Azores, Part 2 – Of Cows and Cobblestones

Real travel requires a maximum of unscheduled wandering, for there is no other way of discovering surprises and marvels, which, as I see it, is the only good reason for not staying at home. – Alan Watts

Church of Mercy, and the Gazebo Torch on the hill.

It is still dark as we sail into the port of Praia de Vitoria, on the island of Terciera in the Azores. This is the last port in our long voyage. Tomorrow we head back across the Atlantic to pick up our suspended lives at home.

Across the harbour town spreads out in a glittering carpet of light. On the hill above is a brightly lit figure of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It resembles the Christ the Redeemer monuments I’ve seen on so many continents now. I join my morning group at our usual outdoor table and wait for sunrise.

You can see why the monument on the hill is called a torch!

I stand on deck with my coffee, enjoying the not quite cool air of predawn. The port is an industrial dock in the countryside across the bay from town itself. Distant whiffs of farm blend with faint mechanical smells of industry and construction.

So much for yesterday’s Cruise Terminal.

It is heavily overcast, so there is no dramatic dawn today. At least there’s no rain!

David and I have a leisurely breakfast. Today we are taking the shuttle into town and exploring on foot.

We want our last port to be a small, intimate greeting, not a mad race for the finish. We set off after the stampede for the excursion busses dies down.

Although we can see town across the harbour, it’s at least a twenty minute ride by shuttle. We pass the Forte de Santa Catarina, built in 1580. It was meant to protect the town from Spanish invasion.

A year later, the Spanish cleverly bypassed the armed fortifications. They planned to invade Terciera by landing on a beach 10 km to the south. This was thwarted by the release of an enormous herd of cattle onto the beach. Incredibly, the Spanish retreated. I have no idea why this worked. I know soldiers are not always sailors. Perhaps after facing the stormy Atlantic in small ships without stabilizers, the noise and smell of farm animals was simply too much. Maybe coming ashore expecting a glorious battle remembered after in song but facing the rigours of animal husbandry instead was an affront to their dignity. I will never know. I do know my lifelong perception of Spanish Conquistadors has tarnished considerably on learning this. I also have a new and profound respect for Portuguese cows.

I hope they at least let the cows winter here after that.

We pass farms with red tiled roofs on white cottages, surrounded by small fields, bordered by stone fences. The land, at least in this part of Terciera, seems gentler and less dramatic than yesterdays tour near Ponta Delgada.

Soon the shuttle drops us at Old Town, Praia de Vitoria. Town is quiet, and little seems to be open. The municipal market is just setting up displays of cabbages and peppers.

Across the road is the municipal garden. It is small but peaceful, enhanced by doves cooing. In the center is a large tree, whose wide trunk hints at a long history. The sun appears briefly and releases the fragrance of bright red geraniums.

That base is huge. It needs a person for size.

Geraniums! Outdoors, not potted, and blooming.

We continue down the road. We find ourselves on a pedestrian boulevard leading steeply downhill. It is cobblestone, with an interesting mosaic of black and white stones. They make beautiful designs the length of the street. After the disaster in Puerto Rico, I carefully test the shiny white cobbles with my feet. At least it is dry today. In the rain these would be as slick as the lovely blue glazed cobblestones that led to David’s bad fall in Old San Juan.

Mosaic of building complete with tile roof. Sorry it’s upside down!

Even handicap parking is designated by mosaic

The road leads down towards the bay. Beyond the bottom you can see the zigzag path going up a green hill to Miradouro Do Facho. This viewpoint is at the feet of the Immaculate Heart of Mary statue I had spotted from the ship. The monument is known as the Gazebo Torch.

We go up, and I mean UP, a short side street to a beautiful old church.

Looking back down towards the street, and the harbour far below.

This is Igreja Matrix de Santa Cruz, Church of the Mother. In a town full of churches, this is THE Parish church, founded in 1456, completed in 1517. It has been extensively rebuilt three times since after major earthquakes. It contains elements of each period from each restoration, as well as vestiges of the 15th century original.

The front of the church. Much is rebuilt, but the entry is original.

A change in colour shows broken stones that were replaced.

Around the church square are outbuildings echoing the main church in style or colour. The church is open today, and we go inside.

An adjacent parish building, with the Zuiderdam peeking out from behind.

The the walls, ceilings, and sanctuary are very ornate. Chapels lead off the main church, with one bricked over where the most recent major quake destroyed it entirely. Chunks of archway sit on the edge of the square outside. They are too broken to use, yet too historically precious to discard.

The stone arches are fabulous, but not entirely earthquake proof.

We wander away from the boulevard along the side road. There are old and fascinating doorways and stone walls with nasturtiums tumbling over them.

And a good display of how steep the streets are!

Down the hill, two circus like blue and white striped spirals catch my eye. These belong to Igreja Do Miseracordia, Church of Mercy.

This blue and white church was built in 1521, as part of the first hospital of the Azores. The edifice notes that the church burned down in 1921, and was rebuilt in 1924. For some reason, the earthquakes and rebuilds in between aren’t worth mentioning.

Only the original and latest builds are noted.

It is still Hospital Street, and operates as a clinic.

We wander back out to the pedestrian boulevard. It is much busier now, and the stores are open. Bustling cafes have placed bistro tables and chairs on the cobbled walkway. We follow the mosaic walk to the waterfront. On one side of the road there are sculptures and yachts and the famous beach area.

The formerly empty street is now a cafe.

Of course I go to the beach. I walk barefoot in the sand along our last beach of the world tour. The Atlantic wind blows ocean spray in my face, and I taste the salt. Across the harbour the Zuiderdam waits, ready for the long run home.

Follow the mosaic sidewalk to the beach.

The beach (lovely), the water (cold), and the Zuiderdam (waiting)

On the other side of the road is a newer plaza of shops and cafés. I have a last look at Portuguese cork products. Some shops have beautiful and expensive artisan Portuguese cork handbags. Other shops have much cheaper purses. On closer inspection they are cheaply produced of paper thin cork and made in China.

Sticking to the mosaic cobbles of the pedestrian boulevard we make our way back up through old town to the shuttle stop. It is sunny here now. All the shops are open, and the street is getting crowded. We take our last look at doorways and hanging plants. I take a few last photos of those amazing hand-painted tile street signs.

A final tile sign – why is that castle on fire?

Back on board, we have our final sailaway drink. It is almost quiet, much more subdued than the wild celebration we had leaving Cape Verde at the end of the Grand Africa.

Farewell to the Portuguese and the brave cows!

Wine in hand, I salute the Azores. I also toast the cows, peaceful yet ever on the lookout for invading Spaniards.

The Zuiderdam leaves the harbour, Atlantic bound.

Ahead of us is a week of packing and saying goodbye as we cross the Atlantic. After a short stay with my cousin, we will return home and fit new habits into old routines.

The trip of a lifetime is coming to an end. On the other hand, there’s still so much more of the world to see – isn’t there?

I’ll give you a call when we’re ready for next time.

A thousand thank you’s to the amazing crews of Holland America’s Zaandam and Zuiderdam.

Senses of Praia de Vitoria:

The sight of the white mosaic cobblestone patterns on the pedestrian avenue.

The sound of doves cooing in the municipal garden.

The feel of the cool sea breeze on the warm sand of the beach.

The smell of geraniums in the sun.

The taste of wine toasting the sailaway from the last stop of our Grand Voyage.

I may have been hasty in judging the Spanish for being wary of Portuguese cattle on the beach. They look tough to me!

Today’s Tip:

The strangest things can determine the course of history. For example, cows on the beach.

Azores, Part 1 – Of Tea and Tempests

Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet. – Roger Miller

As we sail into Ponta Delgada the grey sky is not dark enough to be night. It’s almost 8 AM, so the sun must be up somewhere above this gloom and rain. We’ve been so lucky with the weather, so I really can’t complain when luck finally deserts us.

Located on the island of Sao Miguel, Ponta Delgada is the only real city in the Azores, lush and dramatic volcanic islands just a little too far into the Atlantic to be described as ‘off the coast of’. There is a REAL cruise terminal here. This is unusual in these islands, and a blessing when debarking in the pouring rain.

Today’s tour is one of the few private tours I’ve booked on this leg of the journey, and our small group meets in the terminal building. We dash out to our van when it arrives. By the time we are in, we are wet, and shake our coats and umbrellas like dogs coming out of a pond!

Our first stop overlooks the rugged ocean, and pounding, intensely pounding, rain. The scenery is jagged and dramatic made of rough , black volcanic rock in points and blades. There was once a famous castle in this spot, but today only a few stones of the original foundation remain.

The rain is relentless. No matter what any of us are wearing, we are soaked. On the one hand, I’d love to see this on a sunny day when I could stroll leisurely around the cliff tops. On the other hand, howling wing and lashing rain adds significantly to the drama of unforgiving, jagged black volcanic rocks stabbing up from an angry sea.

I do feel bad for our guide as this small pack of wet rats climb back into his van. I hope he has a deal with a local cleaning service!

Our main tour is Sete Cidades and Lagoa Azul. Sete Cidades means Seven Cities, but actually refers to the seven calderas that pock mark this region, like thick soup frozen mid boil. It is now a series of Lagos, or lakes. The main attraction is the causeway between Lagoa Azul and Lago Verde. On one side of the road the water is a beautiful blue, on the other side, the water is a deep green. At least, it is on a sunny day. When we reach the causeway dividing the lakes, several large buses are already there. It is crowded. The teeming rain on the water dims the effect of the colour change. Both lakes are grey. The ambiance is uninspiring.

Our guide is clearly not pleased. He explains that given the weather many of the points on our agenda will not be worth visiting. The high viewpoints we are meant to visit will be completely socked in. He asks if we would be comfortable with him altering the tour to equally amazing sites which can be viewed in the rain. No one disagrees.

Pastures, cattle, and green slopes rising into the mist.

Hugging the shores of Lagoa Azul, our van leaves the main road for narrow, bumpy tracks along the waters edge. The valley is bewitching. There are farms on our right and the lake on the left. Across the lake we can see enough of the mountain to know it’s thickly forested and beautiful.

The Blue Lake is vivid green at the end far from the crowds.

After fording streams and ditches we come to the end of both the lake and the track. The road becomes a driveway into a farm and the fields that continue in a V between the steep mountain slopes.

We get out in a small park with benches by the water. To my delight, the rain has stopped. Lagoa Azul is beautiful, but instead of blue it is a rich glowing green here. The slopes around us rise up in deep green folds. They are like deep, rich emerald velvet curtains rising into the mist.

Folds of mountain and mist – pictures don’t do it justice!

We have just come from Ireland, famous for its 40 shades of green. This place puts that to shame. The green is almost too beautiful to be real. The clouds lift slowly, dragging veils of mist upward through the folds in the hills. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Along the flooded beach are lightweight pebbles of pumice. These black pebbles are scattered everywhere like tiny sponges. I’d love to stay, but it is time to get back in the van. The rain returns and snaps us back to reality.

The lake is lined with light pumice pebbles.

We head back to pavement and the town of Sete Cidades on the west side of Lagoa Azul. Normally a bustling tourist Mecca, the Holland America tours are almost the only visitors today.

Above the rainy streets, the famous views disappear into mist.

Igreja de São Nicolau is the heart of this parish. A double line of towering evergreens line the brick cobblestone approach to the church. In a few months the bushes at their feet will be a mass of blue hydrangea, but today the focus is on the greenery.

An elegant avenue, even when the hydrangeas are NOT in bloom!

There is also a coffee shop, which serves as a rest stop for the Holland America tours. All of which apparently pass through here. We all seem to have arrived at once. The lineup for the ladies room defies description. One stall, shunned by the entire line, is a pit toilet. North American tourists do NOT use pit toilets. Silently thanking my tours in Asia, I scoot past the line to the forsaken stall. It is clean, and made of porcelain, but shunned non the less. While the line still waits, I leave and carry on with my day.

Famous in the world of tours for pastries, coffee, and a public washroom.

Back outside the rain has let up again. David and I march down the avenue of stately trees and have a look at the church. I am continually distracted by street signs on corner walls. All of which are in carefully mounted plaques of exquisite tile work. This is a Portuguese town. It seems that if something here is worth saying it is worth saying in hand painted tiles.

And now it is time for lunch! We visit yet another beautifully tiled village and stop at a restaurant.

Closing off a doorway way? A religious scene in hand painted tile will do,the trick!

Blue doors lead to a spacious room, thoroughly decorated with hand-painted tiles. We are seated at long tables and served our choice of wines. The table is laden with appetizers of cheeses and sausage, and spreads and breads. All local, of course. There is so much choice that it doesn’t even matter that I can’t touch the bread.

Once this is cleared away, we are led to a buffet table laid out for our group. There are local dishes of fish and chicken and meat and vegetables and salads and of course more wine. No one will be leaving here hungry! When there is no more room for the main course desert is brought out. Unfortunately there’s no way I can eat the delectable pastry. But there are trays of fresh local fruit, including sweet, juicy pineapple, so I’m well taken care of. As much as I have enjoyed the scenery, if lunch had been one and done for the entire tour, I would still have been happy.

Too busy enjoying the meal to get pictures of the amazing food – sorry, not sorry.

After this, we waddle back to our van. I swear it’s harder to squeeze in now than it was when we first started.

Now we head up to the islands geothermal features at the town of Furnas. Although renewed rain keeps us in the van, we see the famous Caldeira das Furnas, a natural geothermal cooking spot with picnic tables. It is customary to eat sweet corn cooked over in the thermal steam pits by vendors selling to tourists in the car park. But not today. The pounding rain has chased away tourists and venders alike. We view the steaming pits from the van. This is where people cook entire meals over the caldron of geothermal vents. One intrepid soul enjoys a meal under the picnic shelter. I suspect he is a sweet corn vendor with no one to feed but himself right now.

A lone diner at the Caldeira das Furnas – the round things by the metal fence are the covered cooking pits.

Just a few streets back down the slope is the Caldaris, a hot springs pool where people can bathe and soak. On the slope directly above the pool sits a beautiful house. The house is now empty. One day, after decades of normal life, steam began coming up through the house itself. Suddenly the safety and wisdom of living directly over a thermal vent came into question and the house was abandoned.

The hot springs, which have slowly invaded the house above.

The clouds have lifted enough now that our guide takes us to the viewpoint of Miradoura de Santa Iria. The sweeping views along the coast in both directions hold both the pastoral and the dramatic. The signs on the lookout are, of course, created from hand-painted blue and white tiles.

I guess they are far more durable than wood or metal, and certainly prettier!

Our final stop is the Ponta Delgado tea factory. Yes, you read that right. The climate here is mild enough and certainly wet enough that it is possible to have a tea plantation. We are taken for a tour of the processing plant. Then we are given a selection of tea to try. The tea is perfect for this weather, and I enjoy it immensely.

Around us, we can see the fields of neatly trimmed hedges of tea plants. The bushes here are trimmed mechanically, rather than picked by hand. The resulting tea has more body and less delicacy than the hand-picked buds of Taiwan. I hold off buying a very interesting apron at the gift shop, which I will later regret. Now it is time to return to the bus. We pass by the farms, and through the villages, as we make our way back to the port.

Fields of tea, and a moment without rain!

Someday I would love to return to this beautiful place, maybe with more time to spend here and definitely with better weather.

We sail way to our final stop in this grand voyage. Tomorrow will find us in Praia de Victoria, on a different island in the Azores. Here’s hoping for better weather, and maybe beaches! See you there!

Senses of Ponta Delgado:

The sight of the layers of hills and mist above the glowing green water.

The sound of the little waves on the lake lapping onto the shore.

The feel of the light, rough pumice stones pretty much everywhere.

The smell of cut green tea leaves being processed.

The taste of grilled marinated tuna steak at lunch.

Today’s Tip: A good guide can turn an unfortunate circumstance into a positive opportunity, and is worth his/ her weight in gold.

Cork, Ireland – A Tale of Two Sieges

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. – Marcel Proust

A Cork pilot boat passes by the port of Cobh.

A fluorescent ribbon of dawn shows below the clouds at the horizon, as we wind our way deep into the sheltered harbor of Cobh, Ireland. A pilot boat guides us in through the winding channels between peninsulas and islands.

This is the port from where thousands upon thousands of Irish citizens left home for the final time to sail to a new life in the Americas, particularly during the potato famine years. As we leave the ship, I see a bronze statue of the first Irish woman to be processed at Ellis Island after sailing from here so long ago.

A tribute to the thousands who emigrated from this very spot the Zuiderdam sits now.

I stop and reflect on her life and the things that drove her to leave her home, before boarding our bus. Again, I would love to have time to explore the town itself, but the chance to explore four counties is too much to pass up.

After breakfast we leave the ship. The town looks interesting to explore, but today we have an excursion that touches four counties of Ireland. As well as Cork, where we are docked, we will visit Waterford and Tipperary, and cut through a corner of Limerick.

As we drive through town and over the countryside, I notice that spring is even farther advanced here than it was in Wicklow. While the hills are equally green in both, the roses here are farther along, as are all the spring flowers. In fact, the daffodils are all but gone. We see rolling, green hillsides with sheep and cattle between the farms and villages.

Our guide tells us about the beautiful hedgerows that border the fields in place of fences. Ireland has laws against cutting the hedgerows between the months of April and September. This allows the birds and creatures such as hedgehogs that nest in them to raise their young safely.

Hedgerows bordering the fields, sheltering, of course, hedgehogs.

We see fields where the hay has just been cut to be made into silage to keep the cattle through the winter. With spring sun, green grass, and flowers it’s hard to picture winter right now.

After driving through County, Cork, we clip the mountains in the corner of Limerick on our way to Tipperary. Passing more fields, flowers, and villages we come to our first stop: the castle Cahir. (pronounced care.)

Road signs are Irish, with English second.

The last descendant of the family who owned the castle passed away in 1961. Since that time it has been owned by the government. Unlike much we have seen the castle is remarkably intact. We do see a cannonball firmly embedded in an outer wall at the gate to the castle, we are met by the castle guide.

The Shute above the door is used to drop unpleasant things on unwelcome guests.

The tour is unique. He tells us that he is going to walk us through an attack on the castle, as if we were the invaders, and the castle was being defended. He begins by pointing out that the castle is actually on an island in the River Suir. While the bridges of today are designed to let traffic flow easily, this was not the case in the Middle Ages. The point then was to make defence as easy as possible and invasion as difficult as possible. Invaders who survived crossing the river while under fire then faced a moat which they crossed under the same threat. Those who survived faced crashing through the heavily fortified front gate under a cascade of hot rocks and sand.

If you survive the archers and the hot sand, the portcullis drops and traps you in a small stone chamber.

As we work our way through the castle, we are shown all those fascinating and decorative outcroppings that are actually defences designed to kill or maim you in some way. Layer by layer, he takes us through what surviving attackers would face as they got closer and closer to the heart of the castle. It is not surprising to learn that over centuries of attacks the castle was never successfully taken.

Tight stairways favour the defenders with the upper ground.

But then the world changed, and the canon was invented. It was the cannon that brought an end to the era of castles and fortified walls. Suddenly the stone fortifications became explosive liabilities.

Note the old cannonball lodged in the wall just left of center.

The first time Cahir was attacked using canon, the defenders were mystified until these mysterious machines began firing at the walls. Portions of the outer wall exploded and 80 people sheltering within were killed by the stone that should have saved them. The attackers then offered the ultimatum that if the people in the castle would simply surrender, they would be allowed to keep their lives and leave unmolested through a back entrance. Only castle and lands would be forfeit. With no way to defeat the cannons, the offer was wisely accepted. The Lord and his family and tenants and servants were allowed to leave peacefully through the back entrance of the castle.

The back gate – he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.

The castle changed hands, and new blood ruled the lands. To strengthen their political claim in the eyes of the people, and with other nobles, the new rulers soon intermarried with the disposed nobility. Within a generation, the previous bloodline was back. Meanwhile the people and the castle itself have been spared. Fast forward a few years to the devastating march of Cromwell on Ireland. When he arrived at Cahir, he fired a couple of shots at the castle as warning. The two cannon balls still lodged in the walls are evidence of that day. He then issued the similar ultimatum: surrender and be spared, or resist and die. The answer was sent back that while the tone of the message was not appreciated, the terms were fully accepted. Because of this, Cromwell and his men let those in Cahir castle leave alive, the castle officially belonged to England.

There are worse fates than leaving the castle for town for a while.

The victorious Cromwell moved on. In time the original inhabitants married back into the castle and their descendants carried on as if they had never left. As generations passed and castles fell out of favour, the family left the castle to live in a mansion in town. They still maintained the castle until the death of the final heir in 1961.

And so to this day some sections of the very intact castle are quite livable.

After time to explore the castle on our own, we board the bus to our second destination, the Rock of Cashel.

The town of Cashel, with the ruined cathedral on the rock above.

Arriving in the town of Cashel, our first stop is lunch. Our group heads upstairs at a local pub there we were treated to a wonderful, Irish lunch of chicken, potatoes, veggies, and soda bread. and There is local beer and cider as well.

After lunch we head just up the hill to the Rock of Cashel. Much of the former cathedral is in ruins. Unlike Cahir, the approach to Cromwell, and his cannons was quite different. It was tradition that in times of trouble, the local population would flee to the cathedral at the top of the hill for sanctuary. The cathedral had a deep well, and the population could withstand a very prolonged siege. Since the cathedral was holy ground, sanctuary would be honoured until the invaders had passed.

Once a sanctuary high above the surrounding lands.

But not Cromwell. Cromwell gave the people of Cashel the same ultimatum he had given Cahir: leave, or die. The people in the cathedral stayed in their safe sanctuary and did not come out. And so the bombardment began. The cannons easily breached the defences of the cathedral. Cromwell sent in his men. The clerics, townspeople, and farm families sheltering within the cathedral were slaughtered. Without exception over 1000 men women and children were killed.

To this day the grounds of Cashel are considered hallowed ground, because of the bodies of over 1000 people buried there after the slaughter was complete. The ruined and violated cathedral was never rebuilt.

The roof was later carted away to be used elsewhere. What is left of the beautiful stonework lies exposed to the elements. The round tower, surprisingly, remains untouched.

The round tower, on the more intact side of the cathedral.

In town, I find a cottage like shop with gorgeous Aran sweaters of all colours and patterns. This is great, since not much is open on a holiday here!

After much inspection and thought, I choose a beautiful, deep green Aran wool sweater with a zip up collar, and the Irish knit designs. We returned to our bus and began the drive back to Cork and the ship at Cobh.

On the drive from Cashel in Tipperary back to Cork, we cross the mountain pass known as the Vee into Waterford. The steep winding road through the Knockmealdown Mountains has a large, sharp ‘V’ shape. There are sheep, and views forever, and a surprising cover of dense green bushes.

Off to Waterford via the pass in the Knockmealdown Mountains!

On either side, the hills are carpeted with rhododendron bushes. Unfortunately, we were just too early to see the spectacle of masses and masses of rhododendrons in bloom. We do see the odd blossom here and there in sheltered spots, promising spectacular things to come.

Masses of rhodo bushes cover the hillsides above a small lake.

And a closer view of the same. In a month, this will be a riot of bloom!

This is our last stop in Ireland. I say goodbye to the villages, the sheep, and hedgerows, and the forty shades of green as we pass. Skirting the town of Lismore, we come back to County Cork and make our way back to the port of Cobh.

A glimpse of Lismore Castle on the Blackwater River. We did not get to stop here and view the famous gardens.

Near the pier a fair is in full swing. There are rides, and food trucks, musicians and laughter. Children trailing balloons run ahead of their parents towards the rides. Young couples stroll along the waterfront holding hands. Today is May 1. This is Labour Day, formerly known as May Day. In the days before Christianity, it was Beltane, the ancient fertility celebration. While the name of the holiday has changed, the celebrations and feasting have not. We board the Zuiderdam and watch the centuries old celebration, but our time here is over. The lines are cast off and we sail away from Ireland for a final time. The statue reminds me that so many sailed from this same spot leaving Ireland behind forever.

Farewell to Cobh, and the celebrations along the shore.

Ahead of us are the Portuguese islands of the Azores. I’m not sure of the weather there, so grab the hat, and get ready to brave the rains on our next adventure.

Senses of four counties:

The sight of hill after hill of rhododendrons waiting to burst into blossom in the Knockmealdown Mountains.

The sound of the Labour Day/ May Day/ Beltane fair near the pier in Cobh (pronounced Cove).

The feel of the textured Aran knit wool sweaters in the shop in Cashel.

The smell of the bright yellow roses in the Cahir Castle courtyard.

The taste of local cider at the pub in Cashel.

Passing through Cahir Castle to the courtyard.

Today’s Tip:

When choosing an excursion, keep an eye out for interesting destinations that include long drives. While long bus rides might not be your cup of tea, you may get to view the daily local life of towns and farms that you would otherwise never see.

Wicklow, Ireland – Battered Stones and Buttered Scones

I love Ireland. I feel very at peace there. It’s just magical and beautiful. – Eva Green

The round tower of Glendalough, surrounded by gravestones both new and ancient.

I’m excited to step out on deck to see Ireland for the first time in 35 years. (Ouch! Can that much time really have passed?) Our first Irish port is Dún Laoghraire, pronounced Dun Leary, south of Dublin.

As the sun rises, passing clouds give us intermittent rain. Somehow, it’s fitting that we approach Ireland on a ‘soft’ morning. It’s impossible to say what the weather will be, so sun hats and umbrellas are both coming along.

Rain and shine are both distinct possibilities.

Today will take us not north to Dublin, but south through County Wicklow and two ages of Ireland. First is the ruins of the ancient monastic city of Glendalough. The other is to Ballyknocken House and Cookery School run by TV chef Catherine Fulvio.

It looks like the rain has stopped, and the weather is in our favour. We head out to our bus and drive away away from the city, through the suburbs and into the countryside of Wicklow. Wicklow is called ‘The Garden of Ireland’ for good reason. The gardens, fields, hedgerows, and woods display the forty shades of green that Johnny Cash sang about.

There’s a reason it’s called the Emerald Isle.

Even more, spring is more advanced here and the flowers greet us as we pass. It is Sunday of the May long weekend, and wild roses have shown up to the party, along with lilacs and garden flowers. The trees are in full leaf. Daffodils and dandelions brighten the roadside. The hillsides near and far are painted yellow with gorse. There are sheep everywhere, and black and white dairy cows dotted here and there.

We arrive in the valley of Glendalough, meaning the valley of two lakes, and the remains of a great monastic settlement of the same name. The monastery was founded by St. Kevin in the 6th century. For the next six centuries, it survived raids and flourished. During the Dark Ages Glendalough safeguarded precious manuscripts as well as the skills to create and reproduce them. After six hundred years it was amalgamated with the diocese of Dublin. After that, Glendalough gradually diminished for two hundred years until its destruction by English forces.

We leave the bus at the car park and make our way past the information center, the Glendalough Hotel, Bar and Bistro, and finally a souvenir shop at the Gateway.

The Gateway was the official entrance into the walled city of Glendalough. It is a double arch, originally two stories with a roof, now a single story open to the sky. This double arch medieval gateway is the last remaining one in Ireland. Inside is a large stone with the faded lines of an engraved cross. This is called the Century Stone. Touching it brings you luck, we are told. So of course I do. And far less strenuous and more hygienic than kissing the Blarney Stone!

Remains of the double arched gateway – and the much newer gift shop on the right.

Beyond the Gateway stretch the remains of the monastic city. While a few structures currently intact have been partly rebuilt from the original stone, others are in ruins.

Crumbled churches and stumps of gravestones.

The Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul is merely a shell. The entire roof and much of the walls are missing. The inner dressings of the stone walls are gone. That which remains is rough stone, almost primitive. And yet – there are sheltered spots where bits of carved stone retain their decoration and remind us this was once impressive stonework that awed visitors for hundreds of years.

Some detailing remains, though most has weathered away to the stones below.

Across the grounds, past the Priests House and the remains of smaller churches, is the famous round tower. Anyone who’s seen a picture of Glendalough recognizes this round tower. In fact, before we got here, I pictured Glendalough as a round tower in a field with a stone wall and nothing else. The 30 meter round tower was originally a bell tower. There were six floors. The top floor housed the bells and had openings facing the four cardinal

Compass points so the bells were heard far and wide. In times of attack, it also served as a refuge. The ladder from the ground, and those between the six floors, could be drawn up to prevent access. Viking invaders preferred not to linger, and would take their loot and leave.

It is said by some that there is more Irish gold in Norway than on the Emerald Isle!

Entrance to the tower – not wheelchair accessible!

Although the monastic city was abandoned, it was still sacred. The land was used as a burial ground by those with money and position until the late 1800’s. The floor of the cathedral itself contains graves. I can only imagine how much status was needed to rate space in the actual cathedral!

Over the centuries, the paths and yards and gardens became cemeteries.

But the monks and abbots and Vikings are long gone. Burials are no longer allowed in Glendalough. The stone themselves crumble. Between them, ferns and flowers take root and feed on the decaying rock. A young buck bearing new stubs of velvet antlers grazes among the weathered tombstones. Lives fade, but life endures.

Time fades too, and we should be back at the bus! We dash between graves and churches and catch up to our group in The Gateway. The gift shop beckons. I take a moment to look at the gift shop. There are T-shirts and tea towels, woolen capes and wooden crosses, and miniature round towers made of every substance imaginable. But a glance is all I can spare. David has gone on. I dash past the Hotel Bar and Bistro, across the bridge over the stream, and along the path around the Visitor Center to the bus. There I wait in line to climb aboard. We wait for the stragglers (I’m not one of them) and off we go. Next stop – Ballyknocken House Farm and Cookery School!

Dashing past the gift shop and bistro back to the bus.

The drive through Wicklow brings us back to the present. The land is a patchwork of green and gold. There are of course Ireland’s 40 shades of green everywhere. And gold – there are dandelions and daffodils along the roadside. The hillside‘s are covered in gorse, and many of the fields are blooming with rapeseed.

Fields give way to farms, then villages, then towns. . We turn in through the gate of Ballyknocken House and Cookery School. This is the home of Katherine Fluvia, a well-known celebrity chef and author of many cook books. The farm has been converted into a guest house and cookery school. Many of the herbs and vegetables used are still grown on the premises.

We are ushered into the cookery school, which was once the family dairy barn. It is now bright and light and airy with tables set up for us running the length of the building. Across the front is the kitchen where Katherine demonstrates and prepares scones. After the demonstration we will be getting a taste of the product. Katherine is charming and entertaining and it’s easy to see why her cooking show is so popular. As she cooks, she shows us little secrets such as cutting butter into the dough. Instead of chopping the butter into small pieces and mixing it with the flour, she dips the entire stick of butter into flour, and shaves small flakes into the bowl. Then she dips and shaves again. The flakes of flour dipped butter are already flat and do not stick to each other in the bowl. It’s faster, easier, and reduces how much the dough is handled.This is something I need to try at home!

Catherine Fluvia demonstrates making scones.

After the demonstration is done plates of scones and soda bread and cheese are placed on our tables. There is rich, deep gold Kerry Gold butter, and an amazing homemade ginger rhubarb jam. It all tastes every bit as good as it smells! The sample we were expecting turns out to be heaping plates which are refilled as often as we want. And of course there is tea to go with it. Our small taste quickly turns into a satisfying lunch. She also gives us a sheet with the recipes, including the recipe for that amazing rhubarb jam. There are cookbooks for sale. I buy two small ones and a Ballyknocken apron which she autographs for me.

After lunch, we have free time to stroll around the gardens. There is an amazing variety of herbs of all sorts. There are also flower gardens with lilacs and peonies, and more blooming in a more advanced state of spring than we’ve seen so far.

Upstairs are rooms for home stay guests. Your stay includes comfortable rooms, lovely country views, and meals cooked by Catherine and staff. I choose to explore the outer herb gardens a little more with a friend. I find borage and calendula, old friends from home, which have escaped the confines of the herb bed, and are trying to take over the patch of gravel around the garden.

It is beautiful and peaceful. The air is rich with the smell of green, and spring flowers, and new life. If this soft air could be bottled and sold it would be worth a fortune. I would love to come here as a homestay guest someday.

The time comes to load back into the bus and drive back through the countryside to Dunleary and the waiting ship. There is rain coming and at a local school we see children playing soccer, oblivious to the fact that a downpour is approaching.

The game goes on, in spite of the approaching downpour.

We make it on onto the tender before the rain hits. After it passes, a beautiful rainbow across the harbour. It showcases, awaiting freighter and a tender heading off for the last passengers before we sail. That evening we are entertained by an Irish trio, who boarded in Dunleary, and leave us tomorrow in Cork.

Morning will find us in Cobh, the port for Cork and the departure point for thousands and thousands of Irish leaving home forever, on the way to the New World. Come join me as we travel to the ancient castle of Cahir, and the ruins of the Cathedral of Cashel.

Senses of Wicklow:

The sight of the famous and ancient round tower of Glendalough after seeing the pictures and hearing stories all my life.

The sound of birds singing in the gardens in the sun.

The feel of the weathered stones of Glendalough.

The smell of lilacs coming into bloom in the sun.

The taste of rhubarb ginger jam.

Today’s Tip:

While it’s important to try traditional local foods, having them prepared for you by a chef born and raised in the area really kicks the experience up a notch. Our memories are triggered by more than just images. The smell of warm buttered soda bread will always take me back to Wicklow.

Oban, Scotland – Castles and Cattle

There is magic in Scotland. It’s a country with a lot of pride and bravery. – Gayle Rankin

Lochs, ruined castles, and hills shrouded in mist.

It is of course raining when we enter the harbour at Oban. But once again by the time we’re ready to leave the ship the rain has stopped. Oban is Gaelic for ‘little bay’, and is sheltered from the worst of the weather by the Island of Mull.

It’s a long tender ride to town, in the left distance.

Today we are on a tour. We are going to Inveraray castle which means we get a tour of the countryside as well. Like yesterday today is a tender port. We don’t have as far to go today, although what we land on is a floating dock. At the top of the gangway there is a bagpiper to greet us, and pipe us on our way to the bus.

Inveraray Castle is the home of the Duke of Argyle, who is head of the Campbell clan. Several friends on the bus are members of the Campbell clan and are looking forward to seeing their ancestral home.

The countryside is fascinating. We pass farms and fields and hills, and Lochs with ruined castles. The lower, tamer fields have cattle such as Angus. The higher Wilder fields are full of sheep and highland cattle. The highland cattle are fascinating with their long, shaggy golden hair, hanging down and covering their faces.

The closest I get to a ‘Heilen Coo’ (Highland Cow).
Most of them are up on the rough hillsides .

Sheep graze where there ancestors did centuries ago.

The villages we pass are what our guide calls, ribbon villages. This means the buildings follow along the course of the main road like a ribbon, instead of widening out into side streets.

A ribbon village, one that follows the road.

Spring is coming to the land. There are new leaves opening and daffodils and primroses along the road sides. In the ditches, skunk cabbage is blooming. This is an old friend from home that I haven’t seen for a long time. The gorse is in bloom and covers the hillsides. We are farther into spring here than we were yesterday in Skye.

And then we reach Inveraray Castle. This is no ruin like the castles we have passed so far. Not only is it completely intact, but it is still lived in by the current Duke and his family.

Inveraray Castle – the seat of the Campbell Clan

The grounds and the castle are immaculately kept. Like many surviving castles, it is now associated with the National Trust. Part of this means that the castle must also be open to the public, hence our tour. Of course, there are still private areas where only the family can go. We go inside and follow the carefully roped out route.

It winds us through great halls and dining halls and an amazing hidden turret room off the dining room that has been entirely converted into a circular china cabinet. It is enchanting. If I ever had a turret in my house, this would be the reason.

Next we go through a parlour into the armoury with fascinating displays of rifles on the walls.

Upstairs are bedrooms and living quarters, and then we go back down again to see the kitchens of old times. Naturally, the current kitchen is not open to the public.

Kitchen window, looking into an arched stone passage.

From here we go out through the gift shop. There is a fascinating selection of souvenirs, including those Harris tweed purses that I saw everywhere yesterday. The current Duke is very hands-on in greeting visitors and running the estate. They are shorthanded in the gift shop today, and it is not until David has finished his purchase of a bag of scotch mint that we realize that they were sold to him by the 13th Duke of Argyle himself.

The Duke of Argyle helping run the gift shop when a tour bus comes.

Together with our friends, we move on to the castle tea room. Of course, I can’t have their wonderful scones, but they do have gluten-free oatcakes. I get a cup of hot chocolate and we all moved to a table where we can enjoy our snack. I particularly enjoy my Scottish oatcakes, with clotted cream.

With the last look at the grounds, we had back to the bus and off we go.

And the wooden mill, which doubles as a coffee shop.

We drive back along the shores of Loch Awe, the longest freshwater loch in Scotland.

Most of the shores we pass, however are salt water. Our guide tells us that the county of Argyle alone has as much coastline as the country of France.

Still far from the sea, but back to tidal waters.

All along the way, the road side is lined with rhododendron bushes. The rhododendrons like the climate here and have taken over. Only the occasional flower is open now. In a few weeks, the pink rhododendron blossoms will cover the road sides. Unfortunately, we’ll be long gone by then.

Whipping past mile after mile of rhododendron bushes along the roadsides and valleys.

We pass the lochs and the villages, the farms and the cattle, and return to Oban.

A final fuzzy glimpse of a fuzzy Highland Cow.

After the tiny village of Portree, Oban with its population of 8500 seems huge. This is a real town. Once we get off the bus at the pier, several of us check out some of the stores. Meanwhile, our husbands head back for the ship, comfort, and food.

The guys head for the ship, we head for the shops.

Back in Oban. Upper right is a folly designed to look like a Roman Coliseum.

We check out some souvenir shops, some thrift shops, and yet more stores selling Harris tweed purses. On the main shopping corner, there is yet another Piper.

A souvenir shop with lots of great linens.

There are also four boys in Highland dress, who are more than pleased to pose and have their picture taken. They have just been performing for cruise ship passengers, which they seem to find highly entertaining.

Then we find a fabric shop. The shop has some amazing panel material. Better still, it sells the genuine Harris tweed fabric, which comes with labels that I can attach to the purses I make myself!

A successful search for fabric in a wool shop.

I have a few British pounds left, which I trade in for some coasters featuring a local artists, portrayal of highland cows.

Our final shop, featuring the work of local artists.

To my regret, we bypassed the distillery.

Loaded with goodies, we had back to the tender. I’m back aboard in time for dinner. We sail away before sunset and leave Scotland behind. Tomorrow we will say hello to Ireland when we go to Dunleary, the port for Dublin. See you there!

The last tender heads back to Oban to pick up stragglers before we sail away.

Senses of Oban:

The sight of the China cabinet turret at Inveraray Castle.

The sound of bagpipes, both as a welcome on the pier and outside a shop in the afternoon.

The feel of the rough Harris Tweed at the fabric shop.

The smell of the loch, fresh water and green spring.

The taste of oatcakes with clotted cream at the Inveraray Castle Tea Room.

Todays Tip: On your last stop in a country, there’s no point saving local currency you can’t use anywhere else. Treat yourself!

Portree, Isle of Skye – The Holly and the Ivy

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing, onward the sailors cry. Carry the lad who’s born to be king over the sea to Skye. – Old Scottish Song

When I step outside this morning there is a misty rain. It is cool out, but not cold. In Ireland, this would be called a soft day. I don’t know what it’s called here. We are in The Hebrides, approaching Portree on the Isle of Skye. So this is Scotland.

Isle of Skye, and as close as the ship gets to Portree.

Portree is a tender port, the first we’ve had since Luderitz, Namibia. Only small boats can use the inner harbour, so the Zuiderdam anchors in the outer harbour beyond the break water.

By the time the tours have cleared and David and I head for shore, the rain has stopped completely. The water is smooth as glass and the tender ride is quick and easy.

From the pier, there is a steep walk up to town. The stairs are more direct, but we go by the road with shops along the side.

At the top of the hill is a sign pointing to a Craft Market in the Royal Hotel. Inside the hotel is a local artisan market featuring ceramics, paintings, wood work, and beautiful knit items. There are also purses made from real Harris Tweed. I firmly walk away. We carry on to explore town.

Beyond the artisan market is a shop that designs their own batiks and has them specially printed in Sri Lanka.

I look between the buildings and catch my breath. Beyond the village are cottages. Beyond the cottages are farms. Beyond the farms are the wild rocky hills of Skye. Yes, this is Scotland.

We pass The Granary, a bakery mentioned in the port talk. A lot of our shipmates have congregated in the outdoor seating! It is tempting, but between the lack of empty chairs and the fact I can’t eat scones, we pass it by.

We continue on, browsing through shops and admiring buildings. One shop is giving out samples of Scottish Tablet, which I grew up knowing as fudge. It’s a little firmer and thinner than the soft fudge you see in stores at home. It is wonderful, and David buys some.

A passenger who has clearly over shopped.

We also come away with two shirts for David, a dinner jacket for me, two handknit hats, and two tea towels. I resist buying a Harris Tweed purse. They are lovely, but I’d live in fear of spilling something on it. I also resist the Royal Doulton figurines in the second hand store. Those are not something I want to pack!

A row of shops early in the day, before the crowds arrive.

We stop in at a bookstore on the way back down the hill. The old familiar bookstore smell surrounds me. The smell of a bookstore brings a feeling of peace and calm, as if the world cannot enter here. I wish I could bottle that smell and save it for times of stress!

I leave the bookstore with two more tea towels. One is of The Gaelic Tree Alphabet. Yes, you read that correctly. No, there was no way I could go home without one!

After we leave the bookstore, I hear music. It is live, and not coming from any of the shops. It seems to come from the village, right near the top of the stairs. By now we are passing where the bottom of the stairs begin and cut up to the main village the other way. I race up the stairs. David, who was hoping to go back to lunch, comes along. He earns sainthood for patience for the millionth time.

We got to the blue house before I insisted on racing back up the stairs.

In a lookout at the top of the stairs is a boy playing an accordion. Behind him are the roofs of the lower village, then the harbour, then the Zuiderdam, then the hills of the Inner Hebrides. I listen for a while and add some money to what’s in his accordion case.

Past the upper staircase is a road to a church just up the hill a bit. On the way we pass The Sky Gathering Hall, an interesting old hall built in 1879. It backs into An Meil (The Lump), a hill where the Skye Highland Games are held each August. The piping competitions are held inside the hall. I’m sure little sleep is had in the village of Portree during that time!

Back of the hall, facing the harbour. Note the drop to the houses below.

Behind the Gathering Hall is is the Free Church of Scotland. Directly across the road is the hospital. Directly below the hospital is the cemetery. I’m not sure how I’d feel about a hospital that was a way station between the church and the grave.

The hospital, with the church to the left and the cemetery to the right.

We head back for the stairs, passing ivy covered trees, interspersed with smaller trees of holly. The holly and the ivy make the woods green, even if spring hasn’t opened the deciduous tree buds yet. The holly leaves are shiny and smooth, and the prickles are sharp.

The holly and the ivy – like the Christmas carol.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and continue past the line of pastel houses to the pier. The tender ride is still smooth. We head in to dinner. Now that it is time to leave, the sun is out and a hang glider weaves his way back and forth across the hills catching the updrafts. It looks so graceful, but it must be cold up there!

Back on the flats, past the houses to the pier.

Once the ship leaves the harbour, the wind and the sea pick up. We head north around the tip of Skye and then south in the Hebridean Sea. The sun sets over the Outer Hebrides.

A blustery sail around the north tip of Skye.

We are on our way to Oban on the mainland of Scotland. Come check out a castle with me!

Senses of Skye:

The sight of the Hebrides, the wild Scottish islands.

The sound of the boy playing the accordion overlooking the harbour.

The feel of the smooth and sharp holly leaves.

The smell of the bookstore.

The taste of the sweet Scottish Tablet.

Today’s Tip: Bookstores, like second hand stores, are a great way to get a feel for a community – and often carry an eclectic selection of souvenirs.

Bergen, Norway – Weathering the Weather

Once a year, go some place you’ve never been before. – Dalai Lama

Sunrise is gorgeous this morning. So is sail in. It’s not even raining! But it is cold. Good lord it is cold and raw out there! I step out to take some pictures of the hills in misty layers, and go back in as fast as I can. And the sun is rising in the west, so it seems.

To reach Bergen, Norway you must go farther north, then sail south again in the shelter of the islands. And so the world seems backwards for a while.

Bergen is a city, and larger than anywhere we’ve been since Oslo. In fact, for some portion of its 1000+ year history, Bergen was was the largest city in Scandinavia. It sits in a bowl where several valleys meet. The hills around it rise gently to more distant mountains. There is no abrupt shadowing rock faces towering over the town like the steep walls of Hardanger Fjord.

I have mapped out where we want to go today. Most of what we’re looking for is an easy walk from the cruise terminal, with shops and restaurants and the information center. There’s only one problem. We don’t dock at the cruise terminal. Our berth is in a container port literally over the hills and far away from the cruise terminal and downtown. We need a new plan.

As we walk away from the terminal, I admire the old wooden houses. Then we come to a CitySightseeing HOHO bus stop, with people selling tickets. Problem solved! Bergen is one of their pricier tickets, but weather is moving in and it’s a long walk to downtown.

No sooner do we take our seats than the sky opens! Snow turns to rain turns to hail, and back to wet snow. Away goes the bus, with us safe on the upper deck.

The retractable roof on the upper deck is closed, and the hail beats it like a drum. Since Bergen gets well over 200 days of rain a year, I don’t imagine the roof is retracted very often. I’m delighted to see snow. Bergen is the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska, so snow in April is not really a surprise.

We drive through city streets of pastel buildings with fine embossed detail. The effect is like Wedgewood Jasperware, and is quite lovely. Some of the older wooden houses are survivors of fires that ravaged the city hundreds of years ago.

We drive around Mariakirken, Mary’s Church. It is over 1000 years old. The interior walls are not original. They were built after fire destroyed the interior walls. This still makes them several hundred years old.

We tour through the main shopping and recreation district near the Fish Market, where we would have been if the ship had docked at the main cruise terminal.

We see the outside of the Magic Ice Bar. Here, the tables, seats, bar, and even glasses are made of ice. It would be refreshing on a hot day. We’re tempted to get off, and catch a later bus back. Luckily, I check my pocket before we get off the bus. Our ticket is not there. I check all my pockets, but it is gone. It must have fallen out when I pulled out my mitts. So the bus is a one way ride, no hopping on and off for us today!

We pass schools, and houses, and museums, and art galleries. I would love to explore this beautiful, ancient city with more time and better weather!

Street leading to where we should have been.

The old fortifications, on the hill between the cruise port and the shipping port.

We get back to the ship during a break in the weather. An hour or so before sail away, the sky clears and the sun comes out to play. We sail away in a blaze of sunny hills and sparkling mountain tops.

The city blazes in the sun to say goodbye.

Tomorrow we have a much needed sea day, as we cross the North Sea to The Isle of Skye, Scotland. Let’s see what what the weather holds! Meet you in Skye to toast Bonnie Prince Charlie!

Senses of Bergen:

The sight of the Wedgewood like houses.

The sound of hail on the bus roof.

The feel of snow on my face on the outer deck.

The smell of welding in the container port.

The taste of strawberry cider a friend brought back for dinner.

Today’s Tip: Hop On Hop Off buses are a great way to go in a new city. However, do not, DO NOT, lose your ticket!

Eidfjord, Norway – Fjords and Troll Tunnels

Live life with no excuses, travel with no regret. – Oscar Wilde

This morning we are sailing up Hardanger Fjord to the town of Eidfjord. It has been raining during the night, but has let up now. It is very cold, colder than we’ve seen so far. There is a chance that we may see snow falling later in the day.

The snow line is close, and the Norwegian sweater from Kristiansand is much appreciated this morning!

We pass under the Hardanger bridge, with not much clearance. This is the longest suspension bridge in Norway, and slightly longer than the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. What is more intriguing to me is that either end of the bridge disappears into the mountain in a long tunnel. It gives the impression that these mountains are inhabited by modern trolls.

The Hardanger Bridge disappearing into a mountain.

We dock in the small and scenic town of Eidfjord. It is at a bend in the fjord, and surrounded by steep, snow topped rock walls. The snow level is low. Town is so close I feel like I could touch the buildings from the railing of the ship. There is certainly no shuttle needed here.

A hotel across the road from the ship, as seen from Deck 10.

Once the tours have gone and the shops have opened, David and I bundle up and head out. It is definitely cold enough to snow here today. At the tourist information centre we buy tickets for the troll tram. Although the major sites are not far, we have definitely left the flatness of Holland far behind and everything here is almost straight up.

We board the tram and off we go. The tram takes us past pretty little wooden buildings topped with those wooden fish scale roofs. The newer buildings seem to favour square slate tiles placed in a diamond fashion. Today, the slate roof is king here. Given that town is surrounded by slate mountainsides, and stone lasts longer than wood, this makes sense.

Old style roof shingles with thin rounds of wood.

We begin to climb a mountain and wind up through the countryside. Leaving the village behind, we pass houses and then small farms. We come to our first stop, an area of burial mounds dating from Viking times and the iron age. These are now mossy mounds of rock in the woods, visited by tourists and grazing horses.

The tram engine, and its line of cars turns around here and chugs back through the farmland. We pass small rocky fields and ancient stone walls built from rocks removed from fields to make the land farmable.

A turf topped roof. Some have goats on them!

Fat hill ponies graze between the trees. We stop at a lookout overlooking the fjord and the ship for a photo opportunity. It is gorgeous here. One brave, flowering currant bush is in full bloom at the side of the road. The bees have found it and are busy in the flowers.

Some of the people who have walked up to the Viking site stare at the tram wistfully. I’m glad I’m not one of them. The tram takes us downhill again into the village. From the steep roads I get a good look at those slate roofs from above.

We tour briefly through the village before heading up the other side of the valley. The goal here is the old church which was built in 1309. The church is still standing and completely intact. It was used until very recently when the new Eidfjord church was built. We are not allowed to go inside because the floor is in poor condition. For a wooden structure that is 900 years old, being intact except for a floor in poor condition is quite impressive.

Back in town, crossing the river with the Zuiderdam in the background.

And now you know how to spell Ambulance Station in Norwegian.

We wander around the old cemetery reading headstones. It’s hard to tell how old some of the graves are as the stones are merely stumps and suggestions at this point. The tram takes us back to town and lets us off where we begin.

David and I walk around town. In the main square is a face carved in stone. The direction it faces changes, left, right, or center, depending where you view it from.

The shops are generally small town grocery stores. These somehow smell exactly the same the world over. I could have stepped into the small general store at Fulford harbour in the 1970s and the look and the smell would be exactly the same. There are a couple of souvenir shops, which are very crowded with fellow passengers. Also, very expensive.

David heads back for the ship but I continue looking around. Near the tourist information booth is a small wooden store called Rose Stova. Outside is a small display of honey and homemade jams for sale. The owner is sitting behind the counter knitting. She carries a small variety of local handmade souvenirs as well as a small rack of T-shirts. We chat for a while and I buy a Christmas ornament in the form of a small red robed white bearded elf. I also get a coffee because after all, it is very cold here. Then I head back to the ship and join David for a late lunch.

It is cold on deck, but hard not to be out there. There is no direction you can look that is not beautiful. We have a narrated sail away in the afternoon, describing the beauties of Hardanger Fjord.

The road disappearing into the trolls mountain.

Tomorrow we will be in our most northerly port, the larger town of Bergen. Who knows, it may be a shopping day. See you there.

Senses of Eidfjord:

The sight of the old Viking burial mounds.

The sound of gulls circling over the river mouth.

The feel of the cold wind whipping down Hardanger Fjord.

The smell of the universal small town grocery store.

The taste of the fresh made coffee at Rose Stove.

Today’s Tip: Hats. Again, hats. Just as important in the cold as they are in the sun!

Haugesund, Norway – Of Cold and Cupcakes

One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure. – William Feather

Once again, the grey morning slowly brightens, and the overnight cold rain fades away with dawn. We are heading to Haugesund, Norway.

It was here, 1000 years ago, that King Harald Fairhair united Norway into one kingdom. The Viking kings ruled Norway from here for 500 years.

Haugesund, not the beach capital of Norway.

I see islets that are even more barren than Yesterdays entrance into Kristiansand. No group of seven paintings here. For the first time in many ports, we are docking in a commercial port.

Our coldest and most northerly day so far.

Behind us is an oil rig in the process of being built. When it is done, it will be moved out to sea. The north sea oil boom has benefitted Norway hugely. Unlike most countries, the oil revenue goes to the country and benefits, the people rather than lining the pockets of a particular oil company.

A drilling rig getting ready to be finished.

Other than a small gift shop, there is nothing near the pier. This is also in a converted shipping container, practical and weather proof. You can reach town by walking through port and over a high curving traffic bridge. Or, you can take a shuttle for $7 return. David and I choose the shuttle. We will get plenty of walking in town, and unlike us, the shuttle driver knows where he’s going.

The orange shuttle bus waiting just beyond the coldest strip of pavement in Norway!

Cobblestones in front of post office, leading down from the church.

The shuttle drops us in front of the post office. We are one block down from a beautiful brick church, and one block up from a pedestrian street full of shops, cafes, and whimsical animal statues.

To our delight, the shops here are open. Beyond the pedestrian way, shops seem to be closed, as some towns are on Mondays. It is cold here, and spring is much further behind, but then we are also much farther north. Before long, the sun comes out and we start shedding layers in the warmth. We browse through shops, photograph the little bronze statues and enjoy walking in the sun.

There are souvenirs, and candy shops, and clothing stores. There is also a vintage shop with an eclectic inventory of both antiques and occult items.

The Nordic design on this sweater echos the trestle design from our safari camp in South Africa.

I come across a cupcake bakery and step inside. In the case they offer a selection of gluten-free cupcakes. I get a passion fruit filled vanilla cupcake. It turns out to be the best GF cupcake I have eaten in years. Possibly ever. David enjoys a regular carrot cake cupcake. He’s used to being able to eat baked goods, so while he’s pleased, he’s not as ecstatic as I am.

Beyond the pedestrian way is a clock tower. Out of curiosity we go continue on and check it out. Rather than the church or City Hall as we were expecting, it is a game store. They have one last copy of Five Crowns, a game we have been looking for in countries around the world ever since Australia. We may have just bought the last copy in Norway

Apparently Vikings work on utility installation in the off season. Who knew? The beard is large, full, and forked. No, I didn’t have the nerve to snap a straight on shot!

Walking in the warm sun, we make our way back to the shuttle stop. As we drive back to the port, I can look down at the interesting slate roofs. The tiles are shaped and fitted like the scales of a fish. The effect is as if the roofs are covered with shiny gray fish skin.

View from the high, cold, windy, bridge.

Back at the pier, I step off the shuttle bus, expecting the warm afternoon we left in town. And leave it we did. It is freezing here. It is shaded and a cold wind whistles up from the sea between the buildings and the ship. This must be the coldest spot in all of Haugesund. However, the gift shop has a couple of things that I pick up as gifts so all is not lost.

Looking down from the ship at the gift shop.

A VERY cold, windy, non luxurious gangway!

We sail away into the cold and the rising wind. Tomorrow instead of a large commercial port, we will cruise up the scenic fjord of Hardanger to the small town of Eidfjord. See you there.

Calm in the inner harbour, not so much beyond it!

Senses of Haugesund:

The sight of roofs covered in scale shaped grey slate shingles, as if they were covered in fish skin.

The sound of a busker playing the accordion.

The feel of the piercing cold wind on the gangway.

The smell of expresso in the bakery.

The taste of the GF Passionfruit vanilla cupcake at Cupcakehuset.

Today’s Tip: Browse the local shops. Not only will you find things local and unique, you sometimes find an item you were looking for at home.

Kristiansand, Norway – Hammocks and Macarons

If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet. –

I step out on deck, and step back in again. It’s cold and raining, but at least it’s not dark.In front of me is a landscape that looks like a group of seven painting from northern Ontario. There is the granite sweeping into the water and known twisted pine standing out on it. There are no canals in this landscape, and the concept of uphill has come back into the world.

David and I have a late breakfast, hoping that by the time we go out, the rain will have stopped. Indeed it does, so we bundle up against the cold wind on the pier and head out. Town is only a block or so away. Tourist information gives us a map with a walking tour of the area marked on it. We head out in the direction it shows us. It is Sunday today and everything is still closed. I can see restaurants that are getting ready to open later we follow the walking tour along the shore.

We walk past small parks with fascinating statues. One of the largest is a granite fountain in the shape of an arch. It flows into shallow pool that an on leash Newfoundland dog has decided to wade in. His owner hauls him out before I can get a picture.

No childhood is complete without riding a bear.

Caught the water sculpture, missed the dog.

I noticed that, although Kristiansand is farther south than Oslo, spring is not nearly as advanced. Probably because it is more exposed to the cold North Sea winds. There are, however, daffodils in bloom, and one magnolia is bravely trying to open its blooms on the wall against the sun. Spring is fighting to arrive, it just hasn’t won the war yet.

A brave magnolia struggles to bloom on a south facing wall.

A door handle often repeated and seemingly unique to Kristiansand.

We come to an old Fort, a short round tower above the sea and go in through the outer wall. A ring of cannons face outward through the battlements. In a final, active defense, one raps my shin painfully. The cannons may look ornamental now, but they still defend against invading Canadians.

Approaching the Fort as the walking tour leaves.

Cannons guarding Oslo from attack by sea and from my shins!

Beyond the fort we come to the main Kristiansand public beach. Kristiansand is the prime beach holiday spot of Norway. While this is hard to believe in the cold now, it must be beautiful here in the summer. There is even a hammock in the playground by the beach. And so, against the odds in this weather, I actually get my beach hammock time. In Norway.

Norways beach vacation spot – not groomed for summer yet.

Against all odds, I fit in some beach hammock time!

From here we follow the map to old town. Unlike the stone old towns of most cities we’ve seen, old town here is Denmark’s oldest and largest collection of wood framed buildings. We look down rows of beautiful white painted low buildings, quite unique from anything we’ve seen so far. To highlight this, the sun comes out and the white painted buildings shine. Once again, we meet the ship excursion walking tour. They are definitely following the same route!

An interesting door – with that unusual handle.

The map leads us to the Kristiansand cathedral. It has spires and towers like a fairytale castle. The shingles on the pointer towers spiral downwards instead of going and even rounds. The square here is paved in old cobblestones stones laid in patterns.

Thx those fascinating spiraling shingles.

The far side of the square runs along Markengate, the pedestrian street running from old town back to the waterfront.

There are two cruise ships in today and passengers from both fill the street. But today is Sunday, and only the cafés and restaurants have now opened. The stores are firmly closed, except one enterprising souvenir shop. It is, of course, packed with tourists. I had hoped to find a sweater here. Browsing through the shop, there are indeed wool sweaters in Scandinavian patterns. However, these are all commercially made racks of sweaters identical except for size. This is not what I’m looking for.

We make our way out through the crowd and back to the street. Farther down is a bakery with macarons and pastries. We have much better shopping here! Treats in hand, our walk continues to the waterfront. Soon we’re back at the converted fish market where we began. The chairs they were just setting outdoors earlier are occupied for lunch now.

The path to the pier leads through a covered L-shaped area offering mass produced souvenirs and T-shirts. Besides it is a door to a more shop in a converted shipping container. Here I find a treasure trove of local handmade souvenirs. I also find sweaters, beautiful real one-of-a-kind hand knit wool sweaters. Only a few of them are left. The woman who runs the store points out one hanging as a display. It is honey colored, and the yoke is patterned in dark brown and soft olive green. The yarn is a soft, warm, wool/ alpaca blend.

I try it on and tell her that it is moving to Canada with me. She smiles and tells me she will pass that on to the lady who knit it.

Later, when I go out for a last look at that souvenir store wearing my new sweater, I’m amazed how warm it is in the cold wind. The patterned yolk is not just ornamental. Carrying the wool across the back in the design creates a triple layer insulating the neck, shoulders, back, and chest

The one that got away – by the time I talked David into coming and looking at it, it was gone.

On the ship again, I watch as we sail out past those Canadian Shield landscapes again. When the sun rises next it will find us in Haugesund, home to the Viking kings for over 500 years. Have your horned helmet ready!

The Moose – brought to the pier to welcome cruise ships. It’s a tradition.

At the end of the pier. Moose are a theme.

Senses of Kristiansand:

The sight of Group of Seven landscapes at sail in.

The sound of the sea lapping onto the beach – it even SOUNDS cold!

The feel of the warm, hand knit wool sweater in the cold wind.

The smell of the salt tang of the sea as we came back to the pier.

The taste of bright lemon macarons from the Danish Bakery on Markensgate.

Today’s Tip: When looking a real souvenir, look for local and handmade, if at all possible. It’s like taking a piece of the place you visit home.