All around us are suntanned gods and goddesses – as well as a few not so goddess-like! No, I know it. That night, we moseyed once again around Covent Garden and Leicester Square, where the crowds were really overpowering – there was hardly room to move. Mysterious and brooding, green and beautiful…a land never to be forgotten. Never was I so happy to see a ferry! On the go at 9AM – another beautiful day began as we piled into our respective vans for the hour or so trip to Loch Torridon Country House Hotel – an enchanting hunting lodge-turned-hotel. After Steve pushed me into the car, he drove us back to Broadway, dropping us off at the Broadway Hotel bar for dinner. We take many photographs at every possible stopping point: overlooking the ocean, in the ferns, against brick and stone walls, rising, descending… The sun is shining, the birds singing madly, which is the only sound, as this is a quiet walk – no other people are on the trail, whereas before, we’ve had lots of company. We ate every bite, after which, we waddled home, checking out the shops on the way. I was called to the stage to sing “Galway Bay.” I’d had a glass of sherry, but even so I could hardly sing above a whisper…I had terrible stage fright! Three years later, it was all New York City… I left Houston on a wet and windy November day – the plane trip was uneventful, but the plane itself was cold, cold, cold. We whooshed back to Ramsey, New Jersey for a good night’s sleep…. The only thing to do was continue on our way to San Francisco. We also had a lively chat about books we’d read and loved. I must confess, I did not care for London on this particular trip. I just enjoyed the ride, noting down the eccentric silly names of English villages we passed through, such as Wyre Piddle, Upton Snodsbury, and Sneachill. On our walk by 9AM. One really nice thing, among many: the coffee was always piping hot and really good. In Bergen, we said goodbye to our small group, then Diane and I rolled our suitcases to the Admiral Hotel, overlooking the fjord, dropped off our luggage and rambled round for a final farewell. The sunlight was golden, the air warm and buttery. We wandered around all the narrow winding streets, taking in the tiny houses interspersed with shops, restaurants, pubs and galleries. The flatness of the country began to change: we were coming up to Flagstaff. This is a village I have never heard of, and was a delightful, absolutely charming surprise. The lights are sometimes massed, sometimes spread out. The winds were so tempestuous, they needed to grip the cliff face to avoid being blown off the ledge. Off the train at Genoa, on the train to Nervi Honestly! This came with mushy peas with mint, a dish I have recreated since returning home…still yummy! Strolling along the, by now, well-known path from Old Orchard to Broadway, we were struck anew by the historic homes lining the road, with small paned windows and peaked gables, gardens filled with the flowers in season, old drystone walls…views across the road into the fields and hills, some ploughed, some green and glowing in the sunlight. the vine-covered houses and manors and small church with its graveyard, and the sign for the cricket club. Like a small blue sapphire within an emerald green cup, Portofino is the quintessential cosmopolitan seaside Italian Riviera town. Adding to the melancholy beauty of the estate, the sky was overcast, and it was damp and a little chilly. Nicola and Jean-Pierre were NOT amused, as they spent all morning trying to dry it out. (I wish I could get these yoghurts in Houston.). I was so happy. Steve surprised us with a visit to his (Brown’s) first manor house and landscape, Croome Court. We then walked around Polraen’s garden, so intensely green it almost glowed…the day was overcast, cool and fresh with a few spits of rain, certainly not enough to prohibit our day in Polperro. That night we ate in the village of Cong: Again, fish & chips…Nothing like ’em (good, I mean!). A book town mirroring Hay-on-Wye in England, its tiny bookshops were everywhere, and bookcases actually lined the narrow roads. Here we stop for a quick coffee break. Buy Now. A part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it is an “ensemble of rooms and gardens” compiled from various parts of European monasteries, and built to house a wonderful collection of medieval art, from the 1100’s thru the 1500’s. The shops are open, the people are coming and going, the doormen are whistling, whistling, whistling for the taxis that are always full. Guard the sailors tossing Raingear was hurriedly pulled from backpacks, and we hiked through the driving rain to the sea. Then we inched back across the ledge – and drove to the most famous castle in Scotland for a brief tour – the Eileen Donnan. When we are seated, he brought out immense platters of grilled goat and vegetables: beans, potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, mushrooms, and gravy. About 30 miles beyond Bakersfield, we stopped (yet again) at a gas station to fill up, and asked for the nearest motel. We landed, dragged our suitcases uphill to the hotel (thank goodness for wheels), had approximately two hours to clean up, and headed down to dinner. The hike itself was quite laid back, as the trail ambled at a leisurely ascent around the mountain. Dessert was English sherry trifle! I was completely drenched. We moved upwards to a lookout point, where we sat on the rim with the entire Canyon spread below us. We immediately made ourselves Bloody Marys, and opened the nuts, cheese, and chips! Mario met him on one of his previous hikes, and Vittorio offered him homemade cheese and wine, salami, beans, and cherries for his picnics. Part of our hiking trip included the hour-long (more or less) ferry from Boothbay Harbor which deposited us on Monhegan Island on a day that was intermittently sunny, but turned misty and damp. We stopped for a brief lunch of cheese and rolls and tomato, then on we went. Our proprietors, however, were delightful (and the food was good, always a plus.) Ten years later in 1663, there were over 80 coffeehouses within the City and by the start of the eighteenth century, this number had grown to over 500. The next morning, ready to go, we joined the rest of our group from Country Walkers and vanned to Boothbay Harbor, where we were to stay at a charming New England inn. We drive the M3 until we get off on one of the “A” roads, taking us through Salisbury Plains, where we see Stonehenge in the distance, but don’t stop. Suddenly, from nowhere, an earsplitting blast … then the fog parted and we saw the side of an immense ship moving slowly not yards from our boat. So…I arrived in Bergen after switching planes in Amsterdam, and took a taxi to the Hotel Neptun. Charming and gently faded and genteel, it was like stepping through a door into another world. Boothbay Harbor is an appealing small town (2,000+ population) that developed as a fishing center, and now offers everything from boat tours to whale watching (we saw no whales). The sun shone intermittently; parts of the day were overcast – but by afternoon, it was hot. With a sigh of relief, we saw Rose’s Restaurant appear like a mirage on the highway. Nonetheless, we beavered on…and just up ahead, saw a tiny spark in the darkness. Back to Perranuthnoe, leaving our car in a park by the sea. The destination is San Fruttuoso, the tiniest port on the edge of the world. As usual, I wandered around the grounds of Old Orchard’s beautiful garden, picked some apples and plums in the orchard for Steve and myself, and sat on the bench in the back overlooking the green fields and ever-grazing sheep, just inhaling the fresh air. It was wonderful. We wandered on, and about an hour later, came to another Lodge for a beer and snacks. Arriving at the station, we took various detours through other trains, in one side and out the other, finally finding “our” train only to discover it had engine trouble. An hour’s ride through the fjord to Balestrand – and there was the beautiful gingerbread hotel on the water, surrounded by the loveliest little town: small colorful Norwegian houses, all painted in pastels and alive with flowers in gardens and pots. Presently the trail extremely difficult. Did he think we were neophytes here? We rolled on up the road, going this way, going that, and although we thought we were on our way to the Grand Canyon, it finally occurred to us that we were actually on the way to Mexico. Padded yellow rose chintz coats the windows, bed and loveseat. The actors had wonderful voices, terrific personalities, and the sets were unbelievable: of the guillotine (in action), La Bastille, aboard the ship, in a carriage that rocked as if it were really drawn by horses, in the manor, at a ball, in the rose garden… it was all terrific. We had a wakeup call at 9AM, so we could get up, shower, pack and check out, with enough time to eat lunch at the Algonquin Hotel (which I loved…what else is new). Then on to St. Mawes, which is one of the prettiest villages in Cornwall. The clouds drifted away and the sun came out in full, the sky once again clean clear blue. some of which were so dense, they formed tunnels… Stepping into a storybook, everywhere you turned was a picture. Mid-afternoon, we stopped in the Swan for our half pints of Ubu, and then wended our way to Budgen’s for such items as gooseberry yoghurt…yum! Description: The gift that keeps on giving! For dessert, I had fruit and clotted cream and Elisa and Leslie, apple crumble with cream – Yum-o. The night air was distinctly chilly, and we thought longingly of jeans and sweaters, since we were still in our shorts and halter tops. Just outside our window, to break the mood, we also hear an Italian woman next door yelling into the phone at her mother…wish I spoke Italian, I’d love to know what that was all about! But the sound of rushing water was everywhere… wherever you turned were waterfalls, lochs and streams or seas – gushing, gurgling, roaring, rushing, babbling or splashing – a country seemingly circumscribed by water. We took off, and the bus, bouncing down the hills at 90o angles, constantly precipitated one or the other of us into someone’s lap. But the desert wasn’t through with us yet. Special services are still held within. 28 48 6. In the distance, rolling hills and vales…. English drivers are truly another breed: if you aren’t driving quickly enough, the kinder, gentler blokes behind the wheel blink their lights, the aggressive honk madly until you move over! A quick lunch, and we’re back on the road to Wales, and Mumbles, Swansea. Seat belts were also a good idea. The tables are set out in the street, dinner is eaten under the silver Italian moon. We were given a map of Chappaquiddick with “The Bridge” circled, where it was and how to get to it. The years had made a difference. After window shopping and a brisk stroll, I stopped in the Noel Arms for a half pint of Guinness (or two!) The Hotel Mundal, very old and historic, offers glorious back views onto lawns and fjord – peaceful and calming. Turning from the path, I see a small piazza almost deserted in a sunny street. Log into Facebook to start sharing and connecting with your friends, family, and people you know. In the midst of a crazy and trying year, we were thrilled to able to bring some magic to our family and enjoy Disney as a family for the first time. Carpe Diem Pinotage. What the previous day had been a pleasurable ramble through bucolic countryside was now a brisk walk to Broadway which seemed to take a little longer than I had remembered! Finally, in it came and we were finally able to clean up for dinner. By the end of the day, we were extremely punchy, having driven 180 miles. Our room overlooked the lake. Although we forget a bag, and have to turn back, the driver narrowly missing the back of a row of parked cars, we are soon on our way over the Ligurian Mountains. Cresca’s menu has many delightful entrees, and we ended up with feta cheese salads, shrimp and crabcakes. At first, we couldn’t get enough of the view, taking pictures from any and all angles. We hastily piled everything into the car, and prepared for take-off. We toted our luggage upstairs, then left for a walk along the front to the old pier. It is history. Sleep I could not – possibly because I am cold and overtired. The weather at Martha’s Vineyard was glorious: blue skies, brisk breeze, and a slight chill in the air. First on our list was Bude and a walk over the cliffs. Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day All in all, the hike took about eight hours, and I was truly exhausted by the time I plonked myself in the taxi for the ride back to the hotel. Probably didn’t want to give the inn a bad name. You have to forgive these photographs, because they are almost 40 years old! ), got dressed and met her outside my cottage. Funny- I’m not even tired, and it’s 1:30 in the morning. So far, I have spent 200 pounds of the 500 I brought and 160 pounds of it have been taxi fares! We went for a quick walk up a mountain with Marsha and Jerry, and then once again, had to drive an hour and a half to find an inn for our supper. We were standing beneath a grand old chestnut tree, and the ground was covered in them. Our plane took off at 3PM, and soon we were back at Martha’s Vineyard’s adorable tiny airport, where we hired a taxi for a tour up-island
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