Tales of a Brit Abroad

You know you've lived in Spain when...

2012-01-29T22:06:00.002+01:00

Have I mentioned I love Spain? Since I first moved there on my year abroad from university in 2004, the country's been firmly under my skin. Leaving Spain to return to my degree course in England was a wrench, but finding fellow students to talk to about our experiences of life there made it easier. Those little things that foreigners like me observe when we come face-to-face with Spanish culture, such as the fact that topping up red wine with Fanta is delicious rather than deranged, and that open staring at strangers is absolutely fine, turned out to be common to all of us guiris.

My year abroad: where the love affair began. With Spain, not this horse.

Browsing Facebook one day in 2007, I came across a group called 'You know you've lived in France when...'. Written by another year abroad student, it was a list of all the idiosyncrasies of French life that they had spotted while living there. A quick search revealed that there was no such group for Spain, so I decided to remedy that. Half an hour later, I had my own list, and 'You know you've lived in Spain when...' was created.

Initially intended as a group for students like myself who were homesick for their temporarily adopted country and keen to reminisce about those aspects of la buena vida that made us chuckle, I was surprised by how many expats, former residents and Spanish natives joined. Within a few days, the group had members from all over the world. It continued to grow for the next few years, with members using it as a forum for discussion about life in Spain and to share experiences. It even featured in 20 Minutos. I confess I did very little with the group after the first year: I occasionally updated the list of reasons 'you know you've lived in Spain when...', but mostly I just left the group to grow by itself.

Today I discovered that Facebook has changed the format of its groups, and in doing so has removed most of the group's more than 72,000 members. I decided to create a page with exactly the same information, so if you were a member of the old group or just agree with my guiri observations about life in Spain (or even have some of your own to share), please 'like' the new 'You know you've lived in Spain when...' page.

2012 travel dreams

2012-01-11T21:13:00.000+01:00

I'm the kind of girl who likes to use her annual leave for something special. No duvet days for me: it's all about trips. So, where will my days off take me this year?

Since expanding my travel horizons into Asia in 2010, I've been keen to explore places I consider 'different'. Much as I love Europe, I feel that now is the time to travel to exotic, further-flung destinations far removed from my home country not just by distance, but by culture and lifestyle. 2011 took me to Marrakech, and 2012 will see me visit Istanbul, another city I've longed to experience for years. The flights are booked, and I can't wait to wander around the Blue Mosque in awe; to take a ferry across the Bosphorus, crossing the divide between Europe and Asia by boat; to indulge in plenty of Turkish cuisine.

But this month's Across the Café Table discussion is about travel dreams for the year ahead. Istanbul may still be a dream, but in a few weeks it will become a reality. South America, on the other hand, remains very much an idea; a treasured plan I'm working on with the help of the guidebook which arrived on my doorstep yesterday. And that, for me, is the first step to making this dream come true, too.

My love of the Spanish language means that South America is a natural choice of destination for me, yet the costly airfare and time required to visit enough to do it justice have thus far kept me away. I hope that this will be the year I get to see the waterfalls at Iguazu on the border between Brazil and Argentina...

Iguazu

... explore cosmopolitan Buenos Aires...

Buenos Aires

... and marvel at Chile's Lake District.

Chile's Lake District

Hopefully 2012 will be the year I get to do so! What are your travel dreams for 2012? Where would you like to visit that you've never been before? Head on over to The Travel Belles and share your thoughts.

All photos from Flickr Creative Commons.
Iguazu: santiago_richard
Buenos Aires: ClixYou
Chile: Phillie Casablanca

Hello 2012: Hogmanay in Edinburgh

2012-01-10T20:27:00.001+01:00

Ringing in the New Year in Edinburgh is on many a traveller's wish list. However, standing in the street shivering in high Scottish winds at the Hogmanay street party had never really appealed to me. Spending New Year's Eve with two close friends over dinner and drinks in Scotland's capital did capture my attention though, and so on 30 December 2011, I boarded a train north.

Edinburgh

I certainly wasn't alone: thousands of Brits and tourists from further afield descend on Edinburgh every Hogmanay for some of the largest and most extravagant New Year celebrations in Europe. The attractions of the street party's famous bands, torchlight procession, fireworks and funfair aside, Edinburgh's an excellent place to visit at any time of year. Between the natural beauty of Arthur's Seat, the historical significance of sights such as Edinburgh Castle and the Palace of Holyroodhouse and the vast range of shops and restaurants to choose from, there's more than enough to keep a visitor occupied for a weekend.

But on this visit, we didn't come for the sights. Arriving at 4pm on Friday, we started as we meant to go on. Guided by Edinburgh resident A, the three of us kicked off the new year celebrations in style over pre-dinner drinks at swanky bar The Dome, a converted bank which serves up a slice of grandeur with your G&T. Proceedings took on a more, err, down-to-earth feel with dinner at La Lanterna, a cosy Italian place run by matriarch Toni, who A assured us would regale us with tales of restaurant-related woe and stories of how she was soldiering on single-handedly (before rewarding us with a gin for our troubles). No such luck: this time the neighbouring table had to lend their ears, but we did have the joy of the lights going down and the chef banging pan lids together to the tune of 'Happy Birthday ' while in the middle of our meal. One post-dinner drink to recover led to another, and before we knew it it was 4am and we were in a piano bar howling along to Frank Sinatra.

Needless to say, sightseeing wasn't high on our agenda for New Year's Eve. We did manage to squeeze in a visit to Edinburgh's newest attraction though: a visit to Edinburgh Zoo's latest acquisition, a pair of giant pandas. Named Tian Tian (Sweetie) and Yang Guang (Sunshine), these two cuties became the only pair of pandas on the British Isles when they arrived in December 2011.

Sweetie tucks in

Visitors have been flocking to see the pandas, much to the annoyance of the zoo's former star attraction, the penguins. The pandas' next-door neighbours have been experiencing 'monochrome envy' and hurling pieces of poo at waiting visitors, but thankfully for us their jealousy was under control while we queued. Hiding inside on this cold day, the pandas were happily chomping their way through piles of bamboo: it's a hard life, being famous.

And there's even more out of shot

Night two of our celebrations was a somewhat classier affair, beginning with a late dinner at tapas bar Cafe Andaluz. Much more authentic than many UK offerings, the menu was so tempting we may have over-ordered – with 16 tapas between 5, manouevring the plates around the table was an almost military operation. It was as tasty as it looked though, and at £30 a head (including plenty of drinks), it was also a bit of a bargain for New Year's Eve.

We may not have graced the street party with our presence (headline act Primal Scream aren't exactly our cup of tea), but our chosen venue of chic Scottish bar Ghillie Dhu was close enough for us to pop out after midnight to watch the spectacular firework display. The DJ may have needed a little guidance from yours truly ('can you play something a bit more upbeat, you've got us all borderline suicidal'), but plenty of fun was had and temporary friends were made (largely on the basis of their tartan). It was a great way to end to 2011 and begin 2012 – street party or not, I definitely understand the appeal of Hogmanay in Edinburgh.

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All the fun of the (Andalusian) fair

2011-11-12T12:05:00.002+01:00

Here's my post for this month's Across the Cafe Table: where the Travel Belles ladies (and you, if you like) get together and discuss a travel-related topic over a virtual coffee. This month, the question we're discussing is 'What's your favourite shopping find?'

I'm not the best holiday shopper. A lack of patience and the fact I usually travel with carry-on luggage means that I generally return home from my travels with little more than a pair of earrings (one of which I will invariably lose within two weeks) or something as exciting as a pen. So, this month's topic left me stumped: until I glanced at my wall and saw this poster.

A souvenir from when I lived in Seville, this poster is a daily reminder of the whirl of colour, food, music and fun that is an Andalusian feria. Almost every town in southern Spain, no matter how tiny, has an annual fair: a celebration lasting several days (usually Wednesday to Sunday, but then there's the pre-feria: call it a week). During these days, which fall between April and October, most of the town decamps to the recinto ferial. For 51 weeks of the year, this is a nondescript plot of land on the outskirts. Come feria, it's the town itself: 'streets' are created, lined with marquees known as casetas, food stalls and fairground rides. From noon until the early hours of the morning, the streets fill with locals dressed in their best, enjoying a few days' holiday from work and getting together with friends and family over drinks, dancing and plenty of food.

Welcome to feria

A huge illuminated archway known as the portada marks the entrance to the recinto ferial. At Seville's Feria de Abril (April Fair), Andalusia's largest fair, the design of the portada changes each year, drawing on key elements of sevillano or andaluz culture. Past designs have included a flurry of open fans and a recreation of one of the city's landmarks, the costurero de la reina (Queen's sewing room) in 2008.

My first feria was about as far from the glamour and grandeur of the feria de abril as possible. Keen to introduce me to Andalusian life, the friends I made on my year abroad in Alcala de Guadaira took me to the first local fair of the calendar, in nearby Mairena de Alcor. In fact, they were so keen that they took me to the pre-feria, where just the main caseta is open for drinks and dancing, and the trademark farollilos (lanterns) that line the streets of feria-town hang unlit. This first taste was enough though: sipping the traditional rebujito (a mixture of fino sherry and 7Up that goes down far too easily) and dancing with my friends, I was an instant feria convert. Returning twice during the real feria, the deal was sealed. Feria is an escape; a chance to catch up with friends and family in an exuberant party atmosphere, sampling whatever food takes your fancy, trying out a couple of fairground rides (and regretting that battered fish), moving from caseta to caseta in search of the music that suits you - be it traditional sevillanas or the latest chart hits and dancing all night, before a breakfast of churros con chocolate as the sun comes up.

The warm-up

Salud!

Better than a kebab at the end of a night out

This experience of feria was all about the feria de noche (night-time fair), where girls in their usual Saturday night attire rub shoulders with friends still wearing a traje de flamenca (flamenco dress). When I attended the feria de abril just a few weeks later, it wasn't just the scale of the event that changed but the atmosphere. The recinto ferial is the size of a small town: so vast that although its streets have names, you still need a map to navigate between the looming shadows of the portada and the noria (big wheel), hulking over the activity below. Traditional dress rules during the feria de dia: women in their finest flamenco dresses parade on the arms of men in their traje corto (suit with a short jacket topped with a hat, designed for horse-riding). The wealthy clip-clop past the less affluent on horseback or in carriages, waving to friends they spot in the streets. Revellers spill out from the private casetas into the streets, the young and old alike dance sevillanas (a form of flamenco - if you don't know at least the basic moves, introduce yourself to someone who does and they'll be more than happy to show you a few key steps). An air of exclusivity pervades the colourful whirl here: unlike most fairs, the feria de abril is dominated by private casetas organised by associations, which means you must be a member to secure access to their entertainment - and their bar. A few political parties and neighbourhood groups do run 'free' casetas, but the April Fair is very much about who you know and how much you have - it's also a chance to showcase your extensive wardrobe, with some girls estrenando a new traje (with matching accessories) every day of the week.

More than happy to pose for a photo

Perfect accessorzing comes naturally

Inside a caseta

Although I adore the splendour of the Seville fair, my favourite ferias are the small-town affairs. With almost all the casetas accessible, an easygoing yet exuberant atmosphere takes over, and it's easy to lose a whole week to the endless cycle of feria madness, adjusting your body clock to its rhythms, coordinating your wardrobe to its styles. On my year abroad, I attended five different ferias, including my own town's June fair. The smallest feria I ever attended was when I lived in Seville in 2008: keen to convert my English friends to this key aspect of the andaluz social calendar, we hopped on a bus to nearby Camas, Sergio Ramos's home town (not that this fact was an incentive to visit or anything). The recinto ferial was tiny: just one street with no portada. Arriving in the early evening, we had hoped to see some of the fair's daytime characteristics before the party began. No such luck: we turned out to be the main attraction. This was no bad thing though; befriended by a group of workers from the Camas post office, a few hours later the girls had undergone a crash course in the sevillano accent and learned a few sevillanas steps. We may not have met Sergio Ramos, but Camas welcomed us with open arms.

Where is everyone?

Learning to dance

Still nobody here

Every time I glance up at that poster, I'm transported back to the colour and craziness of feria. It has to be experienced to be believed, so make friends with an andaluz or two and work on your stamina: you'll be needing it come spring.

You can read the other Travel Belles' posts on the topic here.

A Brit abroad in Seoul

2011-11-04T10:30:00.006+01:00

After an extended break, Brit abroad guest posts are back. This month's post comes from Ruth Dear, who's currently living and working in Seoul, South Korea.

I think wanderlust is in my genes. It definitely runs in my family. My parents used to take me and my two older brothers on holiday when we were still babies. There are numerous pictures of me in a nappy running around on different beaches, and certainly we didn’t go to run of the mill places either. 25 years ago, Greek islands and Portuguese towns that are now tourist traps were small seaside villages where we could wander around interacting with the local people. I was too young to really remember these places, but I think some of my parents' desire to see new and exotic places was instilled in me and my brothers too. We are now a family spread across the globe: one brother is in Copenhagen and the other is currently in Afghanistan (he’s an RAF officer). This appetite for exploration led me to inter-rail around Western Europe after university and then pack my bag for a British Council teaching job in Suzhou, China about a year later. I wasn’t finished with being an expat after China; despite returning home and managing to find a really good teaching position. I have nomadic itchy feet! So I upped sticks and moved abroad yet again, much to the dismay of my mum. This time I made the move to Seoul, South Korea.

When you’ve made the decision to live aboard, people always seem to ask you ‘Why did you decide to live in ____?’ My answer about China was a simple one: ‘It’s a developing nation, it has a fascinating history, and it’d be cool to speak Chinese!’ I’m afraid my reasons for moving to Seoul weren’t as innocent. I was lured back to Asia because I feel there is so much more to explore and discover. I wanted to see the beaches of Thailand and Bali, float down the Mekong delta, explore the temples of Angkor, dance all night at the full moon parties of Ko Pha Ngan, witness the splendor of Laos’ 4000 Islands. Basically, I wanted to travel more. I came to Korea because of the fantastic public school teaching programme run by the government. Although there are more private language academies in Korea than you can shake a stick at, a teaching job there would have meant only 10 days holiday a year. The public school programme allows me to plan extended travels around Asia for my winter and summer vacation. It also offers me a good salary and rent-free accommodation. Why did I choose South Korea? Because it was too good an opportunity not to.

Having said that, of course you can’t live somewhere you don’t like. It really is great to live in this part of the world. Seoul has a fantastic amount of different neighbourhoods, perfect for exploring at weekends: trendy Sinsa-dong, posh Gangnam-gu, vibrant university districts like Hongdae and Kongdae, tourist-friendly Insa-dong… and foreigner town Itaewon (where the US military base ensures your fix of all things western). Korea is a country of national parks and a nation of hikers. Even in Seoul, the city is surrounded by mountains. Travelling around the country is simple, quick and cheap so it was convenient for me to visit the friends I had down in the seaside town of Busan; a great place to visit in the summer months.

My favourite experience out here so far happened almost exactly a year ago. A group of us spent the afternoon at Lotteworld, a (mostly) indoor theme park right in the middle of the city. We had a great day on all the rides, even witnessing a rather early Christmas parade. Lotteworld is situated within a wider entertainment complex so after we’d exhausted the rides, we headed down to spend an hour on the ice skating rink; after one too many falls we then headed into the bowling alley. As day swiftly glided into evening we headed to the gangnam area and a BBQ restaurant we’d been regulars at for a while. The proceeding shenanigans saw us become a little bit more than tipsy, taking over the music choices, blasting out ‘Wonderwall’, digging into an ice-cream cake and generally filling the places with much joviality. It was one of those days that just keeps on going, and no one wanted it to end.

Living in Asia can be tough though; along with the homesickness that every person living abroad encounters, this area of the world couldn’t be more different to England. The concept of personal space doesn’t really exist here, as it does in the west. You can quickly and easily become agitated by the amount of pushing and shoving that goes on in Seoul, particularly on the subway. Public transport is incredibly reliable, clean and cheap, but travelling on the bus can be dangerous! Just this morning I had a maniac bus driver, accelerator on the floor one minute and slamming on the brake the next, woe betide any passenger not gripping onto the hand rails! I quickly learnt to hold on for dear life and only relax once both feet have made it safely to the pavement. The weather here is another thing you have to get used to. I never thought that as a Brit abroad, I would actually prefer the weather in England but seriously, I miss it. Korea boasts about its four seasons. Yes, it has four seasons, but spring and autumn both last for about a week each, and are squeezed between 5 and a half months of blistering heat and humidity combined with torrential rainfall, and bitterly cold days full of snow and ice. Korea has a climate of extremes.

Seoul is the largest capital city in the developed world, with a population of 10 million. It is the world’s second largest metropolitan area with the third largest subway in the world. With these statistics in mind it might be impossible to see how living here could be lonely. However, the friends I made during my first two weeks of orientation all live in different parts of this huge city. The availability of transportation makes it easy to see each other, but the journeys can take over an hour sometimes; making popping over to a friend's house for a cup of tea rather a mission. I think this is the biggest hurdle to overcome here in Seoul, and one that I still struggle with. In the heady first 6 months of being here everyone is filled with the energy to travel everywhere and meet up as regularly as possible. But as this desire gives way to the reality of budgeting and burn-out, mid-week outings die out. This is perhaps a natural progression of life abroad, and it forces you to enjoy your own company and explore at your own pace.

I enjoy living in Korea though; in August I re-signed to stay another year. It’s a long commitment, especially for someone whose soles get itchy quickly. But so far second year is moving along smoothly. I’ve pro-actively made a list of things I never got round to doing in my first year: hiking the mountain nearby my house, picnicking in Seoul forest, skiing, volunteering and plenty of eating. I’m more settled in a job than I’ve ever been before. Things have become more mundane as expat life starts to just become normal life, but for now I’ll continue to explore my city at the weekends, plan my next holiday adventure and try to avoid any more bruises on the subway...

Ruth inherited wanderlust from her parents and shortly after graduating from the university of Liverpool embarked on her own travels. They have led her into a career of ESL teaching. She's currently based in an elementary school in Seoul, South Korea, and has previously taught in China and the UK. Originally from a small town in Essex, she plans to explore the world a little more before returning to her homeland. You can follow her journey online at www.ruthierolo.com

Belles abroad: Ladies let loose in Italy

2011-10-22T10:13:00.003+02:00

Imagine spending a long weekend in a house with four women you've never met before. The stuff of dreams or nightmares? When I signed up for the Travel Belles first trip to a townhouse in an Italian village, I was crossing my fingers for the former. Established by Margo in early 2010, the Travel Belles has a personal touch that many websites lack, manifested in the fact that its founder wanted to meet her contributors in person. This was no faceless networking event aiming to ascertain what we could all get out of each other in the way of blogger back-scratching, it was a trip designed for a group of women to get to know each other offline, brought together by a shared appreciation of travel (and food).

Our home for the weekend was a tastefully restored townhouse in the piemontese village of Vogogna, nestling in the Italian Alps. Arriving at 8pm on the Milan to Geneva train, I was already suitably excited by my first glimpse of Lake Maggiore at sunset. Fortunately my housemates for the weekend were no less disappointing: Margo, Katy of Starry-Eyed Travels, Krista of Rambling Tart and Kathy of Food Lover's Odyssey all greeted me warmly and plied me with risotto and wine. Just the kind of welcome I like. As we chatted late into the night, any lingering fears I may have had about holidaying with complete strangers were banished.

I could get used to waking up to that view

Awaking to the complete peace of a Saturday morning in Vogogna, I took a moment to admire the view before scrambling for the shower and piling into the hire car to head for the nearby town of Domodossola. From here, we caught the Lago Maggiore Express through the mountains to Locarno in Switzerland. For once, the idea of a touristy train trip didn't appall me: not when there was scenery like this. The splendour of the Alps might be mere backdrop to seasoned skiiers, but to somebody who ought to stay away from all winter sports for health and safety reasons, the journey into the mountains was a foray into unchartered territory. The scenery as we clanked up impressive gradients, passing through pine forests and clusters of flower-bedecked houses, had almost nothing in common with the sides of Italy I've experienced: the verdant slopes under early autumn skies had far more in common with parts of Austria or France than the gritty, glamorous whirl of Milan, the decadence of Venice and the ancient sprawl of Rome.

Katy and Krista capture Santa Maria Maggiore

Breaking our journey at the town of Santa Maria Maggiore, I noted that we were definitely still in Italy: the fashions in evidence at the town's boutiques were more cosy than chic, but I was reassured to observe that sunglasses were still very much de rigeur. A town whose good looks even Tyra Banks would be loathe to criticize, Santa Maria Maggiore was a photographers' dream: and oh, the Belles are snap-happy. As my companions wandered through the cobbled lanes clicking away at Alpine dwellings, the town church and a variety of street scenes, even I felt the urge to up my game and put my camera to good use.

Even the coffee's pretty in Santa Maria Maggiore

After a mid-morning coffee (another key fixture of Italian life thankfully upheld in the Alps), we re-boarded the train and continued across the Swiss border to Locarno. The change in scenery as we passed from one country to another was imperceptible; the only differences when we alighted were the multilingual signs and the currency (oh, and the more understated sunnies worn by the locals). A short wander around the lakeside town revealed little apart from its waterside setting to interest us on this sunny afternoon: well, that and food. After an hour spent lunching, I can confirm two things: both the gelato and the pizza are just as good on the Swiss side of the border.

Yum

More than adequately refuelled, we boarded our next mode of transport for the return journey: a ferry which would take us from Locarno to Stresa. Relaxing on the top deck, we chugged past sailboats and called at waterside towns, admiring their architecture and taking in the mountain views as the sun set on an eventful day. As Henry James surmised, 'One can't describe the beauty of the Italian lakes, nor would one try if one could'. On Mr James's advice, all I will tell you is that Lake Maggiore puts Windermere to shame.

You can read about part 2 of the Belles Trip next week.

Me, museums and stamina

2011-10-12T12:30:00.000+02:00

Here's my post for this month's Across the Cafe Table: where the Travel Belles ladies (and you, if you like) get together and discuss a travel-related topic over a virtual coffee. This month, the question we're discussing is 'What's your favourite museum?'

The word 'museum' puts me in mind of a school trip. No matter how many interactive, state-of-the-art spaces I visit, I still imagine that museum visits will invariably involve trailing around some fusty gallery pretending to read the explanations of exhibits I couldn't give a monkeys about while secretly thinking about what's in my packed lunch. As attitudes go, I realise that mine is far from cultured, and fortunately I frequently manage to shelve it: for a while at least.

Travel and museums go hand in hand. Pick up a copy of any guidebook and you're bound to find more than one museum listed as a must-see. Art galleries, museums of national or indeed natural history, science museums... they're all lurking between those glossy pages, waiting to be ticked off like answers in an exam. Perhaps this prescriptive idea that museums simply must be explored otherwise you've failed in the cultured traveller stakes is what brings out the teenage rebel in me: after a guidebook-inspired schlep around a particularly dull maritime museum in Dieppe which failed to stimulate any of my senses other than smell (owing to the pungent presence of dried salt cod among the exhibits), I certainly wanted to stamp my feet and whine 'I don't WANT to go to any more museums'.

It wasn't until I met M that I realised everyone has their own museum visiting style. No, I don't mean putting on your favourite frou-frou frock and accessorising with a cute clutch in the manner of Carrie Bradshaw: it's how you visit a museum that makes all the difference. Some people arrive early; a rucksack full of supplies and plan their way around the space, prioritising which exhibitions to see first. Others might pop in to peruse just one or two rooms, returning at a later date to see more. Me? I aim for speed. The ideal museum visit lasts no longer than 2 hours (and is framed at either end by a tea break). That way, I get to see my personal highlights without reverting to my stroppy teenage years. And believe me, that's a bonus for my fellow visitors.

M at the Biennial. I think she's heading for the exit.

M and I met in Seville in 2008. We were both keen to see all the city's sights, even going so far as to write a list of everything we wanted to do during our three-month stay. But it wasn't until we visited the Contemporary Art Biennial that I realised we shared more than just a list of priorities. By the time we'd skimmed over most of the exhibits, lingering longer over those that held particular interest for us, our friend R was still in the first room. When she called us several hours later to ask if we were ready to leave, we were shopping in the town centre. Much like a child on a school trip, my attention span is short: I enjoy museum visits as long as I'm in the right frame of mind and able to choose when to leave.

Me outside the Biennial. I've already exited.

It's no surprise that my favourite museum visit was a trip taken with M a couple of years later. In Bilbao for the weekend, we made tracks to the gallery that has transformed the city's fortunes and made it into a top Spanish destination: the Guggenheim. But we didn't go there to admire the art: we went for the food. At €19 for a delicious three-course meal with a bottle of wine, this was the museum's highlight. Yes, the wine-fuelled visit around the gallery afterwards was entertaining, but the restaurant stole the show. Hey, that's my museum visiting style.

You can read the other Travel Belles' posts on this topic (no doubt more cultured than mine) here.

Working that windswept look in Tarifa

2011-09-15T19:00:00.000+02:00

By the time my summer holiday rolled around, the whole office knew about it. 'Oh, are you going away somewhere?' they mocked, understandably sick of hearing about my beach break for the hundredth time. Pesada, me? I was so excited about a few days of switching off, sunbathing and worrying about nothing more taxing then where my next meal was coming from to care.

Welcome to Spain, welcome to Tarifa

The gusts of wind that had me frantically clawing the hem of my beach dress southwards as we made our way to the hostal should have been a strong enough indication of what was in store. Of course I'd heard that since Tarifa is the southernmost tip of Europe, straddling both the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, it's lucky enough to be besieged by the double whammy of levante and poniente winds. This makes the town popular with surfers, but as we soon learned, it can complicate matters for the average holidaymaker.

All quiet on the beach: how deceptive images can be

After a leisurely lunch at Cafe Central, we made our way to Tarifa's main beach, on the Atlantic side. A wide expanse of sand barely occupied on a Monday afternoon, it seemed ideal for a spot of sunbathing. Sure, it was a bit breezy, but a pair of hardy northerners like me and V would be fine. Plonking our beach towels down, we delved in our bags for the sun cream: mistake #1. Applying the lotion with one hand while desperately attempting to prevent a towel from taking flight requires both patience and dexterity. Just when you think you've mastered it and managed to plaster your white bits with enough cream to prevent epic sunburn, a raging gust of levante whips half a ton of sand onto your body and you're wearing the beach. Sand suits well and truly on, we persevered, valiantly trying to make progress with our holiday reading material. After half an hour, my wind-ruffled book was double its previous size; we looked like a pair of human croquetas who had backcombed their hair and then slept on it for a week. There was only one thing for it: we needed a cup of tea.

Beach abandoned, we spent the rest of the afternoon recovering from our ordeal and people-watching over cups of tea at Bamboo. Time and people move slowly in Tarifa, and the town's laid-back vibe suited us just fine after the beach incident. From our vantage point on the cafe's terrace, we could see the Tangier-bound ferry in the harbour, its klaxon sounding before each departure: in just 35 minutes, you can disembark in another continent. Its coastline visible from Tarifa, Morocco's influence on the town is just as discernible in the North African-infuenced menus, the whitewashed walls, the styles of dress. Added to the cosmopolitan mix of boho types and the town's laid-back ambience, and the reason for Tarifa's popularity is clear. It may not be the ideal beach destination when the levante's blowing unless you're a surfing enthusiast (or enjoy a powerful exfoliation while you sunbathe), but this pretty coastal town has more than enough charm to compensate.

As the afternoon stretched into evening, we traded tea for tinto de verano. After a pre-dinner dinner (my favourite meal of the day) of Greek salad and a veggie burger, we returned to Hostal La Calzada to remove what was left of the beach from our limbs (and bags, and hair). Spruced up, de-sanded and ready to explore, a quick wander of the old town quickly assured us that even on a Monday night, Tarifa is jumping. After a few drinks and tapas, we ended up ensconced in a bar watching an eclectic mixture of customers tango-ing their way into the small hours.

Tanning fuel

On day two, we chose to concentrate on what we decided Tarifa does best: food. After a substantial breakfast of muesli, yoghurt, fruit, coffee and juice, we came up with a creative solution to our tanning dilemma: after all, I couldn't go back to the office as pasty and pale as I'd left it. Half an hour later, we were seated by the harbour watching the comings and goings of the ferry from our very own sand-free beach: a lovely patch of concrete. Tarifa, I loved you, I just didn't want to wear you.

Hasta luego, Tarifa

Tattoos and tat: My favourite souvenir

2011-08-13T16:58:00.002+02:00

In the backlash against our capitalist, consumerist culture, we're forever being hectored about our big spending ways and irrepressible urge to possess. While I wholeheartedly agree with all this in theory, I just can't hide the fact that I love acquiring stuff. Yes, 'stuff': a new dress, another cookbook to add to the pile I peruse once every few months, yet more nail varnish. As you can see, I don't exactly blow megabucks on all this stuff; there are no impulse iPad purchases or flatscreen TVs. I keep it small.

Given how much I love to travel and to acquire items of minimal practical use, you'd think I'd be quite the fan of holiday souvenirs. Yet somehow, tourist tat is my blind spot: novelty pens and T-shirts proudly emblazoned with destination names do nothing for me. I once decided to start a collection of snow globes from my travels; this amounts to one lone dome languishing on my windowsill. As I usually travel with hand luggage only, it seems ridiculous to waste valuable liquid space on a water-filled plastic sphere. So when I saw that the topic for this month's Across the Cafe Table on The Travel Belles was 'my favourite souvenir', I wondered what I could possibly write about. Those lovely Moroccan tea glasses purchased in 2008 and still wrapped up in newspaper, perhaps?

Surprisingly, my favourite souvenir isn't a material object. I don't even have it any more; it only survives in photos. When I visited Singapore and Malaysia in 2010, it was the first time I'd been so far from home, and the first time I'd travelled alone outside of Europe. So I wanted a souvenir that fitted with this theme of firsts: something new and different I'd never experienced before. I chose a henna tattoo.

On my last night in Malaysia, I saw a lady sitting in the street in Kuala Lumpur's Little India. On the plastic table in front of her were photos of intricate, swirling floral designs on the arms and legs of smiling customers. Sitting down, I asked for something small on my left hand. Minutes later, a series of loops and flourishes were working their way up down my fingers and up my forearm: we clearly had different ideas of small. I had no complaints though: as I watched her artistry unfold, I marvelled at her creativity. The floral motifs creeping up my arm weren't based on any design, just her own imagination.

Work in progress

A few minutes later, her work was done. She asked me for 5 Ringgit (one pound). Horrified that such a work of art could cost so little, I paid her double. Walking through the streets of KL with my newly-tattooed arm, I was careful to avoid smudging her handiwork and couldn't stop admiring it for days afterwards. As souvenirs go, it wasn't the most durable, but to me it was worth so much more than any novelty item.

The finished article

You can read about the rest of the Travel Belles' favourite souvenirs here.

My 7 Links: Tales of a Brit Abroad

2011-07-25T22:25:00.000+02:00

Jessica of Through My Eyes and Katy of Starry-Eyed Travels nominated me to take part in Tripbase's My 7 Links project, an endeavour designed to bring bloggers from all sectors together in a new way of sharing their work with the world and resurrecting long-forgotten posts.

Since moving back to the UK one year ago this Saturday, I've been trying my sometimes tenuously-linked best to continue Tales of a Brit Abroad, so the chance to peek into the blog's back catalogue and rediscover some of my old posts is a welcome opportunity.

Here are my seven links:

1. Most beautiful: Express Marrakech

My camera's far from the best on the market, but even its humble 8 megapixel powers managed to capture something of the beauty of Marrakech's medina. Spending just 48 hours there was an ideal weekend escape from the grim grey days of an English January, injecting my winter with the non-stop buzz of the city's old town, the colourful whirl of life in the souks and the budget bites on offer in the Djemaa el Fna.
This post was also published on Travel Blog Exchange and in the Manchester Evening News.

2. Most popular post: Bilbao: It ain't grim up north

My second ever post remains my most popular - perhaps I peaked too soon? A record of a fun weekend spent in the Basque city of Bilbao, reading this post makes me want to explore northern Spain further.

3. Most controversial: Brushing shoulders with Brits abroad on the Costa del Sol

I'm not really in the business of polemical posting, but I think my most fitting post for this heading is this account of my summer 2010 visit to one of Britain's most popular foreign holiday destinations, the Costa del Sol. Part of the original premise of my blog was to uncover a side of Spain that most of my compatriots never witness, yet when re-visiting my teenage holiday destination I found far more unspoilt pockets and cultural fusion than I expected.

4. Most helpful: Madrid: My way or the guide's way?

Based on the idea that expats can sometimes make the best tour guides, this is my itinerary for a weekend in my former home city, the Spanish capital of Madrid.

5. Surprisingly successful: The story of pizza at La Perla di Napoli

I have no idea way, but this tale of my 'last supper' at an eccentric Italian restaurant on the eve of my departure from Madrid is the second most popular post on Tales of a Brit Abroad.

6. One that didn't get the attention it deserved: A culinary experience in France's gastronomic capital

Perhaps because I enjoyed this Algerian meal in Lyon so much that over one year on I can still taste it, I hoped that this post would also be enjoyed by many.

7. The post I'm most proud of: Spain's World Cup victory, near hysteria and the goalie's cheekbones

Quite simply, this is my favourite post. Re-reading it always makes me laugh as I remember the night of the Spanish national football team's victory parade in July 2010, when my friend K and I chased their bus through the streets of Madrid as though we were trying to outrun Usain Bolt. One of the most fun nights of my life (and the night I proposed to Sergio Ramos) captured in my most fun post.

Thanks for nominating me and giving me the excuse to wander down blog memory lane, Jessica and Katy!

My nominations for the project are:
Becoming Sevillana (British expat Kim in Sevilla)
The Pea's Kneas (Oxfordshire food blogger Sarah)
Rachael Schofield (Rachael's visual design and travel diary)
Scriptorious Logos (books, films and musings from Gemma)

Around Seville, one tapas bar at a time

2011-07-20T22:10:00.001+02:00

A plate of perfectly-prepared ensaladilla de gambas in a swanky modern gastro bar. A peep at the Corpus Christi preparations in Seville's Plaza de San Francisco. A helping of creamy goat's cheese with caramelised onions served by suited and booted waiters with slicked-back hair. A walk through the former Jewish quarter, the barrio de Santa Cruz, followed by a selection of tuna tapas at a specialist bar-restaurant. This is no ordinary tour: it's a Sevilla Tapas tour.

For the past few years, Canadian-born Shawn Hennessy has put her extensive knowledge of her adopted home city's culinary scene to good use, guiding small groups of visitors around Seville's tapas bars on tours tailored to their own tastes. Staying with my friend Vicki in nearby Utrera for a few days, we presented a double challenge: two pescetarian former residents of the city. Would Shawn be able to cater to our dietary requirements and satisfy our stomachs in previously uncharted tapas territory?

In a word, yes. Meeting by the cathedral for a lunchtime tour, Shawn reeled off a list of four bars we'd never visited, some we'd never even heard of. So far, so shameful on our part. First on the list was Albarama, a recent arrival on the Seville scene serving creative modern morsels, as well as twists on traditional tapas. Settling in with a glass of wine, friendly Shawn talked us through the menu, helping us to select three tapas: those on the tour can select anything they like, but those unfamiliar with Spanish cooking or just keen to sample each restaurant's specialities can learn a lot from her guidance. Our choices of boletus croquettes with a leek sauce, ensaladilla de gambas (a potato, mayonnaise and prawn salad) and the 'envoltini' (squid ribbons with asparagus, served with tartar sauce) were beautifully presented, but style didn't triumph over substance: they tasted as good as they looked. Vegetarian croquetas can be a dull, greasy affair, but the high-quality ingredients and addition of the leek sauce made these a tasty dish even for meat-eaters, while the ensaladilla even won round serial prawn-dodger Vicki.

Croquetas and envoltini

Stomachs suitably warmed up, we moved on to the much more traditional Enrique Becerra, a restaurant and tapas bar so old school it even features pillars looted from the Roman ruins at Italica in the days when pilfering from ancient monuments wasn't frowned upon. As we waited for our tapas to arrive, we chatted easily about food, life in Spain and Seville: Shawn normally talks to visitors about the city, but as we were already familiar with the city, talk naturally wandered wider. Presented to us by a smartly-clad yet super friendly waiter, our saquito de bacalo ('cod-filled parcel of joy' is how any good dictionary should translate it) and portion of goat's cheese served with caramelised onions and fresh bread raised the bar even higher. The saquito's pastry was perfectly crisp; the cod flaky and light. The goat's cheese was creamy and lip-smackingly moreish - and I don't even usually like goat's cheese. We were definitely in no doubt of the quality of ingredients used here.

Saquito de bacalao

By stop number three, participants are usually tiring, their stomachs showing signs of struggle. Not so the two hardy northerners: we were just getting started on Seville's culinary delights. In the heart of the barrio de Santa Cruz, La Sal is a smart restaurant and tapas bar run by Charo, who hails from coastal Zahara de los Atunes in Cadiz, where her family own another restaurant. Both eateries specialise in tuna almadraba, freshly caught and flash-frozen for maximum freshness and taste. We tucked into tuna tataky (a rare cut of tuna soaked in a soy and ginger sauce) and tuna steak roasted with rosemary and served with a red pepper conft, with seaweed tortillitas rounding off the sea-based theme. All of this was washed down by a refreshing glass of Botani wine, produced in Malaga and one of Shawn's favourites for good reason - she certainly has a finely-tuned palate.

Tortillitas and tataky

With an extra stop thrown in out of generosity for a fellow blogger, Shawn saved the best until last. By the time the three of us rolled into Vineria San Telmo at 4pm, our stomachs were reserving just a sliver of space. But once Vicki and I saw the menu, our capacity to eat increased: squid ink spaghetti served with scallops, bulgur wheat with mushrooms and truffle oil and panko prawns with a courgette stack were all as delicious as they sounded, and worth the waistband strain. I couldn't even play favourites; every dish was full of flavour and immaculately presented. The gorgeous tapas, boho-chic interior and friendly international staff made Vineria San Telmo a winner in our books - so much so that we somehow managed to make room for a dessert of three-chocolate flan.

Panko prawns, squid ink spaghetti & bulgur wheat with mushrooms

Our afternoon spent in Seville in Shawn's company was quite simply one of the best I've had in a long time. The tour was unhurried, fun and full of expert advice. If you're a food lover looking to get the most out of a trip to the city, a Sevilla Tapas tour is the perfect place to start. Just make sure to wear something with an elasticated waistband: it wouldn't do to restrict your eating abilities with so many tapa treats to be had.

To find out more about Sevilla Tapas tours, visit Shawn's website, which also features comprehensive listings of tapas bars all over Seville.

An overnight stop at Yotel Gatwick

2011-07-04T12:30:00.003+02:00

I envy people who can fall asleep on public transport. Not so much my friend who regularly used to nod off on Madrid's circle line, waking up at the same stop on every lap, but the ability to lay your head anywhere certainly comes into its own when travelling. I've lost count of the number of times I've stared wide-eyed and wide awake around a coachload of faintly snoring passengers at an hour when we all should have been tucked up in our respective beds. Journeys to airports to catch a red-eye flight are the worst provokers of jealousy: never have I been so envious of open-mouthed drooling in public as I have at 3am on the way to Gatwick.

Before a recent 6am flight to Seville, I decided enough was enough: I couldn't face the 2am bus journey. Spending the night at Gatwick was an obvious solution, but given my inability to sleep anywhere other than the most logical of places and my need for a bit of comfort, the check-in area floor was never going to be an option. A hotel stay was definitely required, but I didn't really want to rise at 3am to get a connecting bus from a hotel to the terminal.

The solution to my conundrum came in the form Yotel, the 'cabin hotel' handily located in Gatwick's South Terminal arrivals area (and just a few steps away from departures). Founded by the people behind Yo Sushi, this smart little spot offers weary travellers the chance to bed down in a private ensuite room of petite proportions before or after their flights. With cabins available for a minimum of 4 hours (and a minimum cost of £26), it's the perfect place to get some shut-eye in comfort.

Arriving on Friday at 9.30pm, the lift whisked me away from the throng outside arrivals and into a pocket of low-lit serenity in the underbelly of the airport. I attempted to check in using the machines outside the door, but seeing me faffing around in a quest to find my reservation confirmation, the friendly receptionist waved me inside and did the honours, talking me through the cabin's features and even offering me an alarm clock and a pair of earplugs.

Stepping inside the corridor to the cabins, the sense of calm increased. This place was clearly designed with nothing but rest in mind. Opening the door to my premium cabin, I found a 4 star hotel room in miniature: a double bed in a semi-upright position, ready to go horizontal at the touch of a button; a wall-mounted flat screen TV; a drop-down desk; clothes hanging space; a full-length mirror and a bathroom which ran the entire length of the room, featuring a waterfall shower. The cabins might feel a little snug for 2 people, but for a few hours' rest you certainly couldn't complain, and the galley-style bathroom was far better than some I've encountered in bigger hotels.

A premium cabin

Too tired to take advantage of the free Wifi and tens of TV channels, I got ready for bed immediately. Settling back for a night's sleep, I lowered the bed (in standard cabins guests unfold them from the walls themselves) and dimmed the lights to a soft purple glow. With a choice of light settings by the side of your bed, you'll have no problem winding down or waking yourself back up again. The mattress was firm but comfortable and there was a stack of fluffy pillows for maximum comfort. As I switched the lights off entirely, I didn't envy those crashed out on the coach one little bit.

Rising at 4am, I showered, repacked my overnight bag and checked out, pleasantly surprised by how awake I felt at such an unearthly hour. Almost bouncing into the flight check-in queue, I felt fresh and ready for the journey and a day of sightseeing in the Seville heat. Looking around at my weary-eyed, crumple-clothed fellow passengers, I couldn't say the same for them. Yotel, I salute you: you're the perfect solution to my early flight dilemma. No more wakeful nights on a bus for me - I'll be soundly asleep in my little cabin.

Yotel also has branches at Heathrow Terminal 4, Amsterdam Schipol and a new city hotel in New York. I was a guest of Yotel.

Rocky times in Lagos

2011-06-25T20:58:00.000+02:00

After almost two weeks hauling our luggage on and off Portuguese public transport, Rachael and I arrived in Lagos. Confronted with a coastal resort where you're just as likely to hear English or German on the streets as you are to catch a snippet of the native language, where happy hour cocktail signs abound and sunning yourself is one of the key preoccupations, we instantly felt 'on holiday' from what had become our daily routine. The sun had finally put in more than a teasingly cruel appearance after a week of grey skies, drizzle and the odd storm. There was no denying it: Lagos was looking good.

Lagos marina

In the western Algarve, this popular holiday destination has more appeal than the nearby overdeveloped resort towns of Portimao and Praia da Rocha. The walled old town has a choice of pretty squares, perfect for relaxing with a drink; there's a modern yacht-filled marina and a selection of beaches, from cosy coves to the larger sweep of surfers' favourite Meia Praia. Now that we were in holiday mode, surfing sounded far too energetic, so we opted instead for a boat trip down the Lagos coastline. A stunning series of rocky outcrops and caves, some of the curious formations are named after the shapes they represent: the camel proved a fairly accurate description, but I was unconvinced by the idea of a grotto resembling a living room. That's certainly not an idea my mother would be on board with, anyway.

Reading slowly at Lisbon's LX Factory

2011-06-14T09:30:00.000+02:00

On the site of a former factory in western Lisbon, there's a quiet revolution against the advent of e-books. Hip bookshop Ler Devagar (read slowly) encourages customers to put aside technology for long enough to enjoy the pleasures of the printed word on the page.

Occupying a multi-storey space in LX Factory, Lisbon's newest creative space, Ler Devagar is a work of art in itself. Piles of Portuguese and international paperbacks on subjects from architecture to politics to travel line artistically laid-out shelves, a bicycle with wings takes flight in the centre of the shop and a retired printing press has found new life as a cocktail bar. Selling both new and secondhand works, Ler Devagar features a cafe where customers can linger, enjoying a good read in a light, airy space. The calm atmosphere encourages you to linger and wander, perusing the shelves and flicking through tomes in tongues you don't understand. At Ler Devagar, the book is celebrated as an object, attaining a beauty and tangibility that words on a screen will never have.

Sit down, sip a cup of tea, stay a while.

Across the cafe table #1: My secret travel indulgence

2011-06-08T09:07:00.000+02:00

Once a month, The Travel Belles founder Margo and the site's contributors will be pulling up a pew around a virtual cafe table to discuss a travel-related question, with the answers displayed both on the site and on our own blogs. Starting proceedings with a confession, this month's question is what's your secret travel indulgence?

A cashmere blanket on the plane perhaps? Very Victoria Beckham. Or a silk pillowcase I take everywhere with me? Oh no. My secret travel indulgence is nothing so glamorous. For here I must hold my hand up and confess to buying trashy gossip magazines.

My in-flight reading material of choice, from a recent trip to Barcelona

Some people find airports stressful: not me. Once I arrive, my holiday has begun. I browse the duty free section unhurriedly, try on sunglasses, perhaps treat myself to a new lipstick, people watch over a coffee. I also indulge in behaviour I wouldn't necessarily risk at home: I go into WH Smith and stock up on a few issues of such quality publications as Heat, Now and Closer. There's something about a holiday - or even just a plane journey, as a recent business trip proved no exception - that makes me want to leave my novel in my carry-on and pore over the lives of the rich and 'famous' instead. Jennifer Aniston has yet another new haircut that looks pretty much the same as the last one? Fascinating! A former Big Brother contestant was in a nightclub brawl? Terrible. One of the girls from The Only Way is Essex bought a new handbag? OK, I'll skip that story until at least half an hour into the flight.

You can see why I kept this indulgence a secret until now, can't you? But hey, my reading taste deserves a little holiday too... doesn't it?

You can find the other Belles' secret indulgences here. Many are no doubt more glamorous than my guilty gossip magazine pleasure.

The convent that disappeared from Coimbra

2011-06-01T09:15:00.000+02:00

If you'd have looked for the convent of Santa Clara a Velha in Coimbra fifty years ago, you might have glimpsed the tip of its roof poking through the mud on the banks of the River Mondego. Now, thanks to a lengthy and expensive restoration process, visitors can explore the interior of a building that once seemed destined to remain submerged.

Built during the thirteenth century on the bank of the river, the convent gradually began to suffer from the rising tide of the Mondego. The nuns who lived there moved to higher floors (and no doubt fashioned some early wellington boots ) until the situation finally became untenable in 1677, and they high-tailed it up the hill to the new convent of Santa Clara a Nova, leaving their former home to the mercy of nature. Whenever the river burst its banks, the convent would be almost totally submerged.

Despite this, it was classified as a national monument in 1930. However, nothing was done in the way of restoration until 1990, when work began to drain the site, restore the church and save it from any further damage. Millions of euros and lots of hard graft later, the church and what was left of the main cloister were liberated from their watery prison, and the church was slowly restored to the beautifully simple Romanesque building which stands on the site today. Visitors to the site can watch the restoration process captured on film: a truly extraordinary feat which has brought a monument back to light and back to life.

Class in a 60 cent glass at the Casa de Mateus

2011-05-28T09:15:00.001+02:00

Two days into our Portuguese jaunt, the weather decided to frown on us (well, 'weep' would be more accurate). Inadequately prepared for anything other than sunshine, we slopped our way around the country on the receiving end of much finger-pointing at our sandal-clad feet from local men, their faces creased with incredulity. Our attentions turned to indoor activities: there's only so much fun with wet feet, an umbrella in hand and a wrinkled finger assessing your every footstep.

With our walking plans for the hills surrounding Vila Real rained off, we took the bus to the Casa de Mateus instead. The home of the aristocratic family of rosé-producing fame, this Baroque mansion is now open to the curious public. Despite the casa's starring role on the label of that blush-filled funny-shaped bottle beloved of grandmas UK-wide, wine takes a back seat here. Unless you visit the café, that is.

With guided tours in English only taking place every few hours out of season, we had some time to kill. During a wander round the perfectly-manicured gardens, another downpour began. We sought refuge in the café, where an item on the drinks list caught our eyes. Wine. For 60 cents a glass. It had nothing to do with Mateus; it wasn't even rosé. But it was 60 cents. It was raining. What else were we going to do?

Fast forward a couple of hours, and Rachael and I joined the English-speaking tour group, which consisted of us and a French couple who spoke no English. Cue a lot of enthusiastic nodding and mm-hmming from us and blank stares from the couple. Interesting whether or not you've just visited the café for a drink or two, the Casa de Mateus opens its doors to numerous grand rooms, including drawing rooms, dining rooms, old bedrooms, the library (stocked with books dating from the seventeenth century and some original printing plates) and the family's own chapel, complete with its own relic. They certainly weren't short of a bob or two, the Mateus's: nothing but the finest furniture from France and objets d'art from China and India for this lot. Still under the influence of a couple of 60 cent beverages, we were quite excited to learn that the count and his family are still in residence, although visitors aren't granted access to their private apartments.

Although the tour was enjoyable and the guide knowledgeable about the artefacts on display, there was no mention of the history of wine production; there was no mention of wine at all, in fact. For a family who made their name from the stuff, the focus was decidedly wine-free: good job we decided to give the visit our own wine-focused slant, then. It was entirely appropriate, after all.

A sign of the times in Braga

2011-05-20T12:15:00.002+02:00

As Portugal's religious capital, Braga isn't exactly renowned for its liberal atmosphere. So you can imagine our surprise when we saw this sign at the train station, innocently nestling between directions to the exit and taxi rank.

What in heaven's name is a kiss n' ride, we wondered? A polite name for a semi-legal kerb-crawling area? A designated spot to kiss your loved ones when arriving home after a day or week away at work? A teenage dream? You have to admit, the choice of a boy racer-esque model to grace the graphic doesn't exactly help to conjure up positive images.

With a little help from the internet, I put my fears to rest. Apparently, a kiss n' ride is a drop off zone - the place to kiss family and friends goodbye before they board the train. Wouldn't it be a bit easier to just say that? And in Portuguese, perhaps? I wonder what the good folk of Braga make of it all...

A glass of the white stuff in Porto

2011-05-19T08:58:00.003+02:00

'Peacocks', I observed. Rachael looked at me as though the mere scent of the port in front of us may have already gone to my head. I pointed towards the door; peacocks were patrolling the garden of Taylor's port wine lodge.

Set on Vila Nova de Gaia's hillside above the River Douro, Taylor's is one of a small number of lodges offering free tours and tastings of Porto's most famous tipple (most charge around €3). It's the only one to offer a glass of Late Bottled Vintage to its visitors, and its also the only lodge to boast its own peacocks.

Tours typically begin with a history of the company, before moving on to an overview of the port production process and a description of the various styles available. Made from grapes grown in the demarcated Douro region, port is fortified with a flavourless 77% spirit called aguardente before being transported to Gaia to age in gigantic wooden barrels. Some styles are quickly transferred to bottles, while others must mature for longer.

Before visiting Porto, I had filed port under 'sticky horrible drink served on stuffy formal occasions'. Completely ignorant about the different types of port, I was surprised to learn that light, refreshing white ports are served chilled as an aperitif, while heavier rubies and tawnies are reserved for post-prandial sipping. Most lodges offer a taste of a white port and a ruby or tawny, with extra tastings and appropriate nibbles at an additional cost.

Just one taste of a white port made me reconsider my categorization: not just a tipple for crusty academics and the elderly, port actually tastes good. Nowadays, there's even a pink port: this stuff is positively trendy. The Late Bottled Vintage offered by Taylor's is a much richer number: it's a vintage port (the star of the port family, produced entirely from grapes harvested in a declared 'vintage' year) allowed to age in the barrel for longer than its older brother. It has a vintage taste without the hassle: vintage is an awkward customer which needs to hang around inside a bottle for years reaching maturity. Ready for drinking straight after purchase, LBV is perfect for the impatient. Perhaps that's why I liked it so much.

You may also be interested in reading the article on budget breaks in Porto I wrote for The Travel Belles.

Photos of peacocks/peahens & port drinking copyright Rachael Schofield.

Porto: Art in the park

2011-05-18T12:15:00.000+02:00

Whether or not you're a fan of contemporary art, you can't fail to be won over by Porto's contemporary art gallery, Serralves. The gallery itself features two temporary exhibitions at a time, but for me, Serralves' real appeal lies outdoors.

Set in a vast park 4km outside the city centre, the Serralves Foundation is home to an outdoor sculpture collection, a pink art deco mansion, formal gardens, wild woodlands, a lake and a farm featuring species from northern Portugal. Well worth half a day's exploration, it's a slice of contemporary cool with a side of countryside in suburban Porto.

Going boho down in (O)porto

2011-05-16T12:15:00.002+02:00

North west of Porto's main boulevard, the Avenida dos Aliados, there lies an unassuming area that's far removed from the much-visited lanes of the waterside Ribeira quarter. On Rua da Conceicao and its continuations, there are no grand views, no key sights to tick off. What you'll find instead are an eclectic mishmash of old school shops peddling secondhand jewellery, religious goods and fruit and veg, comfortably co-existing with tiny independent galleries, trendy boutiques and design stores, with some laid-back bars and cafes thrown into the mixture for good measure.

The graffiti that adorns many of Porto's walls moves up a creative gear here, adding to the bohemian feel of the area. Sitting in the walled 'garden' of bakery turned cafe-bar Casa de Lo (Travessa de Cedofeita 20A) sipping one of their many teas, my travel companion Rachael observed that we could be in East London. A very laid-back pocket of East London, you understand: you won't find an overload of geek chic specs and checked shirts in these streets.

A nice cup of tea and a sit down at Casa de Lo

Shops selling secondhand books, clothing and furniture are well worth a browse, as is the Centro Comercial Miguel Bombarda on the street of the same name. No ordinary shopping centre, this smart space offers vintage clothing alongside the work of local designers, in addition to a cafe and a teashop retailing its own deliciously fragrant blends. Also worth a look as evening draws in is Cafe Candelabro at the start of Rua da Conceicao, the gateway to the area: an inviting dimly-lit bar with bookcase-lined walls, a relaxed atmosphere and huge glasses of good wine for €1.50. You certainly wouldn't get that in East London.

The scenic route from Porto to Faro

2011-05-14T08:55:00.004+02:00

I recently spent a few weeks travelling from Porto in northern Portugal to Faro in the country's southernmost region, the Algarve. It's a journey I've made three times now in the name of travel guide research. Every time I return, I'm struck by a number of things: the beauty and diversity of the landscape, from the verdant fields of the northern Minho region, to the rolling hills of the central Beiras and the rocky coves of the western Algarve; the quiet friendliness of the Portuguese, less obviously ebullient but just as welcoming as their near neighbours the Spanish; the amazing value of a generously-sized meal and a bottle of local wine.

Every time I return to the same streets, my eye always chances upon something previously undiscovered: a stunning view that had escaped my notice, a restaurant with a tempting menu or even a newly-opened art gallery. At first glance, though, Portugal is a country that seems to change relatively little: independent retailers selling homewares or religious paraphernalia sit alongside trendy boutqiues and international chainstores, bacalhau (salt cod) still features highly on menus, resisting cosmopolitan competition. Every town is speckled with crumbling facades, somehow adding to the country's low-key charm while also hinting at tough financial times.

Evora's quiet streets

Yet despite the tumbledown houses dotting the landscape and the occasional feeling that time has stood still, Portugal is developing. Lisbon and Porto boast cutting-edge galleries and museums, as well as impressive infrastructure installed in the run up to Euro 2004. The traditional and modern seem to coexist happily, resulting in an appealing fusion of old and new. In Porto, the slick metro glides across the top of the nineteenth century Ponte Luis I, depositing its human cargo high above the riverside Cais de Gaia. Making your way down the hillside to the swanky restaurants on the water's edge with their panoramic windows, you wind through quiet cobbled streets where washing waves in the breeze and cats lounge in the sunshine. Grocers shops and neighbourhood bars are the only businesses in these lanes; you could be in a small rural town anywhere in the country. Emerging on lively Cais de Gaia, you're plunged back into Porto: a low-key, laid-back city, but a city nonetheless.

Ponte Dom Luis I seen from Gaia's streets

It's just this blend of old and new, of calm and bustling, that makes me hope that I'll keep returning to Portugal for years to come.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be blogging about my experiences of travelling around Portugal by bus and train. For now, here are some photographs of the towns and cities I visited on my journey from north to south.


The coast at Foz, Porto

Casa Serralves, Porto

Bom Jesus do Monte, near Braga

Coimbra's old town


The Convento de Cristo, Tomar

Lisbon

Church, Vila Nova Milfontes

Storks, Faro

The coastline near Lagos

You may also be interested to read the article on Porto I wrote for The Travel Belles.

A new project (and a new look)

2011-04-04T09:22:00.000+02:00

Now that I'm no longer a Brit abroad, it's proving quite a challenge to keep on blogging here (although I welcome any excuse to leave the country, so I'm having fun trying). Now that I'm back in Oxford, I've decided to put my healthy appetite to good use and set myself a mission to eat in as many of the city's restaurants as I can in a year. This undertaking is editor's salary permitting of course, but the abundance of both penniless and trust-fund toting students means that Oxford's culinary landscape has something for all budgets.

Girl Eats Oxford kicked off at the beginning of April with a visit to one of my own former student haunts in a new guise: the grubby Goose has become the rather glamorous Red Lion gastro pub, offering some good quality but rather pricey modern European dishes. Next, I followed one of the recommendations tweeted to me @girleatsoxford. Which eating establishment should I frequent this week? If you know Oxford, send me your suggestions via the blog.

Also, as you have hopefully noticed, Tales of a Brit Abroad has had a bit of a one-year anniversary makeover. I'd love to hear what you think of the new look.

Expats and elephants

2011-04-03T10:28:00.001+02:00

I was recently interviewed by ML Awanohara of Seen the Elephant, a blog aiming to explore the expat experience from an interesting perspective. When the Victorians embarked on their grand tours, they would return home claiming to have been there, done that and 'seen the elephant'. It's a grander claim than 'got the T-shirt', that's for sure. Having lived in both England and Japan, ML has seen her share of proverbial elephants, but found that on returning to her native US, there were many more of these mammals lurking: readjusting to life in your own country after being an expat is far from easy.

It's a subject I've touched upon both here and in This Reluctant Londoner: after spending so much time trying to accustom yourself to and integrate into another culture, rather than feeling like a return home or a relief, moving back to your country of birth can initially trigger feelings of unfamiliarity. Since I first moved to Spain in 2004, I've always felt like there was an extra element to my identity; something invisible but hopefully still apparent at times in my way of thinking, acting and speaking. A move abroad, no matter for how long, changes you. It may make you more confident or open-minded, or it may even make you feel more at home and relaxed in your adopted country than in your own. Spain's more relaxed rhythms and family-orientated culture agree with me, but so too do British politeness and formality. My passport may say British, but my personality is divided.

My interview for Seen the Elephant focused not just on becoming an expat, but on repatriation too. This is a particularly tricky subject for me, because - as ML detected - I don't feel that I've finished my expat experience. Yes, the chapter marked 'Madrid' has closed, but I know that I want another one to open in the not-too-distant future. For now, England is enough, but who knows how I'll feel in a year's time.

You can read the full interview here.

Tales of a Brit Abroad turns one today

2011-03-21T21:44:00.002+01:00

When I started my blog a year ago today, I had certainly given the idea of blogging plenty of thought, but I can't claim that I was remotely prepared. Sitting in my bedroom in Madrid one Sunday evening, I finally decided to start a blog: half an hour later the first post was online. Vaguely conceived as a way to keep my friends and family in the UK informed of my expat life and an opportunity to delve further into travel writing, in the days that followed I was pleased to get some positive feedback and even a few followers.

One year on, thanks to promotion via Twitter and Travel Blog Exchange, my blog now reaches far more people than my long-suffering and kindly indulgent loved ones and has opened more doors than I could have imagined. I now write regularly for The Travel Belles, and have also contributed to the Manchester Evening News, East magazine, Trourist and mTrip, among other publications. My snap decision to record my travels online has proven a very rewarding one: my only regret is that I didn't begin sooner, describing my move from Oxford to Madrid and my first six months in the Spanish capital.

It's from a different bedroom that I write today's blog post: I'm now resident in Oxford again. After a year in Madrid, I returned to the UK in August 2010. Readjusting to life in my home country was harder than I had imagined; waking up to dull drizzle rather than the cloudless summer sky and scorching heat of Madrid was disheartening, the coffee was too weak and milky, the prices of public transport too high. My compatriots seemed less approachable, more stressed. Open air swimming pools, tapas crawls and terrazas de verano, the mainstays of my recent existence, were all a thing of the past. I had to remove my rose-tinted gafas and remind myself that the joys of my final months in Madrid weren't entirely reflective of the experience as a whole. Settling into a new job is always challenging, but when combined with an international move, it's even more daunting and takes far more time. Even tougher than getting used to longer working hours and my company's creative approach to forward planning, I was surprised to find it difficult to adjust to life in Madrid. Although I had only spent two weekends in the capital before emigrating, I had enjoyed every moment of my visits and naively imagined that, tiny teething problems aside, daily life would be a doddle and I'd soon slip back into the rhythms of Spain. I hadn't counted on Madrid moving at a rather different pace to my beloved Seville.

Never having lived in a capital before, I hadn't anticipated just how wearing the whirl of a big city's daily business can be sometimes. With my conception of Spanish life shaped in the considerably more laid-back south, the constant motion of Madrid came as a shock. Yes, lunches were still long and nights were still late, but this was not Spain as I knew it. The crowds around Sol and Gran Via frustrated me and sent me running for the metro home, the marcha of super clubs like Pacha and Joy was too much for me. The traffic seemed relentless and inescapable; pretty pedestrianized backstreets a rarity. After a few months, I was surprised to hear myself say 'I just don't like Madrid very much'. Where had my Spanish dream gone so wrong?

Each person's experience of living in the same city is completely different. While most of my fellow expat friends were revelling in Madrid's delights, I still felt lukewarm about it. In a bid to settle in to my surroundings and enjoy my time abroad, I set out on mission 'get to like Madrid'. Now that I had a blog on which to record my experiences and readers awaiting the next instalment of my adventures, I had no excuses not to experience everything the city has to offer. Evenings and weekends were spent exploring the city and its surroundings, testing out restaurants and bars, visiting its many barrios, its parks and its monuments. I can't pinpoint the moment my feelings changed, but gradually they did: Madrid began to grow on me. I slowly learned to love hanging out in the multicultural, gloss-free neighbourhood of Lavapies and its excellent curry houses, I enjoyed shaking up the stuffy atmosphere of barrio Salamanca over post-office drinks with my workmates, I delighted in escaping the weekend crowds by swapping the Retiro park for the wilder Casa de Campo. In short, I found my Madrid.

A Madrilenya of sorts

In the end, leaving wasn't easy. Throwing in the towel halfway through the year might have seemed like a good idea at one point, but I'm incredibly glad I persevered and grew to appreciate Madrid for what it is: a bustling, modern metropolis; a grand old city of famous art galleries and traditional tabernas; an international melting pot; a vibrant destination where the marcha never stops, it only has a siesta; a series of barrios with their own distinct identity but a thread of similarity. Madrid has many layers, and I'm pleased to say that my year there taught me to appreciate most of them. It may not be my first Spanish love, but our relationship certainly taught me plenty of lessons and left me with some lasting memories.

Enjoying Madrid's winter sun

Although I'm not a Brit abroad at the moment, I have no doubt my expat days are far from over. In the meantime, I hope to keep Tales of a Brit Abroad going with tales of my trips overseas, as well as the guest blogger series which has taught me and my readers about life in towns and cities as diverse as Singapore, Wellington and Cesky Krumlov. Thank you for reading and supporting my blog in its first year, and I hope you continue to enjoy it for years to come.