Battie Delights...

Our recent tour around New England was one of our best holidays for years. While we enjoyed the whole thing, there were a few elements that really 'made' the holiday. Our stay in Maine, at the Mount Battie motel near Camden, was one of those.

Mount Battie Motel

From 2010-08-30

First of all, there is the Mount Battie Motel itself, run by the wonderful Christine and Ed. There is no question that they gave us the warmest welcome of all of the places we stayed in New England, and I am having trouble thinking of a hotel or motel anywhere else that comes close in this regard. They went out of their way to help us find some good things to do during our short stay in the region, of which they are clearly and justifiably proud. It is clear that Ed and Christine have made themselves firmly part of the local community - on our very first night Ed picked up the phone to book us a table at a local restaurant, saying 'Hi, it's Ed...'. The good things don't stop with the welcome; breakfast is a delicious and ample buffet of excellent home baking. We ate our breakfast each morning outdoors, on the verandah overlooking the sea. The accommodation is spacious and comfortable, and there is an admirable attention to detail everywhere - such as the plants and flowers all kept pristine. Do I recommend it? I certainly do.

Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse

From 2010-08-28

On the first day - we were a bit frazzled from solid city tourism in Boston, so chilled on the little local beach for a while, then had a potter to the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse. We came across the local swimming club on our walk along the breakwater, doing a long distance race.

Mount Megunticook

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With just a couple of days -we had great walk up and around Mount Megunticook in the Camden Hills state park - a solid hill walk (about 6 miles, and ~1200 feet of ascent) a wooded trail leading up to a smooth granite ledge, with some amazing views over the Penobscot Bay.

From New England August 2010

Pursuing the elusive tone

I have fallen in love with playing the flute. After a few months of daily practice, I find myself thinking about it a lot of the time. On those few occasions when everything comes together, the sound is utterly beautiful. There seems to be a myterious chemistry that makes things come together; a combination of mood, posture, concentration and luck. It's a much more fickle relationship than with playing the whistle, where What you Play is What you get. With the flute it's more like a negotiation; you have to persuade the thing to do your bidding.

We're not talking about a shiny nickel-plated instrument; this is an elegant, tapered two foot six rosewood pipe with holes in. It even smells lovely.

Journey's End

In the last couple of months I have had an extraordinary number of business trips to do; Manchester, Frankfurt, Las Vegas, San Francisco, Phoenix. By the end of this list, I was beginning to feel pretty grumpy about just being away from home. Thankfully, I think that this high density travel is over for a while. Hardcore travellers would sneer at my mention of Manchester and Frankfurt, which involved flights but were just day trips. All three of the others were, each in their own way, tremendous fun. Even so, a little less airborne life for a while will be welcome.

Vegas

I am embarrassed to say that I liked Las Vegas and look forward to going there again. There is something so extreme about the degree of tackiness that it is somehow endearing. The MGM Grand, where I stayed, was so enormous that it took me fifteen minutes solid walk to get from my room to the conference in another part of the Hotel.

My introduction to the Red Square Vodka Bar in Las Vegas was interesting. When we asked the way there, one person said "that's a very cool place" and looked at me and the other two brits I was with as though he thought we were too square to enter. Since trying pepper Vodka at least twenty years ago and hating it, I don't think I have had vodka at all until walking into that bar, and so it was a pleasant surprise to find that one of the two I tried was really very nice. By the way - the guy who told us the way was right - a very cool place. For example, they have an ice bar and yes, that means that the bar is made out of ice.

On the way out of Las Vegas on my flight back to Heathrow, I got some lovely shots of the desert;

Phoenix

Another desert destination, where I stayed in the most lovely hotel - the Arizona Biltmore - designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

There was time for a little fun and relaxation this time, plus a walk in the desert, which was chiefly interesting for the moment when one of our party backed into a cactus, which speared him with several needles - each of which has a tiny barb on the end of it. Our guide spent some moments tugging them out, first with tweezers, and when he got fed up with doing that, he started using a comb, which was rather more effective.

My New Bike

Ooh. Lovely. I have just been out for a little spin on the new machine. Very nice.

Seagull at Bristol Docks

We had a day trip to Bristol over the Easter weekend, braving forecasts of snow. As a teenager living in Taunton, Bristol was the big city where everything must be happening, and I always loved visiting it. Even earlier, when I was little, I got taken to visit the Bristol Museum, and remembered pleasurably tired feet at the end of. So, we set off on the train from Romsey to Bristol - standing room only - for the wallet-stinging sum of £85, surrounded by an amiable crowd of rugby fans off to watch the game in Bath. Bristol didn't disappoint; it has a nice slightly off-beat feel about it, and Tess reliably told me it has lots of cool shops. We even went to the Bristol Museum, which sparked some old memories. For me, the museum itself is as interesting as the things inside it - even the display cases are antiques in their own right. We stopped to eat at a little cafe on the docks, and there was this cloud of seagulls flying into the wind, keeping station right outside of the window while someone threw bread to them.

A fine day for a tandem ride

I woke up, drank too much coffee, and ran around prepping the tandem, then Janice and I set off on a lovely ride through Broughton to Nether Wallop, then back past Danebury ring - not forgetting a stop for a Danish in Stockbridge. Along the way, we saw a white bird a bit like a heron standing in some water - but heron's aren't white. Hmm. I had forgotten that this part of the Test Valley must be millionaire country; lots of very nicely done up cottages, and joggers who greet you by saying 'helleau'... Anyhow; here's the route we took.

A fine stinker

For days, I had been wandering around the house muttering 'I can smell something'. It had become an obsession. I first suspected the drains, then Sam's trainers, then my own BO. I finally noticed that the smell seemed strongest in our utility room, so I went to investigate. At last the light dawned: there, inside the fridge, in its box, wrapped in grease-proof paper, wrapped in a plastic bag and then placed inside another box, was a fine slab of Pont L'Eveque, the first strike weapon of the French cheese armaments division. The insidious pong had penetrated its five containment barriers. Without further ado, we did the only sensible thing, and had it for lunch. What a fine cheese! One funny thing though. I am a lover of the stinky, runny french cheese, but I have never found anything that they go with (apart from bread and crackers). I am left with the conclusion that they are a thoroughbred: meant to be savoured in solitary splendour.

Vienna Market

We found this exceptional market in Vienna - live fish, and enough wasabi nuts to satisfy even the keenest green horseradish fanatic.

Too much of a good thing

This sight of petrified feminine bounty greeted me each morning as I looked out of the window from the Vienna Marriott. All very nice, but there's something about the endless repetition that is somewhat disquieting...

Folk Sessions Calendar

Ode to my Belly

Myself and a couple of other slightly gravitationally challenged persons (who shall remain nameless to spare their blushes) are planning a post-summer-holiday diet. I felt the need to celebrate my current manly (at least around the wiast) figure;

Ode to my Belly

Sing "Ho!" for the waist of Rob P.
It's girth maidens oft' swoon to see.
When offered a pud'n,
He'd chomp like like a good'n
'til full, zatch to guggle, was he.

Views from a train

I took these after a nice visit down to see Dad and Mary on the train. I have a suspicion that the other passengers thought they had a loony on their hands as I snapped away. I am going to have to make guesses as two where each of these were Approach to Dawlish Warren Just past Dawlish Warren Exeter Hopefully this is self evident

Whistle Practice

I thought that an audio diary of my fumbling attempts to improve my whistling might be a good idea. The results are here

Cycle route

Today, me, Peter and Adrian went on this excellent ride. Peter has optimized this route for maximum ascent, which left Adrian and I puffing a bit at times. Despite a nasty weather forecast, it turned out to be rather a nice morning.

Memories from a two-nighter in Cairo

Arrival

We've just landed, been herded into a shuttle bus, and approach immigration with our passports (and visas ordered in a panick two weeks ago). To my astonishment, there is a guy holding a card with our names on it. Seems he's here to help us get through customs and immigration, and heads straight towards the 'Diplomatic' queue. He briskly grabs our passports and studies them with ferocious concentration. Eventually he turns around and says 'I can't read this number'. The official writing on the visa is hard to decipher, so we all gather round and come to a consensus.

Punk Version of the Kesh Jig

Having played the Kesh Jig for years, I never expect to hear a punk song set to it, but it seems that "Salty Dog" by "Flogging Molly" is just that. Hear for yourself

Daring to Whistle

I've been following this really nice 'mutual self help' site for whistlers for a while. The idea is that you attempt to play the 'tune of the moment', which right now is 'Mug of Brown Ale'. At long last I have dared to post my version. I recorded it using a cheap PC microphone and the freeware audacity, which is really very good.

Flightless wasp (bee?) at Torrey Pines

Our charming docent (see previous post) pointed out this wee bee. I am afraid it's a bit fuzzy, but the darned thing never stopped moving.

Balboa Park, San Diego

We spent a really nice relaxing day wandering around Balboa Park, which is a kind of Italianate (Mexicanate?) place. Imagine a very large, warm, non-Welsh version of Portmeirion and you'll get a not particularly good idea of what it was like. We ate lunch with a man in a cowboy hat and a german who looked precisely like Robin Williams, which felt a little surreal. There was this rather nice hothouse, though this being San Diego it seemed not to be particularly sealed against the elements. More of a wind break than anything else. Our Hotel was this tall slim affair. At night, we would be woken up at about two AM by a great big train going past. The first warning was the dinging of the bells on the level crossings, followed by the stentorian honking of the train's whistle.

Torrey Pines State Park

We had a gentle stroll (which had been publicised as a 'vigorous hike') around the Torrey Pines State Park, escorted by a 'docent', who turned out to be a nice little Scottish lady with an endless fascination in all of the wildlife of the park. Her focussed enthusiasm was infective, and I had lots of fun trying to photo everything she pointed out, including the nondescript pile of twigs that was supposedly a rats nest. P.S. 'Docent' turns out to mean 'someone who teaches', and in the US seems to refer to volunteer guides. Never seen it used in British English.