Sweet Home ...

This weekend I am heading back to Chicago.  It has been about four months since I have been back, but honestly it feels much, much longer.  I spent some time tonight looking back at some photos, so I am felling a little melancholy.  Nearly one year later, I still miss what I knew I would miss the most.

The week will go too fast.

Royal Ascot

I heard there were actually some horse races going on, but let's be honest - the Royal Ascot is all about the hats.

British hats are already quite an awkward dress code for an American, but add in the Ascot tradition of the ladies trying to one-up each other with the largest / brightest / fluffiest / most bizarre hat in the building and you got yourself one heck of a "do".

Per the official website, rules governing the entry to the Royal Enclosure are quite tight (FYI fascinator = headband with a lot of very large feathers attached to it):

Royal Enclosure Dress Code

Her Majesty’s Representative wishes to point out that only formal day dress with a hat or substantial fascinator will be acceptable. Off the shoulder, halter neck, spaghetti straps and dresses with a strap of less than one inch and miniskirts are considered unsuitable. Midriffs must be covered and trouser suits must be full length and of matching material and colour. Gentlemen are required to wear either black or grey morning dress, including a waistcoat, with a top hat. A gentleman may remove his top hat within a restaurant, a private box, a private club or that facility’s terrace, balcony or garden.

So, nearly our entire gang - 18 in total - decided attending Ascot was a very British thing to do and should be part of our adventure living here in England.  We all stressed for weeks over our hats / dresses / shoes (heels and flats) / bags (tuxes with top hats for the boys) and ended up quite spectacular.

I got real lucky and found my dress while touring through the Cotswalds while Mom and John were here, and then found a hat that matched quite nicely - also with gaudy enough feathers to make an official statement.

The day started off quite early, as we awoke to fancy ourselves up in time to catch a train out to the town of Ascot.  One would envision more of a proper chariot to transport the princess, but I tell ya - this train felt more like we were headed to an upscale Nascar event.  Packed, and I mean standing room only, get to know your neighbor real well packed.

Stood in these ALL day.

The weather had been threatening us all day with rain, and as soon as we got there the sky opened up.  Fortunately, we secured a nice table under an enclosure with chairs and a view of the track!  The remainder of the day the weather remained quite nice, though chilly.  We got real lucky!

The queen made an appearance, riding around in her carriage to start the races.  Speaking of luck, we even had a couple of winners in the group.  No betting for me (that stuff is complex and believe it or not I am risk-adverse).

After the races were over the crowd gathered around the bandstand to sing ... wait for it .... American show tunes!  What?  Well, they did sing God Save the Queen (which by the way do you know we turned that tune into My Country tis of Thee?)  Anyway .. there was at least lots of flag waving.

Great, memorable day.

<< For those of you via email - there is a slide show in this one >>

Sprouts

In Chicago, one of my regular farmers market stops was to Tiny Greens, a girl that grew her own sprouts.  She used all different varieties, like radish, clover, and broccoli.

At the Borough market last weekend there was a guy selling kits to make your own at home.  So, of course, I was in.  Fun!

I followed the instructions, and wha-lah, within days I had my own tray of very pretty radish sprouts!  The flavor is so great, strong and spicy, and perfect to pair with some tomato and fresh mozzarella.

Gonna give this another go once I get back from my trip this week.






P.S.  Kitty is loving the garden as well!!

The Summit Shawl

Oh the joy of finishing up a knitting project.  I have been working on this one since January on the little knitting opportunities I have on the bus to and from work each day.

Very cool pattern, and the pure alpaca wool yarn is luxurious.  This one will be an eye catcher I'm sure ...  "nice scarf." ...
"oh, this little thing.  It's nothing really." ....
"Its really cool.  Where did you get it"   ...
"well, actually, I made it myself" ...
"you made it yourself!  Amazing" ...
"well yes, I suppose I am pretty amazing."

{insert proud dancing around with my new scarf on}
 
And now ... I have a new little nephew coming that must be covered in obnoxious hand knits!!

Just a Relaxing Stroll from the Beach

I'll start by clarifying that the title of this blog is sarcasm, as in, this was anything but a relaxing stroll from the beach.  While preparing for my trip to Lagos, I looked up some of the surrounding beaches and how to get to them.

There is a great website (of which I still need to give a little feedback to) that suggests this route.  You can see how it is described, and although it does recommend not getting too close to the cliffs, it forgot a couple important pointers like bringing your hiking boots, and your rope and pulley system to get yourself across the crumbling walls you would be scaling.

The walk started off a little ominous.  We couldn't locate the start of the trail, and finally spotted a path off in the distance through what looked like a gate to personal property.  If only we would have known what the future held while looking each other in the eye and shrugging "what the heck.".  Wish I had a picture of that green iron gate.

The path was a bit unpleasant, with tall brush and bristly wild flowers scratching our ankles and snagging our clothes. Yet, we pushed on with wild anticipations of the views that were to be offered, and the flowers and Jurassic size succulents were pretty cool.  I should set the stage a bit to say we were walking safely a couple feet from the edge of about a fifteen story drop.  I counted the stairs up from one of the beaches and it roughly equated to being that high.

Not smiling inside.

After a good twenty minutes of wishing we had a machete, I come upon what seems to be the edge of the Earth.  The trail appeared to simply end, leading you directly off the side of the cliff.  What the?

Now, I am afraid of heights.  I also am adverse to risking my life.  Neither of these two attributes persuaded me to get any closer to that edge.  Because I also was not keen on sweating myself back through what I just came from I persuaded Rachelle to take a look over and tell me what she saw.  "Oh ... my ....  you totally have to take a picture of me right now!"    Great.

So I mustered up the courage to look over the edge and saw carved out of the side of the cliff was a set of stairs, no edging, leading down into a little tunnel that turned like a spiral stair case, and then more stairs down.  They must have been there for ... could be millennia.  They were weathered and crumbling, covered with gravel.

So, this wasn't just the height issue, but the fact that they were not stable.  I chose wisely to slide down them on my behind - sacrificing a pair of white shorts seemed like a very cheap trade off for my life at this point.  Rachelle graciously documented this not so glamorous experience for me.

After I got down that I of course thought it could not get any worse, and was optimistic this poor choice must be coming to an end - this was only supposed to be a 30-50 minute "scenic stroll"!  Not so lucky.  The next part we are hunching through an ancient bamboo forest that reveals a rickety old piece of wood crating thrown over a raveen.  That seemed like child's play after the stairs.  No problem.

What awaited me next is where I almost hit my breaking point.  Now sliding in sweaty flip flops, the trail all but disappears into an orange colored rock mess and I am starting to appreciate I had done some rock climbing in the past (look for solid hand grips, take your time to assure your foot is planted).  The grand finale is when I came upon a very large "step" I had to take that cross over a huge crevasse, and it was then that I started to think I just might not survive this.

Praia

There was solid probability my next step would slide, and I along with it, to splat on the gorgeous nude beach below - much, much further below.  It took some serious self-chatter to convince myself to take that leap (and I was NOT going back up those stairs), and I made it.  And I tell you what - what a feeling.  I can do anything.


From that point on, all we had to do was climb back up a serious set up stairs carved out of the cliff, but these at least were not on the edge.  At the top, an ancient plaque noting "praia" below (beach in Portuguese).  Wow.  Imagine the people that put that there decades, if not centuries, ago.  I bet they were hot.

Look close, the stairs are in the cliff on the left

As we pushed our way through some more vegetation, we finally popped out back on the top again, only to be greeted by two leathery, short old Portuguese men with "You are crazy!!".

They had been watching our entire adventure - us glowing in our beachy neon brights - traversing that cliff-side trail.  I sort of think they were our guardian angels, and at least would have been able to dictate the last hour of our lives to the newspapers should the worse have occurred.

Alive!!!

I felt so exhilarated I let out a roar as we got to that solid ground.  Yes, those old men certainly must have thought we were crazy.  It's such a good feeling to know you're alive, it's such a happy feeling ...  wouldn't do it again, but proud I did it once.

This one's a doosey ...

Crispy skinned grilled Scottish Freedom Salmon stuffed with locally grown sage, steamed English asparagus with Rosemary, heirloom tomato salad from St. Joseph' farm with Thyme and Basil from Sarah's garden and fresh Italian Mozzarella with truffle oil.


It's all about the adjectives ... and the charcoal.

Lagos, Portugal

I should have known from the gut feeling the day I packed this would be a trip of a lifetime, but at that point it would have been too soon to know my debit card would be eaten by the ATM at the Lagos airport upon arrival.  Logic would tell you this twist of fate would not be the sign of a great trip, however in this case it was.

While packing my bags, I felt as if I needed to be extra precautious on this trip, as I had originally planned to be alone, and I needed to be prepared for the worst.  Thus, it dawned on me I should also bring my U.S. debit card, which I never have in the past.  Well, as fate would have it, upon attempting to withdraw my Euros for the driver to the hotel - gulp - card gone.  Confiscated by the machine, and no real justification for being eaten, just gone.  However, no worries ... back up!  Destiny I tell ya.  Pretty serendipitous.  Starving and lack of souvenirs would have been a real downer on the trip.

The remainder of the trip in Lagos could not have been more perfect.  The goal was sun and relaxation, not much more.  Mission accomplished.  The sites of these secluded beaches were out of this world.  Day one we stayed at the local beach where our hotel (OMG our hotel - nice, scenic, located, and cheap!) had a pool off site, ocean side.  Impressive, and the pool came in handy for a closer on the day.

The town was a sleepy fishing village with the sense of a party scene gone by, and really was now more a quiet, white-washed village full of backpacking or retired gringos and old Portuguese fisherman.  The few restaurants strewn about town closed early, and anything open late was for the wait staff or drunk college kids.  By this time of night I was more ready for early to bed anyway, and this did not result in negative points at all - maybe even positive points.  With the reflection of the night, the town seemed as perfect as a movie set.

For me, the cliff beaches were the highlight.  I had looked up some cliff walking trails before we left and jotted a couple I wanted to see.  I knew a couple - the Dona Ana and Camilo - would be my favorites, a must see.  Not disappointed.  Stunning.  Words can not describe the stunning seclusion, so hopefully the pictures help.

The fresh fish were also a huge highlight, with the beachside restaurants offering fresh grilled local catch of the day ... we tried rock bass, sardines, and silver bream while there.  All great.  Check out those teeth!!  We even had some onshore wildlife encounters, with gigantic jellyfish washing up.  Not something you really want to see float by while bathing!!

Praia Porto dos Mos was a bit further afield, shall we say, and required a taxi and/or some serious hiking.  We were in for both.  Got to practice some Portuguese on the way with the taxi driver, and to say we had a death defying cliff walk back would not be an understatement.  This was an advanced hiker's undertaking, and not kidding, I was so scared at times I literally scooted on my bum down stairs to safety.  This is truly another post entirely.

Anyway, there is so much more to this magnificent journey ... the four Euro bottles of wine, the Portuguese pottery, the squacking birds at night, the extraordinarily talented boatsman through the grottos, torrential downpours and watch-setting weather conditions, the karaoke and the white horse, Italian backpackers, Rose, pastel de nata and cafe duplos ... my new friend Rachelle.  This was a trip of a lifetime I will never forget.  First of three checked off the list.