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This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 14 | Day 15
England photo gallery here.
14 Alma Place, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK 19/06/08
I got a little bit distracted yesterday evening as my bus pulled into the last stop in Oxford, Gloucester Green, to be greeted by Jeff. We headed out with his friends and colleagues to O'Neill's and Far from the Maddening Crowd (Thomas Hardy, for you non-literary types. Admittedly I didn't know this myself until one of the girls mentioned it, but it was a bit of a coincidence because a few hours earlier I had walked upon Hardy's flagstone at Westminster Abbey.)
Back to recapping yesterday in London. In addition to the memorials on the ground floor of the Abbey - intricate, mammoth structures of marble, gilt, wood, etc., both Nelson and Wellington had huge ornate memorial chambers in the crypt below. The crypt was fascinating - actually felt very modern and well-maintained (as it should be for £10 a pop admission fees). Unfortunately we couldn't enter Wellington's crypt because they were doing restoration work, but you could look in and see an enormous pink marble sarcophagus in a large chamber. The goal of the restoration was to make the Duke's chamber as glorious as the admittedly superior Nelson's chamber. Among other important figures buried in the crypt were Sir Christopher Wren and Sir Henry Wellcome, an American industrialist and pharmaceutical maker, who established the eponymous trust which funds medical research of various types, including Jeff's field of bioinformatics. Understandably, one of Jeff's favorite spots to point out his customized tour of St. Paul's. There was a great deal to be made of Britain's military heroes, with memorials to those who died in specific conflicts (the Great War, WWII, the Falkland Islands) as well as countless individual graves of distinguished officers. The crypt also had a display of the history of the royalty at St. Paul's as well as the somewhat morbid-sounding Crypt Café (didn't eat there).
After St. Paul's we walked across the Millenial Bridge to the south side of the Thames. We walked past the Tate Modern art museum, the reconstructed Globe Theatre, past London Bridge (which boasted of the new "London Bridge Experience. It's bloody scary!" Some kind of horror show with flashing lights and a myriad of ghouls. Perhaps they take lunch at the Crypt Café?) We came up to the Tower Bridge and crossed that, having passed the impressive HMS Belfast moored in the middle of the Thames, decked out in WWII-era ocean camouflage. We passed by the Tower of London - actually rather a squat fortress with four towers, although Jeff observed that when it was first built it quite literally must have towered over the rest of the town; now dwarfed by modern office buildings. We had limited time because I definitely wanted to spend some time in Westminster Abbey and I had made plans to meet up with relatives living in London for dinner, so I couldn't go inside the Tower. We hopped on the tube (the London subway, or Underground) and headed to the Embankment stop. This allowed us to walk through Trafalgar Square and see Lord Nelson's column - an impressive tribute to the martial glory of the old British Empire. The square itself was very busy with people and traffic, bordered on one side by the National Gallery and by several nations' embassies - flags were flying from Canada, Zimbabwe (outside of which there had been recent protests, my uncle later mentioned), South Africa, and many more. We walked over to see Buckingham Palace, which was in an impressive plaza with many a Union Jack flying, gated entrances, statues on columns, beautiful rows of flower beds, brilliant green lanws, gilded wrought iron, and all the trappings of an anachronistic constitutional monarchy. I was a bit surprised that the literal facade of the palace was unadorned with any finery or ostentation, however. It looked like a standard government building or museum rather than a palace. But I suppose it works for the ridiculous display that constitutes the British monarchy.
We walked down the Princess Diana Memorial Walk toward Westminster and its eponymous abbey, passing by a bunch of giant white marble and granite government buildings as we did so. Here Jeff and I parted ways - he had work to do in Oxford and I wanted to see the Abbey and meet up with my relatives later on.
As impressed as I was with St. Paul's I was equally or perhaps moreso with Westminster (Abbey, not to be confused with Westminster itself where Parliament sits. This is the building to which Big Ben is attached, and of course I had to get the obligatory pic of me standing in front of it before Jeff left). It's simply a huge monument paying tribute to the royalty, nobility, majesty, and achievement of Great Britain since it was built in the 10th century. Here lie all the kings and queens, lords and ladies of the Realm. In one sense it feels very crowded - the place is packed with statues on top of one another. Evidently there was some confusion as to whether the remains are in the appropriate places, because when Oliver Cromwell instituted the Commonwealth he dug up the remains of all the royalty. With the Restoration these were returned to their rightful spots but there the inevitable mix-up when you're dealing with hundreds of musty old skeletons. I noticed a small flagstone in one of the chapels commemorating Cromwell, which I found a bit surprising. Is he actually buried there? Would seem rather a forgiving act on the part of the Brits.
My favorite part of the Abbey was the Poets' Corner, where tribute is paid to Britain's famous writers, including a giant memorial to Shakespeare, as well as a nice bust of Longfellow, "From British admirers of the American poet." The floor in this section was covered with the flagstones of famous writers - the aforementioned Hardy, D.H. Lawrence, Henry James, George Eliot, et al. Also impressive at one end of the Abbey is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and a tribute to FDR.
After Westminster Abbey I met up with my relatives for dinner at Gourmet Burger Kitchen, where I had a mammoth avocado and bacon burger, great chips and a delicious sweet hard cider from South Africa. From there I hopped on the Oxford Tube and returned to Oxford to hit the pubs for the going-away do for one of Jeff's colleagues. All in all a great day. But there is so much to see in London - I may return on Friday (only £15 round trip!) to spend the day while Jeff defends his thesis.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 13 | Day 14
England photo gallery here.
Oxford Tube, en route from London-Oxford 18/06/08
Great day today exploring London. We took the bus from Oxford into the city and arrived around noontime. After a quick lunch at Pret a Manger we headed to St. Paul's Cathedral. Words fail me to adequately describe the sheer size, beauty, and history of the place. It was built by Christopher Wren in the 18th century; actually it was a new version of the "Old Cathedral," which had burned down in the Great Fire of 1666. One can walk through the still-functioning church (no photos allowed, which I understand but still found annoying. No flash is understandable but no pics at all? So I had to keep my camera holstered.), explore the crypt below, and even climb to one of three observation areas - the first is at the top of the inside section of the big dome, a gallery overlooking the central altar below. A great view. Then there is an outdoor observation area in the tower above the dome. It provides a nice but obstructed view of the city. The real kicker was the final Golden Observatory, a tiny outdoor observation post - a few meters of railing around a square platform - with an unbelievable view of the city. Truly remarkable - one could see the Thames River, the various bridges including the Tower Bridge off in the distance, and the London Eye, a gargantuan Ferris wheel. Inside the Cathedral itself were impressive memorials to the military heroes of Great Britain, such as Lord Nelson and Sir Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 12 | Day 13
England photo gallery here.
14 Alma Place, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK 18/06/08
Sitting here at the breakfast table in Jeff's flat, waiting for the coffee to drip through (as well as for the slug-a-bed to arise). Today we plan on taking the bus into London and touring around.
Yesterday was a fun day spent in Oxford. Our tourism was fairly low-intensity compared to my time in Hungary and Ireland. After breakfast yesterday Jeff took me around town and showed me his college, Brasenose, and a couple others. Oxford Universtiy is comprised of some 40 colleges, all previously independent, and each still maintaining a large degree of self-administration while under the umbrella of the University. Because of this there is no campus as such, but rather colleges scattered throughout town, each with its own quad, chapel, dining halls, and surrounding grounds, which can be quite extensive and impressive for some of the larger colleges. Everything is hundreds of years old, and looks it. Coincidentally the freshmen undergraduates ("freshers") were finishing up final exams, so we saw loads of young students walking around in sub fusc (black tie formal dress complete with colored carnation according to one's year) and later at the pubs celebrating with their friends over a pint or a glass of champers.
A sidenote - this Continental blend coffee from Cardew & Co. in the Oxford Market is fantastic!
So it worked out well for me to be touring Oxford this week because I get to see the University in full effect, as it were. We climbed the tower of St. Mary's (a spiral staircase that proved difficult for a couple of the larger American tourists). The top of the chapel affords an excellent view of the town, with towers from various college chapels punching up out of the otherwise low skyline. A remarkable view - I certainly felt transported back to the "olden days" moreso than at any other point on the trip thus far.
We stopped in for some refreshment at the Turf Tavern, a great spot located down an alley which turns into a nice patio. The Turf seemed to cater to tourists and students alike. I tried a Ridgeway, which I think was my first cask-conditioned ale to date. Apparently all the ale in England is cask-conditioned, meaning that they pour the brewed beer into casks to let it ferment and carbonate itself naturally. The bartender has to hand pump it out of the cask instead of simply opening a tap powered by CO2. This results in a pint that is far less bubbly than I am used to (I would characterize it as flat) and also significantly warmer than all other draft beers I've had. (Finally I can confirm the long-standing stereotype about English beer being warmer, which frankly I figured was just American-centric nonsense.) Cask-conditioned ales definitely take some getting used to - I prefer my beer ice-cold with a good head. But the flavor of the ales I've had thus far have been good, so I will make the sacrifice in the name of international beer research and continue to sample them while I'm here.
We needed some lunch after this and went to a sandwich shop on High Street that Jeff had been raving about (with good reason, I found). After a lunch of fresh mozzarella, basil, and tomato sandwiches, we headed back to Jeff's place to meet up with Jules. Italy and France were playing in the Euro Cup football tournament and we wanted to find a suitable venue to take in the game and get some dinner. We started off at the Angel & Greyhound, a nice establishment if not particularly lively at the time. I played my first game of bar billiards, the English variant of pool. It's a fun game although it takes some adjustment from the pool I'm used to. Players alternate shooting the cue ball from one end of a small table to the other. Several holes on the playing surface represent different point values. If you sink a ball you can continue shooting and build up a big score, but in order to record the score you must "bank" it by shooting the cue ball so that it touches a ball without fouling out by missing or hitting one of three penalty pins placed in key spots on the table. It's also timed for about 15-20 minutes so it's a fast-paced game. I was pretty awful for my first go-round.
We left the Angel & Greyhound and after some deliberating on Jeff and Jules' part we headed over to the Oxford Blue, which had a great menu, good selection of beers, and a big screen playing the football match. The game itself was a bit disappointing - rather unexciting for the most part. Italy scored off a penalty kick 26' in and then scored again off an indirect kick in the 2nd half. France never really seemed competitive. I had bangers & mash for dinner - pork & leek sausage over mashed potatoes and assorted veggies, swimming in rich gravy. I also tried a bite of steak & Guinness pie. Excellent food. We were joined by one of Jeff's friends and his girlfriend - good people. It was fun watching the match with a table full of Italians next to us screaming and a few glum Frenchmen in the pub. It actually reminded me quite a bit of watching the World Cup back in 2006, the final game of which I also watched with Jeff and Jules in Cambridge, MA, and which also featured a victorious Italy over France (remember the headbutting by Zidane?) A good taste of English pub atmosphere with some international flavor thrown in. Most of the Europeans seemed older - probably grad students or post docs. From my limited exposure and Jeff's input it seems that Oxford undergrad is still very white and British, although not the posh man's school that it used to be.
After the game, heavy food, and several pints we were once again absolutely knackered, and decided to try to get some sleep in anticipation of a full day of sightseeing in London to see the Queen in her dang undies.
In June of 2008 I took a trip to Ireland, Hungary, and England. Experiencing different food is one of my favorite parts about traveling abroad, so I decided to dedicate a tabblo to a few of the meals I had in my travels. You can read about my entire journey on my blog. ... See my Tabblo>
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 11 | Day 12
England photo gallery here.
14 Alma Place, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK 17/06/08
Jeff and I arrived at the place he splits with Josh in Oxford (although he now spends most of his time in Cambridge) around midnight last night. It took us about an hour and a half to drive our rented Ford Fiesta out here from Luton Airport. We were bushed last night and crashed immediately.
This morning we went to the Tick Tock Café down the street a ways. It was fairly standard greasy spoon fare. I had a typical heart attack breakfast with the curious English addition of fried bread. If deep-fried white bread sounds like an oil-drenched, bland, unpleasant, and entirely unnecessary experience to you, then you're right on the money. On the walk back from breakfast we heard a bell ringing and lo and behold, there was our friend Jules on his bike (yet another American ex-pat in Oxford. It's all the rage these days. Jules knew Jeff from Cambridge, MA). I guess Oxford's a small place, being that I ran into the only other person I knew here from the States within an hour of waking up this morning. Unfortunately Josh is in the States now, ironically enough, so I won't get to see him here. But it does mean I have his bed to sleep in rather than this grim couch I'm currently sitting on, so that's nice.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 10 | Day 12
Budapest photo gallery.
Somewhere Over Hungary 16/06/08
Yesterday and today have been fairly busy and this is the first chance I've had to catch up on my journal. Jeff and I took off on an easyJet flight from Budapest to London Luton Airport about twenty minutes ago. I'm now on my way to the third and final leg of the trip in England.
I awoke at the hotel in Lajosmizse yesterday morning feeling incredibly groggy and dare I say perhaps still a bit intoxicated from the night's festivities - however I didn't have a headache, so despite the fact that I slept through breakfast I felt pretty good. We got our stuff together and took the shuttle bus back to Budapest. We had another night to stay in the city and wanted to stay in a different hotel - one that was close to the city center and preferably wasn't an old workers' hostel and offered better breakfast fare than eggshell-laden scrambled eggs and unspeakably poor coffee. We had befriended one of the younger guests at the wedding, a French girl by the name of Celine who knew the couple from their time in Chicago. She had also coincidentally stayed at the spartan and underwhelming Hotel Rila on Friday night and she was spending Sunday night in the city as well. We decided to find another hotel and split it three ways - this way we could get a decent room and not break the bank. After a miss at a full hostel that allegedly had decent private rooms, we came to the Hotel Art (a Best Western affiliate), which seemed perfect from the start. The concierge was incredibly friendly and helpful and we ended up getting a two-bedroom, four-bed suite for the double-room rate. The three of us dropped off our luggage, refreshed ourselves, and then headed out to spend the rest of the day touring Budapest.
The hotel had an attached restaurant, and I was a bit peckish since it was afternoon and I had missed the breakfast at the hotel. We stopped in at the étterem for a bite. I ordered the Transylvanian meatball soup, primarily because it sounded like something Vlad Dracula might've gnoshed on back in the day. The menu was quite extensive for a smaller place and all the items had - as we found to be quite common in Budapest, especially the more popular tourist areas - descriptions written in hungarian, english, and german. The soup was delicious - a flavorful broth of sour cream and very tasty, piping hot beef meatballs. I had a tall .5L Dreher to go with my soup. Dreher is a common local pilsner that we would have quite a bit of over the next couple days.
After lunch we walked along the Danube to the Chain Bridge, the links of which are more like those of a bicycle chain than an anchor chain. Most of the vibrant nightlife and cafés of the city are on the Pest side, which was also where our hotel was located. We decided to cross the bridge and investigate Buda. One comes off the bridge at the foot of a hill, on top of which sits the National Gallery art museum. The Gallery used to be the Royal Palace back during the days of the dual monarchy with the emperors of Austria. On the same hill beyond the Gallery is the Fisherman's Bastion, a formidable defensive work which affords a fantastic view of Pest across the river - we could see the towers of Szent Istvan Bazilika as well as the ornate white Parliament building. Perfectly situated in one of the ramparts of the bastion is a café, where we enjoyed a beer as we took in the tremendous view.
We headed back across the river to check out a restaurant Jeff had read about in the Lonely Planet guidebook. We took a leisurely stroll back through St. Istvan's Square as Celine hadn't yet seen it. At this point Jeff suggested that we speak only in French from that point on for a change of pace - Celine spoke excellent English but this gave him and me the opportunity to brush up on our rusty high school French. Somewhat surprisingly, both of us could understand Celine quite well, although we stumbled a lot trying to speak ourselves.
We ended up in the Jewish Quarter and Jeff realized that the restaurant we were going to was a kosher joint with ethnic Jewish fare. Geflitefish and matzoh ball soup weren't what we had in mind for dinner, so we wandered around and found ourselves in Köleves, a "stonesoup restobar," whatever the hell that means. Although this place looked and felt like it was a bit off the beaten path, they definitely catered to tourists with a well-translated menu and english-speaking staff (we found that generally younger people spoke english pretty well, whereas older people often had none, and service people in increasingly trendy tourist spots spoke very well, like our fetching waitress at Café Kör on our first morning in town.) I wanted to go local, authentic, and a bit experimental. I ordered a bowl of goulash to start - a beef stew in a lighter broth (very tasty) - and a plate of pickled veggies. Pickled vegetables seem to be big here. It was a nice assortment of pickled cucumber, red onion, cabbage, and peppers. For my main dish I had a deer ragout of red wine and cranberries, with deep-fried cottage cheese balls. It was an interesting and flavorful dish. I think it was my first time trying venison - it had a very intense, gamey aftertaste that was a bit off-putting, although the ragout was excellent. It unfortunately overpowered the otherwise delightful sauce. A shame I suppose - I don't think deer will be making a regular appearance in the future. Jeff and I each had a 2cl shot of pálinka after the meal - I tried the plum, or szilva pálinka (I had previously tried the more prevalent apricot, or barack pálinka). Jeff opted for the raspberry pálinka, which was for some reason twice as much as the other flavors, of which there was a wide variety.
After dinner we went back to the hotel. Celine was knackered and had an early flight in the morning, but Jeff and I had a full day to spend in the city - our flight wasn't until 20:40. We bid Celine adieu and headed out to enjoy our last evening in Budapest.
After wandering for a while around Pest, we found ourselves at Szimpla, a place which both the Lonely Planet and Celine had recommended. It was a cool spot - kind of a funky coffeehouse with kitschy stuff like an old Singer sewing machine serving as our table base, the pedal still attached for the feet of the absentminded. We had a few rounds of shockingly cheap Drehers (about $2.50 for .5L) and took some small degree of pleasure in the fact that we appeared to be the only tourists in the joint. As seemed to be the thing to do, we got a pack of Lucky Strikes (no local tobacco to be had, unfortunately) and smoked and drank along with the local Hungarians. Although I hadn't had a cigarette in years (and find them abhorrent generally), it felt a more complete experience as we drank, smoked, and talked about everything from travel to money to love and family, whiling away the time until we got booted out at the rather early hour of 23:30. But we were drunk, tired and it was just as well to get a decent night's sleep for a final full day of touring the next day.
Celine had to leave early to catch her flight - luckily for us she was staying in the adjoining room and slipped out quietly in the morning today. Jeff and I grabbed breakfast (much better than Rila!) and headed out into a gorgeous day in Budapest. We walked along the river to check out the Parliament building. It's an impressive structure although it has to undergo constant restoration because the Soviets faced it with cheap, porous limestone that easily absorbs pollution (typical communists). The building, although structurally beautiful with towers and ornate masonry, offered a curious juxtaposition between the bright white recently-cleaned sections and the filthy black polluted areas. The square in front of the Parliament was the site of a massacre on October 25, 1956 - a couple days after the beginning of the failed Revolution - when the Soviets killed a bunch of protesters by firing into a crowd gathered in the square. There were a couple chilling memorials, including a mass grave and photos of the slain.
We next headed down Andrassy Út, the Champs-Élysées of Budapest. It's a long, straight boulevard lined with nice restaurants and high-end shops, which ends in Millenial Square, built in 1896 on the thousand-year anniversary of the founding of Hungary. We stopped along the way at the Terror Museum, which is in the building previously used as the headquarters of both the Nazi and Communist secret police during their respective occupations, but it is closed on Mondays. A real bummer, because I really wanted to check this out. Oh well - a sight for the next visit! We walked through the city park (not the nicest park I've been in - the scars of occupation are everywhere - but it looked like they were making an effort at beautification) and grabbed a bite at the park café. Then we made our way to the Szechenyi Baths - public pools, baths, and spas fed by local hot springs. The bathhouse was another impressive building with the hot baths inside and three huge pools outside in the center of the oval-shaped complex of yellow brick and white marble. We rented suits and towels and soaked for a while, checking out both the pool and the baths, which are arranged by temperature from 20-38 Celsius (68-100.4 Fahrenheit). Around the central pools were tables where old Hungarian men dressed in white towels sat and played chess all afternoon. It was a very cool experience (about $20 for an hour or so along with the rentals) although the amount of old, wrinkled, fat flesh on display was a tad unsettling.
After an extremely satisfying soak we hopped on the Metro and headed to a very nice wine store that was in the Lonely Planet. I bought myself a bottle of szilva pálinka to take back to the States. Next we enjoyed an espresso at Café Gerbeaud, where the city's elite have been meeting over coffee for the last 150 years. It was a bit overpriced and filled with tourists (funny how annoying tourists can be even when you are one yourself), but it was an "obligatory" stop according to the guidebook. The inside was ornate and there was a little gift shop.
We had a couple hours to kill after we had to catch a cab back to the airport. I was in desperate need of a stamp for a postcard, so we stopped at the main post office. Add a significant language barrier to the apparently universal nature of post offices the world over to be slow, inefficient bureaucracies and you can imagine my frustration trying to accomplish what should have been a simple task. There was a long service counter with many different windows, each of which evidently had a very specific purpose, because I waited in line at 3 or 4 of them before being referred elsewhere (although I wasn't sure where to go other than try yet another window, being given just head-shaking and negative gesticulations in response to my earnest inquiries). Finally I got to one that I felt confident about, seeing some visual aids taped to the window. After a few minutes of fruitless communication with the older woman behind the counter (no English and no real attempt to try to help), I was aided by the young guy behind me in line, who thankfully spoke english pretty well and helped me get the appropriate stamps. This ordeal lasted much longer than it should have and I felt sorry for Jeff waiting for me outside, but I found him across the street at the Amstel River Café, which we would later discover to be the most expensive place in Budapest with a total bill of 3.700 Forint for a few Heinekens. After that we headed out to the airport for an uneventful flight to London.
Budapest is an amazing place. I am very lucky that I was able to go for a rather serendipitous reason. I had, I think, the perfect mix of touristy and traditional; sightseeing and simply experiencing life at leisure in a foreign city. There is nothing else quite like it in my experience. On the whole the people were very friendly and helpful, whether in the tourism or service industries or simply strangers on the street. I was pleasantly surprised with the cuisine - really excellent for the most part. The hungarian diet is heavy on meat, pickled vegetables, hearty soups and stews, paprika, deep and layered flavor profiles, pilsners and pálinka. Budapest is also very reasonable in terms of cost. The exchange rate at the time of my visit was 162 Forints (Ft.) to $1. We saw the same .5L beers range from 350 Ft. to 850 Ft. (from a bit over $2 to about $5.25). There was a significant variation even in a small area in Pest center, depending on the swankiness of the place and its touristy traffic - not a phenomenon unique to Budapest of course, but it seemed more noticeable. Our most lavish meal, complete with soups, appetizer, main courses and several drinks came to only 12.360 Ft. for three people. That's just a shade under $80. One's money definitely goes a long way, but it seems that prices will only increase with the influx of tourism dollars and a growing economy. Hungary is in the European Union although they are not yet using the Euro currency (despite its prevalence on price listings everywhere for the ease of tourists). They are in the process of meeting certain economic and infrastructure requirements before they can be yet another country using the Euro. The time to visit Budapest is now, even with the weak dollar.*
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 9 | Day 11
Budapest photo gallery.
The Great Hungarian Plain, Hungary 15/06/08
I'm currently on a shuttle bus traveling back from the wedding in Lajosmizse to Budapest. It was an amazing celebration. The bride and groom, Katinka and Don, were more than generous and hospitable despite my being a complete statistical outlier, having come as Jeff's platonic date in the absence of his girlfriend. We were at the Gerébi Kúria, a hotel in the middle of the countryside about an hour's drive from Budapest. It was a really nice setting for a wedding. Quiet, serene, picturesque. We arrived yesterday around two or so, checked into a very nice room at the hotel, and headed to the restaurant for a while before the reception. I had a plate of smoked salmon.
We then put on our finest duds (I received yet another compliment on my $100 three year-old suit from Filene's Basement. Perry Ellis. It's the man that makes the clothes!) and headed over to the pre-wedding reception. Don and Katinka had a fairly small group of friends from Europe and America - mostly Brits plus a French girl - who were all very friendly and cool. We hit the reception early and made quick work of a few bottles of white and blush (blush? I think the last time I drank blush it was in boxed form some years ago) and the appetizers (stuffed puff pastries with doe and cabbage, from what I could glean from the extraordinarily friendly and helpful bartender who unfortunately did not speak English very well - although to be fair, his English was far better than my command of Magyar). I decided that the bartender was Vassily's brother. Vassily himself was a glum Hungarian in a track suit who was sitting on a stump and turning a spit upon which was an entire pig, roasting over a huge pile of coals. The heat was so intense I could barely get within a few feet, yet poor Vassily was sitting on top of the thing turning that spit. The pig must've just been put on because it looked raw, but it would certainly be delish in the future.
We met Dani, a Hungarian friend of Katinka's (who was born in Hungary and has family and friends here - the entire reason for this escapade) who was very cool and helped us out with the local custums and taught me a bit of Hungarian. Evidently the direct translation of the phrase for hors d'oeuvres in Hungarian means "beer ice skating," because you eat a little bit of food at a time. Dani tried explaining this to me several times but I still don't understand it at all. The rest of the guests eventually arrived and there was a ceremony for the parents' giving away of the bride and groom. It was very nice to see. The guy heading the show was a hired MC of some sort. A real card - hamming it up big time, cracking jokes in Hungarian to the titters of delight of the numerous old Hungarian ladies in the crowd. I even found myself laughing and I had no idea what he was saying. He was a dead ringer for Vassily's brother the bartender/waiter and I honestly thought it was the same guy for a while. At dinner I saw them together, however, and figured that he was yet another brother of Vassily's.
After the giving-away ceremony we went to a hall for the actual wedding ceremony. It was initially going to be outdoors but it had started drizzling. Vassily kept turning the spit throughout. The ceremony was very nice, with English translation following the Magyar. Don's dad was in full kilt regalia with his military service medals pinned on his chest - a very impressive display. After the ceremony we headed back to the main hall for an unbelievable feast and celebration - the alcohol flowed copiously, with huge glass steins of beer, bottles of wine on the table, and shots of this curios apricot brandy (pálinka, the national liquor). The food was wonderful, consisting of a banquet entitled "Sir Gerébi's Favourite Meal." I snagged one of the menus from the table:
We started with Ujházi Gyöngytyúkleves (guinea fowl soup), Vadpörkölt Galuska, Sós burgonya (a stew of the most tender, flavorful wild meat poured over gnocchi and boiled potatoes), Odény vegyes saláta (a salad of lightly pickled vegetables - pickled veggies are big in Hungary), and a Sültes büfé, or buffet of roast, including Pulykamell érmék kelvirággal csöben sütvi (coated turkey breast medallions), Ropogós sült libacomb (scalloped veal lightly breaded), Borjú bécsi (goose thighs - delish), Grillezett zöldségek (grilled veggies), Rizs (rice), Petrezselymes burgonya (potatoes with parsley), and Párolt zöldköret (more veggies). There was dessert, of course, along the lines of Almás (apple), Meggyes (sour cherry), and Túrós és káposztásré (cottage cheese, cabbage, and strudel). The scheduled Éiféli büfé, or midnight buffet, would have Ropogós sült malac (roast pork), hagymás tört burgonyával (mashed potatoes with onion), és párolt káposztával (braised cabbage), Sajtkóstoló (fruit), and of course Gyümöles (cheese). And let me tell you, typing this passage with all those accents took a long time.
Ah ha! A midnight buffet of roast pork - Vassily's long, hard day at the spit would finally pay off. There were a lot of MC-driven hijinks involving the newly married couple. There were four dancers - two men and two women - in traditional Hungarian dress who put on an uptempo show, replete with high pitched yelping, whistling, singing, snapping and boot-slapping. Several costume changes occurred. The two men did one number with long staffs which they banged upon the ground and clashed with one another's sticks. At the end of the dance the older man smacked his stick on the end of the table right in front of me (I was sitting at the very end of one of two long banquet tables among the other three American guests). Great entertainment. There was also a live band playing folk music comprising a bass, a couple fiddlers and something called a cymbalon, a sort of grand piano without a keyboard with the cover torn off. The musician sat on a bench in front and hit the strings with mallets that he held in each hand. An interesting sound. He played very well, including an impressive solo. Evidently this instrument is becoming a bit of a lost art, however. He was on of few players left, at least locally. One woman, who was the translator during the ceremony and also Dani's mother, told us that he wasn't going to teach his sons how to play (presumably because they weren't interested in doing so but who knows). And all the while Vassily kept turning that spit. The party was a blast. I ended up dancing with ladies from ages 4 to 64, including one French girl. I got fairly bladdered as the festivities crept along towards the wee hours, and Jeff and I called it quits after an unsuccessful attempt to crash the other wedding going on nearby (it was dead over there).
I never did get a chance to taste that roast pork. Poor Vassily...and poor me!
In June, after having spent a week in Ireland, I flew from Dublin to Budapest to meet up with a friend and attend the wedding of a couple he knew. We ended up spending three nights and the balance of three days in Budapest and Lajosmizse, where the wedding was. It was an incredible experience. You can read about my travels here. ... See my Tabblo>
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 8 (Part II) | Day 10
Budapest photo gallery.
Cafe Kör, Budapest, Hungary 14/06/08
Now today we are experiencing the Real Budapest! We found the metro and took it into the Pest city center. Budapest is actually comprised of Buda and Óbuda (Old Buda) on the western bank of the Danube River and Pest on the eastern bank. We've been walking around checking out some buildings - some of which are impressive architecturally, including Szent Istfán Bazilika (Saint Stephen's Basilica). The flavor of cosmopolitan Pest is truly Parisian, finally justifying Budapest's universal epithet. We found Cafe Kör, mentioned in The Lonely Planet, and sat outside to take some refreshment. After some mineral water and a local beer - Dreher, a tasty lager - we're off for more.
St. Stephen's is unbelievable. Just incredibly ornate - a lot of gilded work inside, domed roofs, alcoves off the main area set aside for the worship of individual saints. Packed with tourists from Asia, Europe, and America. Quite an amazing site - finished in the 19th century, although I had guessed it was much older. Beautiful architecture. I lit a candle and made a donation - a little good will for the chance of divine influence on my behalf never hurt. The plaza outside the basilica is quite nice (although there is a boxy, fairly hideous office building breaking up the otherwise pleasing visual). And as I write this here on the steps of Szent Istfán's the bell in the tower tolls out midday.
The beautiful fin de siècle architecture and numerous cafes in the upscale, tourist-friendly city center are entirely incongruent with the eerie oppressiveness of the ugly concrete monstrosities of Warsaw Pact-era Budapest. Budapest is a curious juxtaposition of Western and Eastern Europe. Once a popular destination for Western Europeans, Budapest became closed off to liberal civilization for years under the weight of Soviet influence, to once again become a major tourist destination after the collapse of the Communist system. Hungary had a rough time of it in the 20th century, having been on the losing side of both World Wars, coming under the heel of the Soviets (who crushed resistance with a massive military invasion during the 1956 Revolution) and has only been a democracy for the last 20 years. One can still see bullet holes pockmarking the walls of older buildings all around the city - permanent reminders of the violence.
Now we are off to catch a shuttle bus to Lajosmizse for a wedding!
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 8 (Part I) | Day 9
Budapest photo gallery.
Hotel Rila, Budapest, Hungary 13/06/2008
I met up with Jeff at the airport right after passing through customs, snagged my bag off the claim without difficulty and took a shuttle to our hotel, situated somewhere southeast of the city center in a grey concrete jungle reminiscent of the glory days of living behind the Iron Curtain. We mucked about unsuccessfully for a while trying to find the metro to take us downtown but ended up going the wrong way once we left the hotel despite the receptionist's directions. After strolling through a neighborhood of what appeared to be dimly lit gulag blockhouses for some time, we cut our losses as it got late and decided to get a good night's rest after a long day of travel and get an early start on tomorrow's activities.
They call Budapest the "Paris of the East." So far I'm underwhelmed - I've seen a Burger King, McDonald's, and a Pizza Hut in my first couple hours here amidst hideous Brezhnev-era tenement buildings. The Hotel Rila is functional (it used to be an old workers' barracks back in Hungary's gay Soviet puppet-state days) with hallways decorated in the asylum style. Institutional green, the vague stench of old medicine/bad food/death, and entirely pitch dark upon entering. The green-minded Rila has its lighting operating on motion sensors, which I applaud for its energy efficiency. However, it was a bit unnerving when we first stepped off the elevator. (Jeff coined the nickname "Rape Alley" for our floor.) Jeff's currently reading the Lonely Planet guidebook to Budapest and tossing out tidbits now and again like "Budapest can claim to be Europe's gayest city with over 20 gay bars."
I can't wait to hit the town this weekend!
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 7 | Day 8 (Part II)
Ireland Photo Gallery
Cork Airport, Cork City, Co. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 13/06/08
I'm currently waiting to board my flight from Cork to Dublin after a very easy and successful drive here. I bid farewell to Mom, who dropped me off and has another day in the Old Country before she flies out on Saturday. I made sure to give myself plenty of time to get here so I have some time to kill. Seems like the perfect opportunity to recount yesterday's events.
All week I had been yearning to try the fabled Irish breakfast, specifically black pudding (blood sausage). I awoke bright and early and headed over to La Jolie Brise to order their Full Irish Breakfast, consisting of both black and white pudding, bacon, sausage, egg, and tomato - all pan-fried. Coffee, OJ, and toast were included at €7.50 - not bad at all in this land of culinary highway robbery.
It was a great meal, although I've never been more thirsty - shockingly salty, especially the bacon. I was pleasantly surprised with the pudding as well. Black pudding is a mixture of pork, oats, herbs, spices, and of course pig's blood. (I noticed that the grocery store versions contained about 18% of it.) It's actually far less meaty than typical pork sausage and has a slightly bready texture and spicy taste, with a bit of sweetness due to the blood (the white pudding is the same sans blood of course, so lacks this level of sweetness and depth of flavor). I liked the black pudding quite a bit and preferred it to the white.
After breakfast Mom and I headed out to Rosscarbery, the main town in the general area from which my great-grandparents on my Mom's maternal side came. We took the R597 out of Rosscarbery to the tiny village of Drombeg, where there is an impressive stone circle dating from 2000-500 BCE. This was far more impressive than the first stone circle we saw. The two tallest stones (the "portal" stones) were about 5' high, and the rest of the slightly shorter stones made a circle some 10' or so in diameter. During the winter solstice the sun shines through the portal stones and hits the axial, or recumbent, stone, lying horizontally directly opposite the portal stones. In the center of the circle was a small plot - presumably a more modern addition - filled with offerings of one sort or another - flowers, seashells, coins. I tossed in a few euro cents because it seemed like the thing to do.
On the same main site about 50 yards from the circle were a couple other Bronze Age sites - the remains of a couple huts (mere stone foundations/outlines) and a very interesting communal cooking area with a well, a trough, and a hearth. My hungry Celtic forebears would build a fire and heat up rocks until they were red hot, then roll them into the trough, filled with fresh water from the well. This would heat the water in the trough so that it could be used in cooking. Experiments have shown that it was possible to boil 70 liters of water in about 18 mins. using this method, and the water would remain hot for some three hours thereafter. [Ed: My numbers might be off here but that's the gist of it.] An amazing site, perched on a hillside, with a tremendous view of the surrounding hills and the sea off in the distance.
After Drombeg we headed back to Rosscarbery and walked around a bit. There was a very nice town center and a church up the hill hidden a bit from the main road. Very scenic. We then tried to find Barleyhill, back down the N71 toward Skibbereen. This proved a mite difficult as small town districts like this are on the maps but not necessarily marked with any signage. Also, although technically called a "town" district it might in actuality be nothing more than a handful of houses and farmland scattered over several square miles. After a couple back-and-forth attempts we took a turn onto what looked to be the correct turnoff into rolling farm country - serious hicksville (which for Ireland is saying something). I was fairly confident we were in the right area - there was not a house standing anymore, but we knew that my Nana's mother had come from the Barleyhill area. A friendly local farmer confirmed that we were indeed in Barleyhill, although we were in West Barleyhill rather than East Barleyhill and we possibly wanted East Barleyhill; or perhaps it was vice-versa. Either way we figured we had succeeded. We snapped a few shots of horses and cows and set off to meet the rest of my relatives in Castletownshend for lunch at the famous Mary Ann's.
This is a restaurant with great distinction in Ireland, from what I understand. It began in the 1840's, has gone through several changes in ownership, has won many awards and is in countless guidebooks and recommendations as a top seafood restaurant. This was reason enough to check it out but we also had a tenuous family connection with the owner, Fergus O'Mahony. Fergus was related to one of my Nana's first cousins - therefore a cousin of some complicated degree of removal to me.
We had a fantastic lunch, one of the best I've ever had - long, leisurely, with fabulous food and company. I started off with the seafood chowder - not a complex broth but brimming with big pieces of fish and fresh vegetables. A simplified departure from my experience at the Fishy Fishy Cafe, but definitely a welcome one. I was able to sample some starters from around the table as well - delightful mussels in basil & cream; fried goat cheese with a sweet chili relish; smoked salmon as part of a cold seafood salad. All were delicious. For my main I chose the filet of plaice (a white fish similar to cod) stuffed with leeks and crabmeat in a creamy white wine sauce. Fabulous! I sampled the scallop special as well - seared scallops with an herb mushroom & crab risotto. Quite tasty, all. With our food the table got a big plate of yellow chips (fries), mixed veggies and a gigantic dish of mashed potatoes. We were served by a friendly if slightly hard-to-understand Polish young man. Nobody could resist ordering dessert given the ostentatious dishes we had seen going by to other tables as we ate. I chose the apple and rhubarb crumble which was simply delicious, served with creamy vanilla ice cream and surrounded in a sort of raspberry-vanilla sauce.
After dinner we introduced ourselves to Fergus and asked him for help with directions to the fourth and final destination on the Sullivan Family Tree Tour at Bawnishall Cross Roads. Fergus - a busy man and rather a big deal in Ireland's burgeoning gourmet dining industry - dropped everything he was doing and launched into a nonstop stream-of-consciousness speech:
"Oh yes we were in the States a few years ago - Trish, my wife, and I - but the last time was before that awful man was elected President. Ooooooh, how I hate those Republicans. Corrupt, all of 'em! We here love the Clintons. Love them." He indicated a photograph of Bill Clinton from a benefit in Dublin some years prior. "A most charming man. I don't think Obama's the man for the job. They'll shoot him before he gets to the White House. But yes now where are ye from? Boston - what part? Milton...is that on the North Shore? South Shore, right. Now [my relatives] lived in Chelsea. I remember Daniel had the big dog. You shoulda seen the food that man would feed it. Three dogs couldn't have eaten it! Thing was enormous. I used to take it out for a walk and it'd be panting for hours after we got back. That dog died of a heart attack. Dan killed him with kindness, he did. Now Jake's brothers were rebels. Our family was always Fianna Fail, always supported the cause. All three of them left Ireland and headed for America. Never came back. The Free State Army was after them. Never came back home. Aye, driving here can be tough. Stay to the left! A few years ago I was home for James' funeral - that would've been ninety-seven. Was playing golf in Florida and found meself a few times with a car comin' right at me. Forgot meself to drive on the right! At night it's especially tough. Lovely country, though, America. They just had a tornado in Iowa yesterday. Ran through a Scout camp it did. Killed nine children. Tragic, absolutely tragic. Here, follow me and I'll show you where me grandmother was born, it's just around the corner. That little house right there with the bay windows. Now me brother's house. My other brother lives next door there. How's the economy in Massachusetts? Real estate is just crazy over there. My brother bought a huge house in Florida for $200,000! Unbelievable. Around here houses start at €400,000! I'm on a diet now - lost 2 1/2 stone over the last few weeks. Smoked salmon and beef stroganoff is all I eat. You should've seen me five weeks ago! I looked like the fattened calf. Did'ye like our fresh homemade brown bread? Let me give you a loaf to take with you."
Fergus was incredible. Friendly, charming, hilarious, generous, and very helpful. After giving us a big loaf of his brown bread he wished us good luck and said, "Perhaps I'll see you in America!" Once Bush leaves office then Fergus will bring himself to come back to the US. In a poll I read in the Irish Times it said that only 7% of Irish would vote for McCain - Hillary had a few more percentage points of support over Obama. They love the Clintons over here.
We checked out the impressive church in Castletownshend (which is a small town with a nice harbor, the church, and only one other bar/restaurant aside from Mary Ann's from what we could tell) and then went off to find the Bawnishall Cross Roads.
Again, Bawnishall is a town district that is unmarked by signage, but Fergus had told us that once we reached the crossroads that had the sign for the Toe Head road, then that would be the right spot. We hit the crossroads as Fergus had described in our two-car caravan and talked to some locals to confirm that we were indeed in the correct area. They were, as is evidently the case in West Cork, wonderfully friendly people, willing to drop everything to help a stranger out. Now Bawnishall from what I could tell consisted of a couple farms and three or four houses in close proximity ("Oh! Boh-NEEE-shall you mean!") so everyone had at least heard of the Sheehans, the descendants of whom still lived somewhere in the area although nobody was sure where. This was the one place where we had relatively good intelligence that the original house in which my Mom's grandfather grew up was still standing. After much deliberation, talking amongst themselves, and conferring with all the local passersby, it was determined that the old Sheehan house was literally right in front of us at the crossroads. This was a very good thing - unfortunately the house had fallen into ruin for some time and was purchased by someone who knocked it down and was building a big, modern house on the old site. Fortunately the original outhouse stood on the side - a curious juxtaposition with the huge modern house in the midst of construction. Also, part of the original wall remained in the back and was seamlessly integrated with the new wall - an appropriate tribute to the old while making room for the new. Although we couldn't be 100% certain that this was in fact the correct house, everyone seemed pretty confident that this was "where the old Sheehan house was." An amazing feeling to be connected to a few stones, a small plot of land some thousands of miles across the Atlantic in a foreign land.
"You're standing on the same land where your great-grandfather once stood, dearie," said one of the local women who helped us (actually she was visiting from Cork City but she had friends in the area).
Indeed, an amazing feeling.
We headed down the road back to Baltimore and headed to Casey's for a final drink with everyone together. My aunt, uncle, and cousin were staying in Baltimore until Saturday, driving to Dublin, and staying through until Monday. Mom was heading up to Cashel to check out the Rock and the surrounding area and then staying over in Cork before catching her flight home on Saturday. And I, well, here I am at Dublin Airport now around 2PM, awaiting my 4:00 flight to Budapest, Hungary. (I finished my Cork-Dublin flight while writing this entry for those actually paying attention.)
A few notes on Guinness:
To start, a poured pint here is different from all but the most legitimate Irish pubs in the States (the ones in which the bartender speaks with a brogue). The two-part pour is a process that should take no less than four or five minutes, and often seems to take longer. The first pour fills the pint glass about 3/4 of the way, and then the bartender lets it rest for a few minutes to let the head settle. Then he goes off to tend to other customers, tidy up behind the bar, or even come out from behind the bar to gab with the regulars for a bit. After this the pint is topped off with a perfect finishing pour - the head is a wonderful nitrogenated foam forming a perfect meniscus on the rim of the glass. Even then it's best for the patron to let the pint sit for a couple minutes to let the foam settle into the head properly. Whether all this actually makes it taste better, or even different, isn't something I can in good conscience comment on (only because I don't think it matters a whit after my very informal experimentation) but it's just the Way It's Done.
Because of all the time involved, the corollary to being prepared for this process is that when you order your next pint, be sure to order it well before you've finished your current one. Ideally you should have a fresh pint poured and waiting for you while you finish your current one. This means when you finish, you will have a properly poured pint that has already settled enough to be enjoyed. I found that a good rule of thumb is to order the next round when the level of stout has reached the curving-in point in the standard stout pint glass (this of course assumes a leisurely rate of consumption. Individual mileage may vary, especially on St. Patty's Day). I have arrived at this conclusion only after some rigorous, scientific testing this week.
Oh, and you know how everyone says that Guinness tastes better in Ireland? I disagree. I think a draught in Ireland tastes the exact same as that in the States (and presumably Honk Kong, Vladivostok, and Ulan Bator, for that matter). Not surprising considering that Guinness is a huge international brand that is quite effectively mass-marketed by its owning company (which isn't even Irish). However, the Guinness definitely feels better over here. It's a far more enjoyable, almost transcendent experience to have a drop of the black stuff on the Old Sod than anywhere else.
A small distinction, perhaps, but an important one.
Back after a long weekend down in lovely Green Harbor. Great weather, many laughs, fantastic food, and a helluva painful early-morning commute from Kingston to Boston yesterday. A few highlights:
I'm going to be spending a long weekend at the Linda down in pleasant Green Harbor, MA with Rigs and the Barrett clan. Guest appearances by: Funndee, Nichole, and ShazAmrys as well as Am's Paul, Rigs' Jenny (maybe she can go to the Genny?) and Dr. Goodbeers. I'm currently stocking up on A-side material for the weekend, but I'll likely test out some newer stuff to see if it plays. Gotta pay tribute to the classics but try to work in some avant garde stuff, you know?
This will be the first reunion of the Triumvirate (Rigs, Funndee and I) in a helluva long time. Cheers to that!
Probability of a rousing game of Numa Pompilius occuring: 75%
Probability of the Cadillac of poker making an appearance: 85%
Probability of hazardously high levels of schtonk: 99.44%
Probability of bacon-wrapped bacon: hopefully 1,000%
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 6 | Day 8
One Harbor Dr., Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 12/06/08
It's coming up on midnight now. A very busy, intensely enjoyable day today. I must finish packing because I'm leaving early to get to Cork, fly to Dublin, and then hop on a plane to Budapest to meet my friend Jeff. I will have to recount today's events tomorrow! They were delicious.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 5 | Day 7
One Harbor Dr., Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 11/06/08
Today it was a journey to Kinsale, which used to be a major port and important strategic military town. It was about a two-hour drive as a straight shot but we pulled off at a couple spots for photos. The drive was incredibly scenic. We were heading toward Ballingspittle on the way to Kinsale but we were rerouted on a detour that took us to Garrettstown, which wasn't on any of our maps or in the guidebooks. It's a small village near Old Head of Kinsale, which is a spit of land extending out from the main coastline. There was a nice sandy beach there with a curved walkway - actual sandy beaches exist in Ireland! People were playing out on the beach, kids were in sea kayaks just offshore, all in front of farmland, farm machines working at cutting and baling hay, at the bottom of a valley with a majestic sky - sunlight bursting through a sky filled with big fluffy white and grey clouds. I stolled along a path that rimmed the seaside bluff - incredible shale reefs along the shore with breakwaters crashing against them. A lovely spot and we would never have come across it if it weren't for that detour! After a while we eventually made our way to Kinsale.
It was close to 1:00 when we arrived and we were positively famished from our journey, so we parked and promptly headed over to the Fishy Fishy Cafe in the heart of Kinsale. Mom had read a great deal about this place - all glowing reviews. Evidently Kinsale is the culinary Mecca of Ireland and has dining options for every budget from upscale through midrange to what passes for cheap eats in Ireland (dining out is expensive and almost disturbingly so given the anemic dollar).
Lunch was excellent. The cafe has a nice decor - a sort of art gallery feel with pieces from (local?) artists hanging up on the walls. It was rather noisy inside, but it was a lunch crowd and the air was filled with variations on the euphonic brogue so how can one complain? I was hungry, I had euros burning a hole in my pocket, and I was eager to sample what Fishy Fishy had to offer. Luckily they offered "tastes" which were 1/2 orders of many of their appetizers and entrées. Not surprisingly, seafood was their specialty.
We enjoyed some great white and brown bread along with rich, creamy butter and a sort of garlicky mustard spread before our order came. I started with a cup of the seafood chowder. Very interesting - not what I expected at all. It was a deep brown broth topped with crème fraîche and toasted sesame seeds. It had a very strong cumin taste to it - almost like a curry. No chunks or otherwise discernible pieces of fish, which was very disheartening to me. Instead it was a fine mix of microscopic pieces - almost as if they had put it through a food processor or mill. I'm sorry - when I order seafood chowder I want big chunks of fish so that I can determine what I'm actually eating, for one, and also because, well, it's nice to have some actual fish in there! But it did taste good, and it was an interesting departure from what I was used to. I also ordered the mussels and one of the specials: the wok-fried crab claws. The mussels were fantastic in a basil & cream sauce. I hadn't had them like this before and they were quite good. Also despite its being only a "taste" it was a very healthy portion. The crab claws were also good although I was struggling with them for a while. Evidently you're just supposed to suck the meat off the partially-opened shells; I spent forever picking bits out with my fork. Very tasty but a little unsatisfactory in terms of meat. I washed the whole lunch down with a couple Kinsale Lagers, which is an excellent brew. On the whole the Fishy Fishy Cafe is a great spot with delicious food. Service was a bit slow.
After lunch we hit the tourist office for some info on getting to Charles Fort. I used the gents' toilet while Mom was inside. Restrooms in Ireland, especially the public ones in my experience, have those troughs that go all the way down to the floor. A word to the wise: be very careful addressing such urinals while wearing sandals.
We set out on the walk to Charles Fort, about three miles outside town, around the harbor and through the small fishing village of Scilly. The fort is an impressive example of 16th century trace italienne fortresses - star-shaped citadels - which became virtually impregnable at their technological height in the 18th century before the advent of the explosive shell. The fort is a great ruin - it was actually garrisoned from the 1600's on up through World War I, and ended up being burned and left to ruin as an act of rebellion during the Irish Civil War in 1922-23. The fort has a long history and I got a great tour from a guide who spoke with a British, not Irish, accent. A splendid structure, and the view of Kinsale from the fort and along the walk is well worth the time and effort to get out there.
Once we got back to the car it was around 6:00 and we had a decent drive ahead of us back to Baltimore. I was hungry when we got back; Mom was going to snack for dinner and my relatives had just left a note that they were out to dinner at the "Baltimore Bar" and had left just 10 min. ago. I set out to join them but couldn't even find the place (turns out they meant the Baltimore Hotel but the bar was closed anyway because it was too early in the season.) After a bit of wandering around I decided to try Casey's, which is a hotel & restaurant just on the edge of town. I was one of two customers in the dark establishment but I was hungry and I had heard good things from my relatives, who had eaten there the previous night. I was a bit tired of seafood after today and the past week so I opted for the roast stuffed lamb special (even though seafood was their specialty) and a Guinness (of course). I had some difficulty with the friendly and good-intentioned (I assume, anyway) barkeep because of his particularly heavily accented clipped words.
"I'll have the lamb special," I declared, as brightly as I could in a pub so dark I could barely make out what was going on across the room (note: nothing).
"Lamb?" said he, abruptly and incredulously, unnecessarily so in my opinion for such a simple order. He said something completely unintelligible and I stared at him blankly. He flipped open the menu and pointed to the lamb, looking at me inquisitively. I did the same and repeated, "The lamb special."
"Lamb?"
"Yes, lamb."
"Vegpotatoorchipsandblarg?"
"Er...could I have those croucette potatoes?"
"Aye vegpotato. [entirely unintelligible]?"
"Yes, that sounds excellent."
The plate of lamb was good, although not fantastic. Slices laid over mashed potatoes with some kind of feeble mint sauce. The "vegpotato" turned out to be limp steamed carrots and broccoli and a couple potato balls lightly breaded and fried. I finished up and sipped on a second pint while I watched some of the football match. A couple old ladies came in: "Are you a local?" asked one as I nodded in greeting. This unintentional deception was rectified once I spoke. We chatted for a bit - they were on a 3-day holiday from Tipperary - and they bade me "Good luck on your holiday!" as they left. Another fantastic day ended after I made my way back home.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 4 | Day 6
Bushe's Bar, Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 10/06/08
I woke up bright and early today. I was the first to rise and I wasn't going to be left out in the cold again! After a hearty breakfast Mom and I hopped in the Focus to go on a Sullivan Family Tree tour of West Cork.
We drove back through Skibbereen and took the N71 toward Bantry (passing by or through such places as Church Cross, Abbeystrowney, and Balleydehob). We stopped in Bantry for a while to snap photos. Really lovely town on scenic Bantry Bay. We got back on the road toward Glengariff, but made a detour at Kealkill, where my grandfather's mother was baptised in the village chapel. I had actually been here back in 1991 when my aunt took me and my cousin and I remembered the small, whitewashed chapel when we drove up to it, although I had forgotten the details of its location and familial importance. We noticed that there was a sign for a stone circle nearby that wasn't on the map or in any of the guidebooks Mom had read. We ended up walking for a while up an ascending, winding road that climbed into the hills at a fairly steep incline. We got confirmation that we were headed the right way from a woman who was working outside her house as we passed it on our way up. She assured us that it was "just up the hill, through the gate" and pointed it out to us, indeed just up the hill a ways.
"Are there cows?" asked my Mom anxiously (she meant bulls, we having had some problems with their possible presence the day before on Sherkin Island).
"Cows?" asked the auburn-haired older woman, incredulously (and understandably so).
"Yes will we have to worry about any cows charging us?"
"Oh you mean the cattle. It's all me neighbor's land and he might have a sign up for cattle."
"Bulls?" queried Mom.
"Aye - but I don't think they're out today. You're young, you can run!"
Reassured thus we headed up to the gate (evidently many of the smaller stone circles reside on private farmland in Ireland). As I waited at the gate for Mom, having powered my way up the home stretch, a car came into view coming down the road from higher up the hill. The car pulled over and the woman asked me if I was waiting for a car to pass. I told her I was actually waiting for my Mom and once again confirmed that we were on the correct path to the stone circle ("through the gate and past the backhoe").
"Oh! D'ye know how to address a stone circle?"
"No..."
"Oh I wish I had time to show you! Listen to me: Walk up to the circle and try to calm yourself. Quiet your mind. Walk around it counterclockwise [or was it clockwise?] and make sure to enter ONLY through the portal stones which are at the north-northwest corner when Mars is in the acscendant."
Perhaps not verbatim but it was something to this effect. Detailed, complex, hopelessly new-agey in a communing-with-the-stones kind of way. Mom joined me, we bid adieu to the modern-day druidess, and walked up to the gate. Unfortunately it was secured so we vaulted over and approached the circle, which was somewhat anticlimactic (five small stones a foot or two high in a circle with a couple tall, thin stones of four feet or so arranged upright. Not exactly Stonehenge.). The view however was unbelievable on the hillside looking down into the valley - we could even see the chapel in the village down below. The entire time since we had hopped the gate, however, Mom had been yammering about the (nonexistent?) threat of bulls and being charged and/or gored by something (keep in mind that there wasn't even any "Beware of Bull" signage, which, in my limited experience, is put up as a matter of course and might as well say, "Farm Here").
At any rate she was making me increasingly paranoid; occasional lowing from what we would later determine to be a heifer some ways down the valley sounded like a furious monster of a bull - I could just picture the beast: jet-black with a big ring through its nose, nostrils flared with visible breath coming out in great puffs as he snorted aggressively, red-eyed and hoofing the ground in anticipation of running down some wide-eyed kid from the big city. We hurriedly snapped a few photos and scampered back to the gate, visions of a horrible bull-inspired maiming dancing in my head. It remains to be seen whether or not my pics will be blurred with the jittery movement of an irrationally terrified photographer.
After Kealkill we headed to Glengariff, which is yet another lovely Irish town. We took some pics and stopped in Quills gift & craft shop, where we picked up a few things and Mom started up a conversation with the ladies running the store about her grandmother. Evidently she, a Kennedy, had a name that "wasn't from around here." A bit of mystery added to the genealogical quest?
We ate lunch at the Hawthorne Bar, where I had a nice plate of fish 'n' chips (my first in Ireland) accompanied by a tall Bullmer's poured over ice - the perfect refreshing beverage on a hot, sunny day (as it has been for most of the week now - incredible!).
Glengariff is on the Beara Peninsula, and we did part of the so-called Ring of Beara, which is a drive around the peninsula over some hairy mountain roads but with some amazing views (Allegedly, anyway. The part we saw was definitely gorgeous, but we didn't drive far enough into the hills to get to the vertigo-inducing roads. Probably a good thing for my Mom's sanity and my life expectancy).
After leaving Glengariff we came to Adrigole, where my Mom's dad's father came from (a Sullivan). The village consisted of St. Fachtna's chapel and a square with four pubs in a row. Nary a residence to be seen... I was walking up to investigate the church and I heard, "Mike!" from a doorway to my right. I turned into this otherwise deserted pub and saw my relatives inside taking refreshment after their day's travels. Turns out they had done much the same itinerary as us although later in the day. We caught up with them as they were sitting with the older woman tending bar and an old bloke sipping on a pint at three in the afternoon. The gent was almost entirely unintelligible, although he cracked a few jokes about JFK.
It was very cool to see the cemetery outside the chapel and think, "My great-great-grandparents might very well be buried here somewhere." (My great-grandfather himself had come across the pond and died in America.) Unfortunately it was impossible to even guess at where they might be buried even if we had some relevant info (date of birth, death, first name, etc.) because literally four out of every five graves was an O'Sullivan. It was almost to the point of parody. But that's what it was like - local lineages were born, lived, and died in the same area and produced a cluster of the same surname. Along with our trip to Kealkill, I couldn't help but feel a certain connection to these places where my ancestors of several generations ago had lived.
After Adrigole we headed down to the nearby harbor - really a glorified dock with a few boats. The bartender in Adrigole gave us directions:
"Just outside town to the left."
"Will there be a sign?" asked Mom.
"Oh, yes. I should think so."
"...And will it say, 'Harbor'?"
"Yes, I should think so."
"Will there be boats there?"
"I should think so, yes."
The dock provided us with amazing views and photo ops of the surrounding hills.
Our final destination for the day was Castletownbere (also known as Castletownberehaven. I mean, why not tack on an extra couple syllables?). It's a sizeable seaport that's home to McCarthy's Bar, inspiration for the book McCarthy's Bar, by Pete McCarthy. This is a hilarious Bill Bryson-esque book of the author's travels in Ireland. Highly recommended.) Again we got a ton of great pics and headed home.
It was a fantastic, if long, day of touring. The landscape as one drives onto the Beara is breathtakingly beautiful. The road winds up into these gorgeous hills and it is incredibly green and there's blue water down below - simply amazing stuff. Description and even photographs do not do it justice - one has to experience it in person to appreciate it. I ended this excellent day as all excellent days should end - sipping on a Bulmers, watching the sun set over Baltimore Harbor while writing in my journal.
I never did get to properly address that stone circle.
This is one of a series of entries from my travel journal chronicling my recent trip to Europe. You can click here for the archived entries.
Day 3 | Day 5
Bushe's Bar, Baltimore, W. Cork, Rep. of Ireland 09/06/08
I woke up this morning shortly before noon to the sound of people leaving. I found myself alone, my Mom typically having refused to wake me up despite my interest in the day's activities. I had gone so far as to pull my blind all the way up the night before; it was partially successful as I awoke around 8:30 or so but quickly fell back asleep. Next thing I know it's 3 1/2 hours later and I'm all alone. I located a note on the kitchen table saying that everyone had gone off on the ferry to Sherkin Island. There were many trips in the afternoon on the ferry schedule so I opted to shoot for the 2pm ferry. I cooked up an "Irish" breakfast with eggs and bacon I had purchased the day before. The bacon was different than that in the States. Thicker, fatty around the edges, much saltier (if that's even possible) and tasted more like ham than what we Americans are used to. I imagine the cut of meat and curing process are very different. Although different, it was great along with the eggs, soda bread, and some tea. I caught some Irish soap operas as I ate (same bad plots and acting but with more interesting accents) and then made my way down to the ferry at the harbor.
Sherkin is a sizeable island just 10 minutes' ferry ride from Baltimore Harbor. There's an old friary that they've been reconstructing in recent years as well as a "castle" - really just a bunch of ivy-covered stones with a bunch of modern equipment lying around ruining what little historic effect it retained.
Only a few minutes after I had gotten off the ferry and had begun meandering up a path did I hear, "Mike! Michael!" and turned around to see my early-rising relatives just down the path behind me. We decided to head out to Sherkin Light, which is the small lighthouse that we had seen directly across from the Beacon yesterday. We walked down a path which we thought was the correct way (although with little confidence) and came across a small schoolhouse with a woman out front. Mom asked her the way to the lighthouse and she went to get her husband:
-"Oh it's been some time since I've taken the walk meself but it's a nice walk. Follow this path a ways and you'll come to a low stone wall. At the end of the wall turn...left...yes, left. Stay on that path and you'll come to a sign that says, "Caution: Bull" but don't worry, I don't think there's a bull there anymore."
-(General city-slicker nervousness, questioning glances, discussion of turning around and retracing our steps to go the other way.)
-"Well I think this way will be better. T'other might be a bit shorter but this is more scenic."
So we set off on a bit of a hike - bulls be damned in the name of scenery! - walking down a very quiet, country island path. We came upon a swan at ease in a cove. After we snapped a few shots she took off, skimming along the water with a great honking, sounding not unlike my uncle who had been suffering due to his allergies and the preponderance of flora around us. Eventually we made it to the end of the short stone wall which our guide mentioned and embarked on a hike up a path leading us to Horseshoe Bay. This was an idyllic hike through lovely greenery, the occasional cottage, and impressive vistas of hills, ponds, breakwaters, and other nice natural scenery. After a while we came right up in front of some Sherkin Islander's house that just overlooked Horseshoe Bay - and what an amazing sight it was. In true form to its name, the Bay carved out a wide circle from its narrow opening. The view was just incredible. Words fail me - clear blue water bordered by rocky promontories and beaches in a lush, green bowl of a valley - it was majestic.
At this point however we had to retrace our steps, being close to the southern tip of the Bay and having no way to cross if we had kept going. So we cut back and meandered down and around the Bay. We went down to the water's edge and took some cool pics at low tide. Very rocky with a lot of seaweed, moss, lichen, and flowers growing down by the shore, which provided us with a wonderfully colorful view. We regained our path and made it up and around to the opposite side of the Bay, past the Horseshoe Cottage Bed & Breakfast, where we came to a fenced-in area. The sign on the gate read:
Caution: BULL
Unauthorized Access Forbidden
Despite our local guide's warning us of this exact landmark, we were understandably nervous. The last thing one wants is to be gored to death trying to get a few pics of a lighthouse, right? My Mom was good enough to wander into the B & B and ask ("Oh we don't think there's a bull. Only cows.") so we pressed on with trepidation ("Liam, be sure to take off that red hat!") past the hopefully specious warning. My aunt's concern however did not extend to keeping my 11 year-old cousin out of the lead - or perhaps this was planned? Either way we trudged onward through a path that became less and less of one as we kept going forward, and had to dodge a large number of cowpies which appeared with increasing frequency and freshness. These were impressive excretory deposits, measuring about a foot in circumference and several inches high - wet, stinking mounds of processed grass having traveled through the cows' many stomachs and intestines. Amazing objects from a scatalogical perspective.
Just over the ridge we saw the lighthouse, which comprised a tiny cottage and a 15-foot high light tower, but the view - oh the view. It had to have been the most amazing, majestic, picturesque, pick-your-superlative view I have ever seen. Truly a jaw-dropping experience. It was a gorgeous, bright, sunny day and we could see clear across to the Beacon as well as the rest of Baltimore and a great deal of Roaringwater Bay. A tremendous experience, well worth the hike and theoretical bulls.
We made our way back to the ferry by taking the second route offered to us by our friend (would've saved us about 45 minutes' worth of time as well as innumerable brambles and cowpies but to be honest the way we went was far superior in terms of view, adventure, experience and enjoyment. Everyone else wanted to catch the 4:15 ferry (it was around 3:45) but I wanted to explore the rest of the island a bit having been abandoned by Mom that morning.
We parted ways and I went searching for the "Dock Studio," which I took to be some sort of artistic endeavor. The sign claimed it was 3/4 mile down the road. Even by Irish standards of distance, I walked for a long time without finding it. I decided to cut my losses rather than traverse the entire island and head to the Jolly Roger, one of two pubs on the island (apparently this is what Bob Clarke meant when he said, "a bit of a pub scene").
The place wasn't exactly bustling. There was a table of four or five laborers out front and a young local woman with her beautiful baby inside, along with the young female bartender with too many piercings and unflattering camouflage pants. The dogs running around the place inside and out outnumbered the people by at least 2:1. I grabbed a pint of Guinness and today's Irish Times and set to quenching my thirst, whiling away the time until the next ferry and trying to make sense of the upcoming Lisbon Treaty vote - a referendum for Ireland's participation in an otherwise unanimous EU treaty (curious that Ireland alone refers such decisions to the people instead of letting the politicians decide). I enjoyed my drink but it was difficult to fit in - one American amidst a group of Sherkin Islanders blathering away in English - albeit a slangy, heavily accented English - in which the only words I understood were the admittedly quite frequent profanities - so I drank up and left. Turns out the timing was good because the rest of the crew had to wait for the 17:00 ferry anyway because the earlier one had been cancelled.
We headed back to Baltimore. I sat outside Bushe's Bar for a few minutes in the brilliant sunshine enjoying my first extremely refreshing pint of Bulmers cider (I saw many others drinking it over ice - next time I get it I plan on doing the same). Back to the house to regroup and then I returned to Bushe's for a couple pints of Guinness, a crab sandwich (fresh, simple, and delicious) and some postcard- and journal-writing. My relatives joined me; Mom was convalescing. We took a sunset walk up along the hill behind the town which was very nice. We ended the night with wine, cheese and plans to head out to the Beara Peninsula tomorrow to check out where my grandfather's parents came from.
