Tag: travelling

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.

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.

100 year old wooden canal boat

Riga

On our last day in Riga we went on a boat ride along what was Riga’s former moat. We waited for the boat down by Riga’s grand Central Market and watched as it appeared from under the canal bridge and slowed to a stop to collect the six waiting passengers.

The captain greeted us all and bustled us onboard. Before we set off, he asked us all where we were from. Scotland, Norway, Australia, we all answered.

‘‘And where are you from?’ he asked the dark haired girl next to me.

‘Germany,’ she answered.

Satisfied, he proceeded to rearrange everybody from where we had settled in order to distribute the weight evenly in his 100 year old wooden canal boat. For stability, he explained.

Finally off we chugged, past the Central Markets and straight out into the massive, choppy river that runs through the middle of Riga, the Daugava. In his 100 year old wooden canal boat.

We were precariously low in the water as the boat pushed its way through the waves of one of Europe’s biggest and no doubt coldest rivers. The 100 year old wooden canal boat rocked in the waves as our Captain passed around his phone with a photo of the boneless fish we should taste at the markets.

This was the point at which one of the passengers jumped to the other side of the boat to take a photo. Stability be damned, the whole boat tipped to the left, leaving us dangerously closer to the river. Still chugging along through the waves.

Oblivious to the peril, our Captain pointed out more sights as we clung to the sides of the boat. Multiple bridges, the church spires, the massive new library, home to six million books. His spiel was interspersed with stories that kept us entertained and dad jokes that kept him entertained.

And at each landmark the errant passenger would leap to the side for the perfect photo as the rest of us steadied ourselves by hanging on tightly and checking where the life vests were located.

After 20 minutes or so we stopped for three new passengers to board and two to disembark.

‘So, we have new people,’ our captain said excitedly. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked the dark haired girl next to me.

‘Germany,’ she answered, ‘still.’

‘Yes of course,’ he laughed at himself as his mate pushed us back from the jetty.

We bobbed about a bit until we heard our captain mutter ‘Why aren’t we moving?’ before he discovered he’d yet to start the engine. Another laugh and a turn of the key and we were off, into the much calmer canal.

We wound around the canal, heads swivelling from side to side as we were directed to more sights. The Freedom Monument, the Latvian National Opera building, parks, canal fountains. An office block, a public school, a restaurant.

Eventually we were back at the Central Markets where we’d started.

‘Thank-you,’ we said as we climbed out.

‘Danke schön,’ he replied happily.

You see, this is what you need a tourist activity to be – informative, funny and with more than a hint of danger.

Five stars. Highly recommend.

The Balsam to start please

Riga

What a fascinating city Riga is. We are staying in the old town in a fabulous art nouveau building, with big windows overlooking the rooftops of the town.

On our first day in Riga we went on a morning walking tour through the streets of the old town. We learnt about the history of Latvia, the occupation by Russia, Poland, Sweden and the gaining of independence – twice. We saw churches, exquisite old buildings, the Freedom monument and ancient walls and towers. We heard about Latvia’s favourite sport, the local foods and Riga’s famous drink – Black Balsam.

In the afternoon we went up the tower of St Peter’s Church for beautiful misty views of the town. We walked along Alberta iela and marvelled at the intricate art nouveau buildings, and later we found the Baltic Way Footprints, the other end of which we’d seen in Tallinn.

To top off a marvellous day we had dinner at Rozengrāls, a 13th century medieval basement restaurant, full of uneven wooden furniture, shields and stone walls. All of the staff were dressed in tights and hessian sacks, although a glance into the kitchen caught chefs in tracksuit pants. The only light came from enormous wax candles on each table. Peppa nearly went up in flames when she bent her head to read the menu.

Our waiter arrived at our table in full serf attire. Pen poised, he began with drinks.

‘We’d like to try the Balsam,’ I said.

‘The Balsam to start?’ he asked, ‘excellent. Is 43% alcohol.’

‘Sorry, come again?’

‘One of each,’ he continued as he scrawled on his pad, ‘traditional and blackberry. BlackBerry only 32%. Only small glasses.’

‘Ok, great,’ said Nat.

She turned to me. ‘Should we try the honey potheen?’ she asked.

‘Moonshine,’ our serf interrupted, nodding and scribbling, ‘good choice, is also 43% alcohol. Three?’

‘43%? Same as the Balsam?’

‘We make it ourselves,’ he said, nodding proudly, ‘three?’

‘One. To share.’

‘One,’ he repeated, scratching on his pad in disappointment. ‘And to eat?’

We started with thick chunks of salted fried rye bread with garlic sauce, so crunchy that Peppa called them ‘jaw defining’. Smoked chicken, venison and lamb followed, all served on enormous piles of barley, with bread that came wrapped in hessian.

And our drinks. They were not small as promised, they were in fact quite large. And quite alcoholic. Our serf presented them to us with a proud flourish.

The Balsam was thick and black and not unlike cough medicine.

‘Tastes like panadol,’ Peppa said after her first sip, screwing up her face. Five minutes later she was singing ‘Holding out for a Hero’ and searching for a knight in shining armour. I guess if there was one to be found anywhere, here would be the place.

Completely stuffed with food and Balsam, our pumpkin pie dessert arrived, along with the potheen. Also in a large glass, and also, unsurprisingly, quite alcoholic.

‘This one’s smoother,’ I wheezed, reaching for my water.

We couldn’t quite finish the pumpkin pie, but Nat insisted it would be rude not to finish our drinks, so finish them we did.

A bit blurry (hee-hee) we had a jovial walk across the cobblestones and back to the hotel.

Our first day in Riga a day well spent.

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.

The mathematics of travel

New Zealand

A whole day of walking through more atmospheric pools and craters, cruising across Lake Taupo to see the Māori rock carvings and finding another supermarket can be quite tiring. We were fully exhausted by the time we got back to our Airbnb. But there was no time for resting; we had a whole load of maths to do.

“I’ll just get our tickets for tomorrow’s glowworms trip,’ I said to Don.

“How long is the drive?”

“Two hours maybe?” I opened google maps to assist with calculations, “so I’ll aim for 11am tickets.”

“How long do the glowworms take?”

“An hour?”

“How long is the drive back to Auckland from the glowworms? What time do we have to return the car?”

He is certainly one for the questions. He is also a stickler for obeying the rules of car return.

“6pm.”

Having ascertained the timings and due dates of all returns and check ins, I returned to the ticket bookings.

All timeslots sold out.

I went to a different company. Most timeslots sold out.

“9am is available.”

“What time would we need to leave here?”

“Hmm, ok, forget 9am. We could buy one ticket at 11:40 and one ticket at 12?”

“That sounds fun. No.”

“We could go to Hobbiton instead?” I suggested, switching websites and rerouting google maps.

“How long will it..?”

“One hour to Hobbiton, two and a half hour tour, two hours to Auckland.”

“Ok I suppose.”

“Only afternoon tickets left.”

“Would we be back in time to return the car? What time is that again?”

“6pm. We’d just make it.”

This did not please him.

“I’d rather see glowworms than hobbit homes.”

“Ok let me recalculate,” I switched websites again.

“There are two late afternoon tickets for glowworms.”

“How long is the glowworms tour? How long is the drive back to Auckland again?”

“One hour. Two hours.”

“Can we sleep in?”

“Yes.”

“And what time do we need to return the car?”

I clicked on ‘Purchase’.

“7pm,” I said, “we’ll be fine.”

The Taj Mahal

In all of our travels there are some places we have been that have brought me to tears. The Taj Mahal is one of those places – it is breathtakingly beautiful, and we are so fortunate to have now visited twice.

On our first visit all those years ago we fell completely in love with the Taj Mahal. We had brilliant clear skies and bright sunshine, our photos all squinting into the camera and shielding our eyes from the sun. Our randomly chosen guide fabricated his stories, and I finished the visit by dropping my iPhone into the squat toilet. Later that day a monkey stole Don’s bananas.

It was the perfect day.

No such shenanigans this time. We had a late start, waiting for a heavy fog to lift, but by the time we arrived the sky was a beautiful grey blue. The small arched entry gives away very little, just glimpses of white, until you emerge into the complex and the full building reveals itself – beautiful and grand, perfectly symmetrical. The sheer size is astounding. The magnificent white dome of the mausoleum fills the sky, the minarets stretching up around it. Beautiful red sandstone gateways and a mosque sit framing the grounds. Past the gardens and fountains huge tiled spaces spread out like mosaic carpets, whole panels of marble carvings make up the walls. Up close to the mausoleum the intricate decorations are revealed; perfectly carved flower petals, inlaid coloured stone, Arabic lettering surrounding the entrance.

The light was perfect. We took multiple photos of ourselves and of the Taj Mahal from every different angle. I even went back to the same toilets – the scene of the crime so to speak. And Monika our guide was fabulous, carefully weaving us through the crowds, providing stories and information, taking our photos and giving us our own time and space to explore.

I took a long last look as we left today, knowing deep down it’s unlikely we’ll get a third visit.

Saved by the spicy corn

Ah Kathmandu, what a mixed up basket you turned out to be.

Our first day we explored. Down to Asan Bazaar where six streets meet at a bustling square. Colourful fruit and vegetables, chickens, slabs of meat, glittering silver fish, clothes, shoes, plants, temples and statues. Further on we saw Durbar Square with its many temples, and from where kings once ruled.

In the afternoon we wandered through the streets and lanes of Thamel with its multiple stores selling trekking gear, singing bowls, earrings and prayer flags. Even more stores sold headbands, floaty skirts, loose pants and overalls – dyed, embroidered, patch worked, in cotton, hemp, silk and wool the likes of which I haven’t seen since last week at Woodford. 20 year old Angela would have been in heaven.

Day two we walked to Swayambhu Mahachaiitya – the monkey temple. We kept tight hold of our hats, glasses and phones as we climbed the 360 steps to the top to see the incredible stupa and views across Kathmandu. Here we also found singing bowls, earrings and prayer flags, floaty skirts, loose pants and overalls.

By this stage we were really suffering from the quality of the air, so the next day we left the city for the clear air of Chandragiri, where we rode the cable car to the top of the hill for spectacular views over Kathmandu to the Himalayas. It was a long ride up – people used to walk the 11km to the top until they built the cable car. Perhaps they still do. On a clear day you can see a tiny bit of Mt Everest, behind another mountain. We had a beautiful clear day so I took at least 87 photos of the mountains and am confident that Mount Everest is in there somewhere.

On our last day in Kathmandu the earth moved. Literally. As I was perusing the breakfast buffet options I paused at the spicy corn. I do love me some spicy corn. Suddenly the floor shifted. Don felt off kilter, but I had no time to feel anything as a painting high up on the wall came crashing to the ground, shattering at my feet. A magnitude 6.8 earthquake had just hit Tibet and we were feeling it through Nepal. We had no idea what had just happened until the staff said something. They swept up the glass, sat us down and we continued with breakfast, the pottery bowls hanging from the ceiling still swaying above us. I have since read how devastating this earthquake has been for Tibet.

Kathmandu, you’ve certainly been an adventure.

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.