Wild Flowers - St George's Day Thoughts

I had an hour or so spare while Frankie was working and as there was water nearby I was drawn inexorably towards it as all fishermen everywhere always are. We are the men you see standing suspiciously on bridges staring myopically into the sun glazed water looking hard for the sign of movement; a drifting fish, a lazy glide or weed fronds waving in the current. 

Finchale Abbey lies on the River Wear not far from Durham and very near the Frankland Prison which holds the infamous Soham Murderer Ian Huntly, but I gave that man little or no thought as I drove towards the water. 

Set right on the banks of Durham's famous river, the Priory oversees a small woodland area which, on the morning I found it, was carpeted with a large array of wild flowers, carpets, chinks and surprises of petal'd packages to be found all over the small wooded area - and it wasn't really Spring yet - not this far North anyway.   

On the drive through the North East we had been struck by the huge beds of dandelion that lined the roadsides and fields. Not just the scattering of these ubiquitous plants that one normally sees around St George's Day, but almost acres of them, which will soon be scattering their unwanted seeds miles and miles, if this chilly Easterly wind keeps up for much longer, and upsetting gardeners everywhere. 

In the woods, the first flowers I came across were the anemones, barely opening their petals in the lackadaisical sun. Nestling against the trunks of oak and beech their bright green leaves and ever so slightly pink flowers brought a smile to my face, they just look so cheerful when they open up and I love seeing these little flowers scattered among the trees. And, of course, they only open up fully in direct sunlight and the sun always cheers us up. 

Anyone who reads my blogs regularly will know I love wild garlic, the scent often reaches the nose before the sight meets the eyes, but not only do their almost plastic spear-like leaves and spiked white flowers look good, they taste good too. I was chatting to another walker I discovered on the bridge trying hopelessly to capture a photograph of the wheeling, acrobatic house martins that effortlessly fed on the spring ephemera launching off the idling river. He is a chef and was extolling the virtues of wild garlic until he discovered I shared his enthusiasm, so we shared a few recipes and ideas and talked about the abundance of bird life and flaura before heading our separate ways. 

Discovering beds of wild garlic is always a delight for me, Spring is near, Summer just around the corner and longer days filled with walks and warmth beckon. Whilst I enjoy all the Seasons, there is certainly a promise given with Spring that lifts the heart.

I came across comfrey, cow- parsley, tiny dog violets nestling like lilac gems in the grass and footpaths and lady smock peering through the undergrowth. Wild cherry blossom drooped from the trees and smiling daisies spotted the lawns around the Abbey. Everywhere I turned there was colour splashed around as if by accident - as if God's paint palette had been thrown across the countryside

Markets

Casablanca Souk

Whether they are the little flea markets that sell tat or unwanted memorabilia or the colourful, fragrant spice markets in Morocco, they all hold a fascination for me..

A market traders life must be the same worldwide; the pressure to find the goods and the hope of selling out on the day; the search for items that will sell easily and the balance of cost of acquisition against selling price. In no other place is this balance in such open view as the markets of Morocco. Yet everywhere, if you take a moment to stand and watch, wherever you are you will see the price of this search in the stall holders face, the lines around his eyes from the sun and the worry are a testament to the strain of buying and selling. The disappointment of no sale and the welcome joy of a good price leave equal traces on the face of the market trader, as the wind and rain leave patterns in the dunes of the Moroccan beaches.  

Cape Verde's Markets were very crowded...

I always have an urge to head for a market whenever I get to a town or city, I love the sensory attack that accompanies these places, whether indoor or out. The riot of colours shimmering in the air, the sounds and cries, the smells of meat, fish, vegetables, spices - even clothes and books - and recently, on a long cruise I had the chance to head for the stalls in a variety of places. Tenerife, Cape Verde, Agadir, Casablanca and El Ferrol all provided a feast for my hunger of markets and not one of them let me down. Yet even in the UK I migrate to stalls like a traveller makes for the warmest Inn. I look for the book stand, the green grocer, the baker - oh yes the baker - at this one stall alone does the olfactory sense shift into overdrive and I drool physically at the smells and mentally at the ideas, the shapes, the artisan skill and the ingredients, I imagine the bustle of the early morning bakery, the flour dusting the very air and the heat from the ovens as the bread is shaped, patted and baked. 

Oranges By The Cart Load

The Spice stalls in Casablanca were all I hoped they would be, colours ablaze and glowing in the damp sunshine, oranges by the cartload, chillies and peppers, lemons, limes and the muted hues of the mounded spices themselves; the ochre of turmeric, the deep red of ground chilli, whole nutmegs and cinnamon sticks in shades of chestnut and burnt umber, the rich pastel shades of the lentils glistening in the low December sun. 

Pastel Shades of Spices

UK fish stalls are fun places, fishmongers having a humour all of their own, but the colours are muted. Mackerel, cod, plaice and salmon are subdued in shade and lack the vivid reds and blues of mullet, snapper and wrasse from the Mediterranean or the frightful appearance of the monkfish and scabbard fish from the Canaries. The spangling sardines from Portugal, the Tuna from St. Vincent and the coin-scaled mullet from Spain are on neat display in rows of bright eyed freshness in most markets. I say most, because a couple of the Tuna that were brought along for inspection for our onboard chef in St Vincent were not as fresh as our local fishermen purported, judging by the limp flaccid flesh and the red eyes of the specimens - they were a day or two old at best. But most of the fish on display are caught that day, brought stiff and fresh straight from the boats. 

Scabbard Fish

Vivid Reds...

 And that's another great thing about markets; you get to inspect the goods, discuss them and haggle if you're brave enough. In the UK haggling isn't really the done thing, we don't argue, discuss or debate the goods on offer, we accept them and buy them - or we don't. That's it. 

All over the world deep, meaningful conversations take place around the efficacy, quality and price of the items. Markets are places to haggle, argue and act insulted, to quibble over cents, pennies and proportions. You spend time comparing and handling, learning to trust the stall holder, relationships are forged or trashed, cemented or destroyed as you spend your time buying your essential items. I was sitting at the indoor market in Bath recently watching the cheese counter as fists were bumped, hands shaken and friendships obviously made through trade were on display. There was a respect, an honest mutual liking and of course money and cheese changed hands as I sat and supped my afternoon tea. 

Colours....

Don't be afraid of markets, respect them certainly, but watch, if you can, over a cup of coffee, tea or a beer and you'll see the exchanges, the colours, hear the sounds and smell the aromas. You'll see friendships, respect and disdain all in one stall, you'll observe peculiarities, oddities and strangeness, but most of all what you're looking at is human nature in its most basic, intrinsic honesty, you're watching life. 

English Market in Cork City

Dublin - The Craic

Old friendships last in Ireland...

It's not often one returns from a hectic two day exhibition feeling exhilerated - usually the feelings are tired, worn out, weary and looking forward to a few days of catch up - yet after our trips to Ireland we always seem to be invigorated and ready to face the world again.

I suppose one could put this down to Guinness, perhaps the sea air from the crossing or the change being in another country brings. I think that we put it down to our friends from Ireland who always appear to be so pleased to see us, our acquaintances and Frankie's fans who unfailingly make us feel welcome - and of course the Craic.

To borrow from Wiki:
"Craic" (/ʔkræk/ krak), or "crack", is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland.^[1][2][3] It is often used with the definite article – the craic.^[1] The word has an unusual history; the English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English.^[1] Under either spelling, the term has great cultural currency and significance in Ireland.

I'm not at all sure about the word 'reborrowed' but that's Wikipedia for you.  Anyway, the sentiment is about right, it doesn't actually cover any one thing - it's about the whole deal, the entire package of friendship, company, food, drink, entertainment, ambiance (a mix of cultures, languages and etimology never did any harm - honest!) and atmosphere - or - the craic.

It's great that one word can cover a whole range of actions, feelings and environments but that's exactly what happened on our first evening back in Dublin after two years away. We met up with our friends at the Lemon Tree and immediately we were comfortable, deep in conversation with great drink and food instantly at hand and with a room full of friendly people, any one of whom we felt might interact with us at any time and in an equally friendly manner. It was an amazingly comfortable feeling. 

Only in Ireland though. I can rarely recall feeling that at ease in mixed company anywhere else; and even during the exhibition people would treat us as long list friends or family - even complete strangers. The Irish attitude is that we probably are all related anyway and with a surname like mine it's a given. I'm the Plastic Paddy though - an appellation I treasure, given to me years ago by some very dear friends. "Plastic" in this instance also means many things, a wannabe Irishman, a long, lost ancestor, third generation, English sounding, not really Irish, Kerryman. That's me - all of the above - but not the reason that Ireland is a wonderful country to visit. 

It's a beautiful place: flat rolling fields, heather covered mountains, water everywhere and a heritage that could take several lifetimes to explore. All this and wonderful bars where you're made to feel instantly at home, locals who make your welfare their concern and food delivered to the bar if you can't stagger to the restaurant. 

Directions that start with "Well.... You can't get there from here...", a stone that needs kissing if you're going to want the charm, a beer as black as night with a white foam head - yet a music culture second to none, art and dance as intriguing as any, a love of horses and horse racing and of all sport that is spoken of in hushed tones in pubs all over the country. 

We always look forward to our trips to Ireland, they're always different, yet always with the same result - a relaxed feeling of satisfaction and time well spent in good company, a feeling that you're liked - treasured even - and a longing to return. 

Deal - A Great Place To Visit

Deal Town has been listed as one of the top 30 best places to visit for a weekend retreat by The Times newspaper.

The Times commented on the town’s view of France on a clear day and its award-winning High Street as voted by the Daily Telegraph, with a busy Saturday market and numerous bars, cafes and restaurants.

The Times commented on the cottages in Middle Street, Deal

It also mentioned the cottages in Middle Street, a conservation area, just metres from the beach and picked up on Smugglers Cottage in Dolphin Street, a two-bedroom property currently on sale for £249,500.

Deal is known as one of London weekenders favourite places to visit with St Pancras only an hour and a half by train.

The town has recently announced its high speed services to London will continue with new plans to introduce high speed stops in Martin Mill and Walmer.

Deal town mayor Marlene Burnham said: “After Deal won the High Street of the Year award out of the whole country, then to hear that Deal was 17 out of 30, well, what an accolade.

“It’s the real Deal, that’s what they’re getting. It’s splendid news and extremely exciting.

“I’m very interested in tourism for the town and it seems Deal is on the up and up. Perhaps next year, we’ll be in the top three. Well done everybody.”

Peter Jull, chairman of Deal and Walmer chamber of trade, said: “It is pleasing that Deal keeps coming up top in a number of these polls.

“Earlier in the year it was the High Street and now it’s a great place for the weekend.

“Our members will be pleased that their dedication to good customer service has been recognised.”

Broadstairs also made it on to the list, featuring at number 21. The town has been long primed as the next Whitstable with its cliff top promenade and was once described by Dickens as “our English watering-place.”

(With thanks to KentOnline)

 I might add, personally, that Deal is my home town - my family moved here when i was in my early teens and I have many fond memories. It's a warm, friendly seaside town, oozing with history and legend. The ghosts of smugglers, miscreants and rogues still walk the centuries old alleyways, side roads and hidden shanty properties of the town and the pier is still open, accessible and always busy. It offers more pubs per hundred yards than many places in the UK and each of these caters for all tastes and requirements, and, if that was not enough, it has three (yes three) castles along its entire seafront.

Take a trip down and see for yourselves, but if you feel a draught, it's probably not the sea breeze, but the loitering remnants of an ancient mariner or the mischievous shadow of a 15th century smuggler sneaking past.

Land Rovers And Levadas

Levada walks in Madeira

This is a post I wrote recently for a Travel Company...

With the reputation as one of the prettiest islands as well as the most sedate, Madeira has a few surprises up its sleeve when it comes to exploring the its countryside and history. The Portuguese, very rightly, love this little paradise and treasure its calmness, stillness and solitude. Night clubs are few and far between and the tourists most definitely fit into the older age bracket, but on a recent trip, I was able to explore two aspects of the island that may be less well known, getting well off the beaten track and into the beautiful countryside, making some wonderful discoveries and digging up some gold mines along the way.

Naturally, the very nature of the island lends itself to a diversity of flora, terrain and altitude and the million or so tourists that visit over the course of the year come for a variety of reasons, but as soon as I saw the Levada Walks and the Land Rover Safaris, I knew I would have to get out of the town of Funchal and into the hills.

The views from beyond the towns are quite stunning

Levada Walks

As a way to explore the island in a sedate manner and without too many extreme gradients, this is the best!

Levadas are the concrete waterways or aqueducts constructed over the years to supply the southern half of the island with water. There are over 40 kilometres of tunnels, many of which are still accessible today and over 2000 kilometres of walkable levadas around the island, and much of this is easy to walk, eminently accessible by local transport and many can be booked as an accompanied tour by English speaking guides who will share a wealth of information regarding the history, fauna and flora of the island. 

If you prefer, you can explore them alone and many maps of the walks, in easy sections of from 6 to 26 kilometres are available in the tourists centres. As always, it's a good idea to let someone from your hotel know where you'll be and try to choose walks initially, closer to civilisation in case of mishap. Take appropriate clothing too as the mountain mists can close in quickly, but if you stick to the walkways along the concrete levadas it's difficult to get lost. 

Wild Wood Sorrel - in January

Also take care of recent incidents that may have occurred along the way. Out of necessity these water ways are incredibly well maintained, but overnight tree falls and land slips do occur, so just watch your footing around these areas.

As you walk you will see the mountainous regions in all their glory; the bougainvillea and wild thyme, the cacti, mimosa and banana and the eucalyptus as well as all the other wonderful semi-tropical plants that abound on this wonderful island. The name Madeira means "Wood" in Portuguese. 

Other than birds and the odd feral cat, you won't see much fauna on your walks but you will see the farming layers built, in some cases, on shear cliff edges, the care and attention given to preparing the land for crops all year round is still very evident.

Take care as you go but do give them a try.

Stunning views along the Levadas

Land Rover Safaris

As the proud owner of a Defender myself, I just had to give these trips -  bookable almost anywhere - a go.

We booked two excursions; one was an out and out safari on all the back roads around the island, starting at the top of the highest mountain and hitting every puddle, every pothole and every sharp, wicked bend on the way down with stops for lunch (included) and coffee whenever our bones were too shaken to carry on.

The second was a 6 car trip up through the mountains to a linen factory and a local market, two surprisingly cheap and incongruously non-touristy stops as it was possible to experience. Lunch at the market - almost as much barbecued food as you could eat, washed down with the local beer and wine - cost only a couple of euros a head - wonderful value, and a lively local market to look at into the bargain.

Stuck in a ditch - but still immense fun!

 On this trip we also hit pot holes and ditches and yours truly had to get out with the chain saw to help clear the way when we hit a ditch the hard way and during the afternoon our vehicle suffered not one, but two punctures - great fun!

The tiered fields for crops....

The guides and drivers were friendly, helpful and full of mischief. They were accommodating, high spirited - but safe! They knew the limits of the vehicles and the terrain and we felt comfortable in their hands - as comfortable as you can in a Defender.

So if you want to get out and about, explore the island, meet the locals and see the real Madeiran wildlife - just ask your tour guide, your hotel receptionist or your local Tourist Information Office  - and go explore!