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Life in a slow place that quickly steals your heart.

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“Dark” side of Amsterdam’s bike culture

IMG_4933.jpgOh yes, there is a dark side to all those uber-fit, uber-green Amsterdammers and their bikes. With more a million bikes in the city, more than one per person, bike theft is a big deal. Every year more than 54,000 bikes are stolen and the canals are dredged regularly to haul more than 15,000 bikes back to dry land.

IMG_5025.jpg Arguably a small price to pay for this environmentally-friendly and healthy mode of transportation? For sure.

The real dark side is the danger they present to the pedestrian tourist.

In Amsterdam, over 60% of trips are made by bike in the inner city and 40% of trips are made by bike overall in the greater city area. These trips are made by busy Amsterdammers on their way to work after dropping off their children at day care while talking on phones, talking to other cyclists, balancing groceries, briefcases and all manner of things and looking impossibly stylish while doing so.

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Notice… no helmets. They just aren’t cool and Amsterdammers are so confident in their bike skills that they don’t feel them to be necessary, even for their children.

As is common in Dutch cities, Amsterdam has a wide net of traffic-calmed streets and world-class facilities for cyclists. All around are bike paths and bike racks and several guarded bike parking stations crammed with more bikes than you can imagine (Fietsenstalling) which can be used for a nominal fee. 

Amsterdam’s small size, the 400 km of bike paths, the flat terrain, and the arguable inconvenience of driving an automobile: driving a car is discouraged, parking fees are expensive, and many streets are closed to cars or are one-way for motor vehicle traffic (but not for cyclists, note to pedestrians). Amsterdam’s bike paths (Fietspad) are red in colour, in order to differentiate them from both the road ways and footpaths.

Fresh-off the plane visitors to Amsterdam must quickly learn to stay out of the Fietspads and to look all ways before navigating across streets. Amsterdammers just want to do their thing, get to work, buy tulips, go to the bar for an Amstel, eat waffles, look amazingly well-dressed and so Euro and not have to cope with the many, many, many visitors and their lack of bike lane etiquette.

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First morning in Amsterdam, everyone is asleep but I need a coffee and it’s bike rush hour. The lovely house we were staying in is near Vondelpark, a popular cycle route into the city and I need to cross one road at the entrance to the park to get to the caffeine. Bikes are streaming by with no break and I wait for my chance to cross and wait and wait and wait. An Amsterdam pedestrian just goes for it and the bikes stop. Too chicken to do the same I wait some more until a sympathetic cyclists stops and motions me across. I won’t even talk about the return trip but the coffee made me less hurried.

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Many tourists discover Amsterdam by bike, as it is the typical Dutch way to get around the city but even that takes some guts. To blend in with the bike traffic flow bring your A game. 

These guys have mad skills. Picture the tallest, handsomest blond dad you have ever seen riding to work propping up his adorable napping baby’s head with one hand as he deftly navigates a bridge ramp and makes a sharp right.

 

Manic in Greece’s deep and wild Mani

 

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Sunrise view from the Maina house. This seven-storey tower in the abandoned village of Exo Nyfi is one of the tallest in the Deep Mani in Greece’s Peloponnese.

The deep and wild Mani’s history is like no other. Even for most Greeks, the Mani is considered a remote and mysterious region, a step into another world. A 75k-long peninsula, with a spine formed by the rugged Taygetus mountain range, it is inhabited by a proud warrior people, direct descendants of the ancient Spartans. For centuries, the Maniots fended off the Turks, while the rest of Greece was absorbed into the Ottoman Empire. Still today, the Maniot flag bears the words “Victory or Death,” as opposed to “Freedom or Death,” which is used in the rest of the country. Because, throughout the course of history, the Mani has never lost its freedom. Empty, ghostly hill towns cling onto distant ridges, still fortified against centuries-old threats.

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Into this land of more than 800 towers and six castles, bumbled four confident Canadian travellers with lots of wildlife encounters, including meet and greets with numerous bears, under their belts.

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Entrance to the village of Exo Nyfi.

After some tricky navigation and help from non-English speaking Greeks, we arrive at the abandoned village of Exo Nyfi in the most remote part of the Mani, termed the Deep Mani, unload our luggage and begin to look for the tower house called Maina that will be our home for a week.

Maina, a tower house dating from the 18th century, is perched on a hill with views over the countryside. The dilapidated building adjacent to a tower from the 16th century has been renovated and expanded by an annex. The project received an honorable mention in the 2015 Domes Awards 13 best built works in Greece of 2010-2014.

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Sounds cool right? We were pretty excited to see this unique house in this otherworldly part of Greece.

“Oh la, la! Oh la, la! There is a snake! I can’t stay here. Back to the car. Oh la, la!,” screams Patricia, the organizer of the home exchange that brought us to Maina. The colourful and possibly poisonous snake was shooed from the stone steps into the bushes and our life-long snake-fearing friend bravely calmed enough to complete the climb to the house. And so the mania begins.

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The scene of the crime…two crimes.

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Cool side note … In this village of Exo Nyfi John Kassavetis shot his film The Tempest (not a great movie…but fun to watch while we were there).

The original building was maintained as a long narrow volume, which unfolds perpendicularly to the topographic contour lines of hillside, as do the other houses in the settlement, looking out to the sea and the east. There is a new addition that comprises a second long narrow volume added to this old building, maintaining the same vertical relationships with the landscape relief. All three levels of the residence constitute single spaces, while the suitable placement of openings ensure natural light and ventilation during the hot Mani summers.

Once settled in with our bottled water to drink, beds selected and dinner cooked we called it an early night which was easy to do in the completely dark, completely quiet house with its lack of any neighbours.

Early in the morning I awake to something very creepy crawling over my legs and I  jump out of bed.  I make coffee and enjoy a sunrise on the patio overlooking the sea listening to the birds, the odd dog barking, goat bells tinkling and the braying of a donkey echoing off the rocky hills that form part of the house and enjoy reading the famous Mani, Travels in the Southern Peloponnese by Patrick Leigh Fermor.

When making up the bed I find this… well this is the much shrunken corpse after I smashed the shit out of it with a shoe.

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I later learn my billionopede is a scolopendra cingulata and lives in mountainous Mediterranean regions. It is often found under stones, rocks and fallen tree trunks where it rests during the day, only to come out at nighttime to feed.

Voracious feeders, they eat cricket, worms, spiders and moths, and have been known to devour young mice. They are not terribly sociable creatures and have been known to partake of a little cannibalism, occasionally eating each other.

Officially classified as centipedes, they have long bodies containing many flattened segments. They grow to 10 – 15 cm long (4″ – 6″) (although I’m sure my guy was 10″ when it was alive) and can live for up to an incredible seven years.

All interesting until I learn that it’s bite is extremely poisonous and can actually kill people. “Oh la, la.”

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Views of  tower villages… the Maniots waged long wars with the occupants of neighbouring towers while we only did battle with insect and reptile occupants of our tower.

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These severe, tall stone towers of Mani stand out against the limestone landscapes  and have become symbol of Mani’s fierce past and its fight for freedom.

 

Any thoughts of peaceful deep sleep in the deep Mani went out the window. Wearing sweat pants and a hoodie I did a strip search of the bed on the second night. Nothing… “OK, I can do this.” Had to take a second look and found this guy on the outside of the comforter (not aptly named). Another shoe smashing put paid to the scorpion. Unruffled husband says, “It wasn’t inside the bed, well at least not yet.”

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A fourth encounter with a hatch of a million flying ants in the downstairs house is barely worth a mention.

 

All disturbing but then there was this cure to the mania (The words Mania and Manic actually originate from Mani and it’s people)…

 

Less than a five-minute drive from Maina we found the most incredible beach boasting two tavernas whose owners happily delivered cold Greek beers to the beach. We were the only people at this beach which was the most incredible place to swim imaginable. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”, I ask my husband. “Yes, in a magazine.”

The Mani, this relatively unexplored part of Greece consists of 250 sun lit villages and sites with plenty of olive trees and cactuses. It is also about the beaches.

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View of a cool rock formation from one of the houses’ many patios.
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Sunset over “our” tower which we eventually grew to love.
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The tower itself has been stabilized with the hope of one day restoring it as well.
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This hedonistic beach was worth a few bugs.

All over the Mani you will find amazing beaches, all of them quiet and unspoiled. An ocean swimmer’s paradise of pebble, rock or sand beaches with crystalline, shallow waters of the bluest of blues.

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Koffie in Amsterdam

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This cafe, located near Anne Frank’s house, has been a coffee shop for hundreds of years.

When you talk of coffeeshops in Amsterdam it’s not about the coffee but the weed. Amsterdam coffeeshops are local legal dispensaries for marijuana, especially in the Red Light District where most of the 250 such shops are located.

I, on the other hand, went in search of the caffeinated fix. This little photo essay about Amsterdam’s Koffiehuis or cafes will give you a little snippet of the experience. Although not particularly known for their great coffee, the Dutch know a thing or two about presentation. The little cups usually accompanied by a treat and a glass of water are served in lovely cafes where you can linger and people watch.

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What better time of the year than Spring to linger at a cafe where everyone is basking in the sun after a long grey winter.

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The pastries are beautifully presented as well.

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A perfect chocolate on a Delft blue plate is too pretty to eat.

 

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Canal-side.

 

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Another cafe view
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The Dutch are known for their hot chocolate. I bought this mug from a cafe in Delft. I wish I had the hot chocolate in it right now as well.
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Coffee with a blossoming view near Vondel Park.

In an English Country Garden – and in mine

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Surveying my Naramata garden

England’s Amberley Castle wildlife…

I love English country gardens and my own. Our English relatives John and Ann, indulging me in my passion, always plan a visit to extraordinary gardens when we come and spending time in their own lovely garden with its roses and pond is an enormous pleasure. I bring home inspiration, seeds, garden ornaments, pieces of flint and photos. Here are some of my favourites and how we’ve worked at Canadianizing them.

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Amberley Castle tree fort

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Naramata tree fort…called The Skyroom
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Chartwell House
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Former Calgary garden
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My house…The Handyman built this round gate
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Kent Castle falconry exhibit
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Hunting free in my garden
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Flower border I wish to copy
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Naramata garden in the morning
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English garden path
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Naramata garden path
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English roses
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Naramata rose
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Admitting defeat… this just ain’t going to happen in Naramata

Hawaii dreaming on such a winter’s day

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Naramata is a paradise but the refusal of winter to pack up and make way for spring and more anticipated….summer…is bringing on Hawaii dreams. This photo essay of time spent in my second paradise is Vitamin D for our soul.

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View from a towel on the beach after a swim in the Pacific.
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White Sands beach in Kona.
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White Sands beach.

 

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Hello there.
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I liked both of these guys.
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Kona coffee in its homeland.
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How many sunset photos can you take?
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A few for sure.
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Maui sunset.

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Last one…
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White Sands beach.
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Maui windsurfing competition.
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Getting some air.

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Stormy day.

 

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Ultimate gone fishing spot.

Belinda’s baked well Bakewell Tart

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The recipe for these delectable pastry, jam, sponge-and-almond filled tarts comes from Belinda’s tea room in the beautiful castle town of Arundel in West Sussex, England.

Belinda’s Tea Room has been serving up the best of English tea goodies for more than 100 years in a building that originally served as a stable in the 16th Century in the incredibly beautiful historic town of Arundel, England. Introduced to us by The Handyman’s Aunt Ann and Uncle John, Belinda’s is a much-anticipated stop on all our visits to England. Our trip this summer to swim the English Channel on a relay team with friends called for a “double crossing.” We celebrated our swim from England to France with morning tea at Belinda’s, some antique shopping, a tour of Arundel Castle and a second crossing of Tarrant Street for a Belinda’s lunch. My new favourite, Bakewell tart, is served warm with custard and the proprietress graciously shared her secret recipe with me of this magical English invention.

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A trip to Belinda’s is just as much about the atmospheric historic building as it is about its teas and cakes.

A bit of Bakewell Tart history

Despite my idea that a Bakewell is a dessert that is simply baked well, Bakewell is a market town in the Derbyshire Dales district of Derbyshire, England. The town is named after a guy called Badeca and the name means Badeca’s spring or stream (Old English wella). The Bakewell tart started life as a happy accident in pudding form in 1820 when the landlady of the White Horse Inn left instructions for her cook to make a jam tart with an egg and almond paste base. The cook, instead of stirring the eggs and almond paste mixture into the pastry, spread it on top of the jam. The tart version of this accident is made with a shortcrust pastry, an almond glaze topping and an almond sponge and jam filling.Too much information? Get down to the darn recipe already?

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Grease and flour one 23cm tart pan or four 10cm tart pans

Shortcrust pastry

  • All-purpose flour     215 grams
  • Icing sugar                  30 grams
  • Unsalted butter         120 grams
  • Egg yolks (free run)  2
  • Cold water                   2 tbsp

Place all the dry ingredients in the bowl of your food processor and give them a quick pulse. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles bread crumbs. Add the egg and water and pulse a few times until the mixture starts to come together. Gather into a ball and wrap in plastic wrap and place into the fridge until required (at least an hour to chill).

Pre-heat oven to 350F and roll out the pastry. Roll the pastry onto your rolling pin and carefully drape over the tin or tins, easing the pastry into position and trimming off any excess from around the edges. Prick the surface of the pastry with a fork and cover with a sheet of parchment. Fill the centre or centres with baking beans, pie weights or rice and blind bake for 15 minutes.

Once the pastry has been removed from the oven spread 2 tbsp of high-quality raspberry jam evenly over the base.

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Frangipane ingredients

Frangipane

  • Unsalted butter                                              75 grams
  • Caster sugar (super-fine or fruit sugar) 75 grams

(note…you can make this from regular granulated sugar by using your coffee grinder and grinding for 20 seconds or so…don’t grind too long or you will end up with icing sugar)

  • Ground almonds                                           75 grams
  • All-purpose flour                                          1 tbsp
  • Almond extract                                              1 tsp
  • Lemon zest finely grated from 1 lemon
  • Egg, free-range                                              1

Pre-heat oven to 350F. Cream together the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy, this takes about 5 minutes in a kitchen mixer fitted with a paddle, or a little longer with a hand mixer. Fold in the remaining ingredients and place the mixture in a disposable piping bag. Cut the end off the bag and make a hole about 12mm wide and pipe the mixture evenly into the pastry case over the jam layer. Smooth out gently using a palette knife or spatula. Place the tart tin or tins on a baking sheet and bake for 25 to 30 minutes until the filling is golden. Test with a skewer in the centre, it should come out clean and the frangipane should be firm to the touch.

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Cool before frosting.
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Just a few simple ingredients and some good quality chocolate are needed for decorating.

Icing

  • Icing sugar                  200g
  • Almond extract          1tsp
  • Glace cherry or cherries
  • Good dark chocolate 100g

Mix the icing sugar and almond extract together and add a little water until you have a thick, smooth fondant. Pour the fondant into the tart tin or tins and level with the top. Pipe parallel lines of melted chocolate on the tart and then drag a toothpick across the lines to create a feathered effect. Place the cherry in the centre.

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The original Belinda’s Bakewell
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My Bakewell Tart which The Handyman has dubbed Tastesgreat Tart

Belinda’s recipe translated beautifully but the atmosphere of the tea room in Arundel is only a nice memory in my Naramata kitchen. Here a few photos of Arundel to give you an idea of what my favourite town in England is like.

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View from Arundel Castle battlements of the market town built along the banks of the River Arun.
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Arundel Castle was built by the Normans to protect the wooded plain to the north of the valley through the South Downs.
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Arundel Castle is the seat of the Duke of Norfolk.
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Just a glimpse of the castle’s gardens.
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Antique shopping is great in Arundel.
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Too big for my suitcase…
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Naramata tea room in my kitchen…

 

Isle-sur-la-Sorgue: The Mothership for French antique shopping

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Get up! It’s a perfect day to go antique shopping…the view from our rented house in the tiny Provence village of Rasteau
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Views along the way to Isle-sur-la-Sourge

What’s the big deal? Isle-sur-la-Sourge has morphed into the antique shopping capital of France and one of the top three in Europe. There are more than 350 permanent antique dealers spread over the town and two major international antique fairs at Easter and on August 15. Don’t wear socks, it will blow them off. If you are in the know, the locals call antiques “brocante”. I get why, I went broke buying brocante.

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Too big for my suitcase, “tant pis” as the French would say. My expandable suitcase is pretty miraculous but does have a limit. I’m seriously tempted by the idea of filling a shipping container and selling some of my finds next time.

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Found it! My first treasure all wrapped up and ready to take home. I’m liking that fountain and the outdoor set too.

My primary mission was to find a hand-carved rustic bread proving bowl and I found one in the very first shop we walked into. It’s a sign right? I took it to mean I was on a roll.

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Here it is back home in Canada…It fit perfectly in my suitcase with clothes packed around and in it. I love thinking about the other woman who made bread with it and her own Handyman making it for her.

My next purchase was a basket which happened to nestle nicely into my new bowl in my suitcase, with a slight bending of the handle.

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My antique mushroom picking basket was a bargain at 20 Euros. It made a stop at our patio table in Rasteau before heading home in my magic suitcase.
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It posed for another selfie in Ilse-sur-la-Sorgue in front of an historic waterwheel. The town stretches across the Sorgue River — earning it the nickname of Venice of Provence. The mossy waterwheels were used for dyeing fabrics and powering olive and paper mills.

IMG_1252If you ever look up from all the shopping for treasures, the town is pretty. It’s shaded with plane trees, the river actually babbles and the riverside cafes and restaurants are festooned with flowers. There is a farmer’s market as well where we sorted our dinner.

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Olives times a million at the farmer’s market

We stopped for lunch too which was necessary to keep the rest of the less enthusiastic antique shoppers’ spirits buoyed.

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Crepes s’il vous plait

Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is a 30-minute drive from Avignon and is also accessible by train. If you go, it’s best to arrive early for the Sunday market, which starts at 9 a.m.  both to enable you to find parking and to avoid the crowds. It was raining by the time we got there and not crowded. You can try to negotiate a bit on the prices too. I paid about 20 Euros less on the asking price of my wooden bowl and saved another 10 Euros on the picking basket. I had also done some pre-pricing on the Internet so had a rough idea what I wanted to pay. Bargaining is worth a try. I think that being polite and speaking to the vendors in French helped. It’s not a place to find amazing bargains though. Dealers are savvy and know their prices. The thrill for me was finding things not found in Canada or found here, imported from Europe and sold for appropriately more money. It was also about having so many wonderful things all in one place.

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The antiques trade took off here about 30 years ago when a few dealers got together on weekends to sell off the contents of a few local chateaux. (Wish I had been there for that.) There are now 10 main areas or “villages” spread throughout the town with the largest being Le Village des Anitiquaires de la Gare where over 100 dealers are gathered in a giant warehouse. Here is a tiny list of what you will find: garden furniture, entire fireplaces, enamel signs, books, paintings, cutlery sets, linen, zinc-top tables, mirrors, crystal, stone statues, silver trays, glassware, porcelain, jewellery, weird curiosities, lamps, children’s toys, and on it goes with enough treasure to fill Ali Baba’s cavern and a few select items left over for my modest Canadian home.

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There is so much to see that I could happily have spent a second or third day here.
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The view from our Rasteau villa

It wasn’t too hard to leave as dinner on the terrace of our Rasteau villa was pretty inviting. Much of the conversation centred around items sadly left behind due to budgetary and suitecasary considerations. I have to go back with bigger luggage and wallet…

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View of the villa in the last of the evening sun.
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Olive trees flank the drive and a vineyard sits below.

It was one of my best antique shopping days ever (on par with the day spent at Ardingly Antiques Fair in England). The Handyman, his brother (and our wonderful English relatives) indulged me and helped make the day special. The Handyman and his brother had other plans for the following day that I in turn did not indulge by accompanying them.

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The Handyman and his brother summited Ventoux on their bikes the day after our visit to Isle-sur-la-Sorgue while I basked in the afterglow on the terrace with a good book and a glass of wine. Chacun son truc.

 

Raincouver morphs into Lotusland when the sun shines

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View from a Coal Harbour condo

When the sun shines on Vancouver there is no way to downplay the city’s natural beauty. No hard-bitten cynic hepped up about its high-cost of real estate can withstand the onslaught of the views of the north shore mountains, English Bay, a rain forest and the view of snow-capped Mount Baker in the sun. The cynics can go to town during a January rainy spell.

IMG_8362I love living in the country surrounded by nature where you can see the stars and the only ambient sounds are made by wildlife. However, a long weekend in a city packed with shopping, restaurants and entertainment is a needed adrenaline boost from time-to-time. Why not spend that long weekend in arguably the best city in the world which happens to be only a five-hour drive away?

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Vancouver has great coffee and a great coffee scene. I’m in.

Our weekend centred around the West End where my daughter has recently moved from Calgary and where my brother, his wife and family live.

The West End is a champ. The neighbourhood has been named the best in the country in the annual Great Places in Canada contest. It’s known for its beaches, proximity to Stanley Park and a high-density, walkable lifestyle with treed promenades. Originally a forested wilderness, the area was purchased in 1862 by John Morton, Samuel Brighouse and William Hailstone, three men known as the Three Greenhorns because people thought they paid too much for the land. Last laugh is on them eh?

The hood became home to richest railroad families and a lot of nice architecture survives from that era including Roedde House which is now a museum. The house is haunted by two daughters named Anna that met untimely deaths…one by eating poison berries and another killed by a patient while working as a nurse at St. Paul’s Hospital.

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Roedde House where it is forbidden to say the name “Anna” out loud.

 

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I made sure to photograph the gazebo to give The Handyman a new project.

Breakfast at the Greenhorn Espresso Cafe is the essence of the West End distilled in big, frothy cup. Named after the area’s original owners, it’s in a heritage home and offers a variety of cozy modern seating with views of the passing sidewalk scene. This hidden treasure is a two-minute walk from my daughter’s apartment and is already her new local.

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My homemade granola was served with yogurt, vanilla spiced pear and seasonal fruit

After my post about Paris chocolate shops and bakeries, a trip to Ladurée’s first Canadian location was on the list.

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Happily, the shop’s window resembles it’s Paris counterpart.

A modest selection of Citron, Caramel Fleur de Sel and Café macarons, at $3 each, were packaged beautifully in a keepsake box for us. The melt-in-your-mouth flavour explosions are actually made in Paris and flown to Vancouver.

It was a day made for window shopping and strolling. Spring rains and recent warm weather brought out every scented bloom in the West End.

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My son’s fiancé Kate sports a living chapeau

Billed as the home of the bison burger, Timber has been “givin’er since 2015” and it’s fun uber Canadian atmosphere had us at Deaner the taxidermy beaver that sits proudly in the window.

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Deaner at Timber
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Bison burger

When in Rome, or Canada as the case may be, it’s best to order the house specialty which most of our party did. In a very ungourmet way, I went comfort food with mac and cheese with house-made sriracha ketchup with smoked pork crackling served by a plaid-shirted waiter. It blew my socks off. I’m going back.

By happenstance, we ended up chef Chris Whittaker’s adjacent restaurant, Forage, for dinner.

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The farm-to-table restaurant has a clean, modern look. We chose to sit outside at a relaxed picnic table set-up and were encouraged to order a variety of menu items to try and share, tapas-style. If you go, there is one must-order. Chef Whittaker’s seafood chowder, chicharron, quails egg is the bomb and its a double winner of the Chowder Chowdown at the Vancouver Aquarium. Because the chowder won, it’s “secret” recipe has been published although it looks like it would be tricky to make at home.

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Forage’s award-winning seafood chowder was indescribably delicious
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Conifer gnocchi in brown butter

Chef Whittaker is a bee-keeper at home and works with small lot farmers taking his role seriously as promoting the sustainability of our food system. All well and good but we would go back because everything tasted so good, the atmosphere was the right mix of casual and the staff fun and welcoming.

Although it looks like we ate our way through our West End weekend, we had a mission. We  were carbo loading for our Sunday race. A great representation of the family ran either the marathon, half-marathon or 8 km BMO Vancouver Marathon. We joined about 16,500 in the race’s 45th edition and burned off a few of those calories.

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Still sunny.

When one door closes, another opens

When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. You have to think there’s a reason for everything. Alexander Graham Bell

Here is a photo essay on doors and more doors. I’ve taken so many door photos in my travels that I’ve lost track of where some of them are.

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The French town of Vaison la Romain
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This metal door is in Stockholm with its amazing rivets

 

 

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Love the door-within-a-door, wherever this one is

 

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Tallinn

 

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I love the colour of this modern door

 

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We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we’re curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths. Walt Disney

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Bognor Regis, England

 

 

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One of the villages of Cinque Terre, Italy…You can just see the boat poking out from the house on the right…it was built into this house
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Love how this grey reads lavender

 

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I’ve always wanted a red door

“I’m a door-to-door salesman. I sell doors. If I can’t knock on yours, because you don’t have a door to knock on, I know you’ll be interested in what I’m selling.”
― Jarod Kintz,

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Castle door at Amberley Castle, England with a view into the inner courtyard
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No mystery where this Venice canal doorway is located
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Bruges…looks like this door is pretty old
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This Alhambra doorway is pretty distinctive as well

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Home sweet home. Beautiful round door to my secret garden designed, engineered and built by the Handyman. Contemplating painting it so its roundness stands out more. It’s awaiting cast-iron metalwork latch

 

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Secret garden’s back entrance…The superman door is also a Handyman invention

 

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