|
|
By Eva, on August 28th, 2010
 Fog in the glen: the view from our window at Highland Lodges, taken in the morning before leaving.
A couple of days ago we’d arrived in the Northern Highlands of Scotland. We’d planned out several outings, things we wanted to see and do while in the extreme North. The day after we arrived, my lower back seized up, and we laid low for a couple of days while it relaxed. As we started to venture back out John received a call from home that put all of our plans aside. Sometimes life throws rocks in the piste, and we just have to keep our knees bent.
Bad news from his dad’s oncologist meant it was time to wrap up our time in Europe and head for home. It is time for us and the family to gather around him and pull together; adventures will wait.
One of the other guests at Highland Lodges, who is staying for an extended stay, said “yes” to wanting our collection of spices, oils, and vinegar we’ve collected and travel with. The lodge owners let us leave all sorts of camping gear and miscellaneous things, from glue, to a handful of clothespins, to laundry and dish detergent. A mobile household built from living without knowing what we might find in each new place.
We are turning in our Open Europe program Peugeot and cancelling visits with family in Germany. When we do get back on the road, so to speak, we will probably head straight for Africa. We had planned to finish Europe by the end of October, and this was next.
For the next few weeks, we will be immersed in family and visiting with our friends while we are in our home town.
 Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 25th, 2010
 Harris hawks named Twiggy and Sid, from the falconry demonstration and education company Walking With Hawks Their eyes have a brow bone that protects it over the top, turning down toward their beaks in a concentrated scowl. They are visual by nature, watching for prey with an intensity that makes them seem even more formidable.  Twiggy the hawk resting quietly on Marlie's gloved hand. And yet, they sit quietly, regal, talons resting easy on our leather gloves. Twiggy, the female will even allow us to stroke the feathers of her back and wings with little more than a sideways glance.  Holding Sid, the Harris Hawk. The falconers, David and Karl, tell us about these two and their other hawks and their personalities, as well as stories of hunting with them. They tell us also, about how much interest they have had from tourists who are looking for an up-close and personal experience with hawks and the sport of falconry.
 Marlie with Sid, learning about his feet. We learned about how the birds are raised and trained, imprinting with some species and avoiding it rigorously with others. Baby hawks and eagles are fed through a shield, a tube that drops the food next to them so they do not look at the trainer as a parent. Owls, on the other hand, are fed by hand, encouraging this type of bond. Curiously, these opposite methods make training of each easier.  Hannah, holding and stroking Twiggy. Falconry has been a part of Wales for hundreds of years, the Romans made records of the native people’s use of raptors in hunting. Falconers breed and train falcons, hawks, owls, and eagles to hunt all sorts of game on the ground and in the air. David and Karl told us about the habit of the birds; of brushing their human partner with a wing while passing them in flight as they walk through the fields. We heard stories of birds who disliked each other, and species who cannot be trusted together.  John and Twiggy. With the rain pounding on the metal roof of the shed where we took cover, we stand with these raptors on our fists. Normally, their program would take us into the fields where we the birds could fly with us, and we would call them back to our gloved hands for treats. Sadly, the weather has kept us inside and we will not be able to have the full experience of “Walking With Hawks.”
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 19th, 2010
 This just made us laugh. Yes, a banner for pig racing. And sleeping pigs.
Pembrokeshire, Wales, is known for the sea and outdoors; visitors can find surfing or kayaking, all sorts of fishing and boating, adventuresome coasteering or scenic hiking. In addition these, the area has embraced agri-tourism wholeheartedly. Or, rather, agriculture is so much a part of the area, any visit is touched by it.
The small, rural, and historic experiences are available everywhere. Local ice cream is sold from concession vans and cafés at trailheads. Old weaving mills offer demonstrations, riding stables, farm stays and country B & Bs can be found along sometimes-single-lane roads lined with hedgerows and vibrant green fields dotted with sheep or cattle. (Remembering to stick to the left side of the road, an adventure in itself for me…)
When we realized the Pembrokeshire County Show (read: county fair) was this week, how could we pass it up? Older farm women selling their chutneys and cookbooks in the poultry barn, ribbons displayed proudly over sheep pens, judges looking at goats, musicians, demonstrations, cotton candy. In the end, it was not that different than walking through the livestock barns at our own Deschutes County Fair, but somehow it made us feel closer to the farms we hike through or pass as we wind down the narrow roads.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 17th, 2010
 The tide's out in the Lower Town, Fishguard harbor. At low tide, the boats rest on the sand, floating again as the tide rises.  The trail sign for the hike to Dinas Head, just east of Fishguard. The headland is almost an island, attached to the mainland by a narrow bit of land.  The girls looking west from Dinas Island.  The view back to main shoreline to the east of Dinas Island, from the head..  A graveyard and wall in Cwm-yr-Eglwys, at the eastern edge of the strip of land connecting Dinas Island to the shoreline.  Street signs in Goodwick, in both English and Welsh Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 16th, 2010
In London, we were out of steam. With everything there is to see and do in London, we spent the most time in its little Chinatown, eating. At home we eat Japanese sushi or order deliveries of Chinese food regularly. Hannah’s favorite recipe when she cooks for the family is tom kha gai. It’s no wonder, then that the walk through china town on our first day and the discovery of the streetside cha siu baau stand selling wonderful, fresh pork and chicken steamed buns was followed by children begging to return there every day.
We’d found a great Indian food restaurant in our Paris neighborhood, but the Chinese food take out we’d found was fairly bland. So, our London days found us in search of dim sum, rather than famous buildings and bridges. The pouring rain helped seal the fate of the sightseeing.
The girls have had their fill for a while of architecture. After weeks of visiting castles in the Loire Valley, cathedrals and arches in Paris, and guild houses in Brussels, they’d had enough. Their enthusiasm for Buckingham Palace and Big Ben was right up there with washing dishes. So, although most “must see” lists include the London Bridge and Tower, Houses of Parliament, and Winchester Cathedral, ours was made up of Trafalgar Square, St. James Park, and Gerrard Street (aka Chinatown.)
After many streetside cha siu baau and one mediocre meal at a restaurant on Gerrard, we found Chuen Cheng Ku, and chose our favorite dim sums from the trolley at our table. Our own highlight of London.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 15th, 2010
 Crossing the bridge in the tourist zone, looking at Big Ben.
It is a world of reminding. Those who live with a child with ADHD understand the repetition that goes into daily life. Put on your socks. Brush your teeth. The mundane cannot be remembered, and needs to be told and spelled out daily. Those things that are novel and new capture their attention, and a trip like ours around the world offers much of that. Our Marlie can remember how to use the lock a landlord explained to us, but not where she packed the power cord for her iPod. She’ll never lose her subway ticket, but will chase after pigeons in the park and not notice that we are leaving.
Fifteen months worth of medication did not come with us. Fortunately, her prescription is the type where she can miss days or weeks, and it still helps her the same when she takes it. We save these for big “school days,” where the experience itself will not keep her attention.
We laugh that she lives up to her family nickname: Monkey. Exercise is critical, because her body demands movement, staying still for too long creates a pent up pressure that will erupt if not given an outlet. Fortunately, our daily explorations usually involve a good deal of walking as well as stops in places where running, twirling, jumping, and climbing are acceptable. Of course, this also means we have to chase after her at each of these to let her know we are moving on.
She is brilliant, a young encyclopedia, with a constant stream of words coming from her that pause only when she is sleeping or reading her Guardians of Ga’Hoole books on kindle. Finding quiet for work and school is a challenge in a world where we are constantly together.
She is also self sufficient and good in a crisis. She took a wrong turn in Paris when she ran to the public restroom at the end of the block on her own. We were frantically looking for her, but she backtracked and found her way back alone. She navigates crowds and public transportation well. She can’t keep her clean and dirty clothes straight and her iPod is dead for weeks at a time because she cannot remember to charge it.
So, what can we do but laugh when she can’t find any socks or we walk across the square to get her from the wall of the fountain or the side of the statue?
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 8th, 2010
 Mini Europe version of the Eiffel Tower When we arrived in Brussels, we made a stop in the tourist information center. We were looking to do something a little different. Even I am getting sort of saturated on looking at old buildings.  Tobu World Square version of the Eiffel Tower For the past several months we have toured cathedrals, walked fortress walls, taken photos of castles, and climbed stairs to forts. We have read history about the people who built and lived in them. We then just finished nearly two weeks in Paris, which, aside from the art and food, involves a lot of touring old buildings. As lovely as they are, the girls have reached their limit for a while, and even I have stopped suggesting “let’s wait in line and go inside…”
In the Brussels tourist information was advertising for “Mini Europe.” A park full of 1/25 scale dioramas of significant sights of Europe. Now, you would think this would sound like something we might avoid, contrived and touristic. Except that a couple of years ago, we stopped at a place in Nikko, Japan, called Tobu World Square. It is a park of 1/25 scale models of architectural wonders of the world. My brother convinced us it was worth the fairly steep entrance fee, and it turned out to be one of the most memorable afternoons on the trip. The girls were delighted, we were impressed. In our photos, it is hard to tell that the models are not the real thing.
 Mini Europe Diorama of the Baptistry and Cathedral at Pisa So, looking at what we thought was an opportunity to have the same experience here, we made the subway trip out and paid the 50 Euros to get in. Unfortunately, it was not Tobu World. Although Mini Europe does offer a way to learn a little about the European Union, our expectation that the detail and workmanship would be as good as the Japanese counterpart made the experience underwhelming. Our wish to do something different was filled, but the mantra of the afternoon was “well, it’s not Tobu World.”  Tobu World Square Diorama of St. Peters Basilica We’ve managed to usually avoid comparing places with others, enjoying each for what it is, but in this one, we just could not help ourselves. Especially at the cost of 50 Euros. ($66 US)
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on August 7th, 2010
 In Brussels, a constant crowd gathers in front of the small fountain statue called Mannekin Pis, of a little boy peeing. We came here not knowing much about Brussels or even Belgium. The land of chocolate, thriving, modern, historic; my vague thoughts. Not many of my friends have come home with stories, my open questions on Facebook asking what to do and see here came back with one response. And that was about Brugge, nothing about Brussels. But, sometimes visits to places with no expectations bring delightful ends.
We had an open week in our agenda, just after Paris. John’s dad was going to come out and join him for a river cruise through Normandy, and the girls and I planned to stay in Paris. Sarah, the daughter of close friends (a niece we are not related to…) made plans to stay with us for a week and a half while we were there. Unfortunately, health issues kept John’s dad at home, and plans were adjusted with Marlie joining John on the river cruise, and the older girls staying behind with me.
On the back end of the open week was the looming deadline to get out of Schengen. Our carefully calculated “bucket” of days allotted to us to stay in this collective zone is running out. This time our ditch out of Schengen will take us to the UK for a month. When we return, we will be into a new tourist visa period, with a new “bucket” of days we’re allowed to stay.
 The wall of the Hôtel de Ville, Grand Place, Brussels We looked at both Holland and Belgium for this open week. Although we’ve heard much more about the Netherlands and Amsterdam, I kept coming back to Belgium in my mind. Although I could not really explain why to my family, we made plans for our remaining Schengen days in Brussels. What we’ve found are some of the most remarkable buildings we’ve seen in Europe, great food, the chocolate we expected, and a strange fascination with a small fountain of a little boy peeing.
After gaping at the buildings surrounding the Grand Place, we wandered back into some of the surrounding streets, looking for a cafe to watch people and enjoy a glass of wine. We came across a crowd gathered around a fountain we’d been seeing in photos and copies made of chocolate and plastic in souvenir shop windows: Manneken Pis. Having arrived in Brussels with little idea of what was here, we had even less about the peeing boy. Or, why such a crowd gathered around it to take a photo. Across the street we found the perfect crowd watching, vantage point café.
We talked for a while about “me too.” Our first day back in Paris, after Sarah joined us, I took the girls to the Louvre. We walked though the streams of people, clumped here and there to look at something that caught their collective eye. As we were about to leave, I realized we were close to the Monalisa. I detoured the girls to see, not the painting, but the crowd. Standing, pressed into the space in front of this face were easily a hundred people, all trying to add their own photo to the global collection of shots of probably the most famous painting in the world. I have to admit, I’ve never understood the appeal. There are so many other paintings I like better. Yet, here, cameras raised above their heads, stood the crowd of “me too,” hoping to capture a memory.
 Guild houses, l’Arbre d’Or, in Grand Place, Brussels It’s interesting to think about it in travels, too. We have certainly done our share of “me too,” heading to places and sights that are famous, places our friends have seen. Pisa. Cinque Terre. The Eiffel Tower. And we’ve taken photos there, just like everyone else. I’ve even posted several, knowing people have seen these places. And I wonder sometimes, how many gigabytes of digital storage does the Monalisa or the leaning tower of Pisa occupy, worldwide? And how much are we, as we travel, looking for unique experiences and how much is following the crowd?
And we sat in the café, watching a throng jostle their way to the front, to take a photo of a fountain they had come to see; one their friends had taken photo of and shown them. Curious to us, because we had never heard of Mannekin Pis.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 30th, 2010
 Group shot under the Arc de Triomphe, Paris
We’ve been walking quite a lot, the three of us. Hannah and I have been joined by Sarah, the teen daughter of close friends, here in Paris. John and Marlie have gone on a river cruise adventure of their own, exploring from here to Normandy, and I am wandering Paris with two teenage girls.
Fortunately, one thing I have always shared with Hannah is a love of art, so hours in the Louvre or standing in an endless line and toughing out the crowds of the Musee d’Orsay is still a happy thing. Include a stop at the museum gift shop and a visit to an art supply store on the left bank and we’re all satisfied at the end of the day.
There is always compromise traveling with anyone, and teens are no different in that regard. Sometimes it feels like our days are spent walking from one souvenir shop to another, with the occasional junior’s clothing store thrown in for good measure; sightseeing where the monuments are an interruption to the shopping. But, the reality is they are very good sports, and game, if not always enthusiastic, about walking through cathedrals and climbing long stairwells, so long as they get their picks, too.
 Spiral stairwell in the Arc de Triomphe, Paris
At most, we are good for about 8- 10 hours a day out and about. This lets us get a later start, and end in the evening for a late dinner back at the apartment. Hannah is not a morning person (in the extreme) and a relaxed morning is enjoyable for all of us.
Today we are tired, and making an even later start. We’ve slept in and our plan involves less walking and more carnival rides. Yesterday was the big walk from the Bastille to the Arc de Triomphe, complete with vintage clothing shops in the Marias, shoe stores for Hannah, and a big stop in the Gap. I know, shopping at the Gap in Paris seems lame, but a lot of my clothes are getting pretty shabby. (One suitcase, 5 months…) I needed to replace some stuff. The girls didn’t mind much…
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 28th, 2010
By Eva, on July 28th, 2010
Internet. It has become such a central part of our lives, even more on this trip around the world than at home. Its reach is beyond the time spent in front of the computer at work or school, it shapes where we stay and our days when we are there. It is a love-hate relationship, this dependency on internet. It feels like addictive behavior, setting up our path in front of us with the next connectivity. Sometimes, I wish we could just let go of it and be free.
I hear it not just in myself, but in those who help us find apartments, like the woman at the tourist office in Hvar saying “You are on vacation, why do you need internet? You should be relaxing.” But that’s just it. I’m not on vacation. Nor are the children. We have not dropped everything and left for a few weeks, we’ve set up a life we can take with us. This is how we have been able to leave on an open ended trip. My billable hours and the girl’s school are online.
We’ve found that internet means different things to different people. Some connections are strong wifi that we would be happy with at home. Sometimes it means hanging over the balcony rail with a laptop or standing outside in the dark, next to the door of the owner’s apartment. Rarely it is an internet café’ down the street, but usually only as a last resort.
At the place we stayed in the Loire Valley, the owner had internet, but the friend he had managing the property didn’t even know it existed. We resorted to driving to the tourist office in Blois, then bought a 3G pay-as-you-go internet connection key from SFR, a French phone company my cell phone is through. It also did not work in the village we were staying in, it was in a small valley and didn’t have 3G, I guess. So, my connectivity was sitting in the car on the side of the road at the top of the hill until my laptop battery would give out. Eventually, we were able to get the hex key (read: password) for the wifi, and a power outage in the area re-set the modem, that was locked in a room we could not get to, otherwise we would have unplugged and reset it ourselves when it was not working.
I guess it’s like anything in the apartments we have called home. Some have issues. We have had a toilet that sprayed water from the tank all over the floor with every flush, and one that would not gather enough water in the tank to actually flush. We had to use a bucket of water, dumping it into the toilet bowl to flush that one. I’d rather not become so familiar with my turds, thanks.
Some showers are a spray handle in a tub, with no wall mount. It gets cold and sometimes it’s hard to decide where to put the shower head when shampooing. Many kitchens don’t have coffee makers, we’ve started carrying our own press, along with spices and our own cutting board. Some have those kitchen pans that are just a tad heavier than aluminum foil that everything except boiling water sticks to. Almost all include bedding, but we’ve been glad to have those cheap sleeping bags we loaded ourselves down with in Croatia.
And then, some are lovely. The knives in the kitchen cut things and we don’t have to use our Swiss army knife to open a wine bottle. The chairs are comfortable, and there is hot water in the shower. And, the internet works. I love those places.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 25th, 2010
 Chateau Chenonceau, complete with scaffolding, from the garden.  The tower in the front of the Chateau Chenonseau, sheltering the nests of swallows. Before we came, both Hannah and I read “The Confessions of Catherine d’Medici,” and it filled the halls we walked through with the people who lived in them. It also influenced our choice of chateaux to visit as we only had a few days in the Loire Valley. The book, by C.W. Gortner, is fiction, based on the lives and events of the French royalty in the 1500s from the perspective of Catherine, and brings them to life in a way non-fiction cannot. For us it, was a perfect accompaniment to the chateaux of Blois, Chenonceau, and Chaumont, flowing in stories from us on to John and Marlie as well.
We chose to stay near Blois, because that was the main royal chateau where the court gathered outside Paris during Catherine’s lifetime. The castle there was built in four stages, one ancient and medieval, built along with fortress walls by the Dukes of Orleans. The second was gothic, with spires and triangles reaching skyward, built by Louis IV, whose emblem of the porcupine decorates the castle and recurs throughout the city. The wing built by Catherine’s father-in-law, Francois I, is ornately renaissance with themes of Roman myth in the carvings, and where we naturally spent most of our time. The fourth was built later by an exiled brother of the king, it would not have existed in Catherine’s world.
 The ironwork pulley for lowering a bucket into the well. We next visited Chenonceau, the castle that was taken from Catherine, the wife, and given to Diane, the mistress. It is lovely and light, and clear why, after the death of King Henri II, Catherine forced Diane to return it, trading back the chateau neither woman wanted, which we visited later. The crowds were heavy at Chenonceau, and the sun was hot. We opted to play in the relative shade of the hedge maze rather than wander the farther parts of the garden.
 Chateau Chaumont sur Loire, overlooking the valley and river. The front was covered in scaffolding, our bane on this trip. So very many places we have visited have been shrouded in metal and a net screen. They did have a picture of the castle on the screen, so we could have an idea of what is looked like, but it’s not the same. Although we appreciate that they are maintaining these buildings for the future, it doesn’t make them particularly pretty.
The next day was for Chaumont, the match in the trade. Given to Catherine as a consolation for the taking away of Chenonceau, we walked through laughing. Although very picturesque from the outside, the inside is dark and feels cramped. We could see why Catherine was pissed. Unfortunately, as we were there, my “I’m not feeling so good” became “Ooh, am I sick,” filling my next 36 hours with fever and chills, and ending our chateaux tour.
 Chateau Chaumont Although we’ve done reading about the places we’ve visited, none have brought them alive in the way this experience has. I think we’ll check the kindle store for historical fiction often from here out, reading stories as we wander.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 21st, 2010
 We loved this view of the flying buttresses of the Cathedral Saint-Louis de Blois from the area in front of the castle. We've loved the history and castles here in the Loire Valley, although I have fallen a little behind in the blog here, as I've been under the weather. Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 16th, 2010
 Andorra's flag, in the village of Anyos.
We arrived in Andorra with a vague idea of a place in the mountains. What we found was stunning beauty, pride in place, and something we cannot put our finger on that makes us not want to leave.
There is a feel to a place that springs almost organically from it, some intangible that is carried through the hearts of the people who live there and is felt by those who visit. It sounds absurd to say that, but I’ve found it to be true. For two decades, my husband John and I spent our lives running a dude ranch. Some of the people who experienced Rock Springs Ranch carried a part of it with them forever. Staff would contact us years later and tell how their seasons spent with us impacted their lives’ paths. Guest would cry as they left, and many would return each summer for decades sharing the experience with their families.
As our staff arrived for orientation each year, we would explain that it was them. It was always them. Ours was not the most beautiful ranch, nor where our facilities the nicest. But, the people, in many small ways that added up to big ways, could touch the lives of the people who visited. Whether it comes from the place and shapes the people, or from the people themselves, it is hard to say.
 John on our hike yesterday, trying to capture what we love about Andorra. Andorra has a large town in the center, thriving and busy. From here radiate other smaller canyons, winding back into the mountains of the massive Pyrenees. Streams flow over lichen covered rocks, into small lakes surrounded by flowers, and out, tumbling down the valley of green trees and rock.
The people clearly love their home. No litter, almost no graffiti, everyone has flowers in window boxes, gardens, and pots. Not just some places, but truly everywhere. The new construction is happening at an almost disturbing rate, buildings, road improvements, tunnels are all underway. All of these new buildings, as far as we could see, adhered to some pretty strict codes. Natural stone facades, and not just on the side facing the street, slate roofs; the craftsmanship makes the new and old blend together like one is a natural continuation of the other.
It is hard to describe how impressed we are with this tiny country we’d scarcely heard about. We spent our last day hiking and wishing we had more time here. So many villages unexplored, so many trails not taken. I suppose we will, just as our staff and guests at the ranch often did, carry a little of Andorra with us forever. And maybe, just maybe, an echo of our footsteps and awe will remain.
Tweet This Post
By Eva, on July 15th, 2010
Shrek speaks Spanish, you know. We had yet to go to the movies on our trip, and Hannah’s teenage movie yearning took us to see Shrek in 3D the other day. In Spanish, of course. The girls have watched a smattering of TV in various languages we’ve passed through, usually dubbed over familiar ones where they already know the characters and how they relate to each other.
Because we like out of the way places, we’ve drifted in and out of areas where the general population spoke more or less English, and where we ourselves spoke more or less of their languages. We’ve learned to ask for breads and meats in the grocery through effective pointing, and to recognize mustard, canned sardines, and olive oil in several languages. A smile and shrug will sometimes aid communication more than a larger vocabulary.
It is difficult to keep up as we drift from one language to the next. When we left France in spring, I was feeling fairly proficient . We moved on to Italian, then Croatian, which were almost completely unknown to us, picking up bits and pieces along the way. My German helped in Croatia, it seemed more common there than English, not to mention our crazy German tante landlord spoke no English. So driving back through Italy into France, I had a couple of days of mental shift, trying to find the words in French I that had disappeared behind the other languages.
Reaching Andorra, we found our French and Spanish marginalized, because they speak Catalan. Although it may be related to both, we find we can’t understand it at all, another beginning. Most people here do speak Spanish, and most of the out of country license plates are from Spain. Unfortunately, my Spanish is rusting in the corner somewhere, unused since our last trip to Mexico a year and a half ago.
So, our latest adventure in language was Shrek dubbed over into Spanish. It is an interesting experience watching a full movie when most of the words you understand are prepositions. While we certainly followed the story, we did miss the double entenres that make Dreamworks pictures so entertaining. But, the sense of adventure that went along with this usually very ordinary experience was enough to keep us laughing.
Tweet This Post
|
Networked Blogs on Facebook
|
~
~
~Raveable~
