Tokyo - the final fleshy travel post

Our first Tokyo subway ride, thankfully not at all crowded.
Finn's cheap Venetian suitcase is, literally, on it's last wheel.

We made our first day an easy one, exhausted as we were from the flight across Russia and China (though it didn't stop me from looking at every surface we passed as a potential sleeping spot). We headed into Sumo district, also known as Sumida. Really we were there for the Tokyo city museum, but as we passed rows and rows of restaurants specialising in the high protein meat stew apparently favoured by sumo wrestlers, we also found ourselves passing a whole lot of real live sumo wrestlers. It took me a moment to realise that's what they were, while they are big guys, really big compared to other Japanese men, somehow they don't look unhealthily overweight. Perhaps their smart dark blue kimono has a slimming effect. But anyway, there they were, rather handsome, their glossy black hair tied up in topknots, carrying cloth-wrapped bundles, walking or, knees out, riding bikes around the neighbourhood.

Distractions aside, we did eventually make it to the museum.

Deep fried octo-balls on the go.

 Next stop - Tokyo Museum of Contemporary Art.

Pool sculpture.

Crazy photo-shoot in front of the museum. 

Visiting two museums and wandering a whole lot of new streets wore us out. After a bowl of noodles in one of the very many noodle houses that line the street our hotel is on, we were asleep. But unfortunately that only lasted for a couple of hours and then at 11pm we were awake again - bright eyed but not at all bushy tailed. And so we lay there, until the clock ticked 4am and we got up and headed out to catch the action at the Tsukiji fish market.

This is jet lag like we've never had before. Our previous (if limited) experience has been that after a long haul flight we just sleep, heaps. For a week. And then we're better. But here we're really suffering the wakefulness thing and it's horrible.

The one good thing to come of it though is that, very early one morning, we bought a fireplace on trademe. Our first home improvement activity will be ready and waiting when we get there, and we'll be toasty warm come winter, no matter what Wellington throws at us.

Hot coffee in a can from a vending machine at the station as we await our pre-5am train.

Tsukiji fish market is the place where the world's tuna supplies are divvied up and sent to their likely extinction. Unfortunately we didn't get to see the auction in action - from the train station near the market we walked too far in the wrong direction so that by the time we realised, retraced our steps, and found the right way to the market, the auction had just ended. But then we found out that we wouldn't have been able to see it anyway as it's currently closed to visitors for the 'busy period' between the beginning of December and the end of January. Whether this means it's really their whale selling period, I have no idea, but it's quite fun to speculate. During not busy periods, to view the auction (held daily between 5.15 and 6.15 every morning except Sundays), visitors must register at the Fish Information Centre. Numbers are limited to 120 and separated into two groups - the first 60 watching from 5.15 to 5.45 and the second group the rest. We were very disappointed to miss out, but that's the breaks. We saw tonnes of huge tuna and loads of other crazy sea life anyway, it was quite a spectacle. (And a good thing I've been carrying my €3 gumboots around with me this whole time.)

Fresh tuna from Fiji.
I also saw a couple painted with NZ.

Dividing up the good stuff with a monster knife.

GIANT mussels.

Tuna hearts.
The most peculiar (to me) thing we saw - these came out of fish! But they're so big and red and fleshy and hearty.

Markets to the left, auction floor to the right.
Frozen tuna in the middle, ready and waiting to be run through the bandsaw.

The trucks that crowded the market, moving huge carcasses around, that Finn was fascinated by.
The 44 gallon drum on the front holds the motor. 

After exploring the market we went (at about 7am) for the obligatory post-market sushi breakfast. Still in the Tsukiji complex, this place sells the best of the freshest fish. We had to cue for over an hour in the freezing cold and paid a small fortune for the pleasure, but it was worth it. So fresh, so delicious, quite an experience.

Piping hot omelette cubes to start.
And plenty of green tea throughout, of course.

Our sushi master delivering up the fatty tuna.
That's right - we ate fatty tuna.
We admit it.
But we also promise never to do it again.
We felt guilty but did it anyway, and by golly was it yummy.
When in Rome, you know.
We weren't offered whale, but if we had been...
It's been more than 10 years since I've eaten fresh tuna, this was just a (deliberate, yes) slip, it won't happen again.

The lineup.
The octopus that had to be slapped flat but still had enough muscle-memory to curl up again was probably the freakiest specimen.
A guy down the line from us was handed a piece of sushi topped with a peeled prawn with it's tail still flapping.
Wow.
Yum.
I love rice. I love fish. I love Tokyo.

I really have left it very late to write this post and I'm struggling now to remember everywhere we went, let alone the order it came in. Basically we walked and walked and walked everyday somewhere new, yet we still never made it to that famous giant pedestrian crossing or up any skyscrapers (as I've mentioned previously, Finn regards views from on high to be overrated). We had our fair share of vending machine experiences - the hot coffee in a can was up there, along with the rice bar where you chose and purchased your meal from a vending machine which spat out a coupon to be given to the person serving who in turn called the order to the cook. Very efficient service. That place was really close to our hotel and open all night so we went there a couple of times when we got the middle of the night jet lag hungers. There was also another very delicious sushi bar just around the corner that we spied one cold cold night because of the remarkable cue which had formed out the door, how could we resist such a tempting invitation? We were well rewarded, again, for another frozen wait. We stacked up a fair few sushi plates, the abalone and particularly some unidentified soft soft white fish being the winners on the night. Oh, along with Finn's bowl of miso soup that came loaded with bits of crab, including a couple of handsome pincers. And it didn't cost nearly the small fortune of the Tsukiji place. One of the many great things about eating in Tokyo is that every meal comes with miso soup and / or water or green tea. Not that water was expensive to buy in Italy, or anywhere else, but it still feels pretty nice just to be given things. Tea and soup especially. Yum.

One day we walked from Nippori south through Ueno's residential neighbourhood. It was quiet and sunny and picturesque in a small-scale low-rise Japanese houses (often fronted by small shops) and temples kind of way. 

Gravestones and rattly pickets in Yanaka cemetery, Ueno.

In Ueno Park we visited the Tokyo National Museum and a giant pond with colourful swan peddle boats for hire. From there we wandered across to Ameya Yokocho (Ameyoko Arcade) where we found an udon noodle bar serving up huge bowls of piping hot broth loaded with their freshly made lusciously thick noodles. This gave us the energy boost we needed to contend with the crowds as we searched the shop-lined pedestrian streets for paper balloons.

Imperial Palace east gardens in Tokyo's CBD.

On our last day we visited Harajuku and Aoyama, a district of crazy contrasting styles. All girly punk (gothic Lolita I think they call it), cheap, slightly grungy, and narrow lane-ways at one end. Sleek, wide (and narrower) roads, contemporary, and expensive at the other.

Prada.

Issey Miyake.

Harajuku girls, or boys, not sure. Seemed like it was a bit cold for all the usual dresses.

So we did a bit of a self-guided architectural tour in the fancy part, some of which was pretty amazing. And a tiny bit of shopping in the cheaper bit - nothing goth or punk about it, but pretty satisfying to be able to fit into a one-size-fits-all Japanese skirt. Around the corner from there we (successfully again) picked a cue to stand in outside a ramen noodle restaurant. It was a slow climb up a narrow winding staircase, but it was worth it once we finally did make it to the top. They cleverly got everyone to order while they waited in the cue so by the time we sat down we hardly had to wait at all for our noodles to arrive. And boy were they, yes I'm saying it again, possibly for the last time this blog, delicious. Thin, curly noodles served in a Tonkotsu style broth similar to the ramen we ate in Little Tokyo (LA). That is, creamy and rich from being boiled for hours and hours with pork bones and fat and collagen, and served with meltingly tender seasoned pork pieces. Golly I'm making myself hungry with all this reminiscing, if only Wellington had such good noodle bars... After all those noodles we had just enough time for a slow Sunday promenade through Yoyogi park to the Meiji shrine, outside of which there was a very large crowd of people waiting their turn to throw a coin in the coffers and make a preyer, the clapping part of which I much enjoyed. We also saw what looked like a newlywed couple in traditional attire having their photos taken with what could only have been a 3D camera. Then it was time to head back for our luggage and on to the airport. Via an exceptionally quick transfer in Sydney, that was it. The end of an incredible eight months, and the end of a two year absence from Wellington. Here's hoping we make it back to Tokyo, as well as further afield in Japan one day. It was truly fantastic, such an easy, interesting, and (so importantly!) delicious place to visit. So polite! Everyone everywhere was so unbelievably polite. Walking in Tokyo was like the opposite of walking in Rome. It was our first switch from right-side to left-side walking in some time and I, strangely, found it so much harder to adjust to than the reverse. Walking down the street, if you were on the wrong (righthand) side of the street people would move out of your way ten metres before you passed them, giving us virtually no chance of correcting our mistake. It was kind of embarrassing. And the one time I gave up my seat on a subway so an older couple could sit together, well, they could not physically have bowed any lower. Also embarrassing. The bowing in general though I liked - such an easy way to convey your thanks and gratitude in a place where you cannot speak a word of the language. I enjoyed it so much I thought I might come home bowing, but I didn't.

For more on what did happen when we came home, I will (as I have promised myself and others) do one more post to round this monster that is A Pound of Flesh off. Some kind of concluding chapter. By now it could possibly be an epilogue of sorts. So keep an eye out.

20 February 2012

Istanbul - "How can I help you? How can I take your money?"

City of some 15 million people and approximately 15 trillion cats.

A whole city that smells of barbecue - fatty lamb sizzling over hot coals.

Fishing from the Galata Bridge.

On our first day in Istanbul, after meandering through the old city, we walked from the Galata Bridge, around the Kennedy Caddesi coastline. Fishermen lined the rocky shoreline the whole way along, with hundreds of cats for company. Out from the coast the water was crowded with fishing boats. Passing behind them were ferries and tankers heading up river, and out to sea further hundreds of container ships. Part way along we stopped to watch two men in full dive gear haul in a couple of huge rope lengths of mussels. Another four guys were working at pulling the mussels off into buckets and tipping them into huge sacks (which were stacking up in the full sun). The combination of huge boats in the harbour, sun, and those clever heavy-metal filtering molluscs did not make for an appetising picture. Watching (and smelling) the fishermen wasn't much better. Further on around the coast we came to the fish markets, which are surrounded by seafood restaurants, and I'm sure there must be some good places to eat fish in Istanbul but I wasn't keen. The only time we did see mussels for sale was at a pier-side stall when we got off the ferry and there was a guy with a little stall of mussels (which looked closed) and lemon wedges. On our last night we watched a TV episode of Anthony Bourdain in Istanbul in which he explained the illegality of seeling mussels here, precisely because of the pollution. But of course he ate a whole lot of them, at a stall such like the one we had seen, where the mussels had been cooked and stuffed and then had their shells stuck back together. Can't say he managed to make them look any more delicious.

View from our hotel roof terrace and conservatory.

Our hotel breakfast though, that was delicious.

For me - thick creamy yoghurt with fresh pomegranate jewels, dried white mulberries and figs, and a few rolled oats for good measure. Toast with sour cherry or rose jam (like eating Turkish delight spread on your bread) and terrible coffee (not Turkish).

Finn had potatoes fried with a little sausage, scrambled eggs, potato borek, feta-ish cheese and dill mix, green olives, cucumber, tomato, lettuce, and a super-sesame bagel with cream cheese, oh and some sort of a cold sliced pink tube meat. Followed by brownie and a spicy sesame biscuit with a second cup of terrible coffee.

Lots of food in Istanbul was delicious.

Walnut baklava.

Pistachio baklava.

Hazelnut baklava.

All with syrup-soaked sticky bottoms, chewy nutty muddles, and crispy crunchy tops.

All delicious.

Fresh dates.

Deep fried syrup-soaked churros-type doughnuts.

Freshly squeezed pomegranate juice - oh my allah, delicious.

Honey-syrup soaked almond semolina cake, dipped in shredded coconut and handed over in a square of newsprint. Awesome.

Oh, and Turkish delight.

Maize on the cob. Mm mm, salty, chewy, and corny.

Pure pomegranate.
Intense.

Following the recommendation of a Guardian reviewer, one evening we headed over to Itfaiye Cadessi to find a restaurant specialising in lamb cooked over coals in a hole in the ground, and pilaf in pastry. It was a Friday night but most of the restaurants lining the street seemed fairly empty, so, unable to match the name we had written down to any of the likely-looking establishments, we took a punt instead on the only bustling place. It was a winner. They had the pilaf in a pastry shell, which I ordered, and the pit lamb, but Finn ordered a kofte meal instead. They came out with a plate of various salads and plenty of bread. It was all so delicious. The rice was oily and nutty and chickeny-rich, to which the salads were a perfect match, the acidity cutting right through. One of the things I love about salads here is the quantity of parsley. Really it should be called Turkish parsley, not Italian parsley. Here it is really used as an ingredient, there just as a garnish. Finn's plate had meat, roast tomatoes, grilled jalapeno peppers, and a spicy barley-type concoction.Yum yum yum yum. On the wall by our table there was a big article about Bourdain's visit there, which is what made us think to look up his programme. 

The next night we headed back to the same street, feeling compelled to find the Guardian place. And we did. But it was much less fun. Better to just follow our noses. 

Yes, as well as eat we did also see some sights.

Domes and lighting wires inside the Blue Mosque.

Wash block outside the Blue Mosque

Hagia Sophia.

Sideways Medusa in the city cistern.

And we went over to Istanbul Modern on the other side of the Galata, and explored a bit around there, and took a ferry ride to test our toes on the Asian continent and drink a glass of mouth puckeringly delicious freshly squeezed pink grapefruit juice. And we did some successful (ie. both sides come out feeling pleased with themselves) bargaining around the edges of the Grand Bazaar. All up, Istanbul was wonderful fun. Cheap and choice, compared with other stops on this trip.

View from our hotel's front door.

Istanbul has, at a guess, upwards of 90% retail coverage at ground level, and above, and below. Streets and streets and streets and streets of shops + roadside stalls + malls through all the subway underpasses + the bazaars + street sellers. The touristy areas are a constant cry of people trying to sell you something, anything, to get a piece of your cash. But one street back and it's supply shops and repair outlets and retail not aimed at the foreign market so you're left quietly alone. 

Otherwise it's like the title quotes. And also - "Where are you from, Germany?" No.

                                                                      "Netherlands?" No.

                                                                      "Bangladesh! Ha ha ha ha ha..."

Italian was the most common assumption, hilariously. Then Spanish. And once, Icelandic. Crazy.

On the way to the airpot there was a cat riding our train. Curled up on a warm seat on a cold day. Riding backwards and forwards between the city and the airport. It had it good and it wasn't going to budge for anyone. Three men in business suits spent some good time cooing over it. The cats in Istanbul are well looked after. They are slinky and chic, clean and well-fed looking, some are super friendly. And they are in millions and millions of travellers holiday snapshots. But not ours.

12 January 2012

New Years in Berlin / A city under fire

Who knew Italians were so hostile?

Somehow we'd grown so accustomed to mean-faces these last 7 months, and it took a trip to Berlin to remind us what it's like to be around friendly people (funny especially considering Berliners have quite a reputation for being nasty). Our notions of nasty and nice must've gotten all off kilter.

(To be clear, I'm just talking about perfect strangers here.)

But really, from the moment we landed in Dusseldorf (a transit point between Rome and Berlin), strangers made eye contact and smiled at us and said hello. At first it made me feel all queer inside, like something was just a little bit wrong, I couldn't quite figure it out. Then it happened more and more - passing people in the courtyard of our apartment complex, passing people on the street, going into cafes and shops - people are so friendly! It's been a bit of a revelation.

(There are so many Italians here though - there's no escape!)

The day of the morning that it snowed.

Berlin was fun.
The area between where we were staying and the central city was full of really nice cafes and excellent secondhand stores. On our first day we went shopping and even Finn had fun! Berlin has a vibrant urban culture, full of people doing creative things in aesthetically pleasing spaces. It felt new and exciting, as well as like something we used to be familiar with, compared to the settings of our last months. With little of the pre-war cityscape remaining, wandering the streets here was a pleasure of a very different sort from that in Italy. Finn quickly decided he could live there, a feeling he hadn't had anywhere else on this trip. But he also wondered if it was just because it felt so much more normal, and really, Wellington will do just fine.
We'll see.

Sausages!
Fun once, but really quite gross. I felt a bit off for the rest of the day afterwards.

Less nice was the approach to fire crackers on New Years eve.

Boy oh boy, they sell some mean-arse bangers in this place. Remember those little red bangers you used to be able to buy in NZ? Well here they sell GIANT versions of those - say 3cm diameter and 15cm long. As well as many other crazy crackers (ones that you shoot from pistols and that sound like gunfire, littering the ground with metal 'bullet casings', for example).

From the day we arrived, afternoons, evenings, and especially nights were punctuated with explosions. Then New Years Eve was absolute madness, building in the afternoon to a deafening crescendo at midnight. From the moment it started getting dark until we fell asleep sometime after 2am, there was not a single moment when you couldn't here the explosion of a fire cracker.

Fire works, on the other hand, are not so popular. We did eventually see some, at about dinner time on New Years eve someone finally opted for some visuals with their bangs. (Dinner of roast pheasant, I should mention, stuffed with an almond, prune, lemon, pancetta, onion, garlic, bread mix, and accompanied by roast potatoes, buttery brussel sprouts, and rocket salad. A delicious feast to see the old year out.)

Anticipating a big public fireworks display from the Brandenburg Gate at midnight, after late dinner we set off for a wander in that direction. The streets were a madhouse. I had thought it was quite crazy how many fire crackers were going off, considering how cold it was outside. People must be really committed, I thought. Well, only sought of. As we walked along, we had to be constantly on the lookout for burning projectiles being thrown out of apartment windows. As we went deeper into the city centre, and the streets became more and more crowded with people, nowhere was safe. People were letting off huge crackers right under their own feet, right under their children's feet, and throwing them at their friends, or anyone walking by. By the time it struck midnight, we had got pretty close to the Gate, but not close enough to see it. We had anticipated this and figured it wouldn't matter, if it really was as big a show as promised - rivalling NY and London, apparently - then we should just be able to look up and see it. But no. And neither could we tell if we could even hear it, so SO loud was the cacophony of domestic explosions all around us. It was deafening, it seemed like the crackers people were setting off were massively loud, close to if not as loud as the public displays we've seen.

We continued further in, thinking the public display would last a while, but no, wrong again. By 12:10 the crowds were pushing against us, heading back out away from the Gate, it was all over. 10 minutes! It really didn't matter though, the experience simply of walking the streets at this time had been such a mad experience for us, probably (hopefully) the closest we'll ever get to a war zone. It was really really scary.

After New Years the bangs died down considerably. Phew.

As well as fire crackers, Berlin is a city of excellent art galleries. Not always the best exhibitions, but really great galleries.

Bauhaus.

The Bauhaus archives and museum turned out to be really more archives than museum. Interesting building (from the outside), but without access to much of it from the inside, so difficult to get a sense of it providing interesting spaces. The museum was full of big promises and declarations (such as the Bauhaus being the most important art movement of the 20th century), but very weak on displays.

Museum island - rennovated old buildings, beautiful exhibition spaces, perfectly lit. We'd already had our fill of Roman artefacts this trip though, so we just went to a couple.

Garden of Exile, Jewish Museum. 

Jewish museum - amazing new building, full of architectural metaphors and interesting spaces, but awful display design. Downstairs in the personal stories section (which could've been interesting, as with all of it), they had such small viewing spaces to see the objects and read the stories, you pretty much had to press your face against the glass to read the plaque, and with the number of visitors in there trying to see each one, it was terrible. And there was ample space available, if they'd wanted to make it better. Finn was convinced it was about really connecting to each story, but I felt so distracted by the procedure of simply trying to be able to read the story that all chances of there being some kind of meaningful connection were lost in the jostle for viewing vantage point.

Upstairs, the permanent collection was so heavy on interaction I quickly felt worn down. I think I was the wrong type of person for the displays in this museum, although I had really been looking forward to the visit. Maybe my expectations had been to high. Maybe I should give them more credit for trying to make Jewish history fun.

Tomas Saraceno's Cloud Cities.
Hamburger Bahnhof.

Hamburger Bahnhof is a super fantastic gallery of modern and contemporary art. The temporary exhibitions were excellent, both the Cloud Cities pictured above and works exhibited in their extensive western wing. The permanent collection throughout the rest of the building was not so amazing.

And many more. We filled three, kind of four days with galleries. That got us inside and around a lot of really nice buildings.

Berlin wall memorial.

Roman Finn by a nice piece of wall.

My wonderful proof reader thinks this is the most negative and peculiar posting of Flesh yet. I don't quite know how or why that can be. Berlin was certainly very different from all the places and themes of the previous posts, but by no means in a bad way. Quite the contrary, we had a lot of fun, saw some great shit, bought some nice things, and survived a terrifying new years unscathed. We did very well indeed.

Only two stops to go before we're home. Here's hoping I can recapture the positive writing energy of earlier days.

Happy new year!

9 January 2012

Walk like a Roman

Rome is a bustling little city. There are roads enough for significant traffic, and yet it is compact enough to be easily manageable on foot. That is, so long as you walk like a Roman. No hesitations. Cars will stop for you at pedestrian crossings, but only if you step out in front of them. And the same goes with fellow pedestrians - if you waver, they'll barge you off the footpath. Stick to the route you want, and take it full steam ahead. Employing these tactics got us all over Rome for the week of Christmas.

Pantheon dome.

Inside the colosseum.

Outside the colosseum.

We ended up visiting Vatican City three days in a row (it was less than a 20 minute walk from our apartment in the old city). First on Christmas Eve to visit the museums (including the Sistine Chapel), then to be blessed by Pope Benedict on Christmas Day, and then on Boxing Day to St. Peter's Basilica (which had closed early on Christmas Eve). All up it was a very Holy Roman experience.

Christmas with Bene.

For Christmas breakfast we had my favourite breakfast - Nigel's fluffy ricotta pancakes, with yoghurt and freshly sliced oranges in syrup (usually with a dash of orange blossom water, but it never showed itself in Rome).

Abandoned breakfast - running late for our papal blessing.

We hoofed it up the road, across the bridge, and up the other road to make it to St. Peter's just in time. Finn wove us into the thick of the crowd, finding a suitable vantage point just as Benedict's ever-so-slightly wavering old voice reverberated through the speaker system and across the square.

Entering St. Peter's square.

Looking across the masses to the Pope's perch on the balcony.

One of the various large screens placed around the square.

Benedict delivered his Christmas message in Italian, giving quite a few mentions to Africa, children, and families. We also picked up something about Sudan, Myanmar, 2011, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. Seemed like a good speech, people clapped, it would've been nice to understand what he was saying.

Popey.
No bulletproof encasement for this ceremony.

The real crowd pleaser came at the end when, having finished his message, he gave his blessing. First he gave it in Italian, after which a large component of the crowd cheered, and then started to move off. Then he gave it in about a million different languages including German, Greek, Japanese, Swahili, Thai, Indonesian, Maori, Samoan, Filipino... And after each blessing a section of the crowd would cheer and clap, having finally understood something he said. The Koreans seemed to have the loudest crowd presence. I can't say I understood a word of the English blessing, I was so distracted by the whole proceedings I didn't even realise he was speaking a language I could understand, if I listened. I felt well blessed all the same.

The Papal bell.

As you can see on the clock, the service lasted close to half an hour, ending with a tolling of St. Peter's bells for about another half hour. That was really nice. After Benedict went back inside, the crowd started to move out of the square and down the road, flanking the procession of elaborately dressed guardsmen who had been standing to attention in front of the basilica.

Merry Christmas, from us and Bene.

It was such a sunny and mild day, after ducking back home to finish our breakfast, we headed up the hill on the Trastevere side of the river. We were really looking for a sunny spot in a park to lie around and read our books, but all we found was a big winding road and lots of lookout points across the city and it's sea of monuments to the giant park on the other side of the city, and beyond to snowy mountains. 

Back in the old city we wandered over to the nearby Christmas markets...

Read PORKetta.
A whole, large suckling pig, boned and stuffed with garlic, fennel, rosemary, and the like.

Happy man. I (also happily) settled for a little bag of praline almonds.

For Christmas dinner we roasted a wee bit of lamb's leg, and it tasted like home.

More Roman wanderings.

Rubbish in the Tiber.
(Count the soccer balls.)

Last gelato.

Trevi fountain.

Boxing Day crowd at the Trevi fountain.

Ascending St. Peter's dome.

View from the top of St. Peter's.
Likely the closest we'll ever get to heaven.

Goodbye Rome, goodbye Italy.

On our last evening in Rome (our last evening of seven months in Italy) we stood and watched the sun go down from a terrace near Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II at Piazza Venezia. Then suddenly, it was amazing, into the dusk flew a million birds. Like shoals of sardines, they flew ducking and diving in great dark swarms. Rome had always felt full of birds compared to anywhere else we've been these last months (especially Venice, which is supposedly a birdie city - I never saw any evidence of it other than pigeons, which don't count), but this was truly a spectacular performance. It had the whole crowd on the terrace mesmerised, it was better than fireworks. A very lovely end to an amazing episode in our lives. Aren't we blessed.

3 January 2012