Another dose of Italy

We've been eager to get back to Italy since our trip to Genoa in March, so last week we set off for four days in the Portofino National Park.  This is an area on the coast, just south of Genoa, very similar to the Cinque Terre, but with relatively minimal tourists.  We were not disappointed.  It's a fantastic area with a good sprinkling of coastal villages, hilltop walks, and beautiful bays with clear water to swim in.  Plus it was at least 30 degrees every day!
On our first day we walked the coastal path from Recco, where we were staying, through Camogli and around to St Fruttosso.
Camogli is a small fishing village, still very active with lots of little fishing boats, and fishermen sorting out their nets.

Round the corner from the harbour was the swimming beach.  The hotels on the waterfront seem to "own" the slice of beach directly in front of them, with umbrellas and beach chairs specially for their guests - even the water is roped off for their sole use!  We didn't dare test it out and see what happens if you stray into their water space!

The tracks were well marked with a variety of circles, square and triangles.  We were following the red-spot-and-doughnut variety (more about the food later..!)

Great views back towards Camogli and Recco...

We then got to a section of the track where a signpost warned us that the conditions ahead were dangerous, and not to be attempted by children, unfit people and old ladies. Maybe that wasn't quite the correct translation, but we got the gist of it.  Oh, and definitely go no further in the summer, in the heat of the day.  As we didn't fulfil the child/old lady category, and it was midday and 30 degrees, we confidently bowled on through.  Yep, there was a bit of climbing involved, with sheer drops off into infinity, but nothing an old lady couldn't have coped with.

It was incredibly hot though, and I got through 2.5 litres of water in a couple of hours.  We were happy to arrive in St Fruttosso and flop into the water to cool off.  We didn't attempt the return trip, and got the water taxi back to Recco.

We stayed in a great family run hotel, which had been in the same family for over 100 years, with three generations currently working there (including twin brothers in their seventies who took great pleasure in showing us all the old photos and memorabilia around the hotel).  They had a Michelin restaurant in the hotel, but we decided to eat at the "osteria" which was downstairs, with basic tables and chairs, the radio blaring, and the menu written on a piece of brown paper.  Well, what a great decision that was.  Each dish was only 6 or 7 euros, all coming out of the same Michelin kitchen as the restaurant, 1/2 a litre of very good house wine for 4 euros, and a lot of laughs and chat with the waitress and the local Italian guests, trying to translate the menu for us.  We enjoyed it so much we ate there every night, working our way through 12 different dishes, all of which were fantastic.

Here we have Capponadda Camogliesi - a tuna and calamari salad....

And Rondinana, a fish and tomato dish...

On our second day we had a ten minute train ride to Santa Margherita and had a shorter walk round to Portofino.  We stopped on the way at a tiny bay called Piaggi, and squeezed ourselves onto the slice of public beach, overlapping our towels with the neighbours!  This photo was taken when we arrived - by the time we left half an hour later, it was definitely bumper to bumper.

Round the corner was Portofino - still a pretty, colourful coastal village.....

But with a slightly different clientele!  Portofino is the one tourist spot of the area, with luxury launches jockeying for position in the harbour.  Unfortunately a cruise ship has just docked and was ferrying Americans on-shore.

They proceeded to waddle their way around the flatter parts of the village, buying vastly overpriced olive oil and pottery, before wedging themselves in restaurant chairs and wolfing down the "plat du jour" in time to be ferried back to the ship.  Thankfully they couldn't make it up any hint of a gradient, so we had a quiet picnic up in the gardens of the castle on the hill. 

Lew's contribution to this week's blog....the name of a shop in Portofino that caught his eye...!

To get back to Santa Margherita we decided to experience another mode of transport and got the bus - very impressive rally driving skills from the driver, negotiating tiny roads, lots of bends, flashy cars, and scantily clad Italians sauntering down the road with nothing more demanding on their minds than choosing the next swim!  Interestingly our 10 minute train ride was a bargain at 2 euros, but the 5 minute bus ride was 3 euros.  

Back to the food; we made a concerted effort on the gelato front this time, making sure we reached our quota of one each a day, with a minimum of two flavours.  Dark chocolate, and tiramisu were particular favourites, closely followed by strawberry, and fruits of the forest.  Lunches were usually some sort of focaccia or pizza bought at the "focacceria" with some tomatoes and fruit.

On our last day we came home via Menton, which is actually in France, but only just across the border, so it's still very Italian in style.  Menton was very popular with the British upper classes in the early 1900's, as it was recommended by several notable doctors as being a healthy place to live for those with a "delicate constitution"!  There are several streets lined with beautiful old villas from that era, but very difficult to get a good view of them, as they are all hidden away behind the extensive gardens.  We spent a lot of time wandering through the old part of town...

With a large population of rich Brits in poor health, inevitably death was a daily occurrence, so the cemetery is well worth a visit!  Spotting the rugby balls from a distance, we thought further investigation of this grave was necessary.....

You come across the most unexpected people, in the most unexpected places sometimes!

So once again, Italy has impressed us, with friendly people, great food, good transport and wonderful weather.  Maybe we need to look for house-sits in Italy next time - there will be a next time, won't there?!?

The French strike a cruel blow!

Well, I suppose it had to happen at some point during our year in France: we have witnessed first hand the effect of the French strike mentality, and their love of all things disruptive...for other people!  Mum and dad were flying over here for a week on the 12th.  The day before, French air traffic controllers announced a three day strike, with the result being that 50% of all flights in and out of France had to be cancelled.  Unfortunately, my parent's flight was one of the casualties, so they couldn't get here.  We looked at various options of re-booking in the days following the strike, but with the train drivers going out in sympathy too, it looked like travel to/from France was to be avoided at all costs.  Apparently the shoulder seasons are popular times for the French to strike, as it has the maximum impact on overseas tourists - they would never dream of striking in July or August, as that's when the French have their holidays, and heaven forbid anything to disrupt that!!  Mum and dad have re-booked for September: what with their packed retirement calendar, and our oh-so-busy-non-working timetable, we couldn't agree on a date before then!!

So, confronted with an unexpected free week, we have taken a couple of day trips away.  Wednesday was a typical tour of a couple of villages further afield.  You'd have thought that after a while, one French village would look very much like the last.  However, they've all got their different characteristics and charms.
Fox Amphoux  is a very sleepy village, which we decided would be perfect to live in.....if it had a boulangerie!  If I had to buy bread every day, I wouldn't buy a house in a village without a boulangerie - who wants to get in the car every day in order to have breakfast/lunch?

Someone in the village obviously has a sense of humour.  No doubt prompted by the number of people taking photos of this head above her kitchen window, the owner has put a little plastic statue of the queen with a mechanised waving hand on the window-sill!

On to Barjols, whose claim to fame is the 28 fountains around the town.  It was too hot to do the official tour, but we saw many of them, and I'm always more drawn to the doors and knockers anyway.  Not easy to see, but the knocker here is an old wooden shoe insert......

Security is obviously a big issue in Barjols - this key was in the lock of a front door on the main street.  I should have got a hand in the shot too to give the scale - it was enormous!

So too was this dolphin knocker.  They must have reinforced the door, as I'm sure one knock from this beauty would split the door in two.

Above the doorbell:
Ring once for the ground floor
Ring twice for the first floor
Ring three times for the second floor.

A beautifully tiled butcher's shop in Barjols...

And an enterprising use of a hole in the side of the house!  The square hole just in front of the car was actually a work pit and we could see right down into the workshop below!

On Friday we took a trip up to the Gorge du Verdon, a highly regarded "area of natural beauty", and advertised as France's answer to the Grand Canyon.  As we discovered, the French do love to talk themselves up!
Yes, there were some great views....

No, our camera didn't really cope with the  conditions....!

Yes, the road was very windy, with a number of tunnels...

But in the end we decided these punters were having far more fun on pedalos, pedalling up the Gorge instead of driving along it!

Unfortunately this was the one day we forgot the sunscreen, so had to forgo the experience this time.  Watch out anyone visiting over the summer, you may well end up here!

The French are well known for their sailing abilities and the Med provides plenty of opportunity to show off their skills.  Each year the Voille d'Antibes Classic Yacht Challenge is held at Antibes (near Nice).  It's part of a series that starts in the Carribean and finishes back in France in September.  

I was lucky enough to be a guest crew member on "Masa Yume", a 90ft Spirit of Tradition yacht built along classic lines, but using modern materials.  Not sure what the name meant but it is certainly the biggest yacht I've been on.  If I could avoid being responsible for breaking something it was always going to be a great experience.  The owner Roberto is Italian, the crew international, the chef amazing and the couch of blondes  outstanding.  Of course every Italian, single, millionaire, male needs a couch on their yacht for the girlfriends and who was I to complain.  

Part of the fun was seeing massive America style yachts from the 1920's being sailed pretty hard.  This one below came complete with bag-piper in kilt standing near the stern.  

Things were very casual and there was no pressure to win but you wouldn't have guessed it once out on the water.  We got off to a fantastic start but the winning feeling soon disappeared as winds dropped below 15 knots.  At 70 tons or more this rig was going to need at least 20 knots to make it go anywhere in a hurry.  That left plenty of time for looking at the scenery!!

There was serious work to be done most of the time and myself and another guy were in charge of a couple of very large winches that ensured the mast stayed upright.  Not sure why the new person on-board ended up with one of the more crucial jobs on the boat but maybe everyone else knew the possibilities to get it wrong.  You can see stainless steel block / pulley just under the mast in the photo below.  Another one is out of view on the right and it is attached to a mainsail support stay.  It is tensioned by a sheet.  Yep - during one of few moments of good breeze the sheet snapped, the block went forward like a scud missile, whizzed past the heads of the blondes on the couch sipping their drinks and missed several crew on deck.  Panic ensued and the crew dashed around like mad things trying to retrieve the situation and wondering how no one had got killed.  Meanwhile the girls on the couch hardly blinked and didn't spill their drinks.  Fantastic.  Calm and cool as always.  Back in port champagne, pizza and party time followed and maybe a little relief amongst some. 

The model names given to some of the French cars continue to amuse.  Back in the factory there have  obviously been competitions and late nights contemplating the most appropriate names for their prestigious new vehicles.  Numerous experts and marketing gurus have been engaged to choose what name will bring their vehicle to the attention of the discerning public.

The Olympic series:

The French are proud of their workmanship and achievements so names that reflect this have been a clear winner.  

The Business series:

  

A little wildlife story for you: we found this scarab beetle in the pool skimmer basket yesterday, sadly drowned and dead as a doornail.  They are huge armoured creatures a good inch long, and incredibly beautiful, with a mahogany shell hard as nails.  We took him inside and had a good look at him, took his photo, prodded and poked, and left him on the kitchen bench overnight.  This morning.....he had covered a good metre of the bench and was making steady progress towards the fruit bowl!  Either an accomplished actor, or a miraculous recovery overnight!

Summer is here

 This is what we came here for..........30 degree days, all the berry and stone fruit in full flow.......and our own pool to plop into when the mood takes us!!

Yes this is where we are spending a lot of our time now, so the swimming togs are on a constant rotation from the pool to the washing line, to the body, to the pool, to the line......  The evenings are noticeably warmer than in Nelson, so we've been outside eating dinner until after 10pm in just a T shirt.  This photo shows Lew with Lavinia and James, plus James' cousin Sue, all having dinner a few nights ago.

We're still very aware that pretty soon anywhere along the coast is going to become a no-go zone, over-run with tourists (which we are not, or course!), plus the whole of Paris, and all the school kids on holiday.  So, last week we took a trip down to Frejus, about an hour's drive away, and then along the coast to Agay.

Frejus is another Roman town, so we had an obligatory look at the remains of an aquaduct, which was beside a main road, overgrown with grasses, totally un-signed, no information to read - par for the course in France when there's anything pre-15th Century or thereabouts!

The Roman amphitheatre was more interesting, but not very photographic - it has been added onto in a very modern way, to make it fully useable again.  The old Roman parts are clearly visible, with concrete and glass just slotted in to fill up the spaces.  Not to everyone's taste maybe, but at least the historical origins of the building are apparent.

Cultural boxes ticked, we drove along the coastline, stopping for lunch on a little beach with a few French sun worshippers, and the inevitable wrinkly topliss 70-plus year old women!  The French just love to be in full sun, with every possible centimetre of skin exposed to the rays.  No competition for the shady spots over here, Lew and I always have them to ourselves!

We went for a walk along the coastal footpath a bit further along, starting at a little bay overlooking L'Ile d'Or (Golden Island) with a tower.

  For Tintin fans amongst you, this island inspired Herge to write his Tintin story "The Black Island"!!

 In the late 1800's the owner of the island lost it in a game of cards: the new owner, Docteur Lutaud, set up his own fairytale kingdom, and crowned himself King Augustus 1!!  He built the tower, held monumental parties for the Cote d'Azur jet set of the time, and was buried on the island after he died.  His family still own and use the island today.  In fact, there were a number of massive launches hanging around  close to the island, so maybe there was another party about to happen...

 Anyway, with our invitations obviously lost in the post, we went for our walk, climbing up into the red rock Esterel coastline, with great views of the sea and coastal towns further along.

Back at the ranch, we finally got round to having our first attempt at making elderflower cordial.  We've been intending to do this since before we went to Corsica, as the country lane we live on has plenty of bushes.  However, life is busy when you're not gainfully employed, so by the time we went to get the flowers they were really past their use-by date.  We also got side-tracked by the enthralling (to Lew) activity of the lucerne harvesters and balers which were working late into the night to get the crop in.

We picked off the flowers, and covered them with water overnight.

The following day we got to the next instruction: "strain the liquid through a muslin cloth" - what's that, and who on earth would have one anyway?!? And what would the French translation be?!?  I have vague memories of my mother making quince jelly (or could that have been a nightmare - I hate quinces!) and straining it through a pair of tights strung around the legs of a stool.  Not being a big fan of tights, we had to go to plan B: the liner of the skimmer basket from the swimming pool.  Worked a treat, we're just hoping it won't be elderflower cordial "with a hint of chlorine"!!  It looks suspiciously like a urine sample, but lets hope there's no hint of that either.

The week ended with the much anticipated "Fete des Voisins" - translated as "Neighbour's Festival", its basically a pot-luck street party.  Organised by a few of the residents up the hill, everyone just brings some food and drink and you get to "chat" to the neighbours - not quite the case for us of course, but we did pretty well with my French, Lew's sign language, and their English.

The French are great at introducing themselves - everyone made a point of shaking hands and/or kissing and talking with everyone else, even though a lot of them didn't know each other.  There's quite a mix of residents in the valley, French, Italian, English, Dutch, Serbian, so we weren't the only ones who weren't proficient at the native language!

On the language front, I've finally accepted that my French hasn't improved by osmosis and the mere fact that I'm living in France, so I've decided to take French lessons from a French/German couple up the road.  I'm going with Bonnie, a 25 year old south-African au-pair who lives a few doors down.  We were asked on the first day what we wanted to get out of the lessons: I replied I'd like to be able to have a more in-depth conversation with a French person, about issues like tax, retirement, buying a house, climate change etc.  Bonnie replied she wanted to learn slang and swear words!!  Made me feel a bit old and boring, but hopefully we'll get a mix of both!