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Friday, November 11, 2011

More than just Bed and Breakfast

You never really know what you're bargaining for when you book a B&B over the Internet. Photos may be misleading – a pretty front door tells you nothing of a seedy neighborhood, as happened to us once in Milan; a map may not tell you what the road is really like; photos of food, turquoise-blue pools or smiling hosts are no guarantee of anything.
Of course, when booking on a site like booking.com, there are also guests' comments. But you have to take those with a grain of salt, too.

That's why stepping into Le Moulin Pastelier was so delightful, such a relief. And not only because our hosts turned out to be British, meaning I didn't have to start stammering in French.

Just look at the room – isn't it lovely? See all rooms here.

 







Called the Gardenia room, our bedroom is decorated in cool shades of blue and white. The other three bedrooms have their own color scheme.

Donna has a fine eye for color and design. In fact, she is so fond of color that the bookcase in the lounge is organized by color, rather than by author or category:
Books arranged by color
Having the bathtub actually in the room was unusual, but also rather convenient. The wash-basins were obviously designed with tall European men in mind rather than petite ladies like me; I did have to stand on tiptoe to wash my face properly. But who cares – deep inside I'm actually a ballerina, as my exercise-class teacher knows; plié-relevé come naturally to me.
The bed was very comfortable, and the bed-linen heavenly, made of very delicate pure cotton. (Extremely important for my sensitive, easily-irritated skin.)

Bath/shower in room
Though the window looks out onto the gravel foreground, and there's another bedroom across the corridor, we had complete privacy, total peace and quiet. If we wanted noise, why, there was always a TV set, a CD player and a batch of music CDs provided by the hosts. And if we wanted company, all we had to do was step into the main lounge and say Hi.

We would then be greeted by one or more of the following : Chris, Donna, Theo. Bella (Isabella) was usually too busy dozing to come over and say hi. Young, frisky Theo wouldn't stay still long enough for me to take a good picture of him. To avoid misunderstandings, Theo & Bella are French pointers:

The guest lounge manages to be both cozy and spacious, harmoniously made up of several areas – two for lounging, whether with a book, a drink, watching TV or just enjoying the real fireplace; and others for eating, desk/computer work, and cooking. Not that you're expected to do any cooking – that is Donna's domain and specialty. I've seen fancier lounges, but I don't think I've ever walked into one so pleasant and inviting.

As soon as we arrived, Chris apologized for the dreary weather and offered us a drink. In this case, our first choice was a pot of tea. But on most other occasions, we had wine. By the end of our first evening, after a sumptuous meal and plenty of wine, we felt like we were staying with old friends.
Some guests may prefer not to interact with their hosts; some hosts prefer to stay in the background. We've been to B&Bs where we saw the owners only twice – upon checking in and upon leaving. For example, Villa Ladavac in Rovinj (see my earlier post ). But it is totally up to you – you can come and go as you please without saying "boo" to anyone, if you so wish. As for me, each time we returned from our day trip, the first thing I did was poke my head into the lounge to announce, "Hi honey, I'm home!"

In principle, breakfast is served between 8 and 10. Guests are requested to say when they expect to be at the breakfast table. Makes perfect sense to me. No point in having the food out on the table by eight if we intend to sleep in and make an appearance at a quarter to ten. What with Michael being rather punctual by nature, we said we'd eat at 8:30, and showed up at 8:29, unlike most other guests who were, ahem, more lackadaisical. Loved Donna's home-made muffins. As for coffee – I always bring my own, wherever we travel.

Chris & Donna not only lent us their GPS, but also provided us with maps, recommendations, directions and explanations. And so we set forth on our explorations each day.

Though I knew before we left home that we chose a place a good few kilometers off the main road (rather than, say, a place in or on the outskirts of a proper city), I was a bit taken aback by its remoteness. Sure, once you get used to it, it's nothing: you hop into the car and in 10 or 15 minutes you're at the nearest boulangerie-patisserie… I have family and friends who live in decent towns in New Jersey or cities like Los Angeles and Las Vegas who are in a similar situation, i.e., can't get anywhere without driving. In our naiveté we expected the little village to have a grocery, a café… Instead, we saw a church, farm houses, a tractor or two. And lots of fields. Well – the fresh agricultural produce has to come from somewhere! On the first night out, driving to a popular Italian restaurant in Revel, I was struck by the total darkness: no lamp posts, no city lights in the distance. Just black night, with stars if you're lucky and the skies are clear of clouds. Oh well – Michael is an experienced driver, and the TomTom was reassuring, when it wasn't scolding us for disobedience and insubordination.

And a propos driving – the Opel Meriva, like the washbasin in our room, was obviously designed for tall people. I could barely reach the clutch, and gave up on the idea of driving, this time. When Avis said they were upgrading us from the smaller Corsa, it didn't occur to me to object.

- to be continued -

Friday, November 4, 2011

Vive la France, part 2

First of all, I owe an apology to all English-speaking French people. For example, the very pleasant girl who served us at Le Comptoir de l’Horte in Revel; and the lovely lady at the Domaine Laubarel winery ; and Vincent, a young man from Toulouse with whom we shared the dining table here at Chris and Donna’s place. 
Lovely lady at Laubarel winery
 We’ve been here nearly a week, but after the first 24 hours or so, the place felt like home, as if we were staying with long-time friends rather than at a B&B booked over the Internet. It’s called Le Moulin Pastelier, and is located the tiny village of Belesta en Lauragais, which I suspect none of you has ever heard of, and which took me forever to commit to memory. All the names of the little towns and villages here are beyond me. Long and awkward or short and awkward, I can't pronounce them. They seem to have too many vowels in unwieldy combinations. 
Unassuming facade of Le Moulin Pastelier

I was half looking forward to, half dreading, the prospect of airing my highschool French. All the way from Toulouse airport I mentally practiced a few choice phrases…
After leaving the highway and driving through narrow country lanes, feeling certain that we’ve gone astray, we found ourselves at the right spot. Parked the Meriva and rang the doorbell. A pleasant-looking blonde opened the door, and I braced myself and said “Bonjour!”, followed by a quiet Hello just to be on the safe side.
Imagine my relief when it turned out that Donna and Chris, our hosts, are British…  So obviously, I have a good excuse for not having practiced my French this past week.

Our first destination, on Sunday, not-so-bright and not-so-early, was Carcassonne, a pretty tourist trap in the shape of a Middle-Ages walled city. Michael had fond memories of the place from his previous visit there, some 50 years ago, on a school trip… I’d bet anything that it didn’t have as many trinket shops and restaurants fifty years ago…
Nina (with purple backpack) taking pics of the entrance to Old City of Carcassonne
Monday’s destination was Albi, a prettier city with a civilized old section, a grand cathedral, and a Toulouse Lautrec museum
Palais de la Berbie, Albi, now the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum

But the French being awkward, everything closes down between 12 noon and 2 pm; and lots of places don't even bother to open on Mondays. The owners are probably still tired from Sunday. Besides, Tuesday was All Saints’ Day; no point in opening shop on Monday just to close it again on Tuesday… But the weather was perfect for roaming the streets and trying to capture the falling leaves of autumn. While tourists like me can’t get enough of the beautiful tall plane trees* along the roadsides, I can understand how the locals might feel differently. Taking photos of them and sighing at their beauty is a far cry from dealing with the mounds and mounds of drifting leaves everywhere. Though leaves are probably the least of the problem, judging from the copious mention of those trees on the Internet. See, for example, what The New Yorker has to say, in this charming article
Autumn leaves (of the plane tree)

Finding your way around Languedoc-Roussillon and Midi-Pyrénées  easy once you’ve done it for a week or so… But initially, what with crazy French drivers, fast roads, unintelligible names on signs, and winding country lanes  with absolutely no lights and no landmarks… it’s, well, tricky. So the GPS that our hosts kindly lent us was a blessing, when it wasn’t driving us crazy. To an extent, it was our fault, we hadn't configured it properly. You have to be very specific in choosing certain options, such as whether you want to go the fastest way, or the scenic route, or avoid toll roads, etc. But some of it is, I think, the fault of the developers who wrote rather annoying texts for the various announcements... When we didn't do what the program instructed us to do, it responded in a very insulting way, just short of calling the driver a bloody idiot. But most of the time we didn't switch it off, because it does have its advantages. Like when you’re driving in thick fog, or it pitch black, and can’t see where the next bend in the road is.

Back home, I didn't think much of GPS devices, having seen more than once how they led drivers astray. This particular one was a TomTom, a name I can't help but finding amusing. Yes, the logo is very cute; but I can't help imagining an Israeli agent trying to promote a GPS device called TomTom, which, when written in Hebrew, would probably be mispronounced as Toumtoum, meaning "idiot". 

That was around 700 words, very briefly covering our first 3 days in France...
Stay tuned for the rest of our adventures.


Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Vive la France

Okay, so we took a BA flight from LHR to Toulouse.

The first thing you might notice about France is that they speak French. Even when you clearly have Ignorant Tourist emblazoned on your forehead. They just roll their eyes at you, managing to convey a French accent without uttering a word, and re-phrase in French.
The second thing you might notice is that it’s not England. Funny how you just cross an itsy-bitsy [unless you are swimming it] channel, et voila! Tout le monde parle Francais, et, autour de toi, tout semble different.
Once you’re away from Paris – the average tourist’s comfort zone – the names of the towns and villages become unpronounceable. Especially when the signs whizz by as you’re driving. Which reminds me. The car Avis gave us is an Opel Meriva, which I’d never heard of, mainly because it isn’t imported to Israel. Over to you, Hebrew speakers: Can you imagine an importer promoting a car model called Meriva?*

We took the A61 going south.
You know you’re in a European-Mediterranean region when…
-        The farm houses have solid wood, low-tech shutters; none of your flimsy white (lace optional) things and/or heavy drapes of British homes.
-        Some of said shutters are painted warm brown hues; others in a wide range of blues, greens and violet.
-        The public toilets are – unless you’re very lucky – squat toilets, which I strongly feel should have been phased out at the turn of the century. That’s the 20th, not the 21st, century.
-        The distances are in km, not miles (when they are displayed at all); fruit and veg are sold by the kilo, not the pound.
-        Pizza rules. McDonald, though present, is way behind.

Shutters on the houses in Foix
And so we reached the godforsaken little village of Belesta en Lauragais. Which doesn't even appear on most maps. And this is where the story of our south-of-France vacation begins. Stay tuned!

* “meriva” in Hebrew means a quarrel, a row.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Your Basic London Shopping Rules

(Substitute name of other major city as applicable)
-        You will always find the perfect T-shirt/leggings/ODIC (Other Desirable item of Clothing) in the last shop you go into, after you’ve already bought the okay-but-not-quite-what-you-wanted one in the previous shop.
-        You will always find your favorite perfume/moisturizer/ODIS (Other Desirable Item of Skincare) for a better price after you’ve already bought it elsewhere for what seemed, but no longer seems, like a reasonable price.
-        However, if you refrain from buying that item of clothing or skincare, on the assumption that it’s bound to be cheaper at the airport Duty Free shop, the airport shop will surely be out of it. Better luck next time, honey.
-        If you buy that expensive glossy mag, you’ll be seated on the plane next to the most amusing and friendly traveler you’ve ever met, and time will simply fly. Need I spell out what happens if you don’t buy the mag and have mistakenly packed your book in with the checked-in luggage?...     

Sunday, October 30, 2011

It's the little differences - Take 2

Take 1 was in May 2010 – see http://nina-makes-tracks.blogspot.com/2010/05/its-little-differences.html. But each time I go to the UK, other things catch my eye.

You don’t have to be told that English homes are different than, say, Israeli ones. It’s obvious. One thing that always strikes me is the doors. All rooms have doors, and these doors are actually put to use! On a regular basis! You go into the lounge and shut the door behind you. You move to the dining room, and – unless you’re in and out setting the table or bringing in food – you shut the door. In Israel, only bedrooms and bathrooms have doors. And possibly the door leading to the small porch you use for storage, where  you keep that old gizmo that you can’t quite bring yourself to throw out. I assume all this door-shutting is very logical – to keep the warmth from escaping. But it‘s part of a different life style. Also, many doors still have knobs rather than handles. I’m sure handles are easier to handle than round, slippery knobs. But there you have it. Tradition.
Bedroom door with knob. Ignore mess inside :-)
 Dryers
You’d think, with English weather being so predictably unpredictable though strongly leaning towards the wet side, that dryers would be a staple. But not so. Apparently, dryers are a relatively modern invention; more modern than the washing machine, to be sure. And it hasn’t quite been accepted as the norm. I bet more families have dryers in sun-drenched Israel and Nevada than in Britain. Here, you hang up the laundry outside, weather and blackbirds permitting (you know, like the maid in Sing a Song of Sixpence), or else you drape it over anything drapable like the laundry horse and the radiators.  Then there’s always the hand-held hair-dryer to finish of the job, if push comes to shove. Which it often does.
Laundry drying on the radiator


Tuesday, July 26, 2011

The Voyage Aboard the One Seven Four

So you think only an ocean-crossing trip qualifies as a voyage? You think a mere Rishon LeZion>Tel Aviv>Rishon LeZion bus-ride does not merit the name?

I beg to differ.

I reached my conclusions the hard way, i.e., cold and bitter experience. Cold, because the a/c on the bus is enough to make an Eskimo reach for his fur coat; and bitter because I forgot to replenish my emergency stock of fruit Mentos, for which I have no one to blame but myself, and the fact that I didn’t think a mere Rishon-TA bus ride required such meticulous preparation.

Women’s fashion this summer dictates large bags, the kind that can comfortably hold a basketball and still have room for the average female city-traipser’s paraphernalia. No, I’m not referring to the rare woman who leaves the house with a tiny clutch that can barely hold a single tissue, house-key, and credit card.

Luckily for me, I have this Lee Cooper shoulder bag that I fell in love with way back in 2008, that has lots of pockets.

On any given day, the bag inventory is as follows: Really Fat wallet (let’s not go there); make-up bag (ditto; the term “makeup” is used here very loosely);checkbook; business cards; Parker ball point, Pilot V5 Hi-Techpoint; mini Sharpie marker; mechanical pencil; assorted keys; tissues; lip balm; notebook/writing pad; Palm PDA (yes, I know they’re nearly obsolete, but it contains so much valuable data that I never look at!!!); diary/datebook (in case PDA lets me down); earphones for Palm; cellphone; mints/cough drops/chewing gum; various flyers and/or vouchers for coffee-and-croissant (possibly out of date); spare panties (old habit from my early twenties when I wasn’t sure where I’d end up spending the night; also accounts for the toothbrush in the makeup bag).

Now, consider all the extra stuff that went into said bag for the purpose of the arduous, demanding voyage aboard the One Seven Four, and the demanding 5 hour stay in an apartment at the Far End of Civilization, namely a central Tel Aviv boulevard, which you must admit is still the far end of civilization from some perspectives; or for a given value of Far, or End, or Civilization:
  • Hat
  • Scarf/gloves/long sleeved shirt (see Eskimo above)
  • Spare T-shirt in case Baby Momo spits up or pees on me, which he has been known to do
  • Apple, granola bar – in case my daughter’s [kitchen] cupboard is bare and it’s too darn hot to pop out to Tiv Taam or AM PM along Ibn Gvirol
  • Laptop, wireless mouse, charger, computer glasses – in case Momo sleeps like a baby (ha!) and I can work, or blog, or email, or Chat, or…
  • Bottle of water, in case we’re stranded at the bus stop (has been known to happen)
  • Thingy I promised Daria (there’s always a thingy. Dr. Spock’s Baby & Child Care – yes, there was Help before The Baby Whisperer -- , that comfy tunic, a photo of Daria, 6 wks old, to compare to Momo; magic potion to put Baby to sleep)
  • Camera (in case Momo does something really cute, which he invariably does and my cellphone camera sucks, and I’m the last of my generation to not switch to a smartphone, yet)
Total weight: 57.3 kg. Or thereabouts.

I’d better get out my ocean-crossing backpack and start transferring everything to it…

On the bright side, since the reform in public transportation in Gush Dan, a one-way ticket costs me only NIS 3.20 – just under one dollar. Can you beat that?

Sunday, June 5, 2011

What Else to do in Dubrovnik

Say you've been as lucky as we were, and found a charming B&B including parking for your car, if applicable.
Say you're not one for lazing on the beach for hours.
What else is there to do?
Lots of things, I suppose. How we actually spent our time is a different question. I think half the time was spent walking around in search of the perfect little restaurant. The kind whose waiters don't nearly drag you in by the scruff of your neck; where there's neither too much sun nor too much shade; neither too empty nor too full; and where you can peruse the menu without the prices giving you a heart attack.

One just such place is the Konoba Koloseum, located on a relatively wide street in the Old City of Dubrovnik, at Uz Jezuite 6, to be precise. The photo was not taken by me; and the place, with tables and chairs set out, looked much more fetching. Sooner or later came the usual question from our bright-eyed waiter: "Where are you from?" The moment we said "Israel", Yerku, renamed Yair by earlier Israeli tourists, lit up and dazzled us with a selection of his flawless Hebrew: "Shalom haverim sheli, ma shlomchem? Tafrit bevakasha… haval al hazman…"

Turns out that Yair/Yerku is not the only charming waiter at the Koloseum…
The following day, we got back from our three-island-tour aboard the Rudolfo in the late afternoon / early evening, tired and a bit chilly, and had no intention of climbing back uphill to our B&B, only to change, go foraging for food, end up in the Old City, then climb all the way up again… So we thought we'd go back to the Koloseum. It was Sunday night, few tourists were out, the streets were relatively empty. The Koloseum had one table with a high-spirited group of Americans, plus a sprinkling of people at two or three other tables. As we approached, a tall, suave, Steven-Fry-look-alike greeted me in perfect English: "Sorry Madame, we're closed."
Taken aback, I just stood there, speechless, and would probably have turned around and walked away, had he not immediately grinned broadly and said, "Sorry, sorry, just kidding, please, please sit down, mi casa es su casa …" and on he went to amuse and entertain us, keeping us in stitches and plying us with food and wine for the rest of the evening. I suspect Maté (Matthew in English) is in fact a drama student or a stand-up comedian, supplementing his income and practicing his art on unsuspecting tourists like me. Shortly thereafter Yerko/Yair arrived, too, making us feel even more at home.

Having heard me say that I was cold (remember the wet, choppy journey back aboard the Rudolfo?), Maté nipped indoors (all tables are set outdoors, always…) and came back carrying an armful of soft blankets… which he proceeded to drape around everyone's shoulders.

During the meal, we got to talking with the jolly American party at the nearby table, exchanging the standard "where are you from"s and so on. At some point, a pretty girl from another table shyly came up to me, and said in an apologetic tone:
"Sorry for troubling you, but I couldn't help overhearing that you're from Israel… I know Israel is a small country, so I thought maybe, just maybe, you know someone…"
[Fat chance, I'm thinking to myself… Population only around 7 million…]
"Do you by any chance know Ruth Morris?..."
"Ruth Morris? The translator? Yes I do… we're both members of the ITA… I saw her last at the conference in Jerusalem… I follow her blog…"
Small world after all… I took a couple of pictures of Natasha, and sent them to Ruth together with Natasha's warmest regards and thanks for having encouraged her early in her career.

Here's Natasha with Matthew's blanket around her:

That was our last night in Dubrovnik. Since the lovely Fadila could not put us up, she arranged for us to stay with her friend Katrina Popov, nicknamed Ina, who lives a short walk away and has an approved room to let. Like Fadila, Ina too adopted us warmly, served us hot tea in the living room when we came in after dinner, and strong Turkish coffee in the morning before we left, bless her. See pics below:

Ina:

Ina's address, complete with official ministry-of-tourism stars;

The comfy, home-like bedroom:

Saying goodbye to Ina and her cheerful 94-year-old neighbor:

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Dubvrovnik, come rain or come shine

Luckily, we had more shine than rain. But first, we had to get there. It's a long drive from Split to Dubvronik. We meant to get on the A1 highway, but missed the sign on leaving town – very easy when your Croatian is limited to "hvala" ("thank you") and the road signs are designed for locals who know where they're going anyway – and found ourselves on the E65 – a very winding picturesque route that follows the coast-line. Picturesque is of no use to the driver, who's concentrating on not falling off the cliff or not running down pedestrians in small towns and villages. I proposed that we join the A1 at the first possible opportunity, which we did, at Šestanovac. However, the A1 is an unfinished oeuvre, and about two-thirds of the way down we had to re-join the coastal E65 near somewhere with the endearing name Ploce (as in, "I'm going to plotz"). This proved to be a very convoluted drive in itself, that seemed to take us so far out of our way that I actually thought we were lost and would soon find ourselves in Bosnia-Herzegovina. But we didn't.

We'd consulted our trusty guide-book and decided which part of Dubrovnik we were aiming for, with the intent of finding a decent B&B not too far from the Old City. Ha! We went round and round in circles, up and down hills, fighting our way through traffic, and nearly gave up. Not that I know what that means; after all, we had to find somewhere to lay our weary heads. Luckily, when we made a dash for an empty parking space, we realized it was right next to a Sobe sign. Yay! A possible B&B and a parking spot?! That's nearly more than anyone can expect. As Fadila's husband pointed out, the city has around 5000 legal parking spaces for 20,000 cars.

Fadila and her husband run a lovely guesthouse within easy walking distance of Dubrovnik's old city. (Er, easy when going downhill, that is. Coming back uphill at the end of a touring day is a bit more challenging. But you can always catch the bus uphill.) We gratefully dumped our stuff in the bedroom, and accepted their gracious invitation to join them for a glass of chilled white wine on the patio. The patio, it turns out, is also where breakfast is served. One day it will be shaded by vines overhead. Currently there are some vines, and an awning ready to be pitched as needed.


Fadila is a very attentive and caring hostess, and I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there, unless you're expecting rural peace & quiet with only the sound of chirping birds and the occasional mooing cow. This is a bustling city, and it bustles. Personally, it didn't bother me, I just ignored it. But you should be prepared.

Fadila and I saying goodbye:

As in the other cities we visited, the main attraction is the old city. We went from Small to Medium to Large. So if you start with Dubrovnik and then go to Rovinj, say, you'll "run out" of old city sooner than you expect. The sight I enjoyed most when walking on the city walls was the sea of orange roofs. Thing is, these eye-catching orange tiles are brand new, replacing the old decrepit ones and the ones damaged by recent wars.

We looked for gifts or souvenirs for "the kids" but found nothing worthwhile. The expensive labels are available at similar shops in Israel and elsewhere; the knicknacks are kitschy, and who really needs a T-shirt that says Dubrovnik on it? There was one T-shirt I liked, it said Volim Pivo, which means I love beer :-) Should have gotten that for Baby, to get him started on the right track in life without the ganenet(nursery teacher) catching on... Except perhaps if she's a native of those parts and understands and would henceforth look askance at his parents.

I did buy a large beach towel, though, since we'd booked places aboard the Rodulfo for an island-hopping "cruise": a sailboat with a few dozen tourists going to 3 islands, plus lunch, and soft drinks and wine as much as you want. For beer you have to pay extra, but wine is free.

Aboard the Rudolfo:


I hadn't brought anything suitable for lazing on a beach (no shorts or sandals), but as it turned out, the hoodie and scarf I brought along came much more in handy: on the way back the sky turned grey, the wind picked up, the water was choppy and splashed in our faces. The more experienced travelers got out their high-quality Polartecs, while those in T-shirts shivered bravely. Among the shivering ones was Paloma, a soft-spoken psychologist from the Canary Islands with whom we became friendly on this "cruise". Only half-way back to shore did it suddenly occur to us that Michael was carrying this brand-new big towel in his backpack. We offered it to Paloma who wrapped it around her and made me feel less guilty as I sat snugly wrapped in three layers.

For the rest of our experiences in Dubrovnik, wait for my next post.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Split Personality

Sorry, couldn’t resist. You’ve just got to make a pun when faced with a city named Split.

Split probably has more than two personalities. The two we saw – the old and the new – are so interwoven as to be inseparable. The houses, shops and restaurants are literally built to incorporate both. As our guide Rada said, the law in Split was, that you mustn’t destroy, you may only add on. And that’s what they did in the Old City of Split. It’s quite fascinating, really, to see a modern bank with bits of an ancient wall, ancient flower-shaped drain and other ancient pieces among the spanking new furniture and modern-day equipment. Not to mention that the outer walls of the first floors are of glass – ordained so by law – so as not to deprive citizens of the right to see their antiques on a daily basis.

As in Ljubljana, here too, the Old City with its tourist traps is not the whole story. It is but one aspect, one personality out of several. True, it has a delightful market that serves all; and a promenade – called the Riva – where, we are assured, ordinary Croatian folk like to stroll; these are not reserved for tourists alone. But I daresay most of the city’s daily life does not necessarily revolve around this section of town.

Of course, I may be half or totally wrong, for the simple reason that Croatia’s economy relies heavily on tourism. So, especially as soon as spring begins and the tourists start arriving, it is totally possible that many citizens do flock to this part of town as part of their daily-bread-earning routine.

Arriving at Split around noon on Wednesday, we headed straight for Josip’s travel agency, Travel49. Though “straight” is a bit misleading, considering how we wove our way in the maze of narrow lanes, like many other confused tourists carrying map in hand and wearing a hat and a puzzled expression. The moment Josip heard we wanted wi-fi, he said only one place would do – the Diocletian Palace Apartments, in a 500-year old building. So we have a long and narrow apartment all to ourselves: A 10-meter dark-tiled corridor with three rooms to the right: our bedroom; another bedroom probably meant for the younger generation; a bathroom that even has a washing machine (highly desirable contraption); and at the end of the corridor a fully equipped kitchen. Most of this is rather wasted on us. Still, it’s nice to have spacious, comfortable accommodations right in the center of the Old City. And for a reasonable price, too.

The down side is that there’s no parking anywhere in sight… Josip helpfully marked on the map for us the nearest section of town where parking is free anywhere along the street. Of course, we were not the only ones directed there, so finding a free spot was easier said than done. And once we parked, we had to drag our luggage all the way back to our palatial apartment, I’d say about a kilometer. Downhill, luckily. Which means we’ll be hauling it uphill when we leave… Moral of the story: If you have a choice, don’t bother coming to Split by car.

For anyone truly interested in history and archeology, Split is fascinating. For anyone interested in shopping, I can’t really vouch whether there are any good bargains to be had. Some of the stuff in the market stalls looked the same as you could get locally (i.e., in Israel, in the Carmel market, along Allenby St. in Tel Aviv, and in posh shops anywhere.) For anyone interested in sitting in an outdoor café and passing the time of day lounging and watching – it is excellent. Though I am a bit mystified about these so-called cafes. All anyone seems to drink there is beer, wine, and coffee. What about something to nibble? To help soak the alcohol or accompany the coffee? Nothing. Nada. Niente. You want food? That’s a different story: go to the nearest bakery or pizza place (of which there are plenty.) We did see some people eating baked goods which they brought with… Something we wouldn’t dream of doing “back home”. I really should ask: Is it the done thing? Can I buy a croissant, say, at the bakery, bring it with me to the café and enjoy it with my kava bijela?

-- Time to go and see some more of Split. TTFN.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

House Tina, Grabovac, Croatia

Walking in Nature for hours sure is tiring! It’s good to have a room in a place like Tina’s to come back to. Especially since, as I mentioned, our previous accommodations were not the best. That being the case, we naturally wanted to make sure to do better this time around.

I wonder whether this guest-house is mentioned in any Hebrew-language guide book. We consulted the Rick Steves book, upon which we’ve been relying pretty heavily this trip. Turns out he also explains about the infamous biljeta that cost us an arm and a leg; we simply hadn’t read that part (but had relied on the car-rental folks to warn us of such details.)

Anyway, we left Rovinj and headed east north-east until a place that begins with K – wait, let me check – Karlovac -- where we turned south in the general direction of the famous Plitvicka Jezera national park. It may be world famous, but I bet most of the world’s population had never heard of it. Anat, one of my exercise-class chums, had told me in no uncertain terms: “Whatever you do in Croatia, make sure you go to Plitvicka! Repeat after me: Plitvicka!” Other fellow-Israelis had expressed themselves similarly. As I explained to Canadians Andy & Victoria (whom we’re still half-expecting to bump into around the corner), Slovenia & Croatia (often said in one breath, as if they were twins) are a popular destination with Israelis: a short flight away, pretty scenery that combines abundant greenery with beaches, mountains and shopping hubs; and a European flavor without the expense of France or Italy, say. Andu & Victoria’s Canadian friends, on the other hand, reacted much like our own Canadian daughter upon hearing our destination: “Croatia?” they gasp, “What kind of a place is that?!”

It was a long drive – five hours, including two short stops. We’d decided to eschew the big hotels in the park itself and find a good B&B. Anyone who’s done this trip knows that the countryside is choc-a-bloc with B&Bs. Signs saying Sobe-Zimmer-Apartman are practically on every country home. So without anyone to guide you or recommend a place, you’re bound to be pretty confused. House Tina – our guidebook says – has received consistently good feedback. So here we are. The owner, actually Tina’s mom, a lovely woman named Lubica (pardon my misspelling) has wisely painted her picturesque house yellow, which helps it stand out among the other houses. Internet permitting, I shall of course upload a photo. Briefly: Clean, neat, comfortable, good size. Very pleasant landlady. Spanking-new, highly aesthetic dining room serving a decent breakfast. Though the coffee/tea could be hotter; when it’s served in flasks (thermoses) it inevitably isn’t as hot as it ought to be. The shower stall is a bit small, but why quibble when everything else is fine. The bigger, highly-sophisticated shower stall at the Villa Ladavac certainly did not make up for that place’s shortcomings. So there. The Internet connection is a sore point. There should be wi-fi, and we have the password, but for some reason there’s no connection. Bother.

Back to the lakes and waterfalls of Plitvicka. I am lost for words. Let’s just say that if you wanted to make a movie that takes place in the Garden of Eden, I would highly recommend this location. Of course, you’d have to close it down to tourists for the duration of filming. Or perhaps you could sell tickets and have visitors, suitably hidden and camouflaged in the foliage, watch the filming; should pay for the production quite nicely, making up for lost revenue. But I digress.

My adorable tiny Cannon can’t possibly do the place justice: waterfalls everywhere, amazing blue-green lakes and streams, lush greenery everywhere, and wooden plank walkways. A word of warning about those walkways: Watch your step. They’re very pretty, those planks, but sort of uneven, with uneven gaps between them, and shallow steps that take you by surprise. Half the time I had to look down carefully to make sure I don’t miss a step and go sprawling. Another warning: Come early in the day, as well as early in the season. Otherwise, the place is mobbed. As it was (earlyish morning, early May), there were some “traffic jams” on those wooden walkways, with groups of high-spirited local high-school kids, or of sedate, elderly European tourists, walking in opposite directions, cause congestion and a bit of dismay. See, most of these walkways do not have rails, and do have water at least on one side. So you really do not want to be shoved over and find yourself among the fish.

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By now it's a day later; I obviously did not find myself among the fish, and am now miles away, in Split. Another post to follow, when I've recovered from the first day in Split.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

From Bled to Rovinj - Continued

... as I was saying, you can't really compare the two cities, so I'm not.
One funny thing I hadn't mentioned about Slovenia is, that they seemed to be celebrating Asparagus Holiday. We arrived smack in the midst of asparagus season; asparagus featured prominently in every menu, every restaurant, every market. The restaurant at the Mayer Penzion had a special, green, high-quality glossy asparagus menu, with a delightful selection of asparagus dishes. Yes, they were delicious. I fully approve of asparagus season.

After we "did" the Julian Alps (a gross exaggeration, of course), we continued through narrow, winding country roads through places with names like Bovec, Zaga, Kobarid, Most na Soci, and others that are too small to appear on our map. Our destination was the car train -- Autovlak, leaving from Podbrdo and cutting through the mountain, emerging at the unpronounceable yet very real Bohinjeska Something, some 35 km south of Bled, i.e. saving us a lot of driving on the way back. Getting to the boarding point was nerve racking, due to roadworks that forced us to stop in our tracks and wait while the minutes ticked away and we thought we might miss the train. (As I explained on my other blog.) We, and two other cars, drove carefully onto the flat train carriage, put the car into first, pulled the hand-break, and away we went into the dark tunnel for a 15 min claustrophobic ride...

All this seems ages ago...

Here in Rovinj, the trick seems to be trying to find a restaurant that isn't a typical tourist trap. There's one in the old city that obviously tries to cater to just such tourists who are tired of the typical tourist places... It calls itself The Creative Restaurant, and boasts that it serves no pizza and no calamari, but I'm not sure we'll take their word for it. Last night, after imbibing a decent amount of the local pivo called Ozujsko, served by the lovely Adriana at Cafe Feniks (I kid you not; it even has a Facebook page), we strolled over to a restaurant slightly hidden behind the others for a decent seafood meal. Sorry, didn't write down the name. Which would be unprofessional of me were I a professional travel writer, which I'm not. But which brings me to today's pleasant new acquaintances -- Andu and Victoria Keddis, travel writers and paragliding aficionados from Vancouver, Canada. Got to talking over breakfast this morning.

Andu and Victoria agreed that this B&B -- Villa Ladavac -- isn't the tops... We've seen better. Some small additions would make a big difference. For instance: towel racks in the bathroom; plain soap in the shower and/or the washbasin; a bulb in the reading lamp; a blanket that's actually big enough for a double bed; a few more human touches of that sort. Oh well -- better luck next time.

It's getting windy and a bit cloudy out. Better get the heavier sweatshirt, and perhaps an umbrella, before we go out for dinner. Tomorrow we're off to Slunj. TTFN.

From Bled to Rovinj

Saturday morning, a guesthouse on 43 Ma-Divisione Istriana st., (the Italian name). No, 43 is part of the name of the street; the number of the house is 23, I think. Not that it matters to you, but one should know the exact address of the hotel one's staying at, should one get lost, right? All street names, as well as other signs, are in both languages -- Croatian and Italian. Which makes it easier for lots of people, I suppose. Me among them.

If you're a foreigner driving around, you might get lost; many streets are one way. But on foot our B&B is very easy to find: from wherever you are in town you can always get to the waterfront. Along the waterfront, you find the central bus stop (though you could miss it... it doesn't look much like a Central Bus Station.) And right next to the Natale tourist agency, who got us this place, is a street going uphill. You just walk up and up until you've about had it, and there you are.

Once you're in a private B&B like this (which I doubt Steves & Hewitt et al would even deign to review), you appreciate the amenities and niceties of places like the elegant Penzion Mayer in Bled.

We spent 2 nights at the Mayer and, looking back, I wouldn't have minded staying another day and going on a tour of that fabulous-looking castle across the lake: [Looks like the slow connection here is not letting me upload the pic. Which is strange, because I did manage to upload pics to Facebook.]
Though the book says the main thing to recommend it is the view from that vantage point rather than the interior of the castle itself. If any [tourist destination] is worth staying at at all, it is worth staying at least 2 nights, is my general philosophy. I can't stand dragging luggage back and forth, packing and unpacking, for just one night. You don't manage to get the feel of a place, become familiar with it, become "apprivoise", (with an accent aigue on the e), as the Little Prince says.

There's no comparing Bled and Rovinj, actually. So I'm not, really. Though both seem to exist mainly as a tourist attraction. Bled has an Alpine chalet look & feel; Rovinj has an Italian coastal tourist trap look & feel.

The main thing we did in Bled was walk briskly around the entire lake, about an hour and a half; dine at well at the elegant Penzion Mayer restaurant; and try not to bump our heads against the low ceiling of Room 301 which is a garrett (which is a picturesque name for an attic.) Room 301, a.k.a. the room at the top [of the stairs, not the 1959 movie) was only 57 euro, compared to 82 euro for the standard room on the 2nd floor, and we thought it a good deal, though it was very oddly shaped, with a hall leading to a bathroom up ahead, and to a long narrow corridor on the left, which opens up into the bedroom.

The 2nd main thing we did when in Bled is drive around the beautiful, jagged Julian Alps, with the famous 50 hairpin twists and turns. This is the way I like Mother Nature: well sign-posted, clean and tidy, not overly crowded, no traffic jams, no queues to the toilet...

But I'll stop right here for the nonce, otherwise I'll be stuck here at the laptop all day rather than enjoy a blue-skyed warm day in this picturesque -- if somewhat tattered-looking harbor town.

- to be continued -

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Pri Mraku Guesthouse, Ljubljana

Briefly -- it was a pleasant experience:
The location is convenient -- easy to get to and from the highway, yet in a quiet street and within easy walking distance from the river and the hopping center of town.
The room was just right -- neither too big nor too small, neither too fancy nor too plain. Spotlessly clean and fresh. The a/c (or rather heating) just right. The breakfast selection had something for everyone.
And most important -- the manager, Mr. Matija Kafol, and his staff, were unfailingly courteous and helpful.

Here are 3 pics : two of the interior, one exterior.




Another great plus is the parking! See Michael by our rented VW Polo? He didn't just bring the car around... it was legally parked right next to the hotel, and the spot was saved for us while we were touring by car. No need to drag suitcases from far off parking lot, or squeeze in and out of awkward underground places.

What you can't see from these pics is the patio/garden restaurant, which we could see from our bedroom window but didn't actually take advantage of. By the time we got back in from our daily roaming, the kitchen and restaurant were closed. The hotel desk happily recommended excellent nearby eateries. But if you're too tired to even cross the street, there's no need to: Le Petit Cafe is right next door; it's lively and delicious. We sat outdoors once, and indoors the second time, feeling very un-Ljubljaners; these people seem to think that the interior of a cafe/restaurant is merely a necessary evil, without which the exterior couldn't function. But the place to be, to sit, to eat and drink, is definitely outside on the sidewalk. They also seem to drink (wine, wine, wine, beer, coffee, coffee) much more than they eat. While I'm huddled in my thickest sweatshirt, veering towards the nearest shelter, the locals are sitting expansively at the outdoor tables, enjoying the cool night air.

By the time we were ready to leave Israel, I felt as if we were the last of our generation that had not yet visited Slovenia & Croatia. Whoever we spoke to said things like "Oh, it's beautiful, you'll love it!" So I don't know if anything I have to say will be news to anyone. But in case you're one of the endangered species who haven't yet visited -- we concur: it's beautiful. Go visit. Ask for Simona at the Tourist information center... give her my warm regards.