Category: Europe

Beachy Keen

29/8/2017

Words: Natasha Harding

We’ve all had one of those “sun shining, drink in hand, stunning vista” moments. During my two weeks in Cornwall, I had many.

Cornwall’s scenery is spectacular to the point of cliche. Everywhere you look, you can see rolling hills or miles of golden sand. It’s no wonder that it’s one of the most popular TV and film locations.

But getting there can be a bit of a chore. When you’re travelling by road, you have to be prepared for the occasional delay. The motorway basically ends in Devon and then it’s A roads (if you’re lucky) all the way. Travelling from Kent, we stay in Hampshire overnight, which had the added advantage of making the whole thing much more of a road-trip.

As soon as you enter Cornwall the pace of life slows down. On a good day you’ll certainly get stuck behind at least one caravan, two tractors and a herd of cows. Being used to the frenetic pace of the South East the difference is palpable.

People stop to chat, welcome you in the shops and take the time to recommend favourite local drinks in the bar.
This laid back attitude can be contagious, and within hours I feel my shoulders relax and breathing slow down.

On this trip, my family and I stayed in a large, recently renovated holiday apartment in the surfer’s paradise of Mawgan Porth on the North coast. With three beautiful light and airy bedrooms and views of the sea it offered everything that we needed.

I’ve always wanted to kayak, so dragged the gang along to the tiny hamlet of Port Gaverne, close to Port Isaac, where Cornish Rock Tors offer guided sea kayaking trips, coasteering and wild swimming.

The day was still and bright, perfect kayaking conditions for beginners according to our instructor Ayesha. She talked us through the basics of kayaking and we learnt how to paddle, stop and turn.

Once we’d (finally) got the hang of paddling, we set off on an exploration of the coastline between Port Gaverne and Port Isaac. Paddling along the sea with the sun on my back, the sense of peace was almost overwhelming and I had another one of those “if I could bottle this, I’d be a millionaire” moments.

Along the way, we discovered secret coves that you can’t access by land, spied oystercatchers and cormorants and were lucky enough to see some inquisitive seals as we paddled out of one of the coves. It was a short trip but the memory will stay with me for a long time.

Cornwall is known for its impressive beaches and because there are so many to choose from it means that even during peak season they’re not ridiculously busy.

Our favourite was Trevone Bay, which we visited most days. Located near Padstow it’s smaller than most and and the fact it doesn’t allow dogs in the summer makes for a more relaxed vibe. The Trevone waves are good enough for body boarding and paddle boating but the water is shallow enough for younger children and anyone who might find the deep surf intimidating. As the sun sets people arrive with barbecues and the air is rich with the smell of charcoal.

To really explore the coast, I recommend taking a sea safari. We chartered an early morning boat with Newquay Sea Safaris courtesy of Chris and Annabelle Lowe. During our two hour trip, which began in Newquay, we sailed past Holywell and over to Porthcothan where we saw some of the beautiful beaches featured in Poldark including Perranporth. As well as magnificent views, Annabelle pointed out puffins, herring gulls and black back gulls as we sailed along.

The couple’s knowledge was awe inspiring and I loved Annabelle’s passion about the importance of sustainable fishing and we learnt the damage that using nets can cause to the sea bed. Chris and Annabelle’s son is a fisherman and he uses a long line which is a much kinder, although far more time-consuming way of fishing. Along the way, we stopped by his boat to check out his morning’s mouth-watering haul of lobster and crab.

Although it might be famous for its Cornish pasties and clotted cream, Cornwall does contain some amazing pubs, restaurants and cafes. Rick Stein’s hold over Padstow is phenomenal, so much so that the locals call it Padstein. In the town you’ll find a bakery, gift shop, cafe, chip shop and fish restaurant with his name on.

At Stein’s Fish and Chip Shop you might catch hake, plaice, John Dory or lemon sole. Their homemade batter is deep fried in beef dripping making it deliciously crunchy and the homemade mushy peas were without doubt the best I’ve ever eaten.

We ate yet more fish at the 18th century Golden Lion in Port Isaac, a favourite with the Doc Martin crew. Overlooking the harbour and full of history, the pub even has its own smuggling tunnel leading down onto a causeway on the beach. The real fire in our hole, though was the boozy and decadent creme brulee, the perfect final course to what I hope is the first of many West Country adventures.

More Info:
watergatebay.com/accommodation/mawgan-porth-apartments
rickstein.com
thegoldenlionportisaac.co.uk
newquayseasafariandfishing.co.uk
cornishrocktors.com
visitcornwall.com

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Return to Dunkirk

3/8/2017

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Words by Simon Finlay

THE northern French port of Dunkirk has been enjoying much attention since the release of the blockbuster Christopher Nolan movie of the same name. Almost universally acclaimed for its realism, cinematography and story-telling, the film has attracted many a war buff to its shores.

The film tells the gripping tale of the evacuation of 340,000 British and French troops forced to flee the German advance, mostly by British sailing and fishing boats.

Naturally, the region’s tourism authorities are keen to extoll the virtues – and there are many of them – of this corner of France nudging up against Belgium.

The film-makers were given free use of the beach and its jetties for five weeks and taking one of the guided walking tours of the area where the action happened in 1940, it is easy to imagine the sheer scale of Nolan’s task to recreate the sights and sounds of that short, intense chapter in wartime history. Another guided walk can be taken around the Le Fort des Dunes, a 19th century fortress under German occupation at the time of the evacuation and located within a vast wildlife sanctuary. For a few euros, visitors can also enjoy a windswept audio-tour.

Almost more interesting was the Dunkerque War Museum with its thousands of artefacts picked from the shores after the Second World War. Packed into its caverns are old vehicles, a rusting hunk of Merlin Rolls Royce engine taken from a stricken Spitfire, uniforms, shell casings, badges, bottles and a great deal more.

For the adventurous, flights in a four seater plane taking in the whole area go from the local airfield at Dunkerque giving a Spitfire pilot’s eye view of the evacuation site. Straying into Belgian airspace, our French pilot asks politely in English for permission to land – a far cry from the rampaging dogfights in these skies almost eight decades ago.

Dunkerque is modern in feel, lacking those pretty cobbled back streets, rickety terraces, squares or a traditional old town quarter. In fairness, rather like its near neighbour Calais, Dunkerque was decimated by wartime bombing – 90 per cent of the town was obliterated – and today, in parts, it is rather industrial and not massively prepossessing.

The beach at Dunkerque is huge and, in summertime, packed with French holidaymakers This is always a good sign. Often, Parisians escape with their children to the northern coast, rather than head for Nice or St Tropez. The shoreline walkway is dotted with very decent French restaurants, full of chatty natives. Another good sign. Check out La Cocotte (Nolan dined here) and Comme vous Voulez on the seafront.

Further inland is L’edito, which is always well populated and much-loved by locals, while the food aboard the Princess Elizabeth ship turned floating restaurant – not least the veal cooked for 17 hours at 87C – is virtually faultless. There are rumours of Michelin status.

Clearly, Dunkerque has ambition, judging by the investment which has gone in, and has seized the opportunity for a blockbuster movie to be shot where it happened. The port is well served by DFDS ferries for Brits, but allows non-British visitors to hop across the Channel for a UK visit. Whether or not you’re a war buff, Dunkerque is a friend waiting to be made.

We travelled by www.dfds.co.uk and stayed at the Hotel Borel http://www.hotelborel.fr/en/
L’Edito restaurant with views over the marina http://www.restaurant-ledito-dunkerque.fr/
Dunkirk War Museum http://www.dynamo-dunkerque.com/
Le Fort des Dunes http://fort-des-dunes.fr/en/
La Cocotte http://www.lacocottedk.fr/
Dunkerque flying experience www.aeroclub-dunkerque.com
Comme vous Voulez restaurant on the beaches of Dunkirk http://comme-vous-voulez.com/

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Is this Central London's best value hotel?

7/7/2017

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I lived in London for 15 years from 1997, eventually fleeing when intimidating rental prices started baring their teeth and my more successful friends moved to the more residential outer zones to raise their families. These days, I’ll stay on their commodious sofas or I’ll heartlessly have their children evicted from their bedrooms to share with their siblings so I might lay my head down when I visit from my new home of New Orleans.

Whenever I’m in London, though, part of me longs for those carefree, central London, knockabout days lolling around the West End and the South Bank and whichever bits of East London were deemed unfashionable enough for me to be able to go there without triggering too many self esteem issues.

Cheap central-ish hotels, then, are something I’m always looking for. Historically, I’ve done several of those weird oversized BnB-converted townhouses that you get in Paddington and Victoria and the like. They always have names like “The Buckingham” but then the interiors are always way less than regal than you’d think and they all have weird refitted corridors with too much wood panelling everywhere and lost exchange students around every corner looking for the lift.

I even stayed in a newly-trendy youth hostel in newly-unaffordable Elephant and Castle and that was OK, but not befitting a man of my advanced, definitely non-youth years.

The last couple of years, though, I’ve returned to the same place about four times. It’s not exciting, it’s not hip, and it’s not hard to find. It’s a short walk to some of the city’s highlights, and only a short bus ride into the West End. It’s clean, modern, with full facilities and a good breakfast buffet and you can get rooms here for less than £60 a night if you do it somewhat sneakily.

Yes…it’s…drum roll…try to contain your excitement…the Holiday Inn London Commercial Road.

I know, right?

Here’s why I like it.

It’s new. It still has that new hotel smell and the staff are super perky and helpful and have genuine smiles or at least are expert fakers.

It feels central but local at the same time. There’s a market across the road with stalls selling Indian fabrics and veg and fresh fish and there’s a good local chip shop, but ten minutes away is The City being all The City about things.

It’s on a good bus route into Central London and there are two tube stations within a couple of minute’s walk: Whitechapel and Shadwell.

It offers discount add-ons that you can pay for in units, such as late check-outs and movies and breakfasts. The fast wifi is free.

OK, it’s technically in Zone 2, BUT it’s as close to Zone 1 as makes almost no odds whatsoever and with the skyscrapers of The City looming over you, it definitely feels like Zone 1. You can walk a couple of minutes and BE in Zone 1. For less than £60 a night.

Now then. Less than £60 a night is not the published rate. But here’s how you do it.

Priceline offer a range of ‘Express Deals’ on their website, where they offer heavily discounted hotel rooms but they don’t reveal the name of the hotel until you book. Click on this tab after putting in your dates for a London stay. Next, filter the results by ‘4 star’ rating and ‘East London-Islington-Hoxton-Shoreditch’ neighbourhood. That should result in only a handful of options, one of which should be a 4-star hotel for £60/$80 or less per night. That’s the Holiday Inn Commercial Road because there aren’t any other four-star hotels in the neighbourhood for that price, so there shouldn’t be any surprises (once you’ve booked it once, Priceline even gives you this message: “Hint: You’ve stayed here before!”). One important point: the prices are higher during the week as they have business guests, but at the weekend I’ve scored two nights for around £100 using this method, which is a good deal in London no matter how you slice it.

Beyond any credit card points promotion or seasonal deal, this is the best value hotel room I’ve personally seen in London. Granted, there are lots of cheap hotels in London I’ve never stayed in, and I’m very happy to be proved wrong. Send me an email if you know better, but for now, this is definitely my go to.

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Casita Andina, London, UK

11/4/2017

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There comes a time on any night out in Central London when leaving the place you’re at becomes a gamble, an act of calculated risk.

Given the vagaries of clientele density and General Good-Time Probability Theory, do you stay at the place you’ve been enjoying for a third or fourth hour and risk getting jaded and stranded without options down the line, or do you strike out for the promise of novelty, a new bar where you could hit social gold, or equally be drowned in a four-deep line of deplorables at the bar? It’s the eternal London question, really.

In any case, it has to be the hallmark of a good restaurant when you try to leave twice and are still there at the end of the night, right?

I blame the Pisco Sours. Casita Andina is a lively little Peruvian joint in Soho and if there’s one thing I know from my very limited interactions with real life Peruvians, it’s that they’re madly proud of Pisco, essentially a type of brandy.

It’s one of the few things, outside of Paddington Bear, that I know comes from Peru (Chile also lay a claim) (to Pisco, not Paddington Bear) (as far as I know), and it’s the first thing we’re offered as myself and a couple of friends chum round a corner table in the cosy upstairs dining room. We agree to a round for research purposes, research that would enjoy an unfettered extended tenure as we hurtled into an increasingly blurry night.

The good news? There’s food as well, and it’s a welcome change for weary London palates. Coming into the restaurant, some braying oaf outside was describing it to his bored friends as “like Hispanic tapas, you guys”, which is really all tapas, but the reality of the menu is a small-plate adventure that doesn’t feel like it’s hooking onto this now omnipresent eating trend.

We share food in restaurants now, generally, as a people. It’s just what we all do. It’s 7pm on a Friday night and so the opening salvo of crunchy corn nuts, pork and liver croquettes and Chilaso (a kind of tempura) didn’t stand a chance, inhaled as they were through the early evening buzz of Londoners off work on a sunny evening and a well-timed second wave of pisco sours.

The mains are split in twain, heat-wise, with Hot Kitchen offering the cooked meats, and Ceviche & Raw Bar covering the uncooked, fishy side of things. I’d say three menu items between two people would be a satisfactory amount of food (they’re £6-$14 each) but with a bottle of wine chasing our pisco disco, we felt emboldened to hit the menu more thoroughly.

The tamal (pork dumpling), pork shambar (pork belly) (are you sensing a pattern?) and maca lamb sirloin (pattern broken!) were herbed and seasoned and cooked to fork-pleasing levels of delicacy AND were hearty enough to steer us through our booze-enhanced appetites.

We were really here for the ceviche, though. Not such a common dish in London. The menu is a non-cliché ceviche niche, if you will, though you probably won’t. Herby, citrus-y seabass comes out with the ‘Classic’ and ‘Casita’ plates, while the tuna rested confidently in tiger’s milk and quail eggs. There are veggie options, which we sadly glossed over for dessert pisco sours and a shared Peruvian chocolate ball.

As contented as we were, trying to leave suffered a slight setback as the downstairs bar had cleared out and gave us the London holy grail of a table and seats, and so (astonishingly) pisco sours were ordered while friends arrived.

Such was the success of this enterprise that more friends were invited – us providing them with a gamble-free jaunt across the West End – and more pisco sours and so and so forth until we were practically one-quarter Peruvian by genetic make-up and Paddington Bear had been adopted as our official mascot.

Casita Andina sure seems unassuming, but boy can it sneak up on you. Maybe I'll blame the crunchy corn nuts, but I doubt anyone would buy that.

Website: www.andinalondon.com/casita

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Virgin Weekend First

19/3/2017

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Whenever I'm in England I invariably travel from London to Wigan on Virgin Trains. I always try to make one of the travel days a weekend, solely because of the £20 upgrade ticket that's available: The Train Fare Formerly Known As Weekend First.

(Disclaimer: I know that £20 is a lot of money to a lot of people. I also know that some people probably feel they've already paid enough money for their Standard ticket, and I'm not saying that those people are dummies for not doing it.)

I remember the first time I heard about it, in the late 1990s, when it was just £15. I was living in The North and my friend Dom was a trainee solicitor in London and he'd come home and regale us all with tales of the exoticism of traveling first class. Weekend Foist, we called it, for little or no apparent reason. I don't think it's even called Weekend First now, so the name is even more tenuous.

When I moved to London, I'd use it on a Sunday any time I'd come home and I use it today whenever I'm back. I'm sitting in Foist Class now, in an empty, quiet carriage at 2pm on a Sunday, going from London to Wigan. My point is, I can't believe everyone I didn't except in the disclaimer who has £20 to spend and more than an hour on the train isn't doing it.

You arrive at the station. You find an unreserved seat in First Class (which is most of them). You plonk yourself down, pay £20 when the ticket machine person (CONDUCTOR, Paul, use your words) comes round and Bob's your mum's cool brother delivering you a host of free gifts.

To whit: Free wifi of mainly acceptable speed (£5 in Standard Class, it drops out occasionally but it does where I live in New Orleans, so nbd). Free tea, coffee and water (as much as you can drink, though I have never tested the upper limits, should they exist). Free food/meal pack: see the above picture: a nice tomato and egg sandwich, pretzels, a biscuit and a chocolate (two sandwich options, I BET you could ask for one of each). Free calm, civilised, roomy, comfortable carriage with actual places for luggage even if you turn up late, power points at every seat and a range of cultural lectures given on the hour. OK, not that last bit but it's (IMHO) more than a £20 world away from Standard. I mean, I have crowding issues, but still.

Anyway. Bully for me, I know. But it's a rare Shandy Pockets recommendation: Book early, get a cheap seat, make one of your travel days a weekend, and it more than pays for itself.

More info: www.virgintrains.co.uk

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Every Brochure For Every Massive House In Ireland

25/1/2017

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Scathing hotel reviews are among our favourite things. Spoof hotel reviews are up there, too. We love this one, written about guest houses in Ireland by Caroline O'Donoghue for headstuff.org.

"The main house features 18 bedrooms, a ballroom, a parlour for painting horses in, a slightly smaller ballroom, a “drawing room” and a narrow closet where servants were permitted to sleep standing up in. The large iron gates you see surrounding the property were added in 1850 after a number of local riots resulted in the death of 18 members of the Irish peasant class. During the time, this was the equivalent of three English people!"

Read the entire thing HERE.

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The Stafford Hotel, London

1/12/2016

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OK, give us a minute. There’s a truckload of history to address but the first point of order is working out what the secret thermostat in the wardrobe does. I say it heats up the inside of the wardrobe itself so as to make light of any creases that a chap might have collected while transporting his dress shirts. My girlfriend, more prosaically but probably more accurately, says it’s to control the temperature of the heated bathroom floor.

Either way, this goofy argument should tell you something about the ruddy, bloody poshness of this here hotel. I’ve knocked about some upscale pads in my time, somehow sneaked into a selection of classy joints. The Stafford, just to be clear, is one of them.

The welcome reveal, though, is that it doesn’t come with the snobbery that a poor urchin like me can sometimes inspire. I’ve seen it. The look of bafflement or even outright pity as I approach the reception desk, the presumption (hope? I’ve seen hope!) that I’ve wandered into the wrong place.

Usually, this is at some upstart, newly tarted up joint that was a derelict warehouse a fortnight ago. NOT AT PLACES LIKE THIS. Actual, historically swanky places like The Stafford have way too much self respect to judge anyone. A relief when, rolling in after getting lost with two heavy cases and looking like a porter down on his luck, I step up and tell them I have a reservation. Unblinking politeness. A reassuring mix of knowing deference with the misting of authority that we all secretly like. A world-worn Scot who has probably worked there since the 40s to take us to our room. This is what I’m talking about.

Here’s a potted history: the place used to be a posh knob social club, became a private hotel and housed a selection of lofty officers during WWII. It has since expanded to the stables at the back and added a modern annex but essentially you’re staying in a building that has hundreds of years of history.

I need a drink.

“That’s Nancy’s stool.”

I’m leaning up against the old-school looking bar, about to order a pre-dinner gin. Bartender Benoit has been here forever (he’s only the 3rd bar manager since 1946), so I’m deferring to his knowledge. He’s not moving me on, just drawing attention to it.

Nancy is Nancy Wake and the stool jammed up against the far corner of the bar is just one of many memorials to this mysterious lady that become apparent once you start looking. The bar at The Stafford Hotel is called The American Bar. It was used by Allied officers as a meeting spot during World War II, and had since expanded and been extensively bedecked with every conceivable artefact, American and otherwise.

It’s quite a trip. Historically AND aesthetically. I recommend a visit, even if you’re not staying at the hotel.

Our room is in the modern annex (The Mews), with its dedicated entrance and absolute masses of space. To be able to loll about in somewhere with the feel of a medium sized apartment is a luxury in Central London on its own. Add to that the panoramic luxury encased within – huge marble bathrooms with heated floors that may or may not be controlled from the wardrobe, overwhelming coffee selection, expensive furniture, almost emotionally-impressive levels of service…well, I’ve been looked down on by much worse, I’ll tell you that.

We dined. The Lyttleton is the onsite restaurant, and though we were the only customers for dinner, we were made to feel more than welcome and not at all like we were keeping several staff from knocking off early. Chandeliers, high end British cuisine, you get the picture.

Breakfast in the same room was perhaps the most impressive affair I’ve seen in a hotel. A heaving table of pots and pastries and every conceivable morning snack, paired with an a la carte menu including three types of egg Benedict, and that’s enough to impress this guy.

If it’s available, have the short tour of the wine cellar – there are lots of surprises that will delight war buffs – and if it’s not, then just revel in the absolute bonanza of professionalism and service that greets you here. World class. Especially for guttersnipes like me.

(PO)

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Aperol Spritz Terrazza, London

9/8/2016

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Words and pictures by Anna Delaney

“The secret to making a fine aperol spritz is to add as little soda as possible...” Advice from the vibrant and cheeky Loris who delighted us in the art of making the perfect aperol spritz, Venetian style.

I remember visiting Venice a few years ago and being introduced to the aperol spritz - something to be enjoyed when the sun starts to set, the air begins to cool and the working day comes to an end. The sharp and sophisticated head to their local to drink and eat cicchetti or Venetian tapas, an indisputably classy way to do after-work drinks.

Then three years ago everybody was talking about THE drink of the summer. Aperol! Have you not heard? The less medicinal and sweeter version of Campari! However, unlike other fads that have been sent to the graveyard (who remembers foam? soon to be joined by smashed avocados for brunch) I am pleased to announce that the blood orange concoction was no fleeting dalliance.

It now even has a summer London residency; the Aperol Spritz Terrazza, located on the rooftop at the Bird of Smithfield. Cosy and intimate, with a charming view of the city, it’s the perfect place for a date or refined after work drinks. Plus, it’s still obscure enough not to be plagued by those city types, #safefornow.

Like any cocktail worth its salty rim, this bar comes with a twist and is hosting a series of Aperol Spritz Socials. Collaborations with the Dalston Print School, The School of Life and Soho Radio have put on a range of enlightening and interactive workshops.

I tried out one of the “spritz suppers”; a culinary masterclass in making small plates to accompany our aperitifs. The team of Forza Win showed us how to rustle up some simple but tasty dishes; vibrant ripe yellow and orange tomatoes with red onions served on rustic bread, cannellini beans over foccacia with a dash of dill on top (basically the Italian version of beans on toast) and some tender pieces of lamb and salsa verde. Lots of sampling, lots of laughter and certainly a more entertaining and informative way of getting less drunk than usual, which is the Italian style, after all.

If you’re still in mourning over leaving the EU, head to this terrazza. It’s the closest you’ll get to La Dolce Vita this side of the pond.

How to make the perfect Aperol Spritz:

Fill the glasses generously with cubed ice.
Pour 3 parts of Prosecco over the ice.
Pour 2 parts Aperol into each glass in a circular movement.
Finish with a dash of Soda.
Garnish with a slice of orange.
Don sunglasses.
Drink.

The Aperol Spritz Terrazza will be open until 31st August from Monday – Saturday until 10pm. More information can be found at AperolSpritzSocials.com

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Beachy Keen

Return to Dunkirk

Is this Central London's best value hotel?

Casita Andina, London, UK

Virgin Weekend First

Every Brochure For Every Massive House In Ireland

The Stafford Hotel, London

Aperol Spritz Terrazza, London

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