Amsterdam in June

It's not often I get to travel overseas with work - we're a very UK focused company, so I jumped at the chance of adding a few extra nights onto the end of a food and beverage conference in Amsterdam.

The conference hotel was super luxurious, so my downtown hotel (NH Carlton) was a bit of a culture shock when I switched from 'paid for' to 'paid for by me' and moved there. The website presents it as a smart modern 4* hotel, the reality is a bit 80s-tastic and not in a good way - the giant triangular mirror that faces the bed is reminiscent of the Clockwork Orange film poster...

Having overindulged on the previous two nights, including a superb reception at the jawdroppingly beautiful The Dylan, I decided to take an afternoon nap then have a fairly chilled evening.

The first part of this blog writing took place in a stunning new Starbucks concept store - not a chain I usually frequent, but it was raved about at the conference and has the added benefit of free wifi. The store is amazing - it's in a bank basement and reached by sweeping twin staircases from the street that are edged in kelim throw cushions for lounging on; the raw exposed concrete structure and cracked and beaten tiled floor contrast with the beautiful old delft tiled walls, coffee sacks and sculptural wood - there is also hardly any branding - just a simple chalk version of the mermaid logo in the window.

Not feeling that hungry, dinner was eaten on the go at Burger Bar, a hole in the wall place where you choose your meat and preferred weight, then the burger is made fresh in front of you from a bowl of meat - the weight flashes up on an LED screen as it is weighed before shaping and pressing. I had 200g (the smallest size) in black angus. The burger was delicious and served medium rare (dripping blood), with a small side of fries. Way too much for me so I ended up leaving nearly half the burger and most of the fries.

Up early the next day I walked through the bulb market to Spui a square surrounded by bookshops, with a second hand book and print market in the middle - though nothing much is open early (9.30). Breakfast is latte and a croissant at Coffee Company, taking advantage of the free wifi that seems to be provided everywhere.

On to the 'nine streets' that form a grid over the western canals - lots of quirky stores and cafés including Screaming Beans (time for another latte stop). Over coffee I plough a little further into Iris Murdoch's 'the black prince' - our latest book group choice - now half way through (page 205) but finding it tedious in the extreme. I think it is meant to be parody of a farce, but there is precious little to laugh at so far and all the characters seem to combine dullness with unlike-ability.



Back on the streets there are lots of people on bikes coming at you from all directions - most ring their bells to avoid collision but it is quite disconcerting nonetheless. Many of the bikes have a coffin like box on the front containing a small child or shopping.

I head in the direction of Anne Frank's house but the queue is depressingly long and doesn't appear to be moving so I leave it for another trip.

I wander on to the Boerenmarkt organic street market - the cheeses and meats are amazing and a woman walks towards me eating a yellow pepper like a lollipop - holding it by its stalk. There is also a museum of cheese, which basically just seems to be a shop but pretty much everthing can be sampled - twenty odd samples later I move on...

In a window I spot a flyer for a photographic exhibition on the ruins of Detroit by Yves Marchand & Romain Meffre, I have coveted their book for a long time, having seen it reviewed in a magazine, the chance to see the full size pictures was not to be missed. The gallery doesn't open until 2pm so I seek out somewhere for lunch settling on a tiny bakery café that specialises in quiche and tarts. The olive quiche is delicious - as is the chocolate tarte.

The exhibition is as good as anticipated and is held in a wonderful gallery space.

I pass more random shops as I wend my way back to the hotel, I am intrigued by the Febo hot food takeaway shops that sell burgers, croquettes and other local delicacies from vending machines - apparently they are a local tradition - I'm not tempted!

There is an amazing art deco / art nouveau cinema called Pathé Tuschinski - I am tempted to watch a film, just to see the interior but decide to have a drink instead!

My life in books

This last few months I've really reconnected with reading - maybe it's getting used to the longer commute, or the fact that I cracked and bought a Kindle, or maybe these things just go in cycles...

On moving here last year I set out to join as many groups as possible in an effort to construct a social life in a new city, pretty much from scratch - oh and my other aim was to try and not base my social life around alcohol.

Some of the groups were good, but the times or locations didn't work with commuting, other groups just didn't work for me for other reasons, the alcohol avoidance didn't really work either - us Brits are pretty pub-centric after all!

My big success was The Brighton Book Club found through meetup - a highly recommended site for anyone looking to find out what's going on in their area.  The group is large and lively and meets monthly in an upstairs room in a pub.  After just the first night I felt welcome and at home, over the following months we read:

Work commitments and holidays meant that I missed a few others along the way...

I can honestly say that I wouldn't have chosen any of the above books, and to be fair I haven't enjoyed all of them, but they have got me back into the habit and routine of reading again - meaning that I've also read lots of other books in between.

Inspired by reading books I wouldn't otherwise choose, I then started to search for book blogs to further pique my interest - my favourite is Savidgereads and I love forward to Simon's (almost) daily updates dropping into my inbox!

This then led me to Goodreads - an amazing site, where you can record and rate your entire library, post reviews, engage in discussions or simply browse recommendations - you can even link to online sites to buy a copy if you're inspired to buy.

I also obsessively managed to collect a full set of vintage Agatha Christies from ebay - my favourites are the wonderful Pan paperback editions from the early 1950s.

                                                           

Finally I found that through my Pinterest boards I can celebrate my love of beautifully designed book covers!

So what have I discovered?

• I love books now as much as I did when I read my first Enid Blyton over thirty years ago (The Secret of Moon Castle since you ask)
• I am a bit geeky and get a soothing satisfaction from cataloguing things
• I can get as much pleasure from a beautiful old book cover as from the story inside - mid century 'Saul Bass' style ones are my favourites

... and what am I reading currently?

         ... Patrick Gale for pleasure 

                           ... and Iris Murdoch for the Book Group 

Beach

A short blog today on account of the fact that most of it was spent on the beach reading.

Woke early (again), refused to look at my watch for at least an hour - when I did it was 6.30. At 8am I gave in and got up, heading out to find a bakery. After a few false starts I finally found a cute little shop with a bakery counter. The front of the shop consisted of small tables for two at which say elderly ladies, the back of the shop was the counter where the men stood drinking espresso. I successfully ordered a coffee and selected three different croissants to take away - cue lots of bag miming with the jolly woman in the housecoat behind the counter. Just as I was about to pay the fresh bread arrived so I ended up buying warm crusty rolls too.

After breakfast we strolled down to the station to catch the train to Cascais the glamourous beach resort half an hour away, with a casino that was the inspiration for Ian Fleming when he wrote Casino Royale.

The small crescent shaped Praia da Rainha - the Queen's Beach - seemed apt as it was the Diamond Jubilee back home.

The next few hours were spent people watching, reading and snoozing. The people watching had many highlights, including: the mahogany coloured couple with matching thongs, the beautifully dressed and accessorised Swiss couple who de-robed in front of us and the gay couple in the micro shorts. When no-one interesting stepped into view, Lucy Worsley kept me entertained on the Kindle.

Lunch was taken on the terrace overlooking the beach - service as everywhere we have eaten this trip was a little flaky but the food was good, though the jug of sangria was just too big and defeated us.

A leisurely stroll around town took us to a strange gallery come café - again with very strange service, they seemed to want to discourage us from ordering anything - the homemade lemonade would not be sweet enough apparently. We sat on the roof deck and waited for the drinks to arrive, eventually the waitress brought them to us and glared at me. I wondered aloud if we had stumbled into a lesbian venue and that was why I was not welcome? The girls laughed and told me not be silly, then stopped suddenly as a Birkenstock clad lady with cropped hair and a man's shirt stepped onto the terrace.

Final meal of the trip was at a tiny tapas restaurant - not the one in the Lonely Planet guide that didn't actually exist, but one very nearby. The service was (as in every other Lisbon establishment) friendly but flakey. They gave us a table for two and forgot to bring the third chair. Then they forgot to bring the couvert, until the chef noticed us looking longingly at it sat on the side. Once handed over it was amazing - chewy ciabatta style bread with herb cheese, beetroot cheese and black olives. The tapas were equally great - crushed tomato and garlic bruschetta, hickory smoked baked Parmesan balls, padron peppers sat in salt crystals and roasted garlic, prawns flambéd in chilli oil and flambéd scallops with a fresh salsa - we had to order more bread just to mop up the delicious juices.

Back then to the apartment for a relatively early night.

Lisbon - a wonderful tone-up for the calves

The noise of a tram hurtling along beneath the window woke me at six (after 4 hours sleep). Feeling a tad hungover I reached for the paracetamol. Two and a half hours later waking again I felt slightly more human and pleased to see the sun streaming through the window and glinting on the estuary of the Rio Tejo in the distance.

Lisbon is built over seven hills - most of which we walked up (and down) yesterday. My calves feel taut and tender - fingers crossed for buns of steel after this trip!

A late breakfast in the apartment consisted of homemade fruit salad, bread rolls, cheese and tomatoes, then onto Castelo de São Jorge.  Annoyingly I lost my €7.50 ticket within minutes of buying it and had to purchase a replacement. The castle was just ruins, so not a huge amount to see - though we were pleased to spot another coordinated hair and handbag combo - this time in a tasteful rosewood tone.

Lunch on the terrace near the apartment was a simple affair of sangria, omelettes and sardines - though the cute little 'free' cheese that can with the bread turned out to be a hefty €4 each, on top of the cost of the bread itself.

Lunch was walked off with a brisk walk to Cais de Sodré station to catch the train to Belém - the home of the pastéis de nata. We queued up to enter Antiga Confeitaria de Belém, where they make a staggering 15,000 tarts a day - you can watch them at work in the kitchens and take photos though the windows of the quality control section. The bakery has been trading since1837 and the café can seat 2,000 but we took ours to eat in the park where the temperature nudged 30', whilst the tarts digested we dozed in the sun and read.

After a short nap back at the apartment we headed back to Baixa for spit-roasted chicken and fries at Bonjardim. The meal started well when we were offered a complimentary white port as an aperitif. We studiously ignored the goats cheese, having been caught out earlier but we couldn't resist the fish croquettes. The waiter took my order and then disappeared without asking the girls what they wanted - after much laughter and confusion we caught his attention and confirmed that food was on its way for all three of us. The meal was delicious and when the bill arrived it was less than €10 each - basically we had shared a single meal between three, though there was more than enough.

Lisbon on a Sunday night is not lively so after a further trek up and down hills, we were ensconced back in the apartment with a bottle of red and some olive oil crisps before 11pm.

Drizzle, trams and haberdashery

Awoke early (6am), fought it till 7.00 then did some Kindling until the girls woke up.

The plan was to head to the Feira de Ladra (thieves market) via breakfast - lots of random stuff including two second hand gas combi boilers - obviously the Portuguese version of Corgi is not as diligent as in the UK.

Coffee (and an amazing almond tarte) in the square by the Museu do Fado provided an entertaining hour of people watching - there were so many 'ladies of a certain age' wearing tabard style housecoats that we could have been in a Pedro Almodovar film. There was also a glamorous fifty-something woman with a leonine mane of golden hair, and a fabulously coordinated woman with orange handbag, orange Chanel shades and matching orange hair. Coco would be turning in her grave.

We made a quick sojourn into the Museu do Fado - not worth E5, but vaguely interesting - Fado is apparently a traditional form of guitar based singing that is somehow linked to brothels of the early twentieth century. The exhibit included a doll's house brothel - bet they don't feature often in letters to Father Christmas!

We tracked down Garrafeira da Sé - a wine tasting cellar near the cathedral that was recommended by Lonely Planet but the owner was disinterested and didn't offer any samples.

Just time for a coffee stop at Pois Café then a quick foray into the Sé Cathedral before heading over to Bairro Alto.

We walk down a whole street consisting solely of haberdashery shops - who knew you could buy bra making kits?

Whilst trying to find a restaurant called Fábulas we stumbled across a wonderful artisan chocolate shop called Xocoa - one of a chain of four from Barcelona apparently. Hooked in by the free sample ganache tart I left having purchased a bag of chocolate dipped orange peel and bars of Jamaican pimento, orange and lemon chocolate - and got directions to the restaurant!

Fábulas is recommended for its beautiful terrace, but sadly it was full so we dined inside. The goats' cheese, black olive and tomato salad was delicious - the cheese hard and waxy, more like manchego than goats' cheese at home. Several hours later we emerged disappointingly into drizzle and headed for the famous No 28 tram that wends its way through the city via most of the tourist highlights. Maybe it was the grey skies and the rain, but it wasn't quite the exhilarating roller coaster ride described in the guide book.

En route to the apartment for our afternoon siesta we stopped off for supplies in case Portugal's Sunday trading laws make securing breakfast tomorrow difficult. The shop owner is very sweet when we spy and try to buy a bag of croissants that are his supper - he sees our disappointment and offers them to us anyway but we politely decline, leaving with cheese, tomatoes, bread rolls, biscuits, Lipton's tea (a sure sign of being on holiday) and UHT milk (yum).

Three siestas later we are ready to hit the town.

First stop is the open air bar on the Largo das Portas do Sol - basically a viewing point to watch the sunset.

A beer later we head over to Baixa to A Ginjinha a tiny 1840s hole in the wall bar serving shots of Ginjinha - a sickly cherry brandy with incredibly sour cherries floating in it. Not unlike an alcoholic cough mixture. We then head over to eat at Café Buenos Aires for dinner - a wonderful meal starting with tempura zucchini flowers, baked Parmesan in Filo pastry and followed by sun dried tomato tortellini or rare steak, all accompanied by sangria with crushed raspberries.

To walk off dinner we headed to Bairro Alto to Solar do Vinho do Porto - an 18th century cellar bar with an extensive (try 10 pages plus) menu of ports - some over E20 a glass. We slipped into to cream leather club chairs and waited to be guided through the menu. And waited. And waited. Finally a condescending waiter approached and snorted with derision when we asked for a recommendation from the menu. We upped and left settling for the rooftop bar at the Bairro Alto Hotel and the nicest sourest Negroni I've had in ages. Finally we ended up in Bar Belo Di-nós Cabo Verde. A hipster cool bar with a live fado band and lots of bearded, glasses wearing geeks dancing with pretty girls. Two beers later we jumped in a taxi and headed home.

Diamond TAP

12.58... 12.59... 13.00 - I quickly click on the 'out of office' message and log off - holiday begins.

By 13.27 I am ensconced on the Gatwick Express bound for the airport, book in hand.

It goes against the grain to carry a real life book, when the Kindle is fully loaded and ready for the trip but with less than hundred pages to go of Evie Wyld's debut novel I'm too far in to leave it behind.

At the terminal by 14.00 - plenty of time to check in for my first ever flight with TAP Portugal, to Lisbon. The line is depressingly long, a whole plane's worth of people and just two desks open... I return to my book, if I can just get to end before I reach the front of the queue I can slip it into my case and save carrying it. No such luck, still ten pages to go.

Gatwick security is a breeze - almost fully automated for maximum efficiency - and by 14.30 I am sat airside in Prêt skinny latte in one hand, last few pages of book in the other.

A quick tour of the duty free shops (one Clinique purchase) and a stroll to the gate in plenty of time to board at 15.40 for take off at 16.10. Make that 16.50 after forty minutes of faffing by the baggage handlers.

The flight is uneventful except for the casual attitude taken to the 'fasten seatbelts' instruction by ostensibly middle-class parents with children who frankly you would expect to be more safety aware.

Fully sated by the turkey ham roll and strawberry smoothie in the strawberry shaped bottle, I emerge onto Portuguese soil about an hour later than expected. The girls are arriving on a later flight from Manchester, also TAP, also late. Should I wait in arrivals or brave the slightly convoluted instructions to the apartment?

One slightly confusing phone conversation later (me in English, apartment keeper in Portuguese) with the added complication of a stag party sound track in the background I proffer my phone to the taxi driver to read the email directions to the point of drop off in the Alfama neighbourhood. I am instantly shamed by his impeccable English as he asks if I am here for the Bryan Adams concert?

I am dropped off at the allotted location and my phone rings, it is the apartment keeper's daughter with a slightly better command of English 'did you call this number?' 'oh - you're already there!'. 'I'll be 10 minutes, maybe 15'. 15 minutes later the phone rings again 'maybe another 15 - sorry!'.

Finally after a forty minute wait on a bench with my suitcase trying to look both nonchalant and visible, she arrives. The apartment is literally two minutes walk away. It is charming, once you have climbed the vertiginous stairs (I have been up ladders that were less steep).

The girls arrive about 10pm and after a brief tour and bartering session over the two beds and the sofabed we head out for a late night snack, before hitting the sack at midnight.