Tag: holiday

Shall we have cheesecake?

Madrid

I don’t wish to confirm that we might have a cheesecake problem, but Nat and I? We may have a cheesecake problem.

It started last Thursday night. We had dinner at Botin, the oldest restaurant in the world (confirmed by Guinness World Records). Even though we were full we ordered two desserts to share. The crème brûlée and la tarte de queso receta de la abuela – cheesecake, Grandma’s recipe.

It sounds so simple – cheesecake, Grandma’s recipe. But there was nothing simple about that cheesecake. It was the smoothest, most luscious cheesecake we have ever eaten. It was warm, it was velvety, it was creamy, the filling melting a little on the plate. There were moans and groans and multiple forks reaching for one more bite.

So now Nat and I have a cheesecake problem.

Friday morning ‘How far away is the cheesecake shop? I’m happy to walk there tonight to get cheesecake.’

Later that day at the Mercado de San Miguel ‘Should we have cheesecake? I’m pretty full but I could do cheesecake.’

Friday night after dinner ‘Goldie can take us to the cheesecake shop now and we can get cheesecake.’

Same night, two minutes later ‘Why would you wait until 10pm to tell us the cheesecake shop closes at 10pm??!!’

Saturday after breakfast ‘Hopefully there’s cheesecake in Córdoba.’

Later in Córdoba ‘Should we get cheesecake? I think we should get cheesecake.’

On the train on our way home from Córdoba ‘Shall we stop at the Mercado and buy dinner? We can get cheesecake.’

That night, staring at our cheesecakes ‘We really should wait for our dinner to settle before we eat cheesecake.’

Ten minutes later, on the couch having finished our cheesecake ‘Wish we’d bought more cheesecake.’

Sunday, before the sheep ‘Shall we get cheesecake while we wait for the sheep?’

Monday ‘Yes please Goldie I’ll try some of your cheesecake.’

Tuesday ‘I don’t think I can eat any more cheesecake.’

Also Tuesday ‘Peppa, can you swing past 99 Cheesecake and buy us some cheesecake?’

I guess it’s not that much of a problem. It’s cheesecake, it’s delicious and we’re on holidays.

When we get home to Brisbane and no longer have such easy access to cheesecake? That’s when we’ll have a problem.

All that plus a parade of sheep

Madrid

We are now in Madrid, flying in from Berlin last week. Here we’ve been joined by my brother-in-law Mat who’s been in London for a couple of days while we’ve been gallivanting around Europe. And in Madrid we’ve met up with Goldie, Nat’s second daughter, who is living and studying in Madrid.

It’s true I’m missing Don terribly – I’m not used to travelling without him – but it’s definitely special to be with my sister and her family who I’m incredibly close to.

Madrid has been a chance to stay in one place for a while. We have a lovely Airbnb with plenty of room for all of us. We’ve stocked the kitchen with essentials, checked out the local markets, restaurants and cafes and worked out the best walking routes to different parts of the city.

The weather has been beautifully warm and sunny, with crisp chilly mornings. We’ve walked Parque de El Retiro, the beautiful Madrid park, had dinner at the oldest restaurant in the world, sampled food at the Mercado de San Miguel and visited Córdoba for the day. Last night Mat, Peppa and Goldie went to see Atlético de Madrid play RC Deportivo de A Coruña at Metropolitano stadium.

Today we wandered Madrid’s massive outdoor markets, El Rastro. I’ve written before about how sometimes you end up at the right place at the right time. As we left the markets there were people lining the streets – lots of people. A quick google told us it was the annual Fiesta de la trashumancia, where shepherds and hundreds of sheep walk through the streets of Madrid to highlight Spain’s ancient free range grazing practices and the threat to the corridors the shepherds use.

Of course we stopped at a cafe for cheesecake and to wait for the sheep to come down the street.

And down the street they came – all 1,250 of them, shepherds throughout to guide the way. It was a beautiful spectacle and remarkably calm. Nobody pushed to see the sheep, there was no shouting or cheering, just happy conversation and appreciation from the locals and tourists watching. The shepherds were smiling and waving and taking extra care of their sheep. It was an unexpected highlight of the day.

What an extraordinary city Madrid is; we are loving every second of it!

One pierogi

Nat has somehow perfected the art of ordering the biggest item on the menu. She doesn’t want the biggest item, she just always gets the biggest item.

In Riga she asked for a small side of cabbage to go with her fish at the casual dining buffet near our hotel. She was served an absolute mountain, taking over her plate and engulfing the fish.

You may recall our night at Rosengrāls. Peppa’s lamb shank was quite tiny. My venison stew came in a small bowl. Nat had an entire chicken, butterflied and laying legs spread across her plate, on top of a pile of barley on top of a pile of lentils.

A huge slab of lasagne in Poznań.

The biggest slice of cake every day in Berlin.

A half a chicken last night in Madrid.

But the best of all was in Poznań where we were enjoying the local dumplings – delicious Polish pierogi.

Our first night at dinner Nat was considering one of the autumn specials, chicken and vegetable stuffed pierogi.

‘Is just one pierogi,’ our waiter told her.

‘Oh, how big is it?’ Nat asked. She used her hands to create a shape the size of an apple.

‘Oh no,’ he smiled, ‘is bigger.’

‘Is it to share?’ she asked, ‘or a dish for one person?’

‘For one,’ he responded. ‘Do you want to know? Or shall I surprise you?’

‘Surprise her,’ Peppa and I said together.

‘Ok, I surprise you,’ and off he went.

A short while later Peppa’s pizza arrived. My pork stew arrived. And then Nat’s pierogi arrived.

Like slow motion, the size was gradually revealed as our waiter reached across our heads and lowered it carefully onto the table.

Peppa and I have never laughed so hard. At the size of that dumpling, and at the look on Nat’s face. It was a monster pierogi, spreading across a super sized plate and hanging off the sides. Probably the size of twelve apples.

Nat now requires a warning before she orders anything lest we have a repeat of what Peppa and I now refer to as the great dumpling incident of 2026.

Family history

Poznań

Over the past few months we’ve been collecting bits and pieces of our Dad’s family history. Our family ancestors were from what was Prussia, coming to Australia by boat in 1870.

Poland has gone through many changes, and records have been lost or destroyed. Nat found a researcher here in Poznań to help search available records, and to take us to visit the areas where our family lived.

It’s impossible to find actual homes even if they did still exist, however churches, town halls and cemeteries provided better opportunities. Our first stop north of Poznań was the small village of Murowana Goślina, where we found the church our great, great, great grandparents Johann and Anna Maria were married.

It’s quite surreal to stand in the place where your family lived so long ago and so far away. A whole other life to ours. A little further north is Skoki where they lived and where Julius, their fourth child, and our great, great grandfather was born.

Most Evangelical churches from Prussian times have fallen into disrepair or been demolished, with the land then used to build Catholic churches. We ran out of luck after Murowana Goślina. In Piła where Julius and his wife Juliane lived before they left for Australia we could only stand in an empty square and imagine the church where they’d married.

We visited several local towns and villages where our family members had ties, but perhaps the most entertaining visits of all were the cemeteries.

The first was in Oleśnica, a tiny dot on the map near Chodzież. All that was there was a grand manor where Johann had worked and was buried after his death. A man there saw us poking around and spoke rapid fire Polish to Lukasz for at least ten minutes. We waited, eager to hear what he’d had to say.

‘He said the cemetery is this way,’ Lukasz told us, before setting off into the forest. We were learning quickly that Lukasz was not one for conversation.

He forged ahead into the valley, paying little heed to us skidding down the muddy hill behind him, through the leaves and debris, into a wet ravine and clambering up the other side. It was obvious Lukasz was solely focused on finding the cemetery site. When we eventually caught up, muddy and covered in leaves, we found him standing in a flat mossy area with the sunken holes of old crypts. An unmarked graveyard abandoned and forgotten, but somehow beautiful with the sunbeams shooting through the trees and hitting the bright green moss. Somewhere here lay Johann.

The second cemetery was in Romanowo Górne, where Juliane lived and where her parents Gottlieb and Wilhelmina were buried. Again the Lutheran cemetery was left abandoned and a new Catholic church and cemetery established nearby.

By this time it seemed Lukasz had forgotten we even existed. He was off into the scrub, and we valiantly dived in after him.

There was no path, just more spindly trees, moss and muddy slopes.

Peppa received a message from her dad back in London while we were traipsing through the bushes ‘Where are you?’ to which Peppa replied ‘No idea’ and sent him a picture of the empty forest.

‘Serial killer territory,’ he responded, and went back to his beer. Peppa went back to crashing through the forest.

This site was a tangled mess of trees. At one point I grabbed hold of an unattached branch to steady myself, fell backwards, caught my ponytail hard and fast in the trees behind me, spent five minutes figuring out what exactly I’d done to myself and another 10 minutes trying to set myself free. I’m not sure crashing through the bushes looking for an abandoned gravesite is the ideal European holiday for a 23 year old, but Peppa certainly enjoyed that moment.

There was even less evidence of a cemetery here; some old stones markers and a few scattered boulders. Gottlieb and Wilhelmina’s last resting place.

It was a fascinating day, and we will go home knowing we’ve experienced the churches, graveyards and town squares of our Prussian ancestors.

And a little more of the Polish countryside than we’d anticipated.

Aurora sightings unlikely

Helsinki

All year my sister, Nat, my niece, Peppa and I have been planning our holiday. Month after month we’ve sat together on weekends, piecing together the itinerary, booking flights and food tours and going down the rabbit hole of family history.

And finally, after nine months of planning and a torturous 26 hours of travelling, we have arrived at our first stop, Helsinki, in an explosion of hair products, chocolates and puffer jackets.

Travelling together so far has not disappointed.

We’ve visited the Herring Festival and sat on reindeer fur in cosy tents drinking chocolate hot enough to burn your oesophagus. We’ve climbed the steps to Helsinki Cathedral and wandered through shops full of Moomin and Marimekko.

We’ve sampled salmon soup, rice pies, shots of sea buckthorn, salty liquorice and Finish pancakes, and we’ve dunked ourselves in the freezing Gulf of Finland – twice – after steaming hot saunas.

Nat has researched and announced aurora sightings unlikely, but clouds 100%, and has declared she could happily live here.

Yesterday we crossed the Gulf in a massive ferry to explore the old town of Tallinn, Estonia. Nat has declared she could happily live there.

Of course many things we’ve done have been accompanied by a happy stream of merciless family ribbing.

Nat left the lid open and emptied the entire contents of her giant water bottle into her bag, leaving her sitting at breakfast in a puddle of water.

Peppa padlocked her suitcase shut and then left the key back in Australia.

Nat and I scoured the hotel room for two days looking for a hairdryer, only to be told by reception it’s just under the sink.

I brought my teeny tiny water bottle with me, giving Nat and Peppa endless amounts of material every time I take a sip.

But my absolute favourite has got to be Nat doing a post or some such thing on her phone, with Peppa looking on.

I swear this is word for word.

‘Well you do it’……. ‘No, no, no just swipe up and’….. ‘I know, I’m just’…. ‘There, that..oh, nope too late’….. ‘No but I did that’….. ‘No but you didn’t’…. ‘Well why did it’…. ‘Surely you know how to’ … ‘I do but’…

‘Have you even used a phone before?’

It is only Day 2.

When stars align

Jaipur

The first time we visited Jaipur, somebody recommended we visit Jantar Mantar.

‘It has all these ancient astronomical instruments. It’s very interesting,’ they told me, ‘and it’s a world heritage site.’

Don would like that, I thought, he’s a science nerd. So I added it to our list of things to do in Jaipur.

It was searingly, crushingly hot when we visited that day in 2012. We entered the archway to a flat expanse of pale yellow concrete with numerous pale yellow concrete structures spread throughout. Concrete on concrete. We had no idea what anything was other than the giant sundial as there were no signs in English, and the blinding white pages of my guide book were hurting my eyes. Luckily the star signs were labelled, twelve sets of random concrete steps and arches. We took our photos near Sagittarius and Cancer and left dazed, sunburnt and no wiser than when we’d entered.

‘Well,’ I said last week to my sister Nat, who’d had the exact same experience, ‘Jantar Mantar is not on our list of things to do in Jaipur this time.’

However the City Palace, right next door to Jantar Mantar, was definitely on our list. Beautiful and ornate palace buildings built by the Maharaja on a sprawling royal site. Trees, hedges, lush grass, fountains and a gift shop.

We walked to the City Palace this morning, glancing at the giant astronomical structures as we passed by the open doorway on our way.

‘There’s that sundial place we went to last time,’ I said to Don, ‘remember?’

‘We’re not going there again are we?’ he asked in alarm.

‘Hell no!’

We lined up for our palace tickets, had them clipped and headed through the entrance. Excited to see the glorious City Palace before me, I looked up from tucking our tickets in my bag to be confronted by an enormous sundial.

‘What the fuck?’ I exclaimed.

Don right behind me took a moment. ‘What’s going on? What’s the matter? Where’s the palace? Hey, is that a sundial? Woah, wait a minute, where are we?’

We had not bought tickets to the City Palace. We had bought tickets to Jantar Mantar. We had not walked through the ornate entrance to the palace, we had walked through the concrete entrance to Jantar Mantar.

Oh how we laughed as the hot sun beat down on us.

‘Well we can’t leave until we’ve got our four dollars worth,’ said Don, ‘we’ll just walk around for a bit. Maybe there is something here for us.’

‘Have we got our four dollars worth yet?’ I asked a minute later as we stared in bewilderment at a giant concrete cylinder.

We took a selfie, found our star signs and deemed it done.

After heading out the exit (dazed, sunburnt and none the wiser) we walked further along the road until we found the correct ticket counter, and spent a fabulous couple of hours marvelling at the ornate buildings, the beautiful old clothes and textiles and the intricately decorated doors of the City Palace.

I am sure that there are many enthusiastic astronomy types, history buffs and mathematical geniuses who would find Jantar Mantar totally worthwhile and absolutely fascinating. And I’m equally sure that there are new and interesting things for any tourist to learn by visiting.

After having now visited twice, all I have learnt is to check in with Don on what activities are science nerd suitable.

However I am no closer to understanding why Cancer’s representation at this significant site is a group of giant concrete steps and walls with a concrete fence.

I mean, where even are the claws?

Foggy Mountain Breakdown

Kathmandu

It’s hard to describe the feeling when you arrive in a brand new country for the first time. The excitement of somewhere new, the anticipation of exploring the streets, tasting the local dishes, poking around in museums, shops and galleries.

We flew into Nepal this morning, our first ever visit, and we had all of these feels; marvelling as we passed the Himalayas and descended over the sprawling Lego like buildings of Kathmandu. We held hands as we landed, grinning at each other in delight.

Of course the short journey was not all sunshine and lollipops.

It’s likely a well kept secret that I used to be terrified of flying. Scared spitless. I would cling to the armrests every minute of every flight, refuse all food, and arrive at my destination with cramped muscles, starving and prepared to find a job in order to avoid the flight home.

Through sheer determination I have mostly overcome this fear, and I quite enjoy flying now. Except for taking off. I still hate taking off.

This morning in Delhi a heavy fog had settled over the city. Should be gone by the time we leave the hotel, I told myself.

The fog was not gone. If anything it was worse. Through our taxi ride, check in, clearing customs and security, I kept telling myself the fog would lift, or the flight would be cancelled. Either of these options would be fine with me.

The fog did not lift and the flight was not cancelled. Instead we were shuttled across an airport we couldn’t see to a plane we couldn’t see, up some stairs we couldn’t see and told to take our seats.

A litany of sabotaging thoughts and desperate responses ran through my head as we sat on the tarmac waiting to leave.

How can the pilots see the runway? How can they see anything? I can’t see anything. NOBODY CAN SEE ANYTHING!

Everything runs on computers and radars and technology these days, the pilots don’t need to see.

OF COURSE THE PILOTS NEED TO SEE! WHAT IF ANOTHER PLANE GETS IN THE WAY?! WHAT IF WE GET IN THE WAY?

There’s no way we’d be leaving if this wasn’t safe. This must be safe.

WHY DID AIR CANADA CANCEL THEIR FLIGHT? WHAT ARE THEY NOT TELLING US?

Everybody here knows what they’re doing. This is a huge airport.

THIS IS A FUCKING HUGE AIRPORT! NOBODY IS SAFE!

The flight attendants look calm, it must be fine.

THEY’RE PAID TO LOOK CALM. DO NOT TRUST THEM!

Don’t look out the window, don’t look out the window, don’t look out the window. I’ll just look out the window.

IT’S A COMPLETE WHITE OUT! IT’S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT!

Calm down Angela, you’re perfectly safe.

HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN MY LAST INSTA PIC OF THE FOG WILL BE ON NATIONAL NINE NEWS?

Don made an attempt to distract me with some fun facts about Star Trek or Cheezels or who invented the mountains. I don’t know. I wasn’t having a bar of it, and he soon gave up. Instead I clung ferociously to his hand the whole time we were taxiing blindly across the tarmac, squeezing my eyes shut when the engines roared, the pilot having miraculously found the runway. God, my heart is pumping just writing this.

Without a word of a lie we broke through that cloud and into brilliant sunshine three seconds after taking off. Maybe two seconds.

It amazes me how bloody fast my whole body can pivot from abject terror to complete chill. My eyes opened and I loosened my death grip on Don’s hand.

‘I told you,’ he said, ‘it was just some low lying cloud.’

Even if I had heard him say this I wouldn’t have believed him.

We landed, we disembarked. Out visas were stamped and we collected our bags. Sanity and calm had well and truly returned. Sunshine and lollipops re-engaged, I was again filled with excitement and anticipation, chatting away to Don, the ground crew and anyone else who would listen.

‘It’s our first time in Nepal,’ I said to the man sorting out our taxi voucher.

‘Welcome to Nepal, Madame,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ I said happily as he handed me the voucher.

‘You’re welcome. Could I perhaps interest you in an early morning joy flight over the Himalayas?’

A Roaring Start

Never underestimate the power of a rest day when you’re travelling.

Yes ok, a rest day on the first day of our holiday may seem a bit much, but I planned this knowing we needed to recover from our gruelling flight schedule from Australia. Let us never forget The Zombies of San Francisco or Hours of Entertainment. Besides, Don is older than he was the first time we went to India.

We left Brisbane at 10:30am yesterday, and arrived in Delhi at 2:30am this morning. Knowing we’ll be back on an early morning flight again tomorrow, I scheduled only two things for today’s itinerary – rest and buffet breakfast.

Still, it hasn’t been easy.

We had to set an alarm so as not to miss said breakfast after falling into bed at 3:30am. Having eaten at least one of everything the buffet had to offer, we then went on a post breakfast walk to check out the neighbourhood. We followed this up with a well needed nap, which was followed by a post nap walk to check out the neighbourhood again when things were actually open.

We rested some more in a local cafe over coffee and salted Ajwain cookies. Then Don had another nap while I had a massage at the hotel spa where a small woman tortured the bejesus out of any deep vein thrombosis in my calves and anywhere else thrombosis might lurk, including apparently my eyeballs.

We’re now in the midst of afternoon rest time, before deciding on where we’ll go for dinner.

We certainly are off to a roaring start.

Budapest

This visit to Budapest has been astronomically different to our last visit.

In November 1993 we caught a bus from Istanbul to Budapest. The snow had only started when we left Istanbul, but several hours in it was a full blown snowstorm. It was a hair-raising trip through Bulgaria and Romania, snowing the entire way. There were moments when enormous trucks were sliding sideways down icy hillsides towards us; at one point Don told me to hold onto my bag and when he said run, I should run. What was meant to take 20 hours took 48 hours.

There was only one other English speaking passenger, and I was one of only two women on that bus. There was no such thing as non-smoking, a haze of permanent acrid smoke filled the air. After maybe eight hours, despite his protests that we were in the middle of nowhere, we had the driver make a toilet stop. Somehow we convinced him through gestures that the whole world is a toilet. Hours later at a border crossing I gave the other woman some money when the guards refused her currency and weren’t going to let her pass.

We were the only people to get off the bus in Budapest so they dropped us in a random location. We stepped off the bus into a metre of snow, with no idea of where we were. Somehow we found a tram into the city centre. We had no Hungarian currency so we couldn’t buy a ticket. Then we trudged through the snow to the cheap university accommodation, following the tiny map in our Rough Guide to Europe. It was bitterly, bitterly cold.

At the university they told us there was no heating but they’d give us some extra blankets. We turned around, fought our way back through the snow and caught the very next train to Vienna.

Fast forward 30 years to this visit. Three days compared to three hours – Budapest, what a spectacular city.

We walked the streets and saw the magnificent buildings, squares and statues. Heroes’ Square, the Hungarian State Opera building, Central Market Hall, St Stephen’s Basilica, the heartbreaking Shoes on the Danube Bank memorial, the incredible Hungarian Parliament Building.

We went on a food tour; hot langos, delicious raspberry strudel, pastries and chimney cake, tasty sausages, stew and a straight shot of pálinka that nearly took my head off.

We walked across Széchenyi Chain Bridge and caught the cable car to Buda Castle and Fisherman’s Bastion. And of course we surprised Ruth at the Christmas markets and celebrated her birthday with the most wonderful meal at local restaurant Pörc & Prézli.

Budapest, all is forgiven; we love you! You’re still pretty chilly, but no need for extra blankets.

The bathroom

Navigating showers in homes and hotel rooms in other countries is an exercise in physics, stamina and perseverance.

They’re hit and miss to start with, but the addition of multiple knobs and levers to control on, off, pressure, heat, bath spigot and shower rose needlessly complicate what should be a simple endeavour.

Our current hotel has a hand held device attached to a shower pole, in a bath tub, with three controls. Unfortunately the device is connected two thirds of the way down the pole, ready to spray water at belly button level.

Our first night I dragged it up to the top of the pole and tried to tighten it in place. It rattled straight back down the pipe like one of those mechanical climbing monkeys at the Ekka.

Don came in to help, and with his superior muscle managed to get it to stay in place. Pleased, I climbed into the bathtub and turned it on. The water pressure was outstanding. So outstanding in fact that the force of the water caused the handle to spin suddenly outwards, spraying the whole bathroom and everything in it with water. I did not notice, I was busy examining the single soap container.

‘Hey! Hey, stop! TURN IT OFF!’ Don yelled from behind me, where he had remained to supervise the results of his work.

I slammed the water off and turned to look at him. He was head to toe fully clothed and dripping wet. Like somebody had turned on him with a full throttle fire hose.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself (pun intended).

Don not so much.

And then the handle slid back down the pole.

Tune in next time when I tackle ‘How to adjust your hotel room temperature when it’s freezing cold outside and boiling hot inside.’