Ouchijuku Village, Japan

For some reason, these photos look calm. Yet in reality, a blizzard raged and the muted glow of the snow-plough’s headlights provided just enough light to let me capture this scene: fragile, snow-cloaked candles beneath an otherwise relentless black sky. Sleet assaulted our eyes, abraded our cheeks and hounded our cameras, while our voices had long since been swept away.

This street, a beautifully preserved row of thatched cottages from Japan’s Edo Period, is only 300 metres long.

Walking it under these conditions, felt like 300 years. Which is handy, really, since that’s roughly how old the place is.

Ouchijuku Village used to be an important staging post on the route between Imaichi and Aizu Wakamatsu. Over time, the world grew faster and its importance faded away. Yet it kept its character and today provides a delicious taste of traditional life in Japan.

As does this photo of a woman waiting for us as we arrived at our hotel. Total and utter dedication. And possibly frostbite. I shiver at the thought.

Disclosure: I visited Japan in 2011 as a guest of the tourist board. As ever, I have complete editorial freedom.

This post forms part of Photo Friday on Delicious Baby. Head over there for some more travel pics.

A Quiet, Snowy Village in Japan first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Everyone was cold. I saw it in the hunched shoulders and stooped spines of the commuters who huddled past, bundled beneath thick duffel coats, pressed scarves and peaked hats.

Which was why the drain surprised me.

Whimsical fingers of mist curled through the gaps, growing thinner as they spiralled up towards the sky, the sky which experience told me still loomed overhead but which I avoided looking at in case I inadvertently exposed another sliver of my neck to Budapest’s biting air.

No, these wisps of steam alone could tell me that I was on the right track, that my heavy, hurried feet were carrying me towards the Szechenyi Baths.

Baths in Budapest

Thermal baths are to Budapest what baguettes and boulangeries are to Paris or yellow taxis are to New York. From the Szechenyi, to the Gellert, to the Lukacs, a range of extravagant, resplendent buildings reside on both the Buda and Pest sides of the city, plunging beneath the earth to draw up thermal waters for the benefit of cleansing and healing its citizens, not to mention providing the necessary environment for a game of chess.

That’s right, chess. I’d seen the iconic pictures, now I longed to see the real thing.

Thanks to the lovely people at the Budapest Tourist Office, I’d been granted the right to take photos within the Szechenyi Baths. No thanks to the hideous behaviour of one woman at the admission gate, most of that time was lost. A story for perhaps another day, despite its insight into life before and after the fall of the iron curtain and the interesting debate about clothing, steam and near freezing temperatures.

Eventually, I was in – and the clock was ticking.

Changing Rooms: Cropped to Protect Those Within

I raced through the subterranean changing rooms with their peeling paint and faint sense of psychiatric prisons from films of the 1950s. I strode through the exercise rooms with skull-capped water aerobics classes that reinforced that impression. I threw those ubiquitous swimming hats for shoes across my feet and burst into the fresh air of the central area of the Szechenyi Baths…

That reedy steam I’d seen clawing through the drainpipe outside now billowed and bellowed across the outdoor pools, cloaking and claiming swimmers who soaked in its scorching path, not to mention the stony Venus who twisted her spine around to watch.

Here in the heart of Hungary, I watched thermal water turn to vapour in the home of Budapest’s oldest thermal bath (on the Pest side of the city at least.)

And while cold air turned my rapid breath into clouds, I found a place for playing chess.

This post forms part of Photo Friday on Delicious Baby. Head over there to see some more travel photos.

It also forms part of the #IronRoute project - a journey from Istanbul to Berlin that criss-crosses back and forth across the former Iron Curtain. Read all about it here.

The Water of Winter: Baths in Budapest first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Those of you who know me – and I’ll accept for the purposes of this blog post a very loose definition of the word “know…” Reading a few posts here or tuning in to my ramblings on twitter (shouldn’t that be “witty and incisive social commentary”- Ed?) – would probably have clued you in to the fact that I’m not that kind of wife. Not that kind of girl.

But cooking lessons, I’ve learned (hoho!) provide two cunningly disguised opportunities:

1)      The chance to eat a meal that puts the F into fresh and

2)      The chance to really get chatting with locals

Oh, and every now and then I can reproduce the results at home. Not that any specific examples spring to mind right now… The odd bodged one here and there…Another couple that weren’t too bad…But it’s the taking part that counts, right?

Don’t answer that, at least not yet.

Enter Beit Sitti, a cooking school in Jordan’s capital, Amman

Beit Sitti, A Cooking School in Jordan

You couldn’t ask for a better sense of atmosphere…Hidden at the top of a barely-lit staircase, the smoky orange lights of the city glimmered both in the distance and up close as we arrived. The walls inside were fresh and white, punctuated only by a mirror with borders that glittered like jewels dipped in chocolate.

We weren’t in a school, we were in a Jordanian home. Not that we had long to appreciate it.

Maria, the English-speaking of our two chefs, moves at about twice my speed and speaks at about thrice my volume despite being half my size.

She confiscates my camera, my  pen and my notebook and I’m set to work. Hands washed, sleeves rolled, apron tied, knife at the ready.

She eases me in gently, by giving me an onion to chop. I relax a little. 1950s housewife I may not be, but even I can chop an onion.

“You might find it works better,” she says ten seconds later, “if you do it like this.”

She pinches one side of the halved onion and slices it swiftly until it resembles a closed accordion. She then holds that tight, turns the knife on its side and cuts parallel to the table, aiming for her palm. After enough shifts spent stitching together fingers in my former life, I can’t help but flinch at the sight.

“Here,” she sets down a glass of cloudy liquid. “Have some arak. It’s like Arabic ouzo.”

Never has a description enticed me less.

Arak - "Arabic Ouzo"

Jordanian Food After Arak

Aniseed fires along my throat and we move on to chopping parsley. Later, outside in the balmy night air, I fry pitta bread and potatoes with Ali, our driver, a timely reminder that preparing food crosses all language barriers.

Back inside, I peel smoked aubergines under the supervision of our haja.

“Haja is a term of respect for older people,” Maria explains. “People who have completed the Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. Haj for men, Haja for women.”

Our haja smiles, adjusts the knife so that I chop ingredients into even smaller pieces, and Maria continues talking.

“I am a ‘trained chef’ in that I take professional cooking classes – although most of that is about French food, but really our Haja know more about cooking than me. Cooking classes of any kind are a strange idea for that generation because the women here learned it all as they were growing up, they learned everything they needed to know about food and cooking that way, at home, as part of normal life.”

So, are the meals we’re preparing (recipes below) fresh from fancy chef school or do everyday Jordanians make these meals at home?

“It’s a mixture,” says Maria, and our driver nods to agree.

“The mouttabal, fattoush and siniyet kafta people regularly make at home,” she says. “Whereas knafeh people tend to buy from bakeries for graduations… Or weddings…For special occasions.”

My hands fluff knafeh dough and ghee with squidgy satisfaction.

“We want to show people that they can make knafeh themselves – easily – at home.”

Easily, eh?

Cooking can be fun...

Characteristics of Jordanian Food

Tonight, Isabelle and I are the only guests but I wonder who their usual customers are.

Maria gives a wry smile.

“When we opened, around a year ago, we thought that our guests would mainly be tourists. But then with the riots and uprisings elsewhere in the Middle East, people stopped coming to Jordan even though we didn’t have trouble here.

“So, we started reaching out to people here in Amman and it’s turned out to be very popular.”

I wash my hands and head out to the barbecue where aubergine fizzes and spits on the naked flames.

Jordanian food relies heavily on fresh ingredients, often finely chopped. It throws in a hefty dose of subtle spices I’ve since struggled to find at home: sumac, tahini and bakleh. Most meat dishes come with salads that burst with their own flavour, rather than using separate salad dressing as a crutch, and meals usually take the guise of a self-service kind of affair. Broad ceramic dishes glazed in royal blue are set down on the table, from which everyone helps themselves.

It’s tasty and healthy, well, except for the knafeh that oozes with that kind of sweet, delicious moisture that you know can’t come from polyunsaturated lipids.

It’s also surprisingly easy to make. Although I rather wish I hadn’t told you that, in case I ever invite you over for dinner.

You should always remember, though, it’s good manners to look impressed.

Jordanian Food Recipes

Fattoush at Beit Sitti

Siniyet Kafta at Beit Sitti

Moutabbal at Beit Sitti

Knafeh at Beit Sitti

The Early Stages of Siniyet Kafta

Making Siniyet Kafta

Jordanian Food: Sumac, Spice & Slice first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Travel Zagreb through these photos from the #ironroute…

This Photo Friday, I bring you Croatia’s Capital at its warm and wintry best. Check out more about the #ironroute over here and watch this space for the words…They’re on their way…

How would you choose which photos to use to show a whole city?

Travel Zagreb Through Photos – The 5th City on the #IronRoute first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Tasting India by Christine Manfield is clearly a labour of love.

With India, it’s difficult to know where to start, how best to capture its essence.

So reads the opening line of the book. But the same could be said about reviewing Tasting India itself.

Tasting India spills over nearly 500 pages, peppered with sumptuous photography from Anson Smart that captures the details of India. You’ll find accommodation listings at the back, a ribboned bookmark in the middle and pages and pages of beautiful essays about the regions of India, from Kolkata and Darjeeling to Rajasthan, Mumbai and Goa.

It’s a love song  – or sonnet – to India and a publication that certainly stays far from the real-life grit and grime of the streets. Yet before I veer into discussing the portrait of India it paints, I shouldn’t forget to talk about the whole driving force behind the book: the food.

Tasting India provides recipes for almost every taste, although they’re not from the Quick Cheat’s School of Cooking, that’s for sure. I couldn’t find more than half the ingredients listed (although I was in Seville at the time,) so in the end I plumped for “sweet and sour tomatoes” for my first trial run.

With only two bullet points worth of instructions, the recipe seemed ideal for maintaining my “amateur” status, should making Indian (or indeed any) Food one day become an Olympic Sport. (Gymnastics, by now, is probably out of the question after all.)

But back to the tomatoes.

My tastebuds shiver at the memory of it. Fresh coriander, a sharp syrupy tang, an easy dish to make…I’m hooked. This would normally be the point where I should introduce a staggeringly mouth-watering picture of my own culinary efforts…but one look at the state of my kitchen could put you off food for life. I’m working on it. New Year’s Resolutions and all that…

In the meantime…Thank you Christine Manfield for introducing me to this wonderful piece of work and reawakening my enthusiasm, if not proficiency, for cooking – and for India.

Disclosure: I was provided with a copy of Tasting India by Christine Manfield for review purposes on the understanding that I was free to review it independently. As usual. As always.

Tasting India by Christine Manfield RRP £40

Tasting India – A book to fall in love with first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Time, this week, played tricks on me. An illusion: disappearing, twisting, sliding and slipping away…

This photo, from the kamakura matsuri or igloo festival in Tohoku, Japan last year, just seemed to fit for this week’s Photo Friday. The region had just recovered from one of the harshest winters on record – and yet none of us had any idea that such a devastating earthquake and tsunami were just around the corner.

Has time ever played tricks on you?

Time Disappears first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

I hope to bring Ljubljana to life for you here on Inside the Travel Lab, piece by piece, over the course of 2012 as part of my #IronRoute Project. Yet to spare you the overload experienced by my hard drive, oh long-suffering reader, I’ll start with this bite-sized list and fill in the gaps later.

Seatbelt fastened, tray tables stowed and seats in the upright position? All right, then. Let’s go.

1 Ljubljana: What it is and where it is.

Perhaps you know this, perhaps you don’t. To spare your blushes, I’ll tell you myself.

Ljubljana is the capital of Slovenia, which was part of Yugoslavia when people my age were growing up. Before that it was part of the Habsburg Empire but before we disappear down the rabbit hole of history for this part of the world, let’s stop and make sure we’ve got our bearings.

This is where Slovenia lives, landlocked between Italy, Croatia, Austria and Hungary.

2 Its nickname: White Ljubljana

Apparently, Ljubljana earned this nickname thanks to the pale churches & mansions that appeared during the Habsburg era – but I have another theory.

Wander along Ljubljana’s riverside Christmas Markets and you’ll find that the mulled wine scorns the traditional reds found across the rest of Europe – for an unmistakeable Ljubljana white.

3 Ljubljana’s Art Nouveau

4 Ljubljana’s Chic Boutiques

5 Ljubljana’s Fine Food:

Ljubljana’s gourmet restaurants offered up some of the best meals I found along the #IronRoute. Alas, there were too many to taste them all! Here’s Restaurant Spajza, which I’d highly recommend if you ever find yourself in Ljubljana…

6 Ljubljana’s Hearty Food…

Though simple jota warmed me up a treat as well.

7 Ljubljana’s “Traditional” Street Art

Wander around the streets near Hostel Celica (which itself used to be a prison) to catch up with plenty of street art and edgy living.

8 Ljubljana’s “Unusual” Street Art

Yet you can find sweet street art like this as well…

9 Ljubljana and the Dragon

Ljubljana has not one but four dragons guarding the, er “Dragon Bridge” (one of the earliest asphalt bridges in Slovenia, if you’re into that kind of thing.) From paper dragons in China to scarlet flag-emblazoning ones in Wales, to patriotic dragon slayers called George in England and Jordi in Catalunya, I’ve never quite worked out why so many different cultures have such similar takes on this mythical, fire-breathing creature.

10 Ljubljana and the Iron Curtain

OK, here’s where we get serious again. For all the above-mentioned frivolity, the iron curtain is the real reason why I came to Ljubljana on this particular trip. Apologies if you know this already, but I’d started in Istanbul and travelled by InterRail up to Berlin in order to zigzag across the former iron curtain, the barrier that carved up Europe while I was at school.

Slovenia, and hence Ljubljana, and to an extent all of the former countries of Yugoslavia, formed a vital part of this route. But not, perhaps, for the reason you might imagine.

To be continued…The story continues over here with The Cold War, the Iron Curtain & Somewhere In Between
. To put the iron route into context, visit the #ironroute page or watch the video.

Disclosure: #IronRoute was sponsored by InterRail at www.interrailnet.com. As usual, I had complete editorial control.

Ten Things You Never Knew About Ljubljana, Slovenia first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Ell-jubble-jana.

Leu-yoop-leeyana.

Lovely-jubbly. Longing. Lingering. Ljubljana.

Ljubljana

Along with Timbuktu, this place stole my heart because of its name, its mystery, and its canny knack for camouflage in the face of the world wide press. Something the likes of Brad Pitt and Angelilna Jolie never managed even in the midst of the Namib Desert.

Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, is a city that belongs to the EU. It uses euros (unlike, say, Prague, Budapest, Stockholm and London) and it sits within a stone’s throw of household names like Italy, Austria and Switzerland. It was never behind the iron curtain; it’s a fully paid-up member of NATO and it’s a shorter drive from Venice to Ljubljana than it is from Paris to Bordeaux.

Yet Ljubljana, and its country Slovenia, might as well be Atlantis as far as many are concerned. A point picked up first by Paulo Coelho, rather than my humble self, in his staggeringly powerful book Veronika Decides to Die.

This uplifting novel, despite its unpromising title, contains this passage early on:

No-one, anywhere in the world, would begin an article asking where Mount Everest was, even if they had never been there. Yet in the middle of Europe, a journalist on an important magazine felt no shame at asking such a question, because he knew that most of his readers would not know where Slovenia was, still less its capital, Ljubljana…

The final act of her life would be to write a letter to the magazine, explaining that Slovenia was one of the five republics into which the former Yugoslavia had been divided

The letter would be her suicide note. She would give no explanation of the real reasons for her death.

It was a passage – and a book – that left a lasting impression.

After all these years of wonder, my arrival in Slovenia was about as unremarkable as they come.

From Trieste to Ljubljana

The original plan involved heading north from Bulgaria, through Serbia and then on to Croatia before sidestepping west into Slovenia. Bulgarian rail strikes, however, introduced a swift redirect via Venice to Trieste in northern Italy, where I picked up the trail again.

Trieste Railway Station

From Trieste to Ljubljana

From the outside, the Trieste Railway Station resembles a stately home, dressed in columns, arches and a top tier balcony, guarded by leafy trees and lanterns. Inside seems even grander, with ornamental statues and a profusion of pink panels and even more columns.

Although it’s peace time, the Italian and Slovenian rail companies are having something of a squabble right now. Direct trains between Trieste and Slovenia have been cancelled, prompting many customers to note that “TrenItalia and the European Union have achieved what the Cold War failed to do for more than 40 years: block transport across the border.”

Luckily, the alternatives aren’t too tricky, particularly when armed with knowledge gleaned from the Lonely Planet forums. I hand over the princely sum of about two euros for a twenty minute bus journey to the small border town called Sezana.

It’s one of the most anti-climactic border crossings I’ve ever known. In that there wasn’t one.

Sezana, A Border Town

The bus pulled up on an unremarkable stretch of tarmac and the driver gestured that I, rather than the others, should get out.
I did – and waited on the side of the road, not entirely sure whether we’d reached Sezana, and hence Slovenia, or whether I was still in Italy somewhere and needed to be walking to somewhere else.

My mangled Italian decodes a direction or two and I plod towards Sezana’s station.

If I didn’t know better, I could be in England. So could the roads, the low grey sky, the muted winter sound of birds chirping in the fields.

It’s exciting how familiar it is. Except, it’s not.

The differences are subtle but they’re certainly there, particularly when I reach the station.

I don’t know whether it’s the wild punk graffiti that laces over the carriage of each train. Or the pleasure of a lilting, rapping rhythm of a language that I can’t begin to decipher. Or the fact that at first glance this station looks so much like home and yet tastes so much of adventure.

I’m probably too old to think things like this, but perhaps it’s because it’s my first time in Slovenia.

I’m on a train towards a place called Ljubljana. And I’m a child in search of Atlantis.

To be continued…

This article forms part of the #IronRoute series, a journey from Istanbul to Berlin by train, sponsored by InterRail. Find out more about the whole project here and read the last post about Trieste and the Iron Curtain here.

Longing for Ljubljana – Travel From Trieste first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

Winter Festivals

Whenever I feel the cold breath of winter on my neck as autumn runs out of time, my tastebuds turn to octopus, the signature dish at the Hachinohe Enburi winter festival.

I remember it so vividly not because of the smile of the former beauty queen who handed it to me, nor the tangy texture and secret seasoning that plunged into mayonnaise simply to satisfy my stomach. No, what I remember the most is that the octopus was warm, at times even hot, while I was very, very cold.

The small town of Hachinohe in Japan’s Aomori Prefecture celebrates the end of winter every year with a four day winter festival. Children and musicians practise for weeks so that when February arrives, they can swish their headdresses around and usher in good fortune for the harvest ahead.

It’s a festival that’s been running for 800 years through icy winds, gales, earthquakes and war and so they’re not going to let a little snow stop them. Nor a blue-skinned gaijin. Thankfully.

Hot Octopus, Cold Winters

I sit cross-legged on a tatami mat inside their historic town hall. One wall opens up to the garden, where snow decorates stone lanterns and greedily engulfs the lawn.

The wind laughs at my predicament, while the cold makes itself at home in my bones. I break open a crystal packet to warm up my hands and accept more octopus gladly.

Then the performance begins, melting something inside me.

Rainbow coloured ribbons meant to resemble a horse’s tail flick, flounce and flourish against the whiteness of the snow. Children enact the rice-planting ritual while flag bearers look on.

Yet what captures my attention the most is something I usually pay very little attention to: shoes.

From children to elders, dancers to musicians, all are decked out in the traditional footwear of Aomori. Straw-woven shoes with straw gaiters to match. My feet turn numb just from looking at them.

Yet everyone else radiates with smiles of warmth – literally.

So now, every time the seasons turn cold, I think of hot octopus – and the mystery of comfort that seems to be straw shoes.

Straw Shoes. Toasty Warm. Apparently.

I hope you enjoy the winter festival of Hachinohe’s Enburi through the photos below. Disclosure – I shivered and ate octopus as a guest of the Japanese Tourist Board.

The Enburi...

How do you keep warm in the cold? And does it involve straw shoes and hot octopus?

Hot Octopus & Straw Shoes: A Winter Festival in Japan first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...

A Beautiful Moment

Apparently, it’s bad form to write about sunsets. And even to take photos of them. And even to start sentences with “and” – but right now I’m a little tired of playing by the “rules.”

On my last night in Jordan, I watched the sun dare me to take photos. I watched it burn and blaze and cast its flaming brilliance across the stone columns of the Citadel in Amman. I stood on the dry earth that has seen mankind live and work here for more than 7000 years, while flocks of birds swooped above and the lights of a city flickered among the distinct harmonies of the call to prayer.

History

I took in the crumbling dust of Stone Age remains, striking Roman columns, and key references to the world’s three biggest monotheistic faiths. I heard languages from around the world and watched people interact with politeness and respect.

People

This trip to Jordan has reminded me why I love to travel, why I love seeing something new and something different and yet how beautiful it is to remember that we are all connected and that we have more in common than we have differences that set us apart.

It’s difficult to write about things like this. For one, it sounds incredibly naive, as though I’m a teenager ridden with misplaced passion and angst. For another, as a journalist, writer, blogger, whatever others want to call me, it opens the door to bullying and ridicule.

The first point is easier to deal with. I know full well that there is evil in the world. I’ve been spat on, urinated on and assaulted while I’ve tried to save someone’s life. I’ve looked serial killers and psychopaths in the eye and I’ve dealt with the fallout of hatred, whatever the cause, whatever the label: religious hatred, racial hatred, misogyny and so on. I don’t see a distinction. Hatred and violence is still hatred and violence.

Luckily, those experiences dwarf the more recent ones and keep them in perspective. I know that a number of people confuse journalism with hurting people and being negative for the sake of it. No matter what they say, I won’t subscribe to that view.

It’s tiresome and I try to ignore it, but sometimes it takes up more space in my mind than it deserves.

Like now, when I’m standing on the Citadel in Jordan.

Reality

I’ve travelled here as a guest of Visit Jordan, a situation that makes me more critical than I would be if I’d come here alone. I value my words and I value my reputation and I always want to remain objective. Not everything here has been perfect, not everything deserves a trickle, never mind a gush, of praise.

But perhaps I’m in danger of letting the scrutiny – and occasional bullying – of the outside world interfere with that objectivity. In my efforts to provide a balanced view, I’m almost shying away from the truth.

The truth is, that among the questions, the debate, and the more detailed articles that will follow, travel still brings plenty of moments of simple, pure appreciation and joy.

And it would be a shame if I, or anyone else, lost that in the honourable journey of remaining objective.

The Citadel of Amman in Jordan is a standard tourist attraction.

At sunset, it looks beautiful. Exceptionally beautiful.

I hope you enjoy the moment. I certainly did.

Have you ever had a beautiful moment while travelling?

A Beautiful Moment – And Breaking The Rules first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there for more juicy fresh travel goodness. Or, you know, something you might like to read...