Suburban Lush

Christmas in Paris

I went to a bilingual school until we moved to New Zealand. We didn't live in a part of Canada where they spoke French, but my parents chose to send Wombat and I to a school where the majority of classes were taught in French. After moving to New Zealand I still took French classes at school, but didn't do particularly well. The approach to French at my Canadian school was that you when you speak in French you should be thinking in French, whereas in New Zealand we were expected to translate everything. What I'm trying to say is I haven't really spoken French since I was 11. I was curious to see how I would get on in Paris and was delighted when it all came flooding back. My sentence structure was no doubt flawed, but when I spoke French to Parisians they understood me, and spoke French back to me, and I understood them. I was pretty excited about this over Christmas, and was amused to find how my brain worked with the languages. I'm still terrible at translating everything (poor John!) and at the hotel and the airport, when asked (in French) if I would like to speak French I couldn't help but respond in French that, no, I would prefer English. Apparently my brain just couldn't make the switch fast enough.

Of course, language wasn't the best thing about my trip, not by far, but it challenging and it was fun.

We arrived in Paris late on Christmas Eve and made our way straight to our hotel through the rain. We'd decided to stay at Hotel Ibis near the Eiffel Tower, in the area that my parents had stayed in on their last visit to Paris, and on their recommendation (although they had recommended a different hotel which turned out to be above our budget). It was ideally located: a short walk from the Eiffel Tower, less than 2 minutes from the nearest Metro station, in an area with plenty of restaurants. Our first night we dined near the hotel, as we arrived late and were less than inclined to walk long distances in the rain.

 Christmas day dawned and, after opening our gifts, we headed out for a long day of walking and some proper sight-seeing. We started off through the Parc du Champ de Mars to the Eiffel Tower, but didn't bother to go up as the day was slightly overcast and we had other things we wanted to see. Across the river Seine and to the Arc de Triomphe before heading down past the fancy stores along the Champs-Elysee and towards the Jardin des Tuileries and the Louvre. There were Christmas markets open along the Champs-Elysee and we checked them out and stopped at a stall for roasted chestnuts. Past the Louvre we headed past lovely old grand buildings and across Pont Neuf to the Ile de la Cite and Notre Dame.

Paris is so full of recognizable sights, and I kept pointing out buildings I knew. Notre Dame was as grand as I'd expected and, in the fading light of the afternoon, we sat in the courtyard to admire it. Then a long stroll back to the hotel through the Latin Quarter, Luxembourg Quarter, St Germain and Montparnasse.

Back in the hotel we changed for dinner and enjoyed some champagne before heading back to Montparnasse (on the Metro this time) for our Christmas dinner.

Boxing day and the day after were both a bit more leisurely. We took in Montmartre and Sacre Coeur, the painters and the Moulin Rouge, St Germain, Les Halles and The Marais. The Pompidou Centre and St Eustache. We also went up the Eifel Tower. While I didn't fall instantly in love with Paris the way I did with Berlin, the more time we spent there the more time the city grew on me. Particularly St Germain and the small side-streets around Montmartre. And the Saturday markets we looked at, which made me wish I had a place with a kitchen so that I could buy the lovely cuts of meat, breathtaking fresh vegetables, and exotic fruit. Everything was so French (I know, I shouldn't have been surprised), from the buildings to the markets, the people carrying baugettes and playing petanque in the park (I do love it when stereotypes are realised). And to our tiny hotel room, with the bathroom so small you had to exit it after your shower so that you would have enough room to dry off.

It was certainly a Christmas I will remember forever.

Goodbye 2009

Its hard to believe we've come to the end of 2009, and what a fantastic year (not to mention decade) it has been. I started 2009 in Berlin, and I've done so much since then: visited new countries, gotten to know my extended family better, eaten good food, fallen deeply in love with hiking, made many fantastic new friends, read some great books, seen some excellent films, explored Belfast and entertained visitors. However the three things that define 2009 for me are definitely travel, hiking and new friends. 

It has been a great year for travel, with trips to London, Sheffield, Italy & Switzerland, France and a couple of weekends away in Ireland. The most memorable? would have to be my trip to Italy & Switzerland with Colin and Christian. And I've been lucky enough to be able to explore Northern Ireland, both checking out Belfast and with day trips to surrounding towns and hills.

I feel some trepidation as 2010 approaches. It will be a big year full of changes, but it is very exciting, too. I'll be spending some time traveling on my own, I'll be moving back to New Zealand, and living on my own for the first time ever. I'll be turning 30, I'll be in a long-distance relationship, and most importantly of all (and the reason I'll be doing all of the above) I'll be a student again, challenging my brain, working on something I really love, forging my future and no doubt scamming free meals whenever possible!

And while I'm not making any resolutions there are a few things I would like to do in 2010. Take photography classes, use my camera more, and cultivate my creative side through photography. Keep hiking even though I don't have anyone to organise walks for me, and perhaps learn how to actually read a map, read a compass, and navigate for myself in the process. Eat more local produce, which should be easy enough with  access to orange trees, lemon trees, grapefruit trees, friends with laying chickens, family and friends with cows and sheep, and a weekly farmers market a short walk away from my house. And of course in 2010 I mostly want to be the very best person I can be.

I hope 2009 was all you wanted it to be, and that 2010 fulfills all your dreams.

A Little of Everything - Food, Drink, Parties & Paris

Hello! I have photos to show and stories to tell about Paris, but things have been go go go since we got back and I haven't managed even 10 seconds to plug my camera into my laptop so you will just have to wait. Don't believe me about the hectic-ness? Check it out:

We got home from the airport at around 12.30am on Sunday, and headed straight to bed. Monday morning I got up, made pancakes (yes, brunch is far more important than plugging in cameras) and a batch of cookies. I'd give you the recipe, but they are Christmas wreath cookies, so you'd have to wait for a year to make them and so teasing you with the recipe just feels mean. Once the cookies were done I managed a quick shower before shooting out the door to catch the bus (spectacular fail on that one) to my cousin's house for a family get together. I finally arrived, panting and breathless but at least carrying cookies, and she promptly started plying me with champagne. Not that I was complaining, mind you. All the family was there and we had a lovely afternoon eating and drinking. It was very nice. At 7.30 a friend picked me up and drove John and I out to a party, where I continued to drink bubbly and have a wonderful time. I'm not sure when we got home, but I think it was around 2am. Now, I'm one of those people who needs a lot of sleep (about 9-10 hours a night generally works) so getting up the next morning for work was painful. But it had to be done and I coped with the day, helped along by a sausage roll and two cans of coke. Straight after work I headed back to Alex's house for more drinks, this time with friends. I was a little more sensible though, and managed to get home, somewhat sober, around 12.30am. Today, its work again, then we're off to a birthday party tonight. And I'm pretty sure nobody will let me get out of celebrations on Thursday. I miss my couch.

So, how was your Christmas? Are you still full? I managed lots of walking and surprisingly far less eating then I usually manage in the season but, let me tell you, food we did eat was fantastic. Now, I know this is no life-changing revelation and everyone knows French food is good, but everything we ate was seriously amazing. Steak tartare for dinner on Christmas eve, croissants or pain chocolat for breakfast every day, mussels in a white wine garlic and gorgonzola sauce, roasted chestnuts from street vendors, croque monsieur. Mmmmm. Oh, and I discovered one of the best things in the world: walking along in the cold, you stop at a crepery. They cook your crepe as you are standing there, sprinkle it with sugar, and liberally douse it with Grand Marnier. I'm pretty sure there is no better way to warm up!We went out for dinner on Christmas day, and I had duck in a green peppercorn sauce, served with the creamiest sweet potato mash, perfectly seasoned. The green peppercorn sauce was pretty much browned butter and green peppercorns - divine - and John and I used bread to mop up every last drop of it. And of course, there was plenty of French champagne and red wine to wash it all down.

It's A Wonderful Life

The arthouse cinema in Belfast shows It's A Wonderful Life every year in the lead-up to Christmas, and a group of friends decided it would be a fun night out for the Monday before Christmas. They were all surprised when I told them that I'd never seen it, and they wanted to know what my traditional "Christmas movie" were.

Many people here have certain movies which they watch to get into the Christmas spirit - Scrooged, Elf etc. And I don't. I couldn't quite figure out why this was, and then it came to me. We moved to New Zealand when I was 11, and began celebrating Christmas in the summer. So there is no need (or desire) to sit curled up in a warm house watching films. Instead we go out - for walks, swims, BBQs - and enjoy the long warm evenings. Now, before I was 11 we did have cold snowy Christmases in Canada, but I grew up in a house without TV, so evenings were spent reading, watching the fire, or chatting. And of course, I was young enough that I went to bed pretty early. So that's it - no traditional Christmas movies for me.

I do, however have several Christmas traditions, and Christmas day is always a fixed routine. My mom always makes mince pies, and we have our first taste while putting up the Christmas tree. Raffi's Christmas record must be played before anyone is allowed to put on more "grown-up" Christmas music. My Dad and I secure the tree and put up the lights while Mom warms the mince pies and dusts them with icing sugar. Once the lights are up, the tree is decorated by all of us (and Wombat if she's there). In the lead-up to Christmas Mom and I always make gingerbread cookies, shaped like Christmas trees and decorated with green icing and smarties. And Christmas eve I go shopping with Dad to pick up present's for Mom's stocking. That evening we have salmon, often BBQ'd whole, and a letter is written and left for Santa under the tree, along with snacks.

Christmas morning we wake up early and the "kids" (ie Wombat and I) take the stockings from under the tree and into Mom and Dad's room. Sitting on Mom and Dad's bed we read the letter that Santa has written us in return, and open our stockings. Then its up for showers and breakfast - grapefruit to start, then kippers and toast, and for those who are still hungry there is always toast and marmalade. Because I don't like orange juice, my Dad and I start on the Black Velvets, a mix of champagne and Guinness despised by the rest of the family. Once breakfast has been eaten, dishes done, kitchen cleaned, and everyone showered and dressed, we open the presents. We sit around the tree, and presents are opened one person at a time, drinking and munching on cookies and mince pies as we coo over each gift. The person who opened the previous present then chooses the next present to be opened and so on. It takes a while. After presents there is usually swimming, and eventually its time for Christmas dinner: turkey with all the fixings, onion sauce, strawberry and asparagus salad, and mom traditionally forgets the ham, realising half way through the meal that it is still sitting in the fridge. For desert its pavlova and summer pudding - no heavy Christmas pud for us. Its never just family by this stage. We always have a few visitors for Christmas dinner, and my best friend Percy almost always arrives for a visit just as desert is being served. After the meal we relax, perhaps have another swim, and sit reading the books we've inevitably gotten as gifts.

This year, though, we are breaking with tradition. John and I are heading to Paris on Christmas eve. And so, I wish you all a Joyeux Noel.

Elephants

Anyone feel that there is an elephant in the room? Something I'm just not mentioning, and that I'm avoiding writing anything so that I don't have to mention it? Close family and friends know the truth, but for the rest of you, here goes . . .

I've applied to do an honour's year at Waikato university. While I finished my bachelors degree in 2000, I was always pretty sure I'd eventually go back to do a Master's degree and PhD. After some investigation this year, I discovered that in order to do a Master's degree in Canada (where I'd ideally like to study),  would have to do an honour's year in New Zealand.

What prompted the decision to go back to study this year? A mix of an unfulfilling job which is going nowhere, and a boyfriend of almost 7 years who still refuses to live without flatmates. Yes, perhaps I am finally growing up.

So, applications were filled in and sent off, and last week I heard the news that I've been accepted. John and I had previously talked about the possibility of me heading back to New Zealand for a year. He has just started a fantastic job here, getting experience he couldn't possibly get in New Zealand, so he made the decision to stay in Belfast.

Its a hard choice for me. While I know that this is the right thing in the long run, I'm less enthusiastic about moving back to New Zealand. Yes, it will be fantastic to see friends and family, but in some ways it feels like a backwards step. But I keep telling myself this: its a backwards shuffle before a big leap forwards. And for those of you thinking "but living in New Zealand would be so cool" remember that for me its simply going back home, not somewhere new and exciting.

I've yet to actually commit to my course of action and buy a plane ticket, but its only a matter of time. All sorts of nervous thoughts of self-doubt are running through my head - is this a big mistake? Am a smart enough to go back to University? Am I ruining a good relationship? What if I do my Master's and PhD and still end up with no clear idea of what I would like to do with my life? What if I fail? What if I end up alone for ever (eaten by cats when I die, my body only discovered weeks later when the neighbours complain about the odd smell)??? I know deep down that I'm overreacting. That if I put my head down and study hard I will definitely pass. That this is the right choice, even if it is a difficult one. That my friends would probably notice that I was missing before my corpse started to smell so badly that the neighbours noticed. But still, here I am, anxious and anxty, trying to make the big decisions.

Its not all doom and gloom though. It is exciting as well. The idea that I will be putting my life on the correct path for the future. That I will be working on something that I'm truly interested in and passionate about. That I will get to hang out with my parents, my New Zealand friends, and finally meet my nephew. And it helps that several friends from Northern Ireland are planning their 2010 trips to New Zealand.

Delayed Reaction

I haven't written anything about what I've been up to the last couple of weekends. Which is ridiculous, because I've done plenty of post-worthy things.

The weekend before last, our friend Andrew from New Zealand was over to visit, which was lovely. Part of a longer trip he could only visit us for the weekend, so we had to pack plenty of sightseeing into two days. Fortunately he arrived on Friday afternoon, so we managed to take him to a couple of pubs on Friday night. As far as I'm concerned no trip to Belfast is complete without visiting The Crown, a beautiful heritage building, and Kelly's Cellars, Belfast's oldest pub and an old IRA hangout.

Saturday morning we headed to the markets for a quick bite to eat before catching the train to Londonderry/Derry for the day. I won't even try to explain the history of Derry, but it is an interesting city which still gives the impression that Northern Ireland is an occupied territory. This is a place where sectarian attacks still happen on a fairly regular basis, and where Protestant and Catholic communities show their allegiance with pride.

Derry is a walled city, and we walked along the top of the walls before checking out Bogside, the Bloody Sunday memorial and the Free Derry Corner. Fortunately it was a lovely sunny day, so no raincoats were needed. And Andrew got chatting to a guy who wanted to practice his Maori!

Saturday night was quiet as we had plans to go hiking on Sunday. We had high hopes for the weather as Saturday had been so lovely, but unfortunately Northern Ireland reverted to its true colours for Sunday. Low fog which never lifted, misly rain, and a cold wind. Fortunately we are hardy souls not to be put off by the weather, so we headed off to climb Slieve Gullion.

All too soon it was Monday and Andrew headed off to Dublin, his brief visit to Northern Ireland over.

Fermanagh

I'm still recovering from the weekend, and its slow going. A bunch of us from my hiking group went down to County Fermanagh for a weekend of drinking and hiking.

We car-pooled down on Friday night. With the best intentions to leave almost straight after work we ended up getting delayed for various reasons and didn't leave Belfast until 8 pm. After stopping for dinner at Francos in Enniskillen (I highly recommend their moussaka, and their pizzas looked good too)  it was close to midnight by the time we finally arrived at our destination.

We'd booked into 4 holiday cottages just outside Belcoo, and because it was so late we behaved ourselves and went almost straight to bed in preparation for our hike the next day. Andrew, our fearless leader, had been down to Fermanagh to check out the walk a few weeks before, and here is his stirring report, provided to us before the walk:

This is a 13 mile route (21km) – easy on the paths to start, a short sharp climb up and down, but hard going across the bog after. This route took me 7 hrs last weekend.

Did I mention the bog – there is some mud, some water, some ponds and more mud …. Gaiters are highly recommended, I’d say a necessity. (Wellies, waders and a snorkel might not be required..) .. and I walked on a dry day after a few dry days!

If there is no breeze there are loads of midgies! Be prepared.

I mean really, if that doesn't make you want to curl up and go back to bed on a Saturday morning I don't know what does! But we are hardy walkers, so off we went, knowing that it would probably take us significantly more than 7 hours because Andrew is pretty fit and walking on your own is always faster than with a big group.

The walk started off along a lovely river-side trail, before breaking off and heading up-hill along a road towards Cuilcagh, our mountain for the day. Once we got past the end of the road the going was tough. Matting had been put down along the way so that you didn't sink into the bog, but the matting was slippery and so there was much sliding, with the occasional serious fall. It takes an unusual amount of effort to climb vertical bog, particularly when it is green and slimy in places. Cuilcagh is steep, and it was hard work getting to the top. I suggest you check out wikipedia if you want to know what the views are like from the top. What we saw? Was this:

Misty pea-soup, really.

We stopped at the top only long enough to take a photo, and then headed along the ridge, and down an incredibly steep slope. Some people opted to slide down the slope on their butts to avoid falling, and this might have been the best plan. The rest of us tentatively walked down, slipping occasionally. The hill was steep enough that when you slipped it was almost impossible to stop, and the people below you were in danger of being collected as you slid down.

Near the bottom we stopped for a well-deserved lunch, offering around treats and sharing hot-drinks with those who had forgotten theirs.

After lunch we re-entered the bog. To be honest, it wasn't that boggy at this point. At least not as wet as the vertical bog up the side of Cuilcagh had been. The weather had been dry for the previous week, and we were well equipped with gaiters. Even so, walking through bog is hard work - kind of like being on a stair-master for hours on end. But there was enough of a breeze to keep the midges away, and the cloud lifted to allow us views out across the golden grass.

The afternoon was long, and the entire walk took 8 hours. Once we got back on the road our spirits lifted as we believed we were entering the final stages of the walk, only to be told by Andrew that we had another 6 kilometers, and more bog, to go. By the end of the walk we were all pretty tired, but it had been worthwhile - lovely views, good exercise, fresh air, and no rain, which is always something to be thankful for when hiking in Northern Ireland.

Back at our cabins, exhausted but happy, we showered and prepared our BBQ dinner. Burgers, sausages, steaks, pork chops, with the odd vege-kebab thrown in for good measure. And of course plenty of booze. Our energy levels picked up with the food and alcohol, and we ended dancing the night away, despite having already walked for 8 hours. I rolled into bed at about 2 am, completely shattered.

Sunday was far more civilized. Most of the group had opted to do "water activities" in the morning, while four of us had chosen to go for a short walk. We drove out to the supposed start of the walk but, after a few confused miles, couldn't figure out where the trail started. In the end, we drove up the top of a mountain, where we were the only people apart from a woman and her son who arrived just after us. We admired the view lovely view across to Cuilcagh and made our plan for the rest of the day. We decided that, instead of walking, we would explore the town of Enniskillen as none of us had ever spent time there before. We were all in our walking gear, so did a quick change. Suddenly it dawned on us: the woman and her son who were also up the hill had seen four people arrive by car, have a quick look, change, and then get back in their cars and drive off. We had to giggle at the absurdity of it.

Enniskillen is a lovely island town, and we walked along the river and up the main street before settling in to a cafe for coffee, and both the boys indulged in hot fudge sundaes. We met the others for lunch in Cafe Merlot (divine fish pie and chips) and tried to convince them that we'd "been to the top of a mountain" but they saw through our deception and correctly guessed that we'd driven to the top.

It was a great weekend, and my first time in County Fermanagh, but I think my legs are still recovering.

Local Tourists

Our friend Susan from New Zealand is on a big trip at the moment (lucky girl) and came to visit us for the weekend, arriving on Friday afternoon and leaving on Monday. It was lovely to catch up, and we had fun showing her the sights.

I left work early on Friday afternoon and met her off the airport bus. That night we went out for some traditional Belfast pub culture: dinner at The Crown Drinking Saloon (I highly recommend their steak & Guinness pie!) and a few pints at a couple of old pubs - Kelly's Cellars (an old IRA hangout) and The Garrick, where we met up with a few friends. We'd planned a party for Saturday night so Friday was just supposed to consist of a couple quiet drinks, but we didn't end up getting home until 3am.

Saturday we checked out the St George's Markets (one of my favourite thing to do on a Saturday morning in Belfast), and the Pride Parade which, while not a typical Belfast experience, was very fun. It was very nice for John and I to see the parade. When we first arrived in Belfast we had an experience on a bus where a gay couple sat down near an older man and the older man got up and moved to the other end of the bus, as far away from the couple as possible. As a result I tend to joke about Belfast being "the least tolerant city in the world", but the Pride parade showed that people are working on being a bit more accepting.

We partied on Saturday night and consumed far too much alcohol (Jagerbombs were probably not a good choice) so Sunday morning was a bit subdued. However we rallied on Sunday afternoon and headed out on a bus tour which was interesting and informative, and also didn't require any effort on our part!

It was a good weekend, and a nice excuse for us to head out and do the touristy things in Belfast that we hadn't gotten around to doing yet.

"Orangefest"

The 12th of July weekend is a four day weekend here in Northern Ireland. It is an annual protestant celebration, commemorating the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. For weeks in advance Union Jack flags are raised, crates are piled up for bonfires, and drummers practice on the streets, but the main action starts on the 11th night, when huge bonfires are lit. The itself 12th consists of parades, drumming and marching. During "The Troubles" this was a weekend of huge conflict and, even now, many residents leave Northern Ireland for the weekend as resentment flares up and fights start.

This year the tourist board started marketing the 12th as "Orangefest", a show of cultural diversity. While many people still left Belfast, we were unexpectedly there as all our plans had fallen through (insert rant about various peoples' unreliability here!). The centre of town was quiet on the 11th night and my friend Zoe and I headed out for an informal pub crawl of Belfast's historic pubs. It was quite a good night to be out, as we didn't have to wait in line for drinks and got a seat in every pub we visited, and the atmosphere was friendly.

Because the 12th was a Sunday parades were held on the 13th, and John, Zoe and I decided to head out for a look. Of course we stopped at a couple of pubs first, because what is a celebration in Northern Ireland without a couple of pints of Guinness? And then we joined the masses to watch the parade in the rain before getting so bored and wet that we needed to desperately seek a pub for another recovery pint. Unfortunately it appeared that all pubs were shut while the parade was on, but after much searching we found one - Kelly's Cellar, a staunchly Irish pub, rumoured to be an IRA meeting place, was apparently the only pub open in Belfast.

And yes, there were some riots, but all in all it was a pretty quiet weekend for Belfast.

Italy & Switzerland - Part 2

Its not often that one experiences a temperature drop of almost 30 degrees in the space of a few hours. The road between Menaggio and St Moritz is full of hairpin bends and an elevation gain of 1600 meters, which means we left 30 degree weather for temperatures close to freezing.

We arrived at St Moritz close to 7pm, found our hostel and showered. The hostel provided half board, so we had dinner there before heading out to explore the town. While St Moritz is a bustling ski resort in the winter, it was very quiet on a Monday night in June. We found a couple of bars but neither were very busy, and the most exciting sign of life we saw was a mouse running through the bar as we were sipping our pints.

The next morning dawned fairly clear. After breakfast, we stopped at the supermarket before catching a bus to the cable car. We took the cable car up to the first stop to start our walk for the day. The original plan had been to walk from the cable car up to Fuorcla Surlej (a mountain hut at 2755m) and work our way back down the valley. Unfortunately snow covered the path, and Colin wasn't too keen on the idea of walking on snow. We put our heads together and came up with a plan: Christian and I would walk up to Fuorcla Surlej and return the way we came. In the meantime, Colin would settle himself in the cafe at the cable car station and wait for us. We would then have  lunch and walk down the mountain back to St Moritz together.

Christian and I headed off, following the footsteps of those who had gone before and occasionally sinking deep into the snow. It was tough work, but we reached the hut after about 40 minutes. We had been hoping for views across the valley to Piz Bernina, but cloud was coming in quickly obscuring our view. We had a quick photo and chocolate break (the hut was closed, so no coffee and cake for us) before returning to pick up Colin. As we headed back, the snow began to fall, and we spent some time fooling around sliding down slopes - mostly on our feet but occasionally on our backsides. We reached the cable car station and found Colin warm and well-caffeinated.

We had our sandwiches and all three of us headed off down the mountain. There was not much snow on the ground for the descent, but it was snowing on and off until we reached lower altitudes. The walk was lovely, and a nice break from the hard slog we'd done the day before at Monte Grona. At first we were above the tree line on stony ground and spotted some marmots before we dipped down below the treeline. As usual we eventually came across a refuge where we stopped for coffee, cake (for the boys) and apple strudel (for me) before continuing on our way. The walk brought us right back to the hostel and we were back in time for dinner.

Having decided that we'd had all the fun that could be had in St Moritz the night before, we decided to head to the nearby town of Pontresina. Pontresina was a lovely town which felt much more "real" than St Moritz. St Moritz had been full of YSL and Gucci shops, while Pontresina sported a number of good looking climbing/hiking gear shops. The place was livelier too, and we settled down in comfy armchairs in a nice pub for a couple of pints.

After two nights in St Moritz we'd felt we'd had enough, and the next morning all three of us were happy to be back in the car and heading South to the warmer climes of Locarno, the southernmost town in Switzerland. Located on the Northern tip of Lake Maggiore, Locarno is Italian speaking, very Italian feeling, with a warm climate. No more Swiss food, we were back on to pizza and pasta in the sunshine. We'd booked into a bed and breakfast just off the lovely main square. When we went to check in it turned out that the owners were away and had left the keys with the proprietor of the restaurant next door. Unfortunately it appeared that they had forgotten about our booking and hadn't told him about us, but after a few extended telephone calls we managed to get it sorted out. We dropped our bags in our room and went out to explore the town/go for a run. I bet you can guess which of the two I did!

We caught the funicular railway up to the sanctuary of the Madonna del Sasso and the boys headed off running. Being far more sensible, I walked along with my camera, making my way back to the lake and the central piazza for a gelato. We decided to splurge for dinner and went out to a lovely restaurant specialising in seafood. I had a divine gazpacho to start, and linguini di frutti di mare which was full of mussels, clams, squid and fish and served with a simple  garlic, parsley and white wine sauce. After dinner we took a stroll to the lake shore before enjoying a limoncello at an outdoor cafe.

The next day we had a fair amount of driving to do. But first of all we took some time to do some shopping in Locarno, checking out the market which had sprung up in the piazza, before hopping in the car and heading to Zermatt through the Simplon Pass.

Zermatt is a car-free town, and so we parked in Tasch and got the train in. Zermatt is a picture post-card of a town situated in a long valley at the Northern base of the Matterhorn. We'd rented an apartment for a couple of nights, and our balcony looked out across the town and to the Matterhorn. Enjoying having a little space to ourselves after staying in hostels and bed and breakfasts we picked up a bottle of wine in town to drink on the balcony before heading out for dinner. Seeing as we were in Switzerland we decided to go out for a local desh - cheese fondue. After an evening dipping hunks of bread into a boiling pot of cheese and wine, washed down with more wine, we strolled (or staggered) back to the apartment.

The next morning dawned overcast but not rainy. We'd spent some time the night before planning our walk for the day - a mammoth 22 km trek. We headed straight out from the apartment after breakfast, making our way up to the Eidelweiss hut, where we stopped for a drink. We pushed onwards and upwards to the Hotel Trift. It was a hard slog, almost straight uphill for close to three hours. At Hotel Trift we turned to ascend some more across rocky fields past flocks of Valais sheep.

We crossed the Hohbalmen Traverse, a long narrow track through the fields with a steep drop-off down one side. The path eventually dropped back down to the riverbed, and we followed the river back down the valley, stopping in Zmutt for a coffee. It began to rain just as we left Zmutt, our first rain for the trip, and we hurried back to Zermatt.

That evening we went out for dinner at a lovely homely restaurant - the kind where they offer you second helpings. The boys had soup to start, but I opted for a "country patter" consisting of cold smoked meats, pickles and cheese. For a main Colin and Christian both had venison, and I had a veal bratwurst served with potato gratin and spinach and washed it down with a delicious French red. We shared a toblerone mousse for desert (and I had a hot chocolate) before we headed back to the apartment, exhausted, full and truly content.

The next morning was spent shopping in Zermatt before we started our trip back through the Simplon Pass towards Milan airport.

We had a couple of hours to spare so we stopped at our third (and final) Italian lake: Lake Orta.

We stopped in Orta San Giulio, a lakeshore town popular with Italian tourists. The main piazza is right on the shore, with beautiful views of the lake's islands. Unfortunately we didn't have time to take a boat trip out to the islands, but we did have time for a gelato before heading on to the airport and back to Belfast.