Dinner at Jamie’s or How I Missed the Cheltenham Literary Festival

Sunday evening. Our attempts to find accommodation at Gloucester (after first humming the Harry Potter theme in the Cathedral cloisters) had failed. In some English towns, finding even the town centre is like working your way through a maze. So we drove onwards, ever onwards, looking for the next town.

A winding country road, hedgerows, failing light, and then the sign ‘Cheltenham 6 miles’. I knew the Literary Festival was closing that night. I’d deliberately avoided Cheltenham for that reason. Too crowded and what would Jim and Miles do while I queued to listen to Ian McEwan, Ian Rankin, Alexander McCall-Smith, Nigella Lawson, David Walliams … who wasn’t going to be at the festival? But we were tired, it was getting dark, so we took the turn in the road and found ourselves at the Queens Hotel.

Across the road, the festival tents glowed white in the twilight. The festival bookshop, run by Waterstones, was in full swing and a queue was starting to form for one of the final sessions. And I didn’t have a ticket!

Instead, we went looking for dinner. A long walk through a dark town centre - always a pedestrian mall. A man in his sleeping bag in the Debenhams doorway. A Pizza Hut with teenagers queuing. Miles and I both tired, hungry and a little dispirited. And then, around a corner … Jamie’s Italian. Suddenly, the evening took a turn for the better.

We were lead up a winding staircase to the court room of the old County Courthouse. We were ushered into the Press Box, seated in a row, looking across at other diners seated at the Judge’s table. A children’s menu for Miles - with pencils. Menus for Jim and I. Drinks order taken. 

Our Albanian waiter ran through the menu -  no lamb, no bream, no fritto misto, and no pork belly advertised on the chalkboard on the street. But they still had pasta and the other special of the day, pumpkin risotto.

Jim was thinking of leaving. Thinking very loudly of  leaving. We'd eaten a lot of Italian lately - how much pasta can a man take? I was in no mood to leave - too tired, too hungry, and determined to have a ‘Jamie’ experience. Miles was just happy to have spag bol (again). So we stayed. Jim ordered ‘Funky Chips’ - here’s what he got.

The waiter was embarrassed - embarrassed that so many things were off the menu. He sent the manager to have a chat with us. He wasn’t at all embarrassed and couldn’t rustle up a single serve of lamb, pork belly or fish. He was grumpy and probably a little fed up - it was, after all, the end of the festival. What did we expect?

We soldiered on. We laughed (slightly hysterically). The chips were ‘funky’(doused in garlic) - and definitely a ‘side’. The risotto, though, was delicious and Miles begged for a second helping of the spag bol.

And our Albanian waiter proved to be an angel - he was so embarrassed, he convinced the manager to charge us for our drinks only, turning a potentially awful evening into a highlight of the trip.

As for the Literary Festival, this is what I saw on Monday morning.

But I did buy a signed copy of Alexander McCall Smith’s new Isabel Dalhousie novel from Waterstone’s, a momento of the festival I missed.

Galloping Around the South

It's Monday evening UK time and today we drove from York to Edinburgh. Many adventures, many miles covered (over 1200 now), many erratic internet connections. Both Miles and I are way behind with our posts. But we'll catch up. In the meantime, here's a post I prepared earlier.

 

We are now heading north, to York and Scotland. But we have already managed 600 miles or so around the south of England. Here are a few highlights.

Colchester

We got off the boat and caught a train to Colchester, England’s oldest recorded city and the closest place to Harwich to hire a car. The taxi driver who picked us up from the station was adamant that there was nothing to see in Colchester. Except for … the castle … and the Seige House still full of holes from shot … and maybe the new arts centre that nobody wanted … oh, and the old hotel, the oldest in Colchester, he took us to.

 

Banbary Cross

 

‘Ride a cock horse to Banbary cross …‘

We stayed two nights at Banbary Cross. It’s a lovely town on the edge of a canal. The canal boats had been gathered the previous weekend for a festival and a few were still docked, waiting for their turn to move off. We didn’t see a lady on a white horse and the cross turns out to be the Banbary crossroads. But we stayed in a wonderful hotel which had been visited by James II, Shakespeare, and Swift, who wrote at least some of Gulliver’s Travels in Room 52. We were in Room 41.

 

 

 

Stratford-upon-Avon

 

I just love this town! But it’s changed a lot since I was last here, driving into the little carpark in front of the theatre to see Ralph Fiennes (before he was famous) in King Lear. The carpark has gone and the town has expanded but the heart of the town is as gorgeous as it ever was and a stroll along the Avon, past the canal boats, the theatre, and to the church to view Shakespeare’s grave is still my idea of bliss.

 

Hay-on-Wye

We seemed to drive miles to Hay-on-Wye, which has one foot in England and one in Wales. Its claim to fame is having over 30 secondhand and antiquarian bookshops … but it’s a long way to go for a bookshop and on a Sunday, a number are closed. In the 1960s, creating a town of bookshops was a deliberate strategy to revitalise a failing market town living in the shadow of a crumbling castle. The castle is still crumbling and now, Hay-on-Wye seems to be marketing itself as a Kindle-free-zone. I kept my Kindle locked in the car.

 

Bath

 

It was pouring as we drove into Bath (on the second attempt) so the only thing to do was spend the afternoon in the Roman Baths. It is an even more incredible experience that it was 20-odd years ago, with much more of the site excavated and available to view. Miles was completely into it, with a kid’s audio tour to listen to (I was the one who got tired of listening to the very nice voice on the audio).

Stongehenge

 

‘Henge’ is an old, old word for ‘hanging’ so Stonehenge really means ‘hanging stones’. I took far too many photos of the stones, as you do, but didn’t take a photo of the woman dressed as a druid - who wasn’t there as one of the custodians of the stones. She was, I think, a druid or perhaps just thought she was a druid?

Hardy's 'Temple of the Winds' lived up to its reputation. The sun was shining but the wind was blowing a gale - as you can see by the photo below. Do I have any hair?

The Legoland Experience

WARNING - Sharing this post with small Lego-lovers may inspire envy and result in years of nagging, for which I take no responsibility.

Travel Tip - Legoland is best to visit when you are at least 90cm tall but even better when you are at least 120cm tall. The taller you are, the more rides you can go on.

The Legoland experience begins even before you reach Legoland. We took the train from Copenhagen to Velje, which is about half-an-hour from Legoland. As the taxi drove us through the Danish countryside (very flat, remarkably pretty), we began to see giant Lego bricks gathered in twos and threes on the verge. By the time we reached Hotel Legoland, we were primed.

Hotel Legoland is part of the whole experience and shouldn't be missed. The hotel welcomes children, really welcomes children. There are kid zones dotted throughout, where giant tubs of Lego bricks are available to play. Lego cartoons are screened in a red bus near reception. There's a games room with Nintendo DS's and Wiiiiis to play with and giant Lego characters dotted around the corridors. Each day, you can enter your Lego build in a competition and there's a treasure hunt too. All this before you even get to your room.

We stayed in a Kid's Room on Space Street, which overlooks the Star Wars display in the park. Could that have been more perfect for our little Star Wars lover? A small Lego gift was waiting on the pillow and the room also comes with boxes of mixed Lego and Duplo bits to play with. We arrived on Saturday afternoon and had plenty to keep us busy while we waited to go to the park on Sunday and Monday.

The hotel has two restaurants and the family buffet was the big hit with Miles. Apparently, children all over the world eat spaghetti bolognase, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, peas, cauliflower, broccoli, corn ... and chips shaped like Lego bricks.

The park itself is a mix of Lego builds and rides, separated into different themes (Adventureland, Pirateland, Legoredo, Polar Land, Lego City). We easily filled two days exploring, riding the Lego trains and monorails, trying out the many rides and repeating some.

October proved to be a great time to go. The weather was very variable, sunny one second, raining the next but (as Jim is sick of me saying) the Danes have fantastic wet weather gear and just keep on going - so we did too, breaking in the Aldi snow jacket. But in October, the crowds were minimal. The park was busy but we didn't have to queue long for any ride.

Another warning, a number of the rides have little roller coasters. I went on the Dragon, thinking it was a bit like a ghost train and ended up so scared, I cried. I'm sharing this because if I don't, Jim and Miles will. I HATE roller coasters but did very well on spinning barrels and rocking pirate ships.

And of course, there's the Lego builds themselves - minature towns, wonders of the world, Pirate scenes and pyramids and all sorts of things.

All this, and Miles got his Legoland driver's licence too (but you have to be at least 7 years old to do that).

Denmark 101

When we arrived in Copenhagen on Thursday afternoon, my knowledge of Denmark consisted of the following:

• Mary and Frederick
• The Little Mermaid and Hans Christian Anderson and Danny Kay playing Hans Christian Anderson, singing 'Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen'

• Danish Kroner, which wasn't available from the local bank branch at Jamison
• Lego and Legoland.

Three days later I'm not sure I know much more but I have been discovering a wonderful country, full of juxtapositions - not contradictions. Our first glimpse of Denmark from the plane was of wind turbines spinning like gulls over the sea and smoke stacks from chimneys on shore. The wind turbines have been a feature of the countryside we've passed through. Not huge windfarms like the one on the hills of Bungendore (although at Legoland we have learnt that an offshore windfarm is being built and will be completed next year). Just two or three dotted across paddocks.

The recent extention to the National Library  of Denmark is known as the Black Diamond. Clad in polished black granite, it looms over the waterfront but nestles against the old Library, founded in the seventeenth century. I'm starting to think of it as something of a symbol for Denmark itself - the old and the new co-existing in harmony.

Copenhagen is the city of bikes and makes a mockery of our own attempts to promote cycling as a transport strategy. It helps that the city is relatively small and flat. But it also helps that you can take your bike with you on the train, that there are large bike parks at railway stations and outside the 'Grand Magasins'. There are broad bicycle lanes on the main roads so that you aren't threatened by passing cars. I thought, for a while, that very few people chained their bikes - but it turns out that small bike locks are hidden beneath the seats and for most occasions these are enough. And there are very few helmets and no Lycra in sight. People hop on and off their bikes as we hop into and out of our cars. No dressing for the occasion. And bicycles do look lovely propped against an old brick wall.

We spent Thursday afternoon walking around Copenhagen, getting drenched and running for cover into the Grand Magasins. On Friday, we took the train up the east coast to Helsingor, visiting Kronborg Castle - reputedly the setting for Hamlet but more significantly home to Holger the Dane, the giant who will wake when Denmark is threatened by a foreign enemy. We spooked ourselves out visiting Holger in the castle's casements and then wandering through narrow, low, very dimly lit corridors trying to find our way back to the light. Living in a castle is not romantic. And then we travelled back to Louisiana, 'the most beautiful museum in the world'. It opened in the 1950s and was named after the three wives of the property's first owner, all of whom were called Louise. It is an incredibly beautiful place, with long glass corridors looking onto gardens filled with sculpture and views across the sound to Sweden. Inside the museum, we saw an exhibition on artist's self-portraits, featuring works by Picasso, Dix, Kahlo and David Hockney (including five of his ipad portraits).

Yesterday, we travelled about two-thirds of the way across Denmark to Billund and Legoland. It is a child's idea of heaven (well, Miles' idea of heaven) from the small gift left on the pillow to the colouring books in the buffet and the largest Lego shop in the world.

Two Days in Paris

We have spent our first two days in Paris walking, trying to imprint the city on our brains through our feet. It's working. I think. Although when we come back in November, we will be in a completely different part of the city and may well have to begin again.

Yesterday, we walked without direction in the streets around our hotel. Hotel Aida Opera is a few streets back from Boulevard Montmartre with it's crazy traffic and chain stores. It is, though, home to two of Paris' oldest arcades, Passages Jouffroy and Passages des Panoramas (the oldest arcade in Paris). Passages Jouffroy is a delight, home to a number of antiquarian bookshops and a shop of minatures, offering everything a dollshouse needs, Tintin and Asterix figurines and merchandise that made Miles' heart sing. It is on the list for return visits, but after we've been to the Herge Museum in Brussels.

Passages Jouffroy

Today, we set out from the hotel to follow the tourist trail and discovered an uncanny ability to approach buildings from their rear. Perhaps we are backdoor people at heart. Palais Brongniart - back door. Bibliotheque Nationale - back door. Palais Royal and its gardens - back door. Comedie Francaise - back door. Even the Louvre - back door.


The rear of the Bibliotheque Nationale



And the rear of the Palais Royal - with a plague marking Colette's residence.

Miles' one request for the day was to visit the Eiffel Tower and so we did, hopping on a Batobus for a loop around the Seine. Luckily for Jim and I, the top floor of the tower was closed and, with showers looming, we convinced Miles to wait to climb the tower on a day when the views might be better. Miles is determined to get me to the top ... and I am equally determined to go no higher than the second viewing platform, which will be quite high enough. But we began our quest to ride all the carousels in Paris, discovering our first at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

The carousel at the Eiffel Tower - a magnificent two-storey merry-go-round.

I also succeeded in falling for a gypsy scam - about five minutes after warning Jim to be on the lookout for pickpockets. I'm an idiot, what can I say? But my tip for the day - when a gypsy asks you if you speak English, say 'non'. Otherwise you might find yourself donating a few euros to save deaf and mute children living ... somewhere.