Seville, mostly

September 2022

After two and a half years off the rails, Spain beckons. We'll be travelling from Fratton (of course) to London, Eurostar to Paris where we'll tick off our last Parisian mainline station when we leave on the sleeper from Gare Austerlitz to Latour de Carol in the Pyrenees. From there a local train will take us to Barcelona where we'll overnight before catching the morning train to Granada. After a couple of nights there visiting the Alhambra, we'll head to Seville for the best part of a week, visiting Jerez, before heading home via Madrid and Santander where we'll catch the ferry to Portsmouth.

Day One

Fratton Station

The night before we leave there's a big thunder storm and water is coming in through the bathroom vent. After some running repairs we retire and awake the next morning to find everything in place so we shrug, get ready and set off to catch the 11.54 to Waterloo. Minor panic as a Southern Trains service to Victoria is abruptly cancelled but nothing else is affected and, although we set off slowly, thanks to other delayed Southern Trains - a fact our conductor is keen to remind us of throughout the journey - we arrive in good time and cross London by tube and sit patiently in St Pancras International waiting for our train gate to open.

I know Eurostar have had their critics recently but just to say, passport control and security was as smooth as possible with the added entertainment of one of the 'guides' making sure we got in the right passport lane - "no, this one, not my fault it's brexit".  

Arrived at Paris Nord bang on time leaving us just shy of two hours to get across Paris to Gare d'Austerlitz on a packed Ligne 5 and notwithstanding a wrenched elbow gained by lifting a heavy case and bag over the barrier. Anyway, Austerlitz will be lovely once it's finished and is the last mainline station in Paris from which we have departed (I may have mentioned this before). There's quite a wait in our airy (ok, outside) waiting area before the board directs us to the platform for our Intercités de nuit sleeper to Latour. There are no private beds on this train and I think we were too late booking to take advantage of an espace privée supplement, so we find ourselves sitting on our quite comfortable couchettes finishing off a half bottle of half decent Bordeaux before turning in under the sleeping bag provided for us. We have one traveling companion in the upper bunk but it's all very convivial as we speed on through the night to the Pyrenees.

Day two

At around 7am, our traveling companion starts moving about as quietly as she can and eventually leaves the train at Foix. We are thus left to ourselves for the next couple of hours as our train climbs slowly into the Pyrenees. It's beautiful. Mountain trains are the best, moving slowly through spectacular scenery while you gently take it all in and if it's a sleeper, you can come to your senses at leisure. And while this particular morning might not quite equal waking up to an eagle taking flight in the Highlands, the window is three times the size and we can both easily enjoy the passing view.

Eventually we come to a halt at the impressive but practically deserted Latour de Carol Enveitg station on the Spanish border. There's a nice looking café just outside but it turns out to be shut on a Wednesday so we have to content ourselves with coffee and pastries from the Relay concession in the station. Our Rodales train to Barcelona is due to leave at 10.25 and there's an announcement to that effect but there's no train and the half dozen of us waiting shrug and laugh at the imaginary transport that is 'about to leave' so 'please close the doors'. A moment or so later a man appears from the station building and shouts across the tracks to those of us waiting and it turns out the said train is 15 minutes late arriving. Twenty minutes later we board, and trundle off down the other side of the mountains to our destination. The first three quarters of the journey are spectacular (when not in the many short tunnels) but it gets more prosaic the closer to Barca we get and the last few kilometres are underground. 

We're staying at AC Sants across the concourse from the station and check in before having a very welcome shower and a bit of a siesta. It's a comfortable business oriented hotel and is so convenient for a brief stay in the Catalan capital as most trains come in and out of Sants and there's a massive taxi rank outside. Suitable refreshed we find there's still time for a short trip out and we settle on the museum of the art of Catalunya on Mount Juic. We wander across an get in one of those taxis which takes us right up to the museum and then swerves round and up the hill to a point nearer the actual entrance. There's a mobile bar affair outside the main door and a beer seems in order while we take in the panoramic view of the city. It's a spectacular venue and very well presented, plus Sarah gets in free. There's a lot to see but we confine ourselves to a splendidly presented exhibition of rescued medieval frescoes, altarpieces and other religious art from the region followed by a walk through the history of Spanish art.

Dinner tonight is at La Tere Gastrobar where we ate last time we were here; we hope it's as good and generally it is. The quality of food is still very good but I guess covid has contributed to robbing it of some of the ambience and bonhomie we experienced last time. Our train to Granada leaves at 8.30am so we retire to our room and watch something we'd downloaded on the iPad before turning in.

Day three

The convenience of our hotel can't be overstated. It's comfortable too, although the air conditioning this time was positively arctic. Left is the view from our window of the station, so it's a matter of supreme ease to walk across the street to catch our high speed train to Granada this morning. We have splashed out for confort class seats for the roughly six hour journey. Masks have to be worn and it takes a little while to get used to that again. Sarah has been spending time on every train making lace and today we're sharing our table with a Spanish pair, one of whom is crocheting a shawl and regales us with many photos of their previous efforts, all of which are excellently made but are largely variations on a theme.

The landscape of the Ebro valley is interestingly stark as we approach Zaragoza then passing Madrid on towards Cordoba there's farmland and olive groves. We get lunch from the buffet car; toasted iberico ham with tiny bottles of olive oil and a rather marvellous tomato concoction to tart it up with, together with a glass of red wine. 

Leaving Cordoba, where our new friends get off, we learn that the Queen is at death's door and I'm glad not to have to face wall-to-wall Nicholas Witchell speculating with no solid information for hours on end. It seems however that this is it.

Meanwhile, the track from Antequera to Granada is all olives and distant mountains. There's a new road being built and what looks like a wildfire in the distance but we arrive in good order into 33° heat and take a taxi to our hotel where we have to wait a while to check in at 4pm, no earlier. It's worth it however as we're upgraded to a very comfortable ground floor suite in this listed 17th century Palacio. The man at reception is extremely helpful and has prepared a useful guide to all that's good for our short stay here including where and when to get the best photos of the Alhambra and the best places to eat.

Time for a siesta.

Upon waking we learn that the Queen has indeed died.

We still need to eat so we head to La Diamante recommended by our host and manage to get a couple of seats at the bar. We order a couple of beers and get a mixed plate of seafood and aubergine to keep us going. We order clams, deep-fried anchovies and a dish of mushrooms and devour the lot washed down with a couple more beers. The food is as fresh as it is delicious and generous, the service is hectic and friendly. It's very popular. We go back to the hotel for a whisky and a relatively early night for tomorrow we have the Alhambra.

Day four

Our tour starts at noon, we're to be there fifteen minutes beforehand. Never one to leave things to the last minute, we're there an hour early. Time for breakfast at one of the cafés and still have twenty minutes to wait with no clue as to who out of the many tour guides in the meeting area will be ours. I wave my tickets at some of them but they shake their heads, they're not ours. Finally I find a few fellow tourees and we gather together outside the gift shop before Ana breezes up and announces she's the 12 o'clock English tour guide (she's actually local but her English is excellent). Tickets issued we start our three hour tour of the entire complex. It's fascinating, Ana has a PhD in Islamic studies and so provides us with perhaps far more insight than we might have had on other tours. We hadn't realised quite how extensive the Alhambra is but the best is saved for last as the tour ends in a crescendo of beauty and with us exhausted but happy. Sadly for us, the tour ends quite a distance and downhill from the entrance and the gift shop from where we've resolved to buy a suitable "coffee table" book. The climb back up is arduous in our tired state and the continuing 33 degree heat. 

A bus back to the centre and a search for lunch (at 4pm!) finds us inhaling egg, chips, chorizo, Andalucian black pudding, fried green peppers and pork loin washed down with beers and sparkling water at a café restaurant not far from last night's excellent repast. This too is wonderful, a sort of full Andalusian all-day breakfast.

We've been told that a particular church is as spectacular as any Rome has to offer so, refreshed, we catch the number 8 bus across the city and arrive at said church ten minutes before it closes. They won't let us in. Not even for a quick peek. Grrrr. It's a way out of town, among the university buildings, not being entirely sure of finding a bus back in this still searing heat, I check and find Granada has Uber so I call one and eventually we're back at the hotel for a shower and a snooze. A table has been booked at Los Manueles for 9.30pm - still early for Spain - and we have a decent meal there this time washed down with white sangria.

Day five

Before leaving for Seville there's time for breakfast at the "Alhambra Café" on Bib-Ramblas and some last minute shopping. We even squeeze in a visit to their very splendid cathedral before a taxi takes us to the station.

There's a pretty long queue for our train and every one's luggage has to be x-rayed before boarding. Our ticket is for Antequera where we change trains for Seville. It now seems the train we're about to board is also going to Seville which produces a moment's confusion but then I realise it's going via Cordoba which surely must take longer. In the event about twenty other passengers get off with us and board what turns out to be the train from Málaga to Seville arriving at around quarter past four.

Seville station is smart, new and cavernous. Outside is hot, stiflingly so. We find the taxi rank and get in the first available. Trouble is, the driver doesn't seem to know her way around, has to ring the apartment owners, still can't find it and has to use Sarah's Google maps directions to get us there. She still charges us €10 for the privilege despite having gone at least half a kilometre in the wrong direction.

The apartment is wonderful. It has a proper kitchen, living room and bedroom, a large bathroom, a balcony AND a rooftop pool. We go shopping and I cook us a spicy chicken tagliatelle dish as we enjoy a quiet night in. In the meantime I book us a tour of the Alcázar in the morning. 

Day six

The Alcázar is a fifteen minute walk from the apartment and Google maps takes us a slightly longer way than necessary but we fetch up at the Lion Gate in good time and wait. It's becoming increasingly clear that the deal with the tickets isn't the same as it was in Granada and all we've bought is a jump the queue ticket. There are plenty of potential guides around however and one seems particularly promising. We end up in a small group of six, there's a good dynamic and we have a thoroughly enjoyable tour. The Alcázar itself is beautiful in all respects and was substantially rebuilt by King Pedro who was strongly influenced by the style of the  Alhambra and you can see echoes of that design throughout those parts of the palace. I get the impression that the decoration is not quite as fine as that at Granada but that's really a counsel of perfection as it is still wonderful. The gardens are particularly impressive but the heat drives us inside and we have a quick lunch in the café and a wander around what remains of the old gothic portion of the palace and the ceramics exhibition before leaving in what remains stifling heat.

Outside the cathedral we stop for a drink - a couple of Finos as it happens - and some pinchos, at Orio's bar. Deciding to head to the river we stumble on the tourist office and end up booking a river trip on a solar powered boat. The boat doesn't leave until 6pm so we have a couple of hours to kill. We carry on down to the river, about 100m away, past the Torre Oro and find the pier for later and sit in the shade for a while. Further down the bank there's a couple of bars which seem as good a place as any to wait. The nearest looks quite good, the bar is run by a young man with his uninterested girlfriend and there's plenty of room so we order Aperol spritz and enjoy the ambience, which includes a Spotify playlist called "In da Guettho" which we have great fun texting our horrified daughters about.

After an iced coffee we head back to the pier and before long are aboard the boat on our river trip, which proves only that Seville's waterfront is not all that interesting, particularly when the three language commentary is out of sync, but it's a calm and relaxing hour spent on the water. We would normally spend late afternoons wherever we're staying to recharge before going out to dinner but today. perhaps foolishly given the heat, we're walking back through the old town looking for a potential tapas bar crawl. In the end we find a good looking restaurant and stay there for dinner instead and then manage to crawl home for a well-earned sleep.

Day seven

It's raining! I booked tickets to the cathedral last night (it's Monday and not much other touristy stuff is open) and on our way there this morning it starts to rain. Annoyingly the pre-booked entrance is not the main entrance and we have to dodge the now quite heavy rain to the other side of the building before we can go in. Seville Cathedral is quite magnificent, apparently the third largest in Europe after St. Peter's and St Paul's (Rome & London) and contains the tomb of Christopher Columbus (or part of him at least) among other treasures. It feels more like a museum than an active church but it is beautiful and the morning is well spent. It has a lovely cloister with orange trees and a wooden crocodile hanging from the ceiling and the obligatory gift shop through which we exit and from which we buy our obvious souvenir for Seville - a cheap resin model of the Torre Oro.

We grab a beer at a local bar and decide to take a tourist bus tour of the city aiming to end up at Plaza d'Espagne. It's a very long tour with several very interesting sights but the area that once held the 1992 world fair, now a business park, is not one of them. We go round the whole tour and swap buses to start again so we can reach our goal. The Plaza d'Espagne, part of the extensive rebuilding for the 1929 Ibero-American exhibition, is hugely impressive but seems somehow under-utilised and we have one more stop before we head back to the apartment. The tobacco factory where Bizet set Carmen is now a university building but it remains an impressive structure and Sarah poses for a photo outside to send to friends with whom we went to see the opera at the Royal Opera House a few years ago, buying very expensive tickets during a night on the vodka.

Tonight we eat at a splendidly decorated Moroccan restaurant very near the apartment and it's rather good.

Day eight

Before we left home I booked us a tour of a sherry bodega in Jerez and a couple of days before departing I get a phone call from them asking if I realised I'd booked a Spanish language tour. Obviously I hadn't realised this, so our visit time was pushed back from midday to 4pm for the English version. This means we don't have to leave Seville quite as early as originally planned - Jerez is only just over an hour away by train so we resolve to catch the 10:45 and amble the ten minute walk to the station. Queueing at the Renfe ticket office, time is starting to look tight but ultimately the train is delayed anyway so we arrive in good order and walk into the centre of town.

As with nearly all places it seems, the area around the station is not very salubrious but as we walk further Jerez begins to unfold its charms and we find ourselves first at a bar in the Plaza de la Asuncion for a refreshing fino, and then lunch of anchovies and Russian salad at a very local café in the Plaza Plateros. Our tour is at the Bodegas Tradicion and on the way there is the cathedral so we stop for a visit and spend a cool half hour before climbing what turns out to be quite a steep hill up to the bodega. We arrive a little early but they're happy to let us in and we rest under a roof of vines alongside a couple who had arrived even earlier than us. By the time four o'clock rolls round there are a dozen there for the tour.

Bodegas Tradicion is a relatively new venture built on the foundations of a much older one and their interesting story is told before we visit the many barrels of sherry and get a very good grounding in how the various types of wine are made and how they differ from each other. We then get a generous tasting of several of their very fine products before we are led into what turns out to be the highlight of the tour; their excellent private art collection where we sip our Pedro Ximenes and marvel at this small but perfectly formed collection of Spanish art including examples from all the greats - Goya, Velasquez, El Greco, Picasso to name the obvious. Suitably enamoured, we buy a couple of bottles - a fino and oloroso - and share a taxi back to the station with another couple. A coffee in the station café kills the time waiting for our train back to Seville where our taxi driver this time has a much better idea of where things are.

I make us a meal using up the chicken and pasta we had bought on our first day as a lovely day comes to a very satisfying end.

Day nine

The weather is fine again, but thankfully not as hot. We're heading for the Seville Museum of Fine Arts gallery in the Plaza de Museo. It's a nice wander through a different part of Seville and we first come across the magnificent Setas de Sevilla, a large wooden structure known to locals as the mushrooms, finished in 2010 and a very modern landmark for this old city.

On the way we also pass Lizerran, a café bar recommended by Adam for its pinchos, so we stop for a beer and a snack which is indeed pretty good, before we move on to through shopping streets to the gallery.

The gallery itself is excellent. Well curated and a fascinating journey through more Spanish art, including a fine collection of Murillos, set in a lovely old palazzo with a cool courtyard interior.

It's our last night in Seville so we decide to try one of the nearby bars, the first of which, "Becerrita", turns out to be a more than decent restaurant and a fitting conclusion to our time here. The food is lovely and we settle on sherry with every course rather than a bottle of wine. A crisp, dry fino to start followed by a Palo Cortado and finishing with a very fine PX. 

Day ten

Today marks the turn for home as we turn north towards Madrid. We leave Seville fairly early in the morning and arrive in the capital just after 11am. We're at the main station, Atocha, but our hotel and tomorrow's departure station is at Charmatín so after failing to find the local train connection we get in a taxi to cross the city. Charmatín is the mainly business quarter and home to Real Madrid but the station is rather prosaic and the hotel, like AC Sants in Barcelona, is not built for tourists but is also not quite as nice as its Catalan counterpart. It will do for us though.

Sarah has found us a potentially interesting little museum to visit only a couple of metro stops away. Finding the metro itself is less that straightforward however but after wandering aimlessly for a few minutes we eventually find it down some steps from platform 1 of the main station. The ticket machines are also less than obvious and there are a couple of staff stationed nearby to help the many confused travellers. After that, the trip is as easy as it should be. The museum is ten minutes from the metro and up a slight hill but we find it easily enough and buy our tickets. It's often best, we find, to start at the top floor and work our way down. The lift in this building is a rather fine vintage wooden one and the museum itself is filled with a marvellous collection of art, objet and artefacts put together by José Lázaro Galdiano and bequeathed to the Spanish state.

We seem to be in a rather expensive part of town with the cafés offering rather more expensive food than we really require on a Thursday lunchtime but we find one that's more relaxed than the others and beautifully decorated where have a lovely, good quality lunch. Rather better quality than the station Burger King we get for dinner before a very early start in the morning.

Day eleven

We're on a fast train to Valladolid where we change and catch a slow train through the Cantabrian mountains down to Santander. The mountains are very picturesque with broadleaf woodland, ochre painted houses and wild pampas grasses framing the meadows and villages dotted along the way and making it look not quite like a Swiss alpine scene.

Santander station is half a mile form the hotel and once oriented we drag our weary carcasses to what turns out to be a very nice hotel near the water, and crucially, across the road from the ferry terminal. We are able to check in and after a quick rest, a shower and booking a restaurant for later  Sarah is desperate for a swim. Santander is actually bigger than it looks and the main beach is really too far to walk so we get the front desk to call us a taxi. Before launching ourselves onto the sand it's time for lunch.

There are a whole load of bus stops here and several of them will take us back to the hotel so after a swim (for Sarah, not me) and a sizeable ice cream we catch one.

Our dinner booking is at Querida Magarita, a Michelin recommended restaurant. it seems quite near on the map so we walk, but it's further than we thought and up a bit of a hill and in what looks like a more residential area but it's very much worth it and we have a great meal with paired wines at a very reasonable price. A taxi back to the hotel is essential after such a repast.

Day twelve

A day to wander around the centre of Santander, picking up some last-minute shopping and having lunch in the cathedral square before it reopens after siesta. The cathedral itself is nice, not very elaborate but calm. We also have a stroll in the park by the hotel and take some time to relax looking across the water and laughing at the forlorn attempts of a workman to keep his temporary barrier erect in what s quite a strong wind and in the face of a public determined to ignore it. The modern arts centre is quite the building and the park has several sculptures dotted around - it's a lovely place to sit quietly after what has been a busy couple of weeks.

Dinner turns out to be in an old covered market that has been converted into something with art shops, bars and a travel themed restaurant. It's a real contrast to the previous evening but no less enjoyable and a fitting way for our time in Spain to end.

Days thirteen and fourteen

We arrive at the recommended time to catch the 2pm ferry back to Portsmouth and wait. And wait. Brittany Ferries' Santander route does not seem geared up for foot passengers at all as we wait for all the vehicles to embark before following them up the vehicle ramp rather than via a separate passenger entrance as you might expect. Our cabin is nice though, thankfully I booked one with a window, and we settle down for our 28 hour voyage home. There's an interesting talk scheduled for the marine mammals we might see on the way but we fail to see any whales or dolphins on either day. A fair dinner is included and we then retire to our cabin and watch "Rocket Man" (3 Stars) on their video on demand service. Sadly I completely failed to put my iPad away properly for falling asleep and so managed to leave it behind when we disembarked.

The weather was calm for the whole crossing thankfully. We don't dock until 5.30pm though and with nothing else much to do we end up watching most of the Queen's funeral, which seems to be on almost every TV on board anyway. Once again the lack of regard for foot passengers shows as we don't get to leave until well after everyone else and the bus to the terminal is cramped and not geared up for the amount of luggage we all carry. After a long time at border control (yawn, thanks Brexiteers) we call an Uber and are soon home.

Carbon saved by not flying: 1.15 tonnes

Lisbon, Barcelona and Paris

November 2019

A week or two before we set off on this journey to Lisbon, emails started arriving talking about how southern France was flooded and no trains were crossing the Franco-Spanish border. Other information suggested that efforts were being made to work around the floods and connect somehow with the French TGVs to Paris. So because any potential problems were limited to the route home, I resolved to carry on as if there was no problem at all and deal with whatever occurred as it happened.

The taxi, due at 3.15am, was early and sat outside our open bedroom window gently purring while we got dressed. Bang on its due time the phone rang loudly to let us know it was here and we set off into the chill morning headed once again for St Pancras International. After an uneventful crossing we trundled out of Gare du Nord towards the waiting taxis to cross Paris to the Gare Montparnasse where we were to catch the TGV to the Spanish border. It seems to take ages and we pass through unfamiliar parts of the city but we finally arrive and get dropped at a side entrance to the station, where there was work going on, lifts out of action and signage not as clear as it might have been, particularly for the non-francophone. Time was on our side though and we soon found a staircase, hauled our cases up to the drab concourse and found a grocery cum coffee shop for a more than adequate late-ish breakfast of croque monsieur and café au lait while we await the train to Hendaye.

Incidentally, travelling through Montparnasse leaves just Austerlitz of the Parisian mainline stations we have yet to set off from, so perhaps a visit to Provence will be in order in the future.

It's an awkward winding stair down to the platform when you've got suitcases to manoeuvre, and the security barrier is both overmanned and porous, but we find our way to our carriage and board. Settling in on the upper deck of our train, we leave the capital and head off towards the Atlantic coast. Sarah starts knitting some extremely complex Sanquhar gloves and I read my book and look out of the window before the desire for a smattering of lunch drives me to the buffet car. Catering on TGVs is so much better than what's on offer from the trolley on SWT and OK, it was €8 but lunch was a very tasty cheeseburger that did not suffer at all from being microwave reheated. The wine was of a pretty decent quality too. As we travel on towards the coast the weather worsens and it isn't long before announcements are being made about delays. The high speed line was flooded in several places so we have to use the regular lines between Bordeaux and Biarritz (which, incidentally, looks glamorous even through the deluge). Our original connection time was 50 minutes and estimates of the delay range from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. In the event we make the connection at Hendaye for the Lisbon sleeper, the Sud Express, comfortably, even allowing for some confusion surrounding a group ticket ahead of us in the queue.

Retiring to the buffet bar to enjoy whatever they have to offer for supper (bacalhau à brás as it turned out), we end up sharing a bottle of wine with a lovely Dutch couple, bemoaning the absurdity of Brexit and drinking to future Anglo-Dutch relations before turning in.
The tracks across Spain are a little bumpy but you get used to sleeping in fits and starts and letting the swaying and rhythm of the carriage rock you back to sleep and this cabin was cleverly designed to be roomier than most too. A knock woke us about 30 minutes out from Lisbon.

Lisbon Day One

The only problem with arriving by sleeper is that your hotel is never ready for you to check in that early. The train approaches the city, as most do, through its least salubrious areas arriving alongside the cruise terminal. Giving the address of our hotel to the taxi driver, we travel the short distance up the hill of Alfama until our path is obstructed by a police officer who, for some undiscovered reason, was preventing vehicles from going any further up that street. In an echo of Tangiers we drag our cases up the remaining 50m of cobbled street to our poorly-signed hotel. As expected, we couldn't check in but they were extremely welcoming, stored our cases and even gave us breakfast. With the rest of the morning to kill we set off for the castle at the top of the hill, winding through the narrow streets and arriving just as it opens. For a while we have much of it to ourselves and after the obligatory photos of the spectacular view, and a wander through the romantic garden, we settle at a outdoor café table for a coffee and our first pastel de nata, surrounded by peacocks, in the warm Lisbon morning sunshine.

The Castelo de S. Jorge is the perfect place to start your visit to Lisbon. There are stunning views in every direction from the ramparts and towers, and it has the added bonus of a camera obscura with regular 'shows' in a variety of languages. We happen to time it just right to get it to ourselves, in English, which helps add to our growing familiarity with Lisbon's topography.

Outside the castle is a regular looking bus-stop and we would have passed it by unnoticed but for a sheet of A4 paper pasted to the back. It's funny how in a place surrounded by an unfamiliar language, the sight of something in English catches the eye. This was a sign about how the popularity of the authentic experience offered by Air BnB was encouraging landlords to evict local tenants in favour of tourist dollars and begging visitors to use hotels rather than opting for staying in such a local apartment. Not something we'd ever considered before and certainly thought provoking.

Just below the castle is the church of Santa Cruz. After a quick stop at a 'convenient' pissoir (for me), we visit both the charming church and its adjacent bell tower, payment for which supported its restoration and affords us access to the very interesting photo exhibition of life in mid 20th century Lisbon up in the gallery.

It's getting pretty warm by now and we stop for a beer at 28 Café, decorated as one of the traditional yellow trams that hurtle around the narrow streets of Alfama and are a vital transport option around Lisbon. We wander further down the hill, visit the darkly impressive cathedral and poke our noses into a nearby church before fetching up for lunch in a port bar at the bottom of the hill just off the Praça do Comércio. It has a whole wall of Port and some other Portuguese wines and plenty of tables. There is a bewildering variety of port by the glass available but before we can order the waitress draws our attention to the fact that they only take cash. Strange, given the prices of some of the vintage port on offer, but there's a nearby atm and we share a plate of charcuterie and cheeses washed down with a delicious dry white port (or two).

By now we figure we'd be able to check in and freshen up so we climb back up the hill to the hotel. Our room is very comfortable and a quick doze seems in order. The hotel also has what it calls a fitness centre in its other building just up the street, which includes an outdoor pool and Sarah loves a swim. We try it out, which means making our way through a garage area, past a couple of gym machines and out into a quite pleasant garden, again with great views. The pool however is freezing cold and the swim doesn't last long.

I like to book a table at a restaurant near the hotel for our first night at least, just so we know where we're going to be eating. This time I have booked at Fado and Wine, hoping it delivered on its name at least. It's just inside the main commercial area of the city, so we take one of the several staircases down the hill, squeezing past a group of young people noisily milling around boxes of books seemingly being hawked by someone or other. The restaurant turns out to be more of a wine bar with food, much like we'd had at lunch, but the host was delightful and charmed with us being English so we had a very pleasant meal before beginning the climb back up the steep staircase to the hotel. Barely 20m from the hotel however is Tasqinha Canto Do Fado and we fancy a beer. It's getting quite crowded as they've got live Fado on tonight (and as it turns out, most nights of our stay). We cough up €7 for a table and are thoroughly entertained by two fado singers accompanied by the traditional guitarist and guitarrista. So we drink more beer, and a cocktail, and finish with coffee before booking a table for dinner the following night, prompting our hosts to refund our €7 and a packed first day in Lisbon draws to a close.

Lisbon Day Two

We've decided to spend our second day in the city out in the Belém area. There's a lot to see out there so first we head down to the Praça do Comércio to pick up our Lisbon cards and catch tram to Belém from the main square. It stops eventually outside the Jerónomos Monastery which is a beautiful confection of Gothic Manueline architecture.

We spend a large chunk of the morning exploring the monastery, together with an exhibition that includes a very helpful timeline of Portuguese history set against world and wider European events. By the time we emerge into the late morning sun we're more than a little thirsty and scout around for a café. All we can find however is a little coffee truck near the monument to Portuguese explorers on the waterfront. It's very welcome. Just along the way is the Museu de arte popular, not something we'd noticed in the guidebooks but what could be wrong with a 'popular art' museum. Nothing in the end, but popular means 'folk' in this instance and there's not a huge amount in it but for an extensive exhibition on basket weaving with many and varied examples of the basket maker's art. Curiously, given that we were pretty much the only people in there, the attendant paid us very close attention all the way round.

We continue along the waterfront towards the tower as it approaches lunchtime. There are several options nearby but we settle on a café literally on the water, and share a curious pastry sandwich with some daring sparrows before going to take a look at the Belém Tower itself, pausing only to admire the memorial to the first aerial crossing of the South Atlantic, undertaken in 1922 by two Portuguese aviators Gago Coutinho and Sacadura Cabral in a Fairey III.

The Belém Tower is another gorgeous example of Manueline architecture but there's not a lot to see inside and it will be some time before it reopens today so we content ourselves with a good look round what we can see of the outside before crossing the park to a very open footbridge across the main road so we can visit the Museu Coleção Berardo with its impressive array of modern art including a couple of very interesting temporary exhibits before weariness gets the better of us and we catch the tram back to the Praça do Comércio and stagger back up the hill to our hotel.

We indulge in a brief snooze before showering and dressing up for dinner at Tasqinha where we are thoroughly entertained by Fatima Garcia and others while we eat very presentable food served by our extremely friendly hosts. It's gone midnight before we stumble into bed.

Lisbon Day Three

I'm probably a little hungover as we start our third day here. There's a flea market sprawling over the hill behind the cathedral, but I need a coke and a coffee before I can face diving in. We spend all morning poking around the vast market before catching the iconic Number 28 tram down to the centre in search of some lunch. The tram is packed and hurtles breath-catchingly close to some of the buildings in the narrow streets of Alfama but it's a lot of fun.

The weather has turned a bit dreary and there's rain in the air as we wander about looking for a suitable place to eat. There's a good many cafés, and many a tourist trap before we settle on the fish restaurant Concha d'Ouro with tanks of fresh seafood lining the entrance and where Sarah dives into a hearty fish stew. I, still on the delicate side, have something grilled with chips. It's all delicious. The restaurant is packed but the service doesn't flag and we have a great time.

Just around the corner is the Santa Justa Lift. Built in 1902, the lift is a magnificent cast iron edifice linking the commercial district with the Bairro Alto. Today there's obviously something amiss, perhaps understaffing, as the queue takes forever to deliver us to the, admittedly very well appointed, lift compartment for the ride up. It's still gloomy and damp as we wander around the Bairro Alto and we're not sure whether to stick around or head home but I've heard the Church of Sao Roque is worth a visit. It's not very inviting from the outside, but the interior is more than spectacular and the associated museum turns out to be well worth a visit too. It's one of the earliest Jesuit churches in Portugal and the inside is Baroque on acid; gold, lapis lazuli, marble, Azulejo tilework, sculpture and art compete screamingly for your attention. We're very glad we made the effort.

We have had enough wandering now and even though it's properly raining now, walk back down the hill through some of the more high end shops and find our way back to the hotel before another evening of food and Fado at Tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Four

It's Sunday, and it's going to be a busy one; Sporting Lisbon are at home this evening and we've got tickets. First up however, is the tile museum; it's a little out of the centre so we catch a bus that should go past the door. After about 20 minutes it's clear we've gone too far so we get off and cross the road to catch one going back the other way. We get Google maps out and take a guess at which bus stop to get off at this time. The driver is clearly puzzled as to why these English people want to get off here and pulls up beside us and asks where we're going. We tell him, he rolls his eyes and says to get back on; "Why didn't you ask?". We shrug instead of trying to explain how unlikely it is an English bus driver would be as helpful. Two stops later we get off at a Lidl and follow the signs to short way to our target.

The museum is excellent and well worth the trauma getting there. After over an hour looking at tiles we catch a bus from just outside the museum this time and successfully find our way to lunch in a café near Praça Dom Pedro IV.  We're heading north today so catch the metro at Rossio so we can get up to Museu Calouste Gulbenkian for the afternoon. Suffering a minor diversion after turning left instead of right on leaving Sao Sebastiao metro station, we find the museum complex with its two architecturally interesting buildings situated in a lovely park. There's a very wide range of works from the ancient to contemporary art from around the world collected by the British Armenian businessman and philanthropist Gulbenkian and a modern exhibition centre including a brilliant timeline of modern Portuguese art history. The café is thankfully great too, as refreshment is much needed by now.

The José Alvalade stadium is further north and a change of metro lines away. The stadium is a riot of green and yellow atop, among other things, a large Lidl store where people are still shopping as the fans gather. I try to order some food and end up with what turns out to be a cold hotdog topped with chipsticks! The football is pretty good and 'we' end up winning quite comfortably.

Back in Rossio, in the square, there's a large marquee affair and lots of noise and bonhomie. It's a food fest and after our weird hotdogs, we're still a bit hungry. We stop for mulled wine while we decide what to eat and get a bell ring and hearty cheer when we tip the enthusiastic server. We settle on a vast quantity of grilled pork to eat and finish the day with, yes, a drink at tasqinha.

Lisbon Day Five

Day five is largely set aside for any shopping we still have to do, various gifts are purchased along with some Port for us and a couple of t-shirts for me. We visit the oldest bookshop in Portugal and brouse some of the more 'fashionable' precincts. After a couple of hours wandering the streets of central Lisbon we fetch up at the small beach by the main square and buy a cone of roast chestnuts from the nearby cart. It's warm and sunny and it's nice to relax for a little while and reflect on our time here.

We've arranged a car to take us to the station, further out of town this one, where the sleeper to Madrid will leave at about 10pm, so there's plenty of time for some food and a last drink at tasqinha before we leave. The train is a bit late and the platform is cold but ultimately we're on our way, sad to leave Lisbon but a day in Barcelona beckons.

Barcelona

There's quite a queue for local train tickets across Madrid to the Atocha station from where the Barcelona train leaves. We've been here before and grab some breakfast at a small concession before looking for our platform. The indoor rainforest is still quite impressive but the security queue and the queue for the travelator down to the plaform are both a little chaotic so we have no time to linger.

It's still very early as we leave Madrid and the onward problems we have thus far ignored are now beginning to play on our minds. We consider several options as to how we might complete the next leg, given the floods in France and the apparent lack of a connection across the border. SNCF still considers our TGV cancelled. We arrive at Sants station a couple of hours later and search out the Renfe help desk where they are utterly unconcerned at our worries, pointing to an A4 sheet of paper that we are assured says we are to turn up on time in the morning and all will be fine. Mollified we cross the Placa de Joan Peiro to our smart and business-like hotel, check in, freshen up and nap.

We have no firm plans for the day but want to do something so we decide to head for La Rambla and see what happens. The Metro calling itself Barcelona Sants is, judging by the length of the tunnels we have to walk down to get to it, actually in the next county. We're tired and thirsty and perhaps a bit tetchy but we get there and wander about until we find a suitable, if somewhat trendy, café for much-needed refreshment.

The Palau Guell is around the corner and we settle on that as a suitable visit, one we hadn't been to on our previous trip to the Catalan capital some 18 years earlier. It's an impressive Gaudi concoction hidden away in an otherwise anonymous side street. 

Another wander and we stumble upon the Mercado de Las Boqueria and we love a local market. This one is beautifully presented and we spend a happy hour there before catching a metro at Liceu back to Sants.

In most cities the area around the main railway station is less than salubrious but the neighbourhood behind our hotel is wonderfully "local" and we have a mooch around and grab a beer at a small bar while we wait for our restaurant to open. I cannot recommend La Tere Gastrobar enough. Modern, delicious, tapas style menu, beautifully presented, it turns a one-day stop-over into a memorable part of the holiday. We sleep with smiling faces.

Journey to Paris

For once we need no taxi, tram or other transport to the station, which is becoming a familiar place to us and we buy breakfast at the concession we'd used twice before. The queue for the Paris train, which SNCF still insists doesn't exist, is growing so we join it and are eventually given new reservations and an explanation of what is to happen. We will get a regular Renfe train to Beziers where we'll be put on coaches to Montpellier (a strange station in the middle of nowhere as it turns out) where we will catch the TGV from there to Paris Lyon as planned and only a couple of hours later than scheduled. A quick email to our Paris hotel reassures us both that we'll be there, just later than we'd arranged and we're off. The journey goes almost exactly as they had said, even if I did have to email SNCF to get on the TGV wifi because our ticket reference was for a train that wasn't running!

The taxi to our hotel gets stuck in a jam along a street that seems entirely populated by wedding shops but eventually turns up the hill of Montmartre and pulls up outside a large blue door. The building used to house Theo van Gogh and we take a few minutes to decipher the instructions for the gate lock to find our boutique hotel looking like a small house in the garden. We are welcomed heartily and shown to our basement room, which is very funky with a bath nestled in an alcove. More or less across the road is what one would describe as a typical French bistro and we have a typical French bistro meal and thoroughly enjoy it.

Day Nine - Birthday in Paris

Today is my birthday and I've woken with a stinking cold. It's a chill morning, the warmth of Lisbon long behind us, and it's not promising to be a great birthday. We climb Montmartre to Sacre Couer and find a pharmacy where after a few questions the pharmacist sells me a packet of cold cure which knocks the whole shebang on the head within twenty minutes, certainly by the time the Montmartre museum opens at 10am.

The museum itself is set in Renoir's house and is packed with everything relating to Montmartre and its artistic legacy, including the brilliantly preserved atelier de Suzanne Valadon, model and painter, the first woman painter admitted to the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts.

It's going to be a very "arty" day. At the Grand Palais, just off the Champs Elysee, they're hosting two exhibitions; El Greco and Toulouse-Lautrec and we're off to see both. We emerge from the Metro just outside the Palais to be confonted with a labyrinth of barriers making up an elaborate queueing system. But there's no-one in it. Fairly relieved, we twist and turn our way to the entrance and get a double ticket each. Turns out there's no queue because everyone is already inside. The El Greco is packed but brilliant. There's a café and we manage to get in, find a table in what turns out to be a lull in proceedings and get a pretty good lunch before tackling the Toulouse-Lautrec, which is equally fascinating.

Dinner is at La Maison Rose, a charming restaurant in Montmartre run by a lovely couple; she very business oriented, he just loving having people round for dinner. It's a great meal and a lovely end to my birthday.

 

 

 

 Day Ten and Home

The oft dreaded 'last day' arrives and we book an Uber to Gare du Nord, who turns up on time but for some reason 50m up the road. The Eurostar lounge at Paris is as grim as usual with the added confusion of a lost belt. Okay, mislaid. Thoughtlessly I wore trousers requiring a belt to stay up which, having a metal buckle, had to be removed for the x-ray machine. Trouble was, it didn't seem to come out the other end and it wasn't in there - they checked. Train waiting, passports to be checked meant I had to abandon the mystery and move on. Only after getting through the entire check-in process and finding a seat for the duration did I find it tangled up in my coat. Oh well.

The traffic in London was appalling and our taxi driver got caught in a worse jam by taking a 'quicker' detour but we got to Waterloo in time and caught the train home after lunch at the café we had breakfast after Scotland. The journey had a final twist however as we were taken via Winchester seemingly just for the fun of it. But home we were.

Carbon saved by not flying: 320kg

Danubian Adventure - part one; Budapest

May 2014

It's nearly two years now since our first self-planned big adventure, a two centre jaunt to Budapest and Vienna. After Venice we were determined to travel more by rail and after a successful trip via the Dutch Flyer to Amsterdam we set about planning a more ambitious journey. Travelling via Paris and Munich, we would spend four nights in the Hungarian capital before transferring for two further nights in Vienna.

We left Fratton early and got to Paris with plenty of time for lunch before we needed to board the train to Munich. It's a short walk between the Gares du Nord and de l'Est and en route you will find Au Train de Vie, a railway themed café bistro serving a very tasty tartiflette among other delights. A couple of beers to wash it down and we're off down the steps by the Gare de l'Est (as featured in Amélie) to await the Paris-Munich train.

The Budapest sleeper,
Kalman Imre pulls in

Schnitzel at Mongdratzerl

The train speeds through France to Strasbourg before taking a more stately progress through Germany, arriving at busy Munich Hauptbahnhof at around 9.30pm leaving a good two hours for dinner at Mongdratzerl (sadly now closed down) where we dive into our first schnitzel of the trip. Our sleeper to the Hungarian capital, the Kalman Imre, pulls into the station ready to leave less than half an hour to midnight, it's reasonably comfortable and we settle in for the night.
Quick tip: in every sleeper train we've used on our travels so far, the only real disappointment has been the wholly inadequate pillows they give you, so if you can bring your own, do.

Day two

Feeling thoroughly rested, we roll into Budapest Keleti station at 9.30 the following morning.

I had booked an apartment hotel, the 7seasons, close to one of the main transport hubs, Deák Ferenc Tér, which proved an inspired decision on both counts. The accommodation was excellent, all the comfort of an apartment with the service of a hotel, and it was really nice to only have to walk about 50 yards home at the end of a busy day's sightseeing.

One of the first things we had resolved to do was to sort out tickets for the match on the Saturday. The tricky part is, thanks to years of hooligan violence, to watch football in Hungary you need to be a member of a supporter's club. We head for the metro and find our way out to the Ferencvaros supporters club building, which turned out to be a dodgy looking concrete bunker on a street corner near the old stadium. We tentatively wander inside and are greeted by some bemused but friendly Fradi who take copies of our passports and our photos for our membership cards. We are now able to buy our tickets and be on our way.

The Budapest transport system is nicely integrated and easy to navigate so after our successful foray into the 11th district we took a tram to the covered market near the river. Visiting the market is always a good way to get to know a city and we thoroughly enjoyed poking around this impressive structure on two levels with household, souvenir and myriad colourful food stalls. We bought some interesting looking bits and pieces for lunch, as well as a pork fillet and ingredients for goulash, and some paprika to take home. We also secure our traditional "tacky" souvenir for our holiday shelf. Our picnic lunch is enjoyed sitting by the Danube before heading back home to drop off the shopping. 

In the afternoon we visit St. Stephen's Basilica. Handily, this imposing structure is not far from the apartment and we're soon marvelling at the highly decorated interior, more solid than the airy Gothic cathedrals we're used to. There's a lift up to the dome and despite a general wariness about heights, we buy a ticket up and take a turn around the outside and enjoy some really great views.

Our day is rounded off with a relaxing stroll around our new locality, a beer by the river and being entertainment from a man playing a wine glass organ in the surprisingly deco square. We also stumble across a stall producing these weird tubes of cakey stuff, doused in cinnamon and barbecued. Very sweet, very delicious and perfect after our home-cooked goulash.

Our first day in Budapest, also our first in the old Eastern Bloc, has been a real experience and we're exhausted.

Day three

The next day dawns bright and we head off to cross the historic Chain Bridge for a day on the hill of old Buda across the river. There are buses up the hill and you can, of course, walk but there is also a funicular and as you know by now we love a funicular. Our Budapest card includes a free guided walking tour of the old town so we decide to visit the national gallery in the morning before the tour at two.

The day by now is starting to boil so the cool of the national gallery and its fascinating tour through the history of Hungarian art, is very welcome. There's still time for a bit of a wander, a beer and lunch before the walking tour starts. We take in the lovely view across the river from Fisherman's Bastion where there's also a large eagle on the arm of its handler with tourists paying to have their photo taken with it. It doesn't look happy. We, however, are very happy with our lunch at a lovely and shady café nearby.

Our tour starts outside the impressive Matthias Church and Viktoria our guide is a relative novice but very keen. The heat of the day is now intense as we head back towards the gallery, a former royal palace, for a quick history lesson. There's a small concession stand and we pay a relative fortune for some much needed cold water which we guzzle as Viktoria tells us about the extraordinary fountain. Further round the tour is a drinking fountain and we again drink deeply and replenish our bottles. Every scrap of shade is welcome.
The tour despite the heat is very interesting, including the tale of student superstition, rubbing the balls of the equestrian statue, which Viktoria relates without blushing.

Fisherman's Bastion

We finish up back at the Matthias Church and grab another drink and a slice of cherry pie before catching the bus back down to the city. There are roadworks and the bus stop has moved but we find the right place eventually and wait. Half way down the hill there's a horrible noise and an amount of smoke: we've broken down and have to wait on the verge for half an hour while a replacement is sent out before we can continue, weaving our way through the now rush hour traffic to Deák Ferenc. Back at the apartment we take a much needed shower and a restorative drink before dressing for our night out.


Our evening is to be spent on the river. We've booked a dinner cruise along the Danube with Legende cruises and we have a thoroughly enjoyable, romantic evening. Dinner itself is not bad at all and we've secured a table on the top deck and as the sun sets, the city lights up for our delight.

A selection of images from our dinner cruise.

Day four

The next day is very much a day of two halves, When the Warsaw Pact collapsed and Hungary was free to determine its own future, symbols of the communist era were torn down and instead of being totally destroyed, many of the statues were shipped out to Memento Park and put on show alongside displays of life under the soviet regime. It's a fair way outside the city and we have to get a tram to the end of the line and catch a bus, as the direct shuttle from near the apartment goes and returns at inconvenient times for us. The bus wends its way through suburban Budapest for what seems like an eternity and just as we're losing hope drops us outside the park.

It's an eerie spectacle, and the power these statues once held is still evident even as ghosts of their former selves. There's a pedestal topped by Stalin's boots, a statue of Lenin cut off at the hip and a rusty old Trabant to boot. The museum's building houses a fascinating display charting the ill-fated 1956 revolt along with an unintentionally hilarious spy training film.

A hot and dusty couple of hours later and we're heading across town to the Széchenyi spa for an afternoon 'taking the waters'. It's a little run down, frayed around the edges, but has many saunas, steam rooms, and pools of all temperatures and it's a most welcome three hours of much needed R&R.

Day five

Our final day in Budapest in many ways proves the most hectic. There's a famous flea market on the outskirts somewhere, I'm still not entirely sure where, and we're keen to visit. I've clocked its name but for some reason have not planned a proper route. Unfortunately there's a metro stop with the practically the same name as the market and I assume it's there. It's not. Twenty minutes wandering around later we get a map up on the phone and finally work out that we need to take a tram and a bus from where we are to where we want to be. It's an irritating interlude but the market is a joy. Row upon row of everything from junk to fine art, vintage clothing and collectibles, and a great little café in the corner.

The afternoon is taken up with Ferencváros v Diógyor. We're knackered, sat on the bleachers in the full glare of the hottest sun we've experienced for years, knee deep in sunflower seeds. The stand opposite fills with green smoke and we feel for the mascot; it can't be easy wearing a large green eagle costume in this heat and he's clearly flagging. Ferencváros play out a comfortable 2-1 victory and the crowd goes home happy.

Our last dinner in Hungary is at a popular traditional restaurant by the river, complete with roaming musicians, a fitting and tasty end to our time here. In the morning we're off to Vienna.