La Grande Finale: Food Frolics with Friends through the Charente

Your diarist and Madame are embarking on a grande extravaganza of reminiscence, a veritable smorgasbord of food and friends, a truly memorable experience of fellowship and food. So, Dear Reader,  forget such bourgeois concepts like "diet" or "sobriety". Sit back and Enjoy, ENJOY. 

Having left Paris gare Montparnesse for Angouleme at the civilised hour of 10:07am we arrive on time at 12:29pm having travelled at up to 320kmh on the very fast train network, known simply as the TGV, a shortening of "Train a Grande Vitesse". For your edification you may be surprised to learn that this translates literally as "Train, Very Fast". So much for French grand imagination in naming this superb train system. 

Angouleme viewed from the River Charente

Angouleme, built on a rock plateau partially surrounded by and overlooking a loop of the Charente river, is famous for its International Comic Book Festival and a classic car race, Le Circuit des Ramparts. Here's a thrilling video of practice laps around the city ramparts. For you true petrol heads, you seekers for the true feel for Angouleme, for the smell of adrenaline and the heady aroma of exhaust gases SNIFF here. 

Before picking up our hire car Val and I repair to our favourite Angouleme cafe, Le Chat Noir, for a glass of vin blanc followed by a cafe creme. This happy Chat sits on a plaza adjacent to the city's fabulous covered market. A rainy day view from the happy Chat across to the market is shown below.  

Flowers outside the market on a better day!

 

Time is flying, so lets hit the road again. We depart Angouleme and head South on the D674 to Montmoreau, our old "home town" back when we lived for a year in the Charente. Its a lovely drive and although its raining today we will just pretend that it really is une belle journee, a beautiful day. (Humour your diarist please, dear reader, and just accept my occasional pretentious drop into French....I just can't help myself.)

On the way South we keep our eye open for a small sign on the right pointing down a country lane that says simply "FRITERIE". Ahh, here's the sign so we pull a right and proceed for a few kilometres. In a lush field in the middle of nowhere sits an old blue truck, fitted out as a diner, tyres dead flat and long since settled into the grass. When we first saw it several years ago, the scene was just too cute to pass by.

True to our gastronomic extravaganza theme for this simple tale of roads well traveled, we call in at Francois' Friterie for refreshments. Well, it may be Guillaume's or even Pierre's friterie or George's but definitely not Bridget's or Eloise's. Monsieur, the owner, a very cheerful old friterian and barista, is artfully turned out in a crumpled white(?) singlet, old blue pants, designer stubble and sporting an unlit gitane carefully poised on the lower lip.

La Friterie on the earlier occasion we visited with good friends
Noel and Kaye. Noel can't help but feed frites to the chooks

The very clean counter is adorned end to end with hand written posters offering all manner of refreshment. I chose frites, Val,  crepes with sugar and lemon sauce and two espressos.  The chips are fresh fried, crisp on the outside, firmly soft inside and hot; delicious. The crepes are perfect and the short blacks equally good.  A la perfection dans un paddock! 

Press on to Passirac, a typical small Charente commune, 257 souls, with it's own mayor and home to our delightful British friends, Barbara and Peter with whom we will spend the next week or so. Barbara, a fine cook, has prepared a traditional Charentaise cassoulet for dinner, invited other good friends, Pam and Ian (who we will meet again in this tale). We settle down to a delicious meal, lively conversation and, naturellement, copious wine with everyone getting nicely nicely. 

Lesson Time or "Would You believe": In 2015 there were 36,681 communes in France. A commune is the lowest administrative division in France. The average area is just 14.88 sqkm with an average population of 380 souls. Each one has/had a church. Each has a council chamber (le marie), an elected council and a mayor. Passirac is thus a smaller commune than most. Getting married? To be legal, a secular marriage ceremony MUST first take place in the marie, in a room open to the public. This may be followed by a traditional religious service.

Video Time: Hit Passirac to view a rather wobbly drone's eye view of the village. Barb and Pete's home is on the top

Barb and Peter's garden

left outskirts to the left of the church.

On the cassoulet, let me quote Barbara: "The cassoulet ia a very versatile dish. The one I did had chicken pieces, smoked sausage, haricots blanc, onions and garlic with stock to bind it all together. Brown the chook and the sausage with onions and garlic, add the beans and stock and simmer until everything is tender. You can add a bit of white wine if you feel like it (but only if the cook has left any in the bottle....editors addition).

And now for something truly French. Le Poirier Restaurant, Bardenac. Back in that wonderful day when living at Le Petit Maine, in Le Department de la Charente so many, nay, ALL, acquaintances and friends said: "You must, simply must experience Le Poirier." We did: c'est magnifique 😋😍

Le Poirier....a simple restaurant in a simple village!!

This time around we are about to experience a veritable virtual feast in the pleasant company of good local friends Jenny and Mick. Le Poirier has been run by the same family for several generations, serving traditional rural French food over many courses and with bottomless red wine.

Le Poirier's charcuterie board

Happy company inside Le Poirier. Val, in red, is at the back,
the birthday party table on the left.
Three other rooms are also happily packed.

The restaurant is packed. The atmosphere  is perfect,  packed  rooms, French families, a continuous babble of French with laughter and fun. There is no menu, no choice, we just accept the succession of dishes that comes out of the kitchen (no tripe, I fervently pray). True to reputation, vin rouge is indeed bottomless. No stress, we simply go with the slow pleasant afternoon, singing along when "happy birthday" en francais breaks out from the table on the left.

Le menu: Aperitif + potage + charcuterie + poisson + tournedos + salade + fromage + dessert + cafe + vin

                                                    for E22.50 per personne

And now for something truly different: Lunch with friends....again.

Ian and your Diarist in typical pose.
The beer is actually Ian's, not mine.

Pam and Ian live in the tiny village (well aren't they all tiny???) of Brossac not too far from Passirac (Barb and Peter),  Bardenac (the restaurant), Chatignac (Mick and Jenny), and Juignac (our former village).

The astute reader may sense a certain pattern in these village names.  Let me explain. The suffix "-ac" comes from "-acum" which was part  of the Gaulish language, a Celtic language spoken in much of what is now France before Big Julie and his Roman legions happened along. Well, "-acum" has the meaning of "place associated with". In about the 3rd century AD it was commonly added to the name of the local rural landlord. Now, isn't that just fascinating. When next of an evening in front of the fire when you imbibe a fine cognac perhaps you should raise a glass to old Cog, with thanks.

Back to Ian and Pam and his absolutely fabulous man-cave, his cellar abounding in all manner of liquid delights deriving from le raisin et le houblon, commonly known to us as the grape and the hop.

We are invited to a late afternoon dinner with six other friends including our mates Pete and Barb. The feast begins with drinks on the deck beside the pool. That astute reader will have noted the plural usage. Let your diarist assure you that this is not used inappropriately. After a suitable time networking on the deck we adjourn to the Cellar where the table is set.

Pam, our hostess is top of table, Pete is beside Val and Barb 
is on right, second person

Life of the party.
Can't remember his name, but obviously enjoying himself

The plat de jour is gammon, egg and pineapple slice, served with a basket of chips. You may think

Gammon, egg, pineapple, frites
and a glass of red

this repast a trifle (actually that comes after) plain but I hasten to say that the gammon, egg and pineapple were fried to perfection and the frites exquisite, perhaps even better than Guillaume's in the truck diner. 

 

During our time living in La Charente we had a whirlwind of perfectly wonderful experiences. These included meeting many friends and enjoying many culinary delights.

One of the most memorable was being invited by Pete and Barb to the "Banquet des Chasseurs" presented by the Passirac Societe de Chasse. the Hunters Club. Its a super long lunch feast starting at 12:00 noon and finally complete by 7:00 pm. Yes, seven hours, not kidding! One menu highlight of many: slabs of roasted sanglier served with cognac. That's wild boar, shoot by Passirac chasseurs.

In contrast, another memorable meal was a simple plate of a dozen oysters, a bun, butter, lemon and a good size plastic glass of vin ordinaire served on the concrete apron of an oysterman's  bay-side operation. Packed out it was. Eight euros for a dozen huge oysters etc...refill of the vin ordinaire just 50 cents. Our lodging for the night was quite close.

Dear Reader...you can explore all these and many more adventures that Val and I experienced in my book "Postcards from The Charente" available from Amazon at: 

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/1515262413/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Kindle just $4.05 and paperback at $20.20, I suppose add postage

Our Farewell

Val and I have loved the make believe and the reminiscence of a trip that never was, and have loved to take you along with us on the journey.💗😉😉

Au Revoir

What, no vin ordinaire!

We leave you with a marvelously heroic rendition of La Marsellaise by Mireille Mathieu. Take it to the end (4 minutes) its well worth the time. Bugger the neighbours: Volume on high

Edinburgh to Paris via a London Pub

Ahh, the romance of train travel: The Orient Express, The Ghan, The Spirit of the Outback (in descending order, I think***). Crystal chandeliers swaying to the rhythm of the the rails, silver service and fine champagne in the Pulman dining car of the Flying Scotsman. Actually, the famous Scotsman does still fly but, "malheureusement" (got to start getting into that French feeling) only on special outings on regional lines, but check it doing 100mph.

Your intrepid travelers have to settle for the much more prosaic LNER  (formerly Virgin) fast train

St Pancras Station, they don't build
them like they used to!

from Edinburgh to London (King's Cross station) then changing to the Eurostar, which departs from the very imposing, the splendidly gothic St Pancras station. Having left Edinburgh at the quite civilised hour of 9:30 AM we arrive at Gare Nord, Paris at 18:37 PM, our cost, a very reasonable $830 for us two.....both first class naturellment! First class gives us more leg room, comfy seats and complimentary food and booze....its the only way to travel. However, at £44 a bottle, we did forego the Duval Leroy champagne. Yes, I know, I know, that's really letting the side down,  but, I say, forty four pounds when "train bubbles" are free!

The Skinner's Arms

 Happily, the two stations, King's Cross and St Pancras, are  but a very short luggage trundle apart and we had a  90 minutes changeover. What else to do but sample a pint at a London pub just to say that, once again, we enjoyed London hospitality. Down a side street we found The Skinners Arms, perfect.  Must have been a rather smelly neighbourhood in the past. I really think there must be more corner pubs in central London than there are corner coffee shops in central Sydney!

We are nearing Paris so we really must get in the mood with Edith Piaf, of course, here Need I say more, no.

Your travelers had no intention whatsoever of trundling our bags about Paris at 6:30 in the evening in search of our hotel. Been there, done that and then not happy!  So its a short taxi ride from Gare Nord to our apartment hotel, Citadines Bastille Marais , 11th Arrondisment. ("Oui, monsieur, we have been in Paris several times. We know how close the hotel really is to gare Nord!" This to forestall a Cooks tour and subsequent fare.)

Our hotel is not far from the Place de la Bastille (without la Bastille, long since demolished) and the very picturesque Canal Saint-Martin. This video (admittedly a tad touristy but enjoyable) does give a great feel for the

Canal Saint-Martin

Canal Saint-Martin and surrounding area. We elect to spend a whole day just taking in the wonderful atmosphere..., un long dejeuner avec une bouteille de vin blanc maison...what bliss.  No prize for the translation, its fairly obvious, isn't it? 

For the evening meal, we have found a lovely little cafe serving

authentic French Onion Soup. Hot and brown, strips of onion in a beef  stock soup deliciously gratineed with croutons and cheese on top of a large piece of bread, all grilled. Voila!! Bon appetit!! 😋😋😋

The Canal, in part, was built for bargemen to bypass the long loops of the Seine around central Paris. Napoleon Number 1 ordered construction to start in 1802 and construction continued until 1825, all funded by a tax on wine. Now that must have been popular!!!

Here's Val raising a glass in a little corner cafe in Paris, left bank, low season, in fact winter time. Very slow custom, it seems, for the waiter on the corner opposite.

Below is our expedition's chief dork at the Champs-Élysées  Christmas market. Contrary to appearances, he's not chatting up the (un)impressed bird (I'm really really not) but negotiating for a cup of vin chaud (hot mulled wine).

Coming clean: both pics are from our November 2013 visit to France ahead of our 11 month house exchange in 2014. And, yes, it really was that cold in Paris.  

We leave soon for La Charante where we will visit old haunts and old wonderful friends we met in the great year 2014.  

Love to all, Val and Bryan

****Not to denigrate the great experience of a night on the Spirit of the Outback, a slow journey to Longreach (for our European readers, that's in central Queensland)   ADD PIC of Beds

Bryan in the cabin on The Spirit of The Outback.

Val sits opposite and the cupboard and chair back fold

down to form a single bed. Val has one that folds down 

so our tootsies touch. With the beds down there is precious

little room to change. But we loved the whole experience!

 

John O'Groats....but WHY?? Just to say "I've Been There?"....Ahh but we have the Orkney Islands

Here we are, our little party, taking the 144km journey across the top of Scotland from Durness to John O'Groats on the A838/836 roads. Perhaps your diarist is getting a little jaded, but the trip does seem just a tad boring. A succession of small towns all looking much the same with intermittent views of the Atlantic Ocean meeting the North Sea. Perhaps the most interesting occurrence was crossing the low causeway and bridge over the Kyle of Tongue. Much of the route is lined by dry stone walls and flatish hillsides devoid of any substantial flora.

"Get a life for yourself, Bryan," says Val, "this is so different from Burrum Heads, ENJOY." I stand admonished for my momentary lapse into ennuie!

The causeway over
 the Kyle of Tongue

Oats seem to be the main crop although there are 3232 acres of turnips, 1929 acres of potatoes, 19 acres of rape and 1 acre of mangold in this Northern-most County of Sutherland, where we actually are today. Isn't that simply facinating? (Mangold: a relative of beet, if the reader, like your diarist is unfamiliar with this veggie. can't be much chop, there is only 1 acre.)

For those aficionados of great boring road videos and who are following this blog, go HERE for the trip of a lifetime from Durness to J O'G. The background music, though, does have  some good songs.

Enough of this trivial nonsense taking the mickey out of (warning, stereotyping coming up) our dour Northerners, lest they send the ghost of Domhnull MacMhurchaidh after me.

John O'Groats. Finally here, a bucket list ambition, and 1410km from Land's End. Quoting from some source whose name I've lost: "The population of John o' Groats is about 300. The village is dispersed but has a linear centre with council housing, sports park and a shop which is on the main road from the nearest town of Wick." Our accommodation for two nights ($396 inclusive) is the Seaview Hotel, offering a double room (with a good breakfast), cosy bar and dining room "with panoramic views of the Pentland Firth and the Orkney Isles".

About the only place we could go for "fine" dining was the Seaview itself. The "Storehouse' which did take our fancy closes at 4;00pm and "The Cabin" just did not stack up. So £70 for fish and chips; well we are at the restaurant at the end of the galaxy.  Been saving up for this.

Anyway, we are dining and we need some authentic Orkney music, so here the local school band plays just for you . I hear echos of Tennessee backwoods blues tunes, possibly the Orange Blossom Special, part way through! But really I should say that Tennessee has the echos of the old tune Orkney "Hoi".

"The Cabin" actually gets good TripAdvisor reviews

John O'Groats apparently is named after a Dutchman, Jan de Groot. Way back in 1496 King James IV granted De Groot the ferry franchise between the harbour here and Orkney, which was at the time still a relatively new acquisition by Scotland. Hopefully old John made a killing out of the franchise.

Now for the really good bits. We are off on our Maxi Day Tour  Orkney, just £70 each, entry fees and lunch extra. And if I didn't already own a hand-knitted, extremely cosy, white wool jersey (you know the sort) purchased in County Sligo, Ireland, I'd have to buy one here at Orkney, just to say off-handedly, "Oh, I bought it in the Orkneys".

Weather wise its a fine day here in the Orkneys, almost a summer heat wave. A balmy 17 degrees with sunny intervals and only very light rain. Sunrise at 04:10am and Sunset at 22:30pm. Perhaps the locals will cavort in bikinis and Hawaiian shirts, perhaps not.

 

Dear reader, brace yourself, you are in for a delightful smorgasbord of historical information and wonderful stories; all I can offer is but a small selection of what Orkney has to offer.

Orkney Islands have been inhabited for at least 8000 years, a mere day or two compared to the 60,000 years that Australia's indigenous people have inhabited our great land, but creditable never-the-less. In the late iron age, these islands were part of the Pictish kingdom, the Picts eventually being absorbed by the Norse "immigrants". Here we can throw in such lovely Norse names associated with the islands such as Magnus Barelegs, Sigurd the Mighty, Eric Bloodaxe, and, best of all, Thorfinn Skull-Splitter.                                     

In 1468 Orkney was pledged by Christian, King of Norway, as security against the payment of the dowry of his daughter Margaret, betrothed to James III of Scotland. Old Christian welched on the deal, the money was not paid and James grabbed Orkney in 1472. Probably not a bad outcome for James!

I know it may surprise some readers but your diarist is no scholar of the royal coats of arms of Scotland, England or indeed of the United Kingdom. However, although the image at left is supposedly of James III and Margaret about 1468, and, whereas, the lion is a major part of the Arms of Scotland, your diarist can find no illustration of the Royal Arms of Norway from 1200's on that feature the fleur-de-lis, so favoured by the monarchs of France.  So why this feature in this illustration? Tis a mystery!!  

Anyway, where was I?

Trivia: "The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England Trading into Hudson's Bay" was incorporated with a royal charter in 1670 and given a monopoly on a huge area centered on the Bay, actually about 1/3rd the size of modern Canada. The Company recruited most of its trappers and explorers from the Orkney Islands for a fairly obvious reason.

Prehistoric Orkney. 

I don't think any gardener could dig a hole in Orkney mainland without creating an

The Ness of Brodgar

archaeological site. I quote from  "  https://www.nessofbrodgar.co.uk/orkney-prehistory/ " 

"There is no doubt that Orkney was a very special place during the Neolithic period. Its remarkable range of prehistoric structures and ceremonial sites bear eloquent witness to this. And at its heart lies the Ness of Brodgar."

Absolutely incredible...go check the link above. The dig shown on the right is The Ness of Brodgar, a 2.5hectares site between the Ring of Brodgar and the Stones of Stenness. Its  situated on a inland isthmus between two lochs on Mainland isle, a truly astounding sight.

A cosy home at Skara Brea, circa 2500BC

Why is it called Skara Brae, you may well ask? Let me quote Doc Google: "The name Skara Brae is a corruption of the old name for the site, "Skerrabra" or "Styerrabrae" which designated the mound which buried the buildings of the village." That says it all, very illuminating don't you think!

Stone circles feature from the far North, here at Stormness
to Stonehenge in the deep South
Photos: courtesy of Kaye and Noel Kuskopf who have actually been there!

Two Remarkable Naval Events (not including anything the Vikings got up to):

The Isle of Flotta was the Royal navy base area overlooking Scapa Flow. It now is a terminal for the extraction of North Sea oil. Scapa flow was a huge anchorage for the RN in both World Wars. Following on from Germany's defeat in WWI, 74 ships of the Imperial German Navy's High Seas Fleet were interned at Scapa Flow pending a decision on just what to do with them. By June 1919 the negotiation period for the grand peace treaty had lapsed with no word of settlement on the ships. Admiral Ludwig von Reuter decided to scuttle his fleet, probably out of sheer boredom. No one had thought to let the good Admiral know that there had been a late extension to finalise details, so he ordered the plugs be pulled. 53 ships were successfully sunk in the shallow waters of the Flow.

An astonishing sight. The German High Seas Fleet
at Scapa Flow. Can you believe the national 
treasure spent on building this ultimately useless fleet? 

Second sea story: On 14 Oct 1939, a mere 14 days after Britain declared war on Germany Kapitanleutnant Gunter Prien, 30 years old and only just married, sailed his UB 47 on the surface at night through a 50 foot gap between the Scapa Flow defensive block ships and sank the battleship HMS Royal Oak much to the delight of Hitler and mighty embarrassment for Churchill. UB 47 had been seen lit up by car headlights inside the Flow, but nobody took any notice. Young Gunter himself was sunk with all hands in March 1941 after sinking 31 ships over just ten patrols.

Farewell to Scotland

Well folks, that just about winds up our visit to the Highlands and Orkney Island. We leave to the lilting music of massed pipes and drums Ballater Highland games with very recognisable tunes right HERE.

And the Royal Regiment of Scotland bid us farewell at the annual Linlithgow Marcheses, precisely on time at 12:30pm

Cheerio, see you all 

un bientot en France

 

North West We Go...Oh its Windy!!

A musically  literate reader with a long memory has admonished me, your diarist, for a truly terrible lapse. Well, not really an admonishment, rather a kind comment reminded me of a particular Scottish treasure and I must admit to a lamentable dereliction of research and outright failure of memory on my part (too many a wee dram perchance).

OF COURSE, we speak of none other than Andy Stewart and his grand song "Donald, Where's Your Trousers?" So as we come down from The Isle of Skye lets all join in the chorus: Let the Wind Blow High, Let the Wind Blow Low . Turn up the VOLUME too.

Now we are on for a quick dash, a dream drive, up the wild North-Western coast of bonnie Scotland. Many commentators and travel blogs insist that this drive from Skye up through Ullapool, to Durness on the far North coast is the most beautiful drive in Scotland, but it should be done from South to North to best capture the grandeur of the vistas. A myriad of sea lochs, of islands in the blue-slate shaded waters, of distant bare mountain crests and wayside villages with gorse in bloom. (Not sure about the 

pheasants, though.)

Laxford Loch islands
(Attribution: Anne Burgess)

Laxford River and bridge

We took off on our magic carpet along the A832 but made sure to branch off to follow the surprising good coastal roads through the tiny village of Annat on the shore of  Upper Loch Torridon and savour the view from Poolewe on Loch Ewe. Here is a sample of our Magic Carpet Experience (suggestion: use full screen view). To be very honest, your diarist is not at all sure of this video highway's designation but it is on the NW coast.

Now on the A894 as we approached Laxford Bridge spanning the River Laxford (expecting it, the river, to be called simply River Lax and at this point there being a ford, but no, there you go). We decided to take a look at tiny Fanagmore and even tinier Foidle a few km up a side road on Loch Laxford. A little adventure into the wild. 

Fangamore Bay house and Communications
Centre

Interesting demographic fact on Foidle: population 132, comprising caucasian 131 and Indian sub-continent 1, taken from Scottish census figures (with my alteration of ethnicity description to be more, how shall we say, "PC" these days). The interested reader will find economic diversity facts in the sidebar.

OK, lets keep this epic moving. Your travelling team is now at Durness, really up the top of NW Scotland, and which is self- decribed thus:The village of  Durness 5 miles west provides 2 grocery shops, a campsite overlooking Sango Bay and sandy beaches at Balnakeil, Sango, Sangobeg and Ceannabeinne. Durness is a remote and scattered crofting township spread out along the coast.

We have elected to stay at Glenaladale House, a B&B a little bit out of town, for economic considerations and to partake of their bonzer full Scottish breakfast which includes "porridge (of course) bacon, sausage (um...singular??) black pudding, eggs (ahh...plural)". One presumes that the porridge is served separately. 😋😋

Its time to forage among the myths and legends of this part of mysterious Scotland. About a mile north of Durness is the rocky headland of Faraid Head and on the western side lies Balnakeil Bay, home to Balnakeil House (one of the residences of the chiefs of Clan MacKay) and the ruins of Balnakeil Church. Let us have some lilting traditional music as we read on TRAD times

In a remaining wall of this ruined church is a large niche, dated 1623, there lies the mortal bones of one Duncan MacMorrach or Donald MacLeod or Domhnull MacMhurchaidh or MacMurachie  ( sources do vary).

Apparently he was not a nice man.🙈 In fact, according to some, he was the hit man for the Mackay of the MacKay, the second Lord of Reay, disposing of 18-odd enemies on behalf of the chief. Being such a nasty piece of work he could not be buried either in the church or in the consecrated land of the graveyard. Compromise: put him in the wall! Another source claims that MacMhurchaidh paid Lord Reay the great sum of £1000 (must have been good work if you could get it) to be buried in this special vault so that his remains would remain safe from desecration by his enemies. Our canny Lord Reay obviously did OK out of this arrangement. 

Trivia: Elizabeth Parkes, John Lennon's auntie, is buried at this spot.

Ten torturous mile NW from Durness is Cape Wrath (what a lovely endearing name) a vast and rugged wilderness, the most northwesterly point on the British mainland and home to the Ozone Cafe. One first crosses the Kyle of Durness by passenger ferry from Keodale then takes a one hour very bumpy ride in the minibus to reach the fabulous lighthouse and hot chocolate at the cafe. Dear reader, for your great enjoyment you absolutely must check out the Cape Wrath cafe website at visitcapewrath.com. 

For a mere £13 per head, Val and I are adding a virtual day to our itinerary to visit Cape Wrath....its a no-brainer. See you at the Ozone Cafe.😀

See you lovlies next on Orkney of the North Isles

Cheers Val and Bryan

 

A Short Taste of Skye, and Whisky

We are on Skye and the sky is lowering. Does it ever stops raining in the Highlands? A local lady we asked in a shop clearly recalled that one day last year, about June 20th, she thought, the sun did shine. (But of course, I just made that up.) In our planning Val and I did allow for rain, wind and a rather cool climate, even in late May.

I think we may need a wee dram to warm our cockles, don't you agree??

Now, today in Portree, Skye's capital, (on the right) we are getting it all: a 12 degrees maximum, 93% chance of rain (fair odds, which are being met outside this lovely warm pub that we have discovered) and wind, in fact today there is a high wind alert.

Being confirmed fair weather travelers we will just meditate over a pint on some of the beautiful places at Skye that we might have visited.

 Such as what we have here:

 Sligachan Old Bridge,

Dunvegan Castle, and

Brothers Point.

Did I mention that we are holed up in a pub? Yes, I did, and here is a pretty picture of Seumas' Bar to prove the point. Seumas proudly affirms that his bar is "a convivial haunt providing tavern fare, pints and over 400 Scottish malts in an upbeat atmosphere." It's actually at Sligachan, presumably not far from that old bridge. As well as a pint or two we all hopped into his Highland Venison Casserole for lunch.

Seumas was too shy on Skye to pose behind his bar...pitty

Before we left our warm hole at Burrum Heads for this glorious adventure, Stuart, good friend and  noted connoisseur of good whiskey, insisted that we visit Talisker Distillery while on Skye.  This is actually the only whiskey distillery on Skye founded in  1830. We did visit and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves....tastings were a delight. We did fall in with some of the locals, enjoying the fellowship ...and finished up much as our new friends are HERE.

Beware if you look to buy really old whisky. A recent CNN report has this to say: "A group of scientists turned sleuths in Scotland who developed a way to test the age of Scotch whisky have found that a lot of the vintage spirits aren't anywhere nearly as old as advertised. In one case they found a bottle said to be a 1863 Talisker was actually distilled in 2005 or later. If truly 1863 it would have been worth thousands of dollars." Your diarist (me) and CNN stress that Talisker Distillery itself was not in any way involved in the sale of the bottle.

There have been enjoyable movies featuring whisky misdoings. Enjoy this little gem at WHISKY GALORE followed by a little bit of Highland comfy bar room Scottish dancing HERE taken from the 1949 first version of "Whisky Galore".

You guessed it......Talisker Distillery....pretty as a picture

Soon Val and I and our good mate virtual Ian (who does enjoy the wee dram, too) will take the high way to the high Highlands, on the West coast roads to Ullapool, Durness aiming for John o'Groats. We will have journeyed through  absolutely stunning countryside and magnificent views.

Then it's our goal to visit the Orkneys.

Google says we can add:     Guidbye Bye Bye for noo See ye efter

Val and Bryan  (and Ian)

Over the Sea to Skye

Well, I want you all to know that your foreign correspondent has been flat out like a lizard drinking doing all sorts of other absorbing stuff rather than keeping this diary up to date. Actually that's a really big fib; it's more a case of lock down lethargy, a slothful disregard for one's duty!

The Peat-Cutter's Cottage

But we're back now, on duty. Your travelling party is now ensconced in a quite twee and quaint traditional peat cutter's cottage on the shores of Loch Eishort, Isle of Skye, Scotland. We were searching for a basic (and warm) cottage far from the madding crowd...and we have found it here, with spades.

At this point my diary "modis operandi" is to introduce an appropriate piece of local music. So HERE you have a beautiful rendition by Ella Roberts of "On the Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond". Ahh, actually give this one THIS ONE

To quote the AirBnB quite truthful blurb "Our Peat-cutter's Cottage is a traditional, 100 year old (looks much older actually....my addition) with a larch clad kitchen. Inside is a cosy sitting room with wood burning stove (some fuel provided)". Note the proviso..."some" fuel provided! The wood stove is the only source of  hot water, except for a small immersion heater, so perhaps we need a little more than "some" fuel. Val and I had picked up on this and the fact that the nearest store was 15 miles back up the one-way road at Elgol and had picked food, wood and booze from said store on the way in. The only place anywhere near for an evening meal is Coruisk House.

Loch Eishort view. Not much free wood here.

The one very great advantage of our Peat-Cutters Cottage is the price at a lowly $165.64 for two, yes, two, whole nights. Well, for peat's sake, it wouldn't have wanted to be any more would it! But, as any good treasurer knows, something had to be done to bring our overall expenses into line after our extravagance, our indulgent sojourn  at Camelot Castle Hotel.

Before we explore Skye and dine out at Coruisk House, I should perhaps let you, dear reader, know of our travails on the way to this desolate spot. I do suppose that you are breathless with anticipation for my tales of roads traveled and mighty odds overcome.  But, alas and alors, nothing of the kind.

Val and I (and Ian too) took the Scottish national carrier, Loganair, 1.20pm flight from Exerter to Edinburgh arriving at Edinburgh airport 1 hour 40 minutes later after a booze-less passage. Booze-less not though our prudent abstention but rather the result of the abstemious Logan not having booze on board. Undoubtedly a Good Thing since we picked up our hire car straight off to head for the night's stay at Lochleven Inn at Killin, a pleasant 115km afternoon journey. Nearby is an absolutely gorgeous walk by the Falls of Dochart.

Just part of the Falls of Dochart

The next day's drive was a gruelling 262km through Glencoe, past Fort William and over the bridge at Kyle of Lochalsh to Skye. We passed near the magnificently atmospheric Castle of Eilean Donan.

   

Your Blog History Lesson for the Day. (pay attention, Ian). Nothing to do with the picture above. Way back in 1977 Val and I stayed at a BnB on a hillside at Skye overlooking the bay at Loch Eishort. (Breakfast of porridge, white pudding, black pudding, etc full Scottish, we remember.)

This bay is where, I thought, Bonnie Prince Charlie landed  in 1745 to a tumultuous gathering of the Highland clans, rising them against the dastardly English to put our boy Charlie on the throne of Great Britain. Actually it's not that at all. He landed somewhere else in the Isles not too far away to a, lets say, a subdued welcome by seven people.

Loch Eishort is the place to which Charlie fled from the English pursuers following the disaster of Culloden. After two minor victories against the English, on the 16th April 1746 at Culloden the Highland clans were crushed. 2000 clansmen were killed to the English opposition 50 dead and 250 wounded. Charles disbanded the remaining clansmen and disappeared into the wilds, eventually ending up at Loch Eishort to be taken off by the French Frigate, "L'Heureux", arriving back in France in September. (Message: from Charlie to Louis XV..."I say old mate, could you have an UBER standing by off Skye....I may need a lift"). In all that time on the lamb (sorry, on the lam, but he may have been up to other things too) he was never betrayed to the English despite a reward of £30,000 being on the table. So now's the time to hear the lament, the Skye Boat Song, sung by Ella Roberts

If you care to go  HERE  Rod Stewart gives this beautiful song an airing in his unique style with some beautiful Scottish scenes to open. Let me say that your diarist has found as many lyric versions of this song as there are Scots in Scotland.

Meanwhile its off to Coruisk House for dinner. At £55 per head we dine on lobster bisque, wild venison (stalked Ross MacRae), "iron age pork" a variety of pork 80% wild boar (raised by Rachael and Keith Jackson) etc etc. No we didn't, it really was frozen take away dinners microwaved to perfection accompanied by a rather dubious wild red wine.

I leave you with Greensleeves for no other reason that it automatically followed on after Ella's song and it is beautiful listening. As I write the wild wind is resonating about the house here at Burrum Heads while I listen to the haunting melodies of Ella.

Cornwall, Lost Gardens, Pubs and Splendid Ruins

We'er up early in Valerie's household today 'cause we are off to the end of England, to Land's End via some interesting places, she assures us. Our destination for the day is Mousehole, very near Penzance and "only" 130 km distant but meandering through the laneways we will go.

Leaving Plymouth on the A38 we soon get out into the country, then, like Everest, for no other reason than it's there, we turn onto the A387, and end up passing through a small village, Hessenford, on the River Seaton. "It should be called Seatonford, not Hessenford, surely" I remark to myself , but perhaps that village name was taken up many years back. A quick Google query turns up only "Seaton Ford Dealership". Whatever! Across the bridge, we spy The Copley Arms, a typical riverside village pub complete with beer garden beside the gurgling River Seaton. The two Vals, with one voice, shout "Morning Coffee...we need coffee!!!"  "Is it too early for a little something on the side?" Valerie queries. From previous experience we know that this is code for "Lets enjoy a wee cognac with our coffee."

Val, Valerie and Bryan in the Italian Garden

Now suitably fortified, we head off to The Lost Gardens of Heligan,  not far from Mevagissey.  The gardens, first laid out in 1770,  were part of the 1000 acre Heligan House estate owned by the Tremayne family. Before WW1, 22 gardeners were employed in the gardens. Of these, 16 were killed in the trenches! In the 1920s Master Jack, unmarried and the last of this Tremayne branch, went off to live in Italy. Over the following decades the gardens fell into a serious state of neglect and were lost to sight.

Rediscovered in the 1990s, the restoration of 200 acres is an ongoing work and the award-winning garden restoration is internationally acclaimed.

In 2010, Val and I in company with Valerie and Paul spent a wonderful two hours exploring the glorious old gardens, admiring the restoration taking place. Today, 2020, work has greatly progressed and the beauty of kitchen gardens, orchards, flower gardens, crystaline hothouses, old walls and mysterious gates is simply magnificent. It's May, lusty, glorious May, when Spring is in the air and gardens blossom. Julie Andrews sings. (Take time when you visit Julie to check out the male costumes in the film...they seem so corny, but Burton does make a splendid Arthur.)

We are off to our night's accommodation in the village and fishing port of Mousehole, only a lazy lizard's crawl from our target, the end of land in merry England. Poetic Licence to the fore; its 90km but over two hours via our B3289 route so we have to hurry. We cross the River Fal on the King Harry Ferry, one of only four chain ferries in England and arrive at Mousehole to the clickerty clack of the sticks of a Cornish Morris troupe. Take a peek here at the troupe, complete with the unique traditional pheasant feather costume of Cornish Morris dancers.

In the pic, our pub is right on the waterside of the small harbour. Many of you, dear readers will no doubt know that Mousehole is pronounced "Muzzle" as in dog's muzzle. If one says "Mousehole" quickly in our comical and inaccurate imitation of a Cornish accent with one's mouth screwed up, it does sound something like "muzzle".

Our pub, The Ship Inn, is harbourside above the beached boat

A long day, time to eat etc etc. Valerie went for Fresh Local Mussels, Ian had the Homemade Fish Pie (sounded delicious) and for Val and I, the Golden Wholetail Scampi. We all complimented our food with several tankards of dark Old Mout Cider and ended up sounding a bit like tourists trying to sing in Corn speak. (Now, none of you thought for one minute that you weren't  going to get the Wurzels pitched your way, did you?)

Next day: Today we visited one of our trip's goals, Land's End Cornwall. What a shock! The actual land's end is a theme park, an amusement park to trap tourists: eating places, shopping and pay-as-you-go "attractions". Entry is free but one must pay for parking and pay for food and the attractions and the farm visit and even pay to take a selfie under the signpost. Nope, give that a big miss. So much for fish 'n chips at Land's End.

However, walking along the nearby clifftops in the stiff breeze is an experience in itself.

So, it's off to our night's accommodation at Tintagel, quite a drive but I expect there will be appropriate pit stops  (with a wee bit on the side?) along the way.

Tonight we indulge! We are taking self-indulgent delight in the 'Queen Room with Sea Views" at the rather grand Camelot Castle Hotel. A grand four poster bed with in a grand room with grand views.

At a mere $341 per night, breakfast included, its a steal.....isn't it??? Somewhat over our travelling budget but why not....Val and I don't expect to pass by this way again. So Just do it.

And "no" Ian you can't sleep on the couch, get your own room, please.

Val outside the Post Office in Tintagel Village

Ah, Tintagel. The spectacular fortified ruins on Tintagel island peninsular are pure magic, forever associated with King Arthur. Occupied in Romano-British times. Merlin's cave🌙. King Uther Pendragon. The illicit conception of Arthur by Uther. Owned by Charles, Prince of Whales through the Duchy of Cornwall.

Uther Pendragon, now that's what I call a ✨Name of Power♆; he claimed to be king of all Britain after the withdrawal of the Legions, a claim hotly disputed by other warlords I should think. However, archaeologists do agree that the castle was occupied by a powerful warlord or even Dumnonian royalty.

If you, dear reader, experience a yearning to visit this beautiful area of Somerset be sure to take in Glastonbury Tor (158m above sea level), also the remains of Glastonbury Abbey (where it is claimed King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were buried, a claim that did wonders to revive the ailing pilgrim trade) and Cadbury Castle, a massive hill fort (153m above sea level), and formally known as Camelet. Take that as you will.   When in the area, imagine that the whole lowland area was a semi-water land of fens and marshes, fogs and wailing winds, as indeed it was in the medieval era.

Bye, Bye....we are dropping Valerie off at Plymouth and then heading North. See you in Scotland

Dear Valerie, thank you greatly😂 for your gracious hospitality...love and virtual hugs from Val and me and Ian!🙋