Part 2 -
If you have read Border Tears and Pumpkin you will know that our drive to Croatia was a little, shall we say, fraught. But arrive we did to a lovely apartment in a village inside the Plitvice National Park. We were there to explore the beautiful cascades and waterfalls that make the park such an outstanding tourist destination.
One of the two park entrances was just a twenty minute stroll through the forest and again we were the first people through the gates and had the still lake and the glistening frost covered ground all to ourselves for an hour or so. An electric boat glides the length of one of the lakes to drop you at the start of the walk around the Lower Falls. The Upper Falls are closed during the winter months.
Plitvice is a very special place, made up of sixteen lakes connected by a series of waterfalls and surrounded by woodlands.
The water tumbles over drops of varying heights in single streams or spreads out in marvellous fans over moss and reed covered rocks. The water is so crystal clear that you cannot gauge the depth of the lake floor because you can see it so clearly and much of the water has a brilliant aqua hue. The tallest waterfall is Veliki Slap at 78 metres but it is the vast numbers of smaller cascades that make the area so stunning.
Several routes take you around, over and above the lakes and falls. We took all of those available, some down on the very edge of lakes and others high above with bird’s eye views of larger areas. Some timber boardwalks allow you to literally walk above a waterfall and watch the water fall away below you. Hmmm, the name “waterfall” is surely apt.
The day was crisp and sunny with barely a cloud in the sky and we walked for hours. Every bend revealed another amazing view.
The green of the moss and reeds and the surrounding tree foliage is dulled in the winter compared to summer photos we have seen but winter brings different colours of golds, browns and reds and significantly fewer visitors to have to share the narrow walkways with.
Our Airbnb host told us about a Christmas Market in the village and so we headed down to check it out once the jaunty sounds of Croatian pop started to drift up from the fields below the apartment. The “Christmas Market” was literally six wooden huts, one of which was closed, one of which was decked out in festive paraphernalia and a ‘Božićna Čarolija’ sign ready for selfies.
The other four sold food and drink. We had a superb Croatian hotdog, followed by an incredible local dessert called Plitvičke Germnknedle which turned out to be the most scrumptious hot spiced jam-filled dumpling with oodles of delicious custard and chocolate sauce. The lady who sold it to us didn’t have enough English to describe it but she simply said, “It is good. You will like.” Oh yes, we did like. Of course there was a hut selling hot wine or kuhano vino and beer but they didn’t have any beer, so hot wine it was. Down a short track was a small ice rink and every local under the age of 21 was happily circling and enjoying fun times with their mates. We decided to forego the experience because we were pretty sure that our travel insurance doesn’t cover sustaining a broken wrist whilst skating under the influence of several kuhano vino. It was lovely watching though.
Our route the next day took us on narrow, windy backroads through pretty pine covered mountains. The population was sparse to say the least with some of the villages we passed through little more than a couple of quaint but ramshackle houses with some chooks in the yard, bookended with town name signs (the houses not the chooks). We stopped in Senj on the coast overlooking a narrow strait that separates the mainland from the island of Krk. We enjoyed coffee and delicious local pastries which we ate beside the quiet marina. In the summer it is a bustling, boatie hive of activity.
We continued north along the Croatian coast and crossed the border into Slovenia with a stamped passport at one window (for me anyway), a drive of five metres and a stamp at the next window. The entry into Italy has no such formality.
There are no cars on Venice Island so we had booked Black Betty (Bam-a-lam) a home on the mainland for the duration of our visit and we took the train across Liberty Bridge. The afternoon was chilly and still and an eerie fog swirled over the water with timber pylons and the odd boat occasionally peeping from the mist. A ferry took us around to the other side of the island and we walked the narrow maze of cobbled streets to our accommodation, tucked away in the attic of a very old building which was situated just five minutes’ walk from Piazza San Marco. The view over the rooftops was wonderful and the room, newly renovated was very comfortable. Thing was however, as it was an attic room the roof was supported by rows of ancient, but very solid beams. Very picturesque, almost garret-like, but you really did need to keep reminding yourself when it was safe to stand upright when exiting the bed. I did give myself one almighty crack on our last day there which left me, in the words of Bill Bryson, simultaneously the most bewildered and most relaxed person in Italy (Bryson’s head thumping happened in France.) I wobbled, deranged but luckily close enough to the bed to fall back onto it. I felt for blood (there was none) and waited for the stars to stop rotating about my head.
We wandered to the Piazza on our first Venice evening, where a spectacular sunset over the water greeted us and a choir was starting a performance by the Christmas tree. They were amazing! So joyful with heart-warming harmonies and a catchy, popular repertoire including medleys of Queen, ABBA and Coldplay songs. Their conductor was having so much fun he was literally jumping and bouncing as he conducted. They carried the ever-growing crowd along for the whole uplifting performance.
It was then time to search out a restaurant suitably distant from the premium priced Piazza. It had been a long day but Venice is beautiful on a winter’s night and so after dinner we walked arm-in-arm for a while longer before winding up the spiral staircase to our height-challenged abode.
The next morning we witnessed a beautiful sunrise by the Piazza and then boarded the first ferry to Burano where we wandered the beautiful narrow streets and bridges before the Insta crowds arrived.
Burano has streets and lanes, piazzas and canals lined with little, colourful houses and is unbelievably pretty.
We then took the ferry to Murano, famous for its glassmaking since 1291 when the Venetian Republic ordered the glassmakers to move their foundries and the accompanying fire risk, off the main island. Back in Venice we ate a delicious meal and then made our way to the water front by Piazza San Marco for the midnight fireworks and celebrated another year done and dusted and a new one to look forward to. The crowds dissipated fairly quickly and we wandered and window shopped until the small hours.
An early start meant we could walk to Rialto Bridge with not a soul about and the sunrise was gorgeous over the Grand Canal. We were running on limited sleep by this time so a rest was in order. Back at our room we lay down (carefully) and dozed while the sounds of the gondoliers drifted up from the canal below. Some were serenading, some with accordionists and others with guitars. The music mingled with the sounds of church bells. It was all very Italy, very Venice and very romantic. We spent the afternoon walking all over the island to the areas we hadn’t yet explored. Venice in winter is beautiful. The days are short and chilly but the trade-off of minimal crowds was well worth it.
The next day we left Venice and had a stop in Verona to visit the astounding Arena, built by the Romans in the first century and still used today for performances, (Placido Domingo is performing later this year!)
We also payed the mandatory visit to Casa di Giulietta where the fictional Shakespearean character “lived” and hung out on the balcony whilst being wooed by Romeo. Billed as a monument to the power of love, it’s actually a heaving mass of silly humanity. (Cynical? Maybe.) We went, we saw, we exited.
The Arena was very cool though so Verona is definitely worth a stop and we stumbled upon a market where a lady was making fresh donuts the size of a large dinner plate with a hole so small you could barely peep through it which was fabulous in every way. Then it was on the road again, past snowy Alps to Milan.
Parking is at a premium in central Milan so this time BB (B-a-l) was taken into the underworld on an automated platform under our apartment. All very high-tech and mysterious. Our accommodation was chosen for its proximity to the Duomo di Milano so we walked up to have a look. Of course there was a Christmas Market at its base which had some lovely local food and goods but the main attraction is the Cathedral.
Holy Moly! It is the largest church in Italy, the third largest in Europe and the fourth largest in the world. It is huge! And it took six centuries to build. The façade is imposing and ornate.
Inside you can see the gruesome 16th century sculpture ‘Saint Bartholomew, Flayed’ where the skinless saint casually wears his removed hide draped round his shoulders like it’s totally ok. It’s mesmerising in a grisly and truly ghastly way but beautifully executed, if you’ll pardon the pun.
On one side of the Piazza is the magnificent Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Italy’s oldest active shopping mall which opened in 1877. The four storey structure has two intersecting glass-vaulted arcades that meet under a huge glass dome. Under this central dome was an enormous Swarovski crystal covered Christmas tree. That night we had a delicious meal at a long established restaurant staffed by abundant elderly Italian waiters with white suit jackets and very little English. The wine list was glass/bottle of the red or glass/bottle of the white. It was excellent by the way and it makes you wonder if too much choice can just be a burden sometimes.
When it was time to leave Milan, I was sort of hoping that there had been a mix up and that when the doors opened to reveal our retrieved car that we would see a shiny, red Ferrari convertible waiting for us to jump into and take off. Sadly a grubby, little, goes-like-a-rocket black Fiesta turned up.
We loaded up and headed north with a marvellous Italian pop hits soundtrack pumping on the radio. We were off to do a bit of Amal and George spotting on Lake Como in the Lombardy region of Italy. It is an area of outstanding natural beauty set against the foothills of the Italian Alps. The lake is shaped like an upside down Y. We drove the western arm from Valmadrera to Bellagio, intending to take a ferry trip on the lake from there but it was so choppy the service was suspended until further notice. Bellagio was practically closed because it was clearly ‘out of season’ but it is a very pretty place nestled in the point where the three arms of the lake meet. The only open coffee house was bustling with locals and the coffee and cakes were scrumptious. We walked up the hill for beautiful views of the town and the lake.
Continuing south along the western arm we drove on to Como. The road hugs the cliff and every turn brings stunning views of the mountains, the lake and the towns that dot its shore. We didn’t spot a single Clooney but it was a beautiful drive. We passed under the majestic Mont Blanc through the 11.6 kilometre long tunnel and we were back in France.
Sometime during the afternoon we received a message from our Airbnb host in Annecy, there was an ‘issue’ with our accommodation. As luck would have it we were moved to a stunning, beautifully restored apartment at the rear of a centuries old building with direct access onto the main street of Old Town Annecy. The city is nestled on the northern tip of Lake Annecy and surrounded by imposing mountains. The combination of water and mountains creates a dictionary definition of picturesque, even the swans know how to glide into your camera’s viewfinder at just the right moment.
Of course there was a Christmas Market, two in fact. More Vin Chaud, (no we didn’t get sick of it, it was -3° for goodness sake!) and the hot cider was great also.
The next morning we were out early enjoying a walk through the quiet streets when we stumbled on an extensive farmers market. The produce looked so fresh and we were a little starved of fresh vegetables by this time so we bought up big. Our limited French sufficed along with some suitably Gallic gesturing and pointing and we came away with enough essential vitamin packed goodies to create a super healthy dinnerthat night in our well equipped kitchen. We walked back along the lake shore and laughed out loud as a swan noticed Ian was ‘packing baguette’ and practically walked on water to get closer.
You may be wondering why this story is called Hot Wines and Clementines and it might be timely to explain it now. It is a problem when we travel that it is hard to eat much in the way of fresh fruit and vegetables. It’s just a product of eating at cafes, restaurants or street markets. Bowls of stir-fried vegies just don’t appear on that many menus and frankly, if they do, are you going to order them when you can have some local delicacy?
We took to buying bags of sweet juicy clementines whenever we came across them in produce markets. They are easy to peel, no mess little vitamin packs and in season through Europe in winter and so yummy that we both devoured several most days in much the same way that we got through hot wines in every province. Two things that remained constant throughout our journey, no matter what country we were in, were hot wines and clementines. We’re not sure which had the greatest influence on our good health throughout. We’ll leave that to science.
So we come to our final night on this Laird Christmas Adventure, the only one with a destination not planned or booked. In the end it came down to bit of dart throwing (not, recommended when the target is an iPad) and our choice was picked randomly on geographical mid-point suitability.
We drove north in light snow through Switzerland then back across the border into France where we saw many gatherings of ‘gilets jaunes’ or ‘yellow vest’ protesters. On one occasion they had blocked a road that resulted in a traffic jam several kilometres long. Luckily we were travelling in the opposite direction.
We had to make a stop in Ronchamp, home of the beautiful Notre Dame du Haut Chapel by Le Corbusier. I studied the chapel in high school art class and was eager to see the unusual structure for myself. The snow was falling and the mist hung heavy in the air so the chapel appeared out of the white as we approached. It didn’t disappoint. It is a shape I have had in my mind’s eye for more years than I care to recall and there it was looming out of the fog. Inside is just as extraordinary and it was a while until I could drag myself away.
Our final night was spent in Troyes in the Champagne region of France. It is an adorable town of many16th century half-timbered houses and a complete surprise to us when we explored its beautiful old world charm.
On our last day we drove to Reims and after a visit to the outstanding cathedral we joined a guided tour of the cellars of Pommery Champagne Estate including some tastings of their bubbly.
It was a perfect way to end our trip and I’m glad I wasn’t driving as we set off for Calais, Folkestone and back to London.
(Just after we arrived home, parts of Europe we had just driven through were inundated under metres of snow. We count ourselves lucky to have missed trying to negotiate what was, in the end quite treacherous driving conditions.)
Days – 19
Countries – 8
Miles – 3000
Kilometres – 4828
Clementines – approx. 72
Hot alcoholic beverages – countless
Christmas Markets – ummm??? Quite a few.
Distressing stuff ups – 1
Famous Celebrities Sighted - 0
Highlight – Snow on Christmas Day
Disappointments – 1. Juliet’s balcony
Surprise finds – 3. A pumpkin, Troyes and finding out we understood more French than we thought we did.
Back to Part 1 of Hot Wines & Clementines
Or back to Border Tears and Pumpkin