Η Επιστροφή- The Return (2011) – Part 6 - Top 40

So  . . . the trip is almost at an end. . .

My ride today was great for the first 400kms and awful for the last 175kms. I was so terrified I thought I was a goner for sure. Very strong winds which blew me right across the road and at one point when overtaking a truck, blew me straight into the side of the it. I was fortunate to get away with it and my whole body spent two hours of being tensed up while my mind was lost somewhere in the land of fear.

But I made it, chilled out, showered, emailed and relaxed. . .

I've just had dinner which was good - indeed very good - but not enjoyable for some reason . . . I think mainly due to the snooty French waiters.

When looking at the menu I told the Maitre D that I didn't like French cheese . . . I think if I'd said I was planning on killing his children he would have been less disgusted and horrified . . .

Indeed later in the meal, another waiter came over to my table to verify the fact that I didn't want the cheese course and asked "You do not like cheese???" as though asking "You do not believe in God???"...

I did however discover an amazing new dessert wine to add to my portfolio of favourites:

Domaine Cauhape
Jurancon
2008
Symphonie De Novembre

The smell of the wine intrigued me - a bizarre, unique and unnervingly compelling mixture of rotting gooseberries and a piece of pickled cabbage married to freshly picked incredibly juicy and fragrant strawberries swimming in honey  . . . Now I know why wine tasters say daft things like that . . . because it is the only way of conveying a sense of the flavour.

Very nice.

But I'm not going to write about the meal, the people in the restaurant or the waiting staff . . . it would be tedious in the extreme and I have written enough about food this trip.

It was great food, amazing wine and an overall disappointing experience based mainly on my mood and mindset coupled with French gastro-snobbery . . .

Beaune remains the best meal of this trip and well deserving of its "Top Ten Greatest Meals of All Time" position.

Instead of writing about the food I ate, I am going to share my Top 40 from the massive playlist I put together for this trip.

Picking only 40 from the playlist of 260 favourite tracks is difficult, but I have done it quickly and based on gut. I will kick myself tomorrow no doubt!

The Top 40 (in no particular order!) :

1. Comfortably Numb – Pink Floyd
2. Not The Drinking – Lauren Pritchard
3. Consolers of the Lonely – The Raconteurs
4. You Don’t Understand Me – The Raconteurs
5. Heart of Saturday Night – Tom Waits
6. 29 Dollars – Tom Waits
7. Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis – Tom Waits
8. Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol
9. Rude Boy – Rihanna
10. Set Fire To The Rain – Adele
11. Somewhere Only We Know – Keane
12. Like A Hurricane – Neil Young
13. Moonage Daydream – David Bowie
14. Right in Time – Lucinda Williams
15. Shake, Shake, Mama – Mance Lipscombe
16. Statesboro Blues – Taj Mahal
17. Waiting Around To Die – Townes Van Zandt
18. It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) – Bob Dylan
19. If You See Her, Say Hello – Bob Dylan
20. Sara – Bob Dylan
21. Thank You – Led Zeppelin
22. The Everlasting – Manic Street Preachers
23. Get Over You – The Undertones
24. Lust For Life – Iggy Pop
25. Things You Don’t Have To Do – Peter Malick Group
26. Tweeter & The Monkey Man – The Travelling Wilburys
27. Talk – Coldplay
28. Rewind – Paolo Nuttini
29. You On My Mind In My Sleep – Richard Ashcroft
30. Side – Travis
31. Bittersweet Symphony – The Verve
32. Catching the Butterly – The Verve
33. Know How – Young MC
34. Konichiwa Bitches – Robyn
35. Dead Flowers – The Rolling Stones
36. Sympathy for the Devil – The Rolling Stones
37. Shine A Light – The Rolling Stones
38. Gimme Shelter – The Rolling Stones
39. Sexual Healing – Marvin Gaye
40. I’m A Ram – Rev. Al Green

 I could write a commentary to every song, or provide a YouTube link - but I won't.

If you're curious, send me an email, if you don't know the song, put it into YouTube search.

What I will say is that these songs - at one point or another on my trip - made me stop breathing, sing out loud at the top of my lungs, consider my existence, weep with joy or simply lose the power of logic for a moment.

Music does that and without these songs  - and many others - this trip and all that I have done, written, thought, dreamed or hoped, would not have been the same.

Music - the soundtrack to our souls. Simple.

Η Επιστροφή - The Return (2011) – Part 3 – Ancona to Val Gardena

My day has been frustrating, painful and tiring in equal measure – but it concluded reasonably well.

I woke very early on the boat  - around 5am. The cabin was not as comfortable as the boat I had taken out to Greece and the noise of the engines combined with the rattling of doors, conspired to keep me awake from that point on. Some reading and some reflecting saw me use up two hours before I decided to get up and face the day.

I ate in the self-service restaurant as I had the previous evening. Fresh orange juice, yoghurt, scrambled eggs and bacon  - plus two cups of hard core coffee got me started for the day.

I enjoyed the old man who served the food. He must have been 70 years old and remembered me from the night before. “What to give the young man to make him strong? – for he is a brave young man!” was his greeting at the food counter. I admired his memory, his customer service skills and his love of life. I also enjoyed being called a brave young man, when – at 7am – I looked far from young or brave!

Breakfast dealt with I went on deck and admired the wake left behind the boat and thought of how many things it symbolized. I returned to my room and read Hemingway for a couple of hours before showering and then packing.

I went to the central reception area on the boat to wait for docking. While I was there I wrote about departure and my feelings about leaving Greece.

The boat was late – more than an hour – but I didn’t know this until I wasted an hour standing by the elevator waiting for the boat to dock so I could return to my bike. I whiled away the time writing to friends and moaning about the delay to myself.

Eventually the boat docked and – frustrated and annoyed – I went below deck to my motorcycle and loaded up.

By the time I got off the boat I was at least an hour and a half behind schedule with a long journey ahead. I was annoyed and in a shitty mood.

It took an age to exit Ancona with single lane traffic and lots of it… but eventually I made it to the awful Autostrada and headed north.

Wearing just a t-shirt and some light trousers the initial weather  - sun and a temperature of about 28 degrees – was pleasant.

But the traffic was terrible and worse, there were road works continually bringing the highway to single lane for many kilometers and resulting in me riding between cars and trucks and emergency lanes just to make headway. I was more angry now and in a worse mood. Several times I had to brake hard to avoid collisions with car drivers and trucks.

As I neared Bologna, the heavens opened with a vengeance and I was instantly soaked. The rain came down like stair rods and it felt like being repeatedly shot with a nail gun.  And suddenly it was cold.

I could barely see out of my visor as trucks sped past while I waddled around in the heavy rain of the storm. I was frightened and pissed off that the driving conditions demanded I focus on the road and not the music I was listening to.

Eventually the rain storm subsided and I could see once more. The road was dull and the traffic made it worse. I pressed on, determined to put some kilometers under my belt before stopping.

Eventually I stopped at a truck stop on the highway to grab some lunch and join a conference call of my firm’s leadership group. No rest for the wicked.

I was impressed by the sign at the truck stop. It said that the establishment did not sell alcohol or pornography, but that coffee ordered between midnight and 5am was free of charge. Very ethical and sensible – if ever so slightly incongruous with the world of truckers.

I ordered a piece of pizza and a soft drink and then allowed myself to be persuaded into making it a “meal package” by adding fruit salad. Ha!

I sat and ate quickly while emailing colleagues for updates in preparation for my call.

The man next to me was a large Italian trucker and possible a member of the Mafia by the looks of him. He had three pieces of pizza which he woofed down quickly and then gulped a quick espresso down too. Afterwards he sat for moment, then stood up, farted loudly and impressively, and left. Lovely. I began my conference call and gave my report & update from the car park of the truck stop.

Back on the bike I was still frustrated and not myself. Even the music couldn’t bring me round. The sky was grey and cloudy, threatening more rain at any moment. I was only just drying off from the first storm.

As I passed Verona, a place of much rambling in years gone by, the cloud cleared the temperature improved. I felt better, but not much as the traffic was still lousy – forcing me to swerve and weave among the trucks and cars. But at least the sun was out.

Eventually the sun warmed my bones and I started to settle into a rhythm of riding – and began to enjoy my music, singing along at the top of my lungs to an audience of car and truck bound people, deaf to my joy.

Every part of my body was killing me – back, legs, arms and face – as I pushed myself to complete another 150 kms before stopping briefly to refuel and stretch my legs.

I hate motorway riding at the best of times, but today it was true to say that the first 500kms of my journey were hellish.

Eventually I left the motorway and joined the mountain road to the Brenner Pass (Brennero). Suddenly my whole mood lifted and I was in heaven once more.

Such a gorgeous road, such amazing scenery – and now, few trucks! All replaced by motorcycles. My brothers were in the mountains having fun like me!

I enjoyed the last 50 kms of my ride enormously. While I was very tired, the road and the scenery inspired me – not to mention music which included Bob Dylan, Mark Knopfler, JJ Cale, Lucinda Williams (look her up – she’s amazing), Guns N Roses (try Sweet Child of Mine while riding at 160 kms/hour through a valley surrounded by great rocky mountains!) and an amazing song from Keane (“Somewhere Only We Know” - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oextk-If8HQ )

Lyrics here:


Somewhere Only We Know - Keane

I walked across an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

I felt the earth beneath my feet

Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh simple thing where have you gone

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

I came across a fallen tree

I felt the branches of it looking at me

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Oh simple thing where have you gone

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

Oh simple thing where have you gone

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?

Another song which I listened to twice was “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue” by Dylan. I love that song and have both played it live and recorded it. Magnificent. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YN25Pp0hrOM )

As I headed into the mountains and climbed, the frustration of the previous part of the day disappeared as I rode across biking Nirvana. These roads were designed by a man who travels on two wheels. No doubt about it.

And as I rose up the cool air filled my nostrils and refreshed my cheeks. All I could smell was pine trees – as though someone had stuffed an air freshener in my nose. With the small difference that this was REAL!

Oh what joy to be on such a road with such beautiful scenery! Small wooden houses, medieval stone churches and endless forest capped by a huge stone mountain. A feast for the eyes.

As I climbed I encountered more and more bikes. At first I felt joy in the camaraderie of the biking community, but then I saw license plates and my nationalism came to a fore – along with my Alpha spirit. Belgians, French and most of all Germans were dispatched dispassionately as I accelerated through the bends, overtaking on blind corners and generally enjoying 15 minutes of being a biker hooligan!

So long guys, I’m heading to the top of the mountain!

Well, near to the top. . .

Mountains - the biker's first love!

I arrived in Val Di Gardena just before 7pm and parked up at my wonderful hotel – The Alpen Royal  - one of the “Leading Small Hotels of the World”.

Val Di Gardena

I looked around at the amazingly beautiful valley and thought two thoughts:

Where are you Julie???

1. God must have used up most of the green paint on this part of the world. Between grass fields and forest, it was a complete sea of green – refreshing, natural, and wholesome.
2. I expected Julie Andrews to pop out of the bushes any moment and burst into song!

On check-in, I was given an upgrade to a suite. Nice.

The I was escorted to the bar for a “Welcome Drink”.

5 Star Biker!

As I felt very welcome I had three drinks – pink champagne. They served some lovely nibbles including tomato bruschetta, some local Speck, and some wonderful pieces of aged Parmesan. I consumed and relaxed in the fading sun of the day – content in my Sound Of Music surroundings.

I had a wonderful dinner at the hotel’s gourmet restaurant (more in a separate piece) – and now I lie ready for sleep and to dream of the Brenner Pass tomorrow.

It’s one of the most famous mountain passes in Europe and paradise for bikers!

I can't wait!

Merakli a la Mardin...

Mardin is a city in South Eastern Turkey close to the Kurdish part and it is famous for its food and the "tree of life"...

Cercis Murat Konagi is a taste of Mardin in Istanbul on the Anatolian (Asian) side of the city in the Suadiye district by the Bosphorous looking out to the Marmara sea. (www.cercismurat.com)

I dined there with friends / business partners tonight and I am still in rapture....

The food is divine. The service is warm and the environment lovely - especially on a warm, humid summer evening with a gentle breeze blowing from the Bosphorous and across from the islands in the Marmara sea.

First decisions are taken - we will drink rake - the Turkish cousin of Arak / Raki and we will begin with mezze... And thus mazmiz to excite our eyes, stimulate our taste buds and start preparing the stomachs for a feast...

A salad of pickled peppers and herbs, mouhamara Kurdish / Surian style, aubergine salad (babaghanoush style), lentils, caper berries, medium hot red chilli peppers tamed by parsley and oil, spiced butter beans doused with fresh yoghurt, thick luscious strained yoghurt to accompany and warm breads - some with caraway and aniseed, some plain and charred for flavour... All exquisitely served on Mardin traditional metal mezze dishes with each salad in a long cast spoon to be passed around the table...and shalgam...

Shalgam is very popular in Southern Turkey and is a drink made with black carrots and turnips that have been salted heavily and then fermented with bulghur wheat. There is a variation of Shalgam in India also apparently, but here it becomes a slightly viscous cloudy drink of a dark purple hue - and looks very imperial...

It is certainly an acquired taste which I can only describe as being similar to very bitter carrot juice with lots of salt...but it is curiously refreshing and is said to cancel out the effects of rake... It also tastes immensely healthy. I acquired the taste...if you get the chance to try really fresh homemade shalgam like this then do it.

From the mezze we departed to sample other delights from the Mardin cuisine - including the Mardin variation on Iclik Kofte... Normally iclik kofte are like Levantine Kibbeh or Cypriot Koupes - but in Mardin the stuffed meat enclosure is slightly closer to Arayes in the Levant - but there is a soft dough folded around the spiced meat filling like a duvet and then it is layered on top with yoghurt with spices...

MY GOD this is a food sensation. Texture and taste combine to leave one diner - namely me - almost speechless... This is special food. I begin to contemplate the idea of acquiring a wife from Mardin. Food this good should be eaten more often!

Then Mardin's take on lahmacun - often called the Turkish pizza...except the Mardin version is more like a calzone or an Argentinean empanada with the dough wrapped around the filling and then baked... Also delicious.

Then as we have moved to meat we move on properly to two gorgeous lamb specialities from the Mardin area. Spiced lamb cubes stewed with quinces - a very subtle dish with balanced flavours and deliciously tender meat with the firm quince pieces finished with a gentle but important spice note from pepper and chili.

This was served with an incredible piece of lamb stuffed with two kinds of rice served on bulghur with oil, tomatoes and nuts including almonds and chestnuts - reminding me a little of Mansaf - the Jordanian Bedouin goat dish - except this dish lacked the yoghurt.

The waiter peeled away the skin and fat from the piece of lamb and discarded bones in front of our table. He then stripped the lamb and mixed the rices with the bulghur and served us. Wonderful aromas filled our nostrils as wonderful sights entertained our eyes... And the food was truly delicious.

I began to wonder if my Mardin wife would be beautiful as well as a great cook - finally deciding that she could actually have a beard as long as she could cook this well and I would still be happy!

I drank another glass of shalgam and more rake...

Cool fresh fruit including some sensational dark cherries were served as a desert and then some coffee - similar to Arabic coffee but incredibly strong was brought for us in Arabic style thimble cups.

Then Turkish coffee served in amazing silver cups and saucers on a velvet ringed platform...and a dome to cover them and keep them hot...together with cinnamon biscuits from Mardin and some impressively chewy lokum or Turkish delight.

A waiter came with a large metal bowl and a jug of heavily scented rose water to wash our hands before a tea glass of fresh lemon juice and ginger was served as a final palate cleanser and digestif.

Maybe you have to be there to get the full feeling - but this was a repeated "Oh My God!" meal as each taste and flavour unfolded from the mezze to the lemon juice & ginger... This accompanied good natured conversation with my Turkish vocabulary increasing twofold and my gastro/sociological history of the South East of Turkey growing exponentially.

This is what great dining is about and this was a great meal.

One final note is the "Tree of Life" myth of Mardin where apparently they believe in a sacred tree where the shamen comes from - a tree that if you find it you must sit under it and it will bring you a longer life... As a result there is arborial imagery in every aspect of the restaurant from delightful lamps to sculptures and the restaurant's motif.

To be honest - if it is as hot in Mardin as it was in Istanbul today, then sitting under any tree and catching the shade has to prolong one's life anyway. Whether it's the right tree or not...

And now to sleep and dream of my journey to Mardin and the search for a beautiful Mardin wife who knows how to cook and whose dad owns a vineyard...

Istanbul... Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon...

With apologies to the great Ray Davies...!

Up to Taksim, down Istiklal, turn off into the back streets of Beyoglu and through to Faik Pasa St where I am looking at some apartments for rent. It's a lovely street, windy, ramshackle and in need of a lick of paint in parts... Crammed full of antique shops and bric a brac, and an art gallery lifting the sophistication a little. Crammed full of character too.

I could live in this street. It's not the place I have my heart set on - that apartment isn't free for a while - but I might well take somewhere here until my dream apartment in Galata is free.

Wandering through Tomtom past the elegant Italian Ambassador's residence (OF COURSE the Italian Ambassador's residence is elegant!) and up a narrow laneway past the Dutch Embassy and on to Istiklal again - Las Ramblas of Istanbul...

An instinctive turn off Istiklal towards the Pera side and I wander through the laneways weaving a pattern through the charming buildings of Beyoglu resplendent in their neoclassical grandeur - some polished and proud, some faded and forlorn - but all reminding one of the glorious past.

Galip Dede is the Tin Pan Alley, the West 48th Street of Istanbul...packed with music stores selling guitars, baglama (traditional Turkish - and Greek - folk instrument), and all manner of drums, timpany and assorted other sound making devices. Heaven.

The sun is out and so are the smiling, happy people of Istanbul. Colourful clothes contrast with the colourful backdrops of the street and birdsong mixes with distant Byzantine scales, fruit vendors shouting their offers and the general hubbub of the street...

I have worked up a thirst so I stop at an eaterie in the shadow of Galata Kulesi (Galata Tower) and quickly drown several cold beers. Refreshed in terms of thirst I turn to the hunger part of the equation...

Fresh lahmacun - a kind of Turkish meat pizza served with some freshly shredded lettuce and lemon juice - is accompanied by haydari - a thick strained yoghurt laced with garlic and fennel and a plate of ezme salad - tomatoes pulped with spicy peppers, onion and olive oil with plenty of kick. Mopping up with delicious fresh bread that is doughy and chewy and almost a meal in itself.

In a nearby music store the proprietor plays baglamas through an amplifier and the sound of the Anatolian spirit that haunts the music from Greece to Central Asia and works to a Byzantine scale wafts across the square and provides the perfect accompaniment to my meal.

Oh how blessed I am to be able to have these moments of pure and utter contentment and joy. My heaven is perhaps someone else's hell - but I am able to taste this joy with comparative regularity and that is a true blessing.

And now I'm ready to head for the airport, my lungs filled with Istanbul, my eyes excited by her sights, by ears intoxicated by her sounds and my soul tantalised by her possibilities. My heart torn between the sadness of departure and the longing for return.

Who could not be inspired by Istanbul - for it is both inspired and inspirational.

Until the next time dear city. . . Until the next time.

Venice Biennale #4 - A Perfect Lunch

Trattoria Alla Madonna - a very traditional Venetian trattoria in a side street one block from the Rialto.

Two cold beers to refresh.

A wonderful fresh crab served in its shell dressed with fresh lemon juice, salt & pepper, olive oil and a generous sprig of fresh flat leaf parsley.

A nice chilled Pinot Grigio - from the Yermann Estate - excellent.

Spaghetti - a fine grade - in squid ink with cuttlefish pieces. A danger warning from the waiter is heeded but efforts are not entirely successful as both Cesare and I have squid ink spots on our shirts. Probably this means throwing the shirt in the bin as squid ink is a disaster...

Wild strawberries - those lovely semi sweet semi sour miniature strawberries - served with a scoop of home made vanilla ice cream.

Espresso.

Grappa.

Conversation topics: food, women, wine, the arts, business, entrepreneurship, finance, politics, childhood memories, women, food.

Benissimo!

Venice Biennale #2 - La Venezia

Following the final arrival at the rather pleasant Hotel Splendid in the heart of the district between San Marco and Rialto, I checked in and grumbled at the receptionist about my water taxi "non-experience". In typical Venetian fashion she explained that the airport desk was wrong. Full stop. As though the airport people being wrong made my nearly two hour journey to the hotel by foot, over cramped water bus stopping at every bit of seaweed and then foot again, ok.



Well it didn't but I gave up on complaining and went in search of a reviving espresso and my colleague Cesare who, as the name might suggest, is Italian.



Espresso and Cesare both located, we set off to visit some exhibitions - including Morocco (not bad at all), Monaco (not good at all) and then down to the Arsenale area (where the militarily powerful Venetian city state kept all its weaponry in the past - and where it now appears to keep its art, with the warehousing now turned into art galleries.)



This city is just achingly beautiful. There is no other way to say it. The people are lazy and arrogant at times, everything costs a fortune and it takes twice as long to do anything here compared to anywhere else except perhaps Cairo.... But it is amazingly glorious in its fading charms... The close-up shot may not be the desirable one for the "old girl" but the right light and pose and no city is more beautiful...



A long series of excursions on various vaporetti eventually saw us ending back where we'd started and visiting the exhibitions of the UAE (hmmm), Turkey (excellent and interesting), Chile (different and also interesting) and a couple of other country exhibits I failed to note...



The evening was devoted to eating - of course. Cesare and I were to dine with three of his clients from a large Italian bank. In typical fashion Cesare's strategy was to book a minimum of two restaurants and then allow mood and which had a better table to guide us. This at the last minute in the second busiest period in Venice annually... Of course he was successful.



Now I have always believed that one should put oneself in the hands of locals entirely when planning any recreational activities in a foreign city - and especially when it comes to gastronomy. Cesare was born less than an hour from Venice and did not disappoint. A wonderful family owned traditional Venetian restaurant that would be impossible for any tourist to know about and even less likely for them to find it was our destination for the evening.



We dined on local crabs, baby octopus with an orange and balsamic reduction, a fritto misto (very traditional dish in the Veneto), spaghetti with local lagoon seafood and herbs, pepperonata and some lovely wine. I am not going to name the restaurant or even the neighbourhood as that would risk spoiling it, but it was a superior experience from the perspectives of food and ambience - although the service was lacking in that characteristically Italian way... Lucky we weren't in a rush...



A pleasant stroll across the Rialto bridge to deliver one of the female clients to her hotel and smoke a small cigar and back to the hotel for a brief encounter with a Monaco based millionnairess whose friend owned our hotel. In fact the chain of hotels. She was, as we were, most distressed to find the bar closed at 1.30, and we chatted about the world and art. It turned out she is half New Yorker and her sister lived in a condo at the St George in Brooklyn Heights - the old building of the hotel which my great great grandfather built and owned at the end of the 19th century and a well known landmark in NYC. She nearly invited me and Cesare to her suite to drink the bar dry, but seemed to think better of it and toddled off....as did we. Only in Venice does one become midnight friends with a millionnairess!



Today is about Ps.... Palestine (the country's first exhibit at the Biennale), photographs (not possible to be here without taking some pictures and trying to capture the mood) and parties (big gala event this evening at the Peggy Guggenheim museum followed by private party hosted by the Abu Dhabi Authority for Culture & Heritage.)...



But I'm off to start with a B. Breakfast!