Travel Blog

A Road Trip in Scotland:  Monks, Potters, Flowers, and Kelpies or A Day in the Highlands

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Large swathes of sunlight graced the rolling landscape of the northern highlands as the plane began its descent toward Inverness. The change in weather was welcomed after a delayed flight from London put us two hours behind schedule, and we were landing in Inverness after all the car rental agents in the airport closed at 5 pm. It was a situation we didn’t realize until we departed London, and in the air. Being from the states where the airports stay open extremely late, we hadn’t made any contingency plans for this unexpected delay, and it, along with fretting about driving on the left side of the road, filled us with anxiety as the last car hire bus to Arnold Clark’s offsite lot ran at five. While waiting at baggage claim we somehow connected with another couple on our flight with the same dilemma and shared our worries. An audible sigh of relief was released when to our surprise an Arnold Clark agent was waiting for all of us, holding a placard with our names on it, as we exited the baggage claim area. Our cars were parked for us outside. The agent was absolutely wonderful, and prevented a rough start to our vacation. He also recommended an excellent restaurant, The Snow Goose, just minutes from the airport. Arnold Clark really went the extra mile for us, and we thanked the agent profusely.

I think driving away from any new airport is the most dangerous part of many trips. Horns blared. Stay left, look right was our mantra. Lunch had happened many hours earlier, and with a two-hour drive south to Pitlochry ahead of us, we decided to stop for dinner. First impressions of a new destination are important, and ours were pleasantly exceeded when we stopped at The Snow Goose, first with a riotous display of color from beautiful hydrangeas that lined the walkway. Then the realization that customers’ dogs are welcomed inside restaurants, pubs too, and just want the chance to wag their tails, and have their heads rubbed. This is something totally alien to the restaurant scene in the United States, but it was very nice, and all the dogs were so well behaved. Lastly, the food was great. Beetroot and Pumpkin Seed Arancini to start, followed by Seared Sea Bass and Pan-Roasted Lamb.

Grand expanses of heather covered the hillsides between forests of pine, while tufted vetch in infinite shades of purple and pink carpeted the edge of the road.

After a little difficulty finding the driveway, the hosts, a husband-and-wife team, of the Craigroyston House & Lodge greeted us as dusk was descending, and showed us our room. It was late, a friendly “See you in the morning. Good night,” was all that was called for. The Full Scottish breakfast  – bacon, sausage, black pudding, haggis, mushrooms, tomatoes, and egg was a delicious as the dinner the evening before. The small medallion of haggis that accompanied this breakfast was the perfect introduction to the national dish of Scotland that’s made with minced liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep, and mixed with mutton suet, oatmeal, then seasoned with onion, cayenne pepper, and other spices. It really was very good, and we enjoyed it many times with breakfast during our stay in the Highlands.

The Craigroyston House is a small eight-room inn, with a beautiful, terraced garden, conveniently located one block away from Pitlochry’s main thoroughfare. Colorful hanging baskets hung from many shops, and brightened a gray morning. The weather report for the week ahead showed the possibility of rain every day.

Shopkeepers apologized for the unusually cold and rainy August Scotland was having. We soon realized, though, that those dreary mornings often gave way to brilliantly sunny afternoons. Heading back to the inn we stopped at Heathergems, a shop that turns highly compressed heather stems into unique jewelry. If you are looking for a souvenir this is definitely a place to consider.

The plan for the day was to drive to the village of Dunkeld. Then continue to Drummond Castle to wander around its formal garden, before ending the day in Edinburg.

By late morning we arrived in Dunkeld and spent a while searching for parking close to the town’s ancient cathedral. It had started to rain, and it became a futile task competing with other tourists also wanting to find a parking space in the small village. We opted to park along the Tay River at the Tay Terrace Car Park, only a short walk away from the cathedral. The village has a long history that has always been tied to the early church in Scotland since 730AD, when Culdee Monks, Celtic missionaries, built a monastery there. One hundred and twenty years later the small village’s influence mushroomed when the first King of the newly united Picts and Scots, Kenneth I MacAlpin, moved the relics of Saint Columba from the Hebrides’ Isle of Iona to Dunkeld, to prevent their desecration by Viking raiders. Columba was a 6th century Irish missionary who founded an abbey on Iona, and is credited with spreading Christianity in Scotland.

In the mid 1200’s construction of a grand cathedral started above the ruins of the ancient Culdee Monastery. It was finished 250 years later in 1501, but only served in all its glory for sixty years before the altar and nave of the cathedral were seriously damaged when the roof of the cathedral was destroyed during the Protestant Reformation. At this time, the Scottish Parliament outlawed Catholicism and ended centuries of Papal authority over Scotland, which fundamentally altered the country’s cultural and social landscape. “Churches were to be stripped of their idolatrous religious art and decoration and then whitewashed, so that only God and Christ would be worshipped, and not their images, or images of the saints.” 

The choir end of the cathedral was reroofed in 1600 to serve as the parish church or kirk, but was again damaged, when most of Dunkeld was destroyed in the Jacobite Rebellion of 1689. Over time the village slowly re-emerged as a market town, and supported weaving, candle-making, tanning and brewing businesses.

Off to the side and behind the altar in the “new” parish kirk, there is an interesting small museum with sculptures and tombs. Nearby in front of the cathedral, in the town’s old market square, there is an elegant stone fountain detailed with carvings of animals, birds, and Masonic symbols. It’s dedicated to George Augustus Frederick John, the 6th Duke of Atholl, and a Grand Master of the Scottish Masons, who brought piped water to the village in the mid 1800’s.

Dunkeld, with its many nooks and crannies and architectural details, was a delight to explore. When it started to rain harder, we sought refuge and lunch at Palmerstons, a small café busy with wet tourists. They served a great hearty lunch and good coffee at a fair price.

Centuries ago a ferry was the only way to cross the Tay river to Dunkeld’s sister village, Little Dunkeld, but it was extremely dangerous when the river was running high and fast. So, with great relief and fanfare, a stone bridge across the river was built in 1809. It’s a simple seven-arch construction that has withstood the test of time. It was designed by Thomas Telford, who is more famously known for engineering the 60-mile long Caledonian Canal which joined Inverness to Fort William, essentially connecting the North Sea to the Atlantic Ocean.

The Legacy of Beatrice Potter drew us across the bridge. The author and illustrator of the widely loved children’s books, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, The Tale of Jemima Puddle Duck and The Tale of Tom Kitten spent many summers of her youth vacationing in Dunkeld and exploring the flora and fauna along the River Tay. A charming park featuring small bronze sculptures of her animal characters along a pathway through the woods is dedicated to her memory.

We abandoned the highways and drove southwest through rolling hills along the famously narrow single-track roads of the highlands. The lanes, often lined with stone walls and fencing, allow two-way traffic, but in order to pass an oncoming car one vehicle has to pullover into a small bump-out called a Passing Place. These are well marked and spaced along the country roads, but you need to be on the lookout for approaching cars, as the protocol is for drivers to pull into the closest Passing Place on their side of the lane and wait for the other vehicles to pass. It took some getting used to. Surprisingly, the speed limit on these single-track roads is 60 mph, but we were only comfortable driving at half that speed. It was also important to be on the lookout for any stray farm animals that might have escaped their pasture, or equestrians, and those adorable tiny hedgehogs that wander across the road. Fortunately, no one was behind us when Donna, my eagle-eyed co-pilot shouted, “STOP!” and was out of the car in a flash to usher a hedgehog across the lane. The one big drawback is that you are not allowed to use the Passing Places to park and take pictures of the beautiful scenery.

Just beyond Crieff we turned off the main road and followed a mile long driveway through a tunnel of ancient trees to Drummond Castle to see its Renaissance style formal gardens. It was still cloudy, but there was a hint of blue sky on the horizon as we stood in the castle’s courtyard above the gardens and readied ourselves for the walk down a long set of wide stairs into the flowering oasis, when suddenly a cloud burst above our heads and drenched us.

We scrambled back to the ticket office and asked for a refund, as we had only been there for a few minutes, but none was offered. That patch of blue above still teased us. We waited, and the sky brightened. The gardens were spectacular, as if the flowers had received a heavenly command to overcompensate for the bleak weather.

The castle’s original 15th century six-story stone keep still stands, but only the lower 2 floors are open to the public. The other chateau-like buildings were added in the 1600’s and are the private rooms of the Drummond family, which remarkably still owns the place after 500 years. In 1842 Queen Victoria is believed to have planted a beech tree in the garden, and understatedly praised the grounds in a letter to a friend, “Prince Albert and I walked in the garden, which is really very fine, with terraces, like an old French garden.”

After climbing back up the stairs we ordered two cappuccinos to ward off the day’s chill from a barista, boredly pacing in a coffee trailer parked in the courtyard. “Do the folks who own this live here?” I asked. “No, they have other castles but visit occasionally.”  We walked away with a new realization about one-percenters.

As we headed to Edinburg the sky finally cleared. Originally, I had planned our route to follow the M90 south and cross the Firth of Forth bridge into the city. But somehow, we ended up much further west, and were totally surprised when the 100ft tall steel Kelpies, shining brilliantly in the afternoon, towered above the tree line along the side of the highway. We had planned to stop there after visiting Edinburgh, but with the afternoon weather now perfect we seized the day and changed our plans. These equestrian statues are located in Helix Park at the confluence of the Clyde Canal and the River Carron. The steel horseheads are the largest in the world, and were created by the internationally acclaimed Scottish sculptor, Andy Scott. They are based on Scottish folklore where a kelpie is a dangerous shape-shifting water spirit that appears on land as a horse, who entices its unsuspecting victim to ride on their backs, only to be sped away to a watery grave. 

It was a great second day in Scotland. On to Edinburgh!

Till next time, Craig & Donna

P.S. Scottish weather is notoriously fickle and changes dramatically throughout the day. Being prepared to layer up or down and having proper waterproof rain gear and footwear was essential. We invested in some Gore-Tex rain jackets and were delighted that they kept us totally dry.

An Albania Road Trip: On the road to Shkodër or Olives, Castles, and Lamb

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Ancient, gnarled olive trees covered the sharp slopes on either side of the road, along a narrow razorback ridge. Their silver-gray olive leaves undulated with light from a morning breeze. Some of the older trees are 3000 years old, and the fruit from the trees is believed to make the best olive oil in Albania, and is sought after by connoisseurs and chefs. An elderly man herded a small flock of sheep across the road, a common occurrence in rural Albania where it seems there is more four-legged traffic than cars.

We parked and walked up a short steep lane, past a school where a coed basketball game was enthusiastically underway, to the ridge’s 1300ft summit and the Preza Fortress. The stronghold was built in the mid 1400’s and played an important role in the Albanian resistance to Ottoman rule.

It was once a massive compound with commanding views of the broad plane of the Tirana Valley to the east. This valley was the favored north-south route for invaders, and was the fertile breadbasket of Albania since the Iron Age. Mid-week in late April we had the site to ourselves except for a group of older men, seemingly an old boys’ club, enjoying each other’s company, tucked away in a small outbuilding with a large glass window through which we could see them playing cards, drinking coffee, and reading the newspaper. Unfortunately, only one tall watch tower remains of the compound, but the panoramic view was fantastic.

Bar Kalaja e Prezës is the restaurant at the site and was a great place to relax with a coffee and absorb the serenity of the landscape from their terraces. There was also a very large lover’s heart perched on the overlook that was the perfect spot for an Instagram photo.

We had left Durrës earlier that morning, headed toward the northern city of Shkodër, and followed the A1 north. We had been in southern Albanian for the prior two weeks and were surprised now by the amount of traffic congestion along this main artery. It was mostly due to the construction project widening the two-lane road, and the economic activities of businesses, with parking lots right next to the road which creaed all sorts of mayhem – cars were pulling off and onto the highway. There were few traffic lights. One section of the road was lined with folks selling parrots and chickens right from the curbside, while at another point men on either side of the road carried puppies up and down the traffic, offering them for sale. Fruit and vegetable stands were a common occurrence. As we’ve mentioned in our earlier blogs, we found Albanians to be very friendly. But put them behind the wheel of a car, and there is an aggressive personality shift, where they throw the driving rules out the window. I know this is a sweeping statement, but when you experience the roads firsthand, you’ll understand, and any Albanian citizen will agree with me. Driving in Albania was a blood sport – the automotive version of rugby.

The one big plus of driving along Albania’s main roads was the superb quality of restaurants attached to gas stations. In the states these are often fast-food chains or “greasy spoons,” that serve caloric, processed foods. Albanians take their cuisine quite seriously, and we found it nearly impossible to have a bad meal in the country. The key though to these roadside restaurants is to pick one where the parking lot is almost full. It’s always a good sign that the place is busy with satisfied customers. The restaurant Autogrill Emanuel, along the SH1, in Balldren was a wonderful find, and a great place for lunch. The façade was ho-hum, it is after all located at a gas station, but the inside was pleasant, and the tables were covered with linen tablecloths.

Near closing time we arrived at Rozafa Castle, parked and started to walk around a small hill that obstructed our view of the fortress. It quickly became apparent that it was too long of a trek uphill, and it would diminish our time exploring the site. Several cars passed us coming downhill and we realized we just might get lucky finding a place to park nearer the entrance. Fortunately, that was the case, but even so it was still a strenuous walk to the center of the citadel.

The views were fantastic. We could see for miles around, especially out over Shkodra Lake where the mountains of Montenegro rose on the northern horizon. To the east the small metropolis of Shkoder spread imposingly across the flatland beneath the foothills of Albanian’s beloved Accursed Mountains. While the panorama to the south encompassed the meandering Drin River.

The first fortifications on the hill date to the Illyrian kingdom during the 4th century BC, though archeological discoveries confirm the hilltop had inhabitants since the Bronze Age. Albania folklore is full of tales of stoic women sacrificing for their country. Though the legend of how Rozafa Castle received its name is one of the more tragic and involves human sacrifice. The tale goes that construction of the castle was beset with difficulties, walls collapsed, workers died. An oracle was consulted and advised that a woman be entombed in the castle’s wall to appease the Gods. Rozafa, a young mother, was chosen, and as the legend goes, willingly participated as long as her chest was left exposed for her infant to breastfeed. For ages afterward it was believed that the liquid dripping from the limestone stalactites on the ceiling of the ancient Illyrian gateway to the fortress was the entombed mother’s milk, and that the castle was alive with her spirit.

The Roman Empire defeated the Illyrians, and over the following centuries the fortress was controlled by an ever-evolving list of rulers that included the Byzantine Empire, Kingdom of Serbia, Lordship of Zeta, Principality of Zaharia, the Venetian Empire, the Ottoman Empire, the Pashalik of Scutari, and the Kingdom of Montenegro.  T

We were taken by the beauty of the old town at the Migjeni roundabout, where an intriguing cityscape included Ebu Beker Moosque’s minarets, and Kisha Katolike Frencekane’s belltower; crenellates and fountains revealed themselves. Shkodër today is Albania’s fifth largest city with a population of 102,000. Though thriving today, the city has had a tumultuous history. Most poignantly in 1967, the Communist dictator Enver Hoxha declared Albania an atheist state and banned the practice of all religions. Churches and mosques were seized and converted to other uses or destroyed. Religious leaders were executed or imprisoned for decades in brutal labor camps and prisons to break their faith. The communist regime viewed anyone who believed in religion as an enemy of the state. Family members of the accused were victimized as well, with the denial of educational opportunities, and decent jobs. Consequently, the citizens of Shkodër who cherished their religious harmony and embraced each other’s Muslim and Christian traditions, in a city where it was not uncommon for members of the same family to practice different religions or intermarry, suffered greatly under communism.

The most poignant insult was the creation of the National Museum of Atheism, an anti-religious propaganda center, in the city. While the borders of Albania were closed to the outside world, even the cities within the country were isolated from each other, and Shkodër sat alone and inaccessible in the northern part of the country. Any news it received of events in southern Albania was heavily censored. Even folks that were “free” likened it to living in a penal colony, as the town had 23 prisons, and nearly every family had someone in jail. The Sigurimi, the communist secret police, had a heavy presence in the city, and encouraged informants to denounce anyone, even for simply wearing a religious cross. Similar to Bunk’Art 2 in Tirana, the site of the Witness and Memory Museum in Shkodër documents the atrocities the communists committed against the townsfolk, in a confiscated Catholic school that was operated as an interrogation center.

The Çoçja Boutique Hotel was only a few minutes from the roundabout, had underground parking, and most importantly was a short walk away from the pedestrian only streets Rruga Kolë Idromeno, and Rruga 28 Nëntori. We are not sure why this small 17-room hotel is only rated three-stars, but it was one of the nicest hotels we have ever stayed in. It’s a newer building that’s exquisitely well decorated, and our bathroom was a modern wonder. The staff was also very nice.

Ten thousand undergraduates attend the University of Shkodër, and the cosmopolitan city’s streets are full of students pedaling across the town’s flat roads. Their presence contributed greatly to Shkodër’s youthful contemporary vibe, that’s much different from the rest of the country. In the evenings the restaurants and cafés along the pedestrian mall were filled with their energetic enthusiasm.

We took advantage of a warm night and enjoyed eating outside on the second-floor balcony, which overlooked the mall, at Bar Restaurant San Francisco, on Rruga Kolë Idromeno. I tried the traditional Shkodër specialty, Tavë kosi, made with lamb, yogurt, eggs, garlic, and oregano, while Donna ordered baked lamb with rice. Roasted vegetables and the house wine accompanied our dinner. All were quite good. We ordered lamb frequently while traveling around Albania, as in the states it is not offered in many restaurants, and when it is it’s very expensive.  

The next morning, we strolled in the opposite direction down the shaded Rruga 28 Nëntori, where preparations were underway for the 11th annual Hemingway Jazz Fest & Swing Marathon, that’s held at the end of April. Unfortunately, we were not in Shkodër for it, but it would have been really nice to watch folks cutting loose. Towards the end of our walk, we reached Shatërvani Park, where there were several sculptures.

One was a whimsical and retro collection of towering, stylized dandelions, which I haven’t been able to find any information about. Nearby, across from the City Hall, stood the Monument Dedicated to the Victims of Communist Persecution.

A plaque near the sculpture states it’s dedicated to the sacrifices, and resistance the people of Shkodër made during the communist dictatorship. This is the first memorial of its kind in Albania and considered long overdue. Many think it is an important first step towards reconciling the atrocities of Albania’s communist past with survivors of the nightmare.

In hindsight two nights in Shkodër wasn’t enough time to adequately explore the city. An extra day would have allowed time to visit some of the museums in the city.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

On the Road to Durrës, Albania: or Lady Bugs, Metallic Men and a Beautiful Seaside City

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Loose gravel gently slid down from the top of the earthen embankment along the road. It was the “heads up!” prelude to a small herd of goats scurrying down the slope to cross the road ahead of us. The last to cross was a young yearling goat, unsure of his footing. It was a transition day for us. We had left Lin, on the shore of Lake Ohrid, near the border with North Macedonia, earlier that morning to drive to Durrës, on the Adriatic Sea. The journey of only 90 miles, 142 km, was our longest single drive in Albania, and can be accomplished in three hours, if so desired. But with us there is always something that piques our interest and requires a detour or U-turn.

Much of the SH3 highway that connects Lin, through Elbasan, to Durrës traverses a sparsely populated remote region of Albania. Occasionally, in what seemed the middle of nowhere, we passed enterprising farmers who had set up temporary produce stands perched atop the road’s guardrails, their donkeys tied nearby. Sadly, factories abandoned after the fall of communism littered the countryside. In Prrenjas though, the artist Eljan Tanini whimsically covered the towers of a defunct nickel mine with 1,380 charming ladybugs, a symbol of good fortune and hope for the future.

On the outskirts of Elbasan we stopped for a snack at the Elita Grill, a newly opened restaurant. It was a very attractive, contemporary space, which stood as a nice counterbalance to the rustic region we had just driven through. The pastries and coffees were very good, and the prices budget friendly. Across the street, the dome of a larger-than-average Cold War era concrete bunker inched above a mechanics shop.

Entering Elbasan we passed the Xhamia e Nazireshës mosque. Across the street from it, a dreamy street mural of a child playfully dancing amidst clouds graced the side of an apartment building. Unfortunately, the traffic was too congested in this spot, and we didn’t stop. An abandoned train track paralleled most of our route from Prrenjas to Elbasan. The rail line once carried nickel ore to the Kombinati Metalurgjik, a huge industrial complex that was built with cooperation from Chairman Mao’s Chinese Communist Party in the 1970’s. The site, easily seen from the highway, now lies in ruins and is a popular spot for amateur industrial archeologists. But at its height it employed 12,000 people and produced the iron, steel and cement for Albania’s 173,000 military bunkers ordered built by the paranoid communist dictator Enver Hoxha, who feared invasion from everyone. We were getting hungry as we reached Tirana. While there were numerous lunch options available, we wanted something with easy on and off access, close to our route. With a quick google search we chose the restaurant Xhafa, which had an outside patio on a hillside that overlooked Tirana. From our experiences across Albania we found that the food was delicious no matter where we stopped. As it was here. Leaving the restaurant, we noticed a large futuristic metallic head in front of an office building next door. We are not sure, but we think the sculpture can be accredited to the Albanian sculptor, Ilirjan Xhixha.

We continued our westerly drive along SH3 until signs for Durrës directed us onto SH2. We wished we had been prepared with our cameras for what emerged next. Across the highway, the most unusual building crowned a small hill. It was seven stories tall, with a neoclassical birthday cake-like façade. On the multi-level corners of the building larger than life statues of the Illyrian Kings stood, as if they were surveying the landscape. Centered atop the colossal building was a mammoth sculpture of the great warrior Skanderbeg, the famous 15th century commander who united Albanians to rebel against the Ottoman Empire. This grand building, with its Las Vegas-type schmaltz, was the Amadeus Palace Hotel. If you enjoy quirky, off-beat things, this might be a place to check out.

We arrived in Durrës late in the afternoon, just in time to see a passenger ferry from Italy enter the harbor, as we drove along the waterfront. Parking with a rental car is always a concern, but we had asked the hotel, Ventus Harbor, where to park. “During the April shoulder season there is plenty of free parking available close to the hotel,” was the response. We are always skeptical of these easy answers, and there was street parking a short distance from the hotel. Though there was an informal parking assistant waving to drivers coming down the street, pointing as to where to park or wait as a cement truck driver readied a delivery to a construction site. We tipped him and hoped for the best. At the reception desk we told them where we left the car, and they said it would be okay, but we could also park on the pier which led to the floating hotel if we preferred. While that option was closer, it required driving through a small, pedestrian-filled shopping mall. The car stayed where we left it and was fine for two days.

Though the futuristically designed Ventus Harbor appears to float above the Adriatic Sea like a spaceship, it is in fact built securely atop pilings pounded into the seabed and connected to shore via a narrow, 300ft long suspension bridge. The hotel’s refreshing uniqueness, which contrasts so distinctively with the stone castles and villages of rural Albania, was our main reason for choosing to stay there.

Towards sunset we headed to the promenade along the seafront and were engulfed by families and friends enjoying the xhiro, the Albanian tradition of an evening stroll to relax and socialize. Fishermen cast the last lines of the day into gentle waves as we walked towards the setting sun and the Sfinksi, a small concrete step pyramid where folks gathered to watch the sun dip below the horizon as the sky faded from a fiery orange to the blue of the evening.

The city’s night skyline slowly awakened with lights, before the stars shined. It was a warm April evening and we slept well with the door to the balcony open, listening to the water lap against the pilings below us.

After breakfast we walked along the promenade into Durrës’ historic old town, which has been centered around the harbor since time immemorial. It has been Albania’s economic engine and vital link connecting Europe to Asia Minor since Greece established a trading colony there in 7th century BC. An Illyrian Kingdom followed in the 4th century BC. But it was the Roman Empire which left the most significant impact. The Romans turned the ancient town, now Illyricum, into a vital trade and military hub with the creation of the Via Egnatia, a cobbled road that crossed 700 miles through the rugged Balkan mountains to Thessaloníki, Greece, and Constantinople. Troops, merchants and religion flowed across its path. The Apostle Paul traveled this route to Durrës in the 1st century, a time when Christians were still thrown to the lions for entertainment in the coliseum across the Roman Empire. Upon the Western Roman Empire’s collapse in 476, the Byzantine Empire filled the void until the tumultuous Dark and Middle Ages brought a succession of invaders to the region. Visigoths, Huns, Bulgarians, Slavs, Normans, and Venetians conquered and fled until the armies of the Ottoman Empire arrived in the 15th century. Austria ruled for a time during WWI. Mussolini’s Fascist troops landed in the port at the start of WWII. The Albanian’s communist partisans defeated their opponents after WWII. In 1967, as if needing to put a sword into the heart of any remaining hope the people of Albania had, the communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, banned all religions, and proclaimed, in the city where the Apostle Paul preached, that Albania is “the first atheistic state in the world.” The city and country has had a turbulent history to say the least.

“Walk a little, and the café,” is a philosophy we like to indulge in, and after our stroll along the promenade past statues of gladiators, liberation fighters, and modern art we needed a break to savor a fine Spring day before reaching the ruins of the city’s ancient Roman amphitheater. The amphitheater was the largest in the Balkans and capable of holding 20,000 spectators.

We passed through a gate in the last remaining section of a defensive wall that once encircled the city. The city’s first ramparts, which stood 40ft tall and stretched for three miles around the core of Durrës, were built by the Byzantine Emperor Anastasius I, a native son, in the 5th century AD. The walls were later expanded and improved upon by the Venetians with stones repurposed from the amphitheater after it suffered irreparable damage from a devastating earthquake in 1267. During the Ottoman era homes were built over the site. Surprisingly, they were rediscovered in 1966 by archeologists surveying the area to identify sites that might be of interest to western tourists. Based on the size of its ruins, the amphitheater must have been magnificent. Sadly, the site has not been improved, and sits surrounded by apartment buildings, but it is on the short list of sites for future inclusion in the UNESCO World Heritage program. Oddly, archeology and building concrete bunkers across Albania were two of Enver Hoxha’s passions.

From the amphitheater it was only a short stroll to the Bulevardi Epidamn, Durrës’ prettiest avenue. It’s not a particularly long street, but its pleasant five blocks are lined with stately palm trees, that give it a splendid Costa del Sol vibe.

We followed it until we reached a well-preserved Venetian Tower, that was once part of the defensive wall that encircled the city, across from the harbor. It was an interesting plaza with more statutes commemorating partisan heroes and a gleaming metal sculpture of Redon, the Illyrian god of the sea, which was strikingly similar to the statue in Tirana. This statue, which nicely blends modern technology with the historical past through its use of materials, was also created by the Durrës-born artist, Ilirjan Xhixha.

Before returning to the waterfront, we detoured back towards the amphitheater, where earlier we had passed a tiny window-in-the-wall bakery, confidently named Bule’s Best Byrek in Town, and single handedly run by the formidable Bule. We bought several byrek and enjoyed them as we picnicked along the coast. The cheese and spinach ones were our favorites, and indeed were delicious, and so inexpensive. Go early, as they sell out quickly.

It was still the Spring shoulder season, and many restaurants stayed closed until the warmer weather in May arrives. We had crisscrossed Albania for two weeks by this time and were familiar with prices, but the night before we choose to dine at slightly upscale establishment, for a nice seafood dinner, that received good reviews. While our dinners were tasty, the portions were smaller than what’s typically Albanian. And it was the first time that we felt there was some tourist price-gouging happening.

For our last night in Durrës we decided to go no-frills. After much hemming and hawing we entered the Hepta Grill, a Greek fast-food restaurant, located at the base of the walkway that led to our hotel. The place was lively, the staff was nice, and the food was perfect. We left thinking we could enjoy living in Durrës.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Road Trip Through Brittany: Josselin & Vannes or Castles, Standing Stones and Cheese

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The sun’s early morning rays cast a soft glow across the gently rolling countryside, silhouetting farm buildings and highlighting here and there pockets of mist still clinging to warm earth, and stubble in freshly plowed fields waiting to be seeded with their winter over crop.

The timing was uncanny, but I had just started to write this story when Donna called from the porch, “you have mail from France!” It must have been some tourist information I requested, I thought, and excitedly stopped writing. But I should have suspected from Donna’s smug grin that something was off kilter. To my disappointment it was the notification of a traffic fine! Who drives when we are touring is a bone of contention between the two of us. But I’ll be the first to admit that I am a terrible passenger and believe that the “Oh God” strap above the passenger door was specifically designed for my benefit.

As a consequence, I prefer to drive slowly to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I deliberately choose to deny my lovely, daring wife the thrill of downshifting and accelerating along the many cliffside serpentine roads we might encounter, as I cower in the passenger seat. There weren’t any cliffside drives in Brittany, but you get my drift. I can safely say we have different driving styles. Seriously, my wife is an excellent driver, it’s more about the extravagant fee per day the car rental companies charge for the extra driver than anything else, kinda. It was not a speeding ticket, but a moving violation caught by a traffic camera on a quiet Sunday morning in the sleepy French village of Saint-Jouan-de-I’Isle, deep in the heart of Brittany. I alone was to blame, but would have preferred asking forgiveness from a gendarme, then the robotic indifference of a traffic spy camera, and a letter months later in the mail. Though I will give credit to the French authorities for designing a user-friendly website, Amendes.gouv.fr, for paying fines online.  

We arrived mid-morning in Josselin just as the first wave of walkers were completing a charity walk in support of Pink October, France’s breast cancer awareness month, along the towpath that followed the Oust River in front of the town’s ancient castle, the Château de Josselin. It was late October, but the first yellows and muted oranges of Autumn were just beginning to show and combined with the walker’s pink vests made for a very colorful sight under a brilliant blue sky.

There has been a castle on this spot in Josselin since the 11th century, but the chateau you see today dates from 1370. Early in the 1400s Alain VIII of Rohan inherited the castle and it has remained a House of Rohan estate for 600 years. The chateau suffered poorly during the 16th century French Wars of Religion, as Henry II of Rohan supported protestant Huguenots against the King of France and the Catholic church; five of its original nine towers were destroyed on the orders of Cardinal Richelieu. During the French Revolution the castle’s towers were used as a prison, but afterwards it sat abandoned until the mid-1800s when Duke Josselin X of Rohan piloted an extensive restoration.

Strolling against the current of walkers we crossed a bridge to Josselin’s Quartier Sainte-Croix and wandered along narrow lanes past ancient half-timbered buildings dating from the early 16th century. Some leaned precariously, like an elderly person requiring a cane, while others featured ornamental heads carved into exposed roof rafters for decoration. Following our philosophy of “walk a little, then café,” we enjoyed a rest at the Logis Hôtel du Château, and its location on the riverbank.

Returning to the village, we stopped mid-bridge to admire the view along the riverport’s quay. With a renaissance chateau, charming buildings and a beautiful river to stroll along, no wonder Josselin has received the very French distinction as a Petite Cité de Caractère, a small town of character. During the high season paddle boards, kayaks, and boats are available for rent to enjoy this tranquil stretch of water.

The Oust is a canalized river and is part of the 220-mile-long Canal de Nantes à Brest which traverses inland Brittany to connect the seaports of Nantes and Brest, on the Bay of Biscay. The old towpath which follows the canal’s course is also a popular route for cyclists and hikers. We thoroughly enjoyed our morning in Josselin, but truly the quaint village deserves more time, or an overnight stay to absorb its wonderful ambiance. Vannes awaited us, so we drove on.

We arrived in Vannes and found convenient parking along the Port de Vannes quay, in an underground garage, in time for a late lunch. The masts of sailboats, with their colors flying, rocked gently in the afternoon breeze, against the background of the port’s Place Gambetta, and its iconic 19th century sandstone colored, Haussmann styled buildings, with their distinctive dormer windows in their mansard roofs. It’s difficult to imagine from the size of this petite harbor located on a narrow stretch of water called La Marle, that Vannes is actually an inland seaport, and the economic engine that drove Vannes’ prosperity since the era of the Romans, two-thousand years earlier. It was a favored protected anchorage, located three-quarters of a mile inland from the Gulf of Morbihan, for Rome’s merchant fleet of oared galleons, and it facilitated trade in wine and olive oil from France to England, while ships returned with valuable tin, lead and copper. Today the Port de Vannes hosts recreational and tour boats, which offer day trips to the islands in the Gulf of Morbihan, where on a windy day you can still see restored siganots, Brittany’s iconic two masted, gaff rigged, wooden fishing schooners, that typically have red sails, plying the waves.

Surprisingly, for this far north, a row of palm trees separated the Place Gambetta from the harbor, and gave the area a delightful French Caribbean vibe, before leading to the historic citadel through the Saint-Vincent gate. There were numerous restaurants, bustling with activity, surrounding the harbor, and we chose to lunch at Le Daily Gourmand for its outside tables and seasonal menu.

Excited by our first impressions of Vannes, we roughly planned our four days in the ancient city and day trips to Suscinio Castle, and the Alignements de Carnac. One of the attributes we consider when choosing a destination for a multiple day stay is the walkability of a city and are there enough things to do to keep us busy. Vannes fit the description perfectly, offering me multiple routes to explore the city during my 6 a.m. walks, while Donna slept in.

The walk along the Promenade de la Rabine, “the alley planted with trees,” was one of these walks that started near the Place Gambetta and followed the long sliver of La Marla, down its right bank a half-mile, towards the newer commercial port and the Gulf of Morbihan. The idea for this tranquil public space first arose in 1687, and over the following centuries it has been widened and extended several times. Halfway back on the return route there is a pontoon footbridge across the marina to the more cosmopolitan left bank.

A short walk from the Place Gambetta, the 19th century faded away quickly as we approached the historic Château de l’Hermine, with its formal garden featuring the emblem of the L’Ordre de l’Hermine, a medieval chivalric order, worked into its landscaping, and the Remparts de Vannes. The ermine depicted might look like us like a flying weasel, but it’s a traditional symbol of Brittany that signifies nobility, courage, honesty, uncompromising integrity, and personal honor. The ancient order was revived by the Cultural Institute of Brittany in the 20th century to honor people who contribute to Breton culture. The château, built in 1785, is a beautiful example of 18th century French architecture, and operated as the Hôtel Lagorce until 1803. It was then used as a private mansion until the French State purchased it in 1876 and proceeded to use it as an Artillery School and barracks for the XIth Army Corps, treasury, and university.

But the more interesting history of the site begins in 1380 when the Dukes of Brittany decided to use Vannes as their seat of power and ordered a castle with moat built and the ramparts surrounding the town, first erected by the Romans in the 5th century, improved. It served several generations of Dukes as their main residence until the late 1400s when François II, the last Duke of Brittany, moved his court to Nantes. During the early 1600s, the now-old castle was dismantled for its stones, which were used to build the quay at the port.

Skip ahead to March 2024 and the18th century château is now owned by the City of Vannes and construction has begun to renovate it and add a new wing for a project that will eventually be the Vannes Museum of Fine Arts – Chateau de l’Hermine. While excavating for new footings, workers uncovered well preserved walls, parts of a moat with drawbridge, and evidence that the castle had been three to four stories tall and had indoor toilets. We visited Vannes shortly before this discovery, but still marvel at the amazing things out there that are yet to be rediscovered.

A little farther along the Jardin des Remparts has the longest remaining section the city’s ancient defensive wall, with gates and towers, as their backdrop. The formal gardens are beautiful, with more than 30,000 flowers planted each year. It’s a popular spot to relax and walk dogs along the banks of the La Marla River before it reaches the port. The gardens are also used several times throughout the year to host various fairs and most importantly, the Fêtes Historiques de Vannes every July 12-14th. It’s a huge, festive cosplay event that celebrates Vannes’ rich history, and spreads into the historic center, with craft demonstrations, and participants and visitors wearing medieval clothing. The Porte Poterne gate is near the gardens, and entering the city one night across worn cobblestones glistening in a cold rain was an experience that transported us back centuries.

Later that first day in Vannes we were thrilled when we arrived at the Hôtel Le Bretagne and were able to find inexpensive street parking directly in front of it. The hotel abutted the rampart’s Executioner Tower and was ideally located just outside the historic old town, between the Porte de la Prison and Porte Saint-Jean gates. Vannes’ architectural continuity is unique among cities in France as it escaped the destructive aerial bombings of WWII, which ravaged many towns throughout the country.

Consequently, it has kept its rich architectural history intact. This was evident as we rounded the first corner from our hotel and entered the ancient citadel under the narrow-arched Porte Saint-Jean gate. In its earlier years it was known as the Porte du Mené, the Door of the Executioner, because of its close proximity to the axeman’s place of work. Fittingly, his tower was only a short walk down the alley from the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre, for the priests to give prisoners their last rites.

Built atop the ruins of an ancient Roman church, Saint-Pierre commands the highest point in the old town and blends Romanesque, Gothic, and neo-Gothic styles, which is what happens when a church is constructed, remodeled, expanded and restored from 1020 until 1857, when the carving of the façade was finally completed. It’s beautiful inside and out.

A short walk away, many fine examples of Vannes’ colorful,15th century, half-timbered buildings surround the Place Henri IV. A map isn’t needed to explore the ancient citadel. Wandering or “walk a little, then café,” as we like to say, is the perfect approach to discovering the town’s architectural gems and enjoying Vannes. After all, what’s the rush?

Wednesday and Saturday have been the traditional market days in Vannes for decades and the streets of the historic center fill with activity as folks shop among vendors selling housewares, clothing, breads, pastries, fruits and vegetables, wine, meat, sausages and CHEESE! Our weakness. Fromagers offering samples of soft and hard goat, sheep and cow cheeses with various ageing enticed us all too easily to purchase their products. Shopping there was a sensory experience that had us wishing we had opted for an apartment stay just so we could cook.

There are also two permanent food halls within the old town, Halle Aux Poissons, the fish market – is located down a side street just beyond the Porte Saint Vincent gate as you enter the city from the harbor. And the Halle des Lices, a large market hall with about thirty shopkeepers that is open Tuesday to Sunday from 8 am to 2 pm. It’s also a good place for breakfast or lunch.

The market takes its name from the Place des Lices on which it stands, though during the 14th and 15th centuries the Dukes of Brittany held jousts and tournaments there, between the Tour du Connétable, built for the commander of the Duke’s army, and the original Château de l’Hermine. The Tour du Connétable is a substantial tower that was part of the defensive wall that encircled Vannes, but what we found interesting was that you can still see where other ramparts intersected with the tower but were removed to reconfigure the fortifications as the city grew over time.

Only thirty minutes away, the Alignements de Carnac were an easy day trip from Vannes. We drove along D196 and followed a 1.6 mile route that started in a wooded glen at Alignements du Petit-Ménec and passed the alignments in Kerlescan, Kermario, and Toulchignan before ending at Carnac. It was a fascinating area with many opportunities to stop, touch and walk through the fields with over 3000 prehistoric standing stones.

Arranged in rows across a rolling landscape, the alignments are thought to have been erected around 4000BC, predating the 2500BC Stonehenge. Little is known of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherers that are thought to have erected the stones.

But a later Brittany Arthurian myth associated with them holds that they were a marching legion of Roman soldiers turned to stone by the sorcerer Merlin. Away from the road there is also a cycling/walking path through the countryside that paralleled our route. Afterwards we drove along the Trinité-sur-Mer waterfront, which we found reminiscent of coastal Maine.

Another day we drove a half-hour south from Vannes to the Domaine de Suscinio, one of the prettiest castles in Brittany, near the Bay of Biscay. It started as a modest seigneurial manor house for Peter I, Duke of Brittany, in 1218.  His son John I started to expand it and add fortifications, a building campaign that continued through successive Dukes until they moved their court to Vannes. Thereafter it was mostly used as a hunting lodge, unless there was a war in progress.

In the early 1500s it became the property of the French Crown and Francis I of France installed a favored mistress there. During the French Revolution, the now dilapidated castle was sold off to a stone quarry and its rocks were slowly carted away.

A dramatic restoration of the castle started in 1965, and was obviously a labor of love, that reflects the Bretonne pride in their heritage. It’s an exquisite space with many interesting, museum-quality displays. We thought the discovery of an intact, highly decorative, mosaic floor from the castle’s chapel, which was located across the moat, most intriguing.

Archeological excavations around the site are still ongoing and objects discovered, are restored and exhibited. Refreshingly there are plenty of hands-on things for kids to do, like dressing as Renaissance knights, squires or princesses. Medieval board games are also available for kids to try.

Beyond the ramparts there is a medieval encampment complete with re-enactors for families to explore. Wandering around the castle was thoroughly engaging and from the top of the battlements, you can see the Bay of Biscay. With the coast so close we wondered if Henry Tudor, future King Henry VII of England, landed there after he fled England, and spent 11 years in exile at Suscinio before returning to seize his crown in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485.

Afterwards we headed to the Port du Crouesty marina in Arzon on the Peninsula Rhuys, surrounded by the Bay of Quiberon and Gulf of Morbihan. We sauntered along the port’s quay, admiring the boats docked in the marina, until we found Le Cap Horn. It was the perfect spot to enjoy some beers, and fresh seafood for dinner, our last meal in Brittany before heading home to the states.

We had a fantastic time exploring a small part of Brittany and hope one day to return to this charming, less explored, part of France.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Road Tripping Through Brittany: Saint Malo, Dinard & Dinan or For the Love of Oysters

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Tractors pulling wagons laden with huitres just harvested from the oyster beds of Cancale Bay now replaced the apple carts we passed two days ago in the Calvados region. Leaving Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy, we had entered Brittany in mid-October at the height of oyster season, which is traditionally considered the months that contain “r” in them, September – April. Our destination was Dinard, after stopping for lunch in Cancale, ground zero for huitres aquaculture in France. We had detoured from our route into Cherrueix to see the wide beach there that is popular for land-sailing, where specially designed three wheeled carts, outfitted with a sail, glide along the flat sand and attain high speed due to the strong winds that blow in off the ocean, filling their sails. But a windless day dampened that activity. The weather was pretty miserable that morning with intermittent squalls at times, limiting our explorations and photography. Our course diversion wasn’t a total loss as we found that the small village had several historic windmills and thatched roofed homes, which lent the town an unexpected Dutch and English feel.

Oyster connoisseurs enjoy Brittany oysters for their unique merroir. Just as wines derive a distinguishable terroir from the soil their grape vines grow in, oysters get their signature flavor from the saltiness and temperature of the seawater they are harvested from. The extreme, fast moving  tides, which Victor Hugo once described as “moving as swiftly as a galloping horse,” and cold water of Mont Saint-Michel Bay, which encompasses the ocean from Saint Malo, Brittany to the Cotentin Peninsula of Normandy, impart the oysters grown here with a sweet delicate flavor, which have won them fans the world over. Really, they are the best we’ve ever tasted, and we would order them whenever we saw them offered during our trip. They were also very affordable, which was a delight. Low tide along the coast revealed the extensive network of oyster farm pilings that support the growth of over 5,000 tons of succulent huitres a year.

Oysters have been gathered along the coast of Brittany since this region of France was part of the Roman Empire 2000 years ago. As with all ancient agrarian traditions, women have played a vital role harvesting oysters and Cancale’s town plaza hosts a bronze statue commemorating them. The day we visited, and it took us a while to figure out why, the female figures of the memorial were adorned in pink aprons. Turns out this was in recognition of France’s Breast Cancer Awareness Day, which happens every October. At lunch in a small establishment on the square, of course we slurped a dozen oysters, with just a touch of shallot mignonette sauce. They were divine. On Cancale’s waterfront there is also a daily Marche aux Huitres, surprisingly this oyster market which is open year-round. That old tradition of eating oysters only during the ‘r’ months dates back to King Louis XV in the 1700’s when refrigeration wasn’t possible, and it was unsafe to consume them during the warmer months. It’s also a matter of preference as the texture of the oyster becomes creamier during the warmer months, but today in France they are consumed year-round.

The late afternoon sun was shining brilliantly by the time we arrived in Dinard, found a free parking space on the street, and checked into the Hôtel du Parc Dinard, our home for four nights. The popular vacation spot is practically a ghost town in the fall, with most of its elegant Victorian-era homes battened down tight awaiting winter storms. The quietness was perfect for us, and the town would be our base for visiting Saint-Malo, a short distance away across the Rance Estuary, and farther inland the ancient riverport town of Dinan.

A former fishing village, Dinard was transformed into a vacation hotspot, when the French gentry, wealthy Americans, and British aristocrats discovered its picturesque beaches, and cliffside walks in the late-nineteenth century. A pleasant mild climate, influenced by the nearby warm waters of the Atlantic gulf stream helped set its reputation as “the Pearl of the Emerald Coast.” A who’s who list of celebrities – Picasso, Gary Grant, Joan Collins, Winston Churchill, and Oscar Wilde – frequented the seaside resort. The British film director Alfred Hitchcock visited often enough that the town erected a statue in his honor. Film legend believes he based the house in the film “Psycho,” on one of the town’s elegant mansions and the movie “Birds,” partly on experiences with raucous seagulls along the cliffs here. His relationship with the town led to the establishment of the Dinard Festival of British & Irish Film. Now in its 35th year, it’s held early in October. Prize winners receive a golden Hitchcock statuette.

One of France’s most “British resorts,” the town’s luster faded in the 1960’s when the “jet set” discovered the Mediterranean beaches of southern France. Fortunately, the town has been rediscovered as a holiday destination and today attracts folks looking for vacation rentals in the now sub-divided mansions, who appreciate its quite ambiance and location along the Cote d’Emeraude of Brittany.

One of the best ways to enjoy the town, in any season, is to follow the Coastal Path of Dinard, a 5-mile-long improved trail that hugs the rocky coastline, passes sandy coves and fascinating old architecture. From our hotel we broke our walk into two manageable segments and included a stop at the weekly market one day to purchase supplies for a picnic lunch for later in the day. One afternoon we drove west along the backroads to Saint-Briac-sur-Mer. Here we could see the extreme tides of the Brittany coast, which left boats at their moorings high and dry at low tide.

Just across the water from Dinard the old fortress city of Saint-Malo still guards the natural harbor created by the La Rance estuary as it enters the Gulf of Saint-Malo and the English Channel.  Its ramparts have remained mostly unscathed since their first construction in the 12th century, in order to deter feared Viking attacks. Centuries later the Corsairs of Saint-Malo, French privateers serving the King of France, would pillage foreign ships sailing the English Channel, or extort a transit tax from them, then flee the scene of the crime and seek refuge from the pursuing English Navy under the cannons along Saint-Malo’s ramparts. This tactic was so annoying to the British that they launched an amphibious naval assault against the Saint-Malo corsairs in 1758, but determined the city’s ramparts were impenetrable and instead attacked the nearby town of Saint-Servan and destroyed 30 of the pirate’s ships there.

Outlaws to the English and Dutch, the corsairs of Saint-Malo had more nuanced careers and were well respected as explorers and merchants in France, enriching the town and serving the interests of several French kings over the centuries. Departing from Saint-Malo, Jacques Cartier sailed down the St. Lawerence River and claimed the discovery of Canada for France in the 16th century and sacked a few vessels along the way. Jacques Gouin de Beauchêne would lead the first French expedition into the South Atlantic, raid Rio de Janeiro, find the Falkland Islands, sail through the Strait of Magellan, visit the Galapagos Islands and return to the Atlantic Ocean by sailing west to east across the treacherous waters of Cape Horn. Other corsairs helped establish trade with ports along the west coast of Africa, Southeast Asia and the Pacific, which would evolve into French colonies. Corsair Duguay-Trouin led a Moka expedition to Yemen in the early 1700s, returned with the legendary coffee beans, and French society was changed forever: the café tradition had begun. Saint-Malo prospered.

Walking atop the ramparts that encircle the ancient citadel, it’s difficult to imagine that this beautiful city lay in ruins in September 1944. The D-Day invasion of Normandy had happened three months earlier, but well dug-in German forces, led by a commander who swore to defend the Third Reich to the last man, refused to surrender their reinforced positions in Saint-Malo. It took a relentless, months long campaign of allied aerial and artillery bombardment for the Germans to concede defeat.  The ramparts still stood, but 683 of the town’s 865 historic buildings were leveled, its 6,000 inhabitants homeless. The mayor at the time, Guy Lachambre, petitioned vigorously for the reconstruction council and its architects Marc Brillaud de Laujardière and Louis Arretche not to modernize the war-torn town, but to respect the ancient medieval character of the city and retain its maze of alleys, granite facades and steep slate roofs. It took two years to painstakingly remove the rubble, before rebuilding could start. Workers cataloged the ruins like an archaeological excavation, numbering each brick and stone, so that town’s original building materials could be reused, when possible, to authentically resurrect it from its ashes. Major reconstruction lasted until 1960; however, the Cathédrale de Saint-Malo, the final resting place for the famous Corsairs Jacques Cartier and René Duguay-Trouin, didn’t acquire its new steeple until 1971. The church’s spire, rightfully returned to its place of honor on the citadel’s skyline, was once again a welcome landmark for sailors returning from the sea. Renewed prosperity returned to Saint-Malo in the mid-1960s when folks rediscovered the seaside town as a great place to rent a vacation flat in apartments now vacated by families that moved away during the reconstruction years.

The views from atop the ramparts of the sea and the citadel were great. It’s an easy 1.4 mile loop around the ramparts, with many gateways that descend back into to the walled city or out onto the surrounding beach. At low tide it’s possible to walk across a sandy peninsula to the nearby 17th century Fort Natioinal, or to the small island Grand Bé, where the French writer François-René de Chateaubriand is buried, but be careful not to get stuck out there during an incoming high tide. Afterwards, back in town we found a rustic bar with a fire going in its stove and warmed ourselves with snifters of Calvados and café.

During the high season, parking in Saint-Malo can be problematic. However, if you are staying in Dinard it’s possible to take the small ferry across to the “The Corsair City.” If you are looking for a good read, the book All the Light We Cannot See, written by Anthony Doerr, evocatively tells an intriguing and mysterious story of life during WWII in Saint-Malo.

Traveling 30 minutes south from Dinard, we seemed to have arrived in the 14th century. We were greeted by an equestrian statue of the famous French general Bertrand du Guesclin, which towered above us in the car park. He was known for his many victories over the English during the Hundred Years War. He was so well regarded that upon his death, in 1380, he was given a royal funeral, his body quartered for burial, a practiced usually reserved for France’s kings. “His heart was buried in Dinan in his native Brittany, his entrails were buried in Puy, his flesh at Montferrand, and his skeleton in the tomb of St. Denis outside Paris.” We were off to an interesting start.

Somehow having escaped the destruction that befell Saint-Malo, Dinan’s historic center is filled with charming leaning, half-timbered medieval buildings dating from the 13th to 16th centuries, and shares an ambiance that felt more akin to Rouen than its neighbors Saint-Malo and Dinard.  This morning the narrow-cobbled alleys were busy with activity, modern shops behind the ancient facades, replacing the craftsmen and guild merchants of this market town and riverport who traded with Spain, England, Holland, and the new world colonies.

Our “walk a little, then café,” led us to Marcel, on Rue de la Cordonnerie, a delightful patisserie, where between cheerfully serving customers, the staff was photographing their artistic, mouthwatering temptations to post to the store’s Instagram page. Outside it could have been 1305 or 1673; only folks’ clothing had changed.

Farther along, stores had their merchandise displayed along the sidewalks under the porches of the buildings. This style resulted from the tax code at the time when merchants’ stores were taxed based on their ground floor square footage, but were allowed to expand outward on the higher floors.

Polished from a millennium of footfalls, the cobbled lanes in Dinan glowed with different tones and hues, especially apparent on the damp overcast day we followed the long Rue du Jerzual downhill to the Port de Dinan. It’s an amazing street lined with a vast array of interesting buildings and a tower gate, which was once part of the ramparts which encircled upper Dinan.

The waters of the La Rance river were calm and reflected the boats docked along the waterfront and the emerging autumn colors on the hillside above the river. Here the tributary narrows, no longer navigable for larger ships, a single arch stone bridge allowing only small recreational boats to proceed upstream to the pretty village of Léhon. A bike and footpath also follow the contour of the river to the village, only a 30 minute walk away.

We lunched outside along the quay trying some garlicky escargot and enjoyed the now-sunny afternoon. We were dreading the long uphill walk back and had asked at the restaurant to arrange for a cab, but they cheerfully informed us there was no need as a local small bus stopped just over the bridge and would take us back to the historic center.

The driver stopped at the Basilique Saint-Sauveur for us. Built in the early 1100s, it retained its Roman style façade during a 15th century expansion. But we only had a few moments for outside shots before a late afternoon thunderstorm chased us inside.

The inside has an impressive altar and artworks, while the interior architecture reflects a church renovated over several centuries. One side features Romanesque arches, though the other side displays a Gothic influence.

Rain kept us from walking through the Jardin Anglais, an English-style garden behind the town’s ramparts, with views across the La Rance river valley. We wrapped up a wonderful day in Dinan at the Château de Dinan, once a palace and fortress for the Dukes of Brittany in the 14th and 15th centuries. We seemed to have just scratched the surface of this intriguing town. And looking back it would have been a more interesting locale for a four-night stay.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

The Rouen Lean: It’s not a Dance

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We had narrowly escaped Paris’s evening rush hour as we sped away from Orly through the French countryside. Our destination is Rouen, an ancient port town on the river Seine with a pivotal role in France’s history since the Romans first settled along the graceful bend of the river there. It would be a restart to a trip cut short by covid in 2020.

The last light of the darkening sky reflected off the Seine, like a brush stroke of silver paint across a dark canvas, as we turned away from the river and entered Rouen. We are not fans of night driving, especially in a new locale, and our maps app had difficulty with the narrow one-way streets in the historic center of the city. Frustrated, we decided to park at the first opportunity. Miraculously the planets were aligned in our favor as we entered the Q-Park Palais de Justice Musée des Beaux-Arts, a massive unground parking garage that encompasses several subterranean blocks beneath a park in Rouen’s historic district. Not sure exactly where to park, something urged us to continue through the cavernous space until we found a garage attendant moments before he locked his booth for the night. Friendly and extremely helpful, he explained how their multiday ticket would be the best value for us. Yes, we were so lucky he spoke English. Our good fortune continued at street level when we realized we were only two blocks from our hotel. But we had arrived later than planned and the gate to Le Vieux Carré was locked. Fortunately, another guest was returning to the hotel at that time and let us in. “I saw several keys on the reception desk when I went out, and figured you were one of the late arrivals.” Indeed, a room key with our name on it was there waiting for us.

Early the next morning the unusual, but pleasant aroma of caramelized onions drifted in through our open window. With our tastebuds awakened and appetites whetted we headed out. “Walk a little, then café,” is how we like to describe our wanderings. Our first stop – coffee and pastries. It is France, after all! But where to stop? There’s an abundance of eateries in Rouen, thanks to the city hosting two universities and thousands of students. There were so many places that looked inviting, but the criteria for us first thing of a morning was a café with a table in the sun, a must in mid-October to help alleviate the day’s early chill. Once sufficiently caffeinated, we set out.

Flat as a crepe, Rouen was a walker’s delight and savory with explorations that pulled us in every direction. During the 9th century, Vikings pillaged and then stayed to become the first Normans, and the prosperous town of became the capital of Normandy in the 10th century. During the Middle Ages, conflicts in the region were nearly continuous, but the city somehow evolved into one of France’s gems, with its distinctive medieval half-timbered buildings and three towering, majestic churches which still grace the city’s skyline. 

A who’s who of historical figures have crisscrossed Rouen’s cobbled lanes for centuries. The Anglo-French kings, William the Conqueror, a succession of King Henrys, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionheart viewed the city as their home away from home. In 1431, after inspiring her countrymen to rally against English expansionism, Joan of Arc was captured, tried, and burnt at the stake in Rouen’s Old Market Square. It wasn’t until the Siege of Rouen in 1449 when forces commanded by King Charles of France finally defeated the English. Later the French impressionist painter Claude Monet found inspiration in the city, featuring the Rouen Cathedral over thirty times as he put paint to canvas to catch its essence perfectly. With conflicts never seeming to end in Europe, somehow, this beautiful renaissance city, though deeply wounded, miraculously survived World War II. Most importantly perhaps, in March 1948, Julia Child had her first taste of French cuisine at Restaurant La Couronne, on Rouen’s central square, the Place du Vieux-Marché.  

Open since 1345, La Couronne is France’s oldest inn. Savoring her Sole Meuniere, a lightly breaded fish dish flavored with fresh butter, lemon, parsley and capers, it was an experience she described “as the most exciting meal of my life.” Local oysters and a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé were also enjoyed. She was hooked and a Francophile was born!

The Rouen Lean is not a dance, nor the result of drinking too much wine, but the very obvious tilt exhibited by many of the city’s ancient half-timbered buildings constructed during the Middle Ages. Our hotel was a prime example of this with scarcely a wall or floor that was square, plumb, and level. But that was the charming character and ambiance we were looking for. The half-timbered building’s superstructures were constructed with huge square oak timbers held together only with mortises, tenons, and wooden pegs, while the nonstructural area between the supporting timbers was filled with bricks or stones and covered with plaster. Over the centuries it has proven to be an aesthetically pleasing and durable construction method used to build five to six story houses. Many of the buildings still retain a centuries old, carved wooden sculpture on the front of the building that represented a service or craft that was once conducted there.

Approximately two thousand half-timbered structures from the Middle Ages still stand in Rouen. The abundance of wooden buildings surprised us as most of our travels have been through the countries of Southern Europe, Portugal, Spain, and Italy, where stone was historically used to construct everything. In Rouen, scarce stone was saved for the churches and castles.

Even stone erodes over time and occasionally old churches need a facelift every few centuries, as was evident by all the scaffolding surrounding the15th century, Gothic style, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, though with a selective camera angle I was able to eliminate most of the temporary platforms from our photo. But the difference between the areas covered by grime and the newly cleaned sections was phenomenal. The multiyear project is scheduled to be completed later in 2024. Though the interior of the church was closed the day we visited, we were able to watch a stone carver as she worked to create a new gargoyle to replace one beyond repair.

Rouen’s three main churches, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, Église Catholique Saint-Maclou, and the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Rouen are all located a short distance from each other on the eastern edge of the historic district, but the journey through the narrow lanes connecting them and exploring many other splendid points of interest along the way made for a wonderful day.

After the abbey we window-shopped down Rue Damiette, admiring the handcrafted violins created by master luthier Sarhan Jean-Marc. Farther on, interesting antique stores lined the narrow lane. Behind us the abbey’s belltower rose over the street. A view that hasn’t changed significantly in centuries. One of the best examples of the “Rouen Lean” is at the end of the street across from Saint-Maclou and caused us to stop for a double take. How, we wondered, can these buildings still be standing?

There was a shortage of cemetery space in Rouen during the Middle Ages when the plague revisited the city repeatedly and 75% of its citizens died. At the time it was the custom to bury the dead only until their bodies decomposed.

Then the bones were exhumed and reinterned above ground in the ossuary Aitre Saint Maclou and the grave reused for the newly departed. Hidden away down a discreet side alley, the ossuary complex was expanded several times and functioned as a secondary cemetery until the early 1700s when the remains were removed, and the buildings were repurposed as a school for poor boys. Today the space houses a fine arts academy and exhibition space. Though it’s still a macabre place with skull and crossbones carved into its exterior timbers.

We rested with coffees at a café on Place Barthélémy in front of Saint Maclou. While a lovely spot, the coffees were overpriced to the point that we could have purchased lunch for two if we’d chosen a less touristy spot. Just a reminder, a block or two off the usual tourist routes and prices drop dramatically.

Rouen’s Cathédrale Notre-Dame has been the center of focus since the first early Christian converts built a temple in 395 AD, on the spot where the current church now stands. And, like the city, the church has a turbulent history. Charlemagne visited in 769, but those pesky Vikings couldn’t decide if they hated or loved the place, sacking it repeatedly in the 9th century, only to later claim the Duchy of Normandy as theirs and embrace Christianity after the Viking leader Rollo was baptized in the church and later buried there as well. Nearby, Richard the Lionheart’s tomb only contains his heart.

Romanesque architecture was the rage during the 11th century and William the Conqueror attended the consecration for the first of many expansions and renovations that would follow over the centuries.

More chiseling and hammering continued during the 12th century when successive Archbishops embraced the new Gothic style. In 1204, Philip II of France celebrated Normandy’s merging with his kingdom amidst the new Gothic renovations.

During the 16th century, a second tower in the Renaissance style was built and ornate stonework and hundreds of statues were added to the front of the church, creating the visage that remains today.

Later lightning strikes, hurricanes and Calvinists would wreak havoc on the church. During the French Revolution any metal objects, not hidden away, were seized and melted down to create cannon balls. During WWII the cathedral was heavily damaged by Allied bombs. The damage was so extensive that final restoration wasn’t completed until 2016, when all the scaffolding was finally removed. Built and rebuilt, inside and out, for over eight hundred years, the cathedral is a fascinating place to explore.

The next morning we headed down Rue de Gros-Horloge, Rouen’s main pedestrian-only thorough fare that runs east to west from the cathedral to the Place du Vieux-Marche, a historic market square. This is the street where the city’s famous 14th century astronomical clock, Le Gros-Horloge, seems to transport you backwards through time to the Renaissance. Early in the morning is the best time to experience this landmark without crowds, as later in the day the narrow lane is as busy as Paris’ Champs-Élysées. During our short time in Rouen, we passed under its gilded façade many times and always, like Monet and his multiple paintings of the cathedral, tried to capture this beautiful clock just right in our photographs.

Indulging our wanderlust, we veered left and right off the lane to satisfy our curiosity. We found ancient gargoyles on the Tribunal Judiciaire de Rouen, and whimsical unicorns, a porcupine, and a reference to L’Ordre de l’Hermine, the Order of the Ermine, a medieval chivalric order on the exterior walls of the Hotel de Bourgtheroulde, a former 1500s mansion, built in what is kindly referred to as the Flamboyant Gothic style popular at the time.

Seriously – the Order of the Ermine is not from a Monty Python skit. A small but ferocious animal, during the Middle Ages the ermine was believed to to fight to its death if attacked rather than “sully the purity of its white fur,” and was used by many medieval chivalric orders to symbolize their uncompromising integrity and honor.

There was also the Ordre du Porc-Épic, porcupine, for prickly knights, and the Order of the Golden Fleece, for royal embezzlers. These were actual chivalric orders, though I am taking liberty with their membership.

Today the Place du Vieux-Marché is surrounded with restaurants and cafes with outside tables, which were very lively at Happy Hour when students and folks just off work congregated on the square. Quite a different scene now as opposed to the day in 1431 when Joan of Arc was burned alive at the stake, in the center of the square, though her heart remained untouched by the flames. A beautiful, modern wooden church built in 1979, the Église Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc now memorializes the spot where her pyre stood. A plaque nearby reads “Oh Joan, you who knew that the tomb of heroes is in the hearts of the living.”

Inside the food market we savored our first fresh oysters from the Brittany coast and purchased some fruit, and of course cheese! A difficult process considering the tremendous variety we could choose from.

Intrigued by Joan of Arc’s story, the next day we headed to the Historial Jeanne d’Arc, which is housed in a wing of the ancient Archbishop’s Palace where part of her trial was held. We were skeptical at first while buying our tickets, thinking we’d just be watching a movie. But we both ended up being enthralled with the interactive digital technologies used to project Joan’s saga onto the old stone walls, floors, and domed arches.

Her history was exceptionally well portrayed and presented as chapters, with each chapter presented in a different room of the architecturally interesting space. We climbed one of the palace’s towers and were rewarded with a timeless view down Rue Saint Romain to the church of St. Maclou; a view that would look familiar to Joan of Arc were she to stand in this spot today, so little changed from her time.

A symbol of defiance, heroine for the French, and a successful military adversary against the English, she claimed God supported Frances’s freedom, but this was a position the Rouen church could not support as they were allied to England and claimed God was on their side. She was tried and convicted for her heresy. Her male jury also had difficulty with her dressing in men’s clothing for battle. As if because she was a woman, she should have worn a skirt and sat side saddle as she rallied the French to fight. But this practicality was viewed as cross dressing and as such was held to be against God’s law. (Though the robes of the clergy were not considered feminine.) The French finally defeated the English and succeeded in uniting Normandy and Rouen with France. Twenty-five years after her execution, Joan’s family petitioned for the trial records to be reviewed. The court determined she had been tried “under false articles of accusation,” and posthumously declared her innocent and annulled her sentence in 1456.

Our time in Rouen was a beautiful look back into Medieval France.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 4: Pico del Teide, La Orotava, Puerto de la Cruz & Beyond

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The silhouette of the ancient volcano mesmerized us. Even in the dark blues and blacks of the night the volcano’s majestic silhouette loomed large above Icod de Vinos. Later the moon rose and contributed a magical otherworldliness to our vista. During the winter when its 12,000 ft summit is snow covered and there is a full moon, it’s said to shine like the beacon of a lighthouse that can be seen from the coast of Morocco. The aboriginal Guanches believed Pico del Teide held up the sky and placed offerings on the volcano’s slopes to appease Guayota, an evil deity they believed responsible for its volcanic eruptions. We made our own photographic pilgrimage to Teide as we drove to the Hotel Alhambra in La Orotava, our base for the remainder of our vacation. Though not the most direct route from Icod de los Vino to La Orotava via Pico del Teide it was, I can assure you, the most interesting.

Teide is still considered an active volcano and while its cone hasn’t erupted in the last 850 years, side vents on its slopes have spewed destructive massive lava flows across its slopes in 1492, which Columbus noted in his logbook as he sailed on his maiden voyage of discovery, 1704,1705, 1706, 1798 and 1909. Our route on TF-5 cut across the lava field left from the 1909 El Chinyero vent eruption. Now over one-hundred years later new growth pines are just beginning to emerge from this carnage. Their verdant green needles, a refreshing sign of life in an otherwise barren landscape. Crossing the ridge of the mountains we descended into Santiago del Teide. The main road was lined with several inviting spots to stop for café! (We didn’t realize at the time, but this was also our last chance for lunch, as many places normally open in high season are closed or only open on the weekends in the shoulder seasons.)

After coffee we visited the town’s church, Parroquia de San Fernando Rey. It’s a small, whitewashed structure constructed in the late 1600s and has an interesting collection of religious art. Across the street stands a life-size statue called “the brave Guanche,” dedicated to Alonso Diaz, a goatherd, who in 1509 stood up for his rights and successfully petitioned Spain’s King Fernando the Catholic for justice, after 200 goats were stolen from him by a Spanish conquistador. By royal decree the goats were returned.

Venturing into the foothills, our drive continued along TF-38 and traversed an ever-changing, diverse bio-system as we left the arid shrub-covered lowlands behind and climbed into hillsides covered with pine forests. It was a well paved but narrow serpentine road, without any shoulder, that required constant vigilance. The mouths of ancient lava tunnels were visible from the road, but there was no room to pull over and stop for photos until we reached the Mirador de los Poleos. Here the raw beauty in these charcoal-colored landscapes flourished beneath the Chinyero Volcano, and we had a chance to walk across the lunar-like terrain, part of the immense lava field from its 1909 eruption. Dotted with huge boulders, it was difficult to comprehend the ferocious forces required to expel these massive rocks from their subterranean origin.

Continuing on, we had encountered what we thought was fog until, to our surprise, we emerged above the clouds at Mirador de Samara.

This area is also very popular for hiking, with many very obvious trails crisscrossing through a young forest emerging from the volcanic soil left from Pico Viejo’s last, 92 days long, eruption in 1798.

Approaching noon, we turned toward Vilaflor, the highest village, at 4600ft, on Pico del Teide’s southern slope and surrounded by vineyards. The surrounding wineries produce some of Tenerife’s best wines from Listán Negro, Malvasia, Negramoll, and Listán Blanco grapes. And are embodied with a distinctive terroir from the warm climate and fertile volcanic soil. The weather had suddenly turned gray and dreary. More frustrating though, the wineries we had planned to visit were closed mid-week during the shoulder season. Fortunately, we happened upon Mar de Nubes, a craft store and café run by a friendly young married couple from Tenerife and the States. The shop features only handicrafts made by Canarians and local wines and artisanal beers. Of course, we shopped.

Beautiful, inhospitable, Death Valley-esque, lunar or Martian, however you choose to describe the varied topography that surrounds Pico del Teide’s, it’s enthralling and fascinating. So much so that filmmakers have used the location for scenes in several block buster films: One Million Years B.C. – 1966, Planet of the Apes – 1968, Clash of the Titans – 2010 and its 2012 sequel Wrath of the Titans, and in 2023 the Last Triala, a Star Wars fan film.  TV episodes of Doctor Who, The Dark Along the Ways and season 2 of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power have incorporated Tiede’s environs into their productions.

Driving back up the mountain we continued on to view the large sculptural outcroppings at the Mirador de La Ruleta and the desert-like dunes of the Siete Cañadas hiking area, before following the long downward grade of the road to La Orotava. We speculated that if you dropped a soccer ball at the top of the slope, it would bounce downhill continually until it splashed into the ocean at Puerto de la Cruz, roughly 23 miles away. Our route along TF-21 cut through forests ravaged by the wildfires of 2023. The blackened trees were the only scars in the otherwise pristine wilderness of the Tiede’s northern slope in Parque Natural Corona Forestal.

Late in the day we coasted into our parking space in front of Hotel Alhambra. Parking on the streets in La Orotava is free, but it’s a competitive sport. We chose to stay at this hotel for its distinctive architecture and location in the historic center. While the exterior of the 500-year-old dwelling is quietly classical, the interior walls of its Canarian-style courtyard were beautifully transformed in 1925 with intricate floral and geometric Nasrid art designs, created with gebs plasterwork and enclosed under a high glass roof. An eclectic decorating theme is highlighted with frescos by Maestro Antonio Otazzo, a local self-described painter, sculptor, musician, philosopher, and poet. As if being followed by a friendly giant, Pico del Teide was in our line of sight when we opened the shutters on our room’s window.

La Orotava was rather easy to walk around if we were walking across the slope, but after several days our hamstrings and calves were sore, though our butts were firmer. “Walk a little then café,” as we say was the perfect approach to exploring this wonderful town.

Along with San Cristóbal de La Laguna, it’s considered to be one of the prettiest towns on Tenerife.

Getting to the higher points in town we asked the hotel to call for a cab, for a quick ride to the Jardines del Marquesado de la Quinta Roja. Once part of an estate, it’s named after the noble interred in the park’s marble mausoleum; as a member of the Masonic Temple his family was not allowed to bury him in the town’s catholic cemetery. Constructed in 1883, the garden is a beautiful French-style, terraced, formal garden with a view over the town and the distant sea. A smaller but older (1788) sister park next to it, the Hijuela del Botánico, features a towering dragon tree and other plantings of specimen trees collected from Spain’s former colonies.  And if you are in awe of dragon trees, as we are, the Villa de La Orotava Dragon Tree Tour might be for you.

From the gardens we wandered downhill along cobbled lanes, past wonderful examples of colorful Canarian architecture, into the historic old town, which is centered around the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Started in 1516, it is the town’s oldest and largest church, with its colorful dome giving the town its iconic skyline.

But La Orotava’s history starts early in 1496 with the final defeat of Tenerife’s aboriginal Guanches at the battle of Aguere, after which their leader committed suicide by jumping off a cliff in nearby Tigaiga. “To the victor go the spoils,” and the fertile lands of the Guanche kingdom of Taoro were awarded to the nobles, conquistadors and financiers who participated in the Spanish victory.

The rich soil of the hillside was perfect for the cultivation of sugarcane and the steep streams from the mountain were soon harnessed to run sugar and lumber mills. Prosperity followed. Ice from Mt. Tiede chilled the drinks of the town’s wealthy.

Landowners and merchants built large family mansions in a style which would become known as Canarian, which feature interior courtyards and distinctive facades with decorative wooden balconies and the family’s Coat of Arms prominently facing the street. Convents housed the daughters from families that didn’t want to diminish their wealth by paying the dowry for the girls’ wedding, as was the custom of the time. 

Vines and wine replaced sugar cane and ruled the town’s economy in the 17th century. In the mid-1800s, the textile mills of Europe were searching for different dyes, and mealybugs or cochineal were bred in cactus around La Orotava and harvested to obtain a crimson dye, produced from an acid that the bug makes to fight off predators. Since the late 1800s, vast banana plantations thriving on Tenerife’s mineral-rich volcanic soil continue to bring prosperity to the island and La Orotava, enabling the community to restore its historic buildings.

Not wanting to miss anything on Tenerife, we planned day trips from La Orotava around visiting coastal miradors and following any whims along the way. The Mirador Punta Del Hidalgo was not our favorite photographic destination, but we did enjoy stopping at the crescent shaped, black sand beach at Playa del Arenal in Bajamar, and a farmer’s market, Mercadillo del Agricultor in Tacoronte. Here we purchased some pastries for a snack and some Tuno Indio juice made from the purple fruit of the Canarian Red Prickly Pear. The cactus was brought to the Canary Islands from the Americas centuries ago and has been used in Canarian folk medicine to lower blood sugar and treat other ailments. It also has antiviral, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and anti-ulcerogenic properties. It tastes pretty good.

Afterwards we headed to the Mirador La Garañona in El Sauzal. Set dramatically atop a 1000ft sheer cliff, there’s a tremendous view of the coast below. And the park’s shaded paths led to a delightful small café perched at the cliff edge. We lingered and soaked in the view.

On the way to the mirador, we whizzed passed a small neighborhood restaurant set by itself on a corner, and decided to try it on our return trip. But first we had one last stop to make on the way at the Iglesia de Santa Catalina. It’s a classic, white-washed church from the early 1500s and picture perfect with its magnificent dragon tree in front.

Lunch at Restaurante el Calvario was delightful, with excellent house wine and menu featuring traditional Canarian dishes. A young friendly staff, tolerant of our poor Spanish, contributed to a very enjoyable afternoon.

Puerto de la Cruz, just down the hill from La Orotava, was the destination for our last day trip. Originally a small fishing village, the town grew in importance after the main harbor on the north coast of Tenerife in Garachico was filled with lava from a 1706 volcanic eruption. Close to La Orotava, it also benefited from that town’s thriving economy, with the export of sugar, wine and bananas from its port. It has been a popular vacation spot since the Victorian era. Now it attracts visitors and expats from across Europe, drawn to its cosmopolitan vibe, wide beaches, quaint historic center, numerous parks, and vast array of restaurants.

Giant three-hundred-year-old fig trees, planted when the park first opened in the 18th century, are king here. Shaded pathways thread through a cornucopia of verdant jungle, flowers, and water garden. We enviously wished that we could grow everything in our garden at home.

In the historic center we had coffee across from the majestic Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Peña de Francia and afterwards were able to catch a glimpse of a bride and groom taking their vows. Their antique wedding car waiting under gently swaying palm trees on the plaza in front of the church.

The waterfront in Puerto de la Cruz is beautiful and there are numerous beaches and tidal pools along the coast where you can swim. We strolled along the promenade above the black sand beaches at Playa Maria Jiménez, and Playa Chica to El Castillo San Felipe, a small block fortress built in the 1600s to prevent pirates or the British from landing on the beach here. We lunched along the boardwalk under umbrellas just yards from the surf.

Stopping at the Mirador Roger Piedra Gorda and Mirador Roque Grande rounded out the afternoon. Though parking was a challenge at both spots, we think the effort was worth it for the dramatic seacapes we viewed.

That evening we drove up into the hills above La Orotava and enjoyed a great meal at Bodegón Casa Matías. It’s a rustic establishment, decorated with wine barrels and antique farming tools to acknowledge the history of the region. The chefs and owners, a vivacious husband and wife team, are part of Tenerife’s farm to table movement, sourcing only local meats, including rabbit and goat, fish, cheeses, and seasonal vegetables for their traditional Canarian recipes.

For our last full day on Tenerife, we headed to El Médano to be nearer the airport for a flight the following morning. Arriving late in the afternoon to Playa del Médano we entertained ourselves watching wind and kite surfers speed across the whitecaps. The more experienced kiters crested the waves and performed aerobatics before splashing back into the sea.

Closer to town, families favored the gentler waves, wider beach, and a view of Montaña Roja volcano on the horizon. Tables at eateries along the boardwalk were quickly filling as the golden hour approached.

A crescent beach, gentle waves, good wine and delicious seafood – is there a better way to end the day? We’ll miss Tenerife.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 3: Garachico & Buenavista del Norte – A Wonderful Coastal Drive

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Our drive along the coast started in the small harbor of Icod de los Vinos. From the start the sea vistas were beautiful, with crisp clarity and saturated blues and brilliant white breakers crashing against the rocky coast. The lighthouse on the remote headland Punta de Teno was our destination. Though only sixteen miles away, it took a good part of the morning with all the frequent photo stops we were making as we proceeded. The spectacular scenery along this short drive rivals the Pacific Coast Highway in California and Chapman’s Peak Drive outside Cape Town, South Africa or the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Just epic!

A few minutes from Icod de los Vinos along TF-42, we stopped at Mirador El Guincho which overlooks the coastal homes, banana plantations, and the new Port of Garachico. Constructed in 2012 behind a large breakwater, it is the only harbor on the north side of Tenerife. Beyond the harbor the extinct volcano Montaña de Taco highlights the horizon, its crater now used as a reservoir.

Enthused by what we glimpsed as we passed through Garachico, we decided to keep with our original plan to go to our farthest destination first and then return later to linger in the quaint town.

“Drive a little, then café.” We were ready to stop by the time we reached Buenavista del Norte and easily found parking around the Plaza de los Remedios. Sitting in the shade, we ordered coffees from the café under the park’s gazebo. It’s a classic Canarian town with colorful two and three story homes. What’s unusual though is the town sits on flat land! Something that is in short supply on this mountainous island. It’s only access to the sea was from the small rocky landing at Playa de las Barqueras, where for centuries supplies were rowed ashore from passing merchant ships. Nearby set along the dramatic coastline is the Buenavista Golf Course, designed by the famous Spanish golfer, Seve Ballesteros.

The Church of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios stands across from the plaza and has played a significant role in the town’s history since its cornerstone was laid in 1516, most importantly when the townspeople filled the church in 1659 and prayed to the statue of La Virgen de los Remedios to stop a plague of locust which was ravaging their crops. According to history the plague stopped. Sadly in 1996, that historic statue and many other centuries-old religious treasures were lost in a fire that destroyed the church.

It’s very easy to speed by and miss, but on the outskirts of town on Cruz de Toledo at its intersection with TF-445 there is a statue of a locust atop a tall column with the anagram of the Virgen de los Remedios, and the dates 1659-2015 which commemorate that event. Every fifth year a procession from the church carries the virgin’s statue out to the locust monument. 

We continued towards Punta de Teno only to be stopped by a manned roadblock across the pavement, just shy of Mirador Punta del Fraile. Only buses and taxis were allowed to travel the road farther; we weren’t told why. Even Google map drivers have been prohibited from making the journey. There was a small dirt parking area next to the gatehouse and we could see a few folks walking the long incline to the mirador. We followed. It was about a thirty minute, moderately strenuous walk, and the views were awesome. It was well worth our effort. Gale force winds whipped through a cut in the rock which the road followed down to the lighthouse at Punta de Teno, three miles away. Behind us a large cliff face blocked most of the view of the Teno headland. It’s a barren peninsular without tourist amenities, just a lonely lighthouse and modern wind turbine farm, the blades of which must turn furiously 24hrs a day, if it’s as blustery there as it was at Mirador Punta del Fraile. Hold your hats!

The views returning to Garachico were equally as impressive as the morning sights, and we stopped several times before entering the old town.

As prosperous as the Canary Islands are today, we were reminded by the statue at the Mirador del Emigrante that life here was not always easy. This poetic description by Fernando García Ramos, the sculptor, explains for the viewer the meaning behind his statue of a walking man – with a hole in his chest, as if in his heart – holding a suitcase. “The figure is scanning the horizon, in a daring position, as if pretending to jump over the sea, with a suitcase in hand, and many more suitcases in a series as a chain behind him; these suitcases behind him surely mean the memories, the sadnesses, the nostalgia, the girlfriend, the mother, the sisters, the families that are left behind by an emigrant who takes a new life, who jumps over the infinite sea, in search of a new life in strange and distant lands.”

Occasionally we spotted colorful red rock crabs scurrying about as walked along the waterfront to the Castillo de San Miguel, a square block fortress built from quarried lava rock in 1575 to protect Garachico’s port from French, Dutch and Arab pirate attacks, along with the threat of British invasion.

For two hundred years Garachico’s harbor was the most important commercial port in the Canary Islands. Its citizenry accumulated wealth through prosperous imports and exports from Spain’s New World colonies and Europe. It was a prestigious town with many warehouses and shops, fine homes, convents, and churches.

This ended on May 5th, 1706, when Volcan Arenas Negras, a vent volcano on Mt. Tiede’s lower slope, erupted and spewed lava down a ravine that led directly into the town and harbor. Amazingly, no lives were lost, but a great number of the town’s historic buildings as well as four convents were destroyed, buried under lava that flowed into the town for nine days. Buildings close to the lava flow caught fire and burned to the ground. The fortress narrowly escaped, but it lost its relevance when the harbor was filled with lava and ships could no longer anchor there. With the loss of the harbor, merchant ships shifted to Puerto de la Cruz, folks left and Garachico evolved into a fishing village until the tourist economy on Tenerife took off in the 1960’s, embracing tourism so enthusiastically that the town recently constructed an ocean front municipal pool open to all along the promenade.

Walking into the center of town, we admired several noteworthy historic buildings:, Convento de San Francisco (1524,) and its church the Iglesia de Santa Cruz de Tenerife; Casa Palacio de Los Condes de La Gomera (1666.) They still stand around a beautiful, shaded gazebo in the Plaza de la Libertad.

Walk a little then café.

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Tenerife Part 2: Icod de los Vinos or Colonial Charm, Dragon Trees, and Miradors

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Departing Santa Crux de Tenerife, we drove along the TF-5 towards Icod de los Vinos, our base for the next several days as we explored the lower part of the north side of the island. A compass orientation doesn’t accurately describe how Tenerife is split into north and south regions, but Pico del Teide and its rugged highlands roughly divide the island into the dryer South, which faces Africa and catches the westerly blowing Sharqī, a hot wind from the Sahara, while the North of the island is shielded by Pico del Teide from the hot winds blowing west from Morocco, is wetter from Atlantic Ocean storms.

We are not really resort and beach people; there’s that getting sandy issue that deters us. We do enjoy a close proximity to the ocean and beautiful seascapes, both of which were easily attainable on the north side of Tenerife. We figured that the best way to do this was to chase miradors. And there wasn’t any shortage of them on the island. We figured enroute to them we’d pass other wonderful discoveries that would spur us to detour and investigate, rounding out what we saw of the island.

Set on a steep hill, the restaurant La Barada, just a short distance off the highway, was our first stop. Though technically it’s not a mirador, it is a popular place due to its glass pier that is cantilevered dramatically out over the countryside from the restaurant. It offers an amazing bird’s eye view of the coast with Pico del Teide in the distance. The food was also very good and the terrace was alive with boisterous activity the afternoon we stopped. 

We arrived late in the afternoon to our lodging at Hotel Emblemático San Marcos in iIcod de los Vinos. Located on a steep narrow street, it was a challenge to park close to the buildings on the driver’s side and still have enough room to get out of the car, but the parking was free and right in front of our hotel. Built in the early 1700s as a private mansion, it exemplified typical Canarian architecture of the period with its courtyard and meticulously crafted interior, rich with polished wood. The view from our room over the red tiled roofs of Icod extended to the sea.

Still early in the evening, we headed uphill to explore the historic center of the town and to our delight happened across an outdoor concert in the festively decorated plaza next to the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos. The performances were part of the town’s September’s month-long Christ of Calvary celebrations. Legend says that when the conquistadors first landed on the beach here in the late 1400s they discovered a statue of San Marcos awaiting them. A fortuitous omen that promptly required a church be built. A century later the church was beautifully expanded to what it is today.

As the evening was darkening, we caught our first glimpse of El Drago Milenario. Believed to be 1000-years-old, it is the largest dragon tree on Tenerife. With over 300 branches, and a circumference of 66 feet, it’s a lofty 70 feet tall.

Beloved by the folks of Icod de los Vinos, the tree’s image is included on the town’s coat-of-arms along with Mount Tiede which also towers over municipality.

In centuries past trees harvested from the mountain’s slopes were sledded down the steep ancient roads of the old town, all the way to the harbor, where prosperous shipbuilders used them in the construction of naval vessels that participated in the ill-fated Spanish Armada of 1588. This unique sledding tradition is still kept alive every November with the La Fiesta de las Tablas, when younger folks speed down Plano Street on tablas, polished planks of wood, that often become airborne with their riders when they hit bumps in the road. Unfortunately, we did not witness this fiesta, but the video clips on YouTube are amazing. The cleared slopes around the town now host orchards, vineyards and banana plantations.

That evening we watched the climax of the festival – a spectacular fireworks display – from the balcony of our room. Throughout the night church bells continued to ring out loudly at odd times with seemingly random numbers of chimes. A curious oddity at the end of a wonderful day.

The weather was brilliant and the next morning we set out to visit the Mariposario del Drago, a large glassed enclosed tropical greenhouse that has a butterfly breeding program. Being gardens we find butterflies very entertaining. The experience here was delightful, and elicited smiles from everyone when a butterfly landed on them.

Across the street from the Mariposario, the El Drago Milenario stands behind a high walled and gated fence. The small admission fee to the park is well worth it to support the town’s effort in keeping this goliath of a tree alive. But, if you’d rather skip the expense and put it towards coffee or lunch, there’s an enticing café named Casa del Drago, with a good view, right next door. Farther uphill along Calle San Antonio there is Drago junior, a magnificent younger dragon tree that, according to legend, the town seized from its owner when he tried to cut it down in a fit of rage.

Fortunately, this part of the historic town center is relatively flat and the walking was easy as we headed back to admire the plaza around the Iglesia Mayor de San Marcos in the daylight and the church’s 16th, 17th, and 18th  century religious art.

Afterwards we strolled along the town’s old lanes until we reached city hall and the Iglesia de San Agustin, both of which are dramatically set on a small plaza at the top of a set of ancient stairs. The church dates from the late 1500s and was originally part of the first convent built in the town by the order of Los Augustinos.

The road to Playa de San Marcos in the harbor of Icod is spectacular with views of the coast. It was here, in this sheltered bay, one the few natural harbors on Tenerife’s north coast, that the Saint’s venerated statue was discovered in a cave along the cove.

We found it best to just find a place to park and then walk to the vantage point that interested us. During the September shoulder season when we visited, tourists were scarce and finding parking was relatively easy.

Early the next morning we headed towards Puerto de Santiago on a route that took us to the mountain ridge above Icod. The final destination of the day would be the isolated village of Masca. A serpentine drive from Icod led to a hairpin turn that fed us into Vieja a la Vega, a very narrow steep lane, but really more like an alley lined with homes. This was one of the steepest roads we’ve ever encountered, requiring us to downshift to second gear for the long and seemingly endless ascent to the main road at the top. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any cars coming downhill, as there was literally no room to pass. At the top we intersected the TF-5 and followed it through an old growth forest covered with stately pine trees. Continuing on, the road traversed a Martian like landscape. A huge lava field that was the result of Volcano Chinyero‘s last eruption in 1909. The terrain became noticeable drier as we crossed the mountain and descended into Santiago del Teide.

The roads to Pico del Tiede, Masca, and Puerto de Santiago converge here, making it the perfect spot for a café break before continuing down to the Mirador Archipenque to view Los Gigantes, a stretch of tall cliff face that dramatically rises straight up from the sea.

From here you can also see two of the other Canary Islands, La Gomera, and La Palma on the horizon.  For centuries Santiago was a quaint fishing village, but it has embraced tourism and now draws folks enchanted by its natural beauty and striking location along the coast. Its harbor from November to February is also a popular hub for whale watching excursions to depart from.

Backtracking through Santiago del Teide we turned into the mountains and followed a long stretch of twisting and turning road to the Mirador de Cherfe. Sitting atop a mountain pass, it has expansive views to the sea. It was also one of the busiest miradors, with vendors selling lava trinkets, and many tourists stopping on the way to or from Masca, like us. Oh, the thrills of driving in the mountains of Tenerife were just beginning!

The isolated hamlet of Masca seems to be a mecca for folks wanting to get into the more remote parts of Tenerife. With limited parking options, we had to wait for a space to become available only to realize after we walked into the hamlet that all the restaurants were closed on Monday. Yikes!

With growling stomachs, we continued on. Starvation was thwarted in El Palmar at the Restaurante El Rincón La Abu, a wonderful establishment where we were the only customers late in the afternoon. The house wine and our meals, pork cheeks in sauce and chicken breast stuffed with serrano ham and spinach, were excellent. We appreciated that we never felt rushed to finish, but we did notice when we were getting into our car that they were locking up for the afternoon. When home our routine finds us having lunch late in the afternoon, but this wasn’t always possible on Tenerife where many of the restaurants close at 2 or 3pm and then reopen later.

It took us awhile to adjust to this earlier lunch schedule. Continuing on we stopped to observe the Montaña Zahorra, an ancient lava dome from which its fertile soil was quarried in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. The distinctive pie shapes of the excavations represented the individual owners’ mineral rights.  

Exuberant like rally drivers, we felt victorious from a day well spent and headed back to Icod de los Vinos to enjoy a glass of local wine on the balcony of our room and watch the moon rise over the foothills above the town.

Till next time, 

Craig & Donna