Nice little island you've got here...

Elba is part of Italy -- officially a Tuscan outpost -- though it's easy to get confused because its most famous occupant was (more or less) French and because it's pretty close to the Balearic Islands, which are Spanish.

The main city is Portoferraio. It, like the rest of Tuscany, was once ruled by the Medici family. The juxtaposition of Medici and Bonaparte is a fascinating element of Elba's culture. We had fun in Portoferraio -- once again getting off the boat with no real plan.

A block from the port entrance, we encountered Oscar, who had a cute three-wheeled jitney (sometimes called an auto rickshaw) and offered to drive us up the steep narrow streets to the big forts (one built by the Medici dynasty), then back down through town. For 24 Euros, and to avoid having to climb all the way, we took him up on his offer.

That was a very cool ride! Oscar, whose command of English was limited, zipped around the switchback turns and, whenever we came to a spot with a nice view, would screech to a stop, point, and say "picture!"

Here are a couple of those pictures -->

Oscar knew the staff at the old fort, so they let him take us into a few places not normally open to tourists, including a narrow corridor inside the walls where archers would fire arrows down onto invading armies. Oscar pointed to a set of wooden doors at the end of the hallway: "Five hundred years old!" he said proudly. Oscar also advised us to buy a day pass -- a ticket that would allow us into various buildings and galleries maintained by the historical society. We did, and it proved to be a good deal.

After poking around the fort/castle, Oscar took us to the house where Napoleon lived, past a theater that Napoleon built, and to a nearby chapel dedicated to Napoleon.

 He pointed at the small dome above the altar and had me use the cell phone camera to zoom in on the very top of the dome, where there is a small pyramid with an eye looking out of it. "Just like US dollar bill!" said Oscar. He couldn't explain the coincidence and neither can I.

Oscar took us back down through town to the waterfront, where we ended his tour and began the hunt for lunch. We had been advised by the nice ladies at the fort to go to the Piazza della Repubblica. Almost every Italian town has a Piazza della Repubblica, usually a lovely town square with monuments and churches and shops and restaurants and pigeons.

We found the square easily but it had been entirely given over to cars. The piazza was a damn parking lot! Well...

We knew of a restaurant next to the theater, having done a little research before our visit. It's called Teatro (check the web site here) and has a nice patio with a view over a small park, the sparkling sea in the distance. We found it easily (having zipped past with Oscar) and had a very nice lunch, including of course the local beer.

On the menu at Teatro, the owners are listed as Antonio and Fiona de Medici!


The day pass got us into the theater, which Napoleon ordered built inside a church. Several tiers of luxury box seats were sold to rich Elbans and Napoleon used the proceeds to finance his escape. The theater is still in use.

The obligatory visit to an archeological museum and shopping at a couple of nice pastry shops rounded out our visit. Fun and educational day!

Fun in Le Lavandou

This was, unexpectedly, a highlight of our trip along the coast.

Hyeres: From the port of Le Lavandou, we took a bus ride to this medieval village, passing through Bormes-Les-Mimosas on the way. Both are known for their flowers, although this is also wine and olive country. Hyeres is lovely, with its ancient ramparts and narrow streets and flowers.

One of my pet peeves is the use of fake shutters on modern buildings in a failed attempt to give them character.  Here, of course, the shutters are very real and very practical and, almost always, very charming. I took a close-up photo of a window in an old house -- planning to use the picture in a forthcoming magnum opus (read: rant) about fake shutters. As soon as I had snapped the picture, an old gentleman leaned out the window and yelled at me. I apologized, or tried to,  using my very poor French. In spite of his protests, I'm still going to use that photo in the forthcoming shutter screed. You've been warned.

Wandering narrow cobbled streets never gets old. In Hyeres, the views were stunning, looking out over groves of olive trees to the glittering sea.

The lanes, as advertised, are lined with flowers, blooming even in late October.

Of course, Hyeres boasts a town square with an old church and nice restaurants. I don't know quite what it is about these places, but I feel very peaceful (and a little snobbish), pretending vainly to act like a local, just hangin' out.

Domaine de l'Anglade: From Hyeres, we went back through Bormes-les-Mimosas to the outskirts of Le Lavandou and stopped at a small winery. A brief tour and a short presentation about winemaking and the history of this winery, then into the tasting room. Kathy's California cousins, because they are Californians, are wine experts. They pronounced the white wine very good (even ordering a few cases shipped back to California), the rose very good, and the red just so-so. I enjoyed the toast with tepanade (well, yes, and the wine, too.)

The winery was founded as a hobby by a family that had made its fortune in the reed business: reeds for clarinets, bassoons, oboes, saxophones, and English horns. The plants from which the reeds are made grow well in this microclimate. Vandoren reeds (sold exclusively from their Paris outlet) are, we were told, famous.


The hillside setting and the friends and the wine and the lovely weather -- such a pleasant afternoon!

Le Lavandou: Back to Le Lavandou and a stroll through the busy waterfront district. It's a warm Saturday and the place is busy but not crowded.

Sttraying a little from our usual practice of eating lunch in a small outdoor restaurant. We got street food instead -- a very nice big crepe with some kind of chocolatey fruity filling, from a one-man stand next to some boules courts (like bocce except the French use steel balls).

The pedestrian walkway was a delight because someone had constructed a half-dozen interactive sculptures which also served as games, made from reclaimed lumber, tree limbs, springs, string, tennis balls -- all kinds of clever and cool stuff.

The coolest was a contraption that had a long metal arm balanced on a stack of old books. On one end of the arm a full-sized upright piano was suspended. On the other end, a platform with a red plush carpet on it. The operator would seat four or five people on the carpet, crank up the machinery to make the whole thing rotate, then climb onto the piano bench and play sprightly music as the magic carpet made slow circles. I took a video but I'll be damned if I can find it now. The still photo here doesn't do it justice.

Everybody was smiling and taking photos. Pretty neat!

Not the Usual Itinerary

I'd heard of Cannes and Marseille and Toulon and San Tropez -- famous places on France's Mediterranean coast where rich people go to play in the summer. But I had never heard of Sete or Le Lavandou. When we decided to join Kathy's California cousins on this trip, these two places were intriguing precisely for this reason.

From Menorca, Spain, we sailed the short distance to Sete, France. Pronounced "set" (emphasis on the only syllable), it's a quiet port known for its fishing, its canals (billing itself the Venice of France is a bit of promotional hyperbole), and its oysters.

Our plan, after doing some superficial research, was to go the market (Les Halles de Sete), buy some fresh produce and bread and cheese and pastries and have ourselves a picnic. It almost worked!

Using a fairly detailed map, we walked to where the market should have been but found instead a clothing store fronted by a small plaza where some musicians were playing. That was nice. We figured we'd misread the map so walked around in ever-widening circles until we had given up.

During the stroll, when our heads weren't buried in the map, we saw some cool murals, which the guidebook failed to mention. This is Kathy in front of one mural, looking intently (again) at the map.

Back to the square (square one?). The market really should be right here! On a hunch (and driven by hunger) we walked through the clothing store and, sure enough, the huge indoor market was there, filled with fish and bread and cheese and pastries and a couple of tiny bars and meats and lots of people. I mean LOTS of people. We abandoned the picnic plan, a decision I now regret (especially after having visited the web site of Les Halles de Sete) but at the time we were intimidated by the crowds and the noise.

Instead, we sat at a nice bakery next to a park and had some pastries, which would hold us until we could track down a real lunch.

Our second idea was a canal boat tour. Some of our traveling companions had booked one through the cruise line, but we are stubbornly independent and cheap, so we figured we'd find one ourselves. And...we did!

A local company called Sete Croisiers runs three canal tours. BUT..the ticket offices were closed for siesta, so we had to wait, which was fine, so long as we could get some FOOD. Across the street from the shuttered ticket booth was a restaurant called, incongruously, the Hippie Bar, with its own bizarre mural (see below).

I ordered oysters (the famed local delicacy) and tried to order beer, but somehow the server and I failed to communicate, so I ordered a glass of white wine instead. The oysters were very good, with a kind of raspberry vinaigrette for dipping. The wine never came. Hey, we're in France, for heaven's sake! No wine? Merde...

Anyway, after lunch we got on the canal boat. The tour was inexpensive and interesting. We saw a bunch of oyster beds in the bay, some cleverly engineered drawbridges, lift bridges, and bridges that pivoted.

The narrator, who looked like Jean-Paul Belmondo, spoke only French, but we followed along with an English illustrated brochure, and that worked OK. Each time we went under a low bridge (so low we really did have to duck), Jean-Paul would lean into the microphone and genially use the only English phrase he was sure of: "Oh my God!"

Despite the lack of wine at lunch and the market that was strangely hidden from view, we liked Sete because it was kind of funky and unpretentious and accessible.

On to Le Lavandou!

This is more like it!

The medium-sized cruise ship took us overnight from Mallorca to the neighbor island of Menorca. Menorca, as its name implies, is the smaller of the two. When it comes to islands in the Mediterranean, small is good!

From the port of Mahon (sometimes spelled Mao) we took a drive around the island. First stop, the tiny resort town of Fornell (pronounced FourNAY).

It's the last week of October. The weather is fine -- sunny and warm. But the resorts around Fornell are almost all closed for the season. The town is quite pretty; the bay reminded me of La Jolla (except no seals or whales). We sat at an outdoor bistro (S'Algret) on the small town square (Placa S'Algret), had a snack, and enjoyed the view.

From Fornell, we drove into the hills to the center of the island, dubbed Monte Toro (in Catalan, "toro" is derived from a word that means "high"[and that's no bull]) where centuries ago the Crusaders built a fort and a chapel, which later became a nunnery. I think the large gift shop is a fairly recent addition. From the top, you can see the entire island and, on a clear day, the peaks of Mallorca in the distance. It's pretty.

At the top of the hill, the Catholics built a big statue of Jesus, arms outstretched. The founders didn't count on cell towers spoiling the view.

Back down the mountain to Mahon, where we wandered the streets. Many shops were selling sandals made of cork and recycled automobile tires. Apparently this is a thing on Menorca.  We resisted the urge to buy sandals.

There were lots of stores selling gin distilled on the island. The locals are proud of their gin. We didn't buy any, but...there was a very neat little toy store, so the grand-kids benefited from this visit!

Pursuing our goal of dining al fresco at local restaurants whenever possible, we found a bistro -- Ristorante Santa Rita -- on a small square across from a church (of course).

A leisurely lunch of tapas and the local beer (Cerveca Alhambra) and a sunny mid-day -- nice combo. We had the albondigas (which was nothing like the Mexican soup of the same name) and something else. The restaurant was near the top of these steps, which we walked down on the way back to the port. Someone said there are 150 steps -- I counted 115.

After the unexpectedly busy port city of Palma, the size and pace of Mahon was very pleasant indeed.

On to the Cote d'Azur!

Island Hopping

From Barcelona, we went to two islands in the Mediterranean (or in these parts often called the Balearic Sea): Majorca (sometimes spelled Mallorca) and Menorca (sometimes spelled Minorca). I think the names mean Big and Little (sometimes spelled Major and Minor).

On Majorca, the port city of Palma was larger and busier than we anticipated (yes, we probably should have studied it a bit more in advance). We wanted to see the interior of the cathedral in Palma because Mr. Gaudi had redesigned it.

Turns out there's a fairly stiff admission fee and we balked at that, plus the line seemed long at the gate. Also, we had pretty much decided to take a vintage narrow-gauge train from Palma to a smaller artsy village called Soller, a side trip that would take most of the day.

Across from the cathedral was a tourist information office, where we got a map and directions to the train station. We aren't very good at following maps or directions, I guess, because it took us a while to find the train station.

According to some guidebooks and travel web sites, the ride to Soller is spectacular, up mountains and through valleys with lovely views. The train schedule even included a stop about half way just for pictures. Once we passed the industrial outskirts of Palma, it was a very pleasant ride. Not spectacular, but that's OK.

Soller had several surprises. The train station had two art galleries, one featuring a bunch of Picasso's ceramic work (including this scary vase shown bekow); the other with Miro prints. Spectacular!

The center of Soller was, of course, a busy public square (Plaza Constitucion) with, of course, a big church. We found an excellent restaurant on the square (Cafe Central) and had lunch, accompanied by White Rose, a fine local lager.



Soller is charming -- narrow winding cobbled lanes always seem charming -- even though it's mostly dedicated to shopping. Some touristy junk, but also some cute local shops. We looked at the Estudio de Grabados Llunatic Creusa, a one-man printmaking operation run by Ricardo Fontales. Sadly, the shop was closed. Happily, Ricardo is a blogger, too: http://ricardofontales.blogspot.com.

One of the highlights: We got back to Palma kind of late, so instead of wandering through town back to the cruise terminal, we hailed a taxi from the train station. The driver asked us where we were from and when we said Minnesota, he immediately responded, "Oh! Bob Dylan!"  So we sang some of the Dylan tune that includes references to boots of Spanish leather. Smiles all around, and we just made it back to the ship in time.

Barcelona Lite

October 2019

We really should have taken the afternoon to rest and recover from jet lag. But we instead went with our rag-tag traveling party of 10 to one of the many markets in Barcelona (the Mercat de Galvany, built in 1868). There we met our guide/cook and her daughter, who bought wine and the makings of paella, apparently the national dish of Cataluña. We watched a fishmonger cut up an octopus; bought fresh tomatoes and crusty bread to make the Catalan version of bruschetta, and looked longingly at some pastries.

From the market, we walked a block to a third-floor apartment (apparently belonging to a friend of our guide). There we were treated to a fine home-cooked meal. The guide and her daughter explained each dish, with a particular focus on paella – each ingredient and each step of the cooking process. We had homemade tapenade on toast and the guide showed us how to use the sliced fresh tomatoes by scraping the cut side across a piece of toast and then pouring a bit of olive oil on it.  She claimed that the olive oils in Spain are superior to any other olive oil and accused Italians of buying Spanish olive oil and repackaging it as Italian oil. We indulged this heresy because we didn’t want to be rude and we were soooooo tired and, heck, maybe she was right!

Our guide and her daughter regaled us with their take on the recent demonstrations in Barcelona over the independence of Cataluña. They stressed that the language, cultures, and history of the region are so distinct that it really never should have been a part of Spain, and that the Spanish government is corrupt and takes far more from Cataluña than it gives back. They also said the Western press had been unfair to the independence movement – indeed, she used the phrase “fake news” to describe the reports in US news outlets.

During this discussion, our guides strongly hinted that they thought our president a buffoon and maybe even a dangerous one. We were quick to tell them that we held the same dim view of the man.

Those of us who had arrived that morning began to nod off, so we adjourned with hugs. The paella was good, the wine (Vina Esmeralda) was good. We had learned that the paella is ready when the pot bubbles slowly, making a “choop choop’ sound (which they spell xup xup.) Our guide led us in a chorus of “xup xups” as we left.

We took a taxi to our hotel, a few blocks from the Placa de Cataluña and just a block off the famous Las Ramblas (or La Rambla) pedestrian mall. We crashed, sleeping a few hours, waking up in the dark, not really knowing what time it was. We finally stumbled from bed and walked to a very nice little tapas bar – Taberna Mil Gritos (“a thousand cheers” or “a thousand screams” – probably the former). The excellent local IPA was a nice surprise.

Our tiny hotel served a generous breakfast, after which we walked to Placa de Cataluña and got on the Hop on/Hop off bus. We rode around for a while, getting off at the justly famous Sagrada Familia church, Gaudi’s architectural masterpiece. We’d been advised to buy tickets in advance for this popular attraction but of course we hadn’t. Turns out we could get tickets for that afternoon, so we did.

Back on the bus, we rode around through the city, not really sure where we wanted to hop off. I wanted to see another Gaudi creation, the Parc Guell, but we couldn’t find it even though the bus supposedly stopped there. Turns out the park is a few blocks from the bus stop, which we would have learned had we but asked the attendant. Missed opportunity for sure!

We hopped off the bus before it completed its circle and started walking more or less in the direction of Sagrada Familia. We stopped for lunch at a nice corner café. I looked for the bathroom but the only door I could find was labeled “Servicia” which I assumed meant a service door (you know, like for staff or deliveries). So I asked and the nice counter person pointed to the Servicia door, which did indeed lead to the bathrooms. I really should have studied that Spanish phrase book more closely.

We walked to the Sagrada Familia after lunch, found the entrance for ticketed guests, and got in line. A minute before entering, a nasty storm – wind and rain and lightning – descended. We had brought an umbrella, so, unlike many hundreds of other visitors, we stayed more or less dry.  The church is spectacular! The self-guided audio tour, using a very clever little wireless device, was a bit hard to follow, but it was very informative nonetheless. We learned many things one would not learn just by wandering around gawking, although the place is definitely gawk-worthy. The esteemed Mr. Gaudi is buried there and the construction crews are still at work.

I was struck by the attention to detail in every aspect of the design. Gaudi was obsessive, sketching every piece of furniture and every pane in the soaring stained glass windows. The massive tapered columns that hold up the roof are just one example: Each pair is a slightly different color of stone and each column gets lighter as it rises; each pair is fluted in a slightly different way. These subtleties are almost lost in the grandeur of the whole – we had to look carefully at things right in front of us at the same time trying to take in the sheer scale of the place.

By the time our visit was over, the storm had passed and the sun was out!

We decided to get on a different Hop on/Hop off bus route, but got lost trying to find it. This is one of the downsides of do-it-yourself travel planning: sometimes you miss stuff, you take a wrong turn, you think you’re wasting time. But we definitely enjoyed our first day and a half in Barcelona.

The next day we used up our Hop on/Hop off tickets, intending to stop and take the cable car from the port up to Montserrat (or was in Montjuic?). But… cable car not running, too windy. We intended to stop at the Miro museum (Fundacio Joan Miro), but….too late, not open. We made a long loop around the city and decided to hop off near the waterfront and walk part way back to the hotel via La Rambla. This worked except for the fact that the route was blocked by demonstrators, meaning we couldn’t hop back on where we wanted to.

But the walk, though longer than planned, was quite pleasant. We found another pedestrian street just a block or two from La Rambla that was delightful and took us past the Cathedral of  the Holy Cross, where there was a classical music group giving a concert on the steps.

I do enjoy these serendipitous happenings! And we still made it back to the hotel in time to pack up, check out, and get a taxi to meet our traveling companions for the next leg of the trip.

A Mediterranean Beer Tour

From Barcelona to Pisa, our goal was to have lunch at open-air cafes, preferably a seaside cafe, to sample the local cuisine and the local beverages. The coasts of Spain, France, and Italy are not known for beer, but I figured we'd have plenty of wine at dinner, so lunches were usually accompanied by beer. Some of it was pretty good. Herewith is a travelogue of sorts. There was some spectacular scenery and some quaint old cities and fortresses and castles and palaces and cathedrals. These will be featured another day, perhaps.

For now....the beer!

Portoferraio is the main city on the Italian island of Elba. We visited lots of historic places, including the theater that Napoleon built during his brief stay on Elba. Next to the theater is a nice little bistro called, naturally, Teatro. They bill it as a wine bar, but I had the local ale. It was unexceptional, but the setting is lovely and the food was very good. We enjoyed Portoferraio.

The main city on the Spanish island of Majorca is Palma de Majorca. It is much bigger and busier than we anticipated. We didn't stay long in Palma, instead hopping an old narrow-guage train to the village of Soller. In Soller we were surprised to find an exhibit of Picasso's pottery and some very nice Joan Miro prints. Our lunch of tapas was accompanied by Rosa Blanca beer, described on the label as "hoppy lager." It was very good!

Here's a photo of the square with the restaurant and the big old church.

 Menorca, a very small Spanish island, was a lot of fun. We learned that it is famous for its gin and for sandals made from old car tires and cork. We did not buy any gin or sandals, but we did enjoy tapas al fresco, along with a beer call Alhambra. I do not know why it is so named, but I liked it.

The restaurant was on the plaza at the top of these steps. Somebody said there are are 150 steps, but I only counted 115.

And in Nice, France, we had the best dinner of the trip at a place called Zorzetto, where the chef sat down at our table and described the appetizers he had prepared. There were a dozen and we had them all! The first course I had wine, but the second course I asked for beer and the waiter was excited because people in Nice prefer wine but this guy was a beer afficionado. The beer was "Biere du Compte" or The Count's Beer. The waiter's enthusiasm was justified.

In the bathroom at Zorzetto, patrons are greeted by the mascot of the house:

Barcelona is a great place for tapas (in case you hadn't guessed). At a bar across the street from our hotel, we had tapas and the local IPA, which was probably the best beer on the trip.