EVERYONE ASKED IF I HAD SEEN THE ICEBERGS YET.
It is just under 4 hours from Anna’s garage to the Glacier lake known as Jokulsarlon. I left before sun-up around 8:30 this morning and I drove and I drove. I made a quick stop back in Vik to catch some different light down at the black beach. I think it was worth it.
By the time arrived at Jokulsarlon the sun was on its way back down. I have never chased light like this before for my photography. Seconds mean missing the perfect look or at least what I had Imagined.
I met a father around my age and his adult son. He asked where I was from and I told him expecting him to ask where is that. But no, he knew exactly where I was talking about. He and his family had traveled there by ferry twice in the last ten years. His son was wearing a Seattle Seahawks hat so I assumed that they were from the Pacific Northwest.
Wrong again. I asked where they were from and he responded Atlanta. He didn’t expect me to tell him I had been there twice for Baseball Showcase Tournaments. I then said we actually spent 90% of the time in Marietta just north of the ATL. He said that’s funny, that’s where we live. We stood about for thirty minutes in sub zero temperatures discussing our favorite Marietta restaurants and just occasionally icebergs and Iceland.Its a small world, remember that!Cheers,Mark
THE ROAD TO VIK
Today was nothing less than an epic journey along the south coast of Iceland. The highway from Selfoss to Vik is baron, wind swept and unbelievably beautiful. Waterfalls (Foss) draw your attention and you find yourself pulling off the road regularly to get a better look.
There are very few little places to stop for gas or refreshments but to be fair it is the middle of nowhere. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about that. In fact, I love it. Lunch in Vik was exceptional today. Not only for taste, presentation and location but also in price. I don’t know how locals afford it here. Seventy five Canadian dollars later for a 12” pizza and a beer (yikes).
I am staying in a very modern guest house just 500m from the beach looking south to the Heimaey Islands which stand several kilometres off shore. They rise from the black seas proudly with a unique boldness. Really picturesque to be sure. My Guesthouse is called the Garage. My host is Anna. What you see as you approach is for all intents and purposes a bunkhouse at the base of a mountain range.
When you step inside that all changes. This room is very cool and very modern. Anna has great taste.
I am here for two days then back tracking to Reykjavik for the last couple before returning home. I have an abandoned DC-3 wreck to find tomorrow along with a lake that has brilliant blue ice bergs floating up on to its beaches.
So far so very good!Cheers.Mark
YOU HAVE TO BE RESILIENT TO LIVE HERE!
For those who remember the 90’s Scandic Pop diva Bjork, you will be able to picture in your mind my first two hours at Iceland’s Keflavik Airport. There has not been too many times I can say that using Hotwire to book a hotel or rental car has gone bad. Last night in Paris I made one of my biggest travel mistakes ever by using Hotwire to book with Budget.A few steps into the arrivals lounge in Iceland and things became a lot clearer. There was 2 customers at Hertz. There were no customers at Europacar and there was approximately 45 people ahead of me in the Budget line. We all know that no matter how much time you take to be prepared for the rental agent with your licence and credit card at the ready, they are always going to try to up sell you and grind you as much as they can.It took just shy of two hours in line to make it to the desk and then this happened. BJORK’S evil twin stood before me. Perhaps the face of an Icelandic Angel but the savvy of the worst used car salesman imaginable crossed with the most accomplished serial killer you would never want to meet. It was hard to stand there knowing I was being defrauded of an extra $600.00, but pshyco Bjork continued unphased and clearly without remorse.Of course I purchased a comprehensive insurance package when I booked on line all the while thinking I was doing the right thing. Bad Bjork advised me that if I did not want to pay thousands of Icelandic Crowns for window chips or god forbid a paint chip as a result of one of those big “F*** OFF” 4-wheel drive trucks passing me, I needed to buy Budget insurance on top of what I already bought.Now normally I would have said no thanks, but you should have seen the expression on her face. I am not sure where she hid the hatchet under the counter but I am sure I saw her reaching for it before I caved. I said to evil Bjork I feel as though I am being held hostage by your sales pressure tactics. Crazy Bjork just shook her head in silence.
I left the airport with the keys for a VW Polo. We in North America don’t get the Polo at VW dealerships. If you picture a Golf and then slice off a third you have a Polo.
Upon eventually getting behind the wheel I was pleasantly surprised. Good in the snow and comfortable seats. The issues came at the time I wished to sit in it or get out of it. The process was akin to how a Lemans Driver enters his race car during the 24 hour championship. A shoe horn and wedges are useful.
Ok lets move on to Selfoss and the Icelandic countryside. It took me just over an hour to get to my hotel and upon arrival I was greeted by an Estonian girl who was on a work abroad vacation. She checked me in in no time flat. I dumped my bags and walked across the street to grab some water and a couple of snacks. It was about -7 degrees, which I know isn’t that bad but I am not that recently well practiced in dealing with anything resembling northern climes.
I hustled back to my room and was asleep in no time flat. Up with my alarm because if you waited for the sun to rise at 10 a.m. you wouldn’t get much done. I had breakfast at the hotel and packed the car for the Golden Circle Drive. I took some advice from the staff but my intention was to drive where I fancied and at my own pace. I stopped when I felt like it.
I met some lovely Icelandic Ponies. I visited several Geysirs and ended my day at Gullfoss waterfalls. A ton of things to do and see in Vik tomorrow.Cheers!Mark
DUNKIRK for just 20 minutes
I had a chance to drive west quickly the night before last to see as much of Dunkirk as I could. I set the GPS for the Allied Memorial and let google maps do the rest. An hour or so from Lille I was there. The wind was very strong and it was cold. No complaints though as many allied soldiers hit the beaches here and overcame a lot more than poor weather.I only had a short time to spend so I took a couple of photos and got back in the car to travel to Paris and check into my hotel near CDG for next the next phase of my journey to London with a connector to KEF airport in Iceland. Join you again from the Icelandic town of Selfoss..M.
VIMY RIDGE
Todays post will be mostly photographs taken by me on my visit to Vimy. I thought the Belgians did memorials well. But the Canadian government and the Canadian Armed Forces in Cooperation with the French have erected a gob smacking spectical above the village of Vimy.I am not going to pontificate about Vimy as many of you are already more than aware of this place and its meaning to Canada and France. Suffice to say that if you have never been, few other places I have been have made me more proud of my country’s heroic past.I hope you enjoy these few photos of my day at Vimy Ridge.
THE MENIN GATE.
I arrived 90 minutes before schedule and it was already busy with people on the parade route. As I should have known the police where there in force and had already erected barriers to stop foot traffic from gaining access to the gate. Because Ypres is a medieval city it is walled and a somewhat circular river surrounds it. I had a quick chat with a Belgian policeman and he sent me Northwest to the next bridge into the city.
The streets and paths were busy with joggers and cyclists going about their morning. The swans and ducks were floating below the footbridge that I eventually crossed to enter the city through small archway in the ramparts. Once inside I had time to stop into a typical yet excellent patisserie to pick up a couple of pain au chocolate (of course I had time). With one in my gob and one in reserve I hustled off towards the parade route.A spit of rain met me about 25 meters from Menin and it was there where I found a gap in the crowd to take a tactical position on the barricades. To my left was an elderly couple from Northern Ireland. The good lady was very chatty so she was. To my right was a young mom and her 10 year old daughter. We hit it off quickly and soon after I knew a lot more about the city, region and the ceremony. Her 15 year old son was drumming in the local pipe and drum band. She explained that they had the honour of leading the parade to greet the Canadian Soldiers when they arrived. Although this lady’s son had been a practicing member of the band for two years, this was his first time being allowed to perform in front of dignitaries.As we chatted I failed to realize that now both sides of the street had filled with onlookers and they now appeared to be 6 deep. We hung over the railing in anticipation. In the very far off distance we could hear the drone of the pipes.[wpvideo oZ1Y666p]This gave Mary and George to my left time tell me all about their Alaskan cruise and the stop they made in Victoria to meet friends they hadn’t seen in donkeys years so they did. They were actually lovely and very honoured to be there to support the Canadians.Around us were Veterans of all ages, smartly turned out in suits or blazers along with their regimental berets with gleaming cap badges. Most were British by my estimation. Nevertheless, whether they got there by plane, train, cain, walking sticks or wheel chair they got there. Their banter indicated that they were proud to have made it and as time moved on, conversations morphed to where they were going after and who was buying the first round!
The local band was nearing us now and they sounded very good. I watched intently at my new friend and her daughter as her son marched passed playing his drum. She filmed it on her phone as they both cried pridefully. The Belgians do remember. They feel it a privilege to show their appreciation for others who placed their life on the line to help free them. They clearly feel that they must honour the Commonwealth Soldiers efforts to help them during the Great War.I don’t know what it is lately, but there again and not for the last time today came that rush of emotion and I battled to hide my tears watching them. Once the pipes and drums passed us by and took up their receiving position through the gate, we then watched as a couple of hundred dignitaries walked, hobbled or marched past. Once again, vets being pushed in wheel chairs or being supported under each arm by younger family members.Then came the Canadian Army band. In definite tune and playing with gusto. Remember now the tens of thousands lining the route and I am sure the captain in charge realized it as he conducted them on the approach to Menin. Next it was my time to try to keep it together as I could see Mackenzie in the offing and nearing our position.
I snapped a few pictures for retrospect but then quickly let my camera dangle around my neck so I could enjoy the moment. I hate to sound overbearing but this was a day that I will never forget. A true father son moment. I have watched him over the years do some awesome things in awesome venues as an athlete but I must admit this took the cake.
As the Canadians took their place at the Menin Gate the remainder of the parade filled in behind them. There were representatives from a Punjabi regiment, firemen, policemen, and many other groups of organized veteran groups. A true spectacle!
Try as I might I was unable to catch up with Mac to shake his hand but a short while later he called to ask if I would meet them at Hill 62 for the afternoon’s ceremony.I walked back to my car but this time getting to walk under the Menin Gate myself. I read a few of the inscriptions and paused for thought. The enormity and gravity of this place is breathtaking. I eventually made it back to the car and typed Hill 62 into Google Maps. Low and behold it knew how to get there so off I went. Another moving ceremony that I have already captured in brief on a facebook post.
Tomorrow I am off to take in Vimy Ridge. This has been a special day!CheersMark
PASSCHENDAELE 100 YEARS ON.
A month ago Mackenzie called me to say that he had been selected by his command staff to represent the Royal Canadian Artillery at Gagetown Garrison, New Brunswick by joining the Canadian Army ceremonial contingent to march in Flanders marking the 100 year anniversary of the Battle of Passchendaele. Mac was very excited and I could tell from his voice that he was very proud to do so. These next few posts will describe my journey to be there to witness it.When on the road I try to post to my blog everyday for obvious reasons. Everyday is a full one and with those experiences come anecdotes of all shapes and sizes. I have unfortunately started behind the 8 ball being two days into my trip already.This journey began with 26 hours of connecting flights. Short stops in Seattle, Reykjavik Iceland, London Gatwick, CDG Airport north of Paris and finally here to Flanders Fields in Southern Belgium.In many ways this trip has been journey of many firsts for me. I have flown over Iceland numerous times but Thursday Morning was my first of two stops in the next two weeks. On this stop I saw no more than the Airport but on my return leg I look forward to spending a week exploring as much of the country as I can.I can say without hesitation that I thoroughly enjoyed the service and comfort aboard Icelandair and their Boing 757. I splurged on this trip and sat up front in “Saga” class. The flight attendants were excellent and the wide leather seats were fabulous.My third Stop in London was just long enough to grab a couple of ploughman’s sandwiches from Boots and then hustle to gate 557 to hop on my EasyJet (with speedy boarding) for Charles De’ Gaulle just north of Paris. I was greeted in Paris by an unbelievable golden sun just setting on the horizon. I pit stopped at Hertz and picked up my Opel Mokka.With little sleep but a second wind I drove northwest with the setting sun on my left shoulder for Lille on the French / Belgian border. I am staying at the Holiday Inn here and as expected everything is modern, clean and my French hosts are gracious. I popped into my room to drop my bags and double timed it down to the bar where Francois met me with a large and very cold Heineken and a small bowl of nuts. I ordered a bar meal and thoroughly enjoyed every bite. I soon finished and left for my room and almost immediately fell asleep.My plan was to get back at it in a few hours with a drive to Passchendaele for tomorrow’s ceremony at Tyne Cot Cemetery. I woke relatively rested and jumped in the car at 7:30. I was in the car for about 45 minutes before reaching the area. Now came the chore of finding a place to park while negotiating all the police check points who were relentless in securing the area for the Canadian Soldiers and visitors alike.
I found a spot around two kilometers away and began the journey back to the cemetery . I was soon joined by a Dutch Couple and their golden lab Bruce. Bruce is named after Bruce Springstein and for today's occasion he was wearing many poppy’s on his halter and leash. I had a lovely conversation with the couple on the way. They told me that they support the Canadian Soldiers at every event in Flanders out of respect for what they did to liberate Holland in WWII. I was amazed by what they knew about Canadian Military History and Canada itself even though they had never visited.We arrived in time and took position in an area away from the dignitaries, but close enough to see the Canadian Soldiers when they march in to take their place along side the Canadian Band. This is the first time I have seen my eldest son Mackenzie in uniform since his basic training graduation.
Spoiler alert, I am going to use the phrase “a rush of emotion” many times over the next few posts. I will go on to articulate how this trip has been prideful and very very humbling. Although I could’nt see them from where I was standing the silence was broken by the Canadian pipers as they filled their bags and soon after began to play outside the 15’ stone walls of the cemetery.Within a minute or so I caught my first glimpse of the Canadian pipers. The sound was chilling as they entered Tyne Cot and its 12000 Commonwealth graves. After the pipers came the band and they were followed by the contingent of Canadian Soldiers. Mackenzie stood in the front row as right marker.
It was hard to keep the tears back as I watched the Canadians come to attention in formation adjacent to the dignitaries of the day. The ceremony was 90 minutes long and as I watched intently not one Canadian moved while at attention. You know pride when you see it. These young soldiers had enough to share it around with the hundreds of people in attendance. Many attendees spoke during the ceremony. A Canadian indigenous drum band played. Veterans from WWII made very moving commentaries on what it means to be a Canadian soldier. What I failed to mention earlier is that the rain was coming down sideways and the temperature had dropped.At the conclusion of the of the ceremony I was able to connect with Mac and we toured the cemetary and talked about his trip so far. Earlier I mentioned there are 12000 graves in Tyne Cot. My guess is that half of the graves are unnamed as the fallen were wearing Commonwealth uniforms when their bodies were collected but alas they were unable to identify them by name. This number is over shadowed by the 64000 names that are chissled into the walls here as missing and presumed dead.It was nice to spend time with Mac and I got to meet one or two of his comrades along the way. Mac asked if I would attend the ceremony in Passchendaele this evening at the Canadian Memorial. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We parted company as the Canadians return to a nearby Belgian armoury to have lunch and take a well deserved break.
I returned to my car and also took a break. I later drove into Passchendaele and parked near the church yard in the center of town. I went to a local bakery and picked up a sandwich and a bottle of water. I grabbed my camera bag and took off to explore the town. Some time later I arrived quite by accident at the Canadian memorial. There was one young family and me. I took some photographs and wandered about reading the inscriptions on the cenotaph. About 5 minutes later I was approached by a Belgian man in his early 60’s who had the energy of a child. He greeted me in English and asked if I knew about tonight’s ceremony. We chatted for a while and I learned that he was the organizer of the event and had done so for the last 13 years in a row. I thanked him very much for what he does. He replied that this was simply his honour. He does this for Canadians because of what the Canadians had done for his grandparents and parents and the town of Passendaele. He will continue to do so for as long as he can.
With another little tear in my eye I walked back to the center of town and entered a little roadside bar. I stooped to enter the door and to my surprise I was met by a family of thirteen from Saskatchewan. A grandfather had brought his kids and their kids to witness the 100 years anniversary of the Canadians taking this town back for its townsfolk. We chatted for a while and then my attention turned to the bartender. I ordered a cup of strong Belgian coffee. It arrived soon after but so did the jeers of an older Belgian gentleman across the bar from me. He asked where I was from. I told him. He asked why I had come. I told him about Mac. A second later he commanded the bartender in Flemish to get me a local Passchendaele beer and he dug into his pockets to pay. I rounded the horseshoe bar and shook his hand and thanked him very much for his kindness.
The next person in the door was a man that joined me at the bar. We got to talking soon after and he told me he was visiting from the Island of Jersey in the English Channel. He went on to say that weeks before he was able to track down the military records of his great grandfather who left Jersey prior to the Great War to emigrate to Winnipeg. At the beginning of the war he joined the Canadian Army and returned to Europe to fight. During his first deployment with the Canadians he was one of very few that lived. He was returned to London where he received his commission and returned to France and Belgium to fight at Passchendaele. Once again he was one of the lucky ones who returned home. It was just in the last week that the man with whom I spoke had found a picture of his great grandfather in uniform standing outside Buckingham Palace as a result of searching records at the Canadian War museum in Ottawa.
We left together to walk back to Canada Gate monument. We both stood together throughout. We walked back in the procession of torches to the town square following the Canadian Soldiers as they paid tribute to those who went before them to capture the town square from the Germans. An unbelievably emotional day![wpvideo fVOhFgS5]
I DON'T NORMALLY DO REVIEWS
'Sir, If you enjoyed your stay please tell your friends”.Today brings our last moments in Cozumel. And with a heavy heart we pushed our luggage along to the lobby to checkout from this Oceanside paradise. The lovely lady at the front desk of the Presidente’ Intercontinental Resort was just another exceptional example of the quality of staff that made our stay here unforgettable. It is truthfully hard to believe that this is the end of our stay here on the Island.
When we arrived here last week we were newbies to the East coast of Mexico and for that matter the Caribbean. We came not knowing what to expect if truth be told. The funk that hung over us due to my Japan trip blunder still weighed heavy in the very humid air.As I eluded to in a blog post last week, when life gives you lemons you have to make lemonade. The Presidente’ Resort helped us make truck loads of lemonade over the last 9 days. It will seem to many that this has become the ravings of the worlds biggest sycophant.
Those that know me will know that I don't actually like many things. I used to work with a guy that regularly mentioned there are 6 billion people on this planet, and that he liked 6 of them. I won’t go that far. I like at least five more than that and there is definitely room to grow given the right set of circumstances.So let's get down to it. The nice lady I spoke of earlier asked if I would tell our friends all about our stay and write a quick review for Trip Advisor. Dear Trip Advisor readers, please consider the Intercontinental Resort on island of Cozumel Mexico if you want an absolutely 5 star vacation. The rooms are beautiful. As your door opens you find immediate respite from the extreme heat by the wonderful and purposeful air conditioning. Our suite had french doors that opened up to a white sandy beach and brilliant turquoise water just beyond. Our rooms were maintained impeccably daily by a very well-trained team. The attention to detail is first class.
Once on the beach the service continues at a high level. The waiters that patrol the beach are athletic and attentive. They know instinctively when to approach for drink orders, replace beach towels and fetch ice. The waiters on the beach were not the only ones that stood by to make our stay so memorable. The gentlemen that worked in the Mexican restaurant soon learned our names and our preferences. The food was authentic and outstanding. I had the pleasure of trying several dishes that are from the Yucatan peninsula that I would have otherwise never enjoyed.The grounds are beautifully maintained by gardening staff. We soon got to recognize the faces of the fellows that pruned the palm trees and harvested the coconuts for the bar staff to use throughout the day. Without fail, you would get a huge smile and a warm greeting as you walked past them at work. The infinity pool and neighbouring beaches are incredible. If snorkelling with hundreds of different species of fish strikes your fancy, you would be in the right place. If you have your dive ticket you are also spoiled for choice with the abundance of companies that service the resort.
If parasailing is your pleasure then you are also in the right spot. I’m sure it ends somewhere but I could go on. To sum up, this place ensured our family had an awesome holiday and the will to return next year if everything comes to plan. This resort and its staff are to be congratulated as they provide a five-star service.
TAKE US TO THE LOBSTER SHACK PLEASE.
I had another title for today's blog but after much deliberation I have decided to go with this one. You see, without going into much detail I was going to make assertions that would probably upset and alienate too many people based on my stuffy old-fashioned biases. Whether I like it or not its 2017. Time marches on and so must I.
It's time to live and let live. Love and accept the many different things that people do to themselves to make them appear "unique" and forge on in a way that is non judgemental & be a strong proponent of vive la difference!Yesterday Mexico celebrated the day of the dead. This will come back to play a significant role in my story a little later. Yesterday afternoon, after many hours of snorkeling and lying about in the shade, it was time to make a decision about dinner and where to have it. I had been scouring the net for options in the town center and as such had found what appeared to fit the bill perfectly. Seafood in a bun, seafood in a bowl or seafood burritos. This place came highly recommended by hundreds before us as well as our lovely El Presidente Concierge Ana.All we had to do is request a cab and head towards what was shaping up in my imagination to be the experience of a lifetime. Our restaurant of choice tonight has countless five-star ratings on Google, Yelp, and the grand daddy of them all, Trip Adviser (Sorry Mr. Steves!!).
Ana hailed us a cab and soon afterwards we were driving at a pace akin to the speed of baby sea turtles, who (I recently learned) are born into the world from Cozumel's surrounding beaches. Today's driver was not as spry as our last (Juan). One could almost describe him as a dead man driving. I never quite got his name as he required what little energy he had left to drive his dilapidated Toyota Corolla from point A to B, let alone utter words.
Let's just say that I would be very surprised to to witness our driver survive the night to see mañana . Our nether-worldly driver appeared to be similar in stature to Juan but I couldn't swear to that as he never rose from his seat to get out of the cab. My guess is just under five feet tall, slim build and frail. From the Intercontinental Resort we meandered along Quintana Roo Road as mentioned earlier at a leisurely pace. Pedestrians strolled by us like we were standing still. Families of six all aboard their 125cc motorbike passed us like super bike riders racing the Isle of Man TT.
My beard was noticeably longer as we arrived at the city limits. If this was Juan at the wheel we would have been around the island once and lapped ourselves by now. My stomach was turning as I thought "oh my god", what is this going to cost us. If the meter goes by time and not distance we are going to have to sell fake Cuban cigars or god forbid, donkey rides on the beach to drunken Carnival Cruise day trippers to pay for this.
As we passed the Mega store I though to myself, that took us ten minutes last time. If this keeps up Deanna is going to have to bury me and our nameless driver together in this shock absorb-er-less Mexinese death trap. Deanna was happily perspiring to my left with nary a trouble in the world. I'm panicking Sky-walker!
So this continued for another five minutes before I said to Deanna, I mapped this place out on Google yesterday. It's just a five-minute walk from the Mega. By this time we were approaching wilderness and Cozumel Airport in the distance. Now, for the Talking Heads fans among us, I think these lyrics from their song "Once in a lifetime" will illustrate what was going on inside my head as I stared out of the cab.And you may ask yourselfWhat is that beautiful house?And you may ask yourselfWhere does that highway go to?And you may ask yourselfAm I right? Am I wrong?And you may say to yourself, "My God! What have I done?"
With the power invested upon me by the music of David Byrne, I summoned up the courage to ask a few questions of our octogenarian driver. I knew going into this that he only had so many breaths left to take so to keep my questions brief. "Señor are you driving to the Lobster Shack?" "Ci he replied!" "Are you sure?" "The Lobster Shack I asked again"? I could smell the synapses smoldering. Then came his reply. "Ci we go Lobster Shark".
What the ***k is a lobster shark? I just wanted a lobster sandwich. Now we are gonna be fed to lobster sharks. What are lobster sharks? I've never heard of them before. They sound like one of those hybrid villains I used to binge watch on Saturday morning Spider-Man cartoons as a lad.
Ok, I decide to throw caution to the wind and ask our driver to use what little life he has left to turn this wheelie coffin around and head back for the town centre. A while later we arrived. I asked him to pull over beside the nice man with a completely tattooed face and his pit bull so we could say our goodbyes.
Here it comes, 'how much Señor? 110 pesos Señor. So its 110 pesos to the Mega, or its 110 pesos to drive to the lobster shark feeding grounds and all the way back to tattooed face man. Ok, no argument here, and I paid the man before he ran out of time to spend it. I then turned and saw a Starbucks. This evening Starbucks stood in the distance like the Statue of Liberty. Starbucks was there to give respite to the poor, tired and huddled masses (as long as they buy an Americano).I just wanted their WiFi and damn it I got it. Hey Siri, find Lobster Shack. Three seconds later Siri says we are actually about 45 seconds away by foot. We follow the directions around the corner and there it is. Just as it looked in the dozens of photos attached to the reviews. Tables outside, menu looks awesome. It's closed!Good times!
YOU LIKE THE PICO DE GALLO AMIGO?
Paco and I have become fast friends. Paco is our ever-present waiter at Caribeno. Caribeno is one of four dining options here at El Presidente. There is a Mediterranean option, an Italian option, a creperie and Caribeno. I can't even begin to tell you what the other places are like because I love Mexican food. And as the man once said "when in Rome", you know the rest. Life is a beach, and here on the Island of Cozumel you can't stray far from one. If you despise white sand and turquoise water you better get your travel agent to look elsewhere as this place has it in spades. Only on one other occasion have I travelled to Mexico and that was sadly in my youth. My hazed recollections of that trip are PC and not for anything like this little blog. The upshot of that long ago adventure was that I swore to myself, I would never again travel across two borders to the south. As it turns out tequila has lasting and negative side effects that can deter you from travelling to what has turned out to be paradise. This resort is to me an excellent example of purposeful serenity. Now I know if you are a friend of the Aga Khan, you can travel to a private Xanadu somewhere in the Caribbean where unichs wave palms overhead and you can inject yourself (photo-bomb in Trudeau speak) into everyone's family photos because you think you are cool. But I'm neither cool nor a former on-call drama teacher, so that's not gonna happen.
You know sometimes when you see places in a glossy travel magazine, you think to yourself that cannot be real. So this story unfolds. This place is exactly how it appears in print and on the net. It is unreal. This is not an all exclusive and the prices for food and beverage are similar to at home so there is no savings in that regard. One can always opt to stay at an all-inclusive when in the Caribbean but upon reflection and with no personal experience to make the following statement. "With inclusivity comes a different vibe". The vibe that I can barely recollect from my youth when cerveza flowed like water and senseless waste was everywhere. Along with that vibe comes drunken buffoonery. Pearly white men in jean cut offs (to the knee) walking proudly about with a smoke perched over each ear and a different camo ball cap for every day of their stay. And before you ask that was never then or now me!!!!
On this trip I didn't need that. I didn't need anything to raise my blood pressure. Day one was already close to dropping the elephant right in his tracks given my "little" oversight. So here I am. Nobody has raised my eyebrows as yet. No one has been insulting or negative or even neutral in their demeanour. Everyone we have had the pleasure to meet has been so gracious and welcoming and proud. If you leave your chez lounge for a second someone sprints over to change your towel or refill your water. I greet everyone with a strong positive Ola! In return I get one back with Señor or better yet amigo tacked on to the end.
Yesterday afternoon we wandered into town by Taxi to visit the Mega Store. The Mega is where the locals shop here on the island. It reminded me of a Coop store you would find in the UK or Switzerland. Whatever you can think of the Mega has it. Just to back up a bit we asked the bell captain to order us a local cab. We are several miles out of the centre of town but it took just a couple of minutes for Juan to arrive. Once again we were greeted by a man in his late 50's who wore the biggest smile and the most humble of personalities. Juan drove us into town in his white Chevy compact cab. For such a small car on the outside the interior was fit for three of me. Leg room o'plenty and with the windows down and 90 miles an hour who needs air con? It's probably time to qualify the abundance of leg room comment just made. Perhaps if Juan was over five feet tall I may have struggled.
A few minutes later and we were into the store and Juan stood by for our return. We loaded up with a cooler, 24 bottles of 2 litre water, 18 Corona, Queso, Jamon, Bread, flip flops (cause three days ago I was going to Japan), and several other items. Some of those items may have been corn chips and salsa verde.
Twenty minutes later we emerged and loaded our purchases into Juan's cab. Done and done and we headed back towards El Presidente'. On the way we passed countless locals riding two up on their scooters. No need for rider protection wear in this country. En route back we did have a moment of shock which turned out to be hilarity just as we passed the cruise ship port for the island. Clearly there is no sobriety test required to rent a jeep on this island as the following happened right in front of our eyes.
Two millennial females passed by us like we were standing still. One drove as the other thought it was appropriate to be taking numerous standing selfie videos on her Iphone. They both clearly thought a lot of themselves by their actions & demeanour . The pursed lips and the posing was a dead giveaway. It was just as big a surprise for us as it was to the standing millennial when her driver and former BFF smashed the brake peddle throwing her former and recently standing friend's face into the windshield. Let's just say her selfie career is going to have to be put on hold for a couple of years unless she can get back to Miami and see her plastic surgeon ASAP. Juan uttered a single word "stupido". I like Juan!
Today, breakfast brought huevos rancheros with a healthy amount of pico de gallo, I asked for seconds! You now know where today's blog title fell from. Today brings more sun and tropical breezes. Deanna is lying under a palm umbrella . Allistair is breaking in his snorkelling gear and I sit in the shade telling stories. Bueno!
I HAVE SO MUCH EXPLAINING TO DO!
I have so many apologies to make. My wife, my son, the kiosk ticketing agents I took a shot at yesterday. I still can't come to grips with what has happened to us in the last 24 hours. The rush of emotions including guilt and shame combined with the overwhelming feeling of stupidity. Yesterday I made reference to being in my 50's, feeling my mortality and emptying the bucket list. Today I have to swap that malarkey for "I just had a senior moment" and the unrelenting "am I loosing it introspections?"
I guess it's now time to explain. Tuesday morning saw us early to rise, pull the drapes and peer across the runway at YVR to watch the early morning flights rolling towards the south runway and readying themselves for the off. We went to the lounge and had breakfast knowing all to well that we had 6 hours or so to right ourselves before departure. Deanna and I soon after jumped aboard the sky train and rode the rails like shopping hobos for two stops to get to McArthurglen Outlet mall.
OPULENCE, NOTHING LESS.
So here I sit with my feet up in my room 24 hours before I leave for Osaka. I am listening to the in room music service play classical guitar. Music soothes the savage beast they say. They must be right. I have not felt like yelling at anyone in several hours. I have no idea what the selection of canapés and beverages might look like when we cross the hall to the Gold Lounge. There is no apprehension here, I have trained myself for this showdown. Suffice to say I shan't be unhappy.yvrdeals.comwww.fairmont.com/VancouverAirport
A CHELSEA FAN?
I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO BIEBER!
JUST NEED A LITTLE BIT LONGER.
GOB SMACKED!
One Should Winter in Monte Carlo.
I CALL THIS ONE STRUBARB
Its been a couple of days since I last wrote but as we have been so busy well into the evenings I have not had the energy since being back in the UK. This morning I find myself looking out from my bedroom window southward into an overcast but as yet dry morning. Not much happens in this very small Lake District town in the National Park.On Sunday we touched down in the UK at Newcastle International Airport. We quickly rented a car and were off to the coast so I could do a bit of tour guiding around my first home and many of the sights in the area. We first stopped in for fish and chips in North Sheilds and sat overlooking the mouth of the Tyne River as ferry boats were leaving back towards Holland. The weather was perfect so we sat there for 45 minutes in the sun.
From there it was a drive along the coast to the north thru Tynemouth, Cullercoats, and Whitley Bay. We weren't the only ones soaking up the evening sun as the roads were busy and the walkers filled the coastal paths. Once we could clearly see St. Mary's lighthouse we pulled off the road and walked down to photograph it as the sun set.After a while the travel of the day began to catch up so we decided to pop in to the pub just around the corner from my old family home in the village of Cullercoats. The Sandpiper has never changed on the outside since 1972, but inside it has been redecorated into a super cool casual yet quite uncharacteristicly hip lounge feel. The chairs are covered in floral prints and most of the accouterments are in the color of sandstone. We each had a half a pint and vowed to return. A quick spin by the old house and then into Newcastle and the Holiday Inn Express in the center of the city.For a Sunday evening I could not get over the thousands of students out on the streets. Apparently Newcastle has become one of the country's favorite college towns. Three large campuses interwoven throughout the city overwhelms all other businesses to be seen. We got to sleep early and then early to rise. We were up, had our free breakfast and gone.
We headed over the Tyne Bridge and set sail for a little village where my grandparents lived to survey any change and wander the beach. Job done and then we walked about the little shops. Thankfully this place has not changed one iota because it is a very pretty and quaint.More driving and looking about and then back into Newcastle to have dinner with friends. Now it must be said that I had asked earlier in the day if we could have an Indian meal as it is my favourite and where I live good South Asian restaurants are rare.We met our friends at the Bodega pub for a few real ales and then pushed on to a place thirty yards from the HIE.
I believe AKBARS is a chain of restaurants in the north of England. Most of their dishes are Pakistani in spice origin which little did I know continues to effect you in a weird way 36 hours later. Oh my babaji was that hot. The yogurt accompanyment was unable to do its job. The Tiger beer was also useless. On fire people. When I asked the waiter how you ever get used to this he replied with his hands up in the air and his head moving from side to side " oh sir I do not eat this food. This is Pakistani and I am from Bangladesh. We do not eat such spicy food. I recommend a Bangladeshi restaurant for you sir".Well that advice was just a little tardy in our current sweaty state so we plod on and devour the flames like a fire eating side show freak at the carnival.
The thing was the meal was excellent. It tested your metal but was excellent none the less. We bid farewell to our friends who graciously treated us and promised to return next year to repay the favour. It was awesome to spend that time together. Guts churning but happy it was straight to bed for early to rise.After breakfast we loaded the car and left westward to Cumbria through the Tyne valley. The highway follows Emporer Hadrian's wall built in Roman conquest times to keep the angry Scots from entering without going through passport control.There are well preserved stretches of the wall visible from the highway as well as Roman forts. The sights and sounds don't stop with the Romans. We made a great decision to visit the town of Hexam.
It is a stunning place near to perfect in every way. I could live here as well. The town center is built around an abbey that can be dated back to the first century A.D.We met an elderly man inside who was a keen historian and volunteer who regaled us with many very interesting facts. I really could go on forever as he and this place were fantastic. We left the abbey and wandered the tight back streets to mail a postcard and enjoy market day in the town square. From Hexam we continued to Carlisle where Angus toured the university while I sat in the sun. Gus was suitably impressed and came away with lots of information.
We had a drive around Carlisle and then pushed on 31 miles south to the Lake District and our next AirBnB operated by Jan from South Africa. Jan told me that he met his local wife when her family emigrated to his country 40 years ago. They had been wanting to move back for many years and when the opportunity knocked they bought two listed GrII houses next door to each other. One they BnB and the other they live in. He took me in and immediately you could tell you were in a home built in the 17th century. Every doorway was small and the stairs narrow. But all that to say it was excellent. Two of its best features were that it was less than 5 minutes from the Bitter End and Swann pubs. We spent a couple of hours chatting to the bartender while enjoying the locally brewed Jennings bitter. Great host and very chatty.
At the Swann is where it got hyper British. In the snug next to our table sat a dozen blue haired coffin dodgers all having a pint or cup of tea while discussing the virtues of the right crackers to have when one is sampling different chutneys. Of course tonight was the night that the local gardners guild was having a little best of show competition to judge the years best chutney in the village. Gripping stuff and clearly very serious given the general conversation. They soon had me convinced this was not for the faint hearted. Then Tom took the floor to introduce his entry for 2016. Ladies and gents, I call this one "Strubarb". I have painstakingly blended the sweetest of seasonal strawberries and the tartest rhubarb to make this.
A deafening hush came upon the room. What was this abomination, this isn't cricket old boy. This is a traditional group, we don't go in for Strubarb. Sorry old man, not this year. Tom snatched his jar and crackers and stormed off. Serious group, serious chutney. It was good to know chutney is not up to anyones interpretation. To end the night was a walk to the late night chippy for the obligatory beer mop. Haddock and chips twice please. Order filled and back to Jan's place. BBC ten o'clock news, devour and sleep!Cheers!Mark
Waiter! Back in the States, we call that a Hawaiian Pizza.
Another day in the cradle of civilization went very well if I may say so myself. Given that we had already hit the majority of the “biggies” over the course of the last few outings, today was a day for “a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll”. For those in the crowd that love and pine for the retro tones of Donny and Marie, here’s looking at you kids!We left our place this morning once again on a straight shot to St. Peters. It may sound like we always end up there but actually we always end up there. Not always because we intend to but mainly because it is five minutes from our AirBnB on the way to literally everything else.
We walked straight by this morning except for one deviation as I stopped & watched intently as a plain clothes Roma Police team shook down a Gypsy who was a bit too aggressive with the elderly pilgrims in town for a “god time” not a long time. Just as I had observed a Caribinieri officer smash a “Gypo" for pickpocketing in Florence many moons ago, this was just as entertaining. Perhaps most reading this would think I may have a black heart but these thieving little Bas**ards deserve everything they get.
If you never ventured out of tourist Rome you may think that every Roman gets a mega stipend at birth so they may look, smell and be great. I guess its a rouse, these folks have jobs. We walked past the Italian Navy HQ. White uniforms were the order of the day and there were hundreds. I have been suffering with my obligatory heat rash about the ankles as per usual in this country. Deanna has suffered through many a day and night with me here (mostly Venice or Assisi) & helps me administer the usually useless ointments at the conclusion of every long day. Today I went to a pharmacy and in my best broken Italian asked the chemist what she thought.
Fifteen seconds later with a short confab with her senior and over the counter came a spray pump bottle containing instant relief and reversible symptom treatment within an hour.I have been here numerous times and just plain suffered. Stupid is as stupid does once said a wise ping pong playing man. So with relief came a notion to head to a cafe, have some lunch and a beer or two and then finish it all off with a tiramisu and a wicked smooth espresso. Joy in Mudville peeps, all is well in the world. Fuelled and good to go. 150 meters west and we stood in front of a church I did not recognize. The Church of Gesu’. Im gonna say it, second best and rivalling the best of the bunch we have had the honour to visit. I’m all out of adjectives. Crazy crazy beautiful. After 45 minutes sitting in several seats around the building with our necks cranked way back it was time to think about the off.Uber requested and a six minute wait.
While we wait I will explain todays title. About an hour earlier, all was going smoothly at the Cafe Napoleon. Then Chip and Buffy and their friends Chip and Buffy decided to co-join our table. Buffy 1 had one policy. Only stop talking when food was inserted in her gob. Her incessant jabbering about Alabama was starting to make my ears bleed. Chip 1 didn't say much, I'm not sure he was authorized to. Our waiter was good, multi lingual and really sharp. Buffy 1 wanted pizza. She pointed to the menu in an effort to order. It would have been much easier to annunciate but oh well. The waiter confirmed her choice of prosciutto & pineapple as he clearly didn't get many locals placing that order. He spoke clearly in English to confirm the choice. He read back the toppings. Thats when Buffy 1 tried to explain in “American” that back in the states they call that a Hawaiian Pizza.
Luca tried to keep a straight face however there was a strong hint of you are a stupido oozing out from his every pour. Next came Buffy 2 who only wanted a salad as she was watching her weight (we learned). Buffy 2 wanted to know if she could get ranch dressing on the side. The response from Luca was what kind of dressing? Olio and balsamic, that is what we have. Buffy 2 was just a little stunned as they have ranch dressing back in the states and as it turns out on Carnival Cruise lines too. Chip 1 and Chip 2 ordered pasta carbonara. This prompted Buffy 2 to reconsider her original order. “Could I have a pasta carbonara too waiter? Trump could win….. Buffy 2’s diet starts tomorrow!
Cheers,
Marco
DOES USING UBER MAKE ME A 51 YEAR OLD HIPSTER?
Nine long hours on foot around Rome today. I was “losing power Captain” and I needed some help to keep my happy place and happy face in tact. Just then I discovered a cure for this uncivilized pain. It is app based and it is amazing. Little did I know until late this afternoon as I sat next to a beautiful and cooling fountain in a curiously silent piazza that life doesn't have to be hard. Uber is a thing & it exists in Rome. Angus had the occasion to use it several times in London 3 weeks ago without a hitch. So what the hell, I started an account and began to see the simplicity in this service.I know most of you know everything I'm going to say already, but I was taken with the process and the ability to monitor our Uber’s location on my phone as he made his way for our pick-up. I could see the drivers photo, I knew his name was Massimo and that he would be arriving in a black BMW 5 Series. All of which came true 6 minutes later. Massimo arrived in a Italian tailored suit, sporting short hair and a Roman attitude. This was fine.
The app had sent me a quote for 18 Euros back to our Air BnB. Twelve minutes later and we were there. Slick, cool and a must do-over for sure.What took us to the piazza that Massimo had just picked us up from you ask? Well I am more than happy to tell you. This morning was a rough one. We got up early again as it seems there has been little in the way of jet lag to suffer through so far. We walked Southeast on Via Aurelia until we reached our first stop of the day back at St. Peters Square. We knew yesterday that the Pope would be giving mass today and as you can imagine so did close to 90.000 faithful present. I never thought that this would happen but it has. I have seen the Pope live and on jumbo-tron. A life memory of epic proportion.
At the conclusion of the outdoor service we wandered back to the Tiber and crossed the Ponte Principe into the centre of Roma. Just like last year I was absolutely blown away with some of the most stunning hole in the wall churches and cathedrals that literally line the streets on both sides and in every direction. You wander into a nondescript doorway to find yourself in a narnian world. You think you are venturing into a phone booth sized room. The next thing you know you are in a room the size of a soccer pitch from end to end and floor to ceiling.
From the Pantheon we walked to the Trevi Fountain. The last time I was here it was closed for a makeover. For those who think a trip to Vegas and its Bellagio or Venetian Hotels are a true and accurate depiction of all that is remarkable about Italy, then think again. Neither are, and in fact they are a soulless misinterpretation for the slack jawed troglodytes that arrive via Southwest Airlines because they love the sounds of the slots and the taste of Marlboro.The Trevi is the real deal. That is marble and lots of it. Those statues were carved not made of plaster of Paris. It is something. If I am lying why was there 5000 visitors standing shoulder to shoulder around me to make a wish and toss a coin into it's pools. It is remarkable. From the Trevi we made our way to the Forum and then on to the Colosseum. That walk has an innate ability to send you back in time. You are riding aboard a chariot or drinking wine under a palm. My retention of Roman history is not fantastic but I do recall that to be a Roman in the those days meant privilege and a life of civility. I believe to some degree the people here are still living a life of privilege.
La Dolce Vita is here in spades. Style is seen on foot, in cars or aboard a screamingly fast scooter. Prada high heeled shoes do work as the perfect accoutrement to a Momo Scooter helmet. Believe me its true.It was time to wander from the crowds, so taking another Rick Steves suggestion we walked west back across the Tiber to Trastevere. Immediately the pace of life slowed and the trattorias and vino bars were full of locals. This is going to be my go to for the remainder of the stay here in the nations capital. Awesome vibe. So here we are back full circle. I forgot to mention several notable moments today. My Lemon Gelato and my macchiato whilst standing at the bar, both were terrific in their own way.
Back at our Air BnB now, I am a converted Uber user. I travelled in BMW luxury. Upon receiving my e-receipt I was pleasantly surprised that the quote sent earlier of 18 Euro was a tad over zealous. The fare ended up being 16.00 Euros. I am a hipster and I didn't even have to swill Portland micro brew over my perfectly trimmed beard whilst wearing a plaid shirt. I call that a good day!
Arivaderci!
Mark
