Malta – Harbour Cruise by day, Paceville by night

Posted on October 18, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

One of the benefits of doing a Hop-on, Hop-off bus tour is that, included in your 15 Euros ticket, you get a free Harbour Cruise too. This really does make it a very good bargain, although you need to choose your cruise time carefully; at peak hours I understand you can be packed like sardines. We were lucky though. When we arrived at the Sliema Ferries departure point, a cruise was to depart in fifteen minutes time and there were still plenty of good places to sit and enjoy the view. If it were a cruise liner, I guess you could say we sat starboard, aft. Rather than facing the direction of the boat, we were looking out at 90 degrees, directly to sea – or land, depending where we were.

But first, a little tale of warning for when you’re walking along the water’s edge at Sliema. We decided not to bother with the bus as it was (as always) a perfect day for a walk and it really isn’t far from St Julian’s. We were just amiably wandering along the main road near the ferries, when we were jumped upon by an enthusiastic young chap wanting to sell us all sorts of trips. They were nice trips, and they were a good price; and we were tempted; but we decided to walk on, saying we’d come back, but really with the intention of doing our best to forget about them. That worked fine; he knew he’d lost the sale; he would find plenty more fish walking alongside the sea for on which to pounce.

Then another bloke appeared; this time quite a lot older, a very cheery bluff northerner. Not the north of Malta – more Yorkshire. He attempted to engage us in so many ways – where you from, where you staying, which hotel, blah-di-blah, and I knew it wasn’t because he was a lonely soul looking for a friend. “Which travel company did you use?” he asked. “We didn’t – just booked it with the hotel and bought the flights online”. “Ah, you look the type” he said. I wonder what type that is? His remit was to get us to go into the hotel across the road and “have a look round”. The hotel apparently was going to build some new accommodation somewhere and they supposed that if you were to go in and look around, and taste a little of their hospitality, you might be more likely to use them next time you come to Malta. Errmm, no, I don’ t think so. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, if you go over there, I get 50 quid”, he pleaded. “It’s timeshare!” we squealed in horror. “No, no, not timeshare” he blathered unconvincingly. But 50 quid is 50 quid and he wasn’t a bad sort. He started to succeed in making us feel guilty. “How long will they keep us there? 10 minutes? 15 minutes?” Mrs Chrisparkle asked, almost relenting with her natural kindness. “No more than two hours” he replied. TWO HOURS??? We almost trampled over him in our haste to escape. “Awww, I’ll have to get my 50 quid from some other people then” he offered, sounding a bit hurt. Yes mate, you will.

The harbour cruise takes about an hour and a half. First of all it dips down towards Ta ‘Xbiex and back alongside Manoel Island; then it goes round the top of Valletta past Fort St Elmo, back down past the waterfront, and further down towards Marsa; then back up the other side, past the Three Cities, over and around back to Sliema. It’s a very enjoyable way of taking in the views and seeing different parts of the harbour area – both scenic and industrial.

The MSC Splendida ship was visiting Valletta that day, and you get a very interesting perspective of such a large ship when you are just a little boat chugging past. I bet this is superb inside – Mrs C and I have definitely got our eye on it for a future cruise.

If you look at the map, the Three Cities emerge as finger like promontories, protruding deep into the harbour. I caught this picture of a look-out at the end of Safe Haven Gardens at Senglea – notice the eye and the ear decorations which represent vigilance.

We saw some incredibly grand and expensive yachts on this little jaunt. Here’s the Martha Ann. Read about it and positively salivate at the prospect of hiring it for a week.

And this little beauty is called The Maltese Falcon. The narrator on our little boat said it cost 280 million Euros. It’s absolutely breathtaking. I think our skipper was a little nervous at getting too close to it – imagine the bill if you had an accident!

By comparison, the Areti is a bit of a minnow. Still, I wouldn’t mind it as a gift. Any offers?

I could show you more yachts, but it would only make you jealous. We navigated safely back to Sliema, very pleased with our free excursion. We stopped for lunch at one of the places opposite the Sliema ferries – very nice salad but they would only serve you wine by the glass. That’s one of my pet hates. In that roasting sunshine a glass of wine that started chilled (-ish) quickly becomes chambré if you’ve no ice bucket. Afterwards we plunged ourselves into the dark recesses of the shopping streets of Sliema to look for bargains. Mrs C thought the handbags and shoes looked promising. However, on closer inspection, they failed to come up to her exacting standards, ludicrously cheap though they may have been. We looked for jeans in the Levi shop and other groovy outlets, as we are nothing if not trendy. Everything was either way too expensive or way too small. There were a few UK-type shops – Marks & Spencer, BHS, etc; and you could buy the same clothes in the UK for much cheaper, so there wasn’t a lot of point buying them in Malta. So in the end, rather like the runner-up in The Weakest Link, we left with nothing.

After a relatively early afternoon nap – for which relief, much thanks – we decided we would have dinner around the bay in St Julian’s and then head off to Paceville to witness the much vaunted nightlife. For dinner, we returned to San Giuliano, because the food is ok and it’s a great location. I was very happy with the stylish “Still life with water and wine bottles” pictures I took.

Night fell and we walked up the hill in the direction of noisy and raucous youth. We thought we’d have a drink in a little bar somewhere we could sit outside, but there were surprisingly few places, and those there were, were absolutely full. Then we stumbled upon De Olde Keg. To be honest, it promised little from the outside, but there were seats and it was relatively clean. We tripled the average age of the clientele, but that’s never put me off before. No one seemed to be serving outside, so I went to the bar and asked for two glasses of white wine. Two mismatched glasses of wine were haphazardly poured out with a “wotever” attitude. The price? Two euros. Mentally, I took all my criticisms back. Naturally I presented Mrs C with the smaller of the two glasses. And you know what? It didn’t taste at all bad.

It was getting late (for us) but Paceville was just waking up. We found a welcoming looking bar/club/restaurant called Soho Lounge, nabbed a really good outside table, ordered a rather delicious bottle of white wine and watched the youth of Malta and several other countries getting tanked up, refused entry, acting riotously, wearing precious little, and all those other things young people do on a Wednesday night out. It was a bit like Bridge Street in Northampton but with less fake tan. We left around 12.30am to go back to the hotel; for Paceville that’s the equivalent of morning elevenses. But we had a busy day lined up for Thursday…

Malta – Valletta

Posted on October 16, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

Tuesday came around quickly, it only seemed like a few days since we’d arrived; oh, it was! A week’s holiday isn’t a long time. Seeing as how our adventures trying to get back from Bugibba had ended up with our buying a week long standard bus pass, there didn’t seem a lot of point doing more Hop-on Hop-offs at 15 Euros a day. So we decided to take the bus to Valletta and have a leisurely strolling-around-the-capital sort of day.

A word about the buses: if you are a long time visitor to Malta, you will no doubt remember the old Morris buses: colourful, ancient, smoky, slow, reckless, uncomfortable, dirty and highly entertaining. However, last year a new broom swept the island clean of these characterful monstrosities, and now it’s served with a spanking new, sleek fleet of modern buses, run by Arriva. From a practical point of view it’s a superb improvement; from a romantic point of view, a little bit of history just got erased. Still, getting from St Julian’s to Valletta couldn’t have been easier, quicker or more comfortable.

You get disgorged at that big fountain-in-a-roundabout in Floriana, just outside the city walls. It’s not the most elegant or beautiful gateways to a city; in fact it feels like the tradesmen’s entrance, with hundreds of people looking for the correct bus stop and hundreds of bus drivers avoiding eye contact with you. There are a number of food and drink stalls around but they all look a bit down at heel. It’s not helped by the fact there is a huge amount of development going on at the moment, so you’ve got all this and a building site too. However, once you tread your way carefully through the small entrance and into that first square, things start to improve considerably. There’s still a lot of building work going on; but you can’t get in the way of progress, can you? At least we were pleased to see that the guys working on the sides of the buildings were taking sun precautions by working under a parasol.

Armed with my trusty guidebook, Mrs Chrisparkle and I embarked on a walk round the ramparts, and then a further exploration inside the city to catch some of the major sights. We turned left, and up the staircases till we found ourselves at Hastings Gardens, with its magnificent views across the water from Ta’ Xbiex to Sliema (nowhere near Hastings). The rampart walls are amazingly thick and would have kept out the most mischievous marauder. The gardens are very attractive and would be a nice place to rest with a book in the sunshine; but we had no time for that, so it was onward, down the steps, past the Anglican cathedral and on towards St Sebastian’s Bastion, if that’s not a tautology. The views out to sea – particularly of Manoel Island – and of the charming old buildings inland are very rewarding and it makes for a pleasant sunny walk. We did get pestered by a horse and cart man though. How many times did he need to be told we didn’t want to be paraded around the town in the back of his manky looking carriage with his sorrowful looking horse? Several, as it turns out. With our pasty pink skin and solar topee hats I’ve no idea how he knew we were tourists. “Don’t know why you’re walking this way, you can’t get into Fort St Elmo, you know”, he warned. I gave my “so what?” shrug. I don’t think it was the response he sought. He trotted dismally off, like a dismissed extra in a wild-west movie.

It was however true, and annoying, that you can’t get into Fort St Elmo, unless there’s some special military re-enactment going on. Part of the building is given over to the National War Museum, which I am sure is very interesting, but if you know Mrs C at all, you would know there was no chance of going in. Instead, we dropped down into the town along Merchants Street, which, like most of Valletta, has very tall buildings and is quite a narrow street, so you don’t get much sun at human height. The architecture is ornate and grand, and there are some splendid big doors, behind which lurk mysterious churches and palazzos. The morning market was just packing up, which is presumably how the street gets its name. Eventually we found ourselves at the back side (so to speak) of St John’s Co-Cathedral. We had decided we would visit either the cathedral or the Grand Master’s Palace, but not both. The cathedral won.

Inside it’s astonishingly ornate and beautiful, a veritable festival of the Baroque. It was built between 1572 and 1581 as the main church for the Knights of St John, so it’s not surprising they made a bit of a song and dance about it. You get an audio guide with your entrance fee but, to be honest, there is so much information to read, hear and understand that you could turn a simple visit into a lengthy history lesson; and I feared that by deconstructing it into its separate parts you might lose the overall magic of the place. Instead, we just wandered around, admired the art and the incredible skill required to make the building what it is. The oratory has an extraordinary Caravaggio, “The Beheading of John the Baptist”, and it’s well worth giving it a good few minutes of your time to appreciate it in full. I hope the photos give you an indication of just how splendid the cathedral is.

Time for lunch, and we had a nice salad and a bottle of Trebbiano in the middle of Merchants Street – a couple of the cafes had staked out tables and chairs in the middle of the pedestrianised area. Alas, they didn’t run to a wine cooler, and in the Maltese sun it didn’t take long for the cold white wine to warm up. But we soldiered on. I can’t remember the name of the place and their receipt didn’t mention the name either – curious. It definitely existed though.

We remembered enjoying the Malta Experience the last time we were here in 1993 and thought we would go again, for Auld Lang Syne if nothing else. Just one tourist attraction, that’s not too reprehensible, we thought; and it would be informative and enjoyable. And so it is. You basically sit in a very shallow but wide cinema and take in a 45 minute audio-visual account of the history of Malta. It’s comfortable, and the sound and picture quality are very good. One of the screen images of modern Malta as a tourist destination includes a picture of the Costa Concordia; they might want to think about changing that.

Unexpectedly, after the Malta Experience, included in the price is a little private tour of the Hospital of the Order of St John. Most people toddled off after the presentation and so missed it; only about eight of us waited for the beaming jolly lady to take us across the road to visit the hospital. As we walked towards it, the horse and cart man was lingering around again. “Ah, you came back to me, I knew you would”, he said. We just stayed silent with our noses in the air. The hospital is adjacent to or somehow joined in with the Mediterranean Conference Centre, so not only did we see the two main hospital halls, with their pageantry banners and plaques, but also the theatre stage where Bush and Gorbachev met formally to end the Cold War in 1989. It was a very interesting addition to our day’s sightseeing.

And that was it really. A bit late in the day to attempt any more sights, and we wanted to get back to St Julian’s for a decent nap as later on we would be going out to dinner with a Maltese Eurovision star. I know; what a name-dropper. In our best bibs and tucker, we waited outside the hotel for them to arrive. Just before 9pm there was a loud beeping of horns as said star waved maniacally at us from behind his steering wheel and we dashed across lanes of the moving traffic to hurl ourselves in the back of their car. We zoomed up the hilly streets until we found the only parking space in Paceville. They recommended this rather expensive but very nice Italian/Mediterranean restaurant in the Bay Street complex, the San Crispino. The staff there obviously recognised our famous host and so we got an excellent corner table and some very smiley and courteous service! The dinner and the company were both excellent, plus we had a nice bottle of Gavi to wash it down. Bay Street at night was a very lively place, even on a Tuesday; one of the cafes was holding a late night tea dance which, at even past midnight, still had a lot of people of all ages waltzing around. We got back to St Julian’s by about 12.30, and I think we might have sneaked in a little half-bottle of wine to read by on the balcony before lights out at 1am. A perfect day of sightseeing and socialising!

Malta – Mosta, Mdina, Golden Bay and Bugibba – a Hop-on, hop-off experience

Posted on October 15, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

It’s only a little island – and Gozo is even littler – but they both seem to be awash with red and blue tourist buses offering you their Hop-on, Hop-off services. You see them everywhere around the world now, and a snobbish part of me is proud to say that we’ve never been on one before – until this trip to Malta, that is. Given that we were trying hard to keep up the relaxation levels and weren’t keen on making decisions, or doing “real travelling”, this seemed the perfect solution. The Maltese Hop-on, Hop-offs do two different routes – a north and a south. Our main objective was to visit Mosta and Mdina as we had done in 1993, so we plumped for the north, and decided we’d do the south another day if time/energy/willingness/ sanity allowed. What I didn’t realise is that about 90% (or so it seems) of these buses you see everywhere are feeder buses, collecting people from hotels all over the island and taking them to the start point, which is at the Sliema Ferries terminus. There, you get off your first bus and wait for your proper bus to turn up, and they basically set off a new bus on the same route every half an hour till mid afternoon, which becomes the last one at the end of the day.

The route takes you round the harbour to a good place to get off for Valletta, but we thought we’d leave that for another day. The bus driver gives you earphones when you get on, which attach to a socket by your seat, but with no instructions. For the first half hour or so I heard nothing; either it was faulty, or I was tuning in to the wrong channel, I never did fathom out which. Mrs Chrisparkle and I had been tempted to get off at the San Anton Gardens stop, but without the commentary you couldn’t tell which stop was which, and it wasn’t until after I saw the gardens sailing away behind us that I realised we’d missed the stop. That made me get a bit miffed. We also decided to skip the Ta Qali crafts village and stay on until we reached Mosta.

Mosta, if you don’t know, is an inland town famous for its beautiful church that miraculously survived a WW2 incident when a bomb fell through its roof but failed to detonate. A replica of the bomb is on display at the church. It’s also a stunningly beautiful building with a massive dome that you can see for miles; in fact, apparently, it’s the third largest unsupported dome in the world. Inside the church it’s ornately and elegantly presented, and, like the dome, it’s circular in shape. It’s definitely worth spending a good half hour here to appreciate this amazing building. Out in their “back room” (I expect there is a proper word for that), some guys were polishing and returning artefacts to their cabinets that I presume had been paraded round town for Mosta’s Festa, just like St Julian had been the previous day. It was interesting to note the complete lack of security with these artefacts, which are presumably somewhere on the scale of pricelessness. They were just hanging around on tables, with us tourists wandering around them, whilst the guys were bringing in other valuable items of silver.

From Mosta it’s just a very short hop to Mdina, the old capital of Malta, perched high on a hill; an old walled town that just oozes atmosphere with its narrow streets, tall buildings and hushed eeriness. With the HOHO bus, you approach it via the Mdina Gate, which is flanked by a pair of lions for protection, although they’re not much use against marauding tourists. Once through the gate you could visit the Natural History Museum, but Mrs C isn’t much of a museum person, so we carried on down the main street, Triq Villegaignon, just soaking up the feel of the place. Not for the first time, nor the last, I admired the knockers on the doors. No titters please, they genuinely are fascinating – intricate and ornate, shapely and sometimes very big too. I said no titters.

We decided we would visit the Cathedral. It’s not free, but you do also gain entrance to the Cathedral museum, which contains lots of interesting old items. The cathedral is grand and refined, with a colourful dome and some excellent brightly decorated tombstones on the floor. I’m sure you could while away a fascinating hour or so just piecing together the lives of the people commemorated by these floor plaques. Anyway, as I’d paid for the privilege, I took a lot of photos.

We basically did the full circuit of the old town, which in itself doesn’t take more than half an hour if you don’t stop anywhere. We hid from costumed salespeople wanting us to visit the Mdina Experience and its spin-offs; I’d sooner see the real thing than a Hollywood version of it. We reached Bastion Square and took in the commanding view of the rest of the island, with the Mosta Dome plonked right in front of you. Our visit to Mdina in 1993 was one of the windiest experiences of our lives, but this summer it was just glorious. If you come to Malta, you just have visit Mdina, it’s like a little world of all of its own.

Back on the HOHO bus and our next stop was to be Golden Bay, with just a temporary pause at Mgarr to see (from the outside only) the “Egg” Church – so called because it was paid for by the proceeds of egg sales, rather than because it looks like Hercule Poirot’s head – and we heard with interest from the commentary (which I could now get to work) that all the clocks on the churches in Malta are set to two times – one correct, one wrong, in order to fool the devil. If that’s all it takes to fool him, you would have thought evil would have been eradicated long ago.

Onwards to Golden Bay. It is basically just a beach, but a very beautiful one, and absolutely chock full of people. We thought we would just take a quick stroll around it and then find something to eat. Our options were limited – Munchies, basically, which is the name of both a restaurant on one side of the bay, and a smaller café on the other. The restaurant was packed so we tried the café and it was a surprising delight! We each had salad and it was plentiful and fresh and very tasty. We ordered a bottle of white wine – Delicata’s Gran Cavalier Chardonnay, and it was absolutely perfect. Although it was a bit cramped, we ended up spending an hour and a half here, and it was worth every second.

Our final port of call for the day was to be Bugibba, as we had stayed there in 1993. We remembered it as a jolly, friendly if unattractive town. We got off the bus a little earlier than we intended – in St Paul’s Bay, I think; so then decided we would walk into Bugibba and pick up the bus at its next stopping point. A friendly lady in a bar pointed us in the direction of Bugibba town centre – basically turn right and keep walking downhill. That was fine, and we found the centre square, and we thought that Bugibba looked probably a little better nowadays and would certainly be a lively place to base yourself for a self-indulgent boozy, party holiday, and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, we couldn’t locate the bus stop. So we thought we’d carry on walking along the direction that the bus was bound to follow. So we walked. And walked. No buses. Eventually we came to an ice-cream kiosk, where we asked the embarrassing question, “do you know where we are?” Qawra, apparently. I was pretty sure the HOHO bus didn’t go via Qawta, so, totally lost, our only choice was to find the bus station to catch an Arriva bus back to town, as the last tourist bus would have gone by now.

That, of course, wasn’t as straightforward as it should have been, as the gentleman at the bus station told us that there had been a serious road crash somewhere and that no traffic of any sort was getting through. They expected the next bus to arrive in about 90 minutes – if we were lucky. Sigh; but we put it down to being all part of the travel experience. We sat down and watched as commuters and tourists alike got more and more anxious and rude about the delays. We saw one man roundly abusing the bus company official – using the kind of language that we found offensive so I’m sure the poor bus man would have been. Naturally, the bus arrived – way before the predicted 90 minutes; and squashed like sardines we took the slow route back to St Julian’s.

After such a long adventurous day we of course needed our restorative afternoon nap. Actually it was an early evening nap, but it does the same job. For dinner that night, we didn’t go far – one of the restaurants adjacent to Spinola Bay at right-angles to the Juliani Hotel – we chose the San Giuliano. It’s a bit of a tourist trap really, quite expensive for what you get, but the location is stunning. The food was adequate, and cheered up by a bottle of Delicata’s Green Label wine, which the young lady recommended and I thought was perfectly respectable. So, overall, an exhausting day, but good fun. I’m sure there’s an art to mastering the HOHO buses, but you probably need more than a week’s holiday to achieve it. We would, however, have another go later in the week…

Malta – St George’s Bay, St Julian’s Bay and Sliema

Posted on October 12, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

We saw no reason to get up early so we squeaked into breakfast with just enough time to be soothed into the day by Zsuzsi and Kenny’s serving skills. The brekky in the Hotel Juliani is great. The orange juice is superb, the muesli tasty and crunchy, the cooked breakfast is made up of several delicious individual constituents – including the best scrambled egg I’ve ever had in a hotel – and there was always a different “breakfast cake of the day” that was officially fabulous.

When we did eventually face up to our sightseeing duties, we decided to walk north up towards St George’s Bay and from there take a look at Paceville before returning to St Julian’s for lunch – unless we saw something we fancied more beforehand. If you’ve been to Malta, then you’ll know that the coastline is very rugged and unbeachy, and there are so many little inlets and headlands and bays that you can never be sure quite how far you can walk and still stay close to the sea. Such was our experience. A welcoming looking outcrop near the Dragonara Casino beckoned us and we explored it, but then found we could get no further, so it was necessary to retrace our steps over the rocky pools and back to the busy streets in order to make any progress. Those streets weren’t particularly interesting or attractive at 11.00 on a Sunday morning, the night after everyone stayed up to enjoy St Julian’s Festa. Nevertheless we persevered, and eventually found ourselves walking down an incline with the rather beautiful St George’s Bay on our right.

It’s one of those Maltese rarities – a little sandy beach. As a result it was pretty heavily oversubscribed by bronzed beauties. Not that beaches hold much attraction for Mrs Chrisparkle and me. I can’t imagine anything more boring than a holiday spent lazing in the sun, so it was not a matter of regret that we couldn’t stretch out on the sand. However, it wasn’t long before Mrs C spied one of her pet loves – they had pedalos. She spoke to the lady in the shop who said it was €8,00 for an hour. We struck the deal. Pedalo lady hollered at her long-suffering husband to procure us one said pedal operated sea-going vessel, and in a few moments we were on the crest of a wave. The only words of instruction or advice we were given were not to go out beyond the casino. That was quite far enough out to sea for me, frankly.

We let a group of over-enthusiastic Italian youths go first – not that we were ever going to stand in their way – so as to reduce the chance of maritime intimidation. Once pedalling, the main hazard to shipping in those first few moments were the bathers, who seemed determined not to move out of the way even though we were much bigger than they were. So we progressed very slowly and carefully, trying hard not to side-swipe local beauties and fat foreigners alike, till we got beyond the swimmers and alongside the yachts moored out in the middle of the bay. Some of them were rather splendid, and contained wealthy-looking owners, unimpressed with the sight of a middle-aged English couple hurtling towards them at full pedal speed. But we knew what we were doing. Once we’d put the wind up them, we swerved aside and pottered on happily up to near the casino, then did a wide sweep-round in the clear blue sea, and headed back into the bay. The bunch of Italians had stopped their pedalo in open water and were playing at pushing each other into the sea. What larks they must have been having. In the course of our hour we managed to do the full round circuit of St George’s Bay four times. On our final leg, we returned to the shore, extremely slowly as some bikini clad ladies refused to yield their patch of beach to us, until, miffed, the old pedalo bloke told them to sling their combined hooks. We regained land safe and sound, and I have to admit it was a lot of fun.

From St George’s Bay it’s a very brief walk until you find yourself in the centre of Paceville. By day it looks a little run down, with stretches of identical bars and restaurants all next to each other. It comes into its own at night, as we would discover later in the week. We had a little wander round but the restaurants all seemed a bit chicken ‘n’ chips-like for us, so we decided to follow the road back down into St Julian’s. Profiting from our walk the previous afternoon, we traipsed all the way round the bay and up and over towards Sliema, and got as far as Peppi’s Restaurant. We had seen the day before that they had gluten-free pizza bases and pasta so thought we just had to give them a try. Well Mrs C did – I had a burger. It was ok, it tasted rather like those burgers we used to eat in the seventies, fried rather than grilled – nothing special but perfectly adequate, and we did have a wonderfully positioned table overlooking the bay. Mrs C’s pizza looked gorgeous, but she didn’t finish it. When questioned on its merits, she described it as “a plucky attempt”. To drink, we ordered a bottle of white wine from the Marsovin winemakers – La Valette Blanc. If you want a subtle, complex, awe-inspiring wine, don’t even consider it. If you just want a simple, refreshing white wine it’s a very nice option – rather like an old-fashioned Liebfraumilch.

After the lunch and relax it was time to explore again. We thought we’d cut through the centre of Sliema and emerge at the coast where the ferries connect Sliema and Valletta. So we walked down the snappily named Triq Sir Adrian Dingli, got a little bit lost trying to find the Triq San Vincenz, so a kindly old local gentleman wandered up to us and tried to help – only he didn’t know where it was either. No worries, eventually we found the way down to the sea. It’s an absolutely splendid view of Valletta from that coast road – no wonder all the ferries do that stretch of water, it’s not often that the direct route and the “pretty way” are the same. From there, we walked along to the Fortina Hotel and up and over in front of Tigne Fort and past the new big shopping centre there, Tigne Point. Reminiscent of Milton Keynes but bizarrely deserted on a Sunday; the skateboarders seemed to enjoy it though. I noted loads of padlocks attached to the railings, which appears to be a new trend for courting couples and newlyweds – at least it’s more environmentally friendly than carving their names with a penknife. We dropped back down the steep streets and found ourselves back in the older shopping centre of Sliema around Tower Road, where Mrs C took note of a few establishments for her to patronise when they would be open later in the week.

We started to head for home – taking a more direct route through Sliema back to Balluta Bay and then round the water’s edge to our hotel. Preparations for the final evening of St Julian’s festa were well advanced. An effigy of the Great Man himself was marched through the town; I say marched, what actually happens is that he is so heavy that the guys carrying him can only manage a few yards at a time before they have to put him down and massage their hernias. Sooner them than me.

Following our afternoon nap – which came pretty late that day, but still had to be observed as it is a statutory requirement – for dinner that night we went to the Sardinella Restaurant in St Julian’s. Mrs C had the Tagliata, and I’m afraid common decency does not allow me to impart to you her exact description of it, suffice to say that it was “extremely” yummy. I had a pizza and it was very nice, thank you.

Turkey – Istanbul

Posted on July 5, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

The prospect of a day’s wandering around Istanbul is something to set the heart racing. Approaching from the sea, your initial romantic vista of Islamic spires and domed promise gets grittier as you get closer; and that basically sums up Istanbul – gritty romanticism. Mrs Chrisparkle and I enjoyed a week’s holiday there in 1999 so it would be interesting to see to what extent, if at all, it had changed over the thirteen years. Well, some aspects had changed a lot, and others have stayed the same, and both are for the better. My memory from the 90s of the areas round the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya is one of rather murky seediness; and if you went to a restaurant in the tourist areas you would get 100% ripped off mercilessly. It would be done with charm and a smile, but boy would your pocket feel it.

I am happy to report that the Sultanahmet district where the major sights are located seems to be much better laid out, with more pedestrianised areas, it’s much cleaner and much smarter; and fearing a rip-off it was with great trepidation that we took lunch at an open air restaurant close to the Blue Mosque – regrettably I do not have its name – but it was a lovely civilised lunch with omelettes and tea and salads and chicken and all sorts of nice things – and it was incredibly cheap. I was amazed there was no attempt to sneakily extort some extra cash out of us. What hasn’t changed is the indomitable cheeky spirit of the Istanbul traders, who spin eloquent and complex stories to convince you they’re your best friend in order to get you into their shop or restaurant; it’s very good-hearted and sometimes extremely funny. So if you get approached in that way just smile and chat back and if you don’t want to do trade with them, simply refuse in your friendliest, most polite manner, whilst still enjoying the banter.

But I’m ahead of myself. Our ship docked north of the Golden Horn so we decided to take the tram at Tophane stop. The tram is a really easy, quick and safe way to get around town. You need to have two one lira coins to travel – you simply insert them into a turnstile machine and it lets you in. Then you can do whatever journey you like. We got off at Sultanahmet because it’s halfway between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya, two places we were determined to visit; and also close to the Basilica Cistern.

Smilingly refusing offers of guides, we approached the Blue Mosque. It’s a huge complex, built in 1616 to intimidate the Christian Aya Sofya church at the other end of the park. Outside it’s grand and imposing, if austere and grey. Once you go inside, the colours are magical. The ceiling domes are lively and covered with brilliant patterns, the carpets are a vivid red, and of course it boasts those beautiful blue Iznik tiles that give the mosque its commonly known name (really it’s the Sultan Ahmet Camii Mosque). You can wander fairly freely all over the place and visitors are welcomed. It’s one of the highlights of the Islamic Architectural World.

To break up seeing two big religious buildings consecutively we thought we’d next head for the Basilica Cistern. Originally a vast underground storage tank, it was built by Constantine in the 6th century. We remembered this very fondly from our 1999 visit. It can be very hard to locate because it’s completely anonymous and undistinguished from outside. In fact your best bet will be to find the bunch of tourists looking lost and confusedly holding maps upside down and it will be a small door nearby. Once you find it, you get plunged into darkness, down some narrow tricky steps, but eventually you get into the basement. There 336 individual pillars greet you, with lights at the bottom of each of which gently illuminate the whole pool and it’s an amazing sight. You can walk around, and see it from different angles, and simply allow it to take your breath away. The upside down Medusa heads are entertaining; that way round, according to legend, because the builder wasn’t paid and he took suitable revenge. Never swindle a tradesman. You can understand why they use the place as a film location – its atmosphere is a mixture of calm and spooky, and strangely joyous. There’s even a neon-lit café near the exit which looks completely incongruous.

Emerging slowly into the light we were a little peckish so we took our small picnic of stuff nicked from the ship’s buffet into the nearby park area and had a short rest. We gently ignored the chap who tried unsuccessfully to convince us he was a student at Cambridge University studying ceramics, who wanted us to visit his shop. I’m not sure Cambridge has a school of ceramics. Then it was time to join the crowds trying to get into the Aya Sofya. Unlike the Blue Mosque, where you can get in for free with no queueing, the Aya Sofya has an entrance fee and a long line. If you choose to engage the services of a guide you will avoid the queue – it’s up to you. We preferred to rely on our trusty guidebook and remain independent. Aya Sofya was inaugurated in 537 and was a major site of Christian worship until it became a mosque in 1453. It was deconsecrated in 1934 and has been a museum ever since. It’s a wonderful place, luscious on a grand scale with just as much to thrill you on the upper floor as on the ground floor. Blues and golds adorn the inside, with fantastic columns and domes, and the eye-catching Islamic calligraphic roundels that dominate the view. Not only do you have the traditional mosque features to enjoy like the mithrab and minbar, there are also the superb Orthodox mosaics. The dark, wide ramp which leads you upstairs also looks as though it has seen some history. You can spend an easy hour wandering round, and there are loads of photo opportunities. It’s got to be one of my favourite tourist sights anywhere in the world.

Outside, we had a brief chat with a nice chap who assured me was studying hard at Oxford University but just this week was temporarily assigned to directing tourists to his brother’s carpet shop. Because he made me laugh I will give his website a plug. Then it was time to take a look at the other open air sights of the area. Alongside the Blue Mosque is the At Meydani or Hippodrome, the original Byzantine chariot racetrack. There’s not much left to give you an impression of racing champs, but it still boasts the Egyptian Obelisk, transported from Luxor, the Serpentine Column from Delphi and the Column of Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, and they’re all worth a look. The four bronze horses that originally decorated the stadium now stand guard over St Mark’s in Venice.

A couple of stops on the tram take you to Beyazit, which is perfect for the Grand Bazaar. Even if you don’t want to do any shopping, you just have to go to the Grand Bazaar. It’s a vast complex of narrow alleys and streets, all undercover, and every trade you can imagine is represented there. Souvenirs of course are everywhere, but there are also high quality jewellery outlets, clothing stores, carpet warehouses and numerous other places. The cheeky cheerfulness of the traders is unmatchable, and you’ll engage in all sorts of bartering, fibbing, flirting, teasing and joking as you go around comparing prices and quality. Mrs C and Lady Duncansby bought a couple of colourful scarves with which they are very pleased – although Lady D was mortified at the ruthlessness of Mrs C’s bargaining skills – and we also got some Christmas tree decorations, as is our usual habit when travelling abroad. I think we wandered around for about an hour and it was a damn good laugh. It’s quite easy to get lost in there though – you need to keep your wits about you as to whereabouts you are, and you may not leave the bazaar the same place you went in, so be warned!

We did, however, escape via our original entrance, he says smugly, and it was conveniently close to Istanbul University’s main building area to get a feel of the student vibe. There’s a rather grand ornamental archway construction overlooking a park, but behind it are some narrow streets thronging with shops and businesses, populated by students piled high with text books and bearing earnest looks on their faces.

Time wasn’t on our side but I love going round mosques and I did want to have a look at the Suleymaniye Mosque. It’s another huge complex, built in the 1550s and, if anything, it’s a lighter and brighter than the Blue Mosque, although it lacks the latter’s predominance of tiles. It felt like a relaxed, friendly place; and some little kids were having a hoot playing outside where you’re meant to wash your feet. Inside its patterned archways are particularly appealing, and the grounds outside also beg for some gentle strolling if you have the time. Being located high on a hill it offers great views of the city; but that meant we needed to drop down to sea level so we could get a tram from Eminonu back to the ship. This took a little longer than we expected, and resulted in our pace and anxieties stepping up a level as we tried to beat the clock.

Nevertheless it was still interesting to pass by some more commercial districts – areas mainly of wholesale outlets and offices, but also some market stalls too. “Where are you from?” called out one man selling his nuts. “England”, I quickly replied, not having the time for too much badinage. “Ah, Leicester City” he romantically sighed as if referring to his own personal Shangri-la. The narrow streets were thronging with people; the wider streets with cars. Despite our proximity to Sultanahmet, I sensed we were in an area where tourists fear to tread; which made it all the more fascinating. Bright red Turkish flag design bunting hung from lamppost to lamppost. It created a colourful contrast with the grey squares and buildings around. If only we had longer time to linger – but the ship was not going to wait for us. Eventually we located our tram stop – we merely needed to cross about eight lanes of unpredictable heavy traffic to get there. Fortunately Hermes’ winged sandals appeared on our feet and the god of travel saw us safely across. A couple of tram stops and we were within sight of the ship. Our personal fitness regimes paid dividends as we strode briskly on and with minutes to spare we boarded the Magnifica. Dubrovnik was beckoning.

Three Countries in Three Days – Bari, Italy; Olympia, Greece; Ephesus, Turkey

Posted on June 29, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

After our week or so leisurely exploring the delights of northern Italy, we boarded our ship the MSC Magnifica and started our seven day cruise. The first port of call was to be Bari, in the Puglia district of southern Italy. I’d always thought that ships stopped here simply to refuel but that would be most unfair to this charming city, albeit in a workaday fashion. From what I’ve seen, very little of Italy is what you could term “pretty” – but its natural colour, warmth and architectural styles make it a very pleasing destination. And so it is with Bari. The ship docks centrally so just a fifteen minute walk takes you to the centre of the old town.

There aren’t that many actual “sights” as such, but a good place to start is at the Basilica di San Nicola. We arrived at about 11.00 on a Sunday morning and the church service was in full swing, as you would imagine, so we didn’t linger inside making a nuisance of ourselves. Nevertheless I could establish it has a beautiful ornate ceiling and it’s one of those churches that is light and bright inside rather than dark and austere. It dominates a small square, in one corner of which is a rather impressive statue of San Nicola himself. Off the square are narrow streets with just enough room to accommodate you, the locals, the motorbikes, and the tradespeople who are all jostling for supremacy.

We had arranged to meet Mrs Chrisparkle’s uncle Professor Plum and his wife the Lady Plum, as they were touring southern Italy at the same time, as chance would have it. We found a nice little café in the early spring sunshine just off the San Nicola piazza and sat outside and drank coffee whilst we reminisced about old times. From there we followed the narrow streets to the Cathedral, with its impressive tower and dome, and inside it’s full of interesting statues, carvings and artwork. We had a long linger here.

We wandered round to the castle, which is grand and imposing from the outside but when you enter it you realise they charge you to see plaster casts of sculpture and you think, actually, I can spend my time and money better elsewhere. So we moved on and simply followed our noses in a circular direction that took us back to the centre of town. Avon were sponsoring a road running race so the town was busy with spectators. We didn’t see many runners though – I think they’d already finished and set about having lunch, which is precisely what we decided to do. We found a lovely little place to sit outside in a square, the Trattoria Mercantile, where we had pizza and a bottle of Greco di Tufo at an extremely reasonable price. The time flew by but we had the opportunity afterwards briefly to walk around the coastal road admiring the views before we’d completed a full circle and were back at the ship. We bade farewell to Professor and Lady Plum who continued their Puglian Odyssey, and we got back on board the Magnifica for the onward sailing to Olympia.

Of course it’s not Olympia where you dock, it’s Katakolon, but what else are you going to do when you get off your ship in a village artificially extended purely for the purpose of taking hordes of cruising tourists the short drive to Olympia. I hadn’t done my pre-travel preparation properly – not like me at all – and I was convinced we were going to Mount Olympus. Wrong – it was Olympia, the birthplace of the Olympic Games. I would say it is vital to go with a good guide or a good guidebook at least, because if you just wander round by yourself it’s very hard to get a clue as to precisely what you are looking at. It’s an impressive sight overall, although with poor facilities – Mrs C and Lady D would not recommend the Ladies’ toilets. The little town alongside Olympia has a few shops – not bad quality at all – and some bars and restaurants that advertise free wifi, that sadly seem to be only accessible by one person at a time, hence a lot of frustrated people flipping shut netbooks and shaking smartphones. But that’s not the reason you come to Olympia – you come for the history of the birthplace of the games, to stand or run on the running track yourself, to imagine yourself taking the Victor Ludorum and becoming the Local Hero. The track is very interesting, as it’s still completely visible and clear – and is a long “straight line” track, as opposed to the circular tracks we expect to see today. The archway entrance is still in good condition, although a lot of the rest of the site comes across as varying degrees of rubble, which is why you need a guide to make sense of it. The loud and cheeky lady taking us round brought it to life and it was very informative.

From Katakolon it’s a short hop – maritimely speaking – to reach Izmir in Turkey, from whence one of your tourist options is to take an excursion to Ephesus. I’d wanted to go to Ephesus ever since I first saw “Comedy of Errors”, so that I could imagine Antipholus and Dromio in situ, and, wandering around the place, you really get a feeling of how rich and privileged a place it must have been to live. But before you reach Ephesus, first you visit Mary’s House. Yes, this is indeed the Virgin Mary’s house, apparently; for many years it had generally been believed that Mary spent her last years in the Ephesus area, and about 200 years ago a nun had a vision of precisely where her house was, and how it was constructed. Clerics and dignatories identified this building as the one in the nun’s dream; ergo, it’s her house. Of course, it is a holy place, and treated with a lot of reverence. If you go, you will join a queue of people shuffling to get in; you will smile benignly at the nun on duty who will scowl back at you; you will go through the living room and bedroom, both of which look just like chapels, and then you leave. You don’t really get a chance to linger and look around, which is a shame, but to be fair you do get something of a frisson that this just might be where Mary ended her days.

Outside there is a spring where the devout go to bottle some water and drink it or take it home as a blessing. Apparently you should make a wish when you drink the water. Lady D wouldn’t tell us what she wished for, but she’s started doing the lottery again. The long walls alongside the well are completely covered with prayers for the Virgin Mary – little pieces of paper which make an impressive sight. There’s also a humdinger of a wide well outside the house; you wouldn’t want to be stumbling back late after a night at the tavern, guessing the route home in the dark. Between Mary’s House and Ephesus there is a splendid golden statue of Mary alongside the road. It’s really rather beautiful.

And so on to Ephesus. We’ve been to Palmyra in Syria; and unfortunately once you’ve been there nearly all other sites of ruins look like just a bunch of ruins. But Ephesus is special; it covers a considerable area and has a comparatively large number of extant buildings so you really get a good impression of the town as it was. Unlike Olympia, many of the major buildings and sights are well described on information boards, including in English, so you can easily just wander round by yourself, learn a lot and drink in the atmosphere. There are at least two amphitheatres, as far as I recall, and a number of houses, temples and so on. But the big pleasure of Ephesus is the main street, with buildings and mosaics either side, going down a hill towards the Library on the left hand side. The Library is great – it puts you a little in mind of the Treasury in Petra, although Petra is in much better condition. As usual in these places, there are a lot of entertaining things to see – like the directional footprint on a marble slab pointing the way to the House of Ill Repute, and the rather splendid communal latrine. On the way out there are a number of sarcophaguses just lying around in the grass and the carvings on them make it well worth the detour. So I would say a day trip to Ephesus is a must, even if, as on this cruise, by coming directly after a day at Olympia, it means negotiating non-stop rubble for two days.

Italy – Venice

Posted on May 24, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

I have two self-contradictory comments to make about Venice. On your first visit there, it looks precisely as you had always expected it to look. The basic vistas have not changed since Canaletto set up his easel, and you are staggered how accurately he captured the place, all those years ago. So in a sense you already feel slightly acquainted with it. But – and here’s the contradiction – nothing can prepare you for the majestic awe you experience when you emerge from Santa Lucia Station. You look around you and all you can see is Venice. Venice everywhere; it takes your breath away. Gondolas, water taxis, vaporettos, bridges, people, pigeons, canals, wooden poles stuck in the water, blue and white stripey shirts, pastel coloured buildings, all of it constituting huge dollops of Venice.

Not only laden down with suitcases but also with a packed lunch we bought at Padua station – as we assumed all the eateries in Venice would be ridiculously expensive – we slowly wended our way down one of the world’s longest train platforms – or so it felt. We had arranged with our hotel that we would be met at the station by a water taxi and “hostess” to take us to our hotel. The hostess was a loud in-your-face tourist guide who took the mickey out of my surname and faffed around for ages trying to find us a water taxi. But when we did eventually get going it was a marvellous 25 minutes journey, delving deep into the canal system; and by the time we got to our hotel we felt like we’d had a really privileged excursion. As many do, our hotel – the Duodo Palace – has a land and a water entrance, and walking straight into reception direct from the boat is a very swanky feeling.

Top marks to the Duodo Palace for a terrific welcome. If felt as if the concierge and I had known each other for years – extremely friendly and helpful but also extremely polite; a perfect blend. The Duodo Palace is a converted palace, you won’t be surprised to hear. As a result it is very elegant and attractive, quaint and irregular. Our third floor room was comfortable but a little squashed. The bathroom was quite big though and everything worked. Lady Duncansby’s room was on the floor below, and in all the time we were there we never worked out how you went from the third floor to the second floor by foot. If you walked down the stairway from the third floor you emerged at the first. It’s almost as though you can only get to the second floor from Platform 9¾. Fortunately there was a lift so we didn’t spend too much time worrying about it.

Before we left for a mosey into town, our new friends at the Conciergerie suggested another water taxi tour later on in the afternoon. They described it as an hour of pure relaxing pleasure. Would 5.30pm be suitable? It sure would. At 130 euros for an hour, to include a bottle of Prosecco, it wasn’t cheap entertainment but we were well in the mood. Time to go out now; being just a relative stone’s throw from St Marks’ Square, we headed in that direction. Of course, every street in this neck of the woods is lined with gift shops, so progress is slow, as Mrs C and Lady D inspected every item of jewellery, handbag and dress en route. Fortunately they’re not into carnival outfits.

St. Mark’s Square is thronging and fabulous. Very posh and expensive cafes line its sides, with string quartets and similar musical entertainment pushing up both the style and the costs. We took our little picnics down to the water’s edge, sat on some steps opposite San Giorgio Maggiore, consumed now rather warm and soggy sandwiches and it was bliss. You are completely surrounded by thousands of people yet there is an enormous feeling of peace and relaxation. It is simply an extraordinary place.

There was no queue to visit the Doges’ Palace so we thought we’d give it a try. It’s a grand old place and very attractive, particularly the marvellous Sala del Maggior Consiglio with Tintoretto’s magnificent Paradise covering an entire wall. When you see it, the scale of it is breathtaking. But the whole palace is architecturally very stirring. You also get to see all the prisons and walk across the Bridge of Sighs, which I always – erroneously – thought was so-named because it was so beautiful. Wrong! The sighs are because you’re just about to be chucked in the clink.

We popped briefly into St Marks Basilica but it was a bit too busy to appreciate. You quite quickly get satiated with artistry and opulence, so we admired the outsides of the buildings and promised to return later. Other stunning sights in the square include the Campanile and the beautiful astronomical clock. I quite fancied visiting the Clock Tower but simply couldn’t locate the entrance. Another reason to return another time.

So we hot-footed it back to the Duodo Palace for our 5.30pm appointment with the man with the water-taxi, and a gift of a bottle of Prosecco from Signor Concierge and we sat back and let Venice engulf us. Actually, we didn’t sit at all – it was all far too exciting. We all stood at the back of the boat, bottle or glass in hand, cameras and phones ready to capture anything that passed us by and we had a whale of a time. Our route took us up the Grand Canal right to the sea’s edge, round the outside a bit and then back into the city plunging through small waterways that you would otherwise only see on the map. We must have taken hundreds of photos; just a magical, privileged afternoon, and the only way to see Venice in style. 130 euros don’t go that far in Venice, but it really was one of those “you only live once” moments.

After the statutory afternoon nap, we headed out for dinner. I had done some research and it seemed to me the only way to get a decent meal in Venice was to pay through the nose for it; and even then, it’s no guarantee. The place is so full of tourists staying for just a short time, that restaurateurs never expect to see you again, and accordingly don’t bother to make an effort. First we headed back to St Mark’s Square to see it lit up in its finery – a spectacular sight. Then we eventually settled on the Osteria San Marco. It’s a very welcoming little place and quite authentic, you feel. Our plan was to go there just for a drink first but decided the vibe was nice enough to stay. Not a great meal, but certainly good enough, and the three of us had quite sufficient to eat and a perfectly reasonable bottle of plonk for less than £100.

Day two in Venice – and the morning revealed the only weak link in the Duodo Palace’s chain – breakfast. To be fair the food itself was perfectly adequate, once we got it – but we had to wait a long while for a table to become available. The breakfast area is crammed into two small rooms and it wasn’t really comfortable. No doubt the hotel was full but the area given over to breakfast simply isn’t big enough. Not that it would stop me from returning – I thought it was a terrific little hotel.

We thought we’d head out west and explore the Dorsoduro district. Venice is at its best when you simply go and walk somewhere. Deliberately get lost if you like, and just see what each corner you turn has to offer. We discovered the Campo Santo Stefano, which was a charming square, with its elegant church to the side, which inside displays a painting of Pope John Paul II which looks more like Les Dawson. From there it’s a nice, relatively quiet, walk through to the bridge over the canal opposite the Accademia. You have an amazing view from this bridge, every Venetian cliché you can think of is here. The bridge itself is teeming with people but eyeball a picturesque spot, stick to your guns and linger while you can. It’s lovely.

Still heading west we discovered the charming little church of San Trovaso, kept walking along side little canals towards San Sebastiano church (for which we decided not to pay the entrance fee), Angelo San Raffaele, which was worth a short visit, and finally on to San Nicolo Dei Mendicoli which is a little stunner. You’re not meant to photograph inside but I’m afraid it was irresistible. It’s one of those little churches where not a scrap of plaster is undecorated. Absolutely beautiful.

A much needed coffee break at a little café gave us the fortitude to head north east towards the Campo Santa Margherita. There we espied a little place that looked like it would be good for lunch later on. Interestingly the square had a few fish stalls and they must have been fresh because there was no smell at all. Further along, past San Pantalon, we carried on to what turned out to be a major highlight of our visit – the Scuola di San Rocco. Adjacent to the church of the same name, which is quite nice but nothing outstanding, the Scuola was originally a charitable confraternity. In 1564 they commissioned Tintoretto to decorate the walls and ceilings, which you could say was a wise move, with the benefit of hindsight. The ground floor is stunning enough but upstairs is breathtaking; a vast salon of incredible artwork where you could spend hours – it’s definitely a must-see in Venice. There was a small film crew there too, filming a young couple meeting outside and then walking in to the building. If they did it once they did it twenty times. They might have been Italian starlets. Who knows?

It was without doubt now time for lunch and we did go back to that place on Campo Santa Margherita for lunch – Pier Dickens. Just a pizzeria, but probably the best meal we had in Venice, as it wasn’t trying too hard and the food was pretty darn good. All in a lovely, not too touristy location. Really recommended.

Time for a bit more culture so we called at Ca’ Rezzonico, an old palace that houses a museum of 18th century Venice. It belonged to Robert Browning, and his son Pen, and is worth a visit to get a feel of the time and to enjoy being inside a typical Venetian palazzo. It’s notable for the extravagant (if perhaps surprisingly smallish) ballroom. Upstairs are some new art galleries and I must say I found the art on display there rather fresh and stimulating.

Needing to get outside after all that art, we wandered back towards the Accademia but then carried on to the end of the promontory where you find Santa Maria della Salute church. It’s a rather unusual shape – an octagon; quite grand on the outside, slightly workaday on the inside. But from there you have spectacular views back over towards St Marks Square. We walked right to the end of the promontory and were surprised at how windy it was! And that really was quite enough tourism for one day. On the way back to the hotel we found a little pub. Unpretentious and simple, it wouldn’t have been out of place in Stratford on Avon. Can’t remember it’s name, but it was perfect.

After a much needed nap, we went out on our usual forage for food and drink. We decided to start off at Caffe Brasilia, very informal, quite expensive, but comfortable, friendly and much used by locals. Good for pre-dinner drinkies. For dinner we chose the Ristorante San Stefano, which was a complete tourist trap and offered a lazy, uninspired, barely adequate, expensive meal. Never mind, some you win, some you lose.

Too early for bed, we decided to do a nighttime walk to the Rialto Bridge. Nowhere is that far away from the San Marco district and we were surprised how quickly we got there. It’s definitely a tourist attraction at night – heaving with people it was, but with a good friendly vibe. Rather like the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, the Rialto still has its shops on the bridge, and it’s another must-see. Having retraced Shylock’s steps, we returned to the St Marks area, looking for one last place for a late night drinkie. We found a nice little place, just to the side of St Mark’s Basilica; full inside but it was mild enough (just) to sit at the pavement tables and drink in the atmosphere and Chianti. We were happily sat supping away when a bunch of clean cut American youths appeared and basically asked the waiter if he would give them something to eat if they sang. Intrigued, the waiter asked to hear them at work – and then these lads suddenly came out with the most wonderful a cappella music, totally unexpectedly. The waiter was impressed, and they got some pasta. The odd things you see on your travels!

The next day was to be the start of our cruise adventure, but we still had a free morning in Venice, and had no wish to miss out on any of it. So we headed east from the hotel, past St Marks and the Doges’ Palace, into the Castello district; a charming network of narrow canals and even narrower alleys; nothing especially outstanding or beautiful, but overwhelmingly picturesque taken as a whole. Mrs C and Lady D plundered a couple of jewellery shops – considering the location, they got some really nice stuff at very low prices. We wandered past the Campo San Martin and ended up near the San Giovanni in Bragora church, having a light early lunch in a simple authentic little café, on the corner of Calle de la Pieta and Calle del Dose. Refreshed in the sunshine, it was time to head back to the hotel to catch our water taxi to the Passenger Terminal. Yes, yet another water taxi ride; each one a different kind of bliss. It was a really splendid way of arriving for a cruise, speedboating alongside the liner as you headed for the shore. I’d really recommend it!

Later on, when the cruise ship finally gets going and leaves Venice, you are treated to the most amazing view. The height and distance of the ship is just perfect for the grandeur of St Marks Square from the water. Admittedly we were a bit late in staking our perfect spot for the view so had to watch through a window but it was still glorious. A wonderful way to say goodbye to Venice and to look forward to the week ahead.

We would have one more morning in Venice at the end of the cruise before getting the train back to Verona for our flight home. Getting from the ship back into Venice “town centre” was an adventure in itself. Doing what I would never normally do, I responded positively to some bloke meeting the ship offering people taxis to the railway station. With “safety in numbers” in mind, I was grateful that another couple also eventually consented in the same way. After a very long wait we were finally escorted to a very decent looking taxi that did indeed take us to the railway station for 10€ each. But what a strange route! Through industrial zones, over railway lines, opening barbed wire gates, backs of farms… hardly any of it properly tarmac’d. The thought did drift through our minds that we would be all found as skeletons in some lime pit in fifty years time, but of course we were safe. The Left Luggage provision at Santa Maria station works fine, so unencumbered we were able to saunter back into the Saturday throng.

We started off inspecting the elegant interior of the Scalzi church next door to the station. It’s amazing how many of these small churches are as opulent as any cathedral. Then we crossed the nearby bridge and lost ourselves in the Santa Croce district. In desperate need of a coffee we found a nice little place on the Campo San Giacomo dell’Orio with swish toilets and an ace view of the piazza. Then we continued to the Campo San Polo with its super campanile and fun lion statues. Our goal was to check out the Rialto by day, having only seen it at night before. And we made it with ease, to find out it was equally busy as it is at night. With all the shops and markets open it’s a really lively area to waste an hour or two – which we didn’t have, unfortunately. We popped into the rather bizarre little church of San Giacomo di Rialto, which basically seemed given over to the sale of concert tickets; and then joined everyone else posing for photos on the bridge itself.

Time was against us, and we needed lunch, so after a couple of false starts we found a little restaurant on the Strada Nova. I can’t remember its name now which is probably just as well. The wine list was a board outside that advertised Pinot and Soave. Let’s have some Soave, I thought. When I ordered it, the waiter seemed perplexed, as though no one had ever done that before. He went away and brought the Maitre d’ (quite a posh name for the kind of guy he was in all fairness). “I recommend the Pinot”, he said. “I don’t think we have any Soave left, but I will *check* if you like” – in a tone designed to convey that it would cause him enormous inconvenience. I held my ground and let him be inconvenienced. He returned saying we were “in luck, and there was one bottle left”. He left it to his little mate to open the bottle and serve. I noted the age of the wine – 2007. That’s a bit old for a Soave, I thought. He poured a small taster into the glass. It had a colour best described as “first urine of the day”. It was repulsive. Mine host knew full well it would be. “May I suggest the Pinot then sir” was his rather barbed defence. Pinot it was. The meal was fine actually, and the wine experience humorously bizarre! Why didn’t he just say, in best Basil Fawlty tradition, “sorry, Soave’s off”?

We made it in good time to get back to Santa Lucia station, reunite ourselves with our luggage and get our train back to Verona; our final lovely 1st class Trenitalia experience. On arrival we decided to get the shuttle bus from Verona station to the airport, which worked fine – we just bought the tickets from the tobacconists inside the station complex. But it dawned on me afterwards that with three people a taxi to the airport – of which there was a plentiful supply – would have been cheaper and quicker. No worries. The plane was late; and Verona airport is a bit of a boring place to be fair. But we’d had a fantastic time away.

However, gentle reader – this is not the end of this story; oh no, you don’t get away with it that easily! What happened on the cruise itself is a tale yet to be told….

Italy – Padua

Posted on April 21, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

There are all sorts of stupid reasons why one might be attracted to visit a certain town over and above simply wishing to see the sights that you know are there to visit. I’m glad I’ve now ticked Padua off my list, and my main motivation for including it in our Italian Odyssey was so that I could sing on the streets “I’ve come to wive it wealthily in Padua” (from Kiss Me Kate, or Taming of the Shrew if you’re more literary). I’m a constant source of embarrassment to Mrs Chrisparkle and Lady Duncansby; I spent an entire Norwegian cruise a few years ago irritatingly breaking into the opening lines of the “Song of Norway”.

Anyway – Padua, or Padova, if you prefer. I’d pre-booked our train tickets in advance using the Trenitalia website, and if you plan to travel by train around Italy and you can pick particular dates and times for your journeys, and stick to it, I’d really recommend it. When we asked the hotel staff in Verona how much time we should allow to get to the station, their first question was: have you bought your tickets in advance? They said if you have to queue for your tickets then add another half hour to your journey. You don’t need that kind of stress when you’re on hols.

The website is easy to use and has a very good English translation. There are also some absolute bargains to be had on there, and some of our trips were extremely good value. There are a number of options as to how you would like your tickets – I chose the ticketless option, where all you have to do is tell the ticket inspector a six digit booking code when on board. Easy peasy. In the end, the combined cost of a single from Verona to Padua, then from Padua to Venice, and finally back from Venice to Verona cost approximately £45 per person, travelling first class. The carriages were clean and comfortable, and you get a complimentary drink and snackette. They even have English language newspapers on board. Plus you arrive in your destination relaxed and raring to go.

We chose our hotel – the Al Cason – primarily because it was close to the railway station and it got sufficiently good reviews on Trip Advisor (currently Number 6 of 59), and was pretty cheap. As a three star it doesn’t have quite the pizzazz of the other hotels on our jaunt, but it was perfectly good enough for one night. The staff were helpful and the room was clean – if a little dark. There’s an unusual thing – the room numbers are not written on the doors but are etched into the carpet in the corridors! Breakfast was fine.

So with only a matter of only five or so hours of daylight to experience everything Padua had to offer, we headed out on our mission of exploration. Gasping for some water, we called in at a little kebab shop near the hotel and got chatting to the chap behind the counter who was proudly displaying an award for his cricketing prowess – not exactly what you would expect in the back streets of a north Italian city! The walled “old town” of Padua is actually quite small so you can get a good appreciation of the place in a short time. The major attraction to see is the Cappella degli Scrovegni, the chapel famous for its Giotto frescos. The only way you can visit is to book in advance, and they have drastically reduced the windows of opportunity to visit. My 2007 guide book says it’s open from 9am to 10pm, but when you go to the website to book, you find it’s now restricted to just the late morning and early lunchtime. Unfortunately we arrived too late in Padua to visit on the same day and were leaving too early the next day to slot it in then too. So regrettably the Scrovegni frescos remain a mystery to me. Always good to have something to come back for, though. Instead, we had a quick wander around the Giardini dell’Arena nearby; a nice bit of greenery in the urban area.

We were heading south into the centre, on a route that takes you through lots of workaday yet attractive piazzas – the Piazza Insurrezione, the Piazza della Frutta, the Piazza delle Erbe, the Piazza dei Signori and the Piazza del Duomo. We walked through them all and they were all vibrant with daily commerce and business activities. The big astronomical clock, made in 1344, of the Palazzo del Capitanio in the Piazza dei Signori cries out for having its photo taken. We arrived at the Piazza del Duomo, with the intention of visiting said Duomo, but by then realised we were absolutely starving. So we found a nice little place, Il Gancino, opposite the Duomo, where we sat in the sunshine, ate pizzas, (not Mrs C, obviously – the tuna salad went down a treat), drank some nice Italian plonk and I fended off nuisance calls from 3 on my mobile phone.

After lunch we crossed to the Duomo, but it was closed till 4pm. Never mind, we’ll come back, we said. Next door, the Baptistry, was however open. What a jaw-droppingly astonishing sight. It’s stunning. It dates from around 1200 and inside is entirely decorated with frescos of scenes from the Bible, painted by Giusto de’ Menabuoi in 1378. It isn’t a large building – somehow its intimacy makes it more astounding, as you feel really close to the images, which is something you can’t quite feel in a huge cathedral that might have similar decorations on its ceiling. There are seats all round the walls so you can sit and take it in from all directions. If you know me personally, gentle reader, you will know that I am a naturally law-abiding person – tediously so, sometimes. There are times when rules are meant to be broken though, so I deliberately transgressed the no-photography rule when the man at the cash desk wasn’t looking. I didn’t use a flash and it was only with the iPhone, so where’s the harm? I think you’ll agree the view is “something else”.

We retraced our steps back to the Piazza delle Erbe to find the Palazzo della Ragione. This was Padua’s law court and council chamber, built in 1218. When we got to the ticket booth, the lady there looked distressed for us. She explained that they were using the Palazzo to prepare for an art exhibition. We looked despondent. “Does that mean we can’t go in?” I asked. “Oh no”, she said brightly, “you can go in but we can only charge you half price”. To be honest I didn’t feel the need to commiserate with her too deeply. She said there would be areas where they are setting up the exhibition where we couldn’t go, but we could go everywhere else. “Let’s risk it”, I said.

On entering, you realise it’s another astonishing sight. It’s the largest undivided medieval hall in Europe; 80 metres long, 27 metres wide and 27 metres high, and its walls are covered with frescos by Nicola Miretto, dating from 1420 to 1425. Walking around it, you are in awe of its scope and majesty, and it’s thrilling to see that the frescos are still in remarkably good condition. At one end of the hall is a copy of the huge Donatello horse, the original of which is in the Piazza del Santo; at the other, a reconstruction of Foucault’s Pendulum made by the Physics Department of Padua University. An amazing place to visit, and all for a couple of euros. Oh, and if you want my advice, installing an exhibition of local art there is redundant.

From the balcony of the Palazzo you can look down on to the Piazza delle Erbe, a great place for discreet people-watching. It looked like there were some lively goings-on happening to the far left, so we thought we’d investigate. This route took us toward the heart of the university area, and we realised it must be Graduation Day, as there were a number of happy-looking young people celebrating; some wearing a traditional laureate wreath around their necks, like one demure young lady I noticed; others in bikinis allowing themselves to be body-painted as some kind of performance art. We never did that at my alma mater, that’s for sure.

It seemed a little indelicate to linger alongside the bikini-clad girls for any length of time, so we carried on towards the Piazza del Santo, taking in an attractive old balconied building where, according to the plaque outside, Dante worked in 1306. We followed the via del Santo down towards the Basilica di Sant’Antonio. After a nice coffee break in one of the cafes there, we went to visit the Basilica. I confess I can’t remember too much about its interior; you get to a stage when another majestic building doesn’t get registered in your head because you’re still processing the previous majestic building. In any event, it’s possibly mainly notable for its domed exterior, which has something Moorish about it. It was built to house the remains of St Anthony of Padua, a simple man, apparently, who rejected worldly wealth; he must have looked down from heaven at the huge church they built him and said “Didn’t you lot listen? I don’t need all that!” Further round the piazza there are the Scuola del Santo and Oratorio di San Giorgio, but it was closing time so we just had enough time to peep round the Oratorio and see the art works on the walls.

The Prato della Valle looked interesting on the map although I didn’t know anything about it, but as it was close by, we thought we’d take a gander. It’s terrific! A beautiful open park, it’s the largest square in Italy, with statues surrounding either side of a moat and a green island in the centre. A place for simply lounging about, as indeed all the Paduans were doing most assiduously when we were there.

It was the end of the day, and we were faced with a good hour or so’s walk back to the hotel. En route, we passed by the university area again, where we saw the same demure young lady we had seen earlier, now looking somewhat worse for wear – students, eh? We followed a different route back, the via San Fermo, and what did we find just before we turned the corner into the via Dante? A coeliac shop. No, not a place to buy coeliacs, but a little emporium of wonderful gluten-free edibles and a very friendly and helpful man pointing out all his coeliac-friendly options. Mrs C did a trolley dash of “Supermarket Sweep” proportions and stocked up on biccies and cakes which would prove invaluable in the next few days. The gentleman in the shop said he would be selling online shortly and indeed I see he now is; but his shop, Il mondo senza glutine, at 108 via San Fermo, though small, could be a life-saver for any coeliac who finds themselves hungry in Padua.

So after a much needed rest and refresh, it was back out on the town to forage for food. We discovered the Cova Restaurant on via Calvi and it was full of locals, which we thought was a good sign. It was. A nice ambience and good food and drink – Mrs C had the Tagliata again as she had in Verona the previous night, but comparisons are odious and the Veronese one was slightly better. Still, it absolutely did the job. Even better, afterwards we stumbled (probably not the best word) upon a charming open air enoteca, the Santa Lucia in the Piazza Cavour, where we had some delicious Chianti and some totally unnecessary but yummy nibbles. It was probably the best evening bar-based experience we had in Italy.

And that was our brief sojourn in Padua. Tomorrow it would be off to Venice, no doubt the highlight of our tour; but I’m very glad we included our one night in Padua as it is a charming place, with some stunning sights and a friendly atmosphere. We never did get back to the Duomo, and I didn’t get to wive it wealthily, but you can’t have everything.

Italy – Verona

Posted on April 18, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

If regular readers noted an absence of theatre reviews a few weeks ago it’s because Mrs Chrisparkle and I were on our travels again. This time accompanied by my Lady Duncansby, we flew to Verona, where we spent two nights, then travelled by train to Padua for one night, on again to Venice for two nights, and then cruised on board the MSC Magnifica to Bari, Katakolon, Izmir, Istanbul and Dubrovnik, before returning back to Venice, taking the train back to Verona and flying home. I hope to cover all that in the next few weeks!

Originally we had booked the week’s cruise, but decided we wanted to spend more time in Venice. Checking all the online flight brokers, flights out to Venice were all pretty pricey – I guess it’s a popular (as well as expensive) destination. This gave me the idea of looking further afield, and I came up with the solution of Verona. Only an hour or so from Venice by train, and a much cheaper flight. Also we didn’t have to be humiliated by Ryanair staff, yay! It was a service provided by good old British Airways.

There was one major disappointment about the BA flight however; no food! I thought they always bunged you at least a snack, if not a meal. But unless you were travelling in first or business, you just got a drink and a clean-up sachet. Not much to clean up, really. And bizarrely, unlike the dreaded Ryanair where you have to buy everything, there was no provision of selling food either. So if you didn’t have a nibble in Gatwick, you were going to stay hungry until you got to Italy.

Verona airport is not terribly far from the city but you wouldn’t want to walk it with all that luggage, so your choices are to get the airport/railway station bus service (every 20 minutes) or to get a taxi. I always have an anxiety about just getting into a taxi at a foreign airport, particularly if I don’t speak the language – I always fear that it will result somewhere between getting ripped off for 20 times the real cost of the journey and everyone getting raped and murdered and slung in a ditch. So I decided to pre-book a taxi through Airport City Transfer, who charged 40 euros for the direct trip from the airport to our hotel. Most other similar services wanted to charge 50 euros. I have to say that the transfer worked a dream – I got all the email communication I was promised including clear instructions; the driver was there on our arrival, he took our bags and put them into his nice clean posh Mercedes, drove us straight to our hotel, unloaded the bags and just asked for the 40 euros. A super service, and I would thoroughly recommend it.

Our hotel was the Hotel Accademia. I chose it because it was “number two” in popularity on Trip Advisor. I see it is now “number one” and I am not at all surprised. It’s a lovely hotel, with very helpful and polite staff, comfortable rooms and bathrooms, a generous breakfast and is superbly located. It also has a discreet and relaxing small bar at the back where you can wind down after a long days’ sightseeing or a long night’s wining and dining.

So, off we went to explore. We only had a little time on our first evening before dinner, so we just followed our noses. One thing you have to say about Verona – and it was obvious from the drive in from the airport – it’s stunningly beautiful. The architecture, the colours, the shops, the people – they all reek style. Elegance just seems to appear naturally. Not a place for bargain shopping, I should add: I found a nice trendy black bomber jacket in one of the boutiques that I thought might suit me, but then dropped it like a hot brick when I saw how much it cost – 7,000 euros. You’d need Jessie J’s income to forget about that particular price tag.

The hotel is just around the corner from the Piazza Erbe, so that became our favourite local haunt. Elegant old palazzo type buildings enclose a market square, mainly selling tourist type stuff but not exclusively; frescos adorn the upper storeys of attractive looking bars and cafes; there’s a charming old Roman statue in the middle of the fountain; and the wonderful old Venetian lion statue atop its column. It’s a genuinely lovely place. Not over pretty; not over serious. Just the kind of place where life takes place and you feel privileged to share in it.

The cityscape here is dominated by the Torre dei Lamberti, that rises beside the old law court in the adjacent Piazza dei Signori. We decided early on that we weren’t going to attempt its 84 metre ascent, although I expect the view is stunning. We wandered away from the Torre and discovered a courtyard that was covered in graffiti. Mrs C and Lady D strolled round the yard, which was full of backpacking students, whilst I looked more closely at the graffiti. We carried on, slightly bemused. It was only about 24 hours later that I realised this was the Juliet’s balcony complex, and, basically, we missed it. Never mind – a balcony’s a balcony at the end of the day.

We followed the Vias Cappello and Leoni and turned right opposite San Fermo Maggiore, which we would visit more properly the next day, and continued walking round until we found ourselves outside the famous Arena – very unspoilt and mysterious looking at night. Alongside the arena is the Piazza Bra, a long square lined with tasty if touristy looking restaurants. After a couple of false starts we ended up in one of them; regrettably I can’t remember its name but it was comfortable and the food was very good. What I did admire – and this was not the only time it happened on this trip – I asked the waiter to recommend a suitable local wine for the meals we had chosen and his recommendatio came right at the cheap end of the wine list – and it was excellent. Quite unlike the rip-off experience I just avoided in Rio last year. After all that walking, eating, and general travelling, it was bedtime – or should have been. A brief dip into the hotel bar for a nightcap, and we were done in. But then we couldn’t resist nip out again to the Piazza Erbe for a late night drink, and had a jolly nice glass of Chianti at the Caffe Brasserie Filippini.

I had meticulously planned the next day’s sightseeing – one module in the southern part of the city and another in the north. But first we thought we ought to time the walk to the railway station in case we didn’t go by taxi the next day. My advice – don’t bother. For one thing, we never actually found the railway station, even though we had a clear map to follow. Secondly, who wants to drag cases all that way – including lots of cobbles. You’re on holiday – it’s just not worth it. Get your hotel to book you a taxi. It’s a ten minute drive, and you won’t regret a cent.

Walking back into town the first place on my list was Juliet’s Tomb. What an odd experience this is! First of all, Juliet is a fictitious character. Some bright spark in the 1930s thought they would create a tomb for her, purely to satisfy the needs of tourists – he didn’t mention anything about the needs of his own bank balance. So her tomb is in fact an empty sarcophagus in the crypt of San Francesco al Corso, which presumably at some earlier time housed the remains of some other unfortunate late person. It’s atmospherically quite creepy though; and the church itself has been converted to a museum with frescos and other art works, which are well worth a look. The guards here are keen as mustard to make sure you aren’t doing anything untoward with their exhibits; but they are chatty and informative, and above all happy to see you finding it interesting.

Strolling past the old city walls at via Pallone and some amusing frescos in via Dietro Pallone, we found ourselves once again at the Church of San Fermo Maggiore. It’s a fascinating place, and well worth paying the entrance fee, as it’s essentially two churches in one – a lower church begun in 1065 by Benedictine monks and an upper church restored sometime in the 14th century. The lower church feels very crypt-like, and Lady D found it a bit spooky. It has a huge ship’s keel ceiling though. Nice frescos and some good solid hinges on the big wooden doors – always a satisfying sight.

Retracing our steps from the previous evening, we walked round to the Arena, resisting the temptation to pose for a photograph with an out of work actor dressed as a gladiator. Apparently, it’s the third largest Roman amphitheatre in the world, after the Colosseum in Rome and that at Santa Maria Capua Vetere near Naples. Of course, this is where the opera is famously performed, but there was none on whilst we were there. It was fun just to explore the place – hopping around seats and rows, in and out of entrances and exits, playing Christians and Lions and largely ignoring the roped off no-entry areas where some guys were doing some building work – well, we didn’t get in their way and it was perfectly safe. You get some impressive views from the topmost back row all over the city. It gave you a rewarding feeling of being at one with history. Well worth the visit.

Another nice lunch in the Piazza Bra, this time at La Costa, with a great view and friendly service; perfect in the spring sunshine. We crossed the River Adige by Ponte Vittoria and took a quiet charming walk along the river bank, past the Ponte Scaligero – a medieval bridge that got blown up during World War Two and was rebuilt from masonry rescued from the river – along to Ponte Risorgimento and our first view of the tower of San Zeno Maggiore.

San Zeno Maggiore has to count as one of the world’s gmost spectacular churches. Built in the early 12th century, it boasts a fantastic ship’s keel ceiling, a dark and mysterious crypt, fabulous bronze door panels, colourful old frescos – it has it all. San Zeno is Verona’s patron saint; Lady Duncansby was so taken with the place that she has adopted San Zeno as her own personal saint. It’s a wonderful place just to lose yourself for half an hour.

From there we wandered past the Castelvecchio, which looks like a grand old building, but decided not to investigate their art collection as we wouldn’t have enough time to give it the attention it no doubt deserves. Instead we carried on back past the Piazza Erbe and on to the Duomo. It’s another magnificent building, with beautiful art and architecture, and stunning ceilings.

From the river by the Duomo you can look across the water and see more churches and the Roman Theatre. There’s an art to a happy day’s sightseeing – don’t get too exhausted. We would have liked to carry on, but the effect of all this magnificent church art is that you get satiated. I don’t think we could have crammed in another sight. Instead we drifted back to the Piazza Erbe and had a really nice drink and snack at the café that seems to attract the most locals – I can’t remember its name but it’s the one that’s at the farthest north-east corner of the square. Then it was back for a rest and out again for dinner. Using the Trip Advisor app on the iPhone (brilliant!) we discovered Greppia. What a fantastic restaurant. The food and drink was excellent – the ambience buzzy and sophisticated, and the service friendly and efficient. Regular readers will know that Mrs C is a coeliac and they knew precisely what to recommend at this restaurant and it was all delicious. I had the Calf’s Liver, Mrs C the Tagliata beef with rocket salad and Lady D the pumpkin risotto. It was a super little find.

A day is certainly not long enough to do Verona justice – but we did our best! Sophisticated and friendly – which don’t always go together – we loved it. The next day we would be taking the train to Padua.

Review – Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin, Slovak National Theatre, Bratislava, 25th February 2012

Posted on March 6, 2012 by therealchrisparkle

Mrs Chrisparkle and I have actually seen very few operas over the years, and our most recent experiences have been in eastern European cities – Carmen in Leipzig; Nabucco in Riga and now Eugene Onegin in Bratislava. I find I get an additional thrill about seeing an opera production somewhere that used to be behind “the Iron Curtain”. I always think that thirty years ago or so it would have been where the people who had aggrandised themselves to Positions Of Importance by treading on the aspirations of ordinary members of society went to See And Be Seen. It’s basically a sense of being privileged. But nowadays it’s a more acceptable and less oppressive form of privilege – at least I hope.

From the outside the theatre is elegant, smart and beautifully lit at night. Ascend a few steps and you enter a wide and simply tastefully decorated foyer, all creams and golds. A gentleman sells programmes – 1,90 euros for a slim booklet in Slovak; 3,50 euros for a slightly fatter more detailed book translated into English and German. It is virtually compulsory to use the cloakroom, so you go down some staircases to another wide foyer, at one end of which about seven attendants await your coats and scarves; at the other end of which is the bar.

As people remove their coats you get to see how well dressed they really are. In the UK we don’t tend to dress up for the theatre anymore. Not so in Bratislava. Evening dresses, dinner jackets and bowties were in high evidence; the less formal men were wearing lounge suits and ties and their ladies in attractive dresses and outfits. Mrs C, of course, looked stunning in her jacket and smart trousers – but I was just “Man from Levi’s” and felt a little over-denimmed. Surprisingly though the staff behind the bar were rather scruffy. We had a glass of the Hubert Brut each – yes they actually had some – and it’s a perfect way to add to the sense of occasion.

Inside the auditorium the balconies and boxes are extremely ornate in their baroquish gold swirls and elegant balustrades. But what surprises you is that although the stage itself is very wide and you can get a lot on there, the stalls themselves don’t go back very far at all. It’s like you’ve arrived at a sawn-off London Palladium. They also sport the most uncomfortable seats you could imagine. Normally when you fold a theatre seat down, the base of the back rests a little bit above the seat pad. In this theatre there’s about a six inch gap between the base of the back and the seat, plus the seat pad is pushed forward a good few inches too. The only way I could find to sit in the seats with any degree of comfort was basically to hunch down and sprawl widely which I’m not sure was appreciated by the lady to my left. I think the seats must have been designed by the Sales and Marketing Department of Bratislava Chiropractors, Inc.

But what of the performance itself? Well, to my inexpert opera-going eyes, I thought it was excellent. It’s a modern staging, full of downbeat looking peasants, and men slouching over empty bottles of vodka, making a vivid contrast with the bookish decency of Tatyana and the exuberant naïveté of Olga, as well as the stolid goodness of Lensky and the devilish sophistication of Onegin. Tatyana was sung by Adriana Kohútková and she was brilliant. In the early parts of the opera the plot focuses heavily on Tatyana and she delivered a really powerful performance. I enjoyed the way they had stacked her books slightly proud of the main curtain so when she was clambering over them trying to find somewhere to sit and write her love letter she was more exposed; then on scene changes I liked how she would pull the curtain half across the stage, cowering in the protection it gave her, peeping round its edges scared of what she might see.

Surrounding the substantial orchestra pit is an apron that provides a complete circular walkway (well, square really) from one front corner of the stage, out past the orchestra, all along right in front of the first row, and back to the stage again. When the main characters came out and used this apron, you really felt as though you were in the thick of the action. Miss Kohútková was stunning when she was out on the apron. You couldn’t take your eyes (or ears) off her.

Pavol Remenár’s Eugene Onegin also made excellent use of the front apron, mainly in the penultimate scene where he confronts Tatyana and her new husband Gremin (the crowd-pleasing deep bass of Gustáv Beláček, who was fantastic) tearing his hair in anguish and singing for all he was worth. In the earlier scenes he was excellent as the slightly foppish chancer who flirts with much of the chorus and breaks the heart of Tatyana. Funny to think that Pavol Remenár attempted to represent Slovakia at the 2010 Eurovision Song Contest – it’s great when two worlds collide! Tatyana and Gremin spent the ballroom scene actually in a box watching the stage like everyone else, and sang their roles from that spot, so that the people sitting in the box one level above them were visibly perplexed as they knew something was going on underneath but couldn’t quite fathom out what.

Some other very nicely done moments included the kindly but humorous performance of Jitka Sapara-Fischerová as Filipievna the nurse, the over-the-top French song of M. Triquet sung amusingly by Ivan Ožvát, and the staging of the duel between Onegin and Aleš Briscein’s Lensky,where both characters were surrounded by their seconds and other onlookers, gradually closing in on the pair of them till you heard a shot, and Lensky’s body just slowly fell out of the crowd onto the stage in front. I really loved Lensky’s aria that he sings just before the duel – even though I didn’t understand a word of the RussianI found it very moving and superbly performed. After Lensky’s death the music becomes very vital and exciting – a fantastic tune and its juxtaposition with Onegin’s static soul-searching regret for what he has done made for a surprisingly effective moment.

The opera ends with Tatyana’s and Onegin’s finale scene where the lives are visibly ruined and nobody wins – except the audience who were witness to a fine performance. The orchestra conducted by Jaroslav Kyzlink sounded fine to me and all in all it was a wonderful evening. It certainly gave us a taste to widen our knowledge of opera and if you’re up for a bit of culture in Bratislava I would definitely recommend a performance at the National Theatre.

The Real Chrisparkle

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