Three thousand feet in the air

We drove through the clouds yesterday and this morning we ate breakfast, three thousand feet above sea level, at the foot of snow covered mountains, breathing air so fresh you can almost taste it.
We are in the Alps, yesterday the Italian, today on the Austrian-German border, just outside Innsbruck.

I am no lover of mountains, or snow, or ski jackets, but Nigel has always wanted to drive through the Alps, so we tossed a coin: heads the south of France, tails the mountain roads. I lost.
I hadn’t anticipated it would be so cold. It is early summer after all. But this high up, even when the sun is shining, as it is just now, it is cold. My feet are freezing and I am wearing three, no, four layers of clothing and a scarf.
Neither had I anticipated the scariness of the roads – nor do I think had Nigel. Our poor old camper almost didn’t make it up a hill yesterday. It was so steep I was breathless just sitting in the passenger seat.
But the main thing I had underestimated was the sheer beauty of the mountains. I am not a poet, so I won’t even try to describe how they look, suffice to say they leave me breathless just looking at them.
We are setting off for our next destination shortly, but not before I listen to the Archers omnibus on my trusty MacBook, thanks to the wonders of wifi.
We are staying in a campsite so modern, so luxurious it is almost decadent. There is the aforementioned wifi, also hot baths, granite shower units, a shop selling everything, and I mean everything, a professional camper could desire.
There is a bar, no, two bars, a restaurant, takeaway, swimming pool…I could go on, but I won’t.
It is of course a German campsite, one of the best, but even the most basic sites in this country are sparkling clean, efficient and full of amenities.
Greece on the other hand is hit and miss, with some sites so run down that even we, in our new chilled out, hippy phase of life, refused to stay in them.
But given the choice between German efficiency, wifi and hot tubs, or Greece’s more relaxed approach to life, I know which one I would choose…
I think there is a bottle of retsina lurking somewhere in the back of the fridge. Is it too early for a glass?

Sex and...

When Carrie Bradshaw and Mr Big finally got together again in the last episode of Sex and the City three years ago, my sister and I cried buckets. Our emotions that evening were fuelled, it has to be said, by several large Cosmopolitans, but we were genuinely moved by the very modern love story that was Carrie and Big.
So I couldn’t wait to see the much-anticipated big screen version of the cult TV hit series. Indeed I was so desperate I dragged my poor husband along to the Village cinema complex in downtown Athens earlier this week to catch an early evening screening.
No, I am not going to give away the plot, such as it was, or spoil the ending by telling you if it was happy or not, but I did cry a couple of times and laughed a few more.
But I didn’t really enjoy it. The genius of SATC - the TV series was the brilliant script. Okay, the accessories were to die for too, but the dialogue was sassy, fast paced, even at times, insightful.
The movie script just didn’t have the same sparkle or depth. It was also clearly a solo vehicle for Sarah Jessica Parker, with everyone else; yes even the magnetic Chris Noth, relegated to the sidewalk.
It was also very cynical. I don’t usually mind product placement, but when it as blatant as it was in this movie, it leaves even a brand junkie like me feeling a bit jaded.
In one of the most poignant moments of the movie, an iPhone gets a better close up than any of the four women.
And the graphic sex scenes that made the TV series such a talking point were largely absent. The most desirable thing in the movie was a pre-war Fifth Avenue penthouse apartment, with a walk-in wardrobe that was surely designed by a god-like genius.
As Mr Big would say, it was abso – effing – lutely gorgeous.

...the city

Not even a self confessed Grecophile such as I could describe Athens as abso-effing-lutely gorgeous.
It as a sprawling, raucous city of some four million souls, most of who live in concrete suburbs.
But its heart, the Acropolis is, as I have said already, one of the most stunning cityscapes in the world.
And just a short walk from there is my favourite restaurant in the world. 

The Café Avissinia doesn’t have a Michelin star, nor does it desire one.
It is not in the most fashionable location, tucked away as it is in the corner of the Monastiraki flea market.
And the décor, maroon paint, busy floral wallpaper and mismatched tables and chairs is late seventies Laura Ashley on speed.
But it is a little bit of restaurant heaven. 

We found it by accident on our first visit to Athens six years ago, when we ate there twice in four days, and yesterday was our sixth visit.
I love food, buying it, cooking it, reading about it, and most of all eating it, and so does Ketty Tooros the owner of the Abyssinian.
The menu is traditional Greek, but not the bland versions that tavernas dish up for tourists. This is food as Ketty’s grandmother used to make, but with a few modern twists.
Yesterday we sat down to fava using split peas from Santorini and grilled Halloumi cheese, followed by yaprakia, which is finely minced and perfectly spiced pork wrapped in cabbage and sardines, stuffed with herbs, wrapped with vine leaves and cooked in the oven with tomatoes and onions.
We drank a red wine from Drama, and don’t believe anyone who tells you Greek wine is undrinkable. It now has some terrific regional wines that are as good as the best Italy can offer.
We finished with a dense strawberry compote and Greek yoghurt, and a, small, glass of muscat de limnos from Alexandria.
“I would love to come to Edinburgh in August for your Festival,” said Ketty’s son who was in charge yesterday, “but we are having a baby soon,” he said, smiling with love and pride at his beautiful and very pregnant wife who sat at the next table.
“And Edinburgh would love to have a restaurant as good as this,” I replied.
No doubt he thought I was spinning him a line, but I can’t think of a similar place in my home city.
One that is open from noon to midnight, offers live music at the weekends, serves up great food in a relaxed atmosphere and is not competing for awards, simply celebrating life. And crucially doesn’t require a credit card or expense account for lunch.
Maybe The Dogs, David Ramsden’s new place in Hanover Street comes close, but where else?

Greek delights

A former boss of mine once advised my colleagues that if I was ever grumpy with them (as if), they should simply mention Greece, and I would calm down.
“Get her on to the subject of Greece,” he purportedly said. “She loves talking about it.”
He was right. Greece is one of my favourite places, and not just because of the fabulous weather.
There is the obvious sense of history, with the ruins of ancient towns scattered across the mainland and the islands. Where else would you find the remnants of a 2500-year-old community next to a café offering all day English breakfasts?
The Greeks practically invented Western civilisation. When we Brits were still running around in animal skins and woad, the Ancient Greeks were getting to grips with democracy, drama, philosophy, mathematics, medicine, and of course, organising the Olympics.
Athens is not the city most people think it is. Yes, the traffic is manic; even at 6.30 am as we discovered this morning on our way from the port of Piraeus.
Yes, most of the buildings are post-war concrete monstrosities that give large parts of the city a rather downmarket feel.
And the nightlife doesn’t start until midnight, which for someone who needs to be in her bed by 10.30 pm makes for a very quiet social life.
But it is also one of the most stunning city centres in the world. The Parthenon is one of the most enduring symbols of who we are and what we can achieve as human beings.
I defy anyone to stand in front of the Acropolis and not be uplifted.
But before I get my next fix of the classical world, I have a movie to see. I cannot believe that Sex and the City has been out for over two weeks and I have yet to see it.
Mock if you like, but there is no finer escapism than the world of Carrie Bradshaw, and no sexier character than Mr Big. I only hope it isn’t dubbed.

Yes he can

Yes he did. Hillary may not yet have conceded defeat, but Senator Barack Obama is going to be the Democrat’s candidate for the US general election in November – and very possibly the next President of the United States.
It is easy to mock politicians. Some are dumb, many arrogant and all have egos – you can’t put yourself forward for election without having some sort of belief in yourself. But they are no more egotistical than newspaper editors, brain surgeons or company CEOs – often less so.
Democracy depends absolutely on the willingness of people such as Senators Obama and Clinton, Jack McConnell, David Cameron et al, to put themselves up for election – and for them to take all the crap that goes with the job.
Imagine trying to stay focussed on doing a decent day’s work while all about you newspaper pundits, bar room sages and anonymous bloggers are making fun of your wife, questioning your honesty and blaming you for the stupidity of your friends. Not easy.
But someone has to do it. If we didn’t have people willing to put themselves and their families through the mill that is universal democratic suffrage, we would be living in a dictatorship.
Back to Senator Obama. It is all too easy to get carried away by his charismatic good looks and his energy, and to believe that maybe, just maybe, the West Wing was fact, not fiction.
It is also hard not to be cynical. I believed Bill Clinton when he talked about a little town called hope, and Tony Blair when he welcomed a new dawn.
Neither got it quite right, but they almost did.
Barack Obama wants to do the right things.
I believe in him when he talks about change and building “a world that's better, and kinder, and more just”.
I am neither naive or stupid.  Just a believer in the power of democracy.

And if we were to stop believing in the power of democracy to change the world for the better, then we stop believing in democracy…

Paradise found

Our second month on the road. It is scarcely believable that, just a few weeks ago, First Group, the Royal Bank of Scotland and deadlines imposed from above, below and leftfield ruled our lives. A deadline's source is irrelevant - they are all tyrannical.
Now our only target is reaching the next campsite on our roughly sketched itinerary. Today I write from the foot of Mount Olympus. I will repeat that because it is just sound so damn good. Today I write from the foot of Mount Olympus.
But before I get caught up in our Greek odyssey, let me take you back a few days to Bulgaria.
Our first impressions were bad, and as we approached the capital Sofia, where we had planned to stay for two nights, our mood got more morose.
Concrete high-rise, shanty towns and crumbling roads were all around. We had no campsite in mind; indeed we were unsure if any existed on the outskirts of the city and there was little in our guidebook to suggest Sofia was worth a 48 hour stopover.
“Let’s keep going,” I said, “We’ll bypass Sofia and head south towards Greece, we may find something along the way.”
Nigel did as he was told and kept following the E79 toward Blagoevgrad and the road to Thessaloniki.
“We are going to Rila Monastery,” I announced, as Sofia receded from the horizon. “It is Bulgaria’s spiritual home, it is just off the E79 and there are campsites near by.” Thank you Lonely Planet.
Just off the E79 turned out to be 31 kilometres up into the most amazing snow covered mountains, past fast flowing rivers and picturesque houses. We were silent in our astonishment of how Bulgaria had suddenly turned from being a dour, corrupt post-Communist state riddled with concrete into, well, paradise.
And we hadn’t reached the monastery yet.
Rila Monastery was quite simply spiritual. And I speak as a lifelong atheist. 

It was established by a herdsman turned priest, St John of Rila, in the first century AD and for centuries has been one of Bulgaria's most important historical and cultural monuments.
Today it is home to 300 monks who, in between prayers, play host to busloads of awestruck visitors.
Even the hordes of Japanese tourists led by a guide and interpreter, both with megaphones, yes megaphones, couldn’t ruin the atmosphere of calm contemplation that pervades the place.
The campsite next to it was down a hill so steep, pitted with so many treacherous rocks and potholes, that we decided to book into a small riverside hotel a few kilometres down the road rather than risk the van’s axle.
Budget, I hear you cry. What budget, I respond.
Our host, a young Bulgarian woman, showed us to a delightful room, with a view of the mountains and told us the restaurant was open until 11.00 pm.
We ate a sun-soaked tomato salad and home made bean soup washed down with an excellent Bulgarian red wine at a table by the river’s edge.
“You must love living here,” I said to our host. “It is paradise,” she said handing us a bill for a few euros.
It is also a great place to run an illegal pirating operation. As we were heading back to our room I peeked through an open door. It was filled with about twenty DVD players, all on and clearly recording. Another young woman was making a fine adjustment to her night’s work when she saw me staring and quickly slammed the door in my face.
Bulgaria, a haven for corrupt officials, organised crime and surly bank tellers…and paradise on earth.

Things I miss from home

Things I miss from home

• Family
  
• Friends
  
• Gossip

And that is about it...

Things I don’t miss from home

• The tyranny of going to work every day
  
• Opening bank and credit card statements
  
• Deciding what to have for dinner
  
• Wasting the weekend doing domestic chores
  
• The rain
  
• Grey skies
  
• The rain
  
• Supermarket shopping
  
• Sleepless nights
  
• Watching, wistfully, endless repeats of A Place in the Sun 
  
• The number 27 bus full of schoolchildren
  
• Small minds 
  
• Monstrous egos
  
• The rain
  

There are more, many more, but I can’t bear to list them…