Redwood coffee shop

I've not been to Redwood for a while and had forgotten how laid back and friendly it is.

I love the fact you can order your flat white Aussie style (short, strong, authentic) or Pommie style (bigger, weaker, not authentic). I dare you to order it Pommie style from the Aussie barista!

Service is chirpy and attentive, but expect a 10 minute wait whilst your coffee is individually crafted for you - reassuringly the wait is exactly the same whether the shop is full or empty...

The decor is in the 70s vintage style - Danish sideboard and low slung tan coloured sofas - but not overdone, chalkboard style signage stays the cool side of whimsical.

Music tends to be whole albums played beginning to end - pre-digital style. Today's album is the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, on previous visits it's ranged from specialist concept albums to late period Beatles.

Food - the usual range of cakes and pastries and fantastic toasties made with Real Patisserie bread, or simple toast and marmite or jam.

The clientele is a mix of mature Mac users and studious kids from the local FE college, whose campus is just behind the shop. Naturally I fit into the former group.

Kindling

Well it's now one month and five days since my Kindle purchase and I love it!

So what have I read to date?

A Guest at the Feast, by Colm Tóibín
The Stranger's Child, by Alan Hollinghurst
The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin
The Skeleton in the Closet, by MC Beaton
Locked In, by Kerry Wilkinson
The Etymologicon, by Mark Forsyth
A whole edition of Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine

At the same time I have finished off a paperback copy of He Kills Coppers, by Jake Arnott that I was part way through.

I'm about halfway through Brooklyn, by Colm Tóibín, which I started this morning.

Ok - so I had two weeks in the 'States with train journeys of eight and five hours; and flights of one and ten hours; oh and a six hour lay-over so perhaps not a typical month...

What do I love about it?

It's light - sounds obvious, but really makes a difference when carrying it around or reading one handed on the tube.

It's small - also obvious, but it fits in my coat pocket and can be gripped in the same hand as a bag when moving between train and tube.

It allows for mood changes - choose which book you fancy based on how tired you are, rather than which one you remembered to bring.

When you don't have to worry about saving your place, you're more likely to keep reading right up to your stop or when stood waiting to board a train - those extra pages soon add up!

So any gripes?

Not every book has chapters or sections marked on the bottom of the page - as someone who likes to flick ahead to count how many pages to the end if the chapter, this is a shame.

And... I genuinely can't think if anything else!

So what about the books themselves? More on that in a future blog!

The long commute

The major downside to living in Brighton is days like today, in order to get to Manchester for 9.30am I have to set my alarm for 4.30am and catch the 5.23am, then lots of waiting around because the trains are less frequent.

To get through the Brighton - Victoria leg, I upgrade to a large skinny latte, for the Euston - Manchester leg, another skinny latte, on arrival at Piccadilly - another skinny latte, then finally for the journey home a skinny latte.

Far too much caffeine.

Far too much milk.

Zagreb, fish and Nirvana

With a couple of hours to kill until our room was ready we headed out into Zagreb to explore, armed with the Lonely Planet and a keen sense of direction.

After a restorative CocaCola Zero and coffee overlooking the Market we sought out Amfora - a recommended restaurant - pushing our way through the chain smoking market traders drinking beer at the entrance we entered the bar that smelled like a fish mongers and were ushered upstairs. We looked around for menus but instead were presented with a platter of raw fish - all still with faces!

Through the medium of mime and pigeon English we managed to order fish soup and giant whitebait (for Hywel) and fish risotto (for Sarah and I). I commented on how unexpected it was that this hole in the wall was playing such great music - Nirvana followed by Garbage, then Dusty Springfield launched into Son of a Preacher Man, at this point I realised the iPhone in my pocket was in iPod mode and playing a Genius playlist...

The food arrived - the risotto was a bit tasteless, but this was more than compensated for by the half a kilo of salt that had been added to the giant bowl of tomatoes that accompanied it. The whitebait was more successful.

Dinner at Agava was altogether more successful - Dalmatian ham, Pag cheese, truffle sauce and Dalmatian stuffed beef!

The following day we hit Zagreb hard - culture in the morning at the modern art museum, a picnic in the botanical gardens (procured from Croatia's grumpiest market traders), afternoon nap in the park and a trip to the cinema in the evening before heading to the station for our night of luxury aboard the night sleeper to Split....

Split

Not only were our rooms a matter of metres away but they were also ready early - after a night of no sleep on the train journey from hell we almost wept with joy.

Thirty minutes later we were on the beach blending in with the locals.

The Diocletian's Palace is amazing, so much history - if we hadn't been so exhausted from the train journey we would have done the tour, visited the museums, soaked up the culture - instead we had afternoon naps, had an average meal and went to bed early.

The next day, feeling altogether brighter, but with SAGA withdrawal we jumped on a bus with some oldies to visit the beautiful city of Trogir. Again a lot of history within those walls. We ate ice cream and dozed / read books under some trees.

Feeling fully refreshed and back in Split we headed out for pizza and then sat in the square watching the young and beautiful (and not so young or beautiful) salsa'ing whilst we drank Campari and critiqued their efforts Strictly style.

Express train to Zagreb - and a whole new country

Arriving early at Ljubljana station meant plenty of time to stock up on snacks. A slice of ajobolci zavitek (apple strudel), a large chocolate truffle that I hadn't meant to point at but it seemed rude to ask her to put back, a large fig slice and an enormous kremna rezina - a sort of vanilla slice with whipped cream about 4 inches square by 3 inches high - plus the obligatory bottles of water.

Boarding the Austrian train we found a small lady (Austrian? Slovenian? Croatian?) who spoke no English occupying all three of our reserved seats with her extensive selection of luggage. After many hilarious hand gestures we persuaded her to relocate to another section. 

At the Slovenian / Croatian border we were excited to be offered two passport stamps - one from a jolly Slovenian border guard and the other from a less jolly Croatian lady. A shifty looking man in a hoodie was less lucky and was escorted from the train after extensive radio action by the guard.

The remainder of the journey was to the soundtrack of Katy Perry - played at a level just above annoying by the girls (and their mum) in the next section.

Night sleeper from Zagreb to Split

So my Cary Grant and Eve Marie Sant fantasy about overnight sleeper trains lies in tatters. I had imagined crisp white cotton sheets, turned down by a courteous attendant and sparkling conversation with exotic strangers in the cocktail lounge car.

10.55 pm Zagreb station - no sleeper car, no reservations, no crisp white cotton sheets; just two slightly surprised Canadian tourists and a uncommunicative Croatian man and a long night ahead in very upright seats in an overheated compartment.

03.00 - a railway yard somewhere in a Croatia, rudely awoken by the light being flicked on and the guard shouting 'bags bags get on bus' - that is I would have been rudely awoken if I had managed to actually sleep for more than 5 mins. Emerge from train to find fellow travellers clambering down from platform onto live tracks to reach the three buses. With suitcases, elderly people and a feeling of panic it resembles the early scenes from Tenko when the British colonists evacuate Singapore. Separated from luggage we manage to force our way onto a bus and set off on the next stage of this journey.

05.00 - somewhere in the Croatian countryside, police road block. The male occupants of two if the coaches (the third with Hywel's luggage is AWOL) line up to p*** in the bushes under the watchful eyes and guns of the cops before we embark on an off road safari along dirt tracks.

05.30 another train, another scramble across railway tracks with luggage - compartment lights go off and doors close as we approach - 'you can't come in here - it is reserved', we settle for the floor of the luggage van with the old and sick.

07.30 - arrive in Split to discover just how poor Lonely Planet maps are when trying to locate your hotel, we also note the lack of functionality of Google maps without a data roaming connection before finally admitting defeat and calling the hotel - the owner helpfully waves to us from the window immediately facing the cafe we are calling from. At this point we remember the Lonely Planet explaining that many streets have two names - helpfully the one on the reservation is not the one on the actual street sign....