A simple wooden door made from fence palings – whatever does the job. On the road to Freycinet, Tasmania.
What is it about doors? I can’t stop photographing them. Below are just a few of the recents I’ve slammed but I’ve been shooting them for years.
The beautiful coloured doors of Ireland, especially Dublin – all shiny and bold. There are many reasons stated as to why the doors were painted different colours, my favourite is that the doors were painted by women so that their drunken husbands would come home at night and recognise their houses!
Adding colour to the neighbourhood and a safe place for a cat to sit so it can skeedaddle inside at the sound of danger. In Essouira, Morocco.
We have doors for privacy, decoration, boastfulness, to keep the elements at bay and to protect ourselves. I have walked past doors and wondered what’s going on behind this one: drama, joyfulness, creativity, poverty, sadness and some doors hide wickedness, mayhem and cruelty. There are great and grand doors that have watched kings and queens pass through to their death or to exile; doorways that elephants have rumbled through carrying spices, jewels and goods that countries and indeed populations had never seen before; doors that have opened to the brightest brains in the halls of universities; doors that have been slammed in the faces of the idealists and the revolutionaries and doors that have had some of the finest music ever written sounding behind them. It’s best I mind my own business and take them at face value and remain curious.
So old, so lovely. Faded glory in Tangier, Morocco.
Going grand with this beauty in Rajasthan. After a few drinks it’s fun to play the axe throwing game.
You can’t go past Morocco for the best doors, especially the one’s painted to match my hair. Most of these are the doors and doorways to riads. Often rather modest doors and when they are opened you step into another world, a world of a royal palace or grand mansions with orange trees and fountains and amazing tiles . . . stepping into beauty and calm.
And all hail the circular door, small, compact and fits snuggled into round doorways. This is a home of a Hobbit outside the town of Matamata in the north island of New Zealand. There’s a large population of the small folk here and a few humans have been sighted too.
This bold and beautiful door hinge is on a door in one of the old buildings in StGallen, a city south of Lake Constance in northeastern Switzerland. It couldn’t be pried off even with a Swiss Army Knife.
These two gals drove a pretty fierce bargain as to the price of getting this shot. Even when agreed on a price we had to renegotiate as there was two of them . . .at the Red Fort, Jaipur, India.
On the left, the doors do two jobs, they shut for privacy and they hang goods for sale. On the right, the 20th century brought roller doors to the world.
I always thought that red doors were the ants pants of a style statement but the blues got me in Morocco. The diversity and gradations of the colour is seductive and ever pleasing.
Oh, this . . .
This mighty archway with its thick walls is an old stables house for a palace outside Fes, Morocco.
Now we are in the Red City of Marrakech. This weird little stitched up door looks rather irritated or almost like a fake door . . .
This cutie is in a small village on Maui, Hawaii called Paia (Pay-ee-ah) which is a bit like Nimbin but less functional (no atm or chemist). But plenty of surf shops and ice cream parlours. Dates back to about 1927.
A bit of fun for very short people in Long Beach, California.
And an almost ‘moonish’ gate in Hanoi, Vietnam. Door to a busy buddhist temple. Closed until the keepers have their cigarettes and coffee. Enlightenment is patient.
Doors, door, doors and more doors at the Marriott in Anaheim, California. Same, same. same. Doing the same job as all the others.
Lurking at the Red Fort, Jaipur. Waiting for a surprise visit from a Maharajah . . .waiting, waiting, waiting.
Out in the countryside in Rajasthan, where doors are thick and strong to keep out the wild tigers . . .true.
I love cities that have many layers of history, where the stones speak of grim deeds, majestic events, innovative creations and the odd ghost. If your itinerary allows – spend some time in the atmospheric and elegant city of York, in Yorkshire, the UK’s second mediaeval city. Eat, drink, sleep and play – all budgets catered to.
Vikings, Romans and chocolate have all left a lasting impression on the historic city of York. Encircled by impressive ancient walls (the City Walls form a walkway on both sides of the River Ouse), it has a long and varied history. York has been named the most haunted city in Europe – a fact enhanced by the city’s many ancient and shadowy snickelways (a local term for narrow lanes, passageways and alleys).
York also boasts the largest Gothic cathedral in northern Europe, as well as the largest railway museum in the world, plus it has a comprehensive calendar of events and festivals, including the February Jorvik Viking Festival, March’s York Literature Festival, and September’s York Food & Drink Festival.
Not to forget the world-class horseracing meetings held from May to October each year at York Races – a favourite among racegoers since it was founded in 1731.
The York Minster is a magnificent building inside and outside. Construction in timber began in 627 and stands today as testament to overcoming invasion, war, vandalism, religious persecution and every damn thing humans could throw at it.
Modern day saints
My favourite little statues (above) can be found up above at the back of nave, above the entrance to York Minster. They are actually Semaphore Saints, each of them represents a letter. The twelve headless saints holding haloes are signalling in semaphore. Semaphore is a way of sending a message without a mobile phone! Using two flags, or in this case haloes, each letter of the alphabet has its own signal. Artists Terry Hammill carved these stautues for an exhibition in 2004.
During the sixteenth century Protestant reformers accused Catholics of praying to statues. In a bid to stop this they attacked statues, either getting rid of them completely or making them unrecognisable by removing the heads and haloes and the objects that identified them. There are many instances of this kind of damage in the Minster. The Semaphore Saints pay tribute to all thse that have lost their heads.
The Grand Hotel & Spa.
Set in a charming Victorian rectory, the Parisi is a small, friendly and affordable hotel. Or, with 101 rooms, casual restaurant, and a sumptuous colour palate inspired by York’s chocolate heritage, there’s the InterContinental Hotel Group’s boutique Hotel Indigo York.
And housed in the iconic former headquarters of the North Eastern Railway Company, The Grand Hotel & Spa is the city’s only five-star hotel, providing fabulous first-class service and facilities.
10:00Step up to York’s highest point
The largest Gothic cathedral in northern Europe, York Minster took 250 years to build, from 1220 till its consecration in 1472. This hallowed landmark impresses with dazzling stained glass, historic artefacts and awe-inspiring architecture. It’s open for sightseeing every day, as well as for regular services, concerts and events (including the famous York Mystery Plays). For magnificent views, climb 275 winding steps, passing medieval pinnacles and gargoyles, to the top of the Minster’s central tower – the highest point in all of York.
11:30 Circumnavigate the city walls
Familiarise yourself with York by taking a walk around the City Walls. At 3.4km long, they are the longest and best-preserved medieval city walls in England. Taking approximately two hours to complete the entire circuit, you may prefer to focus on just a few sections – in which case, the Friends of York Walls website suggests various routes and trails.
13:30 Take away a ‘Shambles’ lunch
While exploring the Shambles, York’s oldest street, grab lunch from Shambles Kitchen. Famous for its pulled pork sandwich, other healthy options include street food boxes, soups and smoothies.
14:30 See the return of a steam-era superstar
The Flying Scotsman (a locomotive flagship for modernity in 1924) in York’s National Railway Museum had a complex and lengthy £4.2million overhaul three years ago. This is the largest railway museum in the world, other attractions include the mighty Mallard, which has held the world speed record for steam locomotives since 1938, the massive Chinese Engine, presented to the museum by the Chinese Government, and the only Shinkansen (Japanese Bullet Train) outside of Japan.
16:00 Go back in time for afternoon tea on a train
Travel back in time to an era of luxury railway dining aboard the Countess of York, a beautifully restored rail carriage stationed in the South Gardens of the National Railway Museum. Its Afternoon Tea is a civilised treat with a Yorkshire twist: sandwiches and savouries include Yorkshire blue cheese and red onion marmalade tart, scones are baked to a traditional Yorkshire recipe, and homemade fancies include Parkin crème brulee. Choose a fine leaf tea by Taylor’s of Harrogate.
17:00 Spot the little devil of Stonegate
Lined with shops, Stonegate is one of York’s most fascinating and photogenic streets. Craftsmen including goldsmiths and stained-glass makers had premises here in the Middle Ages, many leaving their mark on the historic buildings. The little red devil outside No. 33 was a traditional symbol of a printer – a printer’s apprentice being known as a “printer’s devil”.
18:30 Start dinner with proper Yorkshire puddings
The cousin of Michelin-starred country eatery The Star Inn, stylish The Star Inn The City specialises in authentic and delicious Yorkshire cooking. Yorkshire Puddings were traditionally served before, not with, a main meal – just as they are here. Other local flavours include Whitby crab, confit of east Yorkshire duck leg and plenty of Yorkshire beef. Served until 19.00, their two-course Market Menu is ideal for lunch or pre-theatre.
19:30 Open the curtains on a new production
A leading British theatre, York Theatre Royal has produced great drama for more than 250 years. Reopening in spring 2016 after a major £4.1million redevelopment project, productions include Shakespeare, opera, ballet and plays by famous UK and international playwrights.
10:00 Invade William the Conqueror’s ruined castle
William the Conqueror built York Castle in 1068 shortly after the Norman Conquest, to cement his status over this former Viking city. The castle endured a tumultuous early history and its keep, known as Clifford’s Tower, is almost all that remains. Standing high on its mound, this medieval ruin has served as a prison and a royal mint in its time. Once a lookout point for castle guards, the open-air wall walk at the top provides wonderful far-reaching views.
11:00 Experience prison life, the First World War & the Swinging Sixties
An increased demand for prison capacity in York in the 18th century required the construction of two new prison buildings below Clifford’s Tower: The Female Prison and Debtors’ Prison. These now form the York Castle Museum, with exhibitions illustrating York’s social and military history. Popular attractions for all the family include a recreated Victorian cobbled street with authentic shops, schoolroom, police cell and Hansom cab. Other galleries give a sense of prison life, portray the horror of the First World War, and recreate the spirit of the 1960s.
13:30 Confront a Fat Rascal at Bettys
The founder ofBettys Café Tea Rooms travelled on the maiden voyage of the Queen Mary in 1936, and was so enthralled that he commissioned the same designers and craftsmen to create this elegant café – and it soon became a local landmark. Although there are plenty of tempting treats, Bettys is renowned for the Fat Rascal: an oval teacake with currants and candied peel, it goes well with a cup of Yorkshire tea.
14:30 See a sweet side to the city
While neighbouring towns made their wealth from wool, cotton and steel, York made its profits from chocolate. Some of the world’s best-known names in chocolate were concocted in York. Joseph Rowntree created bestselling brands including Kit Kat, Smarties and Aero, while Joseph Terry gave us the Chocolate Orange and All Gold collection – inextricably linked with York’s social and industrial past, these sweet empires are now part of Nestlé and Mondelēz International respectively. You’ll find evidence of this chocolate heritage throughout York. Goddard’s, the Terry family’s beautiful Arts and Crafts style home, is now owned by the National Trust and is open to the public. A major visitor attraction, York’s Chocolate Story, tells the rich tale of chocolate and confectionery in the city. There are also chocolate-themed walking trails, chocolate-making workshops, even an annual chocolate festival.
16:30 Get a chocolate retail fix
Chocolate connoisseurs should head to Monk Bar Chocolatiers, York’s longest established artisan chocolatiers.
19:00 Dine in a former brothel
Enjoy casual yet decadent dining at The Blue Bicycle, a former 19th-century brothel overlooking the River Foss. Couples may share a romantic meal in one of the original private vaulted booths, while old photographs of exotic girls are reminders of the building’s historic improprieties.
20:00 Unearth York’s spookiest secrets
York has a spooky past. Infamous highwayman Dick Turpin was executed here in 1739, and local folklore is full of similar tales of tragedy and death. Experience the shadowy side of York on one of numerous nightly ghost walks. These include the Original Ghost Walk of York. The eerie apparitions you’ll hear about include the Grey Lady, the Headless Earl, and the Legendary Legionnaires. Rather not walk? Try the Ghost Bus Tour, a professional comedy theatre company who present a mix of thrills, chills and chuckles on board a former funeral bus.
21:30 Whisky, gin…or a ghostly spirit
Afterwards, steady your nerve with a stiff drink at The Golden Fleece hotel, York’s most haunted pub. Said to have five resident spirits, there have been numerous reports of ghostly apparitions and moving furniture. Or sample a vast range of local and international craft ales at The House of the Trembling Madness, an atmospheric ale shop and inn that also serves pub food, snacks and shareable platters.
Writer’s tip: York is in the county of Yorkshire in the north of England, two hours north of London by train. The nearest international airports are Leeds-Bradford and Manchester Airport. Best to fly into Manchester and catch the train to York– quick as a wink!
An up-close and authentic view of real life in Vietnam is happily experienced while cruising the rivers with stops along the way in villages and hit of the big smoke – Hanoi. Take it slow . . .
Torrential! And that’s the perfect word for the monsoon rains that lashed our ship for 20 minutes, and then, like all good monsoon downpours, the air stilled and regained its hot and steamy attitude and the wide Red River became a silky, calm spread of chicken gravy coloured water.
Welcome to north Vietnam. We were sailing on a ten-day cruise on the Angkor Pandaw, a beautiful ship designed to mirror the ships of the Irrawaddy Flotilla that plied the waters of colonial Burma. The vessel is pretty special, and the decks gleam with the rich timber patina walked on by many barefoot passengers. The brass is polished daily and all detail on the ship is ship shape and immaculate.
I was a little concerned at the thought of a ten-day cruise as I’d only sailed for five consecutive days in the past. I had nothing to worry about except at the end of the cruise when I just wanted a few more days on board.
Our ship left Hanoi and we sailed to the glorious heritage-listed Halong Bay, where we gently sailed in sight of extravagant limestone islands and towering, craggy kasts. We visited water-limestone caves by kayaking and row boats.
Off the ship for an afternoon as we were taken to a deserted beach, where we had an entire bay to ourselves for a cooling dip. Bliss.
As the sun set and lights from the bay’s scattered fishing boats twinkled we sat down for our first of many abundant and creative dinners.
The ship sails west and after the Red River, it hits the Lo River the Red River delta and then the Black River. The sights along the river don’t display quaint and pretty castles and rolling hills. I hesitate to use the word ‘authentic’ but we were immersed in the real life of north Vietnam and the progress and industry that keeps the country ticking along. There are concrete factories, sand mountains shoring up the banks against flooding, amazing fish farm floating villages, banana plantations and often in the distance, the soaring spires of catholic churches and terraced steps of Buddhist temples.
The startling contrast of the rural tranquility and the brick kilns and facades of heavy industry, neat patches of corn fields and passionfruit vine mounds were sights that juxtaposed the life of the rivers.
Almost every day there is an excursion (all included in the price) and to places where few other westerners are. As well as the ship being the only pleasure craft among gliding barges on the rivers, the villagers are laid back, welcoming and eager to show their talents. Bemused barge captains waived and I imagine they thought that our beautiful ship looked like it had wandered in to the wrong neighbourhood.
In one tiny village, three generations of women from 18 to 90 years of age showed us the skill behind the ubiquitous conical hat – the most practical chapeau for tropical weather countries. Such an endearing experience and we were welcomed in a friendly and understated way – cups of tea were offered and bananas and peanuts put out for us.
Between excursions we came back to cold towels and a cooling drink before a tasty lunch (don’t fight it, just enjoy the banquet!).
At each stop along the river we were looked at as a novelty as there weren’t many westerners in this neck of the woods. Other trips to villages include a walk through a pretty town, Thanh Ha, to watch a water puppet show, an inspection of a small village that has the noble tradition of producing fine ceramic items with the skills passed down through the generations. This was in the province of Hanoi and a local Lion Dance troupe, welcomed us to the region with a raucous drumming performance and dancing lions.
We were treated to an extraordinary concert in the village of Hung Lo temple to hear a choir, yet again, women from seven years to their 80s carrying on the tradition of singing ‘Hat Xoan’. And we danced with the singers to a fishing song, without the usual embarrassment of looking like bulls in a China shop – a testament to the generosity of spirit of these local people.
In this village there is the Thay and Tay Phuong pagodas, both built around enormous pillars of jackfruit, decorated with hundreds of statues, and surmounted by sweeping upturned eaves.
Another village introduced us to the knife makers – families that for generations have been pounding red hot steel into machetes and chopping knives.
A walk around Duong Lam village exposes us to the elegance and grandeur of the UNESCO designated village. Duong Lam has a history that dates back to around 1200 years with many of the houses almost 400 years old. Apart from its historical and touristic values, the ancient village is a significant place for scientists to study resident communities in ancient agriculture.
Our last meet and greet was in an H’mong village sitting among glowing green, lush rice fields. The village is in an idyllic valley with stilt houses dotting the landscape. A shared cup of tea and some locally made banana wine, peanuts and bananas – and all traditional social mores had been adhered to.
What a cruise, what an experience and what about Vietnam for another cruise? Don’t mind if I do.
Friend or pho?
Around and beyond World Heritage listed Halong Bay, there are 1,969 dramatic limestone islands and rock formations dating back 20 million years.
The lotus is the national flower of Vietnam. All parts of this sustainable plant can be used or consumed and as most homes don’t have foil, the leaves are used for wrapping food for cooking or storing.
Pho is an aromatic stock-based soup with noodles, and beef, chicken or tofu – eat for breakfast lunch or dinner!
The durable conical hat worn by farmers is called ‘Non La’.
Be flexible – monsoon rains could change the river levels and perhaps change the itinerary – enjoy the adventure.
Writer, Bev Malzard enjoyed extra time in Hanoi before and after the cruise and will cobble a few city images together for another blog in a couple of weeks. Here’s the writer with a lion, not quite extinct in Vietnam yet.
As a regular traveller, packing is still not a smooth task. I think I have it all together: duffel bag for safari trips where a bag has to be thrown on top of a truck; large suitcase for a cruise more than six days because I can pack lots and only have to unpack once; a neat carry-on for a weekend or a three-dayer. My fave is a medium-size suitcase, packed carefully to manage all garments and hope they last the distance. (Without getting into packing, has anyone else had the experience of trying to repack after wearing clothes and notice that they have doubled in size? What’s that all about?)
Aside from the appropriate piece of luggage I find a backpack an essential these days. I have invested in a classy backpack, just big enough to carry the essentials onboard: iPad or laptop, camera, extra wrap and stuff. Also a small shoulder bag that holds the minimum that can carry over to be an evening bag if needed.
All that is essential but also necessary, what are the things that I can’t leave behind and why?
For years I have carried my Swiss Army knife, the big daddy one with every tool imaginable. (Pre the Swiss Army knife I had a Chinese Army knife – a copy – because it was cheaper). These days it has to be carried in my suitcase as I have had a couple confiscated – I forgot and left them in my handbag . . . my bad.
As well as having a handy nail file, scissors, bottle opener and knife and screwdriver it was the Phillips head that gave me some status as wonder woman a few years back.
I was waiting in the office of the Thai Tourism office in Bangkok and was watching four staff members trying to fix the photo copier – light bulb! I jumped into action, drew out my trusty Swiss Army Phillips head saviour and proceeded to take all the screws out of the back of the copier. A winning moment.
And there are the usuals to carry: basic toiletries, conditioner (some hotels in Europe don’t supply conditioner), my own water bottle, a keep-it cup, and a few little treats to give away – pens and pencils for the Pacific islands and PNG, and India; macadamia nuts in gift boxes for Middle Eastern visits – and I always carry a couple of packets of jelly snakes to share with kids along the way.
The obvious, travel insurance (if you don’t have it you’re crazy); charger and universal adapter, sunnies and a laundry bag. And if you wear glasses, carry a spare pair – I once had a prescription pair snatched off me by a thieving monkey and had to spend the rest of my holiday wearing prescription sunglasses at night.
But as well as the usual suspects, everyone has a little something, either practical or sentimental that they travel with – what’s yours?
Writer, Bev Malzard passed on a handy tip a few years back on the subject of jelly snakes. She was ensconced in a rather nice cabin on a ship with a TV on a stand sitting on a cabinet. With the motion of the ship and the sea, the damn TV rattled constantly. So, out came a jelly snake, warmed it in her hands, and rolled it into sleeping snake position and gently squeezed it between the TV stand and the surface it was rattling on. Problem solved. You’re welcome!
Using your smart phone and you’re not a whizz bang photographer with a fancy camera? Want your meal to be envied? Your risotto remembered? Your cake catalogued? Then charge your phone and follow these suggestions.
Food and travel! Seems that everyone wants to photograph what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner . . .and in between. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Food and travel go together as we remember significant events, moments and meals in the countries we visit. Ah, that fragrant bowl of pho in Hanoi, the delectable strudel in Vienna, those ribs in Chicago, baguettes and buttery croissants in Paris and the Balmain bugs in Sydney. So why not share the chosen dishes with friends on social media – but be discerning.
Natural light, simple presentation.
Don’t get carried away with that fab vindaloo – in bad lighting it looks like a dish of dog food; or the bowl of chicken rice under neon lights – pale as – and a piece of steak on a plate with a couple of veg is not as appealing as it will be in the mouth . . . in short, don’t paste images of food unless they look as good as they taste. Here are some tips for smart phone or tablet amateurs that will make your food shots sing, click!
This was a tasty lunch in Madrid, but did not translate to a great pic – don’t bother.
Avoid overhead lights, which create a reflection on the plate. Stick to light that is off to the side, or angle your camera or device.
Pull back from the dish for a wide shot to show napkins, utensils, cocktails or even a menu to create more action in the shot.
If you want to take a detail shot, physically step closer to your subject instead of using the digital zoom. This goes for any phone photos. Digital zoom will just make your image pixelated. You’re better off cropping the photo afterwards.
Did you know that you can control the exposure on your phone much like on a DSLR camera? When you open the camera app, focus on your subject manually with the touch of your finger. You will see a little image of a sun appear. If you slide your finger up and down the small bar that appears, you can control the amount of light in your photo even before you take the picture.
Include people if they are active around food. Top left: mushroom tapas in Madrid; bottom left: Adelaide markets; right: this is how you slice Jamon successfully in Spain.
Before posting to Twitter, Facebook or Instagram, use apps such as VSCO or Snapseed to edit the photo further.
Avoid flash because it can create harsh lighting on one area of the shot.
When photographing sandwiches or filled rolls, wedge out some of the contents so the shot is not blocked by bread.
Baked goods (cakes, bread, pastries, pies) can make for great shots because of the various textures.
Oozing is attractive! Melted cheese oozing from a burger or chocolate pouring out of a pudding, this is ‘food action’ don’t miss the opportunity.
There’s a tool on almost all smartphone devices that allows you to overlay a grid onto every photo you’re taking. That way you can make sure that your lines are straight, or you can easily divide your frame into thirds. On an iPhone, you can find the ‘grid’ toggle in your photo and camera settings. For the Android/Galaxy, you should check the settings in your camera app.
Your food/plate subject doesn’t have to take up the entire frame. You can let the food take up only a third of the frame. If there’s a simple backdrop you can place your food in front of, that works well. Dark or black backgrounds can create a dramatic contrast with your image.
Slightly angled, interesting background and a colourful dish. At Skai restaurant, Swissotel The Stamford, Singapore.
Writer, Bev Malzard takes a lot of food pictures but she sometimes gets over excited and eats half her meal before she remembers to take a picture.
The first Greek island I visited more than 35 years ago was Poros. I had spent some time in Athens and jumped on a ferry that was a kind of hop on hop off boat for the times. We passed Aegina and then Poros came into view. It had only taken about an hour to reach it from Piraeus and it nudged close to the mainland.
A busy little sun-soaked port with cafes and their lined up seats facing outwards crowded the immediate arrival location. The buildings and the ‘ring-road’ spread out left and right and petered off to quieter sides of the island. Beautiful, young people of the hippie persuasion strolled the waterfront and in the cafes, the waiters bustled while serving cold beers and ‘coka’.
Disembarking, us newbies were welcomed by a gaggle of locals with an offer of ‘zimmer’ which is German for room. I was often mistaken for a German in those days.
Travelled light in the 80s, two woven bags and a tiny purse – things have changed; door leading to my ‘zimmer’.
We chose to go with a little bloke with a great smile that lacked teeth but had a certain rackish charm.
The ‘zimmer’ was a tiny annex up a few stairs. The whitewashed room fitted a double bed up against a wall with just enough room to slide two backpacks under the bed. Outside were two chairs and a tiny table, and beside it a toilet with a cold shower in the same room. And at the equivalent drachma (pre euros) of $2 a day, perfect. I loved that little room and we stayed on Poros for two weeks during September. Blazingly beautiful days, riding bikes around the island to secluded beaches, drinking far too much beer and wine, partying into the early mornings and adopting the sensible habit of a daily siesta. We would come across basic little stalls boldly calling themselves ‘tavernas’ where, for a few drachma we ate grilled sardines, salad plumped with fat slices of fetta dripping in oil from Kalamata and thick chunks of crusty bread straight out of the village oven.
My ‘donkey speak’ was not so good. But this one understood Greek ‘yassou’.
This was my first taste of slow travel – even though I didn’t know that then. Before Poros it was the Acropolis, the Parthenon, city ruins, museums and concerts – moving to the fast pace of Athens. After it was buses down the Mani peninsula to Kalamata and Githio, exploring Sparta, in and out of tiny Peloponnese villages – always moving to the monumentum and frantic music of the young, curious traveller.
Mama ran the bar!
What I learned on Poros was to enjoy the daily rhythm of sitting on the zimmer steps for an hour or so in the morning, eating yoghurt and honey and sipping grainy, strong Greek coffee and waiting to see the donkey begin its morning walk up the hills to deliver bread to the houses stepped up high and glinting their existence to us mere mortals below.
Hand washing always up to speed while travelling.
Slow and steady as that donkey, I did a lot of sitting and taking life in. Just being there was enough to satisfy my soul.
I have never forgotten my early days on Poros and in Greece before I worked and lived there, and discovered other magical and mythical places of Ellas.
At Poros port and right, a later visit to Sparta – check out the crowds!
I returned to Poros in September this year to spend a couple of days on my own – bit of a nostalgia trip and a longing to be slow again in Greece. I knew I couldn’t recapture my youth or even replicate my time or experiences before, and I felt a little nervous and was prepared to be disappointed.
The fast ferry took only 40 minutes and I alighted at the same spot I did all that time ago. There wasn’t anybody touting to sell me a ‘zimmer’ but all ok as I had booked like the grownup I am these days.
I decided to sit and have a coffee and drink in my surrounds. I looked across the bay to the mainland to the town of Galatea, Once a few houses and great swathes of orange groves creeping up the steep sides of the hills. Now – all built up with white, cream and blue houses and the groves had been diminished by development.
In front of me I smiled while watching the local taxi drivers with their feather dusters brushing the dust from their vehicles. I took the slow road to my hotel.
Ensconced in a large room with air con (something I didn’t have in the hot ‘ol days) I proceeded to try to extract a pigeon that was stuck behind the glass doors of the fire-place. It didn’t seem too distressed and once I extracted him he hopped over to sit in my suitcase.
During the next two days I walked and talked, I talked and talked, dragging out my rusty Greek. I ate fish, salads and delicious Greek cakes. Dinner alone was not uncomfortable as the older I get the more I like my own company.
I searched for my old digs but couldn’t find the ‘zimmer’. I caught a taxi around the other side of the island to visit the monastery and then walk down to Monasteraki beach, where I had it to myself except for two cheeky dogs who set up shop under my day bed. I swam and then dozed and the day, and indeed my world had slowed down to a gentle pace. The music of the day was just a light strum on a bouzouki.
As the hovercraft pulled way from Poros and I was leaving I felt sad, only because i wanted more time here. I was and am happy for the visit, and grateful that the more things (and me) change, the more we stay the same.
Stroll through the traditional town’s labyrinth with pretty shops and neo classical architecture.
Explore the alleys and walk up to the clock tower for a wonderful view of the island and the mainland opposite.
If you have a car or can catch a cab, visit the Lemon Groves. It’s not actually on Poros but across on the land of Trizinia. If you are there and the mere hint of a breeze wafts past you, that’s probably a mythical zephyr reminding you that once the Gods looked over these orchards – and perhaps they still do.
The monastery in eastern Kalavria, Poros was founded in 1720 and its precious carved wooded screen was constructed in Cappadocia in the 17th century. After the visit, settle into the old-school cafe and sip on locally made lemonade in the shade of the plane trees. Fill your water bottle with cool water from the monastery’s spring.
Don’t miss out on a slice or two of the famous galaktoboureko (semolina custard wrapped in crispy pastry).
Writer Bev Malzard will visit Greece again and will slow down to almost ‘stop’. She’s working up to writing more memoirs than meanderings – but it could take a while – most people involved are still alive and might sue her . . .
It was just a couple of weeks ago, I was driving from Charles de Gaulle airport into Paris and spied, shuffling along the street of one of the outlying suburbs a walking cliché, an old. hunched man, wearing a beret and carrying a baguette at 65cm in length.
The ubiquitous baguette – bread of a thousand legends, countless laws and constrained to the perfect, ordained length – this is the stuff and staff of life to the French nation – the symbol of France perhaps.
Fact: an excellent baguette needs to look, sound, smell and feel the part; with a golden-tinged crust and an ivory coloured centre, and the shell of the loaf must ‘crack’ with just a little pressure and a soft, hollow sound must occur when the bottom is tapped. It should have a warm, cereal and caramel aroma with hints of longing – longing for butter.
We were staying down the hill from the Arc de Triumph in a narrow (of course) street and on the corner was a popular boulangerie – a seductive aroma of butter emanated out the doors.
French bread law
This perfect baton of bread needs protection and the French government did just that in 1993 with the ‘Decret Pain’. This law states that traditional baguettes have to be made on the premises they’re sold and can only be made with four ingredients: wheat flour, water, salt and yeast. They can’t be frozen at any stage or contain additives or preservatives, which also means they go stale within 24 hours.
So, beware, there is plenty of mediocre bread sold in France and separating the wheat from the chaff requires a good nose …
To be called a ‘boulangerie’, a French bakery has to make its bread on the premises. If this word doesn’t feature in the name of the bakery or isn’t plastered on the window it could be a plain old dépôt de pain selling factory-made bread.
Boulangeries are supposed to display a small yellow and blue sign letting you know that your baker is authentic, reading: “Votre boulanger. Un artisan authentique”.
These appreciated few often have a tell-tale queue snaking outside.
Had to feature this structure . . .
Our local boulangerie.
I took up a stalking position one early evening round about 5.30pm and took a few sneaky snaps of folk going into our local boulangerie and I guessed who would be buying an evening baguette (mornings are full on too).
All 20 shoppers I checked out except for two who picked up a pastry, carried their baguette out of the shop. Normally one loaf but a couple of people greedied up and had a handle on two or more.
The baguette is always in a white paper bag that reaches just over half-way up the loaf. I noticed that everyone carrying the fresh baguette would unconsciously snap the end off the loaf and eat it. A quaint tasting habit that I totally get!
The word baguette is feminine so make sure you ask for une baguette (une to rhyme with June), or just get two, deux baguettes, a number that helpfully stays the same for masculine and feminine words.
It’s usual to ask for a well or under-cooked baguette: bien cuite for well-cooked and crusty and pas trop cuite for under-cooked and soft.
Don’t be afraid to ask for half a baguette, une demi-baguette, as most bakeries sell them, and for exactly half the price.
Baguettes cost between 1 euro and 1.30 euros. Try to pay with close to the exact amount as French bakeries rarely have change for large notes and may not serve you if you don’t have close change.
A traditional baguette is called a baguette tradition, baguette à l’ancienne or baguette de campagne.
Look out for interesting varieties such as baguette aux céréales, baguette aux graines de sésame or baguette aux olives.
Look like a local and eat the end of the baguette on the way home from the bakery, it’s called le quignon, the heel.
Don’t use a bread board. just use the cutting in the air technique or tear off pieces by hand.
Traditional Catholics use the bread knife to lightly mark a crucifix on the back of a baguette before cutting it.
Serve pieces of bread alongside a main course and then again for the cheese course (served before dessert).
Pieces of bread are never served on side plates, instead they’re put directly on the placemat or tablecloth to the upper right-hand side of the dinner plate.\
Soften your baguette by dipping it in your morning coffee.
Although most French people eat baguette without butter, those from Normandy and Brittany insist on a thick layer of unsalted or salted butter.
Day-old bread can be salvaged by using it to make pain perdu, translated as lost bread or French toast.
There are many stories of the origins of the baguette and all of them probably have a grain of truth in them, but I like this one:
A patriotic tale tells of the possible origin of the baguette (not its shape though) by linking it to the French Revolution. Lack of bead was the principal complaint from the people of Paris and it played a big part in the overthrow of the monarchy. Being the staple of the French diet, the poor watched the nobility eat heaps of fine, white loaves while they faced shortage and even starvation – making do with bread that was almost inedible.
So, after the Revolution, making sure everybody had quality bread was high on the priority list. In 1793 the Convention (the post-Revolution government) made a law stating:
“Richness and poverty must both disappear from the government of equality. It will no longer make a bread of wheat for the rich and a bread of bran for the poor. All bakeries will be held, under the penalty of imprisonment, to make only one type of bread: The Bread of Equality”.
Another story claims that Napoleon Bonaparte passed a law decreeing that bread for his soldiers should be made in long slender loaves of exact measurement to fit in a special pocket on their uniforms. Since those measurements were close to the size of the modern baguette, some folk think this might be when the bread first took on its current form. Maybe it’s Napoleon we have to thank.
These are only a couple of stories of the famous bread’s origins and Mr Google throws up many more. Whatever the reason that this weird shaped bread appeared, by the mid-1800s in Paris, they were everywhere. Merci beaucoup.
Writer, Bev Malzard managed to eat half a fresh baguette every morning. Only half because she had to then eat croissants and pain de chocolat and an oeuf or deux. . .
Much if this info on the history came from a fab website https://bonjourparis.com which features all manner of wonderful information on Paris, food, wine and everything else – tres bon.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do. So throw off the bowlines,sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. - Mark Twain