Food in North Korea

There is not much point in reviewing individual restaurants in North Korea, as visitors have no opportunity to go out and try a restaurant of their own choice.  Tours are fully escorted, and visitors will be taken to a specific restaurant for a set meal.

Royal Banquet

Although is relatively little choice over the food provided, most meals take the form of a variety of small dishes, so you can to some extent choose what you actually eat, and it was generally very tasty. The selection generally includes some form of soup, vegetables, fish, meat, hard-boiled eggs or omelette, as well as the ubiquitous kimchi (spicy pickled cabbage.)  Meals like this were provided at both lunch and dinner, which is rather more than I would usually eat in a day. In Kaesong we had a rather more elaborate version of the set meal, described as a royal banquet. 

The only actual menu choice we had was ‘rice or noodle’ for the filler provided at the end of the meal.  The noodles were Pyongyang cold noodles – a large bowl containing a tight knot of pre-cooked buckwheat noodles in cold water, with a garnish of a slice of meat and hard boiled egg.  You go in with your chopsticks and tease the noodles apart, adding spicy sauce to taste.  We tried these on our first night, but preferred the rice, which comes studded with small cubes of meat and vegetables. After we had both chosen rice at two successive meals, we were not offered noodles again.

A couple of times we ate in the KITC restaurant in Pyongyang  where the selection of dishes included cooked sausage and strips of potato in a batter, meaning that it was technically possible to have North Korean version of the great British ‘sausage, egg and chips.’  

Variations on the standard set meal are barbecue, where you cook your own slices of meat (pork, beef and octopus or squid) on a hotplate over a brazier, and hotpot, where you boil sliced meat, vegetables and egg in a pot at the table.  We had barbecue on our first night and a special duck barbecue on our last night. We also had hotpot on one occasion, and on New Year’s Eve, as a special treat, we had a small pizza alongside the other dishes.

I felt guilty that we were fed so much better than the average North Korean.

Doha: a city under siege?

View of West Bay, Doha

The local newspaper gives a count of the number of days the ‘siege’ has lasted, but in truth Doha does not feel like a city under siege. It is far more of a city under construction. Everywhere are building sites, and the road layout can change overnight.

The so-called ‘siege’ began during Ramadan, when Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Egypt cut off diplomatic relations and imposed trade and travel bans, citing allegations of support for terrorism.  Qatar now imports vegetables from Iran and dairy products from Turkey. But aside from the supermarket translations from Turkish, the only noticeable signs of the siege, or more properly, blockade, are the images of the Emir which are now sported on buildings and in car windows.

Museum of Islamic Art, Doha

Meanwhile, the building work continues.  There are stadiums to be built in readiness for the 2022 World Cup, and the futuristic National Museum of Qatar is taking shape. 

For now, visitors can enjoy the new Museum of Islamic Art: a shining white fortress on an artificial island by the old harbour. The galleries are ranged on three sides round a central atrium, with windows on the fourth side giving views of the skyscrapers in the West Bay area.  There are two floors of permanent exhibitions. On floor two, the galleries are organised thematically: introduction; the Figure in Art, Calligraphy, Patterns in Art and Science in Art. There are some beautiful items, carefully displayed, and it helps to pace yourself, so we paid a visit to the ground floor café before tackling the third floor galleries.  There is  ample seating and plenty of opportunities to enjoy the view. Back on the third floor, exhibits are  grouped chronologically and geographically:  Early Islamic Art (pre 12^th century); Iran and  Central Asia (12^th -14^th centuries); Egypt and Syria (12^th-14^th centuries); Egypt and Syria (14^th and 15^th centuries); Iran and Central Asia (15^th -16^th centuries); Iran (16^th-19^th century); India and Turkey (16^th -19^th century.)

The exhibits are fascinating, but overall there is little sense of provenance. Unlike most museums where items from particular sites are grouped together, many are not even identified as from a particular country, let along region or city. The overall sense is one of a ‘greatest hits’ album.

Courtyard of Radwani House

If you can bear to walk along the Corniche in the heat past the dhow harbour to the Pearl Monument, and cross the road (no easy feat – it can take 20 minutes for the lights to change) you can reach Souq Waqif, a restored traditional market and popular place for tourists to buy souvenirs. There are also restaurants and cafes to suit all tastes.

Beyond the Souq is the Msheireb District. This was one of the earliest parts of the city to be developed, with the first bank, the first pharmacy and the first hotel. The area declined as the rest of the city developed but it is now being redeveloped on environmentally friendly lines with pedestrian friendly streets and cycleways. Four of the traditional houses have been restored to form the Msheireb Museums.

Each house has a different theme, but the displays are very modern and interactive.

The Bin Jelmood House tells the history of slavery from the ancient world to modern slavery.

Company House was once the headquarters of Qatar’s first oil company. Initially Qatar’s main export industry was pearl fishing. Fortunately the decline in fortunes brought about by the introduction of cultured pearls was soon followed by the discovery of oil. The displays and a short film tell the story of the oil company and its workers.

Mohammed Bin Jassim House tells the history of Doha and the Msheireb district in particular, including visions for the future.

Where Company House and Mohammed Bin Jassim House give a corporate and public view of Qatari life, Radwani House takes a more personal approach, providing an insight into the transformation of domestic family life.

Together, the houses provide a much needed local counterpoint to the pan-Islamic collections on the Museum of Islamic Art.  I would love to return when the National Museum finally opens.

Travelling Slowly

Turville, Buckinghamshire

Together with my husband (the Womble/Wombat fan) I have been commissioned to write a Slow Guide to the Chilterns and Thames Valley for Bradt and am busy with researching that.

As we live more or less in the middle of the Chilterns, nowhere in the guide is more than an hour or so away from home, but it's surprising how much we are discovering.  Buckingham is my new favourite place.

We have a separate blog for this project - take a look at it here.

Madame Cholet

One of the advantages of the Womble project we undertook a few years ago was that it took  us to some parts of the world we might otherwise never have visited.  Cholet is a case in point.

Cholet is a fairly small town in western France, whose two main claims to fame are as the scene of a battle during the Vendee revolt of 1793 and as former centre for the manufacture of textiles, and handkerchiefs in particular. Whilst handkerchief production is no longer carried out on a commercial basis, the town’s heritage is celebrated in the Textile Museum, which is located in a former canvas bleaching factory (built in 1881). There are rooms dealing with the various stages of textile production: spinning, bleaching, weaving etc. and information about the Cholet handkerchief industry. The museum has revived handkerchief production in Cholet, and I understand that visitors can watch this taking place but the machines were not operating when we visited. The surrounding grounds are now a garden containing plants connected to the textile industry, such as flax, and marigolds which were used for for dyes.

One of the most striking things about Cholet was the quality of the floral displays. The flower beds outside the Hotel de Ville were quite spectacular. There are also attractive gardens, such as the Jardin du Mail, and lots of hanging baskets. We even saw a vending machine for bouquets.

As we were visiting in honour of Mme Cholet, we took a taxi from our hotel in Cholet to the nearby Ribou lake for the ‘festival of regional deliciousness’. The lake is actually a reservoir providing drinking water for the area so there are restrictions on activity in the area. By the lakeside are a hotel, a restaurant, a campsite, sailing club and tennis club.

The ‘festival of regional deliciousness’ was a sort of cross between a village fete and agricultural show. Despite an advertised start of 10.00 a.m. it was slow to get going. There were a few stalls with local produce (ice-cream; ostrich products from rillettes to painted eggs; cured sausage; caramels); some livestock including rabbits, ducks, geese, goats, pigs and a calf (no sheep); a stage with an extremely sophisticated sound system; and a pig roast (no less than 6 pigs on two spits). The pig roast meal cost €6.50 for which you got a plastic tray and helped yourself to green salad, white beans, coleslaw, pork, bread and yoghurt. We took one look and made for the lakeside restaurant where we had a delicious meal for €16.90 per head.

Returning to the event, we found that things had livened up. On stage a singer had given way to Cholet’s equivalent of Bruce Forsyth, who was circulating in the crowd with a low-rent version of ‘Play Your Cards Right’. If you correctly guessed either the colour of the next card or whether it was higher or lower you could win a rather cheap-looking card table mat.

Meanwhile, a patient donkey was being led around by a sadist with a bunch of carrots in his other hand. Affixed to the donkey’s back was a notice saying ‘My name is Katy2. Guess my weight and win’. It wasn’t clear whether you won Katy2 herself or one of the dodgy looking card mats (or even the leftover pig). We decided not to enter as Katy2 would certainly not have fitted in our ‘one item of hand baggage only’ with EasyJet.

Brush Up Your Shakespeare!

My current hobby (other than travel) is to see each of Shakespeare's plays performed, as the RSC is currently in a cycle of presenting them all. We live about an hour and a half drive away, so it makes a pleasant weekend outing to drive up on Saturday afternoon, book into a hotel, have something to eat and see the show.  

Royal Shakespeare Theatre

As an attractive and historic town I suppose that Stratford-upon-Avon would attract visitors even if it weren't for its literary connections, but the Shakespeare connection is certainly well to the fore. Even a local secondhand bookshop boasts a shelf of Shakespeare's works under the label 'local author'.

As it is a popular spot for tourists, Stratford, like Bath, York and Windsor, to name but three, has many tea rooms and gift shops aimed at the tourist market. Street entertainers are in evidence even in January. Despite that, it's definitely well worth visiting, but if you are from overseas, please don't be fooled into thinking it is typical of an English market town.

Obvious things to see whilst in Stratford include the various Shakespeare houses, but If all the Shakespearean culture gets too much, you can sit by the river and talk to the ducks, or take a boat ride. If you want to feed the ducks, you can buy duck food at the Tourist Information Centre for £1 - it's much better for the ducks than stale bread. 

If you are there on a Sunday during the summer, you may also have the opportunity to meet some owls at the Waterside Market.

For something completely different, try the MAD Museum. No, despite the name, this is not a museum about insanity. 'MAD' stands for 'Mechanical Art and Design.' The Museum was launched in 2012. Its website describes it as a showcase for 'the world’s finest pieces of Kinetic Art and Automata belonging to pioneering artists from all four corners of the globe.' That sounds rather highbrow, but the museum is actually a place full of strange gadgets and gizmos that move, light up, emit strange noises and are generally great fun to interact with. If Wallace from Wallace and Gromit were to design a museum, this would be it. One of the exhibits even uses kitchen utensils to transport small balls around. 'Garden Bear', a piece by Theo Kaccoufa, is made from steel rods and wire, brass, recycled tin cans, recycled card, nuts and bolts, MDF and an electric motor.

Visitors are able to interact with the exhibits by pressing buttons, turning handles (or even clapping), and although some of the pieces are serious works of art, it's a great place to take children who may be less enthralled with Stratford's literary connections.

Be aware though, that one or two of the exhibits are a bit creepy: there's a magician automaton doing a 'cup and ball' trick, which can be a little unnerving, and the 'Dartmoor Pony of the Apocalypse' is nightmarish.

But don't forget to go to the theatre! The experience of seeing an RSC production should not be missed. Tickets need not be all that expensive, particularly if you don't mind 'restricted view' (which means that you may not have a good view of part of the stage, but will quite possibly have a very good view of some of the action), or preview tickets. RSC tickets are much better value than London's West End.

For our weekend jaunts I’m a big fan of the Premier Inn. No frills, but the rooms are spacious and well-designed. The central one is closest the RSC. It has no on-site parking, but there is a large public multi-story a short walk away.  The Waterways branch is a longer walk through the town to the theatre, but has a pleasant setting by the canal, and on site (paid) parking, if you are lucky.  Slightly farther out, the Travelodge has reliable free parking and is close to an out of town  shopping complex, but is still within a 20-25 minute walk of the RSC. Sometimes I try other hotels.  Out of town, the New Inn at Clifford Chambers is good value.  For something slightly more upmarket, the MacDonald Swan’s Nest is just a short walk across the bridge from the RSC.

For pre-theatre dining, we like the Rooftop Restaurant at the RSC itself, or one of the numerous restaurants in nearby Sheep Street.  You really need to book for pre-theatre on a Saturday night, but if you have forgotten, Thespians (an Indian Restaurant) may be able to fit you in.  

(Not) Smarter than the Average...

Varenna

I wrote a while ago about how my favourite travel site, Virtual Tourist was being closed by its owners, Trip Advisor.  The email to members of that site notifying us of the closure, stated that "you’ll still be able to find all the great destination information we’ve amassed over the years plus much, much more atwww.SmarterTravel.com."

 Smarter Travel is a site which includes articles (a lot of which are fairly banal lists) from named writers and other content which is attributed to "Virtual Tourist."  The latter are accompanied by an editor's note which states that "the information contained on this page was compiled using real traveler reviews about London." It looks as though the compilation was done by a computer or an intern with no travel experience and little sense, as the said reviews have been severely mangled in the process.

Information on Things to To in London contains this gem:"Buckingham Palace is a grand place to visit with over 700 womens, 19 of which are open to the public." 

Others are so generic as to be useless, such as this "advice" on car parking in Varenna, Italy: "When you go to park in Varenna, it is imperative that you be aware of the parking that you will come across. While some parking areas are very inexpensive to park at, there are some that are fairly costly. You will want to check around with the locals to determine the cheapest places to park." Er, that could apply almost anywhere.

OK, so not all advice on Virtual Tourist was  up to date or great quality, but it was pretty easy to look up a destination and find good pages.  Smarter Travel has reduced that to a lowest common denominator of meaningless drivel. Sad! 

Just Like Norfolk (Almost)

This is an account of a visit to the Orinoco Delta in 2009 as part of our 'Womble Project'. It was not our usual sort of trip, but some of it was surprisingly familiar...

Orinoco Delta Lodge

We waited nervously on the jetty at Boca de Uracoa. Would the promised ‘motorised canoe’ arrive to pick us up, and if it did, would my suitcase fit in it? We were on our way to the Orinoco Delta Lodge and I was further out of my comfort zone than I had ever been.

However, what eventually arrived was not a canoe at all, but a motorboat, with Ales, our English-speaking guide.  As soon as we arrived at the Orinoco Delta Lodge I was back in my comfort zone as it seemed remarkably similar to a Hoseasons holiday camp on the Norfolk Broads, except that the cabins have open sides with mosquito nets and roofs made from moriche palm leaves. Our cabin turned out to be more on the Orinoco than by it, as it was on wooden stilts above the water.  It was also next door to the puma enclosure. Shortly after arrival we were served lunch, which turned out to be spaghetti bolognese. While we were eating, there was music playing from the PA system: The Birdie Song and a selection of Elton John.

We suddenly heard the unmistakeable squawk of a macaw – apparently the resident macaw, Rumba, had taken fright when an eagle arrived for lunch.  The eagle sat calmly in the rafters and waited for his lunch of chicken to defrost. That doesn’t often happen in Norfolk.

In the afternoon we had a boat ride with Ales and another newly arrived tourist, Marc, who was from Switzerland. I was surprised to find how fast the motorboats go.  No speed limits on the Orinoco, it seems (unlike the Norfolk Broads.) As they are open and there is no windscreen, conversation is impossible, hair is hopelessly messed up, and sunglasses are advisable, purely to act as goggles.

Ales pointed out the floating  bora reeds, which have purple flowers, and various birds. We stopped to watch the sunset and the daily flight of parrots across the river. They roost on one side, which is jungle, but spend the day on the other side, which is more open. Later, back at the camp we had a dinner of beef, followed by the inevitable watermelon, whilst the camp’s three dogs, two cats and two kittens wandered around, the cats in particular trying to wangle scraps from the table.

The animals at the camp were:

A large brown dog, known as ‘Doctor’ because he checked everyone was OK;

A black and white dog who kept an eye on all the other animals;

A smaller woolly white dog, who seemed to annoy the black and white one;

A large white and ginger cat, known as ‘Steve’ after Steve Jobs;

A black and white cat;

A black, white and ginger kitten;

A ginger kitten;

A blue and gold macaw called ‘Rumba’

A puma (kept in a fenced enclosure)

A large frog which visited in the evenings;

A crocodile (allegedly) which we didn’t see.

After a night’s sleep disturbed by howler monkeys, puma snores, barking dogs and cockerels who started greeting the day at 3.30 a.m. we took a boat to a more distant (and basic) camp. On the way we stopped to see a pink dolphin, and later to walk through a village.  The houses here were built of concrete, joined by wooden walkways.  Many of the houses had satellite dishes and washing machines. We sheltered from a rainstorm before continuing to the camp, where Ales introduced me to a baby crocodile. Marc and I joined our boatman and Ales for a paddle in a dugout canoe. My husband Neil inexplicably opted to stay on terra firma (‘to look after the camera.’) We saw a turtle, some capuchin monkeys and a bright blue butterfly the size of a tea plate before our trip was curtailed by rain.

After a jungle walk, it was time for a piranha fishing trip. Back in the motor boat, we passed through a much more open area with lots of bora reeds and then into a side channel to look for a suitable fishing spot.  The fishing rods are very simple, comprising a long stick, with a nylon line and a twisted wire hook at the end.  The method is to beat the water a few times with the end of the stick and then wait to see if anything takes the bait (a small scrap of meat).

After a short while, Ales caught a piranha. I felt a few nibbles, and noticed that my bait was getting smaller.  After using several pieces of bait and concluding that we were feeding the piranhas rather than fishing for them, I finally caught a red piranha.  Marc also caught one, but a baby, which Ales through back.  Ales and the boatman caught a couple more between them.  Neil hooked what seemed like something enormous, but the rod (or rather stick) broke before he could find out what it was.  Later, trying in the same place with Neil’s shortened rod I had the same experience, but managed to land a large forked stick.  On the way back we passed a boatload of Warao people fishing for something larger.  During the return journey to the Orinoco Delta Camp there were a couple of heavy rain storms.  The experience of travelling at speed in an open motorboat through heavy rain is not pleasant, though the remedy of holding heavy duty plastic sheet over the head is not ideal either, as you end up with a face full of slightly grubby plastic. Neil and I got to taste a piranha each at dinner, along with the main course of strips of beef with red peppers.  There isn’t a great deal of flesh on a piranha, but what there is tastes quite good.  Marc can’t abide fish, so did not partake. The other visitors to the camp left during the day so we three were the only guests for dinner.

There was heavy rain again in the night. Fortunately the roof of the cabin was water-tight, but it was quite noisy.  The cockerels also started earlier, at 2.00 a.m. Marc left in the morning, leaving Neil and I as the only guests in the camp.  Ales took us across to the Orinoco Delta School, which is a school for the local Warao children, funded by the company that runs the Orinoco Delta Lodge.  It comprised one large building, with a partition across the middle so that the elementary class could be separated from the more advanced children. In one corner there are toilets. There is one teacher, who speaks Spanish and Warao.  When we arrived she was teaching the alphabet to the youngest children.  The older children were copying out sentences in Spanish such as “my brother does the dishes” from a white board. During their break, they played with wooden dice about 1 ½ inches in size, which had letters of the alphabet and pictures on them.  The game they played with them was however a version of marbles, which involved one child trying to hit another child’s die with their own. We then continued up the river for another go at piranha fishing. This time neither Neil or I were lucky, but Ales and the boatman caught one each, which we were promised for lunch.

As it turned out, we didn’t get to eat the piranha for lunch, as the cats got them first.  We had lau lau in a spicy coconut sauce, which was very nice. The cats were interested, but we did our best to ignore them. Just as we finished, Rumba the macaw swooped in, landed on Neil’s shoulder, then hopped onto the table, and proceeded to get stuck into the leftover scraps on my plate.  I grabbed a camera to photograph her. She then sat on the back of my chair, eating the scraps, dropping quite a lot on the floor, to the delight of the cats.  I later discovered that she had dropped some of it into my backpack.  I wondered why one of the dogs was so interested in it that she stuck her head right in.

Our afternoon trip took us through more rain to a distant Warao village.  On the way we saw more red howler monkeys. Disembarkation was tricky as it involved a wooden ladder.  We saw women preparing fish, watched by the inevitable cat, and traditional-style Warao open-sided wooden houses, with hammocks and cooking fires (also TVs and fridges).  The wooden walkways here were high off the ground, and a number of slats were missing. At the other end of the village there was a new school building, paid for by the government, and a large poster of Chávez (we saw many such posters in the villages we passed).

The following morning loud ‘noises off’ alerted us to the presence of Rumba in the moriche palm tree outside our cabin. She was eating (and mostly dropping) the moriche fruit, whilst keeping up a running commentary. After breakfast, the small ginger kitten decided to escort us back to our cabin. Not to be outdone, Rumba also tried to come in, but it was time for us to leave.

Write about what you [don't] know....

This is a piece I once wrote for a guidebook-writing competition.  I was hampered only by the fact that I had never been to Andorra. So being a medievalist with a taste for Dornford Yates, I stuck largely to what I did know. *I came second.

Dornford Yates once wrote a fantasy novel about a fairytale land that was somehow overlooked when the border between France and Spain was drawn; a magical place where anything could happen.  Andorra, a tiny, landlocked principality of some 468km² in the eastern Pyrenees, may not be the Etchechuria of The Stolen March, but has some similarities. Part of its appeal lies in the novelty of visiting a country that in some ways is scarcely a country at all, lacking its own language and army. Until the advent of the euro it was unusual in not having its own currency, accepting both Spanish pesetas and French francs.

Andorra’s relatively inaccessible location protected it from the mainstream of European events for most of the last thousand years. In the late 8th and early 9th centuries, however, the Pyrenees were in the front line of the struggle between Latin Christendom and the expansion of the Muslim Moors. According to tradition, Charlemagne granted a charter of liberties to Andorra’s inhabitants, but the earliest known document relating to Andorra is the grant in 843 by his grandson, Charles the Bald, of the valleys of Andorra to the Count of Urgell.  In the 13th century a dispute between the Spanish Bishop of Urgell and the French Count of Foix was resolved by a joint sovereignty agreement which has lasted to the present day. Andorra remained largely remote from international politics. As befits a country nominally ruled jointly by a Spanish bishop and the French head of state, Andorra remained neutral during both World Wars; though smuggling through its mountain passes proved lucrative. 

These days smuggling has been replaced by the more legitimate activity of tax free shopping; a major draw for the nine million or so visitors who outnumber Andorra’s 70,000 inhabitants each year.  The other big attraction is winter sports, heavy snowfalls and mountainous terrain providing excellent conditions for six months of the year. Sadly, most tourists completely miss the quieter, more rural Andorra.  The terrain is rugged, and the stone buildings and Romanesque churches may lack the chocolate-box appeal of Alpine views, but the rural areas provide excellent walking country and many towns and villages hold lively festivals during the summer months. 

Avoiding Temptation in Rhodes

As I make my way towards the old town, they are lying in wait for me, their gorgeous brown coats glossy and glistening. I find them increasingly hard to ignore as I walk past, eyes firmly fixed on the harbour. I concentrate on trying to imagine the harbour straddled by a colossal statue over a hundred feet high. But Helios is long gone now. These days the harbour entrance is guarded merely by an inoffensive looking bronze stag and a doe, destined to eternal separation and looking slightly forlorn atop their columns.

I find my attention wandering as the waiters, with an unerring knack for stating the obvious, do their best to distract me “Hello Miss! Chocolate cake!” they cry, and I turn to feast my eyes on the window displays of calorie-laden gateaux, some topped merely with cream, others with chocolate flakes or plump strawberries.  It would be so easy to sink into one of the cushion-laden chairs and give way to temptation.

But I press on.  The restaurants in the old town try a different approach.  Here, there are brightly coloured feathered guardians, welcoming potential customers with a friendly squawk. I pause to exchange a greeting with a magisterial blue and gold macaw, and continue on my way.

The old town is bustling and busy, filled with day trippers and cruise passengers jostling each other in their eagerness to snap up bargains in leather goods, embroidery and woodwork.  A group of art students sit in a café, putting the final touches to their watercolours of the scene.

I pass the Palace of the Grand Masters, looking remarkably well-preserved. And so it should, for it was largely rebuilt to serve as a holiday home for Mussolini, though he never got round to using it.

Eventually dusk falls, and the crowds disappear, returning to the floating palace out in the bay and the villas down the coast, and at last I have the place to myself.  I walk down the Street of the Knights, where the Knights of St John used to live – each nationality in its own inn.  As my footsteps echo on the cobbles, I can almost hear them calling to me.

I retrace my steps back towards the harbour, running the chocolate gauntlet once again. 

Definitely No Wombats!

Kangaroo Island Wildlife Park

There are no wombats on Kangaroo Island. This was a pity, as we had booked this side trip from Adelaide in the hope of seeing some. (Note to self: do not trust the husband to do the research next time.) We did however get to see a lot of other native wildlife, including of course the eponymous kangaroos

.

We booked a package through the ferry company, Sealink which combined two of their popular one day tours, staying overnight in Penneshaw. The first day was the ‘Seal Bay Discovery Tour’, first stop Clifford’s Honey Farm. On arrival, we were given a honey-based soft drink to try, whilst a member of the Clifford family gave us an introductory talk about the history of the farm. Clifford's was originally a family sheep farm. They started keeping bees as a sideline 40 years ago, but the business has grown and now they can produce as much as 20 tonnes of honey in a good year. They move the beehives every 6 to 8 weeks to follow the flowers. Local farmers let them put hives on their land in exchange for a bucket of honey. Honeybees were imported to Kangaroo Island in the 1880s from Liguria, and these are now believed to be the last remaining purebred strain of Ligurian bees. Some bee-keepers on the island breed queen bees for export elsewhere in Australia and around the world. We were shown the container in which queen bees are packed for travel: about 3 inches long and with three circular cells for the queen and about 8 other bees. Apparently it is very straightforward to send queen bees by post within Australia. Overseas deliveries can be more difficult!

The tour ended in the farm shop where we were able to sample the honey. (I felt a bit like Winnie the Pooh, having honey at mid-morning!) We tried three types of honey: spring honey, mainly made from rape (canola), mallee gum and sugar gum. I preferred the lighter spring honey, perhaps because it was more like the honey I get at home. The shop also sells other products, including mead, honey ice cream and handmade beeswax candles.

We then went on to Seal Bay to see the colony of Australian sea-lions. Unlike seals, sea-lions can move quite fast on land as they are able to walk on all four flippers.  Visitors must keep together in a group and stay 10m away from animals, both to avoid disturbing them (sea lions cannot sleep whilst out at sea catching food, so need their rest on land) and for safety, as they can move faster on loose sand than humans can.

Raptor Domain

Although Seal Bay was supposed to be the highlight of the day, I found our next visit, to Raptor Domain, a rescue centre for birds of prey, more interesting. Most of the birds at the centre have been injured or orphaned and cannot be released back into the wild. They take part in demonstrations which show their natural behaviours. We arrived just in time for the 2.30 p.m. free flying demonstration in which Don Irwin and one of his helpers introduced some of the residents, and demonstrated their particular abilities. The first bird was 'Shush' the Barn Owl, who was hiding in a hollow tree and came out on cue when we called. A black-breasted buzzard called Slim demonstrated an interesting technique for getting into an emu egg.

Visitors have plenty of opportunities to don a leather gauntlet and hold one of the birds. I got to hold Omen, the Sooty Owl. Among other birds we saw were Chipps the kestrel; Kylie the hobby falcon, two wedge tail eagles, and Banjo and Clancy, the laughing kookaburras. Kookaburras have the ability to hold their head still while their body is moving, which was very entertaining when demonstrated.

The final visit of the day also involved feathered friends. John feeds the pelicans at Kinsgscote wharf every day. The birds had got into the habit of being at the wharf when the fishermen brought in their catch, as they threw the waste away. After this practice was stopped, John felt sorry for the disappointed birds, and got permission to feed them. He does it every day at 5.00 pm., at his own expense, though he charges a $5 donation towards expenses. John's commentary is very entertaining as he expresses some forthright opinions. He informed us that whilst there are pelicans elsewhere in the world, the Australian pelican 'is the biggest and best-looking pelican.' He also spoke admiringly of a pelican that had justified its existence on the planet by swallowing a Chihuahua!

Pelican feeding at Kingscote

According to him, there are no penguins left on the island as the New Zealand fur seals have eaten them all. Before he started the feeding, he warned the audience not to panic if a 'very happy pelican' should wander among them. The pelicans grew quite impatient whilst John was doing his introductory patter as they wanted him to stop talking and get on with the feeding. When he did start feeding, he tried to ensure that the gulls weren't left out.

Despite the fact that it was very cold and windy for sitting around on a wharf, this was one of the highlights of the day. 

Our next day’s tour, the ‘Remarkably Wild’ tour also started with a farm visit. Emu Ridge is another sheep farm whose owners decided to diversify, producing oil from the native Kangaroo Island Narrow-Leaf Mallee. They now have a harvesting machine that can do in 10 minutes what it used to take them 2 1/2 hours to do by hand, but the still remains a traditional and very simple process. The eucalyptus is put in the top with water, a fire is lit underneath and the resulting steam is then condensed to produce oil and water, which are separated. The oil then goes through a second process to refine it before bottling. The eucalyptus leaf residue is used as mulch.

They also produce tea tree oil, and are aiming to diversify into other native plants. There is a shop where you can buy their Eucalyptus oil and related products (including sweets and toiletries), which is also a gallery for local craftspeople and artists.

At Kangaroo Island Wildlife Park we finally got to meet the native Kangaroo Island kangaroos.  All the animals in the park are rescued ones which cannot be released back into the wild and many are tame. We were able to hand feed kangaroos, and to stroke koalas. There are also free-roaming peacocks who seem to enjoy eating the kangaroos’ food.

Remarkable Rocks

In the afternoon we visited some interesting rock formations: Remarkable Rocks and Admiral’s Arch. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and some members of the party decided to stay warm and dry on the coach rather than to go down the boardwalk in the rain to see Admiral's Arch, but I persevered. It was worth it when I reached the bottom and was able to see the natural arch formed from a collapsed cave and the New Zealand fur seal colony that lives there.

Despite the lack of wombats, we enjoyed our trip to Kangaroo Island, though in retrospect it would have been even better in summer.  If visiting in winter months, waterproof clothing with a hood is essential!

The Manchester of the South?

Adelaide

I have always been a bit wary about visiting Australia. One hears stories about deadly spiders and snakes. Not to mention the heat and the forest fires.And then there are all those bronzed, athletic Aussies putting pasty northerners like me to shame.


However, the solution proved to be a visit to Adelaide  during their winter. In fact, Adelaide has quite a European feel. It reminded me of Manchester, only with better weather, and parakeets (both plusses, in my book). Like Manchester it has several universities, an excellent shopping centre, a rather good Art Gallery, a major sporting venue, free city centre buses and a tram. 

Adelaide Oval

Owing to a cricket-mad husband, our very first stop after checking in to our hotel was the recently-redeveloped Adelaide Oval, where he wanted to visit the Don Bradman Collection museum. We found Adelaide Oval easily enough, but finding entrance for Bradman museum was a bit harder. There was a surprisingly relaxed attitude to allowing public to wander around inside the stadium. No one seemed worried about two random visitors looking around.

Once we actually located the entrance we found a small but interesting exhibition about the life and career of Don Bradman, the Australian cricketing legend who made Adelaide his home. It includes items from his personal collection of cricketing memorabilia spanning the period 1927-77. Bradman’s career coincided with the introduction of radio commentary. He was an amateur and earned a living from journalism and stockbroking (although I suspect probably only had many of the opportunities because of his cricket). 

Rundle Mall

Both cities also have some quirky sculpture. Manchester has a giant Vimto bottle. Adelaide has bronze pigs roaming Rundle Mall. "A Day Out" by Marguerite Derricourt is one of the more casual pieces of street art that I have come across. It comprises four bronze pigs who look completely at home - one of them is even rummaging in a litter bin. The artwork was commissioned as part of an upgrade to Rundle Mall in 1999. A public competition led to each of the pigs being named. Horatio is the sitting pig, Oliver is the one rootling in the litter bin and the other two are called Augusta and Truffles.

Haigh's have been making and selling chocolate in Adelaide since 1915. The original site was at Beehive Corner, where there is still a Haigh's shop today. The factory is however located in Greenhill Road, and it has a Visitor Centre which offers free tours where you can find out why Haigh's don't make white chocolate, and see how truffles are coated by rolling them in tempered chocolate. On arrival, visitors are offered a complimentary tea or coffee. After a talk about the history of Haigh's and how chocolate is made from cocoa beans (with a chance to try some Haigh's milk and plain chocolate and chocolate speckles), visitors can view chocolates being made in the factory itself. We were told that employees are allowed to eat as much chocolate as they like. I would have thought that this would put them off eating chocolate for life, but we were assured that this is not so! Several children present on our tour were very interested in how they might apply for jobs. The tour only lasts about 20 minutes or so, but it's free, interesting, and you get to eat chocolate, so well worth a visit.

There are two kinds of museum - the traditional kind with object in dusty glass cabinets and the modern kind with lots of interactive, multimedia activities but fewer actual artefacts on display. Most museums fall somewhere on a scale between the two. The South Australian Museum is pretty much at the traditional end of the scale. I happen to like that type of museum, but it can be less interesting for children.The exhibits mainly comprise ethnographic material about Australia and the Pacific, palaeontology, mineralogy and natural history. One of the prize exhibits is a giant squid exhibited vertically in a stairwell over several floors. The ethnographic gallery dealing with Polynesia dates from 19th century. The curators appear to be a bit embarrassed about this particular gallery and there are notices explaining that it is old and does not reflect current attitudes, but is retained as a sort of museum of museum practice.

The Migration Museum, housed buildings that used to be part of Adelaide's Destitute Asyslum, is rather more modern in approach, It tells the stories of those who settled in South Australia, and the effects of the European migration on the indigenous people who were already there. Between 1815 and 1930, approximately 3.5 million people from Britain and Europe made the long journey overseas in the hope of a new life in Australia, though a far smaller number came to South Australia. There are documents, photos and personal possessions, as well as personal stories. Under the ‘White Australia’ policy, migrants who were not white British had to take a dictation test in a language they didn't know, such as Hungarian. I find it hard to comprehend how anyone could have come up with this scheme.

Elder Park is a pleasant park by the river Torrens. There are some interesting water features and sculptures to look at - I particularly liked the sculpture that resembled paper boats. The birds are also fun to watch - I watched as a pelican managed to get some food, then waddled to the waters edge where all the ducks and other waterfowl queued up expectantly beneath, waiting for him to drop it. From the park you can take a trip in 'Popeye'- a 40 minute cruise, with commentary, which goes as far as the weir in one direction, than back and along as far as the zoo. Tickets are available for the round trip or a one way ride to the zoo. We opted for the round trip - tickets were $15 each. Our ride was slightly more eventful than usual, as the boatman had to stop to come to the rescue of someone who had fallen in the river (not one of the passengers). Fortunately, he was OK.

A version of this formerly appeared on my Virtual Tourist page.

The Womble Project

Orinoco on Wimbledon Common

This is another page I have retrieved from my VT account.

Wombles are small furry creatures that live on Wimbledon Common and pick up litter, making good use of the things that they find, that everyday folks leave behind. They originally appeared in books by Elisabeth Beresford, and later as an animated children's TV series. In the 1970s they even had hit records, and they made a comeback at Glastonbury Festival in 2011.

When young Wombles are old enough to go out on litter duty, they choose a name from the world atlas. Over the past few years, we have been visiting places which provided names for Wombles.

Naturally our Womble-related travels had to begin at the Womble home in Wimbledon Common. We took Orinoco Womble along with us.

Rumba the Macaw

As Orinoco is probably the most famous Womble, our journey proper started in January 2009 with a trip to Venezuela, to visit the Orinoco Delta, after which he was named.I paddled a canoe, went piranha fishing and met a very friendly macaw who helped herself to our lunch and then tried to move in with us.  It was very different from my usual sort of trip, but we also had time for a visit to the historic city of Ciudad Bolivar and a quick tour of Caracas.

Tobermory

Tobermory was the handyman Womble, who made good use of the things the Wombles found on the Common. But Tobermory the town on the Isle of Mull is rather more well known for the children's TV series, Balamory, which was filmed there.

Great Uncle Bulgaria in Bulgaria

Great Uncle Bulgaria is the senior Womble in the burrow. Bulgaria was the only place on our Womble itinerary that we had visited before, so we decided to do something different, and opted for a walking holiday. I imagined it would be like the guided botanical walks I had done in Crete. This was a bit of a miscalculation. I realised that shortly after arriving when the group leader asked if our insurance included helicopter evacuation...

Tomsk

Tomsk is the sporty, brawny Womble. But Tomsk in Siberia is a city with a number of universities ('the Oxford of Siberia'?). Our visit gave us an excuse

to travel on the Trans-Siberian railway. This provided us with an extra 'bonus' Womble, as the train also passed through Omsk, the name of a visiting Russian Womble in one of the books.

Cholet

Cholet is a small French town that we would probably never have visited if it had not been for the Womble project. As Mme Cholet was the Womble chef, we went to the 'Festival of Rural Deliciousness' -mmm apple fritters!

Wellington was the brainy Womble. Sadly, we didn't make it to New Zealand (yet!). Fortunately, there are a pair of Wellingtons in the UK: one in Somerset and one in Shropshire. The Shropshire one is near the Wrekin, where we took our pocket-sized Wellington for a walk. For Womble purists, it's the Somerset one that Wellington Womble is actually named after.

Bungo and his bridge

Last, but not least.... Bungo!  Bungo was a self-important, bossy Womble. He picked his name by closing his eyes and pointing at the atlas. Bungo actually turned out to be an old name for an area in southern Japan. When we got there we were excited to find that Bungo had his very own bridge in Kitakyushu. We only found it thanks to the time-travelling racoons, but that's another story...

Our final trip of the project was to Adelaide. Miss Adelaide looked after the Womble nursery. She is mentioned in the books, but didn't appear in the original TV series. In Adelaide we met another small furry creature beginning with 'Wom...' - a wombat!

A wombat in Adelaide Zoo