Northern exposure - Christmas in the festively frozen Helsinki

There is nothing quite like the crisp stillness of a morning in Helsinki, or the sound of ice sheets clinking against each other in the harbour as we ran past, or the sight of Stockholm archipelago with shimmering water, boats everywhere and stately houses. There is nothing like the quiet reflectiveness of the north.

We arrived in Helsinki later than hoped, but a short taxi and there were Annabel and Jaakko waiting for us - they took us into our beautiful warm apartment, converted from a factory, all stylish lines and ikea furniture and gave us glögi, the warm drink of spirits/juice/spices and whole almonds and currants that you drink and scoop out the almonds and spices, festive and warming.

Finnish Glögi
1/2 litre black currant juice
1 bottle red wine
1 stick of cinnamon
6-12 cloves
1 dl vodka (or koskenkorva)
Raisins
Blanched almonds

Mix the red wine in with juice and the spices. Heat, but do not let boil. Turn off the heat and add the vodka. Put some raisins and almonds in each cup and pour in the still hot Glögi.

Christmas eve dawned bright and clear - we went for a lovely jog around the island that Annabel and Jaakko live on. In the afternoon, at dusk (about 3pm) we met up and walked to the cemetery, where hundreds of people converged - in the dusk candles glimmered everywhere on the graves, marking a loved one. It was beautiful and moving. We saw many graves of famous Finns, with many candles, and a monument to those killed in war with many candles on it. We walked up a short hill to where a massive cross was surrounded by people and prayers and hymns were sung, incomprehensible and solemn. Then we found Jaakko's grandmother's grave and he lit a candle and placed it there. It was one of the most beautiful and moving sights I have seen.

Christmas day and we woke in the dark, and piled on our warm clothes and went for a run past the bays and cemetery, all quiet in the still morning. Then we hauled presents and food over to Annabel and Jaakko's place and had a wonderful day talking to family, relaxing, eating delicious Finnish food, drinking Glögi and watching the Hollowmen, a lovely bit of Australia. 

Annabel and Jaakko had made us the most beautiful gingerbread house - very traditional apart from the kangaroo on the front lawn!! Best of all we got to sit in front of a roaring fire, on the TV! complete with a burning log scented candle. Christmas Day had all the usual necessities - great food, lovely drink, fantastic company, with the added scenic benefits that come with the winter christmas. We took a post lunch walk down to the bay and around some of the island.

 It was beautiful in its winter starkness. It felt still and quiet, even though the path was bubbling with joggers, walkers, strollers and dogs. When we eventually rolled back across to our little apartment we were brimming with full stomachs and good cheer and contentment.
The highlight of the trip for Sean came on Boxing day when he got a boys trip to the Sauna, followed by an obligatory post-sauna trip to the pub.

This authentic Finnish experience was followed by a less authentic but fun Aussie night. We all went to see Baz's Australia and then finished off the evening in the Aussie Bar (which likes to boast that we are all descended from convicted sheep theives). Despite my policy of generally avoiding Australian alcohol overseas (gotta try the local stuff you know) we were delighted to have our first Coopers Ale since leaving home. There's nothing quite like its bottle-brewed goodness.

The rest of our magnificent time in Helsinki was taking in the Finish vibe in galleries, beautiful streetscapes and sculpture, and a great Finnish restaurant, and frozen picnic lunches eaten outdoors with frozen fingers.

And then came the sad morning that we had to leave - Annabel and Jaakko took us off to the ferry terminal for a trip to the Estonian medieval city Tallin.

Tallin was fantastic. Beautiful, charming, and lively but without crushing crowds of tourists. Jaakko accompanied us, his last trip had been before the breakdown of the Soviet Union. We pottered around the gorgeous town, visiting ancient churches and buildings, including the incredible Russian Orthodox church that looms over the town and positively sparkles when the sunlight reflects off the gold mosaics and paints. A highlight was having lunch in a medieval restuarants, that serves only food and drink that was available in medieval times (including honey ale), on crockery that was available at the time, and decorated with medieval sheilds and tapestries and swords. It sounds so tacky, but it was actually great. The ale was fantastic and novel, mine was a cinnamon ale and Jaakko's a strange herby one that was very interesting. The vegetarian selection was surprisingly good too, and surprisingly varied. The menu even suggested we could pay in rabbit skins, but I didn't try this one as I had left my rabbit skins in left luggage. We went with the very medieval eftpos machine instead.

We said sad goodbyes to Jaakko, and then it was onto another ferry, this one much larger, and bound for Stockholm. We settled into our little berth as the ferry moved slowly out into the night ...

Where the streets have no name - Derry and Belfast - NI part 2

We stayed in a gorgeous B&B in Derry with the essentials - homely twee bed spreads, a slightly eccentric host and a lovely German couple. By night and in the morning we explored Derry - a walled city that still seems to hold on dearly to it's siege history - the walls ringed with cannon, tales of the locking out of Catholic troops. On the drive back to Belfast we took the inland route and snow lay on all the hills and fields. When we got to Belfast we decided to walk up Cavehill - a large outcrop that looms over the city. The walk was beautiful, passing Belfast castle, then neolithic caves which had been carved into the side of the hill (hence the name) and stood on the summit in the icy wind and watched as a whole troop of people came past us playing a sort of chaotic golf with mallets over the mountain along a path of flags - we were almost hit by the hard flying balls a few times and were not surprised when at the end of the host of players there were five first aiders along!!

We descended a different way and got lost, finding ourselves separated from where we wanted to be by a large chasm - it was just like a rogaine! We worked our way around and eventually back to the car. Then down to Belfast proper - we ate our lunch in the botanic gardens and

explored - we had hoped to go to the museum but it was all boarded up, no signs, just very closed. We made our way to our hotel, an od converted large house, with an odd old chap who

argued with us over the price that had been agreed but then seemed happy enough, the house was all musty rugs and creaking staircases. We dropped our bags and jumped into the black cab

waiting for us, this was one of the black cab tours of the murals. Our cabbie, Conor, was close about whether he was one side or the other, but told awful stories of violence on both sides, of

the celebration of murderers by both sides in their mural, and his view that Catholics had killed more of their own over the years than protestants, and vice versa. It was incredibly moving and stark to hear the tales, see the murals, have the bullet holes and still abandoned buildings pointed out to us. We saw the monstrous peace wall, and then, it being dark, had to find a gate still open in the wall. How surreal then to drive back into the centre of Belfast and find shoppers exploring all the big name stores, and a Christmas market and ferris wheel in full swing at the town hall - scenes of peaceful opulence that contrasted sharply with what we had just seen. We thanked our guide - it felt that perhaps it would open raw wounds to keep telling people these stories but what he told us, anyway, was that he felt telling people about it was a way to make sure it didn't keep happening - there were complexities that we didn't pick up on, or hear of, but the profound sense that all sides were caught in a perpetuating cycle (dating back hundreds of years to the 'red hand of Ulster') was intensely felt in his quiet talking.

We explored the market, drinking red wine and browsing, and then set off in search of dinner, not finding much as, a lesson we should have learned in Derry, the Irish eat early, really early. As Prita joked, Spanish and Irish meal times were a perfect match - as the Spanish sat down to lunch, the Irish could sit down to dinner ...

But we stumbled on a wonder instead, the Crown Liquor Saloon, which has the honour of being one of only two pubs owned by the National Trust - and you can see why - an ornate, stunning interior, each surface decorated, with pews and lecterns more fit for a high church, and on top of that fine Guiness and ales and other stouts by the pint - what could be finer!

We had a few and then headed for dinner, sleep and our early return to London.

More photos of the trip can be found here

Stansted to Giant's Causeway - NI part 1

Last weekend we flew from Stansted to Belfast. 

I love the anticipation of travel. We woke in the dark (actually that's not that surprising at the moment), piled on all our warm layers until we looked like bundled up paddington bears (mostly because it was freezing outside but also so we could fit everything else in our hand luggage) and made our way by tube and then overground train to the airport. Ryanair was a new experience for me - you have to queue up to get on the plan as there is no assigned seating. Actually I think Londoners really like to stand in queues - they queue for a bus, at sandwich shops, everywhere!

The flight was good, short and we could see sworls and valleys and peaks of cloud, with the Mourne mountains, the southern boundary of Northern Ireland, poking above them. We landed and jumped into our little Renault, after chatting with the kind car rental man with his sing song accent and finding about a thousand coloured brochures for what to do in NI, with the walks being top of our list. We motored past Belfast and to the coast, stopping to admire Norman castles and celtic crosses at

 Carrickfergus, and treat ourselves to tea and scones - served with butter instead of cream but oh the butter! And then on, past breakers, sea cliffs with the clouds pouring over the sides like waterfalls, sudden squalls and then to the glens. At Waterfoot we turned inland to explore them, where the glens all pile into each other in a mess of valleys and peaks which someone called 'switzerland in miniature'. We stopped at the deserted Glenariff forest park, stretched 

our legs and ate the last of our soda bread and strong Irish cheese with English mustard, and walked a short cicuit through the park. Sheep grazed and in the distance an impressive escarpment. We followed the path down into the glen, the sound of rushing water and then several beautiful waterfalls, the largest of them called the mane's tail, and everywhere dripping water from the ferns, cold and still apart from the rushing waters, we walked along the banks.

The trees were sparse but the undergrowth and ferns glowed with the mist and the afternoon sun. The hibernating woods were lovely, a sense of the green giant slumbering until spring.

We hopped back in the car, jealously going past the trail runners who had run circuits of the park, and got back onto the coast road. Unfortunately, as navigator, I had somewhat underestimated what time it gets dark over here in winter, and it was a close run thing to get to the Giant's Causeway - but we made it in the end - s

leeting and near dusk, we walked down off the cliffs to the mass of surf, waves breaking on a rocky coast, and then we were on the causeway itself, incredible hexagonal columns, marching towards the sea at differing heights, with islands out in the raging surf, a strange regular geometric world - it is easy to see how people thought this was built by the Giant Fionn mac Cumhaill. 

We explored until dark really had set in. On the way back to the visitors centre we cruched along the icy ground - we wanted the loos but discovered they were out of order - the pipes had frozen solid. We did find warmth and whiskey (Bushmills old) and toilets just down the road in the lovely friendly lit up Causeway Inn. We stayed for a few and then headed towards Derry.

Note the photos have been updated!!

Dear everyone,

Talk of quiet achievers. Thanks to Prita, there is now, catalogued and even with comments, a selection of photos from our honeymoon! They are split into the different areas we travelled to and are located down on the right side of the Blog.

I loved looking at them again and remembering a) what a wonderful, amazing, special time it was, and b) that sunshine does exist ...

First snow in London

Hello everyone

I'm working! Which is great. What's even greater is that we got paid yesterday, that's sort of up there with indescribably great.

But what I really wanted to write about was getting snowed on.

I had gone out (the one night I was glad I took the tube not bike) and met my friend Adrian, we had had a lovely relaxed drink and chat with him and I and his girlfriend Delia at the cafe in the National Gallery. Then we moved on to a fish and chip shop in Covent Gardens.

After our Cod (I refrained from telling them the Cod joke) and chips, we were chatting and I fancifully thought that the rain looked like it was floating - but then it really WAS! And suddenly it was snowing! It floated down all soft and silent, mostly melting on the ground but some remained. We walked to the tube station and on the way i started to resemble a giant snowman, my hair and jacket covered in white. Then I discovered I had a hole in my shoe. Cold. Really cold, and then into the subway and thankful for the first time that it is always stinking hot in the tubes.

I thawed,and getting out at Finsbury Park was just like getting onto the set of those last scenes of Bridget Jones (somehow become a cultural touchstone), the snow lay on the ground and footprints crisscrossed it. It was still snowing as I got on the bus and sat upstairs and watched it fall softly against the windows, rubbing the condensation out of the way so I could watch it all. It was enchanted and I knew it was because i saw something I hadn't seen yet - Londoners were smiling!

When I got home Prita was outside taking photos dressed in a big jacket. We hugged as we stood amongst the still falling snow.

Antipodeans in London

Hello everyone

Well, what a great few weeks - we've moved to a house in Haringey, or Crouch End - it's a bit difficult to work out exactly what's a borough, suburb, etc ...

Our house has seven people in it! (including us). It's a huge Georgian house, with two bathrooms and another toilet, and a gorgeous private yard that has a couple of playful squirrels in it.

It feels just a little like living in an episode of friends, with a variety of interesting characters wandering in and out of the living areas at all times, though our actor is a great deal smarter than Joey. We are almost never in at the same time, in fact in a month being here we have only had a single night of a full house, so it doesn't feel as crowded as we were expecting.

We have the large first storey room with three windows with stained glass, a large Monet print on the wall and a red couch that clashes horribly with the print. But it's lovely.

It was in this room that I had my birthday breakfast - beautiful fluffy pancakes with poached pears and an orange sauce and maple syrup - it reminded me of the blintzes at Babka's in Brunswick St, but more of all these flavours swirling round, and I opened my beautiful cards. Unfortunately Prita had to go off to work so I relaxed all day, sitting in our room and reading my birthday present to myself, another in the series of Master and Commander.

Although a tweency bit further from the city than we would like, the area is magnificent. We are on the highest part in north London, there are only two hills on this side of the river, so it isn't actually that high, but it means that we have cleaner crisper air than in the city, and when we go out jogging in the morning we are treated to the spectacular display of the city lit up by the sunrise. Despite being cheap to rent, the burough itself is quite posh and the streets are lovely and picturesque.

The best bit about the area is the plethora of parks around, including an ancient woods that dates back to Roman Britain and an old rail trail path - it is completely private and significantly raised above the road level so it is quiet and bushy and not so hard to believe we're running through the wilderness (even though it is only 5 or so meters wide).

Despite being a little poverty stricken we have been doing our best to do something a little 'London' each week. We have been to lots of museums, lots of parks, and even a couple of theatre shows (of which I especially enjoyed Spamalot, not that the name really made any sense). Last week we went out to Hampstead Heath, one of London's largest and most magnificent parks. A good idea as it turns out, as it was the last sun we have seen. And even Peter came out to play with the Wolf.

Museum of wonders

Today I went for an interview with yet another recruitment firm (a necessary evil? We shall see) and then met Prita. We wandered to the British Museum. The gates are immense and as you walk through them you are confronted by a vast Romanesque temple, massive columns along a long arcaded front. Entering I looked up to see the ceiling painted with harmonious patterns. Inside the great hall all is light, the internal courtyard has been covered over with a vast glass roof which seemed to me like palm leaves stretching from the central tower. All around the open space stood statues and other treasures, and people wandered between them. The sense of being both inside and outside was strong and very pleasant. We wandered into the ancient Egyptian area, massive statues of pharaohs and other greats looked down on us and we talked of the poem of Ozymandias (?), and then Prita showed me a large but rough peice of granite, which it turns out is a fragment, a fragment! Of the beard which used to hang from the Sphinx. This tiny fragment was apparently not the original even, but a piece of an early restoration, something like 1000 years BC! Time seemed immense.

Then we came to the Assyrian section. Two winged bulls with the heads and beards of Assyrian kings stood guard, and we walked between them to the massive gate of the palace, restored using only the copper bands which had bound the door. It stood 17 metres above us, richly inlaid with bronze. Turning we made our way into a gallery with scenes of Assyrian life, 1000 BC and so complex, castes and professions and order and rules. Each tablet was bas relif but also held rich inscriptions in cuneiform, perhaps Accadian(?), the text, it seemed to me, flowed across the figures, how amazing it would be to be able to read the script and decipher their thoughts and actions!

We then popped in to see the Elgin marbles. I was happy to see that as we walked in past doors designed to keep the humidity constant that they were at least looking after them! As we walked in a woman gruffly shouted directions to her companions across the hall in Greek. She sounded kind of angry and we wondered if seeing them there made her grumpy. They are amazing and the scale f what is there is incredible – the details striking and I look forward to seeing them again. I couldn’t help but be awed at what is there and what remained in Athens (very little!).

After that we walked through London towards the National Library (British Library?), and noticed how the streets of rich houses all offices now gave way to a grungier look as we approached Kings cross – and then we turned the corner and were both stunned again by the gothic imperial splendour of the Kings Cross Station, all spires and pointy turrets reaching for the heavens.

Beer and chocolate

Riding across the French border into Belgium was like riding into Canberra. There was no significant difference in the landscape, shops, cars or people. The south of Belgium speaks French so the ads and the restaurants looked the same. Only suddenly the roads improved. There were bicycle paths everywhere and cars suddenly started treating us with a modicum of respect. Everything else looked the same, but there was no doubt we had left France because the traffic was moving 20km slower on all road size.

Clearly then, we loved Belgium from the start. After months of being cramped and side-swiped and driven into, we suddenly had free reign over huge bicycle only lanes, often separated from the traffic via a gutter. It was truly magnificent, and it was only uphill from there.

I have discovered that the Belgians are the quiet achievers. They were more often the battleground for the surrounding regions than the battle starters. They don’t tend to trumpet the greatness of their country. But throughout the last millennium they were quietly making some of the most beautiful things in the world (paintings, tapestries, diamonds and gold) and of course, perfecting beer and chocolate. Really, a very impressive people and place.

We had the luxury of staying with family (in law) in Ghent, my favourite city in Belgium. It has a great feel to it, possibly because it has the largest university in Belgium and far fewer tourists than Brussels and Brugge. We were able to tootle around the beautiful canal paths while sampling beer and chocolate inbetween. I recommend it to anyone.

And that Ladies and Gentlemen, is the end of the 100 day honeymoon.

C’est la vie dure

Saying farewell to Paris was like leaving behind a new friend. I was sad and a little wistful, but certain that I’ll be back before too long. It is such a magnificent place, despite there being a zillion places I want to visit before returning down under, I am certain I will make my way back to Paris too.

We headed east, to the hillside vineyards of Moët and Piper Heidsieck. The north east was a completely new and undiscovered part of France, so we were very excited.

The Champagne vineyards claim they are unique in all the world. The ground is more chalk than soil, so it soaks up water (such as dew) like a sponge and releases it slowly throughout the day. Combined with an excellent balance of sun and rain, warm days and cool nights, it makes unique champagne blend grapes.

We only had three days to explore some of the region, and of course taste as much champagne as we could!

We camped in a lovely campground right in the middle of the champagne region, in Epernay. This town is the 'home of champagne', or at least of the Avenue of Champagne, claimed to be the most expensive street in the world because of the thousands of bottles stored below the cobblestones of the street (whilst we were there they were busily tearing up asphalt and putting in 'ye olde' cobblestones in part of the avenue - lovely look, but bone shattering bouncing around on our bikes!)

We rode out of Epernay and up hills crammed with rows of champagne grapes. Because the champagne growing soil is limited to only the chalky and inclined parts of the region, every square centimetre that has the right characteristics is crammed with vines - as we rode into many towns we would see vines amongs the houses, crammed into the vacant lots as they become available! Each section has a placemarker, and we drooled as we rode past the Moët, Piper, Mumm, etc. But there are hundreds of small producers as well, as we discovered on returning to Epernay and had a champagne degustation of some of the smaller producers. We loved the blanc de blancs - champagne produced with only chardonnay grapes.

On the morning of our final day we packed hastily and scooted over to the Moët et Chandon mansions, where we were told which wing used to house the royalty, distinguished guests, etc, with a whole drawing room reserved because Napoleon ('our Emperor' they said, that's right, the first empire never died!) once sat there. We next watched a hilarious film comparing making champagne to painting, with melodramatic voice over and dramatic aerial shots of the vineyards.

Finally we were led, hushed and excited, down into the cellars! They were cool and dark and smelled of chalk and mildew. The folk at Moët clearly enjoyed the atmosphere as the lighting was all little brazier style lights, and the whole effect was intentionally, gorgeously archaic. We wandered through the halls - again, there's Napoleon's hall, they really love this guy! Maybe it has something to do with the design of the champagne glass ... And we learnt of the secondary fermentation, the riddling, and how they plunge the bottles into a freezing solution to extract the remains of the yeast! Then, after all that thirsty work, we came to the tasting.

Neither of us are ones to stand on status. I think that's fair to say. We had noticed, turning up in our cycling clothes (clean!) that there was a marked reluctance form the Versacci clad ladies and hunting suited gentlemen in the party to get too close to us. There may even have been diminishing glances down aristocratic well-heeled gallic noses. Which we of course took in our stride because, well, it was like that in most of France. But then to get to the tasting and realise that we were the only people who had paid the extra to try the vintage champagne (a wedding present) while all the other plebs only tried the standard - and to have the sommeliers make a song and dance of the vintage, and treat us as rock stars, even asking us behind the tasting bench, well, it was a sort of delicious Schaudenfreude. The champagne was delicious - the rose vintage was full bodied and mellower, not sweet so much as lusciously fruity.

We drank our two glasses (extremely full - thank you Jose the Sommelier!) and ate the croissants we had smuggled in and were quite tipsy as we mounted our bikes to depart for the south of the region.

With our bikes weaving a little (luckily there were almost no cars on the little roads we followed) we rode south through the blanc de blancs region.

After pleasant meandering we arrived at our lodgings for that night - no campsite for us! A chateau awaited us, towers lifted above the small hamlet of Etoges. And it was to the round tower that we went, a beautiful circular eyrie above the formal gardens, fountains and duck filled moat. Above the fireplace a reproduction of a painting of the Medicis going to war that we had just seen at the Louvre. It was stunning. We lazed about, explored the town, and then it was time for dinner.

Dinner was served in the orangery of the Chateau. At first put off by the fancy silver service and dozens of waiters (this was our first time in such a fancy restaurant), we relaxed into the night - Sean timidly asking the waiter if champagne would go with all the courses ... to which he replied 'of course', of course. The meal was divine, a vegequarian degustation, with the tiniest mouthful of finely minced vegetables to start, a palate starter, to the exquisite entrees and mains, and then to the cheese. Ohh, the cheese. Not a cheese or two - a whole cart full of cheeses! We asked all sorts of questions, before choosing our five or so cheese portions each - and then shamelessly ransacked each other's plates in a tasting frenzy, soft blues, mellow goats, oozing bries and washed rinds, and an amazing soft peppered goats cheese. We thought that was all but were amazed as they brought us two dessert courses! Finally we staggered back to the Chateau, under the stars and moon. Ahhh, what an experience!

Ahh, France, thank you, you came through with the goods ...

Five days in Montmartre

We've just spent a lovely and relaxing five days in Montmartre, perched northerly over Paris.

We are lucky enough to be staying with Beth, who has lived in this part of Paris for about 40 years, and is one of the warders of the last vineyard in Paris, a little further up the hill. We have been looked after, wined and dined with her and her fabulous friends at her appartment.

This morning early we walked up the step hill to Sacre Coeur and realized how lucky we were, two streets up and early it was packed with people selling paintings, offering to do our sketch, people wandering from shop to shop. We walked into the beautiful church at the top of the hill, all cool white marble, and inside a different focus on the sacred heart and compassion. Apparently the church was built to appease God who had punished the Parisians (and perhaps the Montremartians most of all?) for their wicked ways. Later, in world war II, 13 bombs were dropped near the church and didn't kill a single person - which further strengthened the devotion to the sacred heart.

It really has seemed as if we are in Montmartre, and not Paris. Montmartre seems a village first and part of Paris second. I really like it. We have strolled down the hill to the bus or metro and made our way into Paris and it always feels that we are crossing a border or something.

But Paris is beautiful too, the light, the water, the architecture which fits the stone they have used perfectly, and even modern building like the Pompidou centre don't jar here. We spent two days immersed in the Louvre, and explored thousands of years of art and history (and debated the merits of museum versus art gallery - even more hotly contested on seeing the overlapping collections at the Louvre, Orsay and Orangeries).

We have also managed to catch up with friends, and even do a little window shopping at the grand stores. It certainly makes a difference from the tiny villages we have been cycling through!

We have eaten and drunk and gazed our fill of Paris (well, for now), and are heading off this afternoon for Epernay, heart of the Champagne region. I am intent on telling them that we come from Australia, which also makes very fine champagne, to see if I can provoke them into a very un-french rudeness.

Because the French are almost unfailingly polite. At least to your face. Every transaction in the tiniest Boulangerie or here in Paris is accompanied by good-days, wishes for our good health, and our continued enjoyment of the day.

Ahh, Paris, I have the felling we'll be seeing you again ...