon. A few are, but the majority are open, and doing a roaring trade. I head to Mo’s, which is rapidly becoming my regular haunt. There’s a DJ playing some half decent indie stuff. Couple of grosse Weissbiers suitably oil the skids.
Dinner is a suitably festive affair. A very tasty, rolled turkey breast, some Christmas hats, and a cracker. I’m unsure how many of these are traditional Austrian items, and how many are designed to cater to the visiting British contingent.
Rod and I grab a drink in the bar after dinner. He’s a cool character. Late 50s, raised in Glasgow. He made it to the afternoon rave at the White Lodge this afternoon, and says it was great fun. We exchange stories for an hour or so, but I’m knackered, and he’s increasingly refreshed. By 22:00, we’re both ready to call it a night. It’s been a brilliant Christmas day. Very different, but brilliant…Leggi altro
Day 4 - Powder Puff
24 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ ☁️ -11 °C
16:00
I wake to a dump of maybe 20cm of snow. That’s in Mayrhofen town centre, so I’d expect there to be 2-3 times that up the mountain. Today should be a spectacular powder day, as long as visibility stays good enough.
I manage to sleep through the night. Huzzah etc etc. I feel much more refreshed than the past couple of mornings. I’m up and out of the hotel by 09:00, and at the very top of the Penken valley by 09:30. The first run down into the Horberg valley is a thing of absolute beauty. I can see that I’m heading into cloud and heavy snow, but where I am right now, there’s 30cm of fresh powder under my skis, and the sun is just about shining through some light cloud. It’s about as perfect as skiing conditions can get. There’s such a satisfying sensation as skis cut through fresh powder. I’ve not experienced anything else quite like it. It’s highly addictive. I cut across a few different runs and lifts.
Around 11:00, I deserve a break, so stop at my new favourite piste-side café for a coffee. There are sadly no Aperol antics today, but I pass the time looking at how the conditions are changing around me. I’ve never seen weather on the mountain quite like it. In each valley, the conditions are markedly different, and they’re changing rapidly. Where this valley was sunny a few moments ago, it’s now a blizzard, and visibility is down to a handful of metres. I can see that in the next valley over, the sun is pushing through.
I decide to leave the slopes, and do some off-piste skiing. Now, normally when I’m skiing on my own, I stick to the groomed pistes. It’s a self-preservation thing. The powder just off piste is too alluring though. It’s comfortably up to my knees, and cutting a swathe through it down the mountain is a properly fun way to spend time.
Around 12:00, a lot of folks on the mountain stop for lunch. Despite not having breakfast, I’m not particularly hungry yet, so carry on skiing, taking advantage of the slopes and lifts being quieter. I finish maybe 4 runs in the space of an hour, and am conscious that the speed at which I’m moving has accelerated. I use a ski trail tracking app, which tells me that I’ve hit 80 kph this morning. I’m not a speed freak, and top speed is hardly a measure of how well I’m skiing, or how much fun I’m having - but it IS a measure of how confident I feel on the mountain.
I stop for some lunch around 13:30, at another slope-side restaurant. I treat myself to a gluhwein, and then another. Lunch is currywurst - a bratwurst served with a spicy curry gravy. Banging. I stop for nearly an hour, and getting back up and onto my skis is a bit of a challenge. My legs have seized up pretty effectively while I’ve been sitting down. They start to unfurl after a few minutes of shouting at them. On one of the lifts, I bump into Brian and Steve, who I met on Saturday afternoon. We ski together for a few runs, before heading in our respective directions.
Around 15:30, I decide I’ve done enough for today. It’s been a long and tough, but massively fun day. The weather could have been a sticking point, but I’ve actually enjoyed the changeability. It’s certainly kept me on my toes. I stop at a final slope-side bar to celebrate the hard graft I’ve put in. An Aperol Spritz, and ooh - they have teeny bottles of Jäegermeister! Yup, deffo have one of those…
22:30
I head out for a walk around 18:00, and stop in at Mo’s for a beer. The atmosphere’s pretty raucous. I’ve been advised that Christmas Eve tends to be the day/evening of most celebration, and everyone seems to be going for it. The music is eclectic. Avant-garde, even. Predominantly Euro style covers. Still the beer’s cold, and the company’s not too shabby.
Dinner is excellent. The main course is a beef Wellington type affair, and I’m impressed at the kitchen’s ability to produce such high quality food so consistently for so many people.
I briefly consider another walk/beer combo, but the day’s arduous activity is catching up with me. By 22:00, I’m jaded and yawning. I read for a while, but my eyes are heavy with sleep. Zzzzz…Leggi altro
Day 3 - Cough. Far cough.
23 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ 🌫 -7 °C
14:45
Utterly bored of cough now. Woke me up multiple times through the night, and was awake for a couple of hours between about 02:00 and 04:00. Bored bored bored. I’m almost out of medication for it, so will top up later.
On the up side, VIKES WIN, VIKES WIN! Sounds like it woulda been a fun game to stay up for, and given I’ve had a wretched sleep, I probably should have done.
I’m out the door by 09:00. The Penken lift is barely 10m from my hotel. The incredibly short commute is a real treat. The sun’s trying to shine, though there’s still snow forecast later. At the top of the mountain, conditions are beautiful. The snowfall yesterday and overnight have left incredible powder conditions - just a joy to ski on. My new boots are working out well. Everything suddenly clicks. It usually takes me about a day to get my mojo back, and given yesterday was a truncated day, I guess the timing is about right. It’s difficult to describe the difference. It’s as much about confidence as technique, and I find myself relaxing into turns, where before I’d been tense. It makes the whole process of skiing a massively more enjoyable one.
Around 10:30, I stop for a coffee. I’ve again not bothered with breakfast, and could do with the caffeine hit. I’m slope side, about 2000m up. It’s crisp, but clear. Opposite me, a young couple sit down, and order an Aperol Spritz each. Well played. Definitely a little early for me. Sadly, he knocks her drink over, and in doing so, covers her with sugary Spritz. They have, if not quite a full on row, then at least a moderate altercation. He’s trying to blame her (I think - they’re speaking in some kind of Baltic language), and she’s not having it. From my vantage point, he’s demonstrably the guilty party. I choose not to weigh in.
Back on the slopes, I zig-zag across various of the Zillertal valleys. I don’t have a set route in mind - I’m just meandering as the mood takes me. The slopes are busy. I can’t remember the last time I skied during a school holiday, but some of the pistes are strewn with ski school groups of kids.
After another hour, I’m starting to feel the effort. I stop at the top of Moslbahn at a beautiful sun terrace, and grab a beer. It hits several spots. The sun has properly come out, and the views across the valley are mesmerising. Somewhere in the background, there’s a cool deep-house soundtrack to my beer. It’s an addictive way to spend some time.
I could happily settle in for another beer, but I know I’ll regret it if i don’t make the most of the weather today. I hit maybe 4 more runs, gradually working my way back over to the Penken slopes, and jump on a lift back down to the town centre. I stop in at one of the high street bars for a quick beer, and then pop into Spar to grab some supplies. I’m minded to spend a chunk of time in the spa this afternoon. It’s rapidly clouding over, and snow is starting to fall. Ooh, or maybe a nap. Of such difficult decisions will my afternoon be formed…
22:45
I manage a banging nap. About 90 minutes, uninterrupted by coughs. This is progress. Significant progress. To celebrate, I have a sensational bath, and a glass of wine. Snow’s falling pretty heavily out. I briefly consider a stroll before dinner, but decide a drink in the bar is a better bet. Dinner is once again excellent, and I chat away happily to my table-mates. Dave, it transpires, is about 19 months into the estate administration and probate process for his father’s affairs. We compare notes, and have many of the same complaints about the archaic and inefficient nature of HMRC’s working practices. It’s strangely heartwarming to hear someone else’s similar experiences.
I’m feeling pretty jaded. In place of a walk and a beer, I head back to my room to chill out and watch a movie. Bisto…Leggi altro
Day 2 - Es schneit. Es schneit viel.
22 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ 🌫 -9 °C
12:30
I sleep well - better than I’ve slept in a good few days. There’s still a bit of waking in the midst of a coughing fit, but I get back to sleep more quickly and easily than I have of late. I sleep till nearly 08:00, and spend a gorgeous hour waking up and mooching. I’m not hungry, so skip breakfast, and slowly get ready for the day. My experience is that getting ready for the first day’s skiing on a trip always takes about 3 times as long as any other day on the same trip. Several times, I’m think I’m ready to go, but realise I’ve forgotten something.
I end up heading out at 09:30, and jump on the Penken cable car, right next to my hotel. There’s some snow falling in the town centre, which makes it likely there’s heavier snowfall up the mountain. The Penken cable car runs up to 1,800m. The French resorts with which I’m most familiar (Tignes, Val D’Isere, Courchevel, Meribel are all stationed at that kind of altitude, allowing you to ski back down to the resort once you’re done for the day. Here in the Zillertal, the resort hotels are typically on the valley floor, and require a lift to reach the snow line. In the very snowiest of years, there are a couple of ski tracks down to some of the resorts, but they’re the exception. On the way up the mountain, we pass through some thick cloud and some heavy snow, but emerge above it. It looks like the cloud level is around 1,600m, so staying above that promises better conditions.
I grab another lift further up the mountain, to around 2,000m. In the queue for the lift, I have a gander at other folks’ skiing outfits. I’m never been one to worry too much about what my ski gear looks like. Function most definitely > form. I also don’t replace it when there’s a new trend to follow, but only when it’s knackered, and no longer does the job. It appears though, that my clothing this year is bang on trend. I bought myself a new North Face coast in olive green a few weeks back, and this kind of drab, military style colour is apparently very popular this season. There’s a snowboarder kid, maybe in his early 20s, in front of me in the queue for the chairlift. He’s cool. He’s very cool. He’s achingly cool. He’s wearing the same jacket as me, and his ski pants are very similar in colour to mine as well. His palpable shame when he realises the 47 year old is basically his clothing twin is (for me at any rate) totes hilarious.
At 2,000m, it’s cold and blustery, but visibility is good. Heading off down the mountain, I quickly determine I’m in the wrong ski boots. This is not uncommon when I rent equipment. It often takes me a day to get to the right boots for my trip. Happily, there’s a rental shop at the top of the Penken lift, so I stop in, and swap my boots for another pair, before heading further up the mountain again. These boots, sadly, are even worse. It’s like my feet and particularly my right foot are in a vice. Not fun. I stop again at the rental shop, and have a slightly strange conversation with the rental shop dude about the shape of my feet (diamond like, if you wish to know). Anyways, he recommends a different pair of boots, as well as a bigger size. By comparison, they’re like putting on a pad of pillows.
Back on the slopes, things are much improved. I run a couple of times up and down the main Penken slopes. They’re very busy though, so I head over to the Ahorn Bahn. Being in a valley, Mayrhofen offers skiing on both sides of the valley. Ahorn is the other side of the Mayrhofen valley, and offers wider runs typically. Up the mountain, I head down a run. Almost instantly, a blizzard hits. Visibility quickly deteriorates until I can barely see 10m. If I were familiar with the runs, that wouldn’t be such a problem, but I have the sum total of fuck all idea where I’m going. I get to the bottom of the run, and decide to declare beer o’clock, and to see how conditions are going to develop through the day.
15:30
Back in Mayrhofen, I stop for a Weissbier, which hits several spots. I suddenly remember that I’ve not eaten today, and need to feed. I head to a cool little bar/café called Ellies, and settle in with another beer, and a brilliant burger. Smoky, charred, and tasting of properly good beef. YUM. The waiter dude grabs my empty food tray, and asks if I want another beer. What a sensible idea…
Weather apps are predicting that the snowfall is gonna continue for the rest of the day. I declare skiing done, and look at ways to spend my afternoon. It would be very easy to head straight to one of the many après-ski venues in downtown Mayrhofen, but I resist the urge (for now). My hotel has a more than decent spa attached, and the idea of some jacuzzi and sauna time is enticing…
23:45
The spa is great! I spend a decent whack of time in the hydropool. It’s hot enough to relax my muscles, and the water-jets are all kinds of saucy. I follow this up with a sauna. I correctly determine this is a clothing recommended sauna, so keep my boardies on. The hotel’s a very chilled out kind of environment. I happily pad back to my room in my dressing gown.
I put my head down for a nap, but my chest isn’t playing ball. I just can’t find a position that will let me drift off without a hacking cough every couple of minutes. Scheiße.
Around 18:00, I give up and have a bath. The bath in my room is a slightly strange sitting affair. I think it’s to minimise the amount of space required, but also has the benefit of ensuring the legs are completely covered by hot water at all times.
Cleansed, I head out for a pre-prandial beer. There’s an après-ski bar attached to the hotel, but the music emanating from it is woeful. I head intsead to Mo’s, where a two piece acoustic couple are doing cool things with guitars and vocals. I happily perch at the bar, and have a couple of Weissbiers.
By 19:30, I’m more than peckish. I didn’t ski the whole day, but have still put a reasonable shift in. I’m seated at a large, bench table with some other solo skiers, and quickly befriend Dave, Charlie and Rod. We chat away contentedly - previous ski trips, snow conditions today and tomorrow, life back home… The food is great - definitely a cut above what I’m used to on these kinds of trips. The main is a rack of lamb which is served with an incredible lamb jus. V tasty…
I finish dinner around 21:00. My Vikings are live in TV at 22:00, so I’m planning to watch as late as I can manage. The game’ll probably finish after 01:00, and I doubt I’ve got that in me. I decide a post-prandial walk is in order, so head out for a wander. It’s cold, and the pavements are starting to get super-slippery as they freeze. I head to the bottom of Mayrhofen, and loop back around to Main Street. This takes me past the Scotland Yard pub - my second monikered pub in as many trips. I don’t know what it is about Scotland Yard that folks outside of the UK think is highly redolent of traditional London. The sign confuses me - “Scotland Yard - Irish Pub.” I briefly consider stopping for a pint, but it’s pretty empty inside. I wander if it’s even open.
Back at Strass Hotel, I grab a beer in the bar, and chat to some folks sitting up at the bar. It looks like the snowy conditions are setting in for the next couple of days. Mornings are looking better for skiing than afternoons, so I’ll plan to be up in decent time tomorrow. Back at my room, I open a beer, and kick back to watch my beloved Vikings. The game is tighter than it should be. I head to be around midnight, with the Vikings up 20-17. GO VIKES.Leggi altro
Day 1 - I've been here before...
21 dicembre 2024, Austria ⋅ ⛅ -3 °C
05:00
What’s the opposite of bushy-tailed? That. I’m definitely that. I can’t quite remember the last time I had a flight leaving so early. Montenegro earlier this year felt pretty damn early, but checking back now - I see that the flight actually left at 08:45, a full 2h15m later than my 06:30 departure today. You’d have been proud of me. Valuing an extra bit of sleep over time at the airport (SO not my jam), I jumped in a cab at 03:30, ‘only’ 3 hours before my flight’s departure time. Sadly, my planning has fallen at the first stern test. I wake at 01:00, coughing and spluttering. I’ve had a cold/bug type thing for the past week, and am struggling to shake it. Basically, as soon as I lie down, liquid starts pooling in my chest, and rattling around. It’s deeply unpleasant, and causes me to cough, waking me up etc etc. I try to get back to sleep, but it’s not happening. I choose instead to get up and hang out with Scout and Gizmo for a while before my cab arrives.
‘Here’ this time is my tried and tested route through Gatwick North terminal, ending up at Brewdog. This is likely to be my last visit for quite some time. For India in a few weeks, I’m flying out of Heathrow, and we don’t (whisper it) have any additional holiday plans at the moment. We might do a couple of music festivals around Europe next year, but nothing firm planned yet after we get back from India. NO! LIES! We’ve got a trip to New York for Ali’s 50th in June. Phew!
I’m ultra excited to be spending Christmas in the mountains, but am equally a little torn. This is Vicki and my first ever Christmas apart. An artefact of circumstance, and an outcome of opportunity. Vicki’s not dead keen on a snowy Christmas, so I figured that this year of all years, I’d grab the chance to fulfil what’s been a pretty lifelong aspiration. I’ve a ski pass for 6 days, but am realistic - I’ll likely ski 3-4 days in total, and spend a couple of days mooching around town, visiting some nearby attractions, and doing Alpine Christmas type shiz.
People have asked me whether I’ll feel lonely spending Christmas alone, to which my response is that I won’t be alone. I’ve solo skied a bunch of times before, and never felt at all isolated. The slopes anytime of Winter are amongst the friendliest places I can imagine, and I have a suspicion that will count even moreso over the Christmas holiday.
I’ve also mindfully chosen Mayrhofen as my destination. Known as a party resort, there are some world famous après-ski spots in town, as well as a couple on the mountain. Vicki and I visited in 2019 for a a Winter music festival called Snowbombing, and the town has much the same atmosphere throughout the season. There’s even an ice bar/igloo on one of the mountains, which we visited for an afternoon rave while we were in town. V cool (literally / figuratively in equal measures). There’s a butcher’s shop on the high street that hosts afternoon DJs, knocking out awesome schnitzel and knodel while the tunes kick out.
Add to that, the place I’m staying has a big, communal dining set up for breakfast and dinner, and I’m confident it’ll be a fairly collegiate and raucous affair.
There’ll also be times that I seek out time to myself. I adore skiing alone - able to keep to my own path and schedule. The Alps are so beautiful, that I regularly sit to catch my breath, and world watch for a while. On at least one day, I’ll head out without a piste map, and just see where I end up. The Zillertal ski area, of which Mayrhofen is a part, is HUGE. There are trains and buses connecting the different resorts that are part of the ski system, and wherever I end up, I know I’ll be able to get back to Mayrhofen, even if it means bus and train jumping a little.
There was a time a few years ago that I wasn’t sure I’d ever ski again. I felt I’d had a decent run. My first trip was aged 10, and I’d made it to 43 before arthritis decided my time was up. The past 18 months though, I’ve been taking a new medication (to me, at least) called Humira, but I prefer its pharmaceutical name, Adalimumab. It’s been transformative to my quality of life. I have arthritic episodes a handful of times per year rather than a couple of times per week, and I certainly don’t fear getting into some ski boots, and banging down the mountain. My body’s sure to tell me to stop at some point, but I’m going to make the most of the unexpected window of opportunity, while it’s open…
13:00
Flight’s on time, so we’re piling onto the aircraft while it’s still dark out. I get very confused when I have a message from Vicks wishing me a safe journey. It’s barely 06:00, and she should by all rights be fast asleep. I somehow conspire to be the first passenger onto the aircraft. Literally the first. I suspect I may have pushed in front of the ‘people who need assistance, and those travelling with children’ but no-one shouts at me. The plane’s pretty full, but I have an empty row. I have an extra legroom seat, so I guess there weren’t enough takers for the modest upgrade price. I stretch out luxuriously.
I spend longer than I probably should have watching other people board the plane. There are some proper ditherers. One couple in particular makes me chuckle. They hold up all the other passengers for what feels like minutes, while they faff around trying to make sure they’ve got every possible item they might need from their hand luggage before they’re seated. Hilariously, while they’re pissing about, someone from the row in front of them steals the last bit of overhead bin space. As a result, the dude of the organisation has to take their bags about 5 rows back to get them stored. Even more hilariously, his other half then decides there’s YET another thing that she needs, so he has to fight his way back to her bag, extract the correct item (with shouting and hand gestures from her) and get back to their seats, all against the flow of boarding passengers. He’s soon gonna be getting hand gestures and shouting from the rest of us..
The flight itself is quick - around 90 minutes. Landing into Innsbruck is a hoot. Innsbruck is in the middle of a valley between two lines of Alpine mountains. As a result, aircraft fly down the valley on landing approach. This is super fun, because:
1) Initially, it feels like the plane is landing in the mountains. Then the mountain peaks are actually above the aircraft. It becomes really tricky to figure out how much further we need to descend. It feels like we should be landing, because I can see the sides of the mountains out of the window, and it ain’t that far down. Pretty suddenly, we’re flying a few hundred feet over the centre of Innsbruck, and moments later, hitting the tarmac.
2) The valley’s not straight. I mean, it’s ‘broadly’ straight, but still meanders from side to side. As a result, the pilot is constantly having to course correct. Now, I’m not suggesting we’re weaving all over the place, but we’re definitely tracking the contours of the valley. It’s very cool. It’s kind of like the canyon run in Top Gun : Maverick - but a bit slower, and with fewer explosives.
Vicki and I flew into Innsbruck in 2019, when we visited Mayrhofen for Snowbombing. It’s inconceivable to me that neither of us would remember this pretty weird and wacky landing experience. Unless we were somewhat refreshed. When questioned, Vicks remembers not getting a huge amount of sleep the night before we flew, and suspects she was asleep when we were landing.
The ground service is efficient, and I get another EU stamp for my passport. I’ve got three years left on this passport, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been in danger of running out of stamp space. I grab my bag, and head to my coach to Mayrhofen. It’s cold in Innsbruck. -4C when we land, and feels it when I get outside. I’m only wearing thin travelling combats, and the temperature is palpable. I’m one of the first onto the coach, so spend a few minutes wandering around. The airport is a small, provincial affair. It’s properly surrounded by mountains on all sides. Beautiful. It’s a big change from some of my more recent ski trips, where I’ve either flown into Geneva / Chambery, and got a long coach up to the mountains, or taken the train into Moutiers / Bourg Saint Maurice. The journey to Mayrhofen is maybe 90 minutes. As I’ve not had a skinful (genuinely - 1 token airport beer, then water/coffee on the plane), I don’t need to worry about a bathroom or anything like that.
As we arrive into Mayrhofen, memories start to appear. There’s a definite sense of familiarity. I can even remember some of the drop-off stops we make along the way, as we stopped at them on our way into the downtown area of Mayrhofen in 2019. My hotel is bang in the middle of town. There’s a big supermarket across the road, the awesome Hans the Butcher about 20m down the road. My room’s not ready for a couple of hours, so I take a quick stroll up and down the high street, and more memories surface. There’s a cool little café opposite Hans’ place which I remember us hanging out in last time. Eine Weissbier bitte, Fraulein…
16:45
It’s significantly colder than the last time I was in Mayrhofen. To be fair, that was mid-April, right at the end of the Season. December/January can often be bitterly cold in the Alps generally, and in this part of the Alps specifically. Innsbruck is around 500m above sea level, and we’ve got another 200m on that in Mayrhofen itself. Although it’s *warmed* a little since my flight landed, it’s -2C in town. Lots of the bars and restaurants have covered outdoor areas, often with fur (fake) lined seats to keep punters warm. I’m not dressed for it today though.
I’m also finding prices are cheaper than my last visit. Granted, a small sample size, but I suspect there’s a fair bit of price gouging when Snowbombing is in town. I’m part surprised / part delighted that my pint of Weissbier comes in at €5. It’s such good value that I order a second. Two’s my limit for now though, as I’ve got shit to do, and time’s pushing on. I have no idea how long I’ll last before I collapse in a heap, but I suspect not long…
I stop in at Mo’s - a pub that Vicks and I ate at a few times back in 2019. Halfway through my pint, 2 guys sit down at the table next to me. I’d guess they’re n their 50s. They’re here on a buddies' week away together for Christmas. I’m much minded of Ali and my amazing week together in Tignes Les Brevieres, back in, oooh February 2007 I think? Anyways, within moments, I’m embroiled in their conversation, and we natter away contentedly for an hour or so. Soon enough, it’s 15:00, and time for me to pick up my skis and get checked in to my room. I make no firm plans to see Steve and Bryan again this week, but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other along the way.
Checked into my hotel, I feel a nap coming on. I suspect it’s a sleep, and not a nap, but only time will tell…
22:30
I lay down around 17:00, and definitely set an alarm for 18:45, so that I’ll wake up for dinner. Well, I don’t. I think I vaguely remember turning it off, but I can’t be certain. Instead, I wake up at 20:30, feeling much refreshed, pretty damn hungry, and more than a little confused.
There’s a big Spar across the road, so I pop over to grab some room picnic supplies - some local cheeses and meats, bread, a bottle of local wine. That kinda stuff. There’s no fridge in my room, but I have a lovely little balcony, and the temperatures gonna be close to freezing for the next few days…
Couple of glasses of wine, and some food, and I’m fixing for bed. As travel days go, it’s been a largely relaxing and stress-free one. I’m still knackered though, after the ridiculously early start, and way too short a sleep. Just hoping my chest plays ball, and I can bank a decent night's kip.Leggi altro
Day 18 - Not the greatest end to my trip
5 dicembre 2024, Canada ⋅ 🌙 -1 °C
08:15
I’ve spent the past 3 hours on the phone, bouncing around three different airlines, all of whom are abdicating responsibility. Bit of context. Late last night, when checking in for my Air Canada flight, I noticed the name on my ticket was wrong. I was listed as Tim, whilst my passport is Timothy. Air France (and subsequently Air Canada) had it wrong, because Virgin Atlantic shared it incorrectly. They have my name for tickets stored as Timothy, but my ‘colloquial’ name recorded in my frequent flyer account as Tim. For whatever reason, when they transferred the ticket to Air France, they used the data field in my frequent flyer record, instead of my passport name. This causes issues.
I start with Air Canada, on the basis that they’re the ones expecting me at the airport in a few hours. Nope. Nothing doing. They tell me to speak to Virgin. I call Virgin. Nope. Nothing doing. They say I need to go back to Air Canada, as I’m showing as checked in, and Virgin can’t do anything until Air Canada check me out. I call Air Canada. YES! They can check me out, and do so. I call Virgin back. Now, bear in mind that for each of these calls, I’m getting an automated call handling system - press 1 for existing bookings, press 2 if you’re gradually losing your mind, that kinda thing. That’s then followed by an average of 10 minutes of the SAME FUCKING HOLD MUSIC on a short loop. I wonder if it’s called a loop, because it eventually sends you loopy? Oh, and also bear in mind that each time I finally get to speak with a human, I have to give a quick rundown of my slightly laughable situation.
Anyways, back to Virgin. After my fifteen minutes of call handling hell, I manage to get hold of a human. When he starts to tell me that there’s nothing he can do, I start to lose my shit. I like to think I’m reasonably good at complaining in these circumstances. When Felix and I travelled in South East Asia earlier this year, he was impressed by my handling of another shitty (literally) situation - go and check out our time in Phnom Penh if you want details. In these circumstances, I do my very best to keep my voice calm, to be assertive but not rude, and not to swear. I’m struggling on all three counts. I point out that this is a problem of Virgin’s creation, both in that they forced the original flight change, and that they’ve shared the name incorrectly. My human pops me on hold to speak with his ‘support centre’ which doesn’t bode well. Fifteen minutes later, he rejoins the call and tells me I need to speak with Air France, as they are the holder of the ticket.
Air France are not answering their phones just yet. Of course not! That would be too easy… I end up calling their UK office, which will doubtless cost me a bunch of cash. After the standard 15 minutes of hold hell, I get hold of a very helpful but entirely unhelpful human. She assures me she will help me, and then doesn’t help me in any way, shape or form. She refers me back to Virgin. Of course she does.
I’m losing it now. One of the delicious lifelong companions of anxiety is what therapists call catastrophising - imagining the worst possible outcome of any given situation. Whilst my anxiety is largely under control these days, there are remnants, and those remnants are massively exacerbated by stress. This is a stressful situation. Is it too early for a beer?
I start investigating alternative flights home, but call Virgin once more, in the hope that I might get SOME kind of resolution from them. My human this time around is called Sasha. When I explain my predicament, and she starts to tell me to call Air France, I come very close to that invisible line between firm and assertive / shouty and swearing. I just, JUST stay on the right side of it. Sasha tells me she doesn’t think there’s anything she can do. I say that’s ridiculous - that there’s always a resolution for the customer. Virgin, could - for example, book me a brand new ticket in the correct name. Sasha doesn’t know how to respond to that. Sasha heads off to have a chat with her ‘support centre’ and I fear the worst.
When she rejoins the call, her demeanour is much happier and brighter. I fear the best. Not quite though. Virgin’s solution is to leave a note on the ticket telling Air France / Air Canada to let me board even though the name is ‘slightly’ incorrect, and that Tim is an acknowledged abridgement of Timothy. Sasha assures me that everything is going to be fine. I ask if she can 100%, set in stone guarantee that. She pauses, laughs nervously, and says yes - it’s a lock. I point out that the automated phone handling hell always includes a statement that the call will be recorded, and that I’ll be back for the recording if I have issues at the airport.
It’s been a frantic and stupidly stressful start to the day. On the plus side, waking up at 05:00 this morning has worked in my favour, as it’s barely 08:00, and I’ve got as far as I can do, without having to worry about my check-out time of 11:00. On the downside, I want to punch someone/something. This whole clusterfuck has rather taken the shine off the past couple of days of my trip. I’m also going to have to head to the airport earlier than is entirely necessary, just to make sure I get through the check-in process without too much disruption. Here’s hoping…
My truncated day starts here. I’ll get showered and packed up, and head out for a wander. There’s a Banksy exhibition I was planning to get to today, and should be able to squeeze it in…
13:00
I’m packed up and ready to check out by 10:00, and head off in the direction of the Place Des Arts, in the heart of Montreal’s downtown district. It’s still snowing. Or maybe it stopped, and has restarted. I can’t tell. There’s about 7-8cm of snow on top of cars parked around my apartment, and a ton of slush on the road. It seems the roads have been pretty well gritted. The pavements are a different matter though. I could definitely ski down the hill that heads down from Notre Dame.
I’m in the midst of my first arthritic episode in months. My Shalamalamadingdong* medication has all but erased these painful episodes, but again - stress is a trigger. My left ankle is very painful, and woke me several times last night. This morning, I’m hobbling. I pop a strap onto it, take some painkillers, and hope for the best. Walking around on it is tricky. The amount of ice on the pavement requires me almost to shuffle along - normally not a problem, but I’m finding it sore to do so today. Progress is slow and steady.
I grab a late breakfast at a very cool cafe called 5 Senses. Another banging Shakshuka. Assuming all goes well with my travel plans today, I’ll have this, and then a meal in the lounge before my scheduled 19:15 departure, so I can maximise the amount of sleep I get on board. Across the road is the Banksy expo, and it’s great. Like, I'm sure, many of you, I’m familiar with bits and pieces of Banksy’s work, but here it’s laid out in hugely entertaining fashion, and with a distinct chronology and narrative to it. There are also many of his works with which I’m unfamiliar - particularly the series called Crude Oils. For these, he shopped at flea markets, picking up cheap replicas of famous historical oil paintings, then added his own, unique touch. Typically some form of satire or social critique. There are a few examples included here, and they’re fascinating to look at. I also spend some time in the Dismaland Bemusemen Park exhibit, again - new to me. It’s a fab way to pass a couple of hours, and am so glad I made it here.
I walk back in the direction of my apartment. It’s too early to head to the airport, even when I’ve been advised to get there super early to negotiate any check in issues with my ticket. I head to a pub called the Wolf and Workman, a couple of hundred metres from my apartment, and order a locally made Irish stout. It’s great - called Cobblestone, and is a bit like a Guinness+. It’s nitrogen treated, so that’s rich, creamy texture, but has a more distinct coffee flavour kicking around in there. It’s delicious, so much so, that…
*not the real name.
16:15
Back at the apartment building, I quickly change out of my very warmest clothes, into some slightly less warm clothes. I don’t need thick combats or long johns for my flight home. I do keep hold of my big coat - for now. The journey out to the airport is slow. There’s a lot of traffic on the highway, and the conditions are still pretty shonky. The snow seems to be changing to an icy sleet.
At the airport, I hold my breath, and approach the check-in desk. Things take a while. The nice lady checking me in doesn’t keep me appraised of progress, or reasons for the delay, but she DOES hand back my passport with a boarding card included. My hold baggage is taken, I’ve got a boarding card. That’s it, right? I’m getting on the flight? Honestly, I don’t think I’ll feel ALL the way comfortable until I’m sitting in my seat, tucking into a pre-flight glass of bubbles.
Security is a breeze. Well - for me it is. For some, it’s the first time they’ve ever been through airport security screening, obviously. One guy has a hard-sided 40 litre carry-on suitcase, and a rucksack. When he’s asked to remove any laptop or tablet type devices, he unzips his case, losing clothes all over the place. It takes him a while to locate his laptop. Why he packed it at the very bottom of his case, no one really knows.
In the departure lounge, I find a bar affiliated with a microbrewery I stopped in at the other day. They had a banging New England style hazy IPA, and the bar here has it as well. I could go straight to the lounge, but I fancy a beer here first. I can just, JUST feel the stress starting to dissipate…
21:30
Well, I’m on the plane, and now I can REALLY relax. From the microbrewery, I head to the lounge for 90 minutes. It’s rammo at this time of day. Air Canada have their schedule of European overnight flights all leaving within a couple of hours of each other.I find a half decent Chardonnay, and have a snack. I’m not particularly hungry though, so I’ll eat quickly (hopefully) onboard, and grab as much sleep as I can manage.
My seat is comfortable. I’ve not flown with Air Canada before. It’s a pretty standard business class seat at the back of the cabin. My flight attendant, Julie, is kinds of great. She brings me a glass of Champagne. Unbidden, she brings me another. Do I exude some kind of aura? She asks if I want to eat or sleep. I say ideally both, so she promises to rush through the food service. We’re a little late taking off, but the Captain reckons we’ll make up time in flight, due to some strong tailwinds. In my book, that’s code for ‘bumps and turbulence.’
The dinner service is very efficient once we’re in the air. There’s an excellent Bordeaux available, so I have a glass with my food. Which is excellent by the way. A salmon rillettes starter, and a kind of Chicken Kiev type affair to follow.
The wine and food combo is just enough to make me sleepy. I can rarely be bothered with having my bed made up properly when I’m flying in business class. I grab a pillow, put my seat in the flat position, and head for the land of zizz.Leggi altro
Day 17 - Merde.
4 dicembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -1 °C
11:40
A frustrating morning. I wake to an email from Air France notifying me that my flight out of Montreal is now departing at 18:30 instead of 17:00. Originally, I was booked on a Virgin flight to Heathrow, via JFK, but the time of that changed, so Virgin transferred me to the Air France flight instead. The new arrival time into Charles de Gaulle airport gives me all of, ooh - ten minutes to make my transfer to the Heathrow flight. CDG is not an efficient airport. Minimum of an hour to transfer. I log into my Air France account, aaaaaand - nothing. My Montreal flight isn’t showing as changed. I log into my Virgin account, and can’t even access the booking, as their systems appear to be down. I try to call Air France’s office in Canada, but the phone rings out. Merde.
Eventually, I manage to get hold of an agent via WhatsApp of all things. I ask for confirmation of the new flight time, and some 30 minutes later, I get confirmation that yes - my flight’s going to be later. A further 30 minutes has me booked onto a later flight out of Paris into Heathrow. Sacre-bleu, it’s been a bit of a pain.
I shuffle my plans around for the remainder of the day.
18:30
Well, this has turned into quite the clusterfuck. I head out around 12:30, and aim for the Olympic Park, in the North East of the city. My first stop is for food, at a great place called Poutine Centrale. No prizes available for guessing the focus of their menu. I order a Philly Cheesesteak poutine, and it is sensational. The shaved steak has incredible flavour, and the combination of cheese sauce, jalapeños, roasted peppers, onions and fries is a big bowl of awesome.
I walk back to the Olympic Park, and stop by the main Olympic stadium. It’s an incredible building - unlike any other stadium I can remember seeing. It is at this point that things start to go a little pear shaped.
An email from Air France, informing me that my flight has now been brought FORWARD by 4 hours. That’s fine in terms of a departure time from Montreal, but means that I’ll either have a 5 hour wait in Paris, or need to change to an earlier flight from Paris into Heathrow. I need to get this sorted, as I have onward travel plans from Heathrow. I jump on the Metro to head back towards my apartment. As I walk the last few hundred metres, I have yet another email from Air France, telling me that my flight is no longer leaving on Thursday at all, but that I’m booked on a flight out of Montreal on Friday. My temperature is rising…
Back at the apartment, I fire up my MacBook. Before it’s even finished booting, I’ve got YET another email from Air France, telling me that I’m now booked on an Air Canada flight. My head’s spinning. It seems to be an issue with Air France. I’m hopeful that now I’m booked on another airline, the shitshow can be brought to a close. On the upside, it’s a direct flight into Heathrow, so despite leaving Montreal a few hours later than I’d initially planned, I should be in London earlier than I’d expected.
I decide I deserve a protest nap.
22:45
I head out around 19:30, into snowy conditions. In the hour or so that I’ve slept, a couple of centimetres have fallen. The snow is not the soft, flakey snow that I’ve seen more of in my life, but rather an icy, biting snow. I’m well wrapped up, but the few square centimetres of skin still on display take quite the beating. Where the snow has fallen, it’s already starting to freeze. I suspect the pavements will like a skating rink tomorrow. I walk for about 30 minutes up to a BBQ place i’ve read good things about. My beer is hugely deserved / needed after what’s felt like an unnecessarily stressful day. I think I’ve been pretty lucky with travel disruptions in this 12 months of travelling. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of a horrible complication I’ve had to deal with. Maybe that’s why this stings all the more. The food at Diablo’s is immense. I order a brisket and pork rib combo. Both are brilliant. The brisket is served as a thick slice, almost like a steak. It’s juicy and tender, and has been sensibly smoked. I find some brisket suffers from over-smoking, but this is bang on. The ribs are indecent, slathered in an excellent Kansas style sauce. They have the right amount of give. Some prefer ribs meat to slide off the bone. My preference is for there to be a little (but not too much) resistance. These are right in the Goldilocks sweet spot.
Satiated, I briefly consider heading on somewhere for beer. It’s already pushing towards 22:00 though, and I have a busy day tomorrow…Leggi altro
Day 16 - CANADIENS WIN, CANADIENS WIN!
3 dicembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -4 °C
12:15
I’m awake a little before 06:00. I’ve given up on trying to correct my jet-lag anymore than this. I’m headed home later this week, and could do with avoiding chronic eastbound jet-lag if I can, as we’ve got a busy weekend of 12 Pubsing ahead. I use the time relatively wisely. I try and have a coffee from a Nespresso machine, but it almost entirely fails to make me a cup. It’s definitely not user-error. This is the third Nespresso machine on this trip alone that’s been on the fritz.
I head out around 09:00 for a walking tour of the Old Town, and will see where the rest of the day takes me. I’ve got a list of places I’d like to check out while I’m in town, but other than the Old Town, they’re pretty widely dispersed across what is a sizeable city area. The Old Town feels very European. The town was founded in 1642 - by which I mean some Europeans settled it then, despite it already being land inhabited by First Nations peoples. There are cobbled streets everywhere, and much of the architecture is redolent of 18th and 19th century Paris. There’s definitely a Gallic feel to the city, architecturally - but also in its layout, and in its mood. I’m finding an abruptness to native Montrealers (yes, I’ve checked - that’s what they’re called) that I’ve not experienced elsewhere in Canada. It’s also noticeable that English is very much the second language here. The majority of Quebecois (again, checked) are bilingual, but the balance here is definitely towards to the Francophone.
Anyways, the European nature of the city does make for more difficult navigation. Manageable, but trickier. The Old Town features some impressive buildings, not least the vast Quebec Court of Appeal, which is quite the edifice. I wander down to the Vieux Port (old port) area. I think in my head I’d expected coffee shops and restaurants by the water’s edge. Whether the season, I’m not sure - but it’s desolate and deserted. There’s an observation wheel, that feature of so many modern cities, but no one riding it. I’m sure in Summer it’d be much busier. Montreal is basically on an island at the confluence of the St Lawrence and Ottawa rivers. Urban sprawl has taken the city beyond the island’s borders, but the heart of the city remains on the island. I stop at the Basilica de Notre Dame, which is very closely modelled on the world famous church of the same name in Paris. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture, despite one of the towers being covered in scaffolding and tarpaulin.
After 90 minutes of walking, I’ve exhausted the neighbourhood, and decide to head North to the Jean-Talon market. I’ve read that it’s a hub of market stalls selling the very best produce to locals and restaurants. There’s a bus that’ll take me most of the way there, but after my recent experience in Winnipeg, I check first how to buy tickets for travel. It’s a similar (ish) story. Tickets can be bought at a handful of grocery stores and pharmacies, but the best bet is to head to one of the Metro stations, and buy a travel card. I walk maybe 15 minutes to the North, and find a Metro station. A 3 day card costs me about a tenner, which feels like great value.
It’s properly and bitterly cold today. I’m conscious I’ve been outside for around 2 hours, and I can feel pin pricks of cold on my skin, particularly my legs. I kinda wish I’d worn my long johns today. The bus is warm though, and takes around 20 minutes to take me to an outer neighbourhood. The streets feel simpler, poorer than the downtown area. It’s noticeable in the houses, the streets, the people walking on them. The market itself is a bit of a letdown. Having visited the St Lawrence market in Toronto so recently, the difference is stark. There are a few interesting stalls, but it’s on a much, much smaller scale. The produce for sale somehow looks less appealing as well. It’s also an outdoor market, and I’d kinda hoped it might be indoors and warm.
It’s 12:00, and I’ve already walked 10,000 steps today. I’ve not eaten, so I’m hungry AND cold. Just around the corner from the market is a Vietnamese place selling big bowls of Pho. IN.
16:00
The Pho was outstanding. When done well, it’s the equal of any noodle soup out there. So fresh, so fragrant, so comforting. This one has an incredibly deep beef stock, flavoured with ginger, onion, cardamom, star anise, fish sauce, and I’m sure various other bits and bobs. It’s simmered for upwards of 12 hours, to create a clear beef broth, into which rice noodles, razor thin slices of brisket and other vegetables are placed to lightly poach. Now - its deliciousness notwithstanding, there are two small to medium sized issues with my Pho.
1) It is not beard friendly. I think any noodle soup would be a challenge with a beard as long as mine has now become. At various times I:
a) dip my beard straight into the beef broth
b) dribble the broth down my beard as I try to drink it from the frankly inappropriate spoon, and
c) allow the rice noodles to splash against my beard
The result is mixed. My beard definitely has a beefy tang to it, but it’s also warmer than it was.
2) A little of my way through my bowl, I notice a pot of chilli sauce on the table. I reason that a bit of heat will help warm me, and stir a healthy teaspoon into the broth. Holy fuckballs, it’s incandescently hot. I have somewhat shot myself in the foot. I’m now slurping lava-juice all over my lips. Some of it even makes it into my nose. Aye carumba.
From here, I head over to Mont Royal, which is not really a mountain at all, but rather a hill in the city centre, and the source of the city’s name. The views down across the city are great, but the wind up here is noticeably stronger (and therefore colder). It’s pushing 14:00, and I decide a little afternoon rest is in order. I jump on another bus, back towards the Old Town. I’m starting to get my bearings now, so feel more confident that I’m both on the right bus, and heading in the right direction. I’m proved right on both counts, though the bus undergoes something of a detour. There’s a TON of construction going on in Montreal. I don’t know if it’s preparatory to an event or not (as it was in Seattle).
Back at my apartment, I make plans for the remainder of the day. It’s a toss-up between a very cool street food market, or a Montreal Canadiens ice hockey game. I seek counsel from my twin, and he steers me towards the game. I buy a ticket, and open a beer, by way of celebration.
22:15
I head out around 17:00, conscious that I’ve only had my Pho earlier to eat. I head to Reuben’s, a grill house just round the corner from Bell Centre, the home of the Canadiens. They’re famous for (hardly a surprise) their Reuben sandwiches. Perched at the bar, I request a glass of red wine, and demand a Reuben. It is BRILLIANT. The corned beef is ultra moist, wonderfully flavoured. The combination of corned beef with melted cheese, sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing is one of my favourite things, and it’s done brilliantly here.
Satiated, I head round the corner to the arena. It’s a Tuesday night, and yet the Bell Centre is perhaps 95% full. The crowd (MY crowd) is highly partisan. I quickly join in. I’ve never really been grabbed by ice hockey before. Watching it on TV I find challenging, as it’s very easy to lose track of the game, and the puck. Watching it from an arena, it makes much more sense. My seat gives me a great view of the whole ice-rink, and lets me understand many more of the subtleties and nuances of the game. I played (field) hockey to a pretty high standard as a kid, so I can appreciate the complexity of doing many of the same things that I used to, but all whilst skating around an ice rink. There’s certainly a forgivable recklessness to some of the play. I’m struck by the juxtaposition - the game is at once graceful, but brutal; the skills on show deft, but clumsy. These guys are obviously incredibly talented, and massively hard-working, but at the same time, some of the play is bordering on comical.
The game’s pretty even. Both the Canadiens and the New York Islanders (their opponents) are having poor seasons. They seem fairly well matched, but to my eye, the Canadiens have the edge. Their play is sharper, more creative, more incisive. Early in the 2nd period (of 3) they take the lead, with a really well worked goal during a power-play. Late (VERY late) in the second period, the Islanders equalise, also under a power play. The crowd do NOT respond well. The third period is a tight affair, neither team pushing for a win, in case they push too hard, and invite a defeat. Deep, DEEP into overtime, the Canadiens score. I’ve always been a little disparaging about North American Sport’s inability to accept a draw (tie) as a reasonable result. The truth is that the tension of overtime is highly exciting, and just a little bit addictive. NHL games do sometimes end in a draw. Shootouts are reserved for playoff games. In the regular season, if you play 20 minutes of overtime, and there’s no additional score, then the spoils are shared, and everyone goes home moderately happy.
Well - there it is. I’m signed up to a lifetime of supporting the Montreal Canadiens. I’m so unfamiliar with them, that I have to read about their history. It transpires they’re the most successful team in NHL (National Hockey League) history. Worried that I’m going to be accused of glory hunting, I read on. It further transpires that they’ve not won anything since 1992. They’re in the midst of a horrendously long drought. This season’s poor start is nothing surprising. I’m happy with this. I feel like I’m picking an underdog out of the dirt. That’ll do for me.Leggi altro
Day 15 - On y va, au Montreal!
2 dicembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ⛅ -1 °C
11:00
My train is due to leave at 11:32. I set off for the station at 10:30. It’s brisk again this morning. Perhaps not quite so frosty as Saturday and Sunday. There’s a clear sky overhead.
Arriving to Union Station, I can see my train is delayed. It looks to be around 50 minutes. I ask at the ticket desk, and am told it’ll be 1h30m. Eavesdropping on another passenger in the lounge area, she says if they’re admitting 1h30m, then it’ll be more like 3 hours. This is sounding very similar to my experience on The Canadian last week. All v confusing. As long as I don’t miss the boarding announcement, and am safely ensconced in my comfy seat on the train, it’s no great shakes to me. I’ve no plans today, other than travel 400 miles to the North East. If I arrive at 17:00 or 21:00, I’ll still be rested ahead of a full couple of days before heading home on Thursday. The train journey is scheduled to take a shade over 5 1/2 hours. We’ll see…
Sad to say goodbye to Teronno. It’s a great city, with tons to recommend it. I’d like to come back and spend a little longer here, and perhaps in slightly warmer weather. Very excited to be going to Montreal though. I saw an episode of one of Tony Bourdain’s TV shows that starred the city, ooh - about 15 years ago, and have wanted to visit ever since. I’ve been told to expect a very different kind of Canada and Canadian in Quebec, but I’m looking forward to finding out exactly what that means…
16:30
The train’s an hour late leaving in the end, but seems then to stick to the timetable. That hopefully means we’ll arrive into Montreal a little after 18:00, which is a decent result. The train’s comfy, and barely half full. It’s a touch on the slightly warmer than ideal side, but the vestibule between the carriages is properly frosty, so I can always moderate my body temp if I need to…
An hour after departure, a drinks trolley emerges, with a more than passable Chardonnay. Transpires to be the same one that was on my 2 day train ride from Winnipeg. Shouldn’t be surprised, as it’s the same train company. Around half an hour later, lunch is served. The service on the train is kinda similar to a decent airline economy product. The food is uninspiring, but equally not unpleasant. The train attendant brings me another glass of wine, unbidden. That’s awfully nice of them.
Post lunch haze ensues, and I rest my head to have a little doze. I have a terrible track record of upright train snoozing, but amazingly, drift off for a good 40 minutes.
Ooh, hang on. We’re just arriving into Cornwall.
16:40
I’ve enjoyed the place names on this journey. Stations have included Guilwood, Oshawa, Cornwall and Dorval. The passing scenery has been getting snowier as we’ve travelled North. The weather in Montreal is due to be colder than Teronno, but not quite as frosty as Winnipeg. There will allegedly be snow Wednesday and Thursday.
Montreal’s a big city. The city population is 1.8m, and the broader metropolitan area around 4.2m. I booked my hotel in part because it looked near to the city’s Central Station. It transpires it’s a close to 30 minute trot. I may treat myself to a cab…
22:30
The train pulls into Montreal Central Station at 18:15. The station is a bit of a maze, but I eventually emerge onto the street. I decide to walk, to start familiarising myself with the downtown area of the city. There are Christmas lights EVERYWHERE. I’d read that there were a lot of big light displays around Montreal, and had already planned to see some of the more sizeable displays. I’m bowled over by the sheer number though. Every small park or open space is bedecked with light installations. Random little side streets have archways of lights. It’s very pretty.
I’m in another serviced apartment, and it’s a great little space. I’m in the heart of Montreal Old Town, surrounded by cobbled streets, and independent bars and restaurants. Settled, I head out for a wander, and to find some food. I stumble across a cool little pub called the John Michaels, and slide onto a bar stool. It’s been a fairly long, if not necessarily arduous day of travelling, and my beer/burger combo hits the spot. I contentedly read my book for an hour. The bar’s music policy seems rooted in rock music of the 1990s, and that’s a good thing.
After a less than spectacular night’s sleep last night, I’m jaded. Back at my apartment, I catch up on some correspondence, and head to bed in good time.Leggi altro
Day 14. Falls and wine. Not related.
1 dicembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -1 °C
16:45
I’m up with the lark. I’m starting to feel a little coldy, and wake up around 06:00 with a stuffy head. No time for moping though. I’ve a busy day planned…
I’m in the car just after 08:00, and headed all the way around Lake Ontario to Niagara. Once again, the weight of traffic surprises me. For this early on a Sunday, there are WAY more cars on the road than I’d imagined there would be. It’s a 90 minute highway cruise, and I see some spectacularly bad driving. The speed limit is 110kmh, so not dissimilar to UK motorway speeds. There are drivers weaving in and out of traffic, doing at least 140-150 clicks. I see a couple that almost, ALMOST cause accidents. It’s a very far cry from the stereotypical Sunday driving I’m used to back home.
The has got his hat on. For the first time on this trip, I’m actually disappointed to have left my shades back in my apartment. As I get closer to Niagara, there are signs for wineries, breweries and distilleries everywhere. Oooh, there’s a sign for a cheese maker. Arriving into Niagara, I’m hungry, so stop at a cool little restaurant to grab some breakfast. They give me an outstanding Shakshuka, which is one of my very favourite breakfast/brunch type dishes.
Fortified, I walk down to the falls. I chose the restaurant in part for its location, just a 10 min walk from the falls, and so that I could leave my car there whilst I wander. I hear the falls before seeing them - a deep rumble in the distance. I walk through a small park. Emerging from it, I can see the spray billowing up into the air. There are two main parts to the falls - one each on the American and Canadian sides of the border. The US side is a little smaller, and to my view, a little less striking. Next to it is what looks like an unfinished bridge, but which I quickly determine is some kind of viewing tower. The Horseshoe Falls are more impressive. Not far short of 10 times the amount of water flows over the Horseshoe Falls. There are certainly bigger crowds on this side of the falls as well.
There are several ways to get close up to the falls - by boat, or even on foot. There’s a tour option called ‘Behind the Falls’ which takes you right up to the base of the falls. They’ll give you a poncho to wear, but all reviews I read state that you’ll still get sopping wet. Now, in Brazil, in 35C heat, that was fine. No great shakes. Here in Canada in -2C. No. No no no. No way. Not happening. Cold is one thing. Cold and wet is simply not on the list for today. The view from the top of the falls will have to do - and it does. It’s a hugely powerful natural phenomenon, and the sound and sensation of being close to it are incredible.
Now, I’ve seen some waterfalls this year. Is it more striking than Iguazu Falls? No. I think much of that is to do with the setting. Iguazu feels like it’s in the middle of the jungle, largely because it is. Its position in a natural National Park is part of its charm. The Niagara Falls are surrounded by humanity. There’s a two lane road running right next to the Horseshoe Falls. There are countless chain hotels overlooking the falls. The two experiences are simply incomparable. Is my experience here today as emotionally driven as spending time at Snoqualmie Falls earlier on this trip? No. In trying to come up with some kind of attachment to Niagara, the only experience I can think of is seeing it in Superman II when I was a kid. It’s a diverting use of a couple of hours, and definitely s spectacle, but I don’t know for how long it will live in the front of my memory, as both Iguazu and Snoqualmie have managed to do.
Back at the car, I make a plan to visit a couple of wineries. There are countless vineyards on the Niagara peninsula, some of whose wines I’ve tried before. I start at Chateau des Charmes, a 20 minutes drive from the falls. It’s weird driving through the winelands. I’ve never been to a wine region that’s needed me to wear warm clothes. The surrounding scenery is also pretty unfamiliar. I’m used to jagged rock formations, flinty soil, sunshine. The Ontario winelands are actually pretty desolate. Very little geology on the horizon, and the wintry scene feels quite bleak. Ontario is most famous for its ice wine, using grape that are left on the vine, and actually freeze as the winter sets in, causing the sugar in the grape to set, and making incredibly sweet, but incredibly delicious wines. It feels very strange to be pulling on my beanie and gloves, as the harvest for these vineyards is just around the corner.
Chateau des Charmes produce a wide range of wines - a couple of ice wines, but a much bigger stable of still table wines. I have a tasting flight of 5 - three red wines, and the two ice wines. A couple are good, a couple are great, and one is outstanding. The Vidal based ice wine is the standout for me - just an incredible clarity of flavour, and featuring good acidity, despite its sweetness.
From here I head on to Inniskillin, a winemaker whose ice wines I’ve tried at Hide, Ollie Dabbous’ restaurant on Green Park. The sky has largely darkened, and the earlier sunshine has all but disappeared. It’s trying to snow… At Inniskillin, I pick three ice wines to try - a Riesling, a Cabernet Franc (a red grape), and a sparkling ice wine made from more of the Cabernet Franc grapes. Holy shit - they’re fantastic. My favourite is the sparkling Cab Franc. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tried before. I tend to think I’ve covered *most* ground when it comes to wine, so I’m always delighted to try something that takes me by surprise. This does so, and in spades. I ask if they export any of it to the UK, but alas. It’s made in pretty small quantities, all of which are sold in North America. I give myself a sizeable pat on the back for resisting the urge to buy some, and take it home with me.
The snow is getting slightly heavier. It’s pushing 13:00, and I decide it’s time to head back to Teronno. My car needs to be back by 16:00, and I don’t want to feel rushed. The drive back is more of the same. Fairly bland motorway cruising, with some driving dickheads liberally scattered throughout. About halfway back, I look across the lake, and can see the Teronno skyline in the distance. It’s around 20 miles as the crow flies from Niagara-on-the-Lake to Toronto, but driving round the edge of Lake Ontario makes it a 90 mile drive. As we get closer to the city, traffic becomes heavy. Again, I’m astonished at the weight of traffic on the roads. I drop the car back a little before 15:30, and walk back towards my apartment. My plan is to drop my bag off, and head out in search of sustenance. Now I’m back here though, I’m feeling a little sleepy, and might have a nap instead…
20:45
Nap was great, though I could have slept on quite easily. I have the remainders of my room picnic as an early supper, and then head out to Bar Hop for some Happy Hour beers. I’m still feeling pretty jaded though. Just after 20:00, I head back to my apartment, and curl in bed with a movie. Onwards tomorrow, to Montreal!Leggi altro
You're so close yet so far away! Next time plan your travels across I90 through Syracuse! [Sara G]
Day 13 - Teronno.
30 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -3 °C
09:00
I appear to be on a self-sabotage mission this morning. First, I wake during the night, and head to the bathroom, entirely forgetting that I’ve left my suitcase on a stand at the foot of the bed. I stub my toe, emit some expletives, and look around for someone to blame. Later, once awake, I manage to drop my toothbrush on my toe. A different toe. I’ve got one of those big, electric brushes, and it stings. A lot. I emit some expletives, and look around for someone to blame.
The bath/shower, contraption, whilst very impressive to look at, lacks a little in function. The bath is a 5 foot square. It’s massive. A behemoth. Or, if you will, a behembath. A bathemoth? Perhaps a bathembath. Anyways, it’s huge, so I opt for a shower.
It takes fully five minutes for the water to heat up. When it does, I jump in, and make merry. Now, I need to be careful to make you understand the follow description the way it’s actually intended. During a bout of vigorous, er - cleaning of the downstairs area, I manage to catch a slightly sharp nail in the, er - scrotal zone. I didn’t know I had a slightly sharp nail on which to catch the scrotal zone, but I do, and it does. I emit some expletives, and look around for someone to blame.
Finally, as I dry myself after my shower, I conspire to poke myself fairly heavily in the right eye. I emit several more expletives. I’d look around for someone to blame, but I can’t currently see anything out of the bastard thing. Is it too early to have a glass of wine?
15:00
I head out, once the various pains have subsided, on a walking tour around downtown Toronto. To pronounce it correctly (like a Torontonian, as my awesome wife has informed me), it should really be pronounced ‘Teronno.” It’s properly fresh outside. Now, I’ve just come from the frozen wastes of Winnipeg, on the great plains of Canada. As a result. I snort derisively in the direction of this alleged cold weather. Still, it is a *bit* fresh. I’m glad of my beanie and fleece gloves, for sure. I’ve no particular agenda for today. I’m going to wander, and see where the day takes me. There are a couple of places in Teronno I wanna visit, but largely my stay is about experiencing the city. I walk fairly aimlessly for a good couple of hours. I walk past the CN Tower, the huge edifice that is visible from so many parts of the city. It’s over 500m high, and was the tallest free-standing structure in the world until 2007, when it was surpassed in height by the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. It’s a brutalist design, completed in 1975. Visually, it very much reminds me of the Fernsehturm Tower in Berlin. I briefly consider taking a ride to the observation deck, also once the world’s highest at 447m, but decide against. I’m enjoying the view from the ground so much, and want to continue my explore.
I carry on further South, and hit the waterfront. I’m on the shores of Lake Ontario. It’s the smallest of the 5 Great Lakes, but is still the size of Wales. The 5 lakes together are pretty much exactly the same size as the UK as a whole, and contain more than one fifth of the world’s surface fresh water. There’s a VERY chill wind blowing off the lake. It’s -1C today, but the wind chill is taking it down to -8C. There’s a small island off the coast of Toronto, and it’s then about 50km down to the shore of the USA, and Niagara-on-the-Lake, right on the border. There’s a very random giant picnic table in the park by the water’s edge. Internet searches are futile. I can’t find any reason why it’s here. I take pictures from several different angles to try and demonstrate its size, I hope the context is explanatory.
I head to the East, towards St Lawrence Market, walking down a street called The Esplanade, which seems to be Teronno’s version of a Victorian era street in London. There’s even a pub called Scotland Yard halfway down it. St Lawrence Market is a mix of fresh produce stalls and prepared food outlets. There’s a shop selling nothing but rice - maybe 30 different variants. A fab butcher, selling some of the great cuts and breeds of beef from around the world - some sensational looking Wagyu, bistecca Fiorentina, Sirloins from Herefordshire herds, Limousin from France. There are several delis, cheese shops, a couple of great looking bakeries. As I need to be at my apartment for a couple of hours between 20:00 and 22:00 to take delivery of my laundry, I decide that a room picnic is a good shout, and grab some amazing looking produce. Amongst my provisions, is a great loaf of bread. As I’m buying it, I noticed the bakery has Pastel de Natas, baked custard tarts of Portuguese heritage. I order one, because custard. It’s delicious.
I’ve been struck by the number of high-rise buildings in the downtown area of Teronno. They’re literally everywhere. At one point, I feel like I’m surrounded by them on all sides. Many of them appear to be residential, and many, if not most, appear to be pretty new. There are certainly a number that are under construction. I’ve never experienced a skyscraper density quite so high. That said, I’ve not been to China, which I suspect is similar, but even and more. Down by the waterfront, the combination of high rise residential buildings and water somehow reminds me of Miami. I mean - there’s a 35C temperature differential, but otherwise…
I head back towards the West, and pick up my car. I’m heading down to Niagara tomorrow for some falls watching, and some wine tasting. They give me an Audi SUV. It’s not quite the giant that I was driving in Seattle a week or so ago, but it’s not a million miles away. Traffic through downtown is heavy, ridiculously so for a Saturday afternoon - to my mind, anyway. It takes me close to 30 minutes to drive back to a parking garage near my apartment, when it would have taken fewer than 20 on foot.
21:30
Around 15:00, I head out. My laundry’s not due back till 20:00, so I figure I’ll wander for a while, and head back in decent time. I aim for a sports bar near my apartment, and perch on a barstool. A young lady asks for my drinks order. She has an unmistakably English accent. I ask where she’s originally from (after ordering a Guinness, obvs) and she says she’s from Brighton! A little more discussion unearths that she grew up in Seven Dials, about 5 mins away from us in Preston Park. She’s here studying, and this Sports Bar is her Saturday job.
My plans for an extended afternoon session are interrupted by my laundry dude, who wants to drop my laundry earlier than the 20:00 planned time. I stop in for a quick sharpener, then head out, finding a very cool taproom just a few hundred metres down the road. I settle in here instead, enjoying several Happy Hour beers. I read my book, I’m not ashamed to admit that I eavesdrop on some other conversations, and I eventually decide I’m famished.
Back at my apartment, I immerse myself into my room picnic. The bread is spectacular, the pastrami the wafferesst of brilliant theeen meeeents. The cheeses are sensational. The pate is beyond good. I gleefully dive in.
I’ve half a mind to head out again, but honestly - who’s got the energy. I settle down to watch a movie instead. I’ve an early start tomorrow, you know.Leggi altro
ViaggiatoreThis tlog made me laugh, a lot. All the stuff where you went into comedy slapstick mode, obvs.
Day 12 - Early? Late? Or right on time?
30 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -2 °C
09:30
I’m asleep a little after midnight, and sleep till nearly 07:00. Decent enough. It’s still dark out, and I throw some clothes on and head up to the observation car. 30 minutes later, it’s starting to get light, but it’s murky, grey light. The clouds are heavy, and I suspect I’ll see either rain or snow later. It’s still achingly pretty though. The huge swathes of forest have largely given way to plains and lakes. Some of the lakes are completely frozen over, others partially. I bump into Mary-Beth, and we chat for a while. She’s an artist by trade, and gives me the URL for her website to check out some of her work. She’s a very proud Canadian, and has painted many works of the natural beauty of her country.
I brave the shower. It’s actually very well set-up - a sizeable cubicle, with a smaller dedicated shower stall. The water pressure surprises me, as does the quick availability of hot water. When I emerge, and head back to my cabin, a blustery blizzard has started. There are water droplets on my window, which immediately turn to ice. The temperature outside is around -10. Given we’re getting *somewhat* near Toronto, I’m a little concerned that the slightly warmer conditions I’ve been promised in Toronto may not materialise. The snow at the trackside is, if anything, getting deeper - it’s a proper Wintery wonderland…
There’s a feeling on the train that we’re nearly there, that we’re coming towards the end of our journey. Bear in mind, some of these folks are on day 5, having joined the train at its origin in Vancouver. Now, ‘nearly there’ could be a little misleading. We’re still a minimum of 5 hours from Toronto, and I suspect closer to 8. That’d get you from London to Edinburgh and back (on a good day, obvs) in the UK, so there’s a chunk of train time still to go… I don’t have many/any plans when I get into Toronto. I’d been warned to expect mild to moderate delays on the train. I’ll dump my stuff at my hotel, and head out for a wander around the local neighbourhood. There are some awesome sounding bars and restaurants to check out…
12:30
I’m so confused. The online train tracker is suggesting we’re going to arrive into Toronto around 16:30. The folks on the train reckon we’ll arrive on time at 14:30. We’re about 65 miles North of Toronto, and currently moving at 75 mph. Who the fuck knows what time we’re actually gonna get there.
At 10:30, I head to grab some breakfast. There’s no lunch planned on the train service today, as we’re scheduled to arrive at lunchtime, so breakfast is brunch today. i sit with a lovely lady from Vancouver, whose name I don’t quite catch, and a lovely lady from Munich, whose name I don’t quite catch. We chat about travelling, music, psychology. My brunch is a very tasty omelette. I’ve been really impressed by the quality of food service on the train. I had a brief chat with the chefs yesterday to express my thanks. They’re working in a narrow, galley kitchen, the temperature of which is never less than scalding. They’re feeding around 150 covers, three times per day, and two of those meals are three courses. It’s incredible what they manage to produce.
Back in my cabin, I settle in to enjoy the last couple of hours (I think?) of the journey. The snow is gradually dissipating. There are hints of it around, but the temperature is obviously a little higher than we’ve been heading through for the past couple of days…
15:50
And after all that, after nearly two days of train, we arrive…. Early. Only about 15 minutes, but I’m might impressed. Chatting to a couple of my fellow trainers (trainees?), it sounds like there’s some healthy padding in the timetable to allow for delays - so even though we’ve been running 2-3 hours late through much of the journey, an ‘on-time’ arrival was always very much on the cards.
My accommodation for the next 3 nights is a serviced apartment in the entertainment district. What the entertainment in the title is, I’m yet to discover. I arrive a little after 15:00, and delisted check-in not being until 16:00, my room is ready for me. Arriving to the 7th floor, the voice in the lift tells me this is the penthouse. I don’t recall booking a penthouse room. The room’s huge though, and has a cool little lounge area to one side of the bedroom. I’ve a balcony as well, though not much of a view.
I need to do some laundry. I’ve been trying to avoid hotel laundry services, as they’re wicked expensive in North America. $3 for a pair of boxers, $10 for a pair of trousers, and so on. A week’s worth of laundry will run me $50 easy. Conversely, I want to try and avoid a traditional laundromat, as I don’t really wanna spend a couple of hours in a Levi’s ad. I find a service that will come and collect my laundry bag, and drop it back to tomorrow. Pick up / drop off is a 2 hour window this evening, and then again tomorrow evening, but that’s fine. I decide to head out for an early dinner, and a couple of beers.
22:30
I’ve yet to find the entertainment part of the neighbourhood in which I’m staying, There are loads of bars and restaurants - maybe that’s the reference. I find a cool taproom called Bar Hop, a couple of blocks from my apartment. It’s Happy Hour, and they’re serving a 10oz (c. 300ml) pour of a local IPA for $3, around £1.70. This is excellent value, and fill my proverbial boots. I’ve not eaten since a late-ish breakfast, and order a bowl of Asian Nachos - togarashi spiced wonton wrappers instead of tortilla chips, a banging Bulgogi beef in place of chilli, a spicy Korean BBQ sauce, a soothing but pokey Sriracha mayo, and some pickled carrot, cucumber and onion. An incredible plate of food. Best bar type food I think I’ve ever had.
I’m back at the apartment just before 20:00 to wait for my laundry collection. There’s some small confusion when, despite my inherently clear instructions, the collection dude doesn’t realise I’m in an unstaffed, serviced apartment. He eventually emails me to ask me to come and meet him. Fortunately, I see this pretty quickly, so a wholesale error is avoided.
Satisfied with my day’s work, I watch a movie, and spend some time writing.Leggi altro
Day 11 - Train life.
28 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -13 °C
APOLOGIES - ULTRA LONG POST
01:50
23:45 comes and goes. Meh. I’m tired enough to sleep, but I want to experience the train departing. I pour myself another glass of wine. I pass the time reading, writing, and indulging in some beard play. I could do with a beard glow-up, but I’ll wait till i’m home. We FINALLY get underway around 01:30. Why, I’m not sure. I’ll ask Tony in the morning I guess. We crawl, everso very slowly out of the city. I check my GPS speedometer, and we peak at around 30km/h. It’s 2000km to Toronto, and the journey’s gonna take around 40 hours or thereabouts, so it’s hardly gonna be a speed-fest. Aaaaaaaaand - we’ve stopped. We’ve travelled perhaps 8km from downtown Winnipeg. I’m not 100% convinced you could say we’ve actually left the city yet. This should be fun.
02:20
Ok - now I’m determined to see for how long we’re stopped. At around 02:15, a goods train starts heading past us. Here in the city, there are two tracks running parallel. Further down the the track, there’s a single set of tracks. We’re clearly pulled over to let this train past. At 02:20, it’s still going past us. I Google the length of goods trains in Canada. Apparently, they can be up to 4km long, and that’s just crazy.
02:23
Still going.
02:24
Wow. It takes a full 9 minutes to pass us. I assume this means we’ll soon be underway again, and am determined to wait up to see it happen. This could be a long night.
02:55
Nope. Not moving yet. Half expected another goods train to trundle past. I’m determined not to sleep until we’re out of Winnipeg.
03:20
Aaaaaaaaand, we’re off! Let’s see how far we make it this time…
09:00
I sleep for about 3 1/2 hours. We stop at a few stations along the way. I’d worried these stops would wake me, but nope - out for the count. I only wake because I’m busting for a pee. Now - there’s a shared bathroom in the carriage. I put my shoes on, and briefly look for it. I can’t find it. At least - not easily. It’s fully dark out, and the carriage is poorly lit while people sleep. I have a toilet in my cabin, but to get to it, I need to put the Murphy bed away. By the time I’ve done that, I’m fairly awake, so decide to get up, and crack on with the day.
The light’s starting to creep over the horizon, and I can see we’re in the middle of a huge forest. It’s beautiful. No - it’s several steps up from beautiful. It’s desolate, sure - but bleak in the coolest kind of way. The cell coverage is very patchy. Hardly surprising, given we’re basically in the middle of a frozen expanse. When I do get a signal briefly, I can see that we’ve made good progress overnight. We left Winnipeg around 2 hours late, and then spent a further 90 minutes sat on the outskirts of the city before really getting underway. We’ve made up *some* of that time, and are currently running about 2 1/2 hours behind schedule. The train manager seems confident we’ll make up additional time on our way to Toronto.
I head towards the dining car for some coffee. Despite not eating much yesterday, I’m not particularly hungry, but I do want some caffeine. I take my cup to the observation car, and spend a brilliant half hour gazing out through the dome. It’s properly chilly up here, something about which I’m not at all disappointed. The train generally is kept warm. I have a fan in my cabin that helps moderate the temperature, but the chilliness of the observation car is welcome. There’s another observation car right at the end of the train, that I’ll check out later this morning, or this afternoon. I’ve got plenty of time…
Canada is properly bilingual, a result of its somewhat chequered colonial past. Prior to confederation in 1867, the colonies in Canada were split between the British and French empires. Putting aside their differences, the French and British colonies joined forces, politically and at times militarily to break free from the rule of their respective colonial masters. Quebec was a French colony, and remains largely Francophone to this day. Ontario, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia were Anglophone, and largely remain so today. As a result, every single sign in public is printed in both French and English. It was particularly noticeable in the Human Rights Museum yesterday, where even relatively simple exhibits seemed to take up much more space than felt entirely necessary. I’m not sure everyone in the country is necessarily bilingual. I’ve come across a bunch of folks working in service industries whose first language appears to be English, and while they speak French to a very high standard, it’s heavily accented. Likewise, my check-in dude at Winnipeg station last night, spoke English brilliantly, but with a heavy, French accent.
Oooh, we’re coming to a stop. Leg stretching opportunity. Well, more that there’s a blizzard outside, and I suspect the very freshest of fresh air…
15:40
Sioux Lookout was a tiny little town pretty much smack bang i the middle of nowhere. Few small stores, what looks like a tavern, and a tiny railway station. I step off the train for 5 minutes. The cold is a brutal. There’s a little cell coverage in the town, and i check the weather. Reckon’s it’s -10, and -18 with the wind chill. Brrrr…
We’re back to running around 4 hours behind schedule. Everyone seems very ok with this. The train manager also advises us that in crossing into Ontario, we’ve moved onto Eastern Time - an hour forward of Winnipeg, which suddenly makes it 11:00. My psychosomatic response to this is to feel hungry. Happily, the first lunch sitting is called at 11:30, and I make my way to the dining car. I’m seated with 3 other solo passengers. Mary-Beth is a kindly lady, I’d guess somewhere in her mid-70s, but would obviously never tell her that. David is kindly man, I’d guess somewhere around 70, but would obviously never tell him that. Ed is a kindly man, who is 67, because he told me. We do the usual who are you / where are you from stuff. The conversation is a little stilted at first, as you might expect from 4 strangers. Quickly enough though, we find our rhythm.
They’re all native Torontans (NB - I don’t know if this is the correct collective for the people of Toronto, but don’t have an internet connection to check. If I remember, I’ll come back and check it before I post this blog…) so I pick their brains on stuff to do and see while I’m in town. They tell me about the Summer wildfires that are increasingly common in these forests, and which earlier this year devastated Jasper, a major city in the Rockies. They advise me about the best way to visit Niagara from Toronto, and even recommend some wineries to visit in the region. And they tell me not to worry about the delay. It is what it is, and no amount of worrying is going to make the train move any faster. I’ve been doing some mental arithmetic while we’ve been eating. Given most of the 1 hour trains I’ve taken from Brighton to London have typically been delayed by between 15 and 20 minutes, a 4 hour delay on a 40 hour train ride isn’t entirely unreasonable.
Lunch is pleasant. A bowl of chicken and wild rice soup, and a tuna-melt open sandwich. I decline a glass of wine with my lunch. I’d love to tell you that it’s an early lunch, that the clock has just gone forward an hour and so my body clock thinks it’s 11:00 in the morning, but I think you can all see through my bullshit. The truth is that my three dining companions all say no to a drink, and I’m worried they’ll think I’m a stereotypical Brit booze hound if I dive in with gusto.* I also decline dessert, and head back to my berth. My lack of sleep is catching up with me, and I’m gonna have me one hell of a nap.
I wake at 15:30, having slept for close to 2 hours. BOOYA. We’re stopped, and I don’t know how long we’ve been stationary. Momentarily, another goods train starts to pass us. I don’t know if this one is shorter than last night’s or perhaps moving at higher speed. Either way, it’s a 6.5 minute train, compared to last night’s 9.
Writing this though, it’s pushing towards 16:00, and that means I can head to the bar car, and treat myself to a beer.
19:10
The bar is in the very last car of the train, and is combined with a plush seating area, and an observation dome. I fancy a glass of wine, and am offered a choice of 4 reds, 4 whites and a rosé. Amongst the whites, there are two Chardonnays. I opt for the richer and oakier of the two, and it’s delicious. In the lounge area, there’s a guy playing his guitar and singing folksy/blues type stuff. He’s really good. I’m unsure at first whether he’s a passenger just entertaining some of his fellow travellers, or laid on by the train company. It transpires to be the latter. I spend a joyful half hour with my wine and some great music, all while the frozen forest continues to sweep past at some pace. There’s another show later in the ‘activity’ car at 20:00, which I’ll try and make it to as well. I grab another glass of wine, and read my book for an hour. I overhear a nearby couple talking about a recent trip to Europe, and describing how brilliant they found the trains in France and Italy. They loved the speed of the services - which in both countries run as fast as 200mph. On this journey, I think our top speed is gonna be around 60mph, and we’ll average around 30. I’ve got tons of experience travelling on these super fast European trains, and even on their somewhat less than super fast British equivalents. In a parallel universe, this same couple are overhearing me talking about how much I love the slower form of travel, the collegiate atmosphere on board, and the coolness of the compartments for each passenger. Maybe it’s a grass/greener type situation, or maybe they’re just more that way minded, and me more this.
I’m at the 1st dinner sitting. I’m seated with Ed, from lunch, and with a very friendly couple from the Philippines. Their English is vastly superior to my Tagalog, but I do struggle to understand them at times. The dining car is pretty noisy, and the train is making quite a racket as we’re moving quickly. I do my best, but I’m conscious on a couple of occasions I’m smiling and nodding, and just hoping I haven’t been asked a question. Ed and I talk skiing. He’s in his mid to late 60s, but still tries to ski 4-5 weeks per year. Like me, his knees don’t always thank him for it, but he’s keen not to give up his favourite winter sport.
Dinner is pretty good - a tasty tomato soup to start, and a well cooked and seasoned pork loin dish to follow. Once I again decline dessert, but am less parsimonious when it comes to the wine list. I have a really good glass of Pinot Noir, made somewhere on the Niagara peninsula. I’ve noted the name, should I pass near them on Sunday, when I head to the falls.
Throughout the day, I’ve just had this vague sense of being in the Agatha Christie novel, Murder on the Orient Express. I think it’s partly the opulence of the train, the dining car and so forth. It doesn’t hurt that we’re hurtling through this snowy landscape, so similar to the critical setting of the book. There’s even a slightly elderly, French speaking gentleman, with a broad, white moustache. I can’t tell if he’s Belgian, and I’m not going to ask - as I want to maintain the illusion. Zut alors!
Well fed, I repair to my berth. I have a fantastic bottle of Bobal that I picked up Winnipeg yesterday, and it’s calling to me…
23:00
I head to the activity car a little before 20:00, and grab a seat. I have a big beaker of wine with me. I tend to travel with a metal cup (with a sippy lid, obvs), and I’ve brought my own wine to listen to Loucanus’ (honestly, that’s his name) set. His setlist is completely different to the afternoon gig. There are more folks here for this evening’s gig as well, and some of them are quite lubricated. It becomes fairly robust. There’s talk of a pub quiz in the other observation car. I briefly consider joining in, but there’s also a 15 minute stop coming up, and I find that idea more attractive.
It’s (surprise, surprise) properly cold outside, and the snow is much deeper here - maybe 40-50cm? We’re bang in the middle of Ontario, which means we remain slap bang in the middle of nowhere.
I’ve been enjoying having very little mobile coverage on this journey. Don’t get me wrong, there are downsides as well. I wanted to download some TV episodes earlier. I tried at one of the rest-stops where I had a half decent 4G signal, but nothing doing. It’s no great shakes though. I’ve got plenty to watch, loads to read, and many with whom to chat. I’m conscious that the way I most frequently use the internet (and therefore, how I’m missing it most) is knowledge. It’s no great secret that my brain can be a little, I dunno - what’s the word, chaotic. As soon as i think of something, I want to know more about it, and i tend to turn to the web to fill any knowledge gaps. Sometimes it’s big stuff - how a country’s democracy works, the birth of jurisprudence, and many, many different aspects of history. Often though, it’s ephemera - why is an orange called an orange, but a lime isn’t called a green? If Ontario was a country, which other countries would it be bigger than (most of them). What are natives of Toronto called? I think I crave this knowledge more than I realise, and I’m aware that I do it to my own and Vick’s distraction at times. If we’re watching a TV show, and something jumps into my brain, I have to run after it, even if we’re still watching the TV show. Having even 24 hours without this kind of distraction has been a fun place to be.Leggi altro
Day 10 - Dude, where's my train?
27 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -10 °C
15:00
I sleep well. I’m awake by 07:00, but feel well rested. The river outside my window is now entirely iced over. It’s amazing how quickly this transformation has happened. I’ve apparently arrived into Winnipeg during the first properly cold snap of the Winter, and it’ll only get colder from here. The weekend is promising wind chill temperatures as low as -25C.
I’m trying to manage my day effectively. My train doesn’t leave until 23:30, and isn’t due to arrive into Winnipeg until 22:00, where it’ll get cleaned, refill with fuel etc etc. I check-out at 11:00, but leave my bags at the hotel. I head back to the Clementine Café, as my breakfast there yesterday was stellar. I order the bacon Benedict, which sounds standard, but is anything but. The bacon is a braised bacon chop. Astonishing. Luscious, smoky, tender. The Hollandaise - mighty fucksticks, the Hollandaise. It’s been made with brown butter, so has a deep, nutty flavour. It’s then been passed through a siphon so that it’s light and foamy, but still retains it’s punchy flavour and rich opulence. It’s the best Benedict I’ve ever had.
From here, I head down to the train station. I’ve discovered I can track my train on its way to Winnipeg. It left Vancouver like, a week ago (well, 2 days), so has been en route for some time. It’s currently running about 3 hours behind schedule. Shitters. At the station, a helpful chap assures me that there’s a comfortable lounge in which I can wait, as long as I need to wait. Helpful, this certainly is, but if the train’s not going to leave until 03:00, the remnants of my jet-lag are going to make staying awake incredibly challenging. I’ll see how my tiredness goes through the rest of the day, and make a plan B if necessary.
The station is next door to the Forks park, and the Museum of Human Rights. I walk through the park a while, and visit the Esplanade Riel footbridge, a striking edifice to Louis Riel, the founder of the province of Manitoba, in which Winnipeg is located.
The Museum of Human Rights is amazing, in several different ways. The building itself is straight into my top few pieces of architecture. It’s just beautiful, from any and every angle. The museum content is challenging, documenting the birth of various human rights movements around the world, and detailing some of the most egregious incidents of human rights violations throughout history. There’s a whole floor (of 7) dedicated to the holocaust. Another covers women’s rights and suffragette movements. A further floor describes the horrifying human rights violations meted out to the First Nations people of Canada during imperial colonisation. It’s a sobering experience, and a deeply moving one. There’s a small theatre showing a film about the holocaust, and I find myself welling up at the insane evil of which humanity is capable.
Fuck, I need a beer.
17:30
I write this from my new hotel room. The train is not making up any time, and it’s apparently highly unlikely it’ll arrive before 02:00. I’ve booked the room for the night, even if I end up leaving around 01:00. Word of advice - don’t necessarily Google “LOCATION - hotel rooms by the hour” and expect anything more than knocking shops. My hotel’s reasonably priced, and given I’ve underspent the past few days, can accommodate it into my budget easily enough.
After the emotional experience of the Human Rights Museum, I head to the Forks food market, and grab a beer. Ooh, and a hotdog. It’s not a patch on what I *should* have had at the Wienery, but it’ll have to do.
Having picked up my bags at Mere, I use my first and hopefully only Uber of the trip. It’s a 20 minute walk in the snow that is starting to fall, and there are no quick and easy bus options.
Time for a nap, I reckon…
23:45
Well, there’s been something of a cock-up. I don’t think it’s me, for what it’s worth. I lay down for a nap, but actually struggle to doze off - I suspect because I'm at least subconsciously a little anxious about my train departure time. I keep pushing my wake up alarm back and back until it’s set for around 21:30. I figure that’ll still give me plenty of time to get to the station, even if the train makes up a little time on its way to Winnipeg. With a fair wind, I may be able to go back to sleep, and wake nearer departure time. Waking up at 21:00, I’m a little stunned to see that the train is now due to arrive at 22:45, only 45 minutes late. I’m apparently supposed to be at the train station an hour before departure, but don’t know how long the train will hold at Winnipeg. Cursing the slightly shitty information Via Rail have given me, I quickly pack up, and head to the train station. In the 5 minutes it takes me to walk to the station, the train has apparently accelerated, and is now only going to be 15 minutes late getting into Winnipeg. FFS etc.
Check in is easy enough, and my bag dropped quickly. I stop to chat to the check-in dude. He asks where I’m from, and I explain in the typical way that I do when I’m travelling. It’s kind of a pyramid of detail - first, I’m from the UK. Second, I’m from a town South of London. Thirdly, I’m from Brighton. Only once has anyone even asked for a fourth level of specificity - and that’s today. As soon as I mention Brighton, check-in dude says he loves Brighton! He asks which neighbourhood I live in, and I tell him. It transpires he lived there for 4 years when he was working as a flight attendant in the early 2000s. We chat for a while about the city, how much he loved living there etc etc.
A board has appeared (hand-written whiteboard) which details that the train will arrive at 22:15, but depart at 23:45. Clearly, the 90 minute stop at Winnipeg is set in stone. As I suspected earlier, this is for some cleaning, and some refuelling, as well as some restocking of essentials like beer, wine, and perhaps some food. Boarding is at 23:15.
When boarding, I’m met (by name) by my carriage attendant, Tony. He explains my room to me - not that it needed much by way of explaining. To be fair, I have a murphy bed, and the locking mechanism perhaps justifies some guidance. I settle in quickly. I’ve brought a couple of bottles of red wine for the journey - unclear whether I’ll need them or not. I pour myself a glass to celebrate my train departure, and sit back to wait...Leggi altro
Day 9 - More clothes, please.
26 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -8 °C
11:30
I wake up at 03:00, slightly confused. I’m fully clothed, my laptop and tablet are both next to me. It takes me a moment to remember that I decided to make myself comfortable last night, and watch some TV on my bed. Predictably, I fell asleep - but I’m not sure when. I go back to sleep, and manage to stay snoozing till around 05:30. When my Garmin syncs at 08:00, I can see that I fell asleep at 21:47 (approximately). A decent result.
Looking out of my window, I can see that there’s a LOT more ice on the river this morning. I mooch for a couple of hours, then head out for some breakfast. Today’s gonna be even colder than yesterday, but allegedly dry. I dress what I hope is appropriately. Walking out of my hotel is a bit of a shock to the senses. I cover up as much of me as possible, and march into the wind. Breakfast is at the Clementine Café - a little place a few blocks from my hotel. I walk inside, and my glasses steam up instantly. It’s about a 35C temperature differential. Coffee warms my belly. I order a smoked trout dish which is sensational. Proper high-end cookery, but a relative snip at about £10. As I’d hoped, I’m finding Canada much more reasonable in terms of price than the US. Beers are coming in at around £6 instead of £9. Eating out is almost 40% cheaper on average. At this rate, I might be able to treat myself to a posh nosh at one of Montreal’s many top temples of gastronomy.
I jump on a bus out to Assiniboine Park, to the West of the city centre. The bus network in Winnipeg is extensive, fast and cheap. I guess there’s a concern about leaving people standing around in the uber-cold for too long… Arriving at the park, I set off. The park is all but empty. I can see a handful of dog walkers, but that’s about it. I’m reminded again of a wintry tundra. Amazingly, there’s a kitchen garden in the centre of the park. There’s not a ton of stuff growing outside it at the moment, but apparently, in Summer, it’s something to behold. There are signs suggesting that in warmer times, there is cricket played here, which makes me chuckle. I slip on black ice more than a few times, but manage to keep my balance on each occasion. Towards the North side of the park, I cross a bridge over a river, which is largely frozen over. It’s the coldest thing I think I’ve ever seen. There are a couple of small patches of running water, and it makes me shiver just to think about dipping a toe in them.
13:00
Back in the city centre, I decide it’s time for a beer. I stop in at a very cool little place called Amsterdam. They have an extensive cocktail menu, and I make half a plan to head back here later to sample a couple. For now though, a Guinness is what I need. It slips down a treat. I walk back to my hotel - maybe 15 minutes. I’ve walked a lot this morning, around 14,000 steps. I’m definitely going to have a rest, I’m going to review my clothing options for the rest of the day, and I might even squeeze in a nap…
22:20
I have a deluxe nap for about 90 minutes, and then get to speak to my amazing wife. We’ve been trying to chat for the last few days. When I’m West of her, we seem to struggle more. It’s awesome to hear her voice, as always. I catch up on her weekend, the boys, kind of everything that’s going on back home.
I’m unsure what to do for dinner. I’m of the mind that around 10-15 minutes is the max comfortable time to spend outside at a time. As a result, I decide to do a restaurant crawl - think pub crawl, but foodier. I start at Blufish, a Japanese restaurant not far from my hotel. I have a Sashimi plate, which is excellent. The salmon and tuna are both great, but the pickerel (a local fish, related to pike) is sensational. From here, I head down to Yellow Dog Tavern, where I combine very good hazy pale ale with some properly banging Scotch eggs. From here, I set out towards Tipsy Cow, who allegedly make the best burgers in the city. Sadly, I find them closed, despite their own website’s claim to the contrary. I march back towards my hotel, and stop at The Pumphouse. I have another of those very moreish sour cherry ciders, and accompany it with a bowl of Poutine. Think chips with gravy, but on steroids. Banging.
I briefly consider another cider, but it’s gone 22:00. I know, I know - but on this trip, that counts as a late night.Leggi altro
Day 8 - O Canada! Our home & native land
25 novembre 2024, Canada ⋅ ☁️ -7 °C
08:45
My alarm wakes me for the first time on this trip. Solid. It’s early though. I peek past the curtain, and it’s still fully dark. Looks cold as well, though I’m not sure why. I get packed up quickly, and checked out. I just miss a tram at Nicollet Mall, which is frustrating, as at this time of morning, they’re only due every 15 minutes. There’s a brisk breeze, and my prediction of cold is correct. This is all good practice for arrival into Winnipeg, which is several shades frostier than Minneapolis at the moment. I’m sad to leave Minnesota. I’ve never not enjoyed my visits here, but this time has been particularly enjoyable as I haven’t had to weave in some work amongst my fun-having. I’m ultra excited to visit Canada though. It’s been high on my must-visit list for years, but until more recently, I’m not sure it’s somewhere Vicki would have signed up for. I’m just dipping a quick toe by way of a forward party, and i suspect the pair of us will be back in the not too distant future.
Minneapolis airport HAS changed a lot. It’s significantly less efficient than it used to be. The TSA queue and security checks take nearly half an hour, where it used to be a 5 minute breeze. I pop into an airport restaurant for a decent but overpriced breakfast. I will NOT miss US prices. I *think* I’m going to find Canada a lot more reasonably priced, based on what research I’ve done. Certainly hope so…
15:30
The flight’s an up and down. As soon as we reach cruising height, we start our descent. That’s fine with me. It’s been a largely forgettable flight. Arriving into Canada, I’m stunned but not surprised by the friendliness of the border staff. Asked what the purpose of my visit is, I declare tourism. The border guard asks where I’m going on my trip. In the US, that’s normally a chance for the TSA folks to catch you out, to give you a hard time. Arriving into Canada, I feel like the guards are actually interested in where I’m going. One actually offers a recommendation in downtown Winnipeg.
My bag arrives on the carousel moments after I arrive there. I make for the front of the terminal, aaaaaaand. FUCKING HELL - THAT’S COLD. It’s not a surprise, obviously, and yet the sheer force of the cold takes my breath away, literally and figuratively. The bus stop is only 20m from the front of the terminal, but it feels a lot further. It’s snowing pretty heavily, but the word that rings around my head is tundra. The wind whips the snow across the road in front of the bus. I board, dump my bag, and attempt to use my card to pay for the fare. After two failed attempts, the driver wishes me a happy birthday, and tells me to sit down. The 30 minute drive into the city centre is fascinating, and lets me see a number of different sides of the city.
I jump out on what seems to be the closest to a ‘high street’ that you get around here. It’s only 200m to my hotel, but by the time I arrive, I’m beyond windswept. Check-in isn’t until 15:00, but they have a room available for me straight away.
My room is amazing! Huge, with a big, sheet-glass window overlooking the river. The snow is intensifying. My plan this afternoon had been to wander around some of the waterfront neighbourhoods, but I’m growing less convinced this is a brilliant idea. I’m trending towards something of a bar crawl around some of the downtown neighbourhoods. I put the question to my Facebook people, and the result is a resounding BAR.
I set out to the South, walking alongside the river. I gradually pull my neck warmer further and further up around my mouth. The wind is biting cold. I pull the hood of my coat up as well. This is more by way of a wind break, as the shocking cold of the wind is nipping at my cheeks. I nearly come a cropper a couple of times, largely because I can’t entirely see where I’m going, and the snow on the ground is hiding steps up and down from me. I visit a skate park, that in weather like this, just looks weird. I walk past the Human Rights Museum, which I’ll visit properly in the next couple of days. The building itself is striking to look at. I stop in at Forks Market, where there’s a wonderful craft beer taproom. Smugly, I order a first and a second beer.
From here, I head back towards the city centre, and stumble (literally) across another taproom called Devil May Care. They have a few very tasty sounding beers, so I settle down to try them.
21:30
As it darkens, it cools further. From DMC back to my hotel is a 25 minute walk, so I decide to break up the journey with a further pitstop - a pub called The Local. The bar staff are incredibly welcoming, and I end up spending far more time chatting to them than reading my book. There’s a Happy Hour until 17:00, but a kind kid (he’s 24…) called Jacob rings me up a couple of beers at the HH price to have after 17:00. It’s just that kinda place. I chat to Michelle about her forthcoming family vacation to Cambodia and Vietnam. I somehow get embroiled in a ‘who’s your favourite band’ discussion, and am pleasantly surprised by the answers of this group, who’s average age is in the low 20’s. It’s great place to pass the time. It’s not super busy, but there’s a hum of happy conversation throughout. I have to remind myself it’s a Monday night.
Around 19:00, I decide it’s time to head onwards. I’m hungry, and whilst the burgers I’ve seen served at The Local look great, I fancy something with some spice. There’s a pub/bar opposite my hotel. The 10 minute walk is bitterly cold. I’m wearing the bottoms of my thermal underwear today, but think I’m gonna break out the top half tomorrow as well. Arriving into The Pumphouse, the temperature difference is stark. They have a sour cherry cider on draft. Sounds fun. I order some birria beef tacos, which are great. I greedily slurp the leftover birria sauce straight from the bowl. I watch the first half of a Winnipeg Jets ice hockey game. I’ve never quite fallen in love with ice hockey. I’ve been to a couple of games in the UK, but never an NHL game in North America. In Canada, there’s an almost religious zeal to the following of hockey. I think there’s a home Montreal game while I’m there, so I may finally pop my cherry. Speaking of - I reach the end of my sour cherry cider, and am oh so tempted to order another. It’s been a LONG day though. I err on the side of sensible, and head back to my room to chill. Well, warm actually.Leggi altro
Day 7 - VIKES WIN, VIKES WIN, VIKES WIN!
24 novembre 2024, Stati Uniti ⋅ ☁️ 4 °C
12:00
Asleep not that long after 21:00 means awake by 06:00. I’ve slept well, aided by a wonderful Zopiclone. I mooch around the hotel for a couple of hours, then head out for a wander. My main focus today is to watch the Minnesota Vikings game in a Minneapolis sports bar. I want to be amongst my people, cheering the highs, commiserating the lows.
The game doesn’t start till 12:00, and I’m peckish. There’s an AMAZING hot dog place in Minneapolis, called The Wienery. Very good quality frankfurters, excellent choices of toppings. My personal fave is a Warsaw - dog, topped with German mustard, and sauerkraut cooked with a little sour cream. I’m starting to drool just thinking about it… The Wienery is a good couple of miles outside of the downtown area, and I decide to walk it - partly to pass the time, and partly to build up an appetite that will be deserving of my hot-dog. They open at 11:00, and I’ve even managed to time my walk so that I’ll arrive just a few minutes after opening time.
My excitement reaches fever pitch levels, until I arrive at the restaurant location, to find it closed. Not ‘still closed, but opening soon’ but closed, and not opening any time today. Turns out they’re refitting the restaurant, but failed to mention it on their website, or any of their socials. Merde.
Dejected, I jump on a train over to the Warehouse district, where I’ve found a couple of sports bars to check out for the game. I pitch up at Runyon’s, apparently famous for their chicken wings. They have 7 TV screens tuned to the Vikings game. I think I could flourish here…
17:00
VIKES WIN, VIKES WIN, VIKES WIN!
Within 5 minutes of arriving at Runyon’s, some local Vikings fans are buying me a beer. I think I’m something of a novelty value for them. Suspect there’s not too many Brit followers of NFL that pitch up in their local bar to watch a game. The crowd in the bar is highly partisan. There are perhaps a couple of folks that are not that fussed about the game, but anybody watching it is here for the Vikings. Every successful play attracts whoops and hollers. Every unsuccessful play garners sighs and shouting. I’m delighted. The Vikings are having an unexpectedly successful season. They’re 8-2 (won 8, lost 2) when most pundits expected them to win 5-6 games all season. The Chicago Bears are having a fairly sub-standard season. 4-6 going in to today’s game. The Vikings *should* win, but the NFL is an incredibly competitive league, where pretty much any team can beat pretty much any team week to week.
Midway through the second half, the Vikings are looking fairly comfortable. I order some chicken wings. They are, I think, the best wings I’ve ever had. Crispy, juicy, hot without being stupidly spicy. Banging. The Bears mount something of a comeback. Going in to the last minute of play, they’re only 3 points down, and score a field goal (3 points) with the last play of the game. Now, the Americans don’t do draws/ties, so there’s a period of overtime. The tension mounts. A generous (and I think somewhat pissed) young man at one end of the bar buys a round of shots. For everyone. Good lad. Chicago fail to score on their possession, and the Vikings score a field goal on theirs. VIKES WIN! The bar erupts.
Conscious that I need to be on my game tomorrow for an early flight, and that I could VERY easily stay in this bar for the rest of the day, I head back to my hotel. It feels a lot later than 16:00. I’m unsure whether a short nap is in my future, or whether I’ll just chill and relax for a while. I’m conscious that I’ve been on the go all week, and some down time wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…
21:30
I have my first afternoon nap in some time, and wake feeling if not quite refreshed, then at least rejuvenated. Dinner is a a room picnic with my leftover supplies, and a couple of glasses of wine. I watch a couple of late NFL kick-offs, but nothing can top the excitement of watching my Vikings win earlier in the day. I get myself a bit organised for the morning, and set my alarm for 06:00. It’s not all laying about fecklessly, you know…Leggi altro
Day 6 - GOOOOOO GOPHERS!
23 novembre 2024, Stati Uniti ⋅ ☁️ 2 °C
11:00
I’m up and out by 08:00, having slept pretty well, and woken by 06:00. If my body clock doesn’t adjust any more than this, I’m ok with it.
It’s a frosty morning. Conscious that I’m going to be sitting outside for much of the afternoon on an elevated bleacher, I wear my thermal underwear, and also don my warmest of tops. They do the job. The only part of me that is remotely cold is the part my face between the bottom of my hat, and the top of my neck warmer. I can live with that. This is good practice for Winnipeg, where the temperature on Tuesday will be -20, with a wind chill factor of -8.
I head out on a walking tour of downtown Minneapolis, walking mainly via old hangouts of mine, I’m delighted to find many of them still open, but there have been changes as well. The Grand Kimpton where I invariably stayed when i was in town has become the Hyatt Centric. Dan Kelly’s, which was the closest bar to the office, is still going - but appears to have become a pizzeria. The Local, an Irish pub in which I’ve watched many a Premier League game over the years is still in business. First Avenue, a grungey (décor, if not necessarily sounding) gig venue where I saw Future Islands. Manny’s, a proper old-school steakhouse. My long walk takes me down to Loring Park, and back up Nicollet Mall, where I stop in at Brit’s Pub (their apostrophe, not mine). They show all of the 3pm Premier League fixtures live, so I settle down to watch the second half of Bournemouth vs Brighton. Brighton play well, until Baleba gets sent off in the 59th minute. Brighton concede late on to make it 2-1, and just about hold out for a draw, despite Bournemouth hitting the crossbar in the final seconds of the game. Quite the dramatic end to the game… My pint of Guinness helps me through it.
I’m meeting Jolene at 12:30. We worked together for 10+ years at SHL, and I’ve always really enjoyed her company. We have a similar sense of humour, and a similar way of doing things (i.e. the right way, obvs). Very much colleagues-in-arms, in the trenches. She’s still at SHL, and I suspect will be for the foreseeable - much as I could have comfortably stayed there for many years, had it not driven me to actual insanity. She’s still there, fighting the good fight. I head back to my hotel to freshen up, and make some decisions about how cold I’ma actually going to feel.
21:00
What an afternoon! Gutted as I was to miss out on watching a home Vikings game at their new stadium tomorrow, I’m excited to be going to my first College football game today. The Minnesota Golden Gophers play just over the river in Minneapolis, and Jolene has grabbed us a couple of tickets. Kick-off is 14:30, but we head to the area around the stadium ahead of the game to hit up a couple of bars. The first, Sally’s, is rammed. There’s a long line to get in, which we briefly join, before deciding to cut our losses when it barely moves. Next up is Stubb and Herb’s, also rammed. Inside, we decide to crack open the beers that Jolene has packed for our day out. Something called a Spotted Cow for me, which is a fairly generic lager made over in Wisconsin. Inside the bar, it’s cooking - figuratively and literally. I’m wearing most of my warmest clothes, and rapidly boiling. There’s not really enough room to disrobe to any extent, so we grin and bear. Sadly, we get busted drinking our non bar drinks. We don’t actually get turfed out though. I suspect the bar staff are pretty overwhelmed with the number of people in the bar, so they don’t really care THAT much. There’s an open-air bar area nearer the stadium so we head over there, and have much more success.
Kick-offs at 14:30, and we’re in our seats by 14:15. The warm-up show is staggering in its size and scale. There’s a marching band that must number 120 people, all students of Minnesota University. They’re really good! And somehow capable of playing their instruments at the same time as marching into various shapes and words - an ‘M’ for Minnesota, the word ‘Gophers’ across the pitch.
I think what surprises me the most is the comparison to my own experience playing 1st team sport at UCL. I think the most people we ever had at one of my hockey games was 7, 2 of whom were my parents. That was for the pinnacle of the season, the final of the London Cup, so for us a HUGE deal. Today’s Gophers’ game is less critical. It’s late in the season, and the Gophers JUST have a winning record. Not a disaster of a season, but not one for the record books. Penn State (Pennsylvania) are a top ranked team, but there’s no particular rivalry between the two teams. Despite that, there are around 40,000 fans in the stadium. The split is perhaps 3 to 1 in favour of NON students. There’s huge community support for these student teams. The very biggest capacity stadium in the US, for ANY team is for the Michigan Wolverines college football team, at a simply mind-blowing 107,600 - and yeah, they’re looking to expand it.
The game is great fun to watch. College football is a little more… thrilling than the NFL. Less risk averse, more trick plays, and typically higher scoring. Minnesota race out to a 10 point lead, but Penn claw them back. At half-time, it’s 19-16 to Minnesota. The second half continues to be a tight affair. Minnesota’s running game is working well, but they’re struggling a little through the air. Their defence is doing great things though. Penn’s quality ultimately wins through. It’s 26-25 to Penn as the clock runs down, and they manage the clock brilliantly to grind out a tough, tough win.
My tradition with teams overseas is that I support the first home team who’s game I go to. I don’t have a strong affiliation with a particular city, As a result, my team support is a little all over the place. Baseball = Boston Red Sox, after a great fun double header against the Yankees that I watched at Fenway Park. Basketball = the Chicago Bulls. NFL = the Minnesota Vikings, and now college Football = Minnesota Gophers. Jolene tells me I’m letting myself in for a lifetime of disappointment. I’ll add it to the list.
Hanging out with Jolene is great fun. We catch up, we reminisce. She’s one of very few friends that I’ve actually kept from the 15 years I spent at SHL. She’s very easy to spend time with, and I’m sad when we say goodbye. Given I’m now a lifelong fan of TWO Minneapolis based sports teams, I’ll obviously be back more quickly this time.
I head back to my hotel. I’ve got some room picnic stuff in the fridge, and struggle to motivate myself to head out again. I settle down with a movie, and by 21:00, am feeling snoozy…Leggi altro
Day 5 - Oooooooooh yah.
22 novembre 2024, Stati Uniti ⋅ ☁️ 1 °C
09:30
I’m pissed off to be awake at 04:00. Was more than a little hoping that by now my clock would have adjusted better than this. Hopefully the 2 hours time difference to Minnesota will help me out a bit for the next few days. I’m sad to be leaving Seattle. It’s a great town, despite what Rowan might say. It’s expensive, mind - but a great place in which to hang out. I’ll be back for sure, and I think Vicks would like it as a city as well.
I’m packed and on my way to the airport ahead of schedule. The train out to the airport is pretty empty, despite it being rush hour. I just don’t think there are *that* many big businesses in Seattle that have a ton of workers commuting in and out each day. I’m at the airport in very good time, and quickly drop my bag off. Seattle-Tacoma Airport is decent as US airports go. It’s big, clean, bright and airy. I grab some breakfast, and settle into a comfy chair for a couple of hour wait. There’s someone in the restaurant I’m in having a beer. I’m a tiny bit tempted, but not enough to actually grab one.
18:30
Bastard Delta changed my seat. I’d booked myself an aisle seat, and they’ve moved me to the middle of a row of 3. Wank-puffins. The flight’s pretty bumpy. Weirdly, almost everyone at a window seat around me has shut their blind. Apparently the rule about having them open for take-off and landing doesn’t apply in the US? Anyways, it’s really disconcerting in turbulence during take-off not to be able to see out of a window at all. As we wobble and weave our way into the sky, I can’t really tell if the pilot is making modest adjustments, or we’re see-sawing all over the shop. I think about asking my seat mate whether she could open the blind, just while we’re taking off, but she’s fast asleep, and I’m not that mean. The flight’s around 3 hours, and I watch a couple of TV episodes, whilst nursing an IPA.
Landing into Minneapolis is both familiar and new. The airport’s undergone a bunch of work since I was last here. There are some spots I recognise, but others that don’t job the memory. For this, an internal flight, there’s no irritating TSA agents to deal with. My bag arrives at the carousel pretty quickly, and soon enough, I’m on a metro tram into the city centre.
I’m trying to figure out when I was last in town. I *think* it was about 10 years ago, but need to do some forensics to be certain. For about 4 years, after SHL merged with PreVisor in 2011, most of my closest work colleagues were based in the US, and we used Minneapolis (and SHL’s office here) as our meeting hub. All told, I think I visited maybe 5-6 times, and really fell in love with the city. It’s one of my favourite places to spend time. So many cool places to eat and have a beer, an incredible music scene both historically and in the present, several great sports teams - including my beloved Minnesota Vikings NFL team. And because I’m weird, and like the cold, the wintry weather I’m promised is right up my street. It’s around 0C when I land, and will get a little cooler overnight.
The metro into the city is quick, and I’m checked into my hotel a little after 18:00. It’s a Marriott property, from their ‘Tribute’ brand, and a very cool place. It kinda feels like a 1920s art deco hotel inside, and my room is spacious and comfortable. I’m in need of sustenance though. I’m minded to head over to the Warehouse District, where I’ve had some great meals in the past.
22:40
It is COLD out. Mercury says -1C, but there’s a chill wind that makes it feel colder. I wore a pair of light combat trousers to travel today - my standard flightwear. I’m soon regretting not changing these for something sturdier before heading out.
I’ve worked out when I was last in town. It was late Summer, 2013. The city centre is same same, but different. Some of my favourite bars and restaurants have shut, but many remain open. I walk past Gluek’s, a great brewpub a couple of blocks from my hotel. I’ve spent many a happy Happy Hour in here after finishing work at the office nearby. Several of their own beers made on premises, and a selection of other locally made craft beers and ciders. Live music most weekend nights. What’s not to like? I walk past the Loon Café, which is a past favourite of mine for watching Vikings games. I’ll probably end up here on Sunday to watch the Vikings play the Chicago Bears. Highly, HIGHLY partisan crowd.
I head out past Target Field, the home of the Minnesota Twins baseball team, and find a cider brewery, called Number 12. Excellent. They have 12 (aha!) of their own ciders on draft. A few of them sound pretty rank, but I try a couple of their drier offerings, and they’re really good. One is a bit of a monster, at 9.2%, but it’s got a sort of toffee apple funk about it, that I love. It’s also really busy inside. A lot of downtown businesses struggle over the weekends, as the commuter trade heads to the suburbs for the weekends, but here, there’s a very cool busy buzz.
Next door is StormKing, a brewpub and smokehouse. Their Hazy IPA is a lovely drop, and the brisket sandwich they bring me is a thing of great, great beauty. The bark on the brisket is crunchy, chewy, fatty and balls-out delicious. The meat is juicy and tender, and has the texture of something that’s been smoked very, very slowly for a very, very long time. I glance at the time, and realise it’s pushing towards 21:00, and I’m not sleepy yet. Huzzah! I briefly consider a nightcap at the bar at my hotel, but it’s deserted. There are two bartenders working, and I don’t think a 2 to 1 ratio in favour of the bar-staff makes for a good and relaxing bar experience…Leggi altro
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Gratis
ViaggiatoreWhat a day!!! ☹️
ViaggiatoreI've 'liked' this post to show that it has been read, but the day itself seems most unlikeable! Hope you feel better soon. x