Champions in Kingscliff

Kingscliff is a bit like the old Gold Coast – still relatively low rise, with a small set of shops and a thriving bowls club and Surf Life Saving Club. The golden sands of the beach stretch off into the distance, admittedly currently marred by the upgrade and redevelopment that will result in fabulous beach access, and hopefully protect the beach from further ravages by the relentless sea. The vibe is low key and relaxed. And, the sun is shining. What more could you want.

We are Airbnbing here, and this is the true Airbnb experience – genuine people who are keen to meet others and share their beautiful locale. Elizabeth and Steve have Orient by the Sea, which is essentially the downstairs of their two storey town house, in spitting distance of the shops and beach. We have a bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom and a little kitchenette. We share the front door and entry foyer. You can mix, or not mix. We do both. Our hosts are super friendly and keen to chat and share experiences, but are also aware of letting us have our privacy to do our own thing. That to me is what Airbnb should be all about.

Our focus is on the IRB National Lifesaving Championships, so we spend most of our time standing on the beach. To the initiated, IRB events look chaotic – inflatable rescue boats (IRBs) zooming all about; people in wetsuits running up the beach and flinging themselves into IRBs; people being flung into and out of IRBs; people moving up and down the beach. But, rest assured, it is organised chaos.

 

Movement is constant, as to make things fair, teams move lanes between every event, as there is no controlling the waves and when and where they fall.

Friday the respective state teams compete. There is fierce interstate rivalry, but, at least in Victoria, strong intrastate support. Much to the annoyance of all the other states and their individual teams, the various Victorian teams show strong support for each other, and even have a Victorian chant: We love you because you’re Victorian …… clap, clap, clap, clap.

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The camaraderie is in fact one of the reasons I love watching these championships. The Williamstown crew are a tight knit bunch. It is one for all, and all for one. They suffer for each other, and rejoice in each other’s victories. I am grateful for the care they shower on my highly anxious pre race daughter, cushioning her in their support. As parents we are largely superfluous; we’re not part of the inner circle; we are not the ones they turn to first for the encouraging hug. And, that’s how it should be. I am moved to tears when I see the Team Coach, and chief wrangler, in tears after Abby’s gold medal swim. He has known her since she was 16. They are family.

As always there are dramas – we get disqualified in a couple of events; the rope to start the motor breaks in another so we never get off the beach; a patient isn’t hauled in on the first run in another; and most dramatic of all, a crew member goes flying out of the boat and ends up with a damaged knee. But, despite these obstacles, Williamstown Life Saving Club comes third overall, an excellent achievement.

Our girl and her team win the Gold Medal in her particular event, for the 4th year in a row. The event is called The Tube. Let me talk you through it. The driver and swimmer are on the beach, the starter’s gun goes and they race to the boat. The driver starts the engine, and then the swimmer (Abby) leaps in. They race over the waves towards the patient, who is patiently bobbing about waiting to be rescued. The boat gets to the first can and Abby heaves the rescue Tube into the water, followed by herself. She then swims to the patient, throws the tube at him. He clips the Tube around himself and she then proceeds to swim back to the boat, towing him behind (he is allowed to kick). The boat can’t wait for them at the end of the run – rather must drive off, keep an eye on proceedings and then race back in as the swimmer reaches the end can. The swimmer heaves the patient and then herself back into the boat, and the boat races to the shore. The boat roars up to the sand, the driver leaps out and runs to the finish line. The first driver at the finish line wins. There you have it, the Tube Race. And they won. Hurrah!

The Championships run over three days, so there isn’t much time for anything else. But, we do manage some extra curricular activity. Friday evening as the sun is beginning to set we go walking along the breakwater, and are delighted to see two migrating whales putting on a display of dives and leaps in the middle distance. A thrill to see them.

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Saturday afternoon we get an early mark as racing is called off due to wind and choppy seas. We take the opportunity to visit the Tweed Regional Gallery in nearby Murwillimbah. What a beautiful Gallery it is, making the most of its location in the valley. The current exhibition is an A-Z from the collection – and it is a delight to work out the curator’s thinking behind each choice. And then there is the Margaret Olley Centre attached to the Gallery. They have been blessed by a grant from the Margaret Olley Trust and now house a recreation of Margaret Olley’s home and studio. Plus, a grant from her Trust enables an artist in residence, and a showing of their work. And, on our visit there is an exhibition of Margaret Olley portraits, by herself and others. Wonderful. I am moved to tears by the stories and portraits- there was just something about her face that endears her to you; I feel a connection. All in all, an enchanting experience.

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And of course, nothing is complete without visits to restaurants. We visit two, Fins at the Salt complex in Kingscliff, and Taverna, just a few minutes walk from our accommodation. Fins is jam packed on a Saturday night, and the wait staff are working overtime. They are not helped by an accident in the kitchen involving a knife and stitches, which holds up service. The seafood is delicious, but goodness me, not cheap – with mains around $47, entrees at $26. At those prices I think it is rather rich (excuse the pun) to charge for bread & butter. We decline.

Sunday night at Taverna is Chef’s Table night, which translates to no choice, set meal, $39 a head (dessert and drinks not included). It is a lovely space – white, bright and light. And absolutely packed. Yet the staff manage the tables with grace and efficiency- and the food is delicious. What a bargain. We walk back up the hill very happy campers.

Monday morning the sun is still shining brightly but we must drag ourselves away and begin the journey home. Thank you Kingscliff, we will stay longer next time.

Road Trip to Aussies – Orange to Bellingen

We keep to the back roads on our way further north, with the next leg in our road trip being Orange to dang, dang, dang Tamworth – home of country music. Watching the changes in the landscape keeps us fascinated.

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Just before Tamworth we are intrigued by the white fluff along the roadside. Wool that has been desiccated by the mower? We stop and have a feel and are still unsure. Pete hazards a guess at cotton but we look around at the dry paddocks either side and think, surely not. But, Lo & behold shortly after we pass fields of harvested cotton and HUGE bales of cotton wrapped up in yellow plastic. It would seem that the bales moult as they are transported, leaving a white fluffy carpet beside the road. A mystery solved.

In Tamworth we stay at the rather bizarre Retreat@Froogmoore Park – I couldn’t resist a place that had a Dungeon Room, replete with a whip. Although much to Pete’s disappointment we are in the Madea (Japanese) Room. The interior decoration in this place is interesting to say the least. But, the gardens are beautiful.

My main impressions of Tamworth are a wide, palm lined main street; statues of Australian country singers; a stunning Deco pub; and a very loud and crowded bat colony along the river.

We have a lot to do the next day, so decide to skip breakfast at Froogmoore (never did work out why the odd name) at $25 a head and head to Armidale instead. But, we ended up stopping in the lovely village of Uralla, just before Armidale, and chanced upon the terrific The Alternate Root Café, housed in a beautiful 1908 shopfront with a magnificent old tin roof. Excellent coffee and a very tasty breakfast left us very happy road trippers.

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We merely passed through the outskirts of Armidale, intent as we were on travelling along the poetic sounding Waterfall Way. The name conjured up visions of a lush green landscape, but we were still moving through grazing pasture land. Where were these waterfalls then? 40 kms later we veer slightly off the highway and into the parking area for the Woollombi Gorge. A short walk later we see in front of us a magnificent Gorge and a series of beautiful waterfalls tumbling down the rockface.

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We travel a bit further along Waterfall Way to the minuscule hamlet of Ebor where we discover the beautiful Ebor Falls, Upper and Lower.

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As well as the waterfalls there are panoramic views across the valley. Who would have thought that all this beauty lay just beyond the boundaries of a not very interesting road.

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From here it is on to Dorrigo and its UNESCO World Heritage listed rainforest – a micro climate again tucked just off the Waterfall Way. Unfortunately , we arrive too late to take advantage of the walks on offer, but we do get a feel for this unique environment.

It starts to drizzle as we hop into the car, and so we follow the rainbow into Bellingen, a delightful village nestled into this beautiful valley. Day disappears with a glorious sunset, a fitting end to a day of natural wonders.

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We are staying at the Bellingen Valley Lodge, a motel stuck in the time warp of the 1970s. Good bones but needs some love and care. But, we did have that glorious view of sunset, and the bed is comfortable.

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Dinner is at the newly opened Popla and it is fabulous, one of the most enjoyable meals we have had in a while – great food and charming staff. Worth a trip to Bellingen just to eat there.

Next morning we explore the hippy haven of Bellingen, starting with an excellent coffee at Amelia Franklin – they roast their own beans, and run barista courses, all out of an ex servo in the Main Street. Coffee is followed by breakfast at Black Bear, a cafe recommended by the lass at Popla last night, whom we bump into both at Amelia Franklin and at Black Bear. It is a small place! Breakfast is followed by a quick peruse of the shops before heading to the Pacific Highway and the last push to Kingscliff.

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We stop into Ballina for lunch at the cafe at the Surf Life Saving Club, overlooking the glorious beach. Leaving town, we stock up on local oysters and prawns for our evening feast at our Kingscliff Airbnb. To be washed down with one of our bottles of Orange wine. Sorted. It has been a highly enjoyable road trip. Now on to the next chapter.

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Walking in the Asturias 

Inntravel call our walk the Picos de Europa, but I feel it is more accurate to call it The Asturias walk, as we turn our backs on that impressive mountain range,  and the Picos National Park, as we walk out of Arenas de Cabrales and into our 6 day walk. The walk will take us from the mountains to the sea, through a verdant green landscape with many ups and downs as we traverse different mountain ranges.

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The name Asturias comes from the region’s Celtic origins, and helps explain the predilection for cider, and the Celtic music that is on repeat in one of the restaurants we visit. Apparently, the local Celts, or Astures, were subdued but never completely conquered by the Romans. Or, indeed the following Moors. The mountains and the rugged life involved was not for the faint hearted of any kind. And that is probably still the case.

However, it has become a very popular area with Spanish holiday makers. The combination of rugged mountains, deep green pastures and beautiful beaches, plus a plethora of stone houses and cabins dotted through the countryside, has resulted in booming local tourism and the buying up of property to restore as holiday houses, or chalets as they tend to be known. We get the impression that there is more money in this region than we have seen elsewhere – villages and hamlets may be quiet and empty but they are not neglected, with many beautiful traditional homes to be seen.

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We spend our days accompanied by the constant harmony of bells – the deeper clang of the cow bells with the goat, sheep and horse bells adding a higher note. We are never far from their clanging, tinkling and jangling. Combined with the mountain backdrop, I keep expecting Heidi and Grandfather to appear round the next bend. But, to my disappointment we see virtually no else on the tracks we follow, however we do come across a lovely Maremma dog guarding a herd of goats one day. He is torn between his desire to say Hello and protecting his flock. The flock won out, and he shepherded them away from the path, so no photo I’m afraid.

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Birdsong is also constant, as there are many forests. I hear my first cuckoo, much to my delight. And birds of prey are often gliding above us, enjoying the updrafts from the valleys.

The tracks we follow are often little more than animal tracks. Compass and close examination of maps is occasionally required. Thank goodness for the detailed walk notes provided by Inntravel, and the bush walking ability of The Husband (except for his spectacular map misreading on one day – more of that later). Some sections we are forced to do battle with gorse bushes and blackberries, and have the scratches to prove it.

The food is probably the only let down of the walk. The Asturians seem to believe in quantity, of very basic meals. The portions are invariably huge, but several times we just push it around our plate and leave most behind. And oh for vegetables.

Day 1: Arenas de Cabrales to Pandiello, 18 kms, total ascent 1108 m, total descent 700m.

Our first day, through birch, oak and sycamore forests, affords us many views back to the Central and Western Massif mountains that make up the Picos. We even manage to get another look at the iconic Naranjo de Bulnes, or Urriello, as the clouds part for us.

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The morning starts with a consistent climb up the hills that we could see in the foreground from our room at Hotel Torrecerredo. In fact, at one point we can spy the hotel from our hilltop.

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We then drop down into the little village of Carreña, where we stop for a coffee, and a slice of cake kindly provided by the owner. He has gone to a lot of trouble decorating his bar, and his pride in the establishment is evident. I had visions of the coffee and cake scenario being repeated on subsequent days, but this proves to be the only village we pass through with either a bar/restaurant, or one that is open. Much to my disappointment. Lucky it was such a nice one then.

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After coffee it is back to walking up again, as we climb towards the top of yet another mountain range. In fact, over the course of the walk I come to dread downs, as I know they will be followed by more ups and I feel I have just wasted all that effort to get the top. But, the reward for the hard slogs uphill are the vistas of the mountains all around us, and later, the sea beyond.

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Our destination for our first night is the tiny hamlet of Pandeillo, perched on the side of a hill and the Casa de Aldea la Portiella del Llosu (the name is almost longer than the village). Our host, José, has meticulously restored an old stone house, and has also been partly responsible for designing the walk.


After showering and changing, we tell José that we are going out to have a walk around the village. He says that he will see us back in 5 minutes, and he is not far off. There is little sign of life, although many of the houses have been lovingly restored. We suspect many of them may be weekenders or holiday homes, as having a chalet (or holiday house) in the Asturias seems very popular.

So, we return to our cosy little hotel and settle in with a bottle of red wine. José cooks an enormous meal that evening, and uncommonly serves it to us at 8pm. Thank goodness, as we are more than ready for bed after the day’s walk.

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Day 2: Pandeillo to Bobia de Arriba, 18 kms, total ascent 803m, total descent 800m

Although this reads like a less strenuous day than yesterday, it was actually much harder going as the climbs were much steeper. I felt at the top that we were in the eagles’ lair itself, with views across to the Bay of Biscay, and mountains everywhere you looked. We were bombarded with colours of green and blue. Beautiful. Breathtaking – in both senses of the word.

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The day started innocently enough with a walk to the next village of Canales. As we walked through the village a car came to a grinding halt. It was Jim, mine host from Hotel Torrecerredo! A quick chat, and off we go in our different directions. Ours takes us up a dirt road, past a disused mine, before we start to rise steadily.

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Our notes warn us that the mid section of the walk, where we tackle the Sierra Gustaselvin, requires good visibility as the tracks are indistinct and the drops down into valleys are vertiginous in parts. Our day is clear blue in all directions, so onwards and upwards we press.

Up at the top we share the view with the Asturias ponies grazing on the pastures, and the birds of prey. We think they are buzzards, but are not sure.

But, all this up makes for a long, slow walk down to our base for the night, Bobia de Arriba and Hotel Rural El Rexacu, and we arrive grubby and weary; falling  upon a glass of wine before tackling the stairs to our room.

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Bobia is a tiny hamlet, made up of two parallel rows of houses, all facing yet another mountain range. Despite its small size, the hotel is relatively substantial – with 15 rooms, a bar and restaurant. That night, it is obvious that the bar is something of a meeting spot for visitors and locals alike. We join in, chatting to a lovely lady who has excellent English thank heavens, as our Spanish continues to be virtually non existent.

Our room has a little sitting area, with views across the village to the distant mountain range. Lovely.

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Day 3: Covadonga Lakes to Bobia de Arriba.

This was the day Himself got it wrong. We were supposed to walk about 14kms, with an ascent of 410m and descent of 1080m. But, we managed to walk 20kms, with an ascent of 910 metres!!!

It all started innocently enough with a 40 minute taxi ride to the Covadonga Lakes. The drive up is windy and steep, and today there was a bike/run/walking race on up the mountainside. I was very very grateful to be doing the climb in the back of a taxi, and not on my feet. Crazy people. The ascent from Covadonga to Los Lagos is a key stage in the Vuelta a España. At 12.6 kms, it has an average gradient of 7.3%. In one section this increases to 15% over 800 metres. This hill climb has broken hearts, little did I know that I was going to join them!

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As the car climbed we caught glimpses of the amazing views we would see once at the top. And then the gorgeous Our Lady of Covadonga Monastery came into view. More wows. The basilica was built to house a statue of Mary that is believed to have helped the Christians defeat the Moors in an 8th century battle. The current Monastery dates back to the 16th century, and is a place of pilgrimage.

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When we finally reach the lakes themselves I am already punch drunk from the beauty we have seen, but there is more to come. Los Lagos de Covadonga consists of two glacial lakes, Enol and Ercina, and are actually in the Picos de Europa National Park. Lake Enol is 1,070 metres above sea level and Ercina tops it at 1,108 metres above sea level. Behind the lakes are snow covered mountains. In the distance is the Bay of Biscay. Stunning.

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We are dropped off beside Enol, and then walk over the lip to Ercina, where we stop into the restaurant for a coffee. It is over coffee that we hatch the plan to abandon the walk notes and take a shortcut up beside Ercina, with the intention of joining back into the intended walk just behind the hill in front of us.

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Our problem is that there are two paths, initially travelling in similar trajectories. We miss seeing the second path and head off, at a brisk pace, away from where we thought we were. And despite me saying, on several occasions, We are doing a lot more climbing than I expected, we keep making like mountain goats ever upwards. As we almost reach the top, Himself calls a halt and we finally agree that we have gone wrong somewhere. Problem is, we are not exactly sure where we are, but we do know we have to go down. So down we go, then regroup in a valley basin.

We finally place our trust in the Maps.Me app and let it guide us down the mountain over non existent tracks. After half an hour we finally get back to the spot we should have been 3 hours earlier. From there it is a slow and very tired trudge down, down, down. I refuse to talk to himself until finally back at the Hotel and have been revived with a very big gin tonic.

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It’s all I can do not to fall asleep in the soup that night. But, it has given us a tale to tell for years to come.

Day 4: Bobia de Arriba to El Allende, 13.5 km, total ascent 580m, total descent 710m.

Thank goodness today was a shorter, easier day as the legs were  feeling a little tired.  We were driven to the hamlet of Cuerres to start walking, which made the section more than manageable.

At one stage we were walking through a eucalypt forest, with a thick carpet of leaves and bark. The smell of gum trees transported us back home, albeit home with the clang of cow bells.

We stopped for our picnic lunch in the small town of Riocalente. Here we sit amongst the cluster of hórreos and a charming sculpture of a market woman, with an attendant, and very hopeful, puppy.


Hórreos are everywhere in the region, and are essentially a wooden food storage shed on a raised platform, supported by 4 pillars, each with a rodent barrier to keep the precious food supplies safe. We have seen them in all states of repair, from derelict to beautifully restored. They are quite beautiful.

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Our home for the night is Casa Rural Montaña Mágica, or Magic Mountain. The source of the name is twofold. One is the view of the Picos we get from our bedroom window. This will be our last view of this magnificent mountain range, so we sit on our lounge chairs and drink in the view. The other influence on the name is the novel Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann (not one I’m familiar with).

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The setting is just lovely, but the evening meal is a low point in this culinary journey through the Asturias. I watched as other tables pushed their food around the plate also – a plate of admittedly soft but completely tasteless octopus (boiled perhaps?) with slabs of boiled potato, and an Asturian version of a parma, with soggy chips.

Day 5: El Allende to La Pereda, 19 kms, total ascent 690m, total descent 870m

This was a day of choices as 3 different routes were on offer: a lift to the coast then walk along the coast to Llanes; an easy walk along the valley; or the high route option, up into the hills to reach a pass overlooking the sea. The last route was only recommended in good visibility as once more it was on indistinct paths. As it was to be our last day in the mountains, and the weather was fine, we opted for the high route.

We caught a lift with the luggage down to the village of Vibano, which saved us a 2km descent. We hop out and then stand looking at the map and walk notes, trying to work out where exactly we are. A lady hanging out her washing on her balcony spies us and comes down, in her housecoat and slippers, to ask whether we need help with directions – in Spanish. Somehow, between us, we manage to communicate, with many hand gestures. The one thing I clearly understand, when she works out where we are headed, is Mal camino (bad path). This does not inspire confidence, but it turns out that, although indistinct in parts and we do have to battle gorse and blackberries in a few spots, the path isn’t too mal and we find our way through.

It is a slow but steady climb for several hours, up the hills towards a lovely hidden valley. We pass only one other person along the way – an elderly farmer coming down the hill, using a crutch to help him. His grizzled look tells us he is used to this trek, so we had better man up and stop puffing.

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We use the cabañas, in various states of repair, to help guide us. A cabaña is a stone hut, used as housing by the shepherds and mountain farmers. Some we have seen through this journey have been lovingly restored, probably to be used as weekenders. Others have seen better days. But they make good way markers in the walk notes.

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After about 2 and a half hours of steady ascent, on tracks made by horses and cows, we finally emerged at the very end of the valley and stood at the edge of the cliff face, looking down to the coast spread out before us. Unfortunately, a sea mist blurred the view but it was still a great feeling of achievement.

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The zig zag path down the face of the cliff wasn’t quite so much fun, nor was the hour walk through the slightly spooky forest at the base, riddled as it was by paths made by pesky dirt bikes.

But, we finally made it through the forest and back into civilisation. Tiredness was starting to set in, but spirits revived as the path took us through some charming villages complete with the grand homes of the Indianos. In the late 1800s, early 1900s much of the population emigrated to South America to make their fortune. Having made their money, many then returned to the Asturias and built grand mansions. These returnees were known as the Indianos, and they have left behind a legacy of magnificent houses that are slowly being restored to their former grandeur by a new generation of wealthy migrants to the region.


Our home for the next two nights, Posada del Babel, sits in the charming village of La Pereda, just outside the seaside town of Llanes. It comes as something of a surprise as whilst the main house is a simplified recreation of more traditional architecture, the owner’s home that sits in front, and the separate guest accommodation behind, are a vision of modernity – and well before their time as they were built in 1997.

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The Posada is a delight – simply but beautifully decorated , dotted with some fabulous works of art. There is currently a photographic exhibition on the walls, by a famous Spanish photographer and his daughter. Our hosts are Blanca and Lucas, but sadly Lucas is currently in hospital awaiting surgery. Whilst it is a worrying time for Blanca, she does not let this interfere with being a charming hostess and we are graciously welcomed, muddy boots and all.

Lucas is the chef so evening meals are not currently available. No matter, as Blanca has booked us into their favourite restaurant in Llanes, La Cuiera, for dinner both nights – and acts as our chauffeur there and back. It is in fact the best food we have had since leaving San Sebastián, although I am sorry not to have been able to sample Lucas’s cooking.

“We” has become 4, as another couple had been on the same walk from Bobia. An American couple, originally from Seattle but now retired in Hawaii. Once we established they were card carrying Democrats, we got on fine.

Day 6: La Pereda to Llanes and return, 10km, flat.

Our last day was a day of rest – sleep in, late breakfast and stroll into Llanes for a look and lunch, stroll back. Very pleasant.

The walk in is both easy, and pleasant. Llanes is a fishing town that is making the most of being a tourist attraction for locals and foreigners alike. It is also on the Camino Norde route, so there is the constant tramping through of Camino pilgrims.

We have a good look around the medieval centre, and go down to the port to admire both the fishing boats returning with their catch, and the Cubos de la Memoria – the painted concrete cubes that are part of the breakwater. They were painted by artist Agustin Ibarrola, a now elderly Basque painter and sculptor. We had come across him on our visit to Spain in 2015, as he is the artist that created the Painted Forest of Oma.


Lunch is taken by the river – sharing an anchovy & endive salad and a delicious plate of lightly fried prawns, with crispy, crunchy shells. Washed down with a glass, or two, of vino. An excellent way to finish what has been an interesting, occasionally challenging, walk through yet another region of this diverse and fascinating country.

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And wonder of wonders, apart from the one day of rain when we walked the Cares Gorge, we have managed to do this walk with no rain. That is a miracle for us, particularly given this region is a deep, deep green for a reason. So, I send a big Thank You to the walking Gods. Perhaps the curse has been lifted!

The Picos de Europa

Every time we told people in Australia that we were going to visit the Picos de Europa the response was invariably the same: “Where?”. Compared to say The Dolomites, or The Pyrenees, The Picos are relatively unknown – at least Downunder – but they deserve to be up there with the other mountain ranges as they are stunning, and we have only scratched the surface of what they have to offer.

They are called the Picos de Europa, or Peaks of Europe in English, as they were the first sight of Europe for ships arriving from the Americas. They sit 20km inland from the northern coast of Spain, with the highest peak reaching 2,650 meters. From San Sebastián to Arenas de Cabrales, the main township in the Central Massif, is 288kms. So it took us most of the day to reach Arenas by public transport.


We set off to the San Sebastián bus terminal with plenty of time up our sleeve for coffee before boarding our 9.10am bus to Llanes. We had a 15 minute window of opportunity at Llanes before catching the bus to Arenas. But, as you know, the best laid plans often go astray. We enjoyed our coffee and turned up bright eyed and bushy tailed for the bus. Only problem, no bus. Thirty minutes later a replacement bus screeches into the allotted bay, and a bus load of very agitated passengers pile on board. We know our window of opportunity has been blown out of the water. What can you do? Nada.

The trip is a bit of a milk run, as we stop at what seems like every town between San Sebastián and Llanes. We do not make up time, so are not surprised to see a completely empty bus station when we pull into Llanes. But we were surprised to find the station locked up tight, so no chance for claiming a refund on the ticket. Never mind. We trundle off in search of a taxi, only to find none at the rank. Never mind again. Sheenagh whips out her phone and her Spanish and manages to organize a taxi to take us on the 30 minute journey to Arenas. 10 minutes later we are in the cab and on our way.

We are staying at Hotel Torrecerredo. The hotel website had promised rooms with a view and we are not disappointed. What a view it is.



Arenas de Cabrales is a charming, small, village. Quiet now but it is obviously jam packed in the season. Every second building is either a cafe or a local produce store. After we have finished oh and ahhing at our view we have a wander round the village to get the lie of the land.


The area is famous not only for its mountain range but also for its blue cheese, Queso de Cabrales. Once upon a time, the cheese was made by the shepherds in their small mountain huts and left to mature in the many limestone caves that are dotted through the mountains. The cheese was made from goat and sheep’s milk with a dash of cows milk. Upon maturation, the cheeses would be wrapped in leaves and brought down from the mountains for sale.

But, since the local cheese became recognized as unique to this area and acquired an EU DO (Designation of Origin) status, all the romance has gone from its production. No longer is it made in the small stone huts of the goat herders. No longer is it wrapped in leaves. And no longer is it made predominately from goats milk – rather, it is mainly made from cows milk due to the greater milk production of cows compared to goats or sheep. But, it is still matured for 3-5 months in the caves. 



We learn all this from our tour of one of the local cheese makers, where we also get to taste, and smell, the cheese. Which they serve with a dash of the local cider. Luckily, the very kind lady serving us the samples didn’t stay to watch our faces, as the cider was tipped out into the Rio Cares flowing beside the cheesery, and I held my nose whilst tasting the cheese. Blue cheese is one of life’s great dividers and I happen to fall on the hell no side. Sheenagh and Pete however assured me that it was good blue cheese. I’ll take their word for it. All three of us however agreed on the cider – disgusting.


Reconnoiter over, we head back to the terrace of Hotel Torrecerredo to soak up the view and plan tomorrow’s walk, with the help of our very genial English mine host, who knows the region intimately.


We go to bed not only well fed by Jim, mine host, but also with a clear plan of attack for the next day, which dawns with clear blue skies. Our plan is to set out from nearby Poncebos and hike up to Bulnes, then further up again to the Pandebano Pass and over to Sotres. Jim has very kindly offered to drive us to the start of the walk and collect us from the end. 

We had originally planned to take the funicular up to Bulnes, but Jim had persuaded us to walk, claiming it was a beautiful hike, and how right he was. A bit of a slog, but oh so worth it.



We were more than ready for a coffee at Bulnes. From some way away we could spy a stone building on high, with what seemed like a terrace and umbrellas. The thought of sitting on the terrace drinking coffee spurred us on. As we got closer we saw that we had a choice to make: a last, steep, climb to the cafe or skip coffee and keep pushing on to Pandebano Pass. Up to coffee was the decision, so we slogged on up. We were greeted at the top by the charming but rather surprised owner of Mirador la Llende – surprised because he wasn’t expecting to see 3 very puffed walkers poke their heads over the embankment of the hill. Turns out that if we had continued straight ahead we would have reached the village of Bulnes and then been able to walk up the paved, albeit steep, road to the cafe, rather than make like goats and scramble up the face of the hill itself! Never mind, as it was well worth the scramble – a fabulous view, a reasonable coffee and we even managed to rustle up a take away tapas picnic lunch from the very obliging host (again, Sheenagh’s Spanish lessons came in very handy).


Legs rested, we hit the trail again for the push up to Pandebano Pass. The hike afforded wonderful views of the iconic Naranjo de Bulnes (otherwise known as Picu Urriellu), a rock climbers dream.



We were more than ready for our picnic lunch when we finally reach the Pass, although the temptation to at first spin around in circles singing the hills are alive or high on the hills lived a lonely goatherd was almost overwhelming. A temptation I, thankfully for the others, resisted.



From here it was a relatively easy one hour walk downhill towards the township of Sotres, via some hungry donkeys who were reluctant to accept No we don’t have any food left, and the remnants of a Roman road (they sure got around, those Romans). As arranged, our lift back to the hotel was waiting as we arrived. I do love it when a plan comes together.



A terrific day’s walk – 14km and an elevation gain of 1,174 metres. Did we sleep well that night.

Next morning the heavens were singing a different song – low cloud and drizzle, with heavier rain forecast for later in the afternoon, continuing into the next day. We bit the bullet and decided to walk the famous Cares Gorge regardless, worried that Thursday’s weather would be worse, and not prepared to leave the Picos without doing this walk. Again, Jim obliged by transporting us back to Poncebos for the start of the walk.


The track runs along the Cares Gorge from Poncebos to Cain, a distance of some 11kms (so, 22kms return). The track is actually the path built to allow for maintenance workers to get to the hydro electric water canal, which was built between 1916 – 1925. The canal, and the path, is an amazing engineering feat, clinging to the side of the rock walls and often burrowing through the rock itself. The Gorge walk is the most popular in the Picos, and even today – a wet weekday at the very beginning of the season – there is a constant parade of fellow walkers (which makes a quick “bush wee” very difficult, and stressful, to achieve!). Even in the wet conditions, the drama of the setting is easy to admire. 



Luckily it is only a light drizzle on the way out, but a kilometer out of Cain the rain has become consistent, so we decide to turn back. It is then heads down and just walk, as we get wetter and wetter. No time now for admiring anything. Good thing we had taken all our photos on the way out. Even better that there is a welcoming bar awaiting back at Poncebos, where the staff don’t mind if we leave big pools of water all over their floor.


Imagine how cross we are next morning when we wake to clearer skies and even periods of sunshine. Oh well. The rain does eventually arrive around 3 o’clock, so we would have ended up wet if we had waited to do the walk today. Instead, we enjoyed a late start to the day and another wander around Arenas.


Tomorrow Pete and I start our 7 day hike from here back to Llanes, through what is known as the Asturias, while Sheenagh returns by bus to San Sebastián (fingers crossed for connecting buses). We have put the Picos on our Must Return list, as there is still so much to see. Wish us luck for the next part of our adventure, as this area is verdant green for a reason, and as I finish writing this the rain has closed in and I can no longer see the mountains. Must be gin tonic time then. 

Williamstown to Altona on Foot

I was going to call this Secret Melbourne but of course it isn’t a secret to anyone who lives over the Westgate Bridge, only to those of us on the eastern side of Melbourne who rarely go out of our comfort zone. I am very ashamed to say that in all my years of living in this fine city, I have never been to Altona, much less wandered along its coastline. The same is not true for my husband, who regularly saddles up his bike and perambulates round the numerous bike paths that criss cross this city. An overcast Good Friday was the day to rectify my omission, as we walked along the Bay Trail from Williamstown beach to Altona and back – a flat as a tack but fascinating 18.5km all up.


At the start of the Trail is the Jawbone Marine Sanctuary, home to a wide variety of birds and a small harbour for little boats – a scene painted by John Perceval in 1956.


The Trail meanders alongside the Jawbone Conservation Reserve, with birds, reeds and scrubland on the left and houses with uninterrupted views across the bay to the right.


In J.T. Gray Reserve we find a board telling us that this was the site of Melbourne’s first infectious diseases hospital, built in 1884 after an outbreak of smallpox hit the town. For some unexplained reason it was called the Cut Paw Paw Sanitorium. There is no sign now of the Sanitorium, or the adjacent small cemetery (or the cut paw paws for that matter). What a sad place it must have been.


Around the corner along Gray Reserve Road we find a cluster of small shacks at the entrance of  Kororoit Creek, together with the Brunswick City Anglers Club and the Kororoit Creek Boat and Anglers Club.  Despite the Clubhouses and the  mailboxes outside each of the shacks, all of which are connected to electricity, there are almost no signs of life and a general air of neglect is about.


The Trail continues, with Kororoit Creek on the left and Mobil Oil Refinery tanks on the right. The birdlife takes no notice of us, or the factories and warehouses along the Trail. We spot swans, pelicans, ducks, spoonbill herons and many more, happily playing and feeding in the waterway.


Amongst the factories I spy an interesting looking sign and veer off the path to take a closer look. We discover Makers Zoo, and meet the lovely Jeremy, a Kiwi who does shop and café fitouts as well as crafting beautiful custom made furniture. He is busy working on a piece today but comes out for a chat. We joke that he could be putting his coffee machine to good use, serving the many people who use the Trail. The thought has crossed his mind.


We cross over the creek:


and enter the Altona Coastal Park. 


Did you know that there used to be a racecourse here? The Williamstown Racecourse. Which explains why the road is called Racecourse Road! Built in the 1870s, it was hugely popular. Even Phar Lap raced there. But, not surprisingly, the track was prone to flooding and the fences had to have gates in them to release the water. After WWII the grandstand burnt down and that was the end of the Williamstown Racecourse.


Now all that remains is a graffitied concrete block, and a rather attractive sculpture:

Walking round the edge of the Coastal Park we come to dog heaven – the wide, dog friendly, sands of the PA Burns Reserve:


before stumbling into a human heaven – the Altona-Seaholme Boatowners Association’s clubhouse, cleverly disguised as a red brick toilet block in the car park near the Altona boat ramp. We get chatting to a member of 50 years, who is making the most of a brief spell of sunshine – imbibing on his longneck whilst admiring the million dollar views back over to the city. He graciously allows us to take a peek inside the clubhouse. A much loved Sanctuary to the local boat owners.


Altona is now in sight. We amble up the main street and find the Finnish Hall, a beautiful piece of Art Deco hidden away in Altona (apparently it was once the Red Robin Hosiery factory). Turns out that it is a Finnish Festival weekend, and the hall is open and full of happy Finns, eating Finnish food. A young lady kindly invites us in, explaining that this is an annual event for Finns living in Australia and people have come from all over for the festivities. This year it was Altona’s turn to play mine host to our Australian Finns.


It is time now to turn back and retrace our steps. Going back is never as much fun as you’ve seen the sights, and the feet are definitely beginning to tire. But, make it back we do, and reward ourselves with a drink and a toasted panini at The Kiosk next door to the Williamstown Life Saving Club.


It has been a fascinating day. I’ve seen places I’ve never ventured into before, and met some characters along the way. A very good Friday indeed.

Summer in the High Country

I am definitely not a snow bunny. I have never really understood the attraction of risking life and limb hurtling down hill whilst simultaneously throwing wads of cash out of your pocket. And then there is my husband’s predilection, cross country skiing. Why on earth would one want to strap planks of wood to one’s feet and then attempt to walk uphill??? Yes, snow covered hills and trees make for a beautiful landscape, but I am usually sweating (and swearing) so much that there is little time to admire the view.

But, the mountains in summer is a completely different matter, especially when the drive to get there is through the beautiful, and spoiled for choice on where to eat, King Valley. So, it was with a happy heart that I set off for Dinner Plain last week. This happiness was slightly deflated by my realisation an hour out of Melbourne that I had managed to forget to pack any underwear, but a quick trip to the Country Target in Myrtleford solved that hiccup. But, creating more misery was the phone call from the heating engineer we were due to meet at the Lodge the next day – he was at the Lodge TODAY. Goodbye long drawn out lunch at one of the many appealing eateries and hello banana and Golden Gaytime scoffed in the car. Not an auspicious start to our 3 night jaunt.

But, the sun was shining over the hamlet of Dinner Plain, so the spirits couldn’t stay down for long. Dinner Plain always reminds me of a giant’s doll house collection, with its neat cluster of matching grey washed wooden two story buildings, nestled amongst the snow gums.


And even better, we had the whole AAC (Australian Alpine Club) Lodge to ourselves, what luxury. So, we light the barbie, pull a cork (or two) and settle in on the comfy couches – after a stroll around the village to check for any changes since our last visit.


The weather gods were certainly smiling as next day was just glorious – clear blue skies and no wind. Perfect for a hike up The Twins, a camel humped hill on the Alpine Walking Track. But first, a coffee at the cute Mountain Kitchen café, one of the only consistently open places in this semi ghost village (open Wednesday – Sunday in summer):

Caffeinated we are ready to tackle the vertical climb, 600 metres in a little over a kilometre – that got the heart pumping. The start is deceptive, a relative amble along the bushtrack, admiring the wildflowers.

But we are soon off piste and negotiating through what looks to me like unchartered territory, but the experienced bush walker amongst us (aka The Husband) recognises an alpine walking “track” when he sees one. Meanwhile, I am trying not to think about alpine snake life as I clamber over logs.


The fierce bush fires of 2003 and then again in 2013 have dramatically changed the landscape. Regrowth of the trees is happening, but you often feel that you are in the midst of a Fred Williams painting:


On the plus side, the views that are gained as you climb through the “trees” are wonderful:


And become spectacular once you climb above the tree line and reach the top:


As always, the going down is easier, and quicker. Thank goodness. But, it was certainly worth the slog up, and what a gorgeous day for it.


Back to the Lodge and some R& R before the evening’s entertainment – the movies had come to town in the form of the travelling version of Flickerfest, an internationally recognised short film festival (http://flickerfest.com.au). Dinner Plain was lucky enough to be chosen as the first night of this travelling film show, and being Australia Day the screenings were all Australian made. 

An inflatable screen had been erected on the beginner ski slope behind the Village, and kick off was 8.30pm as the sun slowly set.


Patrons came armed with deck chairs, bean bags, picnic blankets and  warm gear to ward off the evening damp and chill. The assembled throng spread themselves out across the slope, and settled in with a free chocolate mousse from the Ramada lodge, and a wine or Blizzard beer. It was a great night. Hopefully one that will be repeated.


Next day a gentler walk was undertaken – a short ramble along Tall Timber track. Which gave us another chance to admire the glorious views:


and to check out the hut at JB Plain:


with its scenically situated outdoor loo:


Before finishing with a cleansing ale at Dinner Plain’s very own brewery- Blizzard Brewery,  which is the highest brewery in Australia, and makes a pretty good beer with the pristine alpine water at its disposal.


See why I love the mountains in Summer?! Definitely worth a visit.

All Quiet on the Western Ghats

There is something quintessentially romantic about that name, The Western Ghats. So, it is with both excitement and anticipation that we set off for our next destination, a small home stay called Banyan Tree, nestled in the foothills of the Western Ghats, near a town called Pollachi.

It is a long drive; we spend some 5 hours in the car. But, the time passes quickly as there is so much to see (and Rajesh keeps up a pretty constant stream of commentary, facts and theories to keep us, and him, entertained).

There is a huge fort atop a granite outcrop. A story about a female leader who held off an invading force was told to us, but the essence of the story was lost to me in a welter of long names and details. Nevertheless, the fort is very impressive.


We pass through village after village full of people going about their daily life. In one we stop so that Raj can have a reviving cup of tea, which gives us a chance to stretch our legs. The bicycle sellers are also having a cup of tea, and a chat, and seeing me taking a picture of their wares ask that I take a picture of them too. They then question Raj about who and what we are – they did not know about Australia, only America!



It seems that in almost every village we pass through there is some kind of celebration going on. It might be for Onam, a 10 day festival that is related to the harvest. Or it might be a wedding, or a new house opening, or whatever else there is to be celebrated. Whatever the reason, it is always loud, cheerful and brightly coloured.


We move into a more fertile agricultural area, and start to see water in the canals and waterways at last. There are rice fields, coconut palms, and various vegetables being grown. Mounds of coconuts are everywhere, and they use every part of the coconut, including the husk, to make rope and coir mats.



But we also notice how much more rubbish litters every village, the waterways and the sides of roads. There is plastic and general refuse everywhere. Outside some of the bars we also see plastic cups added to the heap. Everything just gets thrown onto the ground – which seems to be in complete contrast to their fastidious sweeping up of dirt, leaves and flower petals around their homes, shops and stalls. 

We stop at one bridge to watch the people gathered below. This causes great excitement and much waving. Next thing we know the young boys have run up the hill to meet us and are clamouring to have their photo taken. It proves very difficult to get a shot in focus as they push, shove and wave their arms in sheer exuberance. It is like standing in the middle of a throng of puppies. We eventually break free, after much hand shaking. 



We reach our home stay in time for a late lunch, and are so glad we did as it is delicious (as are all the meals we have there). We then settle onto our verandah to admire the view of the ghats, and the surrounding countryside, before going for a late afternoon stroll with our host, Prabu. Prabu is the 7th generation on this farm, which consists of 4,500 acres. Huge, but it is divided amongst 9 families, all descendants from the original patriarch. The farm is acually run by several managers, but Prabu is very much Lord of the Manor.



The home stay takes its name from the massive old banyan tree standing guard at the entrance to the property, which is way off the beaten track, abutting the Western Ghats. Between it and the mountains is a small wildlife sanctuary, and elephants are a big problem for the farm as they wander in and uproot the coconut palms. In the evening and early morning we hear what we think are gunshots but are in fact firecrackers to scare off the elephants. There are also many leopards in the forest, as well as wild boar, so we think that walking around the property at night is probably not a good idea.


The room is simple but clean and comfortable, and apart from the shriek of the peacocks it is very tranquil. Next day, after a delicious Indian breakfast, we head off in the car with Rajesh to explore the nearby town of Pollachi. It is a market town, so we spend time wandering around the market.


 Once again we are a major source of interest to the locals, who are keen to get their photo taken. So of course we oblige.


After a local coffee, where I watch a man make a vegetable fritter thing that looks very delicious, we head off in the car for Aliyar Dam, which Rajesh says has beautiful gardens and is a very popular local tourist spot. 


Well, he got the last part right – it is a very popular spot, but the gardens are dry and overgrown with weeds. We hike up to the top of the dam wall to admire the view, and again the dryness in Tamil Nadu is evident in the depleted level of the dam. Once again we are asked to pose for photos. We are starting to feel like rock stars!


A quiet afternoon spent on our verandah before we clamber into Prabu’s very ancient jeep for a spin around the property,  accompanied on foot by the 11 year old mongrel Pepper (the younger one, No Name, gave up quite early in the drive). We pass by coconut trees, coco bean trees, mango trees, betel nut trees, drumstick trees and a wide range of vegetables. All the time with that beautiful mountain range standing silent witness.



Dinner that night is not quite as successful as the previous night as Prabu has decided to contribute two of his favourite dishes to the evening meal – an Indian version of shephard’s pie and some sort of pasta and vegetable bake. His Anglo-Indian boarding school background is very evident in these dishes! Fortunately Jayanthi, his lovely wife, has made us drumstick soup (drumstick being a long thin vegetable that grows on trees) and a chicken curry (or, chicken gravy as she calls it). Both of which are yummy. Prabu’ s contributions get pushed around the plate a bit before we cry off being full (however, we do find some room for the Indian dessert).

It has been a peaceful and interesting interlude.

All Quiet on the Western Ghats

There is something quintessentially romantic about that name, The Western Ghats. So, it is with both excitement and anticipation that we set off for our next destination, a small home stay called Banyan Tree, nestled in the foothills of the Western Ghats, near a town called Pollachi.

It is a long drive; we spend some 5 hours in the car. But, the time passes quickly as there is so much to see (and Rajesh keeps up a pretty constant stream of commentary, facts and theories to keep us, and him, entertained).

There is a huge fort atop a granite outcrop. A story about a female leader who held off an invading force was told to us, but the essence of the story was lost to me in a welter of long names and details. Nevertheless, the fort is very impressive.


We pass through village after village full of people going about their daily life. In one we stop so that Raj can have a reviving cup of tea, which gives us a chance to stretch our legs. The bicycle sellers are also having a cup of tea, and a chat, and seeing me taking a picture of their wares ask that I take a picture of them too. They then question Raj about who and what we are – they did not know about Australia, only America!



It seems that in almost every village we pass through there is some kind of celebration going on. It might be for Onam, a 10 day festival that is related to the harvest. Or it might be a wedding, or a new house opening, or whatever else there is to be celebrated. Whatever the reason, it is always loud, cheerful and brightly coloured.


We move into a more fertile agricultural area, and start to see water in the canals and waterways at last. There are rice fields, coconut palms, and various vegetables being grown. Mounds of coconuts are everywhere, and they use every part of the coconut, including the husk, to make rope and coir mats.



But we also notice how much more rubbish litters every village, the waterways and the sides of roads. There is plastic and general refuse everywhere. Outside some of the bars we also see plastic cups added to the heap. Everything just gets thrown onto the ground – which seems to be in complete contrast to their fastidious sweeping up of dirt, leaves and flower petals around their homes, shops and stalls. 

We stop at one bridge to watch the people gathered below. This causes great excitement and much waving. Next thing we know the young boys have run up the hill to meet us and are clamouring to have their photo taken. It proves very difficult to get a shot in focus as they push, shove and wave their arms in sheer exuberance. It is like standing in the middle of a throng of puppies. We eventually break free, after much hand shaking. 



We reach our home stay in time for a late lunch, and are so glad we did as it is delicious (as are all the meals we have there). We then settle onto our verandah to admire the view of the ghats, and the surrounding countryside, before going for a late afternoon stroll with our host, Prabu. Prabu is the 7th generation on this farm, which consists of 4,500 acres. Huge, but it is divided amongst 9 families, all descendants from the original patriarch. The farm is acually run by several managers, but Prabu is very much Lord of the Manor.



The home stay takes its name from the massive old banyan tree standing guard at the entrance to the property, which is way off the beaten track, abutting the Western Ghats. Between it and the mountains is a small wildlife sanctuary, and elephants are a big problem for the farm as they wander in and uproot the coconut palms. In the evening and early morning we hear what we think are gunshots but are in fact firecrackers to scare off the elephants. There are also many leopards in the forest, as well as wild boar, so we think that walking around the property at night is probably not a good idea.


The room is simple but clean and comfortable, and apart from the shriek of the peacocks it is very tranquil. Next day, after a delicious Indian breakfast, we head off in the car with Rajesh to explore the nearby town of Pollachi. It is a market town, so we spend time wandering around the market.


 Once again we are a major source of interest to the locals, who are keen to get their photo taken. So of course we oblige.


After a local coffee, where I watch a man make a vegetable fritter thing that looks very delicious, we head off in the car for Aliyar Dam, which Rajesh says has beautiful gardens and is a very popular local tourist spot. 


Well, he got the last part right – it is a very popular spot, but the gardens are dry and overgrown with weeds. We hike up to the top of the dam wall to admire the view, and again the dryness in Tamil Nadu is evident in the depleted level of the dam. Once again we are asked to pose for photos. We are starting to feel like rock stars!


A quiet afternoon spent on our verandah before we clamber into Prabu’s very ancient jeep for a spin around the property,  accompanied on foot by the 11 year old mongrel Pepper (the younger one, No Name, gave up quite early in the drive). We pass by coconut trees, coco bean trees, mango trees, betel nut trees, drumstick trees and a wide range of vegetables. All the time with that beautiful mountain range standing silent witness.



Dinner that night is not quite as successful as the previous night as Prabu has decided to contribute two of his favourite dishes to the evening meal – an Indian version of shephard’s pie and some sort of pasta and vegetable bake. His Anglo-Indian boarding school background is very evident in these dishes! Fortunately Jayanthi, his lovely wife, has made us drumstick soup (drumstick being a long thin vegetable that grows on trees) and a chicken curry (or, chicken gravy as she calls it). Both of which are yummy. Prabu’ s contributions get pushed around the plate a bit before we cry off being full (however, we do find some room for the Indian dessert).

It has been a peaceful and interesting interlude.

On the road to Mollymook

Where I hear you ask. We Victorians are somewhat ignorant of the southern NSW coastline – the Sapphire Coast as it has been dubbed by the tourism marketers. But, it is truly beautiful, and still wonderfully daggy in spots, as we are to discover on our road trip up to Mollymook, which sits perched between Batemans Bay and Wollongong. 

Our purpose was to cheer the daughter on in the IRB Lifesaving Championships being held in Mollymook – that’s Inflatable Rescue Boats for the uninitiated; essentially lifesaving for petrol heads. 


But, we planned on making an adventure of our mission. So, we loaded the dogs into the car (as we were not only taking Daisy, but also Asher, the Grandog) and headed off.


Our first stop was Rosedale, for the quintessential take away hamburger, with the lot, for him, and a toasted cheese & tomato sandwich for her (on white bread of course). The hamburger was deemed pretty darn good by him; so much so that it earned a repeat visit on the return journey. Then it was onwards to Metung for the night.

Finding accommodation when you are travelling with not 1 but 2 dogs is not always easy, particularly as you sometimes find when you arrive that the dogs are not allowed inside – which sort of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?! But, I have discovered a website called http://holidayingwithdogs.com.au which came to our rescue, and is how we find ourselves staying at the Akora Flats in Metung. Warm, well equipped and comfortable – for both dogs and humans (no fenced area though) – and all for $80 a night, off season. And run in the old fashioned way – the owner didn’t require a deposit, and when we arrived we found the flat unopened (key was finally found in the fuse box) and I was to leave the key and the money in the microwave when we left.

Metung, like so many coastal towns (or in this case, lakeside) in Winter, is pretty quiet. Our choice for dinner was the pub……. or, the pub. But, first we had a wander around the largely deserted township and were rewarded with a glorious sunset, which we enjoyed together with the Pelicans and swans that reside in the area.


The fish & chips at the Metung Hotel turn out to be not too bad, washed down by a glass of more than acceptable local Chardonnay. And, you couldn’t fault the view as the pub looks out onto one of the lakes – the garden area lakeside must be a lovely place to while away the time in summer.

Next morning we hit the road after a good coffee at Bancroft Bites cafe (http://bancroftbites.com.au), which was a very pleasant surprise. The view as you drive down the hill into Lakes Entrance is always spectacular, and then it is into the forests that line the highway as you pass through Orbost and Cabbage Tree Creek. Cann River was our lunch spot, where we discovered the wonderful little Wild Rye’s bakery (http://www.wildryes.com.au) – an outpost from the Pambula mothership. They make terrific pies, bread and cakes, and a pretty good coffee as well. Happy chappies were we.


Our destination for night 2 is Pambula Beach. I have found a unit that is dog friendly, and overlooks the dog friendly beach – fittingly called Beachside Units. How good is that. And, another old school place – old but clean, compact, one sitting area plus small bedroom, with bathroom come laundry behind. Verandah overlooking beach, through the tea trees. And, the beach and inlet into Pambula River are just beautiful, with striking red rocks contrasted against the blue waters. The dogs had a ball – but you have to be very wary of ticks, as they are rife along this coast.






Dinner that night was at Wheelers Seafood Restaurant (http://www.wheelersoysters.com.au) – fresh seafood, well cooked. Can’t ask for more than that.

We were woken by the beautiful sunrise outside the front window:


so headed out for another walk before climbing back into the car for the last push onto Mollymook. But, first we had to gather supplies for our evening meal, so went back to Wheelers to buy two dozen Pambula oysters:


We stuck to the coast road, passing through Merimbula, Toura Beach, Tathra and into Bermagui. We just made it in time to grab a coffee at Mr Jones, which is obviously THE place to hang out in Bermagui. There are only a few stools outside, but the place was pumping – and the coffee very good (http://misterjones.com.au). We only just made it in time, as the owner turns from barista to artist at midday and closes shop to concentrate on his art (and probably surfing I suspect). A really lovely vibe.


And to our delight we discovered a terrific little bakery a few doors up, where we bought a baguette for our oysters, a cinnamon roll for me and muesli for our breakfast. What more could you want.



We return to the Princes Highway, and then take a short detour into the historic town of Central Tilba. Here of course is the famous Tilba Cheese factory, so we buy their 3 year old Tasty and a very ripe Camembert to enjoy post oysters, with any left over baguette.


Our lunch stop is Gundary Store, in the town of Moruya. I gather there is a fancy restaurant in town, called The River Moruya, helmed by an ex Circa chef, but not really practical for travellers with dogs. 

There is water everywhere – the coast, lakes and inlets. We cross over several opening bridges. We pass enticing signs to towns that ring bells from my youth, growing up as I did in Canberra. Batemans Bay, Durass, Pebbly Beach, Pretty Beach before rolling into the township of Ulladulla (don’t you love it), where we pick up the key to our rental house at Mollymook Beach. Before heading out we visit the Ulladulla Oyster Bar, hidden within a shopping plaza, where the laid back owner sells us a kilo of  local prawns to go. Our evening meal sorted we drive into Mollymook, which merges into and beyond Ulladulla.

Our house sits opposite the beautiful sweep of Mollymook beach:

which unfortunately proves to be very dog UNfriendly, much to the frustration of Asher & Daisy. Obviously there are no dog lovers on the local Council. But, we are all lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves.

Our next three days are consumed by cheering on the Williamstown IRB team, and when they aren’t competing, any other Victorian team. An IRB carnival looks, to the casual observer, like barely organised chaos. Boats zoom back & forth, people in wet suits fling themselves into and out of boats, crowds cheer, and ooh and ahh as the boats hit the waves. There are a huge number of events, with heats, quarter finals, semi finals and finally the finals spread over 3 days, by which time anticipation has reached fever pitch. The camaraderie amongst the Victorian teams is wonderful to behold, and I have to admit to becoming teary when the daughter and her team won Gold in their event for the 3rd year in a row.



To reward ourselves for being good parents we seek out the dining spots of Mollymook Beach. Funnily enough, for us, these don’t include the Golf Club or the Lifesaving Club. Instead we dine the first night at the terrific Tallwood (http://www.tallwoodeat.com.au) – excellent service, and really good food, in a comfortable, casual environment. Turns out one of the owners is ex Melbourne, and even used to work at The Lounge, round the corner from us in Elwood! And, we discover that they serve good coffee from 7.30 to midday each morning – life savers indeed.


The next night we self cater thanks to the Woodburn Deli (Shop 3, 80 Tallwood Ave), which is bursting at the seams with home cooked meals, toasties, sandwiches, quiches, salads and mouthwatering cakes.


Our last night we indulge by going to Rick Stein at Bannisters, and although we enjoy our meal, I have to admit to enjoying Tallwood more – for much less cost.


Our return to Melbourne is not quite as leisurely as we have only one overnight stop, in the hidden gem of Mallacoota. For years we would spend two weeks in Mallacoota over the first two weeks of the year. And the town then is heaving with holidaymakers. Winter however is a different kettle of fish, with the camping grounds, holiday flats and township pretty much empty except for locals and a few grey Nomads.

We pop in to check out the still standing Karbeethong Lodge, where many a glass of wine has been sunk on the gracious verandah, looking over that magnificent view.



It’s for sale – if only we could win Tattslotto. It needs a lot of love and care, but is still such a beautiful spot, harking back to a previous era of communal holidays.

As in Metung, the choice for dinner is the pub, or the pub. I am sorely disappointed as had discovered that since our day, a wonderful Chinese noodle shop, called Lucy’s Homemade Noodles, has set itself up. But alas, Lucy is away. We must go back, as her noodle dishes have become legendary I hear.


So, we head to the pub. I’m always anxious when a pub menu reads well. Their intentions are good but the execution often leaves something to be desired, as turns out to be the case here. And they need to learn that a huge plate of food is actually a turn off in this day and age. Less is more when it’s well executed, and even more so when it isn’t.

Early next morning we visit the lookout over Bastion Point and drink in the view, before climbing into the car for the six hour journey home.


The trip has whetted our appetite to spend more time on the Sapphire Coast – there are beaches to explore and walks to discover, maybe next time without the dogs however.

The Delights of Orkney

When I said I was going to be visiting the Orkney Islands during my trip to the UK the usual response was: Where the hell are they?  And to be honest, I was a bit vague myself – all I knew was they were somewhere in Scotland. Well, turns out Orkney is perched up above the very top of Scotland – see that group of islands where the red tag is, above John o’Groats, that’s Orkney. And, it does take a bit to get there – we had to fly from London to Aberdeen, then hopped on a wee plane to fly into Kirkwall, the main town on the main island, called approriately, Mainland. And even then our journey wasn’t done as we were staying on the island of Shapinsay, so it was then a taxi from the airport to the harbour, followed by a 25 minute ferry ride to Shapinsay, where we were picked up by the lovely Catherine Ann, our BnB host for the next 4 nights.



But, I’ve learnt a lot about Orkney since being here:

1. The Orcadians are very friendly people, and once engaged are not averse to a chat. Which means that transactions can take a while.

2. There are actually a hell of lot of people living in Orkney who aren’t from here, which has struck us as quite bizarre. How on earth do people end up thinking, oh, I’m going to live up the very top of Scotland. We’ve met lots of people from various parts of England, a lady from Wales, a chap from Zimbabwe, heard about a lady from the Philipines, and we have been told there is a Kiwi on Shapinsay. Even our BnB hostess is from Glasgow, brought here by love 30 odd years ago.

3. You can soon pick the born and bred Orcadian as they have a distinctive, and quite lovely, lilting accent. 

4. It is COLD. I have been wearing every item of clothing I brought on this trip, plus a lightweight puffer jacket I borrowed from Sue’s mate Dawn, all at once. I’ve even resorted to wearing the Rolling Stones beanie I bought as a gift for Abby (with the tag tucked up inside so hopefully I may still be able to get away with it as a gift!). And, this is summer!! Although to be fair, we have been very lucky with the weather as no rain until the day we were leaving.

5. The main reason for the cold is the wind, which is Artic. Said wind results in almost no trees on any of the islands, aided and abetted by intensive farming. There is one small clump of trees on Shapinsay which by no coincidence is part of the Laird’s estate. The other side effect of the wind is wind turbines. Almost every farm holding has its own modern windmill and is self sufficient for energy. Orkney is not only self sufficient for energy but it is also a big exporter of it. And little Shapinsay has been selected to be part of a European pilot study that will take the excess energy produced by two community owned wind turbines to produce, store and use hydrogen to run cars and other stuff. The project is called Big Hit – Google it if you’re interested in low energy projects.

6. There is some seriously old stuff in Orkney – they have found prehistoric villages that go back way before Stonehenge.

7. The Orkney’s have played an important strategic role in the two wars. In fact, the main reason we are here is that it is the centenary of the Battle of Jutland – the largest naval battle of WW1. Stu’s Grandad was in the battle – and survived- so he has always had a hankering to visit. The Centenary Commeration seemed as good a time as any, which also happened to coincide with my visit , so I came along for the ride. Some 8,500 sailors died in the battle, and whilst England suffered the lion’s share of losses the British fleet was able to maintain control of the North Sea, which was absolutely vital if it was to win the war.

8. Whilst the countryside is very attractive – green rolling hills, drystone fences, dramatic cliffs – it does sort of all look the same after a while. And, there’s lots of water – well, I guess that happens when you are lots of wiggly islands. The Orkneys are in fact made up of something like 70 islands, of all shapes & sizes, only 20 of which are inhabited. And, the people are rather fond of pebble dash clad houses – not the most attractive building material.

9. It stays light for a very long time in the summer months, and it never really gets proper dark. Their version of dark comes around 10.30/11.00pm at the moment and it starts getting light again around 4 or 5 in the morning. Luckily I brought my eye mask with me or I’d never get to sleep.

10. Driving around is very easy – there aren’t that many roads nor much traffic. Nor does it take too long to get from end to end. So we have managed to see quite a lot of the sights in our 4 days here. So, let me talk you through our visit.

As I said, we are staying in a BnB on Shapinsay, called Hilton Farmstay (http://www.hiltonorkneyfarmhouse.co.uk) and it has been been fabulous. The farm is a working beef farm, and Catherine Ann runs the accommodation side of things and she couldn’t be more hospitable or welcoming. She drives us to and from the ferry (it is about a 20 minute walk otherwise, usually in a gale); she makes terrific home cooked breakfasts and evening meals; she organises for us to be collected by the private ferry for our late night sojourn in Kirkwell. The rooms are cosy, warm and very comfortable. And this is the view from my bedroom window (at 9.30 at night, by the way):


After arriving and settling in we went for a small wander up the road, and discovered a ruined church and an old cemetery – who doesn’t like an old cemetery to wander around? Interestingly, the married women seemed not to take their husband’s surname (or, the headstones only record them under their maiden names). 


Then it was back to the farmhouse for a home cooked meal and a glass of red, and the planning of our tourist campaign for the next day. Plans do need to take into account the ferry timetables as the ferry does not run on the hour, every hour, and the last one leaves Kirkwell at 5.30pm. This slight inconvenience is far outweighed by the pleasure we are getting from book ending our days with the short sea trip:


Not to mention the fact that we’ve become great mates with John, the chap who hands out the boarding passes as you come on to the ferry (a role that is quite distinct from the lass who comes around after the journey has started to sell you a ticket):


Breakfast at the Hilton Farmhouse can be an extravagant affair, and one member of our party (who shall remain nameless, but he is male) is taking full advantage of the full Orkney cooked breakfast aka the Heart Attack special:


Once over on the Mainland we wandered around Kirkwall, poking our noses into shops and getting the lie of the land. The housing style is plain, but almost all the houses have an unusual stepped gable.  Grey is a very popular colour (both in building materials, and the sky – we spotted blue skies when we arrived, then for a short while on Monday afternoon and then again briefly late Wednesday afternoon. The rest of the time the skies were grey). And as mentioned earlier, there is a lot of pebble dash.


Our destination was the Highland Park Whisky distillery, just on the outskirts of Kirkwall. The distillery has the distinction of being the most northerly distillery in Scotland. Now, I am not a whiskey drinker but I found the tour really interesting, from the hand turned malt, to the peat burning smoking rooms, to the storage in sherry casks, to the sculptural beauty of the harmonising vats. At the tasting we learnt that just one tiny drop of tap water from an eye dropper dramatically changes the taste of the Whisky. So, if you must add water to your Whisky you only need a drop or two. But, I’m still not a whiskey drinker!


From here it was a short walk to the Lynnfield Hotel for lunch, where the highlight was our pre lunch drink in the cosy snug. 


A brisk walk was required after lunch so we set off to look at the Scapa Flow, which is Britain’s most famous waterway. The importance of this body of water goes way back – the Vikings would anchor their longboats in Scapa Flow (and scapa is an old Norse word) –  but more recently it was the main naval base for Britain during both World Wars. After the German defeat in WW1, 74 German vessels were kept in Scapa Flow, awaiting the outcome of the Treaty of Versailles. Negotiations took forever, so the German commander of the fleet took matters into his own hands and scuttled the boats so that they wouldn’t fall into British hands. There are other wrecks of battleships, some of them classified as war graves, and as a result, Scapa Flow is now a popular diving site. It was quite moving to look out across the water and think of the battles fought and lives lost.


The next day was the 31st of May, the centenary day for the Battle of Jutland – a big day in British and German naval history, and a VERY big day for Orkney with commemorative services in both Kirkwall and on the island of Hoy. Kirkwall was agog with excitement, and most of the town came out to mark the occasion, which was focussed on the St Magnus Cathedral. The Weeping Window poppy sculpture that had been part of the Tower of London Remembrance Day commemoration has been reproduced at the Cathedral, and looks magnificent:

The Cathedral itself is very imposing inside, with a row of very significant columns lining the main aisle:


We joined the buzzing crowds thronging the streets. First we had the Royal Naval band:


Followed by the German Naval Band – Sue wouldn’t let me take a picture of the enemy band! (But, as an aside we met one of the clarinet players from the band later that day in the pub. He was an absolute sweetie, and quite thrilled to be drinking in a pub on Orkney). They were followed by the Kirkwall Pipe & Drum band, who were splendid  – I do love a kilt and a bagpipe.


All of a sudden the ranks of Secret Service men swelled, and the tension amongst the crowd swelled in unison. Something was going to happen. Next we see David Cameron (PM, UK) and Nicola Sturgeon (PM, Scotland) strolling towards us:


The anticipation then goes up a further notch, and there are now lots of men wearing earpieces standing in front of us, eyes moving constantly, back, forward, up & down (they must hate the era of mobile phones, as it must make watching out for the loony loner so much harder). Then a posse of shiny black Land Rovers sweep in, doors open and close smartly, and there is Princess Anne.  She’s actually quite teeny, but salutes and shakes hands very smartly (guess she has had lots of practice). Prince Phillip had also been due to come but had been advised against it by his doctors – well, he is 94, bless him.


She inspects the troops, followed by David and Nicola, then they all go into the Cathedral for the commeration service. That’s our signal to wander off and collect our hire car for a day of sightseeing around the Mainland island. Today was our seeing all the old stuff day, with a bit of nature thrown in.

We started at the St Nicholas Round Kirk, near Houghton. It is the ruins of a Norse church, built in 1122 in atonement for the murder of Earl (later Saint) Magnus. The Kirk sits now in a lovely old graveyard, with bluebells and lilacs adorning the graves.


Next were the Standing Stones of Stenness, which originally comprised a circle of 12 monolithic stones, but are now down to 4 ( I think farmers in days gone by knocked them down to use for their farming needs). The stones are thought to date from about 3000BC, but Sue was a bit underwhelmed.


Just nearby is the more impressive Ring of Brodgar, a stone circle of 27 upright megaliths (it originally consisted of 60 stones). The monument has clear views in all directions, so it’s location was no accident. 


From here we ended up in the village of Stromness, not by intention, but it was fortuitous as we were in need of a coffee and a bite to eat (the navigator and driver were getting a little tetchy with each other by now). Ferries to other islands, and to Europe,  leave from Stromness, so it has an active little harbour.


Fortified , and mollified, we ventured forth once more, this time to have a look at the dramatic coastline at Yesnaby. It was pretty blowy and hence,darn cold, so we did a brisk walk to the edge, took some photos and scurried back into the car. But, it was enough time to admire the rock formations, and the hardy clumps of flowers.


Back to ancient times – we drove on to Skara Brae, the remains of a 5,000 year old Neolithic village. The remains had been hiding safely away under sand dunes but were revealed in 1850 during a massive storm. They really are very impressive. Skara Brae, the Standing Stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brodgar and other Neolithic remains are all part of a UNESCO World Heritage site.


Next to Skara Brae is Skaill House, a 17th century house that is open to the public. It allows a fascinating insight into how the Lairds of the land lived. The current Laird renovated the house after it had fallen into disrepair during the tenure of the widow of the previous Laird. Our current Laird lives elsewhere on Mainland – presumably the ticket sales help him cover the costs of the renovations and taxes.


Onward and upward we flagging tourists drove to Birsay and Marwick Head. On top of Marwick Head is a memorial to Lord Kitchener, the “We need You” guy, Minister of War in WW1. Kitchener and his crew on the HMS Hampshire were sunk by a German mine here in 1916, with few survivors. Lord Kitchener not being one of them.


Stuart and I were on a mission to try and see a Puffin – they breed along the cliffs at Birsay and Marwick Head. We strode off, leaving Mrs D in the warmth of the car. But, our high hopes were dashed – we saw empty burrows but no sign of the notoriously shy puffins themselves. At least we spotted a lone seal lolling about in the sea.

It was time now to head back to Kirkwell – a drink in the bar before dinner at The Foveran restaurant  was calling, but not before this irresistible photo opportunity:


The Foveran turned out to be very nice indeed. I had a starter of local beef carpaccio – yummy – followed by monkfish with a smoked haddock sauce, a Scottish speciality. Despite my reservations, as the name smoked haddock does not have an appetising ring to it, it was delish. And, the other lovely thing about the Scottish is that they give you lots of vegetables as part of the meal. We got chatting to the head waitress, another English refugee. It turned out she was the mother of 4 kids, but only looked like a youngster herself, and she and her husband have recently put the family into a ballot to become the keepers of a Historic Trust property in Wales. 399 others have applied, but she is very hopeful. We ended up with the full story of her life, as you do.

We had to forego pud as not only was our waistband groaning, but we also had to return the hire car and get ourselves on to our chartered ferry at 10pm. Stuart deposited Sue and I at the Harbourside bar, Helgi’s, while he returned the car. This is where we encountered the happily inebriated German clarinet player. It was then a walk over the road to Cornslip to await the Charles-Ann, skippered by Harvey Groat, a dyed in the wool Orcadian.


Of course, in the 25 minutes it took to ferry us across to Shapinsay, Sue and I managed to extract much of Harvey’s life story as well. He is one of the skippers of the Shapinsay ferry but runs a private ferry service to cater for the many out of hour needs of the islanders. His second mate was a lovely looking but painfully shy Eurasian lad – turns out he was Harvey’s son; Harvey married a Filipino woman about 20 years ago, and is the proud Dad of a 17 year old son and 16 year old daughter. Harvey runs the Charles-Ann every night, the one way fare is £7. He had 4 customers on the 10pm on Tuesday night. Not a bad side business, and a much needed service for the people of Shapinsay as the last ferry leaves Kirkwell at 5.30 ( our fourth passenger was a young lad who is a dish pig at one of the hotels, so he needs the service to get home from work each night).

A long and exhausting but great day of being A1 tourists. Orkney is so interesting, both the islands themselves, and the people who live here.

Day 4 dawned greyer and colder, with a biting wind whipping across the islands. The temptation to stay cosied up at the Hilton Farmhouse, eating Catherine Ann’s cakes, was strong, but the other side of the Mainland called us. So, back on to the 9 am ferry we went – by now, we are on first name terms with the staff. John was his beaming self, and gleefully told us he had spotted us on the telly that morning in the film footage of Princess Anne arriving!! 

We took the opportunity to pop into the Cathedral as it had been banned to all but invited guests yesterday, followed by a quick whiz round the Battle of Jutland display in the Orkney Museum, before collecting another hire car (Stuart had had to scour the island for hire cars as all had been booked out – I told you these Jutland ceremonies were a BIG occasion on the islands –  but perserverance paid off, albeit from two different companies).

Today we steered to East Mainland, then down across the island of Burry and onto South Ronaldsay. These islands are connected to each other by the Churchill Barriers. After the sinking of HMS Royal Oak in Scapa Flow in 1939 by a sneaky German U-boat (with a loss of 833 crew), Churchill ordered that greater defences be erected to stop enemy incursions within Scapa Flow. Old ships were scuppered to  become barriers, but he wanted more than that. The solution was the construction of concrete barriers that joined the islands but also acted as a barrier to sailing further into those parts of Scapa Flow.


Labour was needed to build the barriers, and Italian prisoners of war proved to be the solution. They were shipped in from Libya in 1942 to construct the huge concrete blocks that were used to make the barriers. But the legacy of these Italian POWs is not only Churchill’s Barriers but also the very beautiful and moving Italian Chapel, built by the Italian prisoners of Camp 60. One of the prisoners, Domenico Chiocchetti, was an artist and he wanted to not only brighten the lives of the prisoners but also provide them with a place of worship.  He, with the help of other prisoners, created the chapel from 2 Nissan huts. He lined them with plasterboard and then got to work on the interior with his paints, creating a brick and marble looking structure with an ornate altarpiece copied from a picture his Mother sent him off to war with. A facade was added to the front of the huts. 


The Orcadians must have treated the prisoners well as Domenico returned to Orkney to visit the Chapel in 1960, and helped restore the internal paintwork. He spoke fondly of both the Chapel and the kindness of the people.

Just near the exit of the Chapel is a cannily situated hut offering tastings of Orkney wine. Of course we couldn’t pass up that opportunity. Talk about cool climate wines! Turns out they are not made from grapes but fruit. Amazingly enough the Orkney Red was actually drinkable, albeit a bit unusual.


We continued on our merry way, down to the charming little village of St Margaret’s Hope (note, that is the first time I have used the word charming as Orkney is many things but few are charming).  We wander round, hunting for somewhere for lunch. Tried The Creel but it is actually a BnB that serves meals to guests and others if they have made an earlier reservation. Owned and run by another English refugee, albeit one with Orkney roots via his Grandfather. He has bought The Creel, and the old bank building next door, which he uses as his residence. Hope business proves good for him – it was pretty quiet when we were there.


We finally found Fred’s Cafe, with its promise of homemade soup and a toastie. Sorry, we’ve had a rush on the soup and we’ve run out! So we had to settle for the toastie.

Fed and watered we drove to Hoxa to check out the famous Hoxa Tapestry Gallery, situated in a beautiful spot, and the sun came out to greet us.


 The tapestries and rugs are beautiful but very expensive, so we kept moving – down to the very end of South Ronaldsay, to a hamlet called Burwick. Tick, done that. Let’s go back now to Kirkwall and have a pint before catching the ferry ‘home’.  Tick, tick. Then another lovely dinner prepared by Catherine Ann, including rhubarb crumble with home made custard, and early to bed.

We rewarded all our excellent tourist efforts on the preceding days with a sleep in and late breakfast on our last day. And, how pleased were we that we were leaving today as we awoke to rain and more wind. We were now seeing Awful Orkney! The previous day we had phoned the Shapinsay Development Authority and booked their electric car for an hour and a half so we could drive round the island. Eileen turned up with the car at the appointed time, but with the bad news that the car was not insured to be driven by Non Shapinsayers. However, she offered to drive us round the island instead. So, we piled in and off we went – not that we could see much in the rain. We did hop out briefly to have a quick walk round the Broch of  Burroughston (a Broch being another Neolithic structure):



Eileen’s tour also included an illicit drive around the Balfour Castle.  The original house  was built in 1674, but in 1846 David Balfour, who made his fortune in India, inherited the estate, which now included the whole island. He transformed the house into the castle we see today, but now the castle has passed out of Balfour hands, having been bought by a funds manager from Shropshire – who do not appear to have integrated very well with the community, hence the illicit drive past the castle and the woodlands full of bluebells.


Then Catherine Ann kindly drove us down to the Cafe and Heritage centre where we waited for the 1.30 ferry. Onto the ferry, then into the waiting, pre booked, taxi to the airport – the rain cancelling earlier plans to find somewhere for lunch in Kirkwell before going to the airport. Luckily the airport has a bar, and a cafe, so we were happy – until we found out our plane was going to be over an hour late. It eventually left 1.5 hours late, amid talk of high winds and heavy loads, not something I wanted to hear. We landed in Edinburgh at 6.10 and our connecting flight to Heathrow was due to depart at 6.30. And of course, our landing gate was as far away as possible from the departing gate. The sight of the 3 of us racing through the airport must have been quite comical but the gods were in our favour as they were calling final boarding just as we huffed and puffed into view. A restorative G & T was required as soon as the plane took off.

We are now tucked up in bed. Tomorrow I have to exit the house at 6.30am to catch a train to Gatwick for my return flight to Barcelona. It has been a truly wonderful 2 weeks , and I shall miss the Dancing Dowdens very much – until next time. Xxxx