Sleeping under the stars

Well my lovely daughter is not at all impressed that I keep suggesting that she find a lovely Italian boy to marry who owns a Tuscan villa. Vanessa and I have it all planned – we think a nice Italian pilot who will help with cheap flights and our Tuscan holiday house. I am not at all sure why I keep getting snapped at. I think it is a great plan. Yesterday the lovely Lydia suggested maybe I should just find an Italian husband – well maybe I should. I rather fancy a lovely Italian speaking man, who rides a horse and owns a wonderful Italian vineyard aka Letters from Verona. I think Hebe and Juno could be very happy romping through the olive groves. We are currently on the train to Monterossa and the spectacular Cinque Terra. I love hearing Italian spoken on the train. To me the language is just so passionate. The towns that we are passing are all bathed in sunlight. We have been so lucky with the weather. It is about 16C today, with clear blue skies above the snow-covered mountains. The hilltop villages out the window are postcard perfect with terracotta roofs and that wonderful shade of rendered Tuscan yellow. There is a rather gorgeous, pink rendered villa in the distance surrounded by pine trees – hmm maybe my future Italian husband lives there.

Arrived in beautiful Pisa just on dusk. A walk to the field of miracles and that tower. Scott commented on the significant lean on the church and wondered why the leaning church of Pisa is not quite so famous. We strolled the fairy lit streets and then found the trip advisor recommended Gusto Al 129 Pizzeria. Great pizzas with matched beers. My cold really hasn’t improved and I am quite sick of a permanent runny nose. Good Italian drugs do help, but obviously the strength of cold and flu tablets here are slightly stronger than home as they just make me feel totally spaced out. Awoke this morning in the comfortable Hotel Bolonga to a great Italian breakfast. I am not sure, that without the 30,000 steps a day, that pastries, doughnuts and latte macchiato are the healthiest starts to a day but hey when in Italy.

I am not sure there are too many places in the world where you catch a waterbus to get to the train station. We left the lovely Hilton Molino Stucky by waterbus. It really does feel so decadent standing on the bus as it floats along the Venetian Grand Canal. It is the public bus, but oh feels so much grander. A few steps from the waterbus to the station and onto the fantastically comfortable Trenitalia train. The trip to Pisa was very easy across the lovely Italian fields. The quintessential pine trees, olive groves and vineyards out the window. Cousin Ken, you will need to find some Italian ancestry in my background as I just love being in Italy. It really feels like home. Every time I visit I have this mad desire to pack up, find a lovely Italian village, become a novelist and live here under the Tuscan sun.

A gorgeous sunny day in Venice walking the canals. I have come down with a really heavy cold (yuk) but the trip to the Farmacia has helped enormously. Not sure that you are supposed to take pseudoephedrine with red wine but I am in Italy. We had one of life’s truly memorable dinners tonight at the lovely Riviera restaurant on the water across from our hotel. The owner Mr Cremonini, an exceptionally cool, cravat wearing older man with fantastic red glasses and a chopstick artfully through his stylish pony tail greeted us like we were family. We thoroughly enjoyed the exquisite pasta and the best tiramisu that I have ever eaten. I am so pleased that I took a little time to find out where to eat as it really lived up to its reputation as one of Venice’s finest restaurants. The service was fantastic, the beautiful wine chosen by our waiter a highlight – it really was sublime and was a reminder of how very lucky and privileged we are. Added to the small list of truly wonderful dining experiences.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g187870-d1087350-Reviews-Riviera-Venice_Veneto.html

Oh Venetia. After a misty walk across the tarmac in Paris, and a flight across the snow covered Alps we arrived at Marco Polo to more spectacular sunshine. Our water taxi to the very beautiful Hilton Molino Stucky, past speed boat George Clooney look alikes was an amazing way to arrive. A very quick five minute water taxi to Saint Marco and then a wander along the very gorgeous Venetian narrow lanes. Dinner was beautiful and after filling ourselves with so much pasta we had to walk for miles around the lovely neighborhoods. Another water taxi home, hot chocolate that you could stand a spoon in, and for me a lovely bathtub full of bubbles.

Our stay in Paris was lovely. In the daytime the sun was shining and in the evening the lights in the trees along the Champs Elysee meant that Paris twinkled. Of course, we walked miles and miles. The Hotel WO was tiny but very comfortable. We were located just off Rue Du Roma quite close to the Saint Lazare railway station. The walk to Boulevard Haussmann and the Galleries Lafayette was only a few minutes and it took about half an hour to walk to Musee Du Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. 2015 was welcomed with thousands of people watching a light show off the Arc De Triomphe and then fantastic fireworks. The girls were funny – exceptionally excited taking selfies in front of Mona. The Eiffel tower was so crowded. I far preferred the lovely view from the rooftop of Paris’s most elegant department store. Well to walk miles and miles ordinarily should make one fitter – I am not sure though whether the rather large mille feuille cancels out the exercise – surely not? 

In the home of James the 5^th they were setting up the millions of fireworks that would signal Hogmanay. It really was so damn bleak amongst the cold Scottish stone, the wind and cobblestones of Stirling castle. Our Scottish guide regaled us with stories of Mary Queen of Scots; Queen at 6 days old. The stories of regents, murdered husbands, married cousins, imprisonment at Loch Leven, abdications for one year old sons, and execution by one’s loving cousin was made all the more colourful by the winds and the darkness of a good Scottish winter.

Lang may yer lum reek!

http://www.grogandgruel.co.uk 

We arrived back into Fort William in the deepest dark and headed for the dubiously named Grog and Gruel. The great food at Huntingtower Lodge made us think that Chris’s recommendation should be OK. The cobbled streets of Fort William led us to the old pub. Upstairs there were lots of kids and heaps of noise from what seemed like locals so we thought our recommendation might be OK. In the tradition of cream with scotch I took the recommendation of the Scotsman behind the bar who told me that my cider should have the addition of a wee dram. I was slightly skeptical but it was fantastic. I think my cider in future will have the addition of a good slug of whisky although I did wonder about the alcohol content as I staggered down the stairs. The food was so good but the real highlight, my newly found favourite, curly chips washed down with a great Highland modified cider!

After a lovely breakfast in the gorgeous B&B owned by Chris and Jackie we headed the passat toward Skye. It was only just getting light at 9am as we drove toward Kyle of Locharsh and the Skye bridge. We stopped at the lovely Eilean Donan castle that looked very beautiful in the mist and justified its use as the quintessential Scottish castle on every box of shortbread.

Of course Scott was complaining about my driving so he took over as we headed to the Isle of the mist.

With the heirs to the lands of Dunvegan on board, we of course had to visit their ancestral home. Scott donned the clan tartan wrapped tightly around his neck as we drove across the top of the world. Whilst the Island might be named Skye, the sky does indeed feel very close and climbing on the tiny narrow roads up the side of wet and misty massive mountains made one feel very pleased to have solid german engineering beneath the bonnet. The millions of woolly sheep that are such a feature of the Hebridean island were obviously rugged up somewhere warm as very few hardy souls were out on the windswept hills. We stopped for a very welcome Scottish hot chocolate and cranberry scones and cream, all infused with warming good Scotch. I don’t think scones will ever taste the same again unless I tip a good dram of Whisky in as I whip the cream.

It was lovely to return to beautiful Huntingtower Lodge on the shores of Loch Linhe. We had great plans to head out to dinner but the dementor’s had destroyed our appetites and after a lovely pot of tea and gingerbread we fell into our beds. I have no idea how I would manage to live in the UK at this time of year. I would get nothing done, as by 6pm it feels like midnight cause it is so damn dark. By 7pm you fall into a cold and dark induced slumber. The fact that it doesn’t get light until 8.30am makes one feel slightly like a bear with plans to simply hibernate with a good book for the entire winter. The only problem is though that the good intentions of reading are destroyed the minute I pull the snuggly doona up and pass out in about 2 minutes flat.