We Rest and Adopt a Mascot

Holland Barge Trip Day 6 & 7–After our harrowing day with two Holland Bridge Encounters that ended with us stuffing our boats into Sixhaven like three ten pound sausages in five pound casings, we all agree we deserved a day off of the water and so we changed our schedule to allow for a one day rest in Amsterdam. The harbor has a ferry station and it is easy to jump on for a quick trip across the water into the city. And so for Day Six, our group split up and went to pursue their interests in the city. It was a beautiful sunny day and we found pubs, museums and photo opportunities everywhere.

Amsterdam Canal

Amsterdam Cheese Shop

Tulip Bulbs at the Bloemenmarkt

When I think of Amsterdam I think Carrots, don't you?

Captain Steve adopts a Mascot for our Flotilla

At the end of Day 6, our third barge captain, Captain Steve, found a goat figurine without a head along the path back to Sixhaven. The maimed and cast off object seemed to embody the spirit of our journey thus far, so we adopted it as our flotilla mascot. The following day, we departed Sixhaven. With our goat mascot attached as a figurehead, we hoped to placate the canal gods and avoid another Bridge Encounter.  We plunged back across the water and made our way back through Amsterdam. This time, the sun was out and the traffic was mild and we could enjoy the sights. Our little mascot, it seemed, might just bring us some luck.

Are we THERE yet?

Windmill

Holland Barge Trip Day 5–We left behind our First Holland Bridge Encounter with the bridge-keeper and his elevated blood pressure, and continued to Amsterdam, our target port for the day. After a long rainy day with a windmill or two, many private residences, and nowhere to pull over, we finally arrived at the southern edge of Amsterdam. Given the wind and rain and the fact that it was now rush-hour on the water, we cellular-teleconferenced barge-to-barge to discuss staying at the edge of the city rather than try to navigate it in our frazzled state. You see, it is a passenger duty to sympathy-frazzle with the Barge Captain and we were doing a great job. Captain David was looking forward to having his fingers pried off the wheel and wrapped around a glass of red wine. But it was not to be. The one public marina on our map was completely full. And so, we cruised forth into Amsterdam.

Through Amsterdam we enjoyed endured many more barely-cleared bridges, darting, impatient boats appearing from nowhere, and a moment of horror when the barge in front us piloted by Captain Ingrid (my mother in law)  scraped a rondvaart getting stuck for a moment under a dark, low, narrow, tunnel-bridge. This would be our Second Bridge Encounter.  This time the anger was expressed by the (professional) pilot of the tourist boat in unmistakeable, international sign language. Most folks would have had no trouble understanding what the nice man was trying to say with his finger. Captain Ingrid responded with a flurry of German expletives and I cowered in the barge behind, witnessing the encounter, convinced we would all be arrested at any moment.

Diagram of "The Crossing"

Finally, we made it through the city, emerging into the river “IJ” beneath Moevenpick the hotel where we had spent our first night. I now had a new perspective realizing we were not such a large-barge in comparison to the huge watercraft with large wakes speeding through. We were still not “there” yet! We had to cross the water and make it to Sixhaven where we would be able to stay the night. The large ships were kind enough to not run us over and we made it across. We were now THERE. Captain David maneuvered our barge-feather perfectly through a hairpin turn right at the narrow entrance and proceeded slowly towards what looked like a dead end. While our other barges got settled, we snuggled up very carefully to a million dollar sailboat, bumpers out and fending off, so we would be out of the way. The sailboat owners appeared–they were not appreciative of our careful snuggle– so we continued on to the dead-end of the harbor where we were met by the jolly Christophe (of all people!) who helped us stuff ourselves in a shared slip next to the other barges. I have never seen rats desert a sinking ship, but I do know all 14 of us resembled the rodents as we fled for land and a beer. We were finally THERE.

Our barge, Aalsmeer, stuffed in Sixhaven, like sausage, at dusk.

It is Possible!

Holland Barge Trip Day 4–After enjoying several days in Amsterdam, we journeyed to Locaboat in Loosdrecht where we met up with the rest of our barge adventure party of 14. We met Christophe, the French Locaboat mechanic who gave us an orientation to our vessel. Due to some type of clerical error we ended up with the longest, tallest, barge possible and had the fewest passengers on board. This seemed to be an advantage for now. We were a little nervous about being able to clear the many bridges along our route but Christophe assured us “It is possible.” Under the direction of our trusty captain David, we got underway, heading north towards Amsterdam and planning to spend the night in a little village along the way–any village would do. Unfortunately, a key difference from barging in France is that most of the land adjoining the canals is private and you can’t just park anywhere you want. This made it challenging to keep a relaxed schedule and find a place to spend the night almost every night of our trip. Finally–close to dark and under the threat of rain we docked on the edge of a town where we discovered none of the restaurants wanted to seat an unanticipated party of 14. We split up–some of us wandering back to our boats to dine on salami, cheese and bread–the rest managing to squeeze in to restaurants. I thought this experience must be an anomaly and looked forward to a more satisfying, relaxing day to follow when we would head to Amsterdam and enjoy the city from the water.

The next day was rainy and windy and we first experienced the large-barge disadvantage; in the wind, it became a giant sail. The size of the thing, along with underpowered engines and sad bow-thrusters, led Captain David to proclaim he was “trying to pilot a feather.” We came to our first bridge and had our first Holland Bridge Encounter. Just in front of the bridge and off to the side, a sailboat had run aground and was uncomfortably close to where we would eventually pass under the bridge.We did not think we could make it under the bridge, and were unsure of the ramifications of the stranded sailboat, so our flotilla circled in the canal in front of the bridge while we waited for the bridge keeper to lift the bridge. It was a tight squeeze, but necessary to maintain control of the barges. We were patient, confident that the bridge keeper was keeping us waiting for good reasons of his own. After some time he came out and starting yelling at us in Dutch (of course.) As his agitation increased, his face became tomato-red and his glasses steamed up. I asked Captain David, who speaks German and backpacked through Europe at the age of 15 if he understood. He replied “No” and stared intently at the gesticulating Keeper trying to discern the meaning of the man’s words. Finally it dawned on him, “Oh, yes, I do understand. The man is saying ‘you don’t know how to drive, do you? Oh, so it is true gotdammit, you really don’t know how to drive.’ Yes, I guess I do understand Dutch.” This went on for a while before he asked very politely in English, “Will you please open the bridge?” And the hopping mad Keeper yelled in English to just “drive under the gotdammed bridge.” He did, and we cleared it by one and a half inches. This is when I began to wonder if Christophe meant “it is possible–maybe,”–rather than “yes, it is possible!” to clear the bridges. We left the angry Keeper behind in the rain, mopping his brow and drying his glasses, no doubt cursing our incompetence from the warmth of his little office, and continued on to Amsterdam.

Barging in Holland! Why Not?

Barging with friends in Bourgogne, 2006

As we have mentioned at Destination Insights, we have found barging through France to be an ideal vacation. Cruising at a walking pace through the canals in the French countryside, we can pull over most anywhere. After driving a stake in the grassy bank we can unload restless passengers and a rented bicycle to ride ahead to the next village to secure a baguette and a well-priced bottle of wine. Or perhaps we might stop and enjoy midi, prepared in our galley with supplies from the village supermarche. We might land in a friendly village to visit their pub and meet new friends. We might even just stop to pick a bouquet or wildflowers to decorate our barge salon table. If you are one who enjoys the journey as much as the destination, all this can be done relatively easily. No worries, few logistical headaches, and ample scenery.

So, it just made sense when our “barge buddies” from Point San Pablo Yacht Club suggested we once again rent a penichette from the folks at Locaboat Holidays and explore the waterways of Holland to say “Yes!” We tried to tune out the fact that we were on the edge of a world-wide financial crisis (October 2008), collected the usual assortment of interested barge-experienced and barge-curious folks from our family and friends, and planned a 3-barge flotilla with 14 crew to meet up and depart from Loosdrecht.

View of busy harbor from Moevenpick

Since we had to fly in to Amsterdam, we decided to spend a few days in the city, exploring and checking off a few sights before we were to settle in to our relaxing barge trip. We stayed at a hotel on the edge of the city called Movenpick, a 10 minute walk from Central Station, where we had a view of the busy harbor.

We spent our first night eating and consuming enough dutch beer at Gollem to leave definite impression  the following morning (afternoon AND evening too.) All in all, the first night–even with jet-lag–was a worthy enjoyment effort. We looked forward to another fun day in the city and then our nice, relaxing barge cruise.

California Christmas Carol

A California Christmas carol 2007

Escape to a Different Reality

You can find alomst anything for sale at Denio's

Denios. Yes, the Roseville auction. It seemed like a perfect place to spend a few hours on “Super Saturday” before Christmas. Our mission? Wander around and bring home some pictures and a story or two. We paid the obligatory $3.00 to park which seems to be a bone of contention with the folks who review the place on Yelp and made our way to an entrance.  Almost immediately, just twenty strides into the grounds one of our companions haggled an International Services Private Security jacket from $15.00 to $10.00. He was cold and the price was right. The rest of the day (when we managed to stay together) we were accompanied by our own private security guard. We each were attracted by different things. Me, I like shiny objects. My other two companions, who knows, but they kept wandering off in opposite directions. After rambling through endless stalls of cheap clothing, blankets and cookware, they dragged me away from the junk tables (I love other people’s junk!) to peruse the food section. There, roasted peanuts, jicima, dried hibiscus, thai chilis and tamarindo beckoned like precious items.

Fresh Seasonal Produce

From the produce gauntlet hidden beneath a canopy blocking the harsh winter glare, you can hear the carnival barker-like shouts of stall-tenders advertising their fruits, vegetables and other treats. Towards the end of the day, as the fruit ripens, the bargains get better. Five turnips for a dollar. Bag of big juicy kiwis, a dollar. I don’t really know if they were juicy. I didn’t try one. And, big is subjective.  It does feel like you’re transported to another country with the sounds of different languages layered together.

I watched a woman scrape the spines off her nopales and daydreamed about my new life as a chef cooking with these exotic things. She made it look so easy! I attempted to memorize the sign on the tejcotes that described how to make ponche Navideño Eventually I snapped out of my alternate kitchen reality and became aware that I once again had lost my photographer companion. He is obsessed with taking stock photos at the moment and had been dismissing most of my photo ideas as, sniff, “too editorial.”

Predictably I found him snapping shots of the various fruits and veggies and so I arranged to meet him at the used books in section B10-14. There I met Terasia, a bookseller with an authoritative manner who’s willing to talk about her books, her family heritage, how NOT to pronounce her name or whatever topic you’d like. She has a lot of books and as she sternly pronounced, she knows her inventory.

Eventually, it was time to go. As we wandered back to the entrance the sparkling jewelry, hair accessories, and prom dresses caught my eye. I wanted to be Denio-Fabulous! But I was tired and I only had three dollars and it was time to get back to the reality of pre-Christmas madness. Maybe next time.

Jailbirds

Roasted Peanuts

Pretending to be on Vacation in my Kitchen

I woke up this morning with a hankering for Guinness Beef Stew. When we were in Doolin on our (forced march) tour to Galway I had a marvelous shiny brown bowl of the stuff and here in sunny California with two days off to enjoy, I couldn’t think of a better way to pretend to be on vacation for a brief moment. Even reading Ginger Rutland’s review of Michael Lewis’ Vanity Fair article “California and Bust” describing California’s civic and financial collapse couldn’t dampen my spirits. I am alive, relatively healthy, and employed with great friends and family–why be depressed about my “scary” state?
I shared the stew proposition with my sweetie and the negotiations began–which pot to use, which method, which recipe, should we also have soda bread–cripes! It became a negotiation, discussion, argument, and we became opponents.
We retreated, ate breakfast in silence and then tried again. Later after a trip to the grocery store we peacefully made guacamole and salsa–our appetizers for the stew (California may be about to “bust” but we have great food options) and he left me to make it my way.
So, I put Etta James on Pandora and with her growling in the background prepared the stew. Now I sit here waiting for it and hope it turns out (sans fresh thyme– the plant died while we were on vacation)
What Is your favorite way to pretend you are on vacation?

Belfast

Day 9–When Rihanna’s concert thwarted our plans to spend two nights in Belfast and we had to readjust, there was one thing we all agreed upon that had to be at the top of the list. We had all been told to take the Black Taxi Tour. We took the two hour train ride to Belfast, disembarked, withdrew just enough Ulster pounds for a few pints, lunch and a taxi tour and headed out into the rain to book ourselves a tour. We made the requisite post-train-ride pub-pit-stop at Ronnie Drew’s where the TV screamed out the pre football game festivities and we familiarized ourselves with the size, shape and value of our new Ulster notes . Very unscientifically we attempted a currency exchange value comparison using a pint of Guinness. It went something like this– Hmmm… a pint in Dublin is around 4 euros and the pint in Belfast is 2.95 pounds and the exchange rate is 1. 4 which means–wait lemme do some math…ok never mind. We liked the smaller number in any case and after a pint maybe that is enough!

We found the Tourist Information Office where they were helpful dialing the phone on our behalf so we could book our tour and then recommending a place without screaming TVs for our pre-tour lunch. We all enjoyed the John Hewitt which had a fresh, tasty and attractively prepared take on pub grub. This was one of the best meals we had in Ireland.

Finally it was time for the tour. We were picked up by Joe who led us through the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods including a trip to the Sinn Fein’s former headquarters which is now a book store. Joe was equipped with photographs, extensive personal experience, and umbrellas. Everywhere we went people greeted and chatted with him–except for in the Protestant neighborhood. Nevertheless, we thought he did a very balanced a tour given his personal involvement. Being in these streets and neighborhoods, traveling through the gates and standing next to the walls and murals while listening to Joe’s narrative was a history learning experience like no other. We were lucky to have Joe of Belfast Mural Tours as our guide.

Our Tour Guide Joe of Belfast Mural Tours

John Hewitt Lunch with Cider

The

Dublin & Howth

Day 7 & 8–After much deliberating, we decided to stay in Dublin for the the remainder of our trip and do a few day trips from there. This decision was mainly due to the fact the Rianna had invaded Belfast for her concert and we could not execute our plan of “playing it by ear” and stumbling on cheap and quaint accommodations in Belfast. Every affordable hotel was booked up and we did not want to spend 700-1,000 euros per night. So, we took a cab to haul our crap back over to Jury’s custom house for the duration of our stay. We told our cab driver we wanted to get out of Dublin for a day and were thinking about going to Kilkenny. “He said you do NOT want to go to Kilkenny. Go to Howth, this is where we go to relax.” Then he asked if we would adopt him and broke out into a very American sounding version of “Rawhide”. We were charmed but not ready to adopt him so instead we adopted his recommendation and boarded the Luas (Our cabbie called it the Daniel Day Luas) to check out Howth.

Howth was quiet and quaint and we checked out the fish markets and the 15th century ruins of St. Mary’s Abby and then enjoyed seafood chowder and beverages at Abby Tavern. We stopped by the Bloody Stream and had a drink before returning to Dublin.

50% Off. In referring to Ireland

The Irish Rail system.

Howth Cemetery overlooking the fishing port.

Dublin Prawns

The Bloody Stream

Dublin Prawns

Kilarney, Cliffs of Moher, Galway Bay.

Re-thatching the roof at Bunratty Castle

Day 6–Near Limerick– Up at 5:45am to get to all of our stuff together to meet one of several buses, trains, horse carts, rickshaws, bi-planes and/or any other form of transportation know to mankind to get to our next destination — Bunratty Castle. The reason for the early day is that this little tour we booked has tried to cram in every conceivable sight in one day. And, by God, they somehow manage. Still no sheep picture, though.

We’ve arrived at Bunratty Castle on the outskirts of Kilarney after a short drive down the street in Limerick where they filmed Angela’s Ashes, a movie based on the book by Frank McCourt. We pass Shannon Int’l Airport, apparently the first international Irish airport. During an international flight from New York in the early days, passengers arrived in Shannon so cold and frozen from their flight that the local bartender mixed up a combination of hot coffee and whiskey to help warm them up. And this is how the Irish Coffee was born. For 8-9 Euros one can be tried. My advice; wait till you get home and make your own for a buck and half. It’s coffee and whiskey and a dollop of whipped cream. Tastes good, but no big whoop.

Bunratty Castle reminded me of one of those Medieval or Renaissance Faire dinner shows they offer in Vegas. Turkey legs, mock battles, etc. It’s a quaint replica village surrounding the castle that is nice to walk around in. There is a wicked pony, pictured below, that tries to nibble your fingers off.

Upon leaving the castle the non-stop talking tour guide of 72, who claims never to have had a drop of alcohol in his life, had the bus driver stop briefly in front of a bush on the highway. This, he said, was a fairy tree. It’s an unremarkable looking bush but the story is the key.

On to the Cliffs of Moher, pronounced like more. This is an amazing sight. The tallest sheer cliffs in Europe with beautiful sights in every direction. There are several signs near the edges warning tourists not to get to close for danger of being windswept into the sea. It’s happened. I crossed the lines anyway to get a good picture. Not letting The Man tell me what to do.

Then on to Galway Bay, where we saw many Famine houses and the great limestone fields and quarries. The driver said that this particular area of Ireland was hit specially hard during the potato famine as the soil was not good for growing anything besides potatoes. Being literally 100 feet from the ocean, I wondered why the hungry folk didn’t just fish for supper — salmon abound in the area. The driver said they didn’t want to learn. So, rather than learn to fish they starved or emigrated to America. Strange.

Ferry Tours the Cliffs of Moher

Another train ride. Another hauling of luggage. Another hurry up and wait in queues (lines). Back in Dublin at the Ashling Hotel.

Irish Flute Player

Theme Park or Renaissance Faire? You decide.