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NG2NZ 17. In the words of Midge Ure…

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12 & 13-Feb-25 Vienna, Austria

After a 3hr rail journey. Arrive Vienna. Have happy memories of Vienna. Used to work here in the late 1990s. The project was a large hotel refurbishment. Lived in Braunschweig, northern Germany, at the time and we used to regularly have day trips flying to Vienna for meetings.

Up at 4am. 1hr drive to Hannover airport. Red eye flight to Vienna. Drive to city centre hotel. For meeting client at 9am. Suited and booted. Full day of being adult and professional and giving my professional opinion. Poxy little finger sandwiches for lunch. Meeting finished 6pm. Now starving as hardly eaten anything substantial all day. Back to airport. Dinner at airport if time allowed. Late evening flight back to Hannover. 1hr drive back to Braunschweig. Sometimes in the mechanical engineer’s BMW 7 series. Tailgating literally a few feet behind car in front at 120mph. I. Kid. You. Not. My life in other people’s hands. Back home after midnight. Ah yes. The things you do when young, keen and enthusiastic. Very long days.

But no such flying visit this time. Have a few days here now. In the freezing and biting cold. And it’s snowing.

The Boutique Hotel am Stephansplatz (https://www.hotelamstephansplatz.at/en/startseite.html) is directly across from St Stephen’s Cathedral. Couldn’t pick a better location for a hotel.

Not for the first time this trip, room is somewhat cold. Fiddle with heating controls. And still cold after an hour. Female receptionist investigates. You just know someone is out of their depth don’t you. Hotel owner then investigates. And offers the startling revelation that the heating isn’t working. Yeah…I know that! As it’s early evening an external engineer will fiddle tomorrow. Who subsequently arrives. Necessitates removal of wooden panelling to access radiators. And the discovery that the valve ist kaput. What is it with me and hotel heating. It’s been nearly every other hotel which has had a problem of some sort with heating. Portable electric heater provided.

Have business commitments to complete over the next few days so busy working in hotel room to meet a deadline. But that doesn’t stop a bit of sightseeing. Walking about is limited by the sub-zero temperatures. So. Museum visits to keep warm.

The Hofburg Palace, former imperial palace of the Habsburg dynasty, houses a small art gallery and museum of Austrian history. Which includes a small exhibition on Hitler. And realise why an external verandah above the front entrance is caged off so no one can access it. It being the location where Hitler stood and announced the Anschluss in March 1938. They’re not wanting neo-Nazis standing in the same place.

As with other buildings in Vienna it’s architecturally stunning with an ornate interior. It’s a pity we don’t build them like this anymore.

Thinking the architecture couldn’t be any better. Visit the National Art Gallery across the road. It’s twin building, the Natural History Building, sits opposite on the other side of a wide square. Both big buildings. And impressive structures from the outside.

But. Takes your breath away when you walk inside and see the interior. Simply stunning. Just dripping in ornate architecture. If you ever get the chance, dear reader, just go. Even if you have no interest in art. Just go to admire the architecture. It has the wow factor.

One of the most interesting artworks is Bruegel’s Tower of Babylon. Along with the Egyptian artefacts on display. Considering they are 3,000 to 4,000 years old they look brand new and in mint condition.

In the words of Midge Ure…Oh Vienna!

You continue to impress.

NG2NZ 16. Whizzing through Europe

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7-11-Feb-25 Paris – Dijon – Zurich – Salzburg – Vienna

Off we go again. Sector 2 of the Nottingham to New Zealand trip. This time from Nottingham to Vienna and Montenegro.

Having visited a number of places enroute to Vienna before, it’s a quick whizz through Europe to eat up the miles. It really is a case of…Been there. Seen it. Done it.

Brand new passport in hand am soon through French passport control at St Pancras and settle into Eurostar’s Business Premier lounge. To be accosted by a little old lady. Who asks if my name is Ryant. As am the spitting image of a friend of hers. It’s not. So am not her friend.

That’s three people now who apparently are my spitting image. One is in Brighton. Was in an Indian restaurant in Dublin in 2008 minding my own business when a young lad asked for a photo as I was the spitting image of his mate. Another friend, we’ll call her Miss Dubai, thought she saw me in Vienna at a conference a few months ago. I wasn’t. So another double.

Board Eurostar. To Paris. Bloke in front has plugged his laptop into my socket outlet. So unplug it and tell him to use his own socket. An argument ensues. He’s adamant it’s his socket. It’s not. Although it’s technically installed on his chair it’s at the back of his chair for my use in the seat behind. Steward is called. Steward confirms it’s my socket. His socket is under his arm rest. He apologises profusely.

Journey to Paris marred by an annoying American behind. You know the sort. Typical loud mouthed Yank. His colleagues are across the aisle. You can tell they’re also annoyed by him. Talks non-stop with a voice which grates. And for some inexplicable reason has bouts of singing. Annoying twit. Polite version.

The champagne flows as we whizz through northern France. Becoming a bit of a habit this! But an enjoyable one.

Check in to the 25 Hours Hotel again (www.25hours-hotels.com/paris/terminus-nord/) for an overnight stop. Having decided there were too many connections to go awry in one day and to then arrive Dijon late.

On a previous trip to Paris had enjoyed a very good curry at an Indian nearby. So off I trot. To discover it’s been taken over.

And.

No longer sells alcohol.

I mean. Really?! What sort of restaurant doesn’t sell alcohol.

But.

They can send a lad out to the corner shop to buy me a beer. Or two. Off he goes.

Reminds of the time in a restaurant called Ella’s in Howth, near Dublin, when me old mucker (who is reading this), we’ll call him Mr Cardiff, wanted cider. They took the drinks order for us all. Next minute one of the waiters appeared having been to the local shop to buy their stock of cider.

Waiting for both beer and curry to arrive. Am told a party of 20 is due to arrive. And two tables are laid out. One for 11 people. One for 9 people. At right angles to each other. Except. Only 12 turn up. So one sits on his own at the table of 9. The others take pity on him and squeeze up so 12 are now scrunched up at a table for 11.

Then another bod turns up. So she has to sit on her own at a table for 9 whilst 12 sit at a table for 11. Rather amusing shenanigans.

Decide on the Train Bleu restaurant again for breakfast. Having been for lunch a few weeks ago (see previous blog post). Except. The opulent dining room is not open for breakfast. Only a series of comparatively dull ante rooms and the corridor linking them. So sit in corridor crunching on croissants and drinking coffee.

Only 90 minutes to Dijon. So able to have a few hours in the afternoon pottering about. Home to Burgundy wine, Dijon mustard and the birth place of Gustav Eiffel. Riot police in the main square are lining up ready for a protest by “the left”. Another French protest. Probably about having to work a little bit longer rather than retiring at 62 years old.

197mph and 3hrs to Zurich. Via Basel. Whilst working in Germany years ago, used to spend quite a lot of time travelling in Switzerland at the weekends as was only a couple of hours away. So only a quick overnight stop. And a reminder it’s winter. It’s sub-zero. Knowing how cold it can be in the Germanic countries am properly prepared with full Arctic gear. Not like last time in Spain.

A short walk about the block before catching the train to Salzburg and see some serious health and safety issues on a construction site. See how many you can count in the video below of the scaffolding, dear reader. I know there are a number of you reading this who work in construction!

Nearly 6hrs rail journey to Salzburg. Passing through Alpine mountain scenery. Lichtenstein. Germany. And back into Austria. Only knowing which country I’m in as the phone signal changes operator and receive texts with “Welcome to…”

Greeted at Hotel Goldgasse in Salzburg (www.hotelgoldgasse.at/en/) with a glass of champagne. And a friendly smile. After a long day rocking and rolling on the rails. Jolly receptionist recommends Restaurant Meissl & Schadn. For that well known Austrian dish. Schnitzel.

And by schnitzel. I mean one that is so large it overflows the plate. With French fries. And salad. And beer. Ah yes. A very good end to the day.

Needing to walk off dinner have a meander around Salzburg old town. It’s clear that a Monday night at the beginning of February isn’t exactly peak tourist season. All alone in the town. There’s not much happening.

It’s eerily quiet.

And so very cold.

Final rail journey on this sector is from Salzburg to Vienna the following day. Ensconced in the First Class lounge see a character who has the scruffy appearance of Steptoe (for non-UK readers, Steptoe was a very scruffy scrapman in a 1960s/70s TV series…Google it) enter. He’s on my train. With his shoes off. And socked feet resting on the chair in front. Clearly a little odd. He tells some businessman to shut up who is talking on his phone rather loudly.

As we leave the Alpine scenery behind the landscape gives way to rather flat and boring vistas as we arrive in Vienna.

But a tour of that city will have to wait until the next blog post, dear reader.

NG2NZ 15. Opulent dining

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6 & 7-Jan-25 Paris, France

Two hours to Paris at high speed. Having sat in my booked seat departing Lyon realise I need something out of my bag literally a few steps away on the baggage shelf at the end of the carriage.

Am literally out of seat for one minute. And return to discover some homeless looking scruffy oik sitting in my seat. Needless to say. He is taught two English words. One of which is off. And he begrudgingly moves. Moaning. Doubt he has a ticket. Let alone a First Class ticket. Cheeky sod.

Arrive Paris Gare de Lyon. The Man in Seat 61 (whose website you have to thank for my travels www.seat61.com – one of the best travel websites!) highly recommends dining at the Train Bleu restaurant in the station. So do that. Seeing as it’s lunch.

WOW!

What an interior.

Don’t think I’ve dined in such an opulent room before.

Architecturally stunning. Incredibly detailed features. What a place to have lunch.

Smoked salmon. Roast lamb. Carved at a trolley at table. Old fashioned style.

Being used to dining in London over the years whilst working there am used to London prices.

But.

This takes the biscuit.

And is even more expensive than London.

Keep telling myself I’m paying for the stunning surroundings. And an enjoyable and memorable moment in life.

Even so. Jeez. It’s expensive!

Cross town by taxi to the 25 Hours Hotel (www.25hours-hotels.com/paris/terminus-nord/). Which is fast becoming my favourite stop off in Paris on my travels via Eurostar. Quirky décor with a nice Middle Eastern restaurant on site.

It now being early afternoon only have a few hours free. Notre Dame Cathedral has just re-opened after burning down in 2019. Sure I have read that all entrance tickets are sold for the next few weeks assume it will just be a look from the outside.

But.

Emerging from the Metro and crossing the road to the square. See a queue of people going in seemingly without tickets. Hmmm. I wonder if I’ll be able to get in or are they part of some organised tour group?

It’s a fast moving queue so try my luck. Expecting to get turned away. But no. Am soon inside. For free. Which surprises as thought you had to pay.

Given the sheer volume of people. A one way system is in place.

WOW!

Magnificent inside.

White stone makes it feel light and airy. Sunlight streams through the stained glass windows casting streaks of colour on the inside.

Quite the achievement to re-build all this in five years.

Amusing to see a group of about twenty chairs cordoned off. It’s the waiting area for confession!

As they say…a picture paints a thousand words. So see the photos below.

It’s the final day of this sector the following day.

But I nearly can’t leave France.

Passport is not scanning again. Those with a good memory will recall that I nearly couldn’t leave England at St Pancras al those weeks ago because the French couldn’t scan my passport.

Well.

It’s happening again.

Even when they input my details manually the system doesn’t recognise me.

Oh ‘eck.

That’s all I need.

Stuck in Paris.

Eventually after a lot of faff it somehow works and am let through to the UK passport control. Where my passport immediately scans and am allowed home. Flipping French.

Settle into the Business Premier lounge for coffee and croissants. Before boarding. At the front of the train. Which must be about 600m away from the lounge. I kid you not. I looked it up. A Eurostar train is about 400m long. Plus distance from lounge to platform. Quite a scrum once leaving the serenity of the lounge. And joining all the other passengers. All jostling to get ahead.

Middle Eastern couple sit across the aisle from me. As we zoom through northern France, the male thinks it normal to listen to his Arabic music without earphones in. So the whole sodding carriage can hear. Not having that dear reader. No. He’s told to put his earphones in. Rather bluntly I might add. If they’re rude enough to do that. I’m rude enough to tell it straight. When I’m dictator…

Straight run home on the train. To arrive home. To discover it’s freezing cold. Heating has only been on a few hours each day whilst away. Jeez. It’s cold. Takes two days for the house to heat up properly with the heating on 24/7. Won’t make that mistake again.

And that is that, dear reader. Sector 1 Iberian Peninsula. Tick.

It has been dreadfully cold. I have had severe manflu for weeks. The remnants of which are still with me.

And now to start planning Sector 2. Nottingham to Vienna and Montenegro.

But first. A trip to Peterborough. And the Passport Office. For a new one.

Four hours waiting in Peterborough. For those who haven’t been to Peterborough. Four hours is four hours too long to be waiting in Peterborough!

NG2NZ 14. Warmth at last

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4 & 5-Jan-25 Lyon, France

Pleased to be leaving Perpignan aboard a double decker TGV. Great views from the top deck as it zooms to Montpellier bypassing snow capped mountains, wetlands and pink flamingos near Narbonne.

Change trains as Montpellier but find it’s a crappy old single deck TGV for the 4hr ride to Lyon. Dreadful train and no room even in First Class.

Check into the Hotel Vaubecour (www.hotelvaubecour-lyon.com/en/). Chosen for its location and rave reviews on Trip Advisor. A review from the previous night said that the heating wasn’t working and an electric heater was required. Located on the second floor of an old building, circa 19th century by the looks of it, getting inside is more difficult than Fort Knox. Two intercoms fitted to old fashioned doors with old fashioned ironmongery. A coffin sized lift goes very slooowwwllly up and down. The sort with a manual gate. But greeted by a friendly receptionist with a warm smile and thankfully a warm room with a large cast iron radiator cranked up high. First warm room in weeks!

In need of something nice and spicy choose Nepalese for dinner. Which is not co-ordinated. Poppadums served with naan bread whilst having a beer despite asking for naan bread with main dish. And before being able to start on the poppadums, the starter arrives. Quickly followed by the lamb madras. Which is more like a korma. Dreadful. Not what you expect in the foody city of France.

Breakfast the following morning is somewhat filling. Had to pre-order the night before. So a pain au chocolat and coffee. It’s the largest pain au chocolat I’ve ever seen. Normally there’s small bits of chocolate chips spread about the pastry. But this seemingly has one whole slab of Dairy Milk in the centre. It’s like eating a whole chocolate bar with two croissants sandwiching it. And not only that. It comes with half a baguette, jam and butter. Just in case the pain au chocolat wasn’t enough to fill you.

Needing to walk it all off head towards the Sunday market lining the banks of the river. A veritable array of produce. Including many oysters. Mild but windy as I peruse and eventually cross the river to the old town. This is nice. Well worth a visit, dear reader. Reminds me of Colmar near Strasbourg. Not wanting to walk up a steep hill to the Basilica, take the funicular to Fourviere. Standing atop the highest point for miles around, the Basilica was built in the late 1800s. Stunning views across the flood plain for miles with snow capped mountains in the distance. The foothills of the Alps.

Basilica interior very ornate. But being Sunday morning. Being used for a church service. So silence needed. And can’t venture too far in. Stewards prevent tourists disrupting the congregation. In that ‘we don’t want you scruffy oiks in here’ sort of way. But. There is another chapel beneath the main church. Accessed by a lift. To discover another ornate place which is surprisingly large.

Lyon, located at the confluence of the Rhone and Saone rivers, was originally Roman and capital of the Gauls. Which reminds you of Asterix.

Being at the confluence of two rivers was a strategically important location. And those Romans developed the main hill of Fourviere with an amphitheatre, dating back to 15BC. In 2AD it was further developed with a capacity for 10,000 people.

And what a view they had. These Romans knew how, and where, to build their amphitheatres. Having been to Libya and seen Roman cities there, Lyon’s location is no exception. Stunning vistas.

But. Today. A bit windy. And health and safety deems it unsafe to go walking about the amphitheatre. Bet the Romans didn’t have that problem. So. Restricted to the indoor museum. Which is warm and has some interesting artefacts. One of which is a dodecahedron very similar to the one recently discovered in fields in Norton Disney, about half an hour from where I live.

Returning to the old town on a different funicular discover the Museum of Cinema and Miniatures. Plenty of props from the movies. Including a Ghostbusters ectoplasm trap. And a hoverboard from Back to the Future. And a fake gun from TV series Bonanza. Ah yes. The memories. Sunday afternoons in the 1970s wouldn’t be the same without Bonanza!

And a very interesting display of miniature sets. Shoe box sized but cameras make it look life sized. Quite an impressive feat. And incredibly detailed. See photos below, dear reader.

Loving Lyon.

NG2NZ 13. Gypsy ghetto

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2 & 3-Jan-25 Perpignan, France

Depart freezing cold Zaragoza. Journey to Perpignan is 3hrs 10mins. Via Barcelona. Soon in France seeing the sun set over the Pyrenees.

Arrive Perpignan 1800hrs. Dark. Walk through station to taxi rank. Plenty of dodgy looking characters about. Plenty of police about. And that’s just the station.

Soon check in to the Dali Hotel (www.dalihotel.fr). So called because Dali painted a huge oil painting called ‘La Gare de Perpignan’ in 1965 showing Perpignan as the centre of the universe. Yeah. Right.

Have decided on a two night stop in Perpignan to break up the rail journey to Lyon. A cursory glance at Google photos showed what appeared to be a nice town. So much so that I have a full day here tomorrow.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Somewhat warmer now. Thankfully. About 15C warmer than Zaragoza a few hours earlier. Positively tropical. And the first time I’ve felt warm in over three weeks.

Hotel is located on the edge of the old town. On what might best be described as the ring road around it. In what seems to be a nice area. Judging by the quality of housing and cars parked up.

Find on t’internet what appears to be a decent restaurant about 600m from hotel in the old town. With good reviews.

Having sat on a train for a few hours need a leg stretch. Warm too. At last.

Google Maps plots my walking route. Up a cascade of ornate stone stairs to another level. Then through some residential area towards the inner part of the old town.

Off I trot.

The ornate stone stairs give the appearance of heading somewhere nice. But. After a block. I feel the vibe change. Have a weird feeling. At the next block find myself in a very run down half derelict neighbourhood. Have only walked about 250m from hotel. And my surroundings have changed substantially.

Graffiti on the walls. Debris in the road. Like bricks and stones. As though there’s just been a riot.

Rubbish strewn about.  Communal large waste bins overflowing and overturned. As though there’s just been a riot.

My spidey senses have kicked in. This is not good. There’s a really bad vibe. Within a block the whole atmosphere has drastically changed. I have a really weird feeling.

Google Maps directs me down a road. But. Can hear a gang of men up ahead. Talking on the street.

Hmmm. Something tells me I need to avoid them. So box around. Pass by what appears to be derelict buildings. Until you hear people and TVs inside. Peer through a cracked window in one half derelict building with graffiti on the outside to see a group of people sitting on grubby plastic chairs in a bare room devoid of all furnishings under a single light bulb. Like a prison cell. The internal walls are grubby. The people are grubby.

Simply squalid.

This feels bad.

Find said restaurant. But see the clientele. And decide the tall white won’t fit in.

Carry on further into the centre of the old town.

Conscious now that it’s a bit more shops and restaurants so must be near the centre.

Conscious too that there are lots of single men milling about. Those of fighting age. And not born in France by the looks of it. If you get my drift.

Conscious there’s lots of lads on bicycles scooting around. And not delivery boys.

There’s a feeling of being observed. Imagining the cyclists could be reporting back to their seniors that there’s a tourist ripe for being snatched.

I have a really bad feeling.

It’s not often with my 6’5” heavyweight frame that I feel intimidated.

Tonight. I am.

Very.

So much so that I find a market square with some open bars for a bit of safety.

Decide my best course of action is to return to hotel. Book an Uber. And wait at the pick up point. Outside an open restaurant which is empty.

Like Zaragoza a few hours earlier. I can track the car’s progress to my pick up point.

Like Zaragoza a few hours earlier. The driver can’t reach the pick up point for some inexplicable reason. Other cars are driving along the road though so cars obviously allowed. After 15minutes of mucking about driver is cancelled. Seriously fed up with these Uber drivers.

Now getting late. And feeling hungry. The restaurant I’m standing outside of has some punters now and looking inviting. It’s a Korean BBQ restaurant. My table awaits.

Sit down. And order.

Whilst waiting for the first beer to arrive.

A sight I have never seen before in Europe. Only in Beirut.

A squad of about ten armed soldiers in full combat gear, helmets and automatic rifles at the ready walk past the restaurant in two columns. Down the middle of the road.

On patrol.

And that, dear reader, tells you everything you need to know about what I’ve just walked through!

Perpignan redeems itself slightly with a splendid cook it yourself Korean meal of marinated beef, salad, kimchi and decent wine.

Decide it’s not safe to walk back. Second attempt at an Uber. Which can find its way to the pick up point. He’s French. And local though.

Discover the neighbourhood I’ve walked through is a gypsy ghetto. One of Europe’s largest it turns out. About 5,000 live there.

Plus the addition of some Middle Eastern characters. By the looks of it. To really add to the mix.

Have a full day sightseeing in Perpignan. You can imagine my hesitancy after last night’s escapade. Skirt around the gypsy ghetto to reach the main part of the old town.

Adjacent the ghetto is Hotel Pams. A palatial mansion built in the 1850s for the owners of a cigarette paper company. The contrast between its interior and the squalid conditions a few blocks away is startling. Fashioned in art nouveau style the rooms are opulent and stylish. Unlike the derelict squalor nearby.

The main part of the old town is actually quite French and charming. But there’s an obvious police presence. Everywhere.

The waiters last night recommend I go for a coffee at the rooftop café on top of the Galeria Lafayette store. Amazing views across the town and the snow capped Pyrenees in the distance.

Not since Bridlington 1977 do I think I have been on a ride on a tourist train. You know the sort. Not a train. But looks like a train. As it’s driven on the road. Perpignan has one. Thinking this would be a good idea to see a lot of Perpignan over the hour’s ride.

You know how small those tourist trains are?

You know how big I am, dear reader!

Yeah.

Tight squeeze.

Sensing my discomfort. Train driver sets aside a whole compartment for me. No space to share with other punters you see.

As part of some local agreement, the gypsies have allowed the road train to drive through their ghetto on the proviso tourists don’t take photos. Or video. See photos below.

After an hour crammed in the tourist train. Need physio. Cripes. I ache. The train starts/stops outside the old gate tower to the town. Which has great views across the roof tops and the Pyrenees. But unlike Galeria Lafayette has no lift to the top. Only a small stone staircase.

Huff. And Puff. Up I go. Just for you, dear reader. But worthwhile for the views.

Heading back to the hotel decide I’ll venture into the gypsy ghetto again to take some photos. As soon as I walk down the streets the atmosphere again changes.

It really is a weird feeling.

Needless to say. Dinner is in the hotel.

Nice and safe.

I shall not be returning to Perpignan.

NG2NZ 12. Mohammed is cancelled

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1 & 2-Jan-25 Zaragoza, Spain

Midnight. A new year begins. Now 2025. Fireworks start. At home they last 10 or 15 minutes at most. Seville’s go on for an hour and a half! So much for trying to get to sleep. Unbelievable how long they go on for. And it’s not just the odd firework here and there. No. More a continuous cacophony of whizz. And bang.

Glad I chose a hotel near the railway station. Distinct shortage of taxis. So can walk to catch the train. In the freezing cold. Have I mentioned before how sodding cold it is? Town is eerily quiet. Long queue to get on to the platform. It being a high tech high speed train there’s security checks with tickets being scanned to get to the platform concourse before all luggage is X-rayed on the platform. Then a second ticket check before boarding. Bit of a faff.

Bright blue sky all the way to Madrid. Via Cordoba. Arrive 10 minutes early. Two and a half hour rail journey at 300km/hr. That’s how you do it. Ninety minute layover in Madrid railway station and enjoy the RENFE (national railway) First Class Lounge. Less railway lounge and more like an airport first class lounge. Very swanky. And comfy. And free food and drinks.

Further security checks and luggage X-ray to board the next high speed train to Zaragoza. Blue sky gives way to fog. And freezing temperatures.

Have always wanted to visit Zaragoza since meeting a couple on holiday in Majorca in the 1980s. He Spanish. Who owned a paper mill in Zaragoza. She English. Who looked like Dinah Sheridan.

Like Seville. Zaragoza is eerily quiet. Slightly spooky. Especially with the fog. And darkness descending. Nice to arrive at the Melia INNSide Zaragoza (www.melia.com/en/hotels/spain/zaragoza/innside-zaragoza) for an overnight halt.

But.

Yet another hotel room where the heating doesn’t sodding work. Told it will take time to warm up. But after an hour of sitting in a cold draft engineer investigates. Who agrees with me that the heating doesn’t work. And so moved to a new nice and toasty room. And an upgrade. Little wins Godber. Little wins.

Afternoon departure the following day for train to Perpignan allows for a wander around Zaragoza in the morning. In sub-zero temperatures. Jeez. Thought Spain was meant to be warm. Hence why I’ve only got summer clothing. Which I have been regretting the past few weeks.

Zaragoza busy and back to normal now the holidays are over. Cunning plan is to walk for a bit then pop into a department store to warm up. Because they’ll have heat won’t they. Well. No. Actually. What is it with these Spanish. El Corte Ingles one of Spain’s largest department store chains is freezing cold. Everywhere is cold!

Zaragoza was initially a Roman city called Ceasar Augusta. Its Roman Forum is preserved in a subterranean museum. Which is warm! Finally! One of the original drainage tunnels remains intact. Over 2,000 years of history right there in front of me. Pretty impressive.

Across the square is the Cathedral. Which is spectacular inside and very ornate. Spires soar to the sky. Towering over the remnants of a Christmas market.

Time to travel by train to Perpignan. But first. Taxi to the station on the outskirts of the city. When arriving, taxi had to drop me off on a side road some metres away from hotel entrance and had to walk final stretch because the main road in front of hotel was being dug up. So book an Uber taxi to pick up from the end of the same side road. An amount of time is built into my schedule to get to the station to allow for traffic, accidents and delayed pick up.Cos that’s how I roll. With good reason. Experience, dear reader.

Using Uber I can track taxi’s location live on my mobile phone. Here it comes. Down the main road. See it pause just before the junction. It will then turn right into my side road and drive to the very end to pick me up. Won’t it. Well. No. Actually. I see the car pause slightly as it drives past the end of my side road. As if looking to see if this is the correct side road. Before driving off down the main road. And my Uber tracker updates the route the taxi now needs to take to reach my pick up point. Having already missed it. Estimated time now 15minutes. Bugger. Going to be tight for time now. Can see the taxi being routed around what I assume to be a one way system. And watch as the little car icon moves very slowly.

Sod this. Instead of standing here like a lemon in the freezing cold. I’ll walk down to a junction the driver will have to go past to make his way to my original pick up point. A good few hundred metres away.

Off I toddle.

By now am in direct contact with driver by WhatsApp message. We’ll call him Mohammed. And tell him I have moved to new position here. So just turn right at the junction you are now approaching. I say. As that route is what’s showing on my tracker he should be taking.

But.

Instead.

He continues straight on at said junction another hundred metres or so away. Into another one way system.

I may have uttered some words along the lines of “Oh you flipping idiot!!” a bit too loudly. As I stood on the pavement. In the freezing cold. Fed up dealing with muppets.

And my tracker updates again. To see his route to get to me now is 15minutes.

Sod that.

See a normal city taxi driving towards me. With its John Inman ‘I’m free’ light on. A tall Touring Taurean steps out into the road to flag it down. This taxi’s mine! Mohammed is cancelled. After a lot of faff arrive at station in the nick of time.

To discover train is delayed.

NG2NZ 11. Extra leg room seats

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30 & 31-Dec-24 Seville, Spain

Faro hotel has rooftop restaurant. Perfect way to start the day having a brew admiring the view. Before a bus journey to Seville. There are only three rail crossings between Portugal and Spain. And none this far south. A bus it has to be. Am assured by the website that the bus has extra leg room seats. Therefore book that particular bus company. Which also allows you to buy adjacent seat to keep vacant for more space for a discounted price. No brainer.

Bus station is across the road from the hotel. Quick amble in time for the 1045hrs departure. Bus station is small but its grubby nature reminds me of Nottingham’s Victoria Bus Station in the 1970s and 80s. Diesel fumes and exhaust dust on the walls.

Bus originated in Lisbon early this morning. So already pretty full. Sit in allocated seat. Extra leg room seats my a**e. There’s bugger all room. Cannot physically fit. Two girls sitting in front had reclined their seats but are asked to sit up. Which they do. Jeez. Cramped. Sit skew-whiff as bus rolls out of Faro.

Not sitting like this for two and a half hours. No.

Beady eye spots that the middle seat of the back row is free. People sit either end of back row next to window. Middle three seats free. Make the move. Plonk myself in the middle seat. With acres of leg room down the aisle. That’s more like it. Actually quite comfortable now.

Bus advertised a pit stop at the border but this comes and goes as we motor all along to Seville non-stop. A few hours of fluid management needed. Knowing that the onboard toilet will be both disgusting and too small for my massive frame.

Bus arrives a lot earlier than expected so just over two hours driving. Not too bad.

Spent considerable time researching hotels in Seville. Decided that one within walking distance of railway station would be wise. Given I depart early on New Year’s Day. And not knowing how many taxi drivers would be up and about and in a fit state. Has to be the Only You Seville Hotel (https://www.onlyyouhotels.com/en/hotels/only-you-hotel-sevilla/). Across the road from station.

Need laundry doing. Reception do not know the laundry situation for New Year’s Eve. There is some doubt about availability. Check the laundry list in room. Decide it would actually be cheaper to fly back home and do it myself in my own home and then fly back. Rather than paying hotel. Jeez. Quite an expensive laundry service. Plan B. Local launderette. Few blocks away. All my worldly possessions wrapped up in a Sainsbury’s bag. Fortunately there’s one washing machine free. Launderette has a central control panel. You select the machine and pay. It automatically feeds detergent and fabric conditioner. Not like the old days. Thinking the control panel accepts credit cards. Slip credit card in a credit card sized slot.

And then.

Mild panic.

When.

I realise it’s not a slot for credit cards.

Hells bells.

Credit card now stuck in a slot.

And can’t get it out. With fingers.

Tweezers might do it.

But don’t have tweezers.

Obviously.

Bugger.

What to do.

But don’t worry, dear reader.

Bit of lateral thinking.

Use two other credit cards in wallet to act as tweezers.

Carefully. And delicately. Use two cards to pinch the card in slot firmly. And slooowwwly pull towards me. To extract stranded card.

Phew.

It works.

As my wash starts an immigrant family enter. And over the next few minutes deposit loads of black bin bags in launderette. Which soon resembles a refugee camp. And progressively take over the launderette as machines become free. God only knows how many people they’re washing for.

The final day of 2024 is freezing cold. It’s +2C this morning. Nippy. Very nippy. Still bunged up with manflu. Take taxi from station. For the short drive to Plaza de Espana. Taxi driver moans he’s been waiting 2hrs at the station. And now it’s a small fare. That’s the way the cookie crumbles mate.

Last came here in 2009 when I took the train to Tangiers. A shake down trip for the Around the World in 60 Days trip the following year. Back then in the summer of 2009 it was 40C. Flipping freezing now.

Built in 1928 for the 1929 Exposition, the plaza is a large expanse of fountains and small canals. Surrounded by a semi-circular and architecturally stunning building now government offices. Alcoves around the building are designated to each Spanish province. Simply stunning.

The many tourists try to avoid the Gypsy women selling sprigs of heather.

Royal Palace is sold out so a meander around the side streets. To find a jewellery store. Selling handmade earrings. Are you one of the lucky ladies? Now have three to cater for!

Unsurprisingly. Hotel has no tables free for tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebration. It’s freezing cold. Have been walking about all day. Can’t be bothered going out in search of a restaurant. Still full of manflu. Need a quiet night in. For a long day of travel tomorrow.

So.

Picnic in room.

Supermarket across road from hotel has the necessary for a picky tea. Fresh baguette. Brie. Salami. Olives. Tomatoes. Red wine. Beer.

So. There I am.

In bed by 9pm.

On New Year’s Eve.

Full of manflu. Feeling dreadful.

It’s a giddy existence, dear reader.

NG2NZ 10. That’s not cheese

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28 & 29-Dec-24 Lisbon & Faro, Portugal

Morning brew enroute whilst walking into Lisbon centre. A clean and nice looking coffee shop entices me in. Only when I’ve asked for a coffee do I realise I’ve actually gatecrashed a hotel’s breakfast room. But told it’s OK to have a coffee even though I’m not a guest. The usual brews to kick start my day. Go to hotel reception to pay. But told it’s OK. It’s free. Says beautiful young female receptionist. And says, “Merry Christmas!”. I’d like to think this was all down to Taurean charm. But she probably couldn’t be bothered with the hassle of ringing it through her accounts system.

Makes my day anyway. Little things.

Happy to meander the back streets on the edge of the city centre and discover a funicular. The Lavra funicular built in 1884. To be precise. You can’t beat a funicular, dear reader. One must always take a funicular. A trundle up the steep hill to more back street meanderings. To be greeted by a pug in a pushchair. Dear me. Look at photo below.

Area becomes progressively more dilapidated and ethnic as I walk downhill to the main square. The top part is quite upmarket but the lower part has derelict buildings. Washing hanging out of windows. Less Portuguese natives. More litter. More squalid. You know the score.

Greeted in the main square by half of Africa. Selling the usual tourist tat. Spread out on blankets on the floor. You know the score.

Soon realise that Lisbon is built on a massive natural amphitheatre. All routes leading downhill to the Triumphal Arch at the main plaza by the coast.

Fortunately a lift takes you to the top of the Triumpal Arch. Built in the 1800s to celebrate the rebirth of the city after the 1755 earthquake. Amazing views of the whole of Lisbon from the top. Beautifully set against a bright blue sky. Quite a panorama.

Hotel is at the top of said amphitheatre so an easy walk down. Am now at sea level. What goes down must go up. Bit of a slog dear reader.

Had passed on the opportunity to gain some height at the St Justa elevator. Very long queues of tourists at the base. Don’t do queues. Don’t do tourists. So a plodding perambulation up more side streets. Going uphill. Very slowly. Jeez there are some steep hills in Lisbon. But find myself at the top of the St Justa elevator. Having walked a considerable distance uphill. Unsurprisingly there is no queue of tourists at the top so descend just to say I’ve been in it. Originally built in the early 1900s and steam powered. But was converted to electric power by the British in 1907. Constructed of iron and 45m high with two lift cabins and a walkway and observation platform to connect to the high level neighbourhood.

Neighbourhoods of Lisbon remind me of Buenos Aires. Has that old world charm about it.

After a lot of walking downhill and uphill all day. Am glad to have a sit down the following day. On the train to Faro. Having already sampled a sandwich from Portuguese Railways opt to buy something better in a proper café before boarding. There’s an assortment of fresh baguettes with fillings. Ask for a cheese baguette. But told they don’t have cheese. I’ll have a cheese and ham baguette then. Please. As I can see that is pre-prepared in the display case next to where both the cashier and I are standing. It’s in plain sight.

She says that don’t have any cheese and ham baguettes. Tell her they do. And point to Exhibit A. A cheese and ham baguette. Right next to us in the display case. She moves to look. And sees the cheese and ham baguette. As I do. Pointing. But no. Am told that’s not a cheese and ham baguette.

It’s a brie and ham baguette.

Oh for God’s sake.

Give me strength.

Eventually get what I want.

Train is old. Slow going. Stops every few minutes in the Lisbon area. Then every town it passes through. Toilets are absolutely disgusting.

3hrs 40mins later. Arrive Faro. And a very short walk to Hotel Faro (https://www.hotelfaro.pt/en/) for an overnight stop. And close to the bus station for tomorrow morning’s departure.

It being Sundy afternoon most places are now shut.

Not sure I’d rush back to Faro, dear reader.

NG2NZ 9. The westernmost point

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26 & 27-Dec-24 Lisbon, Portugal

Boxing Day train from Porto to Lisbon. A grotty affair. And that’s First Class. Train sandwich. Disgusting. Train toilets. Well. Glad I’m a bloke. And don’t have to touch anything. Just point and shoot. Grim.

Things don’t improve on arrival in Lisbon. Poxy, grubby little taxi. Equally grubby little driver is shown hotel name, address and location using Google Maps. It’s simple. But we end up at a different hotel altogether so have to direct him the final mile.

Eventually arrive Lumen Hotel (https://www.lumenhotel.pt/en). A modern and new hotel. But one which does not have heating. Still suffering with manflu. Room is cold with air-conditioning on. Technician arrives to see if he can get room any warmer. He can’t. And accepts that it’s freezing cold in room. Which wouldn’t ordinarily be a problem. But manflu is not helping. Am suffering, dear reader. Feel dreadful. Still.

Having been told that the hotel only has AC to offset the solar gain from the floor to ceiling windows leave curtains wide open the following day. To capture the solar gain. I’ll warm this room up if it kills me.

Another blue sky and sunny day as I pick up hire car to drive to Cape Roca.

The westernmost point of Europe and the Eurasian land mass.

Shall only be heading east from now on. Yay.

What a glorious day it is with cracking views of the rugged coastline.

Little sister had alerted me to the fact Lord Byron had stayed nearby at Monserrate Palace near Sintra. Which is nearby.

Off I pootle.

Simply stunning architecture both inside and out. Built in the late 18th/early 19th centuries. Like Gaudi’s El Capricho in northern Spain, the rooms are empty of furniture. You can imagine how nice it would be to live here though.

The only problem is the 330m climb up the steep path to return to the car park.

Monserrate Palace is one of a number of former royal palaces in Sintra and a guide recommends that my next should be Quinta da Regaleira. Only 2 miles up the road.

But.

The whole area has a one way system. As the access roads are all too narrow for the masses of cars.

So.

An 8 mile road trip.

Which should take half an hour.

It doesn’t.

It’s slow going dear reader. Just one long queue of fellow day trippers all trying to get to the same castle. With limited parking.

Arriving in Sintra town realise this is going to take too long. So decide to park up.

Except.

Sintra has a problem with supply and demand of car parking spaces.

Four circuits of the one way system in the town and half an hour later find a car park spot.

It’s a nice place and worth a stop, dear reader. Should you ever come.

But. Very busy.

Not having time to walk to the older part of town and back and then visit the castle. Jump in car to park in the castle’s visitor car park. A few miles away.

Ah yes.

That will save time.

But no.

It’s a long slow three miles of gridlock. In the one way system. So no turning back.

Parking is seemingly impossible.

Then I see the long pedestrian queue to enter the castle.

Er no.

Can do without that. This late in the afternoon.

Sintra worthy of a visit, dear reader. And an overnight stay to get in the castles before the tourists arrive from Lisbon.

Having driven past the castle in the one way system soon find myself back at where I started a few hours earlier. Monserrate Palace.

A cracking day nonetheless.

Driving back to Lisbon. Thoughts turn to dinner. A yearning for garlic prawns, fillet steak and chips fills my mind.

Discover a steakhouse near hotel called BYF. Off I toddle. Having not made a reservation. Am told they’re fully booked but the sister restaurant across the road has a table free. Great. It’s a fish restaurant called FYSH but promised they do fillet steak.

Escorted across the road by the young waitress who introduces me to the maitre d’ with an explanation. Welcomed in. Surrounded by fresh fish on ice and lobsters in large water tanks. So you know they’re fresh. Mind set on steak forego the fish options apart from the garlic prawns which are excellent.

Having ordered French fries to go with a juicy steak you’ll laugh when they serve it with some crisps. And by crisps. I mean Walkers type crisps. No. No. No. That won’t do.

It’s quickly sent back for the necessary French fries.

Table decoration is a small bowl. With a real live fish swimming about in it. Apparently a betta azul Japanese fighting fish.

Not your usual plastic flower decoration I have to say!

NG2NZ 8. A drop of port in Porto at Christmas

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24 & 25 December 2024, Porto, Portugal

Knowing that some European countries celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, am not sure what’s going to be open or closed today or tomorrow. In anticipation, have booked restaurants tonight and tomorrow well in advance. With Christmas Day being my day have booked a swanky restaurant for dinner. Christmas Eve is Thai.

It’s another bright blue sky and sunny day. But a fresh wind blowing down the river valley. A friend had recommended the market. Thinking that it would be a traditional old market hall surprised how new and refurbished it is. To the extent of being a bit sterile and disappointing. Plenty of salted codfish on sale. The Portuguese celebrate Christmas with salted codfish it seems. Not a turkey in sight.

First port tasting on Christmas Eve is at Calem Port lodge. Not heard of Calem before. But given three glasses to taste. Rose, Vintage and a 10 year old Tawny. Surprisingly large glasses. All the port lodges are on the south side of the river in Villa Nova de Gaia. All the casks and vats are stored in long rows of warehouses with tiled roofs…called lodges. Traditionally transported from further up the Douro valley and the vineyards by barge.

Christmas Day begins with a champagne breakfast. With a cracking view of the bridge.

Leisurely walk about a fairly quiet Porto before the second port tasting. At Taylor Fladgate.

Many of the port houses have British names. Well. It all started in the 1670s when two English merchants on holiday in the Douro valley were given a glass of sweet fortified wine by an Abbott. Liking it so much they bought his stock and shipped it home. It became popular in the early 1700s when import duties were very low and the war with France meant that French wine was difficult to get hold of. This led to the British buying up land and creating vineyards along the Douro river valley.

About 30 grape varieties are used for making port. The Douro valley is split into three regions. Baixo Corgo at the western end closest to Porto. Cima Corgo in the middle. Douro Superior at the eastern end of the Douro. Cima Corgo and Douro Superior regions in the east are hotter and have less rainfall than the western end and so have the finest ports with greater ageing potential.

In the early 1900s, Portugal had periods of instability and so to avoid damage due to civil unrest the British port houses and vineyards fixed signs to their buildings stating ‘English property’ with a Union flag.

Port is a fortified wine. The grapes are picked and allowed to ferment. To a certain extent. But then a neutral grape spirit, which is called brandy but isn’t what you know as brandy, is added to the wine to stop the fermentation process. This leaves sugar in the liquid and makes it more alcoholic.

It’s then aged in barrels in the many lodges in Villa Nova de Gaia on the southern side of the Douro river in Porto. Which gives its name to ‘port’.

All the barrels are handmade. Traditionally they were made in units: pipes, almudes, canadas. Pipe is 550 litres. Almude is 25 litres. Canada is 2.08 litres. In the Taylor’s cellar, all the barrels are marked with a cross and two numbers. The barrel is always one pipe of 550 litres plus a unit of almudes (the top number) and a unit of canadas. So an X with 2 at the top and 4 on the side calculates as 550 litres plus 2 x 25 litres plus 4 x 2.08 litres…equals approx. 608 litres.

The length of time it is aged in the vats and casks determines the colour and type of port. A vat is typically 20,000 litres whilst a cask is about 630 litres.

For port aged in wooden vats. 2-3 years is Ruby. 3-4 years is Reserve. 4-6 years of a harvest in a single year is Late Bottled Vintage (LBV).

For casks…2-3 years is Tawny. Which can then be aged in casks for 10, 20, 30 or 40 years.

Vintage ports will be aged in wooden vats for just under two years before being bottled to continue ageing in the bottle for 20 to 30 years.

The stuff you learn on this blog, dear reader.

The tour ends with a port tasting. But. It’s a white chip dry port and a 2019 LBV. The stuff I can buy in Sainsbury’s.

A steep climb from river level back up to the hotel is rewarded by having to walk through Jardin de Morro park. Hundreds of people congregating to watch the sun set. Really good atmosphere. A cracking end to the day. Again.

And to really complete Christmas day.

Dinner at Teves restaurant at Timbre Vertudes.

This is the life, dear reader.

Live it whilst you can.

Merry Christmas.

Well OK…you’re reading this in May 2025 but you know what I mean…