A day in Venice: old friends reunite to experience a favorite city’s sights, sounds and flavors side by side

My friend Elizabeth flew into Venice from Paris for our reunion. We hadn’t seen each other for several years and wanted to make up for lost time by spending a few days together. Our plans for our visit to Venice included a day out on the lagoon, first to Murano for window shopping and then to my favorite spot, the island of Torcello.

We left Hotel Antiche Figure, our hotel fronting the Grand Canal, after breakfast, crossing the Ponte degli Scalzi to hop on the Number 42 vaporetto (water bus.) The temperature was already rising as we took seats in the prow, the better to see the incomparable sights. The Venetian-style rush hour presented a kaleidoscope of daily life.

A fire boat, siren blaring, swerved through the confusion; a police launch followed; gondoliers rowed smiling tourists, a barge filled with luggage and another piled with laundry moved from stop to stop. New cabinetry destined for an old palazzo slid by. A floating vegetable market tied up at a side canal, shoppers ready with their bags and baskets. And then a boat with a glorious shining black grand piano tipped on its side, glided on its way to some concert hall. I hoped to see Vivaldi and his orphaned girls dressed in their brocade gowns playing “Autumn” from The Four Seasons on the next boat as they made their way to the same salon, but they were lost in the 18th century, their place taken by the less colorful elements of modern life.

Soon our vaporetto turned left into the Cannaregio Canal. The scene became residential: laundry hanging from balconies, and small shops and bars lining the narrow walkway. Some buildings were in disrepair, a sign that Venice is being emptied of its populace as it slowly sinks back into the sea where it arose some 1200 years ago.

Now the open lagoon spread out before us. We passed the cemetery island of San Michele with its brooding cypresses rising over the red brick walls of the burial ground, a setting for so many novels of love and death. We continued on the water highway – a row of pilings topped with lights – to Murano, bustling with tourists shopping or gazing at the marvels of glass still being produced after 700 years. The sunlight on the shop windows lit glittering and tempting bijoux, sculptures and chandeliers. But reflecting the island’s struggle to maintain its artistic heritage some of the shops had placards in their windows: “Our glass is not made in China.”

It was nearing lunchtime and shopping was making us hungry. After stuffing modest purchases into our handbags we caught the next boat to Burano further out in the lagoon. With time pressing, rather than strolling around the pretty pastel town, we boarded the little connecting ferry to Torcello without stopping.

We were quickly deposited on the swampy island now mostly a nature preserve. It was settled in the 400s to shelter nearby landside populations when the Roman Empire collapsed in the face of Barbarian hordes. In the 9th century it hosted a population of 10,000. Now less than 20 remain.

A red brick path led us to Al Trono di Attila, a restaurant named after a worn marble throne where Attila the Hun certainly never sat but all tourists do. The waiters were still serving lunch. The mellow fall sunshine warmed us as we dined on zuppa di cozze e vongole, mussels and clams fresh from the lagoon, followed by a salad of radicchio di Chioggia, tomatoes, carrots and lettuce, so crisp that they must have been picked as we sat at the table. The pleasure of slowly of sipping our after-lunch espresso delayed our explorations – but then what are reunions for but to catch up on the news?

We finally drained the tiny cups and strolled to our goal: the Cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta standing on a grassy piazza with another church, a small museum and the supposed Throne of Attila – all that remains beside a few other restaurants and the Locanda Cipriani where Hemmingway spent time writing in 1948.

The cathedral, founded in AD639, reflects Byzantine tastes in religious art. The floor of colored marbles set in geometric designs drew my eye downward for a moment before I gazed upward to the apse dominated by a serene blue-robed Virgin with Child set against a glittering gold background.

Then I turned to the back wall filled with another enormous mosaic. Somewhat faded after a thousand years, the gold background still sets off the figures of Christ flanked by two flat angels dressed in jeweled robes and wearing pointy-toed shoes. The Virgin appears again in her usual blue with red shoes. Other figures are made of more subdued colors with black outlining the contours of their robed knees, hips, elbows and bellies, giving them a muscular aspect.

At the bottom is “The Last Judgment,” where the souls of the dead are weighed by an angel and a blue devil to determine their fate. When the scales tilt toward the devil the losers are tossed into the fire and poked at by stick-wielding angels to ensure they remain for eternity. While the sinners are tortured the lucky ones on the opposing side look on in satisfaction. Not so real to us today as at the turn of the first millennium when they were made, the mosaics are still useful for contemplation of the past, present and future in the solitude of the nearly empty church.

We had hoped to climb the campanile near the church of Santa Fosca but it was under repair. Instead, we walked around the exterior of the 11th-century, Romanesque-style church with its five-sided portico and Greek cross plan topped by a round dome, all done in intricate brickwork. Built to house the rescued remains of a local girl, the now obscure Santa Fosca who was martyred in Libya in the 3rd century, the interior is plain and peaceful.

The sun was well past its zenith as we emerged into the light. It was time to float back to Venice. The Caffe Florian, facing the Piazza San Marco near the Campanile since 1720, was our destination. We sat inside by an open window looking at the opulent interior surroundings while listening to the white-jacketed musicians playing Volare outside on the piazza. We talked of Casanova and courtesans whiling away their time with cards and coffee and gossip while they hid behind masks, and of Byron, Proust and so many others who have been drawn to the sensualities of the Venetian scene. The music and our dreams of the past were a pleasant accompaniment to glasses of prosecco and plates of chicchetti, the small Venetian snacks.

It was sunset and our day in Venice was coming to an end. The crowded vaporetto took us the full distance from San Marco back to Scalzi. The final rays of the sun lit the facades of elegant palazzi as the canal waters gently lapped at their ancient water gates.

Grand and stately, fun and hip – Edinburgh’s a city with more than one side. Scotland’s capital is a key fixture on the itinerary of most UK visitors, and given its mixture of history and vibrancy, it’s easy to see why.

The Ross Fountain and Edinburgh Castle

Divided in two halves by the green strip of  is made up of the Old Town and the New Town. Don’t expect brand-new glass and chrome skyscrapers in the latter, though: the term ‘new’ is relative, with many of its buildings dating from the Georgian period. Both areas are of interest to visitors, with key sights such as Edinburgh Castle , the Palace of Holryroodhouse and the thoroughfare of the Royal Mile in the Old Town, and a wide selection of bars, restaurants and shops in the New Town.

An exploration of the castle is an ideal way to begin a visit to Edinburgh. Perched atop a (thankfully) extinct volcano, there has been a fortress on this site since the at least the twelfth century, although most of what you will see today was constructed in the sixteenth century and used by Scottish royals as a stronghold. The admission fee is a little pricy, but even if you prefer to save your pennies, be sure to stroll up to the castle compound for a panoramic view of the New Town below. At the other end of the appropriately-named Royal Mile sits the Palace of Holyroodhouse , Queen Elizabeth II’s official residence when in Scotland. It’s generally associated with a rather different monarch, though: the palace is where Mary Queen of Scots lived for much of her life.

Princes Street Gardens via Wikipedia

The walk down the Royal Mile may be a long one, but it’s well worth it – on your way downhill, you’ll pass Edinburgh’s cathedral and the Scottish Parliament building, its striking modern design creating quite a contrast with the ancient buildings and cobbled streets leading away from the Mile itself. As long as you don’t scare easily, it’s worth exploring the Royal Mile and the alleyways around it after dark – there are a host of ghost tours to choose from.

Over in the New Town, Princes Street is a modern parallel of the Royal Mile, minus the stately attractions. Here, it’s all about shopping. With a selection of department and chain stores, there’s something for everyone, but those seeking something more distinctive should press on up the hill to the city’s boutiques. Further out of town, Edinburgh Zoo has been making UK headlines since the arrival of its cutest occupants, a pair of giant pandas. Named Sweetie and Sunshine, the duo have been charming visitors since December 2011 – much to the dismay of their next-door neighbours the penguins, who have been upstaged as the zoo’s star attraction. If a wander around the zoo isn’t active enough for you, you may prefer to climb Arthur’s Seat.

Edinburgh's Fringe Festival (photo courtesy of Festival Fringe Society)

Although Edinburgh has more than enough to occupy visitors at any time of the year, the city’s particularly popular in summer, when it hosts its series of festivals, and at New Year (or Hogmanay, as it’s known in Scotland) when revellers flock to Princes Street for a giant street party complete with funfair and music from big-name bands. With separate festivals for film, jazz, literature and theatre (the Fringe Festival), summer in Edinburgh is a visitors’ delight: yes, prices may soar, but you’ll certainly never be bored with a calendar jammed full of more events than you could possibly attend. In fact, with so much on offer in such a beautiful setting, it’s likely that just one visit to Edinburgh won’t be enough. Even though there are many options to stay in and around Edinburgh, during festivals it is particularly important to book early.

Next week, Kate Turner looks at the best places to eat, drink and shop in Edinburgh.

*Today’s post for this Scotland series is brought to you by Home Away UK. 

*all photos via Wikipedia

In a remote village set amidst the highest peaks of South America’s Peruvian Andes, Katy finds her “Andean home”

I jumped out of the cab to a cacophony of beeps and shouts and fought my way across the road, yawning in the early-morning cold of Peru. I walked into the grey concrete building behind a trail of small children dressed in blue school uniforms and dragging small suitcases decorated with Barbie and Batman images. I climbed the stairs, helping the struggling tots drag up their unwieldy bags.

“Miss Katy!”

I looked up at the balcony above me, where the shout had come from, and saw a gaggle of grinning eight-year-olds hanging over the edge, waving madly at me. Suddenly, I was mobbed on all sides, children chanting my name, trying to get a hold of my hand, asking in rapid Spanish whether I would be teaching them that day. I smiled, ruffled a few heads and disentangled myself, telling them fondly to go to class.

I continued up another set of stairs to the class of nine-year-olds where I was teaching first. Like all of the classrooms in the school, it was sparsely furnished. A tatty map of the world hung on the breeze-block wall and the children were busy unpacking pencil cases and textbooks onto their simple desks. I signalled for them to be quiet and sit down and began introducing the topic of school in English. Some vocabulary practice and a rather rowdy team game later, I left them in high spirits for the math teacher and went to find the four-year-olds, who were learning about family.

So the morning continued, moving from class to class, figuring out ways to teach without resources and without a plan, as I did every day. There were no cards, no crayons, no storybooks, and no play corner. There wasn’t a schedule, a scheme of work or a curriculum to speak of. But we managed, somehow. The children had books to write in and I had a blackboard. It was enough.

AT 12:30pm bells rang; small children swarmed out, teenagers sauntered in and I made my way back out onto the streets of Huaraz, a city in north-central Peru. My work was done until the evening, so I walked back into the center of town. By this time of day, it was swelteringly hot, so I pulled off layers of clothing, down to my T-shirt. Market stalls selling textbooks had set up shop along the roads nearest to the schools by this time and combis, small public vans, veered noisily past, with the ticket seller, usually the teenage son of the driver, announcing the destination in a repeated, lilting shout.

I felt a tug at my hand and looked down to see one of the children I taught running along beside me. She accompanied me for a while, bursting with curiosity and questions. Where did I live? How had I learned English? Where was this place called England? Did I like Huaraz? Then she disappeared with a wave into the central market, where her mother worked making curtains and mending clothes.

I came to the church, where men sat in tiny shop doorways, eating plates of chicken and rice. A pig of some description was roasting on a spit outside, watched over by a Quechua woman dressed traditionally, long hair plaited down her back. She smiled at me with wizened eyes as I passed. I continued, huffing and puffing up the hill, feeling the lack of oxygen that is a fact of life at 10,000 feet. But it was always worth it for the view when I turned, just before reaching the house, and looked at Peru’s magnificent peak of Huascaran; at 22,205 feet, it’s one of the highest mountains in the Andes and although I saw it every day, it still left me awestruck.

I paused in the shop on the corner to say hello to the shopkeeper. She looked up from her work – apparently dissecting chicken’s feet on the counter.

“Hola gringita! Como estas?” she asked, with her boundless warmth and friendliness. “Would you like a chicken foot?”

I politely refused, paid for my bottle of water and went up to the house. Delicious aromas were coming from the kitchen, where my Peruvian ‘mom’ was doling out potatoes, rice and stew to whomever happened to be around, usually her two children and a handful of volunteers. We gathered round the dining table, adding spicy sauces to our meals and filling mugs with tea and hot water. We ate hungrily, then piled our dishes, cleared the table and dispersed to do whatever we had to that afternoon. I began with a short siesta and changed into a skirt before going to sit on the roof, where I planned the lesson for my evening class with adult students and gazed out at the view, ever-dominated by the snow-capped Huascaran.

Jess, a fellow volunteer appeared on the steps with a deckchair, which she set up beside me.

“Do you want to go somewhere this weekend?” she asked

“How about Chavin?” I asked. “Apparently there’s some incredible pre-Inca ruins there.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon poring over guidebooks, planning our weekend away, before getting ready to walk down to the language center in town where we both taught. The light of day was now fading and orange lights came on across town. We wrapped up in jumpers, scarves, hats and gloves and went out to brave the cold. The daily temperature extremes were still something we were slowly getting used to. We began walking briskly down the hill, greeting the women who were packing up their stalls for the day, pretending to be scared when a group of boys jumped out of the trees.

They stood nudging each other and whispering, before one of them came up to us. “Hello, how are you?” he blurted in English and they all ran off, giggling with relief and mischief.

I realized that this small, chaotic, poor Peruvian town, sitting high on the Altiplano, far from anywhere, was becoming familiar. I understood its rhythms and culture, I was getting to know the people. In short, it was becoming, and forever will be, my Andean home.

There’s certainly something intriguing about the sterling depths of Lake Loch Ness. Reflected in its dark, frigid waters are the mysteries of the Scottish Highlands and the ghost stories of Scottish castles.

Urquhart Castle as seen from the deck of the Scottish Highlander

I admit that although binoculars were the top item on my packing list for my holiday to Scotland to to visit the Great Glen, in the end I only spent about, well, 10 minutes or so scanning the waters for ‘Nessie.’ But there’s more to Loch Ness than cryptozoologists would have you believe.

Loch Ness is, first and foremost, a grand lake, which I list among my European favorites with Austria’s Lake Zell and Italy’s Lake Garda.

Ideally, a route across Loch Ness should be at a leisurely pace, accompanied by some good wine and tasty Scottish cuisine.

Last summer, my husband and I marveled at the lake’s beauty as we stretched our heels out on the bow of the Scottish Highlander, a barge run by European Waterways, which provides weekly tours from Inverness all the way through the Caledonian Canal to Fort William.

The canal connects the seas on either side and was once used primarily by industry and military. It’s now most popular with boating enthusiasts touring the Great Glen – the series of valleys and lochs stretching over a large geological fault that is the spine of the Caledonian Canal.

During our Loch Ness crossing, we dined on the ‘Highlander’, whose chef, Dale, went out of his way to the country’s cuisine to our novice palates, from Scottish brie to haggis (with vegetarian haggis for those squeamish about the real deal). 

As the waves crested outside and verdant shores passed in the distance, we sat back, dined, and relaxed in style. No, they had never seen Nessie the Loch Ness monster, said the barge’s staff, but they never lost hope.

Lovers of cryptozoology – the study of (and search for) animals whose existence is disputed, such as Bigfoot – will love the tributes to Nessie along the banks of the Loch, not to mention the museums dedicated to her.

My husband, John, searching the waters. For Nessie?

But the greatest locations around the lake aren’t based on fantasy.

First of all there’s Urquhart Castle (pronounced “irk-heart”), whose ruins stand in silhouette on a bluff overlooking the lake, quite grand to behold.

A visit to Urquhart is a must, and after watching a quick history program at a theater adjacent to the gift-shop, visitors can take a march down the hill, marvel at a massive re-construction of a trebuchet, and continue down to explore the ruins.

There’s often a piper standing in full regalia, blowing his heart out for coins (he walks over to greet the bigger boats when the tourists come by water).

From the top of the castle ruins there are spectacular views of Loch Ness in its entirety.

Fort Augustus locks

In the distance, you can see boats headed towards the entrance to the Caledonian Canal’s next segment, guarded by the historic town of Fort Augustus.

Fort Augustus boasts the busiest set of locks on the Caledonian Canal, and if you’re not tying up and going through the locks yourselves, as we did on the Highlander, then having a pint and watching others do it is just as interesting.

Fort Augustus has some stunning walks, offering views of the lake and surrounding countryside. I found the ruins of a medieval bridge just outside of the town to be a perfect opportunity for photographs.

There are less than a dozen restaurants and pubs in the town, but I recommend stopping at ‘The Bothy’ beside the locks to sample their ample whiskeys, cask ales and no-nonsense attitude, then walking up the hill to ‘The Lovat Brasserie’ for classic Scottish cuisine in modern, stylish surroundings.

After a bit of souvenir shopping, our last stop was Fort Augustus’ Tourist Information Centre, where we bought maps for our next adventure in Scotland, a hike through the Great Glen this summer.

When I come back to Lake Loch Ness for our big hike I’ll still bring binoculars. There’s always more Nessie-hunting to do. But I’m quite pleased with the discovery I’ve already made – that searching for fun around Loch Ness isn’t required, and its beauty is far beyond doubt.

*Today’s post is brought to you by Owner’s Direct by Home Away. 

Full of friendly people and balmy weather, we’re adding The Canary Islands to our list of great places to travel for women

I always think of the Canary Islands as a box of jewelry; full of precious gems to suit every mood and occasion. There is the emerald green of the Orotava Valley in Tenerife and there are the black diamonds and onyx of the volcanic Teide and Lanzarote; the sapphire blue of the Atlantic is joined by the  topaz yellow of vast banana plantations. The jeweled necklace of the 7 islands is made even more dazzling with tiny pearls,smaller islands sprinkled in between.

Where are the Canary Islands?

Continentally speaking, Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, Fuerteventura, El Hierro, La Palma and La Gomera belong to Africa, but as far as culture, history and geographical borders are concerned, the islands are Spanish. The location, some 70 miles  from the Western Sahara in Africa at the closest point, and in a subtropical zone of the same latitude as Orlando, Florida, accounts for the fabulous climate year around.

I love each and every one of them because there is so much to do and see. There are white beaches, black beaches, volcanic mountains and lush valleys; there are elegant towns and romantic fishing villages.  Hiking, horseback riding and getting pampered in a luxurious spa are options for things to do, and let’s not forget the exquisite Canary cuisine and (tax free) shopping in the designer boutiques of Santa Cruz de Tenerife.

Then there are the exquisite details: Gazing at a 1000 year old dragon tree, watching whales or exotic birds, or listening for the distinctive whistle which is a means of communication in La Gomera. Before I get any more carried away, let’s take the islands in turn, starting with the two biggest which can be ‘base camp’ from where to go on day trips by ferry to the smaller ones.

Drachen (Dragon) tree

The islands in the jewel box

Tenerife

Tenerife is the second biggest island and my favorite. There are two international airports, one in the north and one in the south which connect with the rest of the world, either directly or via Madrid.  I love Tenerife because of the interesting extremes in landscape and climate.

The mountain range of the Teide, a World Heritage Site, is dominated by the Pico de Teide, which at over 12,000 feet is Spain’s highest mountain and the third highest volcano in the world. Bizarre lava formations spread for miles and for those who like to hike, it’s a great adventure to climb up. The climb is not a very trying one;  insiders start in the afternoon, then spend the night in one of the cabins half way up getting up at dawn to watch the sun rise over the top of the mountain.

The mountain range is also a dramatic climate divide. South of it, the vegetation resembles the African desert; in the north rains fall often, which accounts for the fertile Orotava valley with miles of banana and potato plantations, orchards and vineyards. The great explorer Alexander von Humboldt reportedly fell to his knees when he caught sight of the valley and declared the place a ‘paradise on earth.’

Beaches are in the south around the tourist resorts of Los Gigantes, Playa de las Americas or Los Christianos. Formed from pulverized lava, almost all of these beaches are black. I prefer to stay in the capital, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, a singularly beautiful town, which besides having the white beach of Las Teresitas, offers marvelous art deco buildings, parks, a thriving port, and many Spanish designer boutiques. It’s easy to reach the rest of the island either by local bus or hiring a car.

Gran Canaria

The biggest island also has an international airport and there are lots of flights to Gran Canaria. As in Tenerife the south is flat, whereas the north is dominated by mountains. Gran Canaria’s south is most famous for its wide and white beaches, with the dunes of Maspalomas being the most popular one, featuring tourist resorts such as Playa del Ingles. Rock formations in the northern part are quite bizarre and hiking tours along the canyons of Agaete will delight the heart of those who are into this kind of exercise. Galdar is the location of the fabled Millennium tree (but there is another one on Tenerife too.) Here you’ll also find caves with prehistoric polychrome wall paintings.

Las Palmas, the capital of the island invites to walks and visits to the cathedral and the beautiful Columbus House Museum, a folklore museum where you can enjoy the customs and costumes of the original inhabitants, called Guanches.

Travel Belles love to pamper themselves and the Sheraton Salobre in Gran Canaria is just the place. Rather big, but with a beautiful spa which offers a great variety of treatments. After a few days of that, you may be ready to go on a daytrip or two to visit the smaller islands.

Lanzarote

Stepping onto Lanzarote, I always think about the moon. This is the most volcanic of all the Canary islands, with craters and lava formations adjacent to the two mountain rages. Lanzarote is closest to Africa and south of the Famara mountains, a veritable African desert stretches out. It’s also the island which is most exposed to the occasional sand storm coming from the Sahara and called Calima. Far less touristy than Tenerife and Gran Canaria, Lanzarote is for those who like quiet and enjoy dramatic landscapes. In order to do so, you can go on camel treks and forget that you are still in Europe. The most typical Canary villages are to be found in the interior of the island, whilst the coast boasts a mixture of white beaches and pebble beaches. Although some tourist centers have sprung up, everything is more sedate.

La Gomera

The second smallest of the Canary islands is best reached by ferry from Los Christianos in Tenerife. Of volcanic origin, there are two interesting details which can only be found here: Bay leaf forests which have survived nowhere else in the world and which can be enjoyed with walking tours. And communication is done by whistling, a singularly effective ‘language’ called El Silbo. The five star Hotel Parador de la Gomera, surrounded by tropical gardens and with stunning views across the water to Tenerife. Gomera is also the starting point for whale watching tours.

Fuerteventura

The oldest of the Canary islands is often called ‘The silent island’ or ‘A piece of Africa in Europe’. This is due to a vast expanse of dunes and beaches, most of them white but with a few black ones too. As opposed to the Orotava Valley, there is a distinct lack of vegetation in Fuerteventura. The climate is ideal for aloe vera plantations which are cultivated here, the black Canary potatoes and not much more. Goats are everywhere and a very tasty speciality are the goat cheeses.

El Hierro

In November, El Hierro made minor headlines, because of an underwater volcanic eruption that threw fountains and lava into the air. Anywhere in the Canaries one can never forget the volcanic origin of the archipelago. Mountains dominate El Hierro together with fertile soil which allows bananas, pineapple, mangos and other tropical fruit to grow.

The Canaries: a land of “happy people”

The Spaniards call the Canary population “happy people” and with good reason .On the one hand the moniker refers to their luck in living in such a balmy climate year around.  On the other it refers to the happy-go-lucky nature of the ‘Canarios.’ They are an extremely friendly, hospitable and laid back people, open and welcoming to foreigners, an attitude which makes it an ideal destination for women travelers. If, like me, you travel on your own, you’ll never be hassled and, if desired or needed, you’ll always find company and/or a helping hand.

Last but not least the delicious Canary cuisine needs to be mentioned. The dishes combine Spanish food with elements from Africa and even South America. Black potatoes known as papas arrugadas are a specialty. They are small tubers with very aromatic yellow pulp and cooked in salted water and even sea water. Mojos, piquant sauces based on red or green pepper go with it.

Fish is another specialty. It’s prepared either baked in a salt crust, grilled or sun dried. If you prefer, you can have any kind of meat with rabbit stew being a favorite. Deserts are often based on honey, raisins and ground almonds, not unlike the baklava of Arab fame. Macaroons from Gran Canaria and marzipan round out the image.

The Canaries produce their own wine, both red and white, much of it coming from the Orotava valley in Tenerife. And then, there are liquors, a particular sweet and potent one being banana liquor or honeyed rum.

*Today’s post was brought to you by Thomas Cook Travel. 

*All photos by Inka, The Glamour Granny

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