Wine Quiz

Here’s the thing about wine...if its winter, then red wine seems to hit the spot–if its summer and hot, its got to be a dry chilled white.  And when traveling, I drink wine every evening–unashamedly! (I don’t drink so routinely during the rest of the year, but it’s my vacation for dog’s sake.)  So this is my wine photo essay...

But before that, one experience I’d highly recommend for any trip is a visit to a local winery.  I’ve done this a few times, but ought to do it more.  One visit was to a string of wineries in Napa Valley, another visit was to a small winery near Las Vegas, New Mexico, another was a half day tour of some wineries on the south island of New Zealand, and still another was a full day tour of the Barossa Valley in Australia.

A small van picked us up about noon down by the dock in Picton.  We had just finished one of our “forced marches” since we had wandered a bit too far on our morning hike, but had already booked the tour.  We had to hoof it back to the harbor at almost a run.  Although it was almost winter in New Zealand, the morning was a crisp sunny one and in the sun, shirt-sleeves were all that were really needed.  Consequently, after our run my companion was sweating profusely in his winter sweater.  The van pulled up–already filled with people for the tour–so we climbed in and seated ourselves in the middle area near the window.
 
As we headed down the road trying to enjoy the scenery the van started to steam up and no one could see out the windows.  Someone glanced over at the sweat dripping down my companion’s flushed face and asked if he was alright.

The tour was fun and the best part is that you don’t have to drive!  You can drink without mortal danger!  We learned a few wine making facts and visited about six or seven wineries, where I bought a couple of nice wines.

And as the sun was setting we drove past vineyards that looked very much like the foothills of Marlborough country in those old cigarette commercials.

It was a lovely afternoon.

We recently visited Australia’s National Wine Center in Adelaide, Australia. After wandering the fairly empty building for a while we inquired whether or not there was a wine tasting room. We were told that the center had actually not done well financially. It had opened just ahead of the 2002 Summer Olympics in Sydney, probably hoping to draw some international crowds to the Adelaide region to promote the wine producers. For whatever reason, things had not gone according to plan. The University of Adelaide subsequently took over the operation of the building and now only books special wine tasting events as a sort of conference event center. But we were informed that the small café on the ground floor did wine tasting ‘to order’—so we wandered down to check it out. There were different wine tasting ‘levels’ –starting at $10 per person. We ordered the ‘fine wine’ tasting option for about $15—as I recall—which included three wines and some fresh bread and olive oil. The wines were served on a tray with the types of wines and their descriptions printed on the placemat. The pour was generous and the wines were actually very lovely. We had ourselves a very happy afternoon.

We also booked a full day wine tasting tour. The Barossa Valley–on the outskirts of Adelaide–is one of the most prominent of Australia's wine producing regions, specializing in Shiraz but growing other grape varieties such as Riesling, Semillon, Grenache and Cabernet Sauvignon. We had a lovely sunny day for our tour, even though it was winter. In spite of the season, the valley was a lush green and filled with early spring flowers. The grape vines, however, were clipped and in their barren winter hibernation.

Wine tours are the best way to savor a large variety of wines with little effort. There are, of course, many tour options ranging from the most inexpensive, which usually visit the largest wineries popularized by the more moderately priced wines, to chauffeured limousines, which visit the most exclusive fine wineries producing wines most of us couldn't possibly afford to buy. Whichever you choose, its much nicer than trying to navigate a wine tasting foray on your own in a stupor. We sampled twenty-six different wines that day–which was grand–but I will also admit that neither of us ordered a glass of wine for the next week of our trip. This actually worked out just fine though. The next cities were much warmer and Irish pubs were plentiful, so Guinness struck the right cord.

One other opportunity I had to sample wine was in Provence, at a wine festival - a sort of 'farmer's market' for the local wineries of Provence. You purchase a glass with the festival logo etched on it, then just sample your way down the charming main street of Aix en Provence.

The glass goes home with you as a souvenir and usually some wine as well. This was my first sampling of the dry but flavorful rosés of the region, but there were wines of all types represented.

 
After sampling a few too many wines, I decided to take a break and see a bit more of the charming town.

There was great photo exhibit of Piscasso's time in the region at the museum, which fortunately I went through before I started sampling wine. But I had a memorable afternoon. Wine festivals - if you can find one - are another fabulous way to taste the flavors of a region at a minimal cost and have loads of fun in the process.    

Ok, ok, here’s the quiz..
First try to guess where the photos are taken, then read on and see if you are right.  But as a hint, here are your choices:
1. Heraklio
2. Rodos
3. Husum
4. Berlin
5. Murchison
6. Hokatika
7. Christchurch
8. Greymouth
9. Hamburg
10. Flåm
11. Haarlem
12. Regensburg
13. Frankfurt
14. Costa Mesa
15. Delft
16. Barcelona
17. Santorini
18. San Juan
19. Athens
20. Sydney
21. Adelaide
22. Gdansk
23. Krackow
24. Hel
25. Woody Point

This was a great little restaurant in Barcelona that we tried to avoid because they were passing out flyers on the main street offering free glasses of champagne.  So this is #16.  It turned out to be so good, we went back a second night!  They just had to get folks to wander down the alley or they didn’t see it.  I also bought that pretty red scarf from the shop you can see in the window across the alley.  I think we had already finished the champagne in this photo and had moved on to the wine.

Alright, I didn’t say San Juan Capistrano, which incidently, isn’t on the coast–even though there is a Capistrano Beach that is pretty close to where this is.  It’s #14, near Costa Mesa, California (I think).  We were at a wedding rehearsal so I wasn’t driving or paying attention.
 

This is after another forced march (of many we have done) from the Valley of the Butterflies to the coast in Rodos, Greece– #2.  After missing the last bus out to some ruins, we decided to take a bus out to the Valley of the Butterflies–which was surprisingly green and pretty even though it is in a very hot, dry, and remote part of the island.  At the top of the lookout over the valley it suddenly occurred to us that the last bus back was leaving right at that time.  We hurried down the trail to the entrance and tried to talk a tour bus operator into letting us come back on his bus, but he refused.  We saw a taxi drive by, but we thought it might be a very very expensive ride back by taxi.  So we figured we would just walk down to the nearest public stop where the buses were still running–which turned out to be about 7 miles away.  We walked at a pretty fast clip for almost two hours through fairly desolate countryside until we got to the highway which ran along the coast.  Needless to say, we were pretty hungry and tired that evening but we only had to walk about 10 meters from the door of our pension to a lovely little family owned garden/patio restaurant, where we ordered Pasta with fruit de la Mer (spaghetti with octopus, shrimp, mussels etc.).  It was delicious.

We had a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon this evening. Whether it looks chilly or not, it was getting a bit nippy as the lights of the harbor were brightening against the dusky evening sky. Darling Harbor in Sydney, Australia is the setting here, #20. It’s actually a very scenic spot to stroll, especially after dark, since it was in a sense designed for this purpose. The harbor was transformed from an industrial wasteland to an evening playground when Sydney hosted the Olympics. Although the harbor may lack historic footnotes, the play of light across the water is enchanting nonetheless.

This one is a cinch...just read the sign–“Husumer Krabben” (Husum Crab).  So you guessed it! #3, Husum, Germany.

No, its not in Greece.  It’s a trick photo.  Check out the bikes in the background.  We had a nice Greek meal that evening in Delft, in the Netherlands. #15

This one however, is the real thing.  The bottle of water is in Greek, so that ought to make it much easier. #19, Athens.      

I admit, the ones indoors are harder.  But I gave you a clue earlier.  You’re looking at red wine which makes it winter.  Where were we one winter?  In New Zealand.  Its in one of the chillier places we stayed, in Murchison, #5–a tiny little stop on our drive northeast from the west coast of the south island.  We were sitting next to a cozy crackling fire and you can see that we indulged in a luscious carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.  It actually tastes great with Cabernet Sauvignon (although when it comes to dessert, dark chocolate with chili is the best with dark red wines).

      
Don't be put off by the soda can with the straw–my companion was drinking responsibly for the drive home, while I had a nice glass of white wine with my meal. The scallops were caught by a local fisherman in the bay just across the street from the restaurant a few hours before we ate them, and were, by far, the most delicious scallops I've ever eaten. Our previous course was a giant bowl of mussels that were also harvested earlier that day. This cozy little wharf-side cafe is in Woody Point, Newfoundland–within the Gros Morne National Park–#25.

This is the view from a small restaurant next to the water in Heraklio, on Crete–#1.  Behind us is the medieval fortress which is at the city’s harbor.  This is actually where we first tried “retsina”–a white Greek wine which has pine resin in it, giving it a slight turpentine flavor.  I quite like it, but my companion didn’t.  He said it gave him very weird dreams. 

Its after 10 p.m. in this photo from Flåm–#10.  Flåm is tucked into a fjord on the west coast of Norway.  The town is lush in the summer and surely ice-cold in the winter.  It was jacket/sweater weather there even in mid-summer, so I broke the rule and ordered red wine.  This little restaurant/bar was on the dock of the little bay in front of our hotel.  We sat there until almost midnight watching the light dwindle on the fjord.

 

This quaint little restaurant is tucked underground along the Royal Way, in Gdansk–#22. What you see in the foreground are perogis–the Polish national dish. These were some of the best that I had while I was in Poland. We were absolutely alone with the bartender downstairs, even though it was the dinner hour. Poles, like most Europeans would not be caught dead eating indoors when there are any available restaurants with chairs on the sidewalks. Frankly, for us, it was novel and more relaxing to eat away from the crowds. But I'm sure all the locals clamber for a spot in the cellar during the cold Baltic winters.

You’d never know it, but this is Berlin– #4.  We’re near the Konzerthaus at a little sidewalk café next to the square.

Oh, isn’t this wine?  Its actually Guinness from a small Irish pub called “The Bog” in Christchurch, New Zealand– #7.  That night there was a rugby match between the New Zealand “All Blacks” and their rivals, the Australian “Wallabies.”  The All Blacks won, so the bar was hopping.  

This bridge was one of the only bridges across the Danube in Germany in the 12th century.  Regensburg was founded by the Romans and was an important crossroad during the middle-ages.  It is still a very charming city and well worth the time to see.  This is #12.

This might be one of the harder photos to place, but its red wine....so...New Zealand again!  Its in a little town on the west coast of the south island called Hokatika–#6.  Hokatika was as far south as we dared go on the south island in the winter, since our flight was due to leave in less than a week from Auckland–on the north island–and they had already had ice storms on the lower south island earlier in our stay.  There is a lovely little gorge not far from Hokatika with glacier water that is an unearthly beautiful blue-green.

The buildings in this square are some of the only examples of “old Germany” that remained standing in Frankfurt after WWII, and they are mostly reconstructions–#13.

This was a tucked-in corner next to a fireplace in a funky-cool pizza bar. Red was the wine of choice here as we waited for our pizzas. We were either ahead of the crowd or we were the crowd that evening–but then it was a rainy winter night in the middle of the week. #21, Adelaide, Australia.

You see here our mondo-magnificent cheese platter.  We rushed to the cliff in Fira, on Santorini the first evening of our stay, to watch the sun set on the caldera.  The setting was fantastic, and we just assumed we were paying for the view when we ordered a cheese platter that cost €22.  After the waiter saw our shocked expressions as he delivered the platter to our table, he explained that it was usually an appetizer that a whole group of people would order.  We just ordered more wine and made it our dinner, then watched the light fade until eventually the arc of building lights along the cliffs of the caldera was all you could see.  It is #17.

We took the ferry to Hel and back. We counted ourselves as lucky, since most don't make it back–#24. Hel is a resort peninsula about two hours ferry ride from Gdansk. People day-trip in Hel for the most part. The main drag is filled with fish and chip cafes, ice cream vendors and curio shops. Kids dart from one treasure to the next dripping their cones everywhere, and parents wile away the hours drinking wine or beer (typically wine for the ladies, beer for gents). We dipped in the brackish Baltic, sifted through pebbles along the shore for amber, chatted with a couple from Sweden and walked back through the remains of WWII bunkers and guardhouses that still stand among the trees lining the beaches. This was the little spot where we stopped for fish and chips, and a change out of our wet swimsuits. Incidentally, one odd bit of trivia for Poland is that the Men's rooms have a 'Δ' on the door, and the Ladies an 'Ο'....hmmm. Satiated by sun, sand and alcohol, we tottered back to the boat for the return trip to Gdansk.

These guys always dress for dinner–even in San Juan–and this one isn’t the Capistrano either.  It’s on the bank of the San Juan river in the four corners area–#18.  We were on a six day rafting trip and when this photo was taken–about three days from the nearest form of civilization in either direction.  But nevertheless, protocols must be maintained!  You’ll also note that this is another exception to the white/red wine rule.  It was blazingly hot during the day and still quite warm most evenings, but we are drinking red wine.  On the river, however, there’s not much refrigeration...

This romantic view was our final 'indulgence' before leaving Krackow, Poland. Generally we tried to avoid eating in the big squares or along the main drag of any city, as the prices for the view are usually high and the fare more than often is mundane. Although we ate several terrific dinners in Krackow, that night we'd actually eaten a very mundane meal on a side street. Ah well, one can only try. So we opted for some indulgence and the view in the square over a nice glass of wine. This one's #23. I almost lost my little souvenir when I walked away without noticing it was still under the table. I did get it back, one of the employees must of found it and stashed it behind the bar inside.
   

Oops.  This isn’t wine either. #8.  Our night in Greymouth, New Zealand was the coldest of our stay.  We also were barely speaking to each other at this point because of a tiff over the traveling speed.  We wandered most of the length of main street at about 10 p.m. in blasting winter southerlies from Antarctica searching for food (although the next day we realized that there were more restaurants in the other direction). We finally found a comfortable little pizza place–with hemp!  We also went shopping for coats the next morning. 

This is the other Haarlem–the one in the Netherlands. #11.  We ordered the “special,” which was scampi, of course, because that was the restaurant’s name.  Although the salad was delicious (greens with melon and prosciutto, pine nuts and dried currents), the scampi was seared in a spicy chili sauce, and the dessert consisted of a lovely assortment of chocolate candies and cookies with coffee, perhaps what I remember most fondly was the warm fresh baked whole wheat bread they served.  It had several other grains on the top and was so very yummy.       

This photo is from a lovely little restaurant that is actually on a floating dock on the bank of the Elbe, in Hamburg–#9.  You could feel the dock rocking with the waves.  The air was somewhat chilly as it got dark and we were near an open door, so in our section they had white fur skins over the chairs–that was very cozy.  But it was still mid-summer, so of course we ordered white wine.  The restaurant served the most delicious Bouillabaisse I’ve ever tasted, the service was elegant, and the whole dining experience was one of my most memorable ones.

As a parting shot–though there is no wine in the photo–we most assuredly had wine in our hands.  We had a little picnic on the top deck of a ferry that was crossing from Norway to Denmark–cheese, crackers, dried fruit, nuts and a bottle of red wine, as I recall.  We toasted mid-summer until about 11 o’clock, when the sun finally set on the horizon.

Tour the World by Paddle-boat

Although not highly prestigious or swift, paddle-boats get you down to the water level and let you see things from a vantage point that you never would otherwise.  Ok, it looks cheesy when you see tourists paddling along some waterway in their goofy white paddle boats, but forget your ‘cool’, and just hop into a paddle-boat whenever you can–there’s no better way to cruise a new city.

I can’t honestly remember the first time I rented a paddle-boat.  It was probably when I was still a kid.  But as an adult perhaps my oldest memory of paddle-boating was in Catalina.  I had taken my daughter and my nephew out to the island to explore.  We considered renting a golf-cart, which seemed to be the preferred mode of island transportation at the time, but in the end we did a little tour on board a mini golf-cart bus/train, as I recall.  After which we took a glass bottom boat tour and then decided to rent a paddle-boat and goof around the marina for an hour or so.  We annoyed all the serious sailors.  That was fun.  We were down so close to the water that we could see the bright little orange Garibaldi fish swimming through the kelp forests in the bay.  We paddled under a couple of little broken down piers, wove between the sailboat slips and generally had a great time.

Since then I have taken the opportunity, whenever possible, to rent a paddle-boat.  We once rented paddle-boats in the late afternoon light on the Vltava river in Prague.

As the big boats drifted past us filled with tourists peering curiously over the sides, we laughed, turned in little circles, snapped pictures, and propelled ourselves furiously across the water when necessary.  We saw every bit as much as the folks on their tour boat and more, and had a lot more fun doing it!

Another paddle-boat trip that comes to mind was in Crete.  On our last day in Greece we went to the beach.  It was a glorious brilliantly sunny day and the water was so turquoise that it seemed surreal.

We swam in the bay and took photos with little underwater disposable cameras, then decided to rent one of the paddle-boats we saw sitting over by the beach.  Again this time it was a blast.

We went out to sea.

They gave us no restrictions really, so we just took off out of the little bay and along the coastline.  There is, of course, a limit to the paddling one can do because it does require some manpower.  But once the adrenalin gets pumping and the wind is blowing through your hair, its easy.  We crossed another bay and the waves were getting to be pretty large.  Some big boats were coming along which we weren't completely sure we could paddle away from quickly enough, so we turned back to our own little bay and annoyed the power-boaters there.  But again this was great.

Another 'big boat' avoidance paddle was in the harbor area of Flåm, Norway. Enormous cruise liners navigate in and out the fjord each day–some just day tripping, others there for the night. Its always a little intimidating when you pull up close to one of those monsters, even if they are parked. But I'll admit I was more nervous about falling in the icy water than about side-swiping the cruise liners. However, all went swimmingly–we had no mishaps other than cramped legs due to a long bike ride we'd done earlier that day (renting bikes is another fabulous way to check out a new environment, even if its a little more labor intensive).

 
So, in Amsterdam when we saw the paddle-boats we just had to hop onboard.  We had been taking photos like madmen for days in the city already, but the little paddle-boats give you a view from the canals that you wouldn’t get otherwise.  Now we were getting some nice pictures from the water level.

The tour boat drivers were resigned to paddle-boat idiots and just wearily ignored them unless a collision was imminent. But we would forever be about to round a corner and there would be a monstrous tour boat making the turn down our canal.  We’d get the "look" and then we’d throw it in reverse (paddling furiously backward) and hover next to the canal wall until the thing passed. We’d also just mosey past folks at little cafés who tried not to notice that we were snapping their pictures as we paddled by.

But that’s the charm of Amsterdam!  There is no expectation of privacy on the streets or canals.  It’s a zoo of people everywhere and everything is really fair game for a photo.  (How the locals survive the summer with the hoards of tourists is quite beyond me–but I suspect that a good deal of the folks lining the streets in the sidewalk cafés were not the locals.)
  
One regret of my trip, however, was in Utrecht.  We spied some paddle-boaters inching down the smalls canals there and decided we had to rent one.  In Utrecht the canals are not used to the same degree they are in Amsterdam, so there was only the occasional small dingy with a motor other than the paddle-boats.

Also, in Utrecht the canals are down on a full lower level, where there is a sort of subterranean restaurant life going on.  It would have been the perfect place to rent a paddle-boat and explore.

But we put it off until the afternoon and when we went to the little stand, we found that it was less than an hour before closing and we were out of luck...sadly.

But we did a follow-up paddle-boat race with our fellow travelers the last day in Amsterdam.

We paddled down little dead-end canals, crossed dangerously in front of big mondo boats, skirted along the rows of house-boats at window level and peered in, and generally had a grand day out.

 My advice?  Take the paddle-boat whenever its an option.

Kill the Wabbit

It was already evening when we arrived in Mértola–a little mountain village in southern Portugal.  Its ancient claim to fame was that it was the furthest inland port in Portugal which could be reached by boat.  At the height of the Roman Empire’s power, Mértola was apparently one of the most important ports in Iberia.

Now, however, the town has fewer than 8,000 inhabitants and only one public bus in and out of the town per day (but it also has the only example of an intact mosque that survived from the occupation of the Moors).

So our arrival time options were limited.  By the time we dragged our bags the distance from the bus stop to our pension (approximately 3/4 mile, I would guess), it was already dark.

Once you enter the Medieval part of the town, most streets are not wide enough for a car.  Its foot traffic only on the cobbled streets and the grade of the alleys is steep.

The town looked as if it was already tucked into bed–we didn’t see a soul in the old part of town.  There were a few lights on in some of the houses along the way and cats darted away as we passed because of the racket our bags were making as they rolled along the cobblestones.  A dog also barked fiercely from inside a house.  (Each time we passed the dog the next day it again barked furiously and shot over to nip at our heels.)

The streets were still exuding heat, even though it was dark.  We were sweating, tired and hungry and by the sleepy look of the place it seemed likely that we wouldn’t get any dinner.  I had anticipated that possibility and had purchased two cheese croissants at a little kiosk in Beja, where we had an hour wait between buses.  We hadn’t eaten them yet however, because we still had the vague hope of finding some quaint little spot that might be open.  But if there was actually nothing to be had, the croissants would keep us alive until morning.

As it turned out, our pension was as far from the bus stop as you could possibly get within the old town.  But it wasn’t really too hard to find–even though it was dark and not well marked–because the owner opened the door and poked his head out as we came round the corner.  He could hear us coming about a half mile away, I’m sure. 

He was a middle aged man–very friendly–but got right down to business.  Showed us our room, gave us a couple of forms to fill out (if we wanted to, he added) then took us on a quick tour of the house.  Basically, he just let out rooms in part of his house to tourists but he and his teenage sons lived there as well.  He showed us the kitchen–which opened out into a little courtyard-atrium–and explained that because he worked in the morning we were just to help ourselves to anything in the kitchen.

He introduced us to his sons (who were in the middle of preparing dinner) and then we excused ourselves to go to our room and cool down.  I asked him if there was anywhere in Mértola to get a meal this late in the evening, and surprisingly, he said “sure.”  He offered to call the “Clube Nautico” and tell them that we were coming.  He gave us brief directions then went back to his meal preparations.

 
We took a couple of minutes to freshen up, then trudged back up the hill to find the restaurant.  It wasn’t too hard really, once we started looking.  It was just beyond a little open square with a wall mural that we had passed on our way.  Clube Nautico was obviously a local restaurant–no tourist decor–just cheery checkered tablecloths and functional wood tables and chairs and hearty food (but apparently, it is also really a nautical club).  We feared we’d be the last in the restaurant, but there were two little balconies, each occupied, and half the town was seated at a long banquet table in the middle of the room.  The World Cup game between Portugal and Spain was being played that evening, and there was a game party going on.  Within a few minutes of our arrival, we determined that Portugal had lost, but the group was still in good spirits.  The owner came from behind the bar and handed us some some menus.  It was not gourmet fare, but certainly authentic Portuguese cuisine. 

I usually try to avoid eating meat–but the fish options on the menu looked as though they were probably fried.  So as I had done once in Scotland many years ago after climbing almost to the top of Ben Nevis, I ordered meat.  It was raining off and on as we wandered into a small old stone pub outside of Fort William in an exhausted and parched state.  Before even realizing what I was doing, I just ordered goose pâté!  At the time I was totally vegetarian.  I saw Foie Gras on the menu and in my famished condition it just sounded delectable.  I think I was savoring each morsel quite contentedly when my companion reminded me that I claimed to be a vegetarian.  I was shocked.  Not at him, but at myself.  I had just forgotten entirely in the heat of the moment that I was.  I laughed with embarrassment.  But that Foie Gras was probably the best I have ever had.

At the little nautical club I ordered the rabbit.  My traveling companion gave me the same quizzical look.  “That’s not fish,” he said wryly.  I laughed again.  This time I had ordered after a bit of consideration, but I did still feel I had to justify it.  He had actually intended to order the same thing.   We ordered “two rabbits” and the owner of the club gave us a long curious look as though he wasn’t sure we knew what the hell we were ordering.  As he walked away I wondered if there was something wrong–did no one normally order rabbit or what?  Shortly, he brought out our wine, then a salad and bread, and then a big plate of french fries.  After which he brought a large serving bowl filled with big chunks of black meat and set it down with a smile.  My companion and I looked at each other, then at the meat, then we just laughed and whispered our friend’s oft repeated quote from Elmer Fudd,  “Kill the wabbit...kill the wabbit.”

But actually, it was quite delicious.  The rabbit meat was marinated in sauce that made it black.  I believe it may have had some anise in the marination, but I’m not sure.  It reminded me of a recipe that my sister used to make using chicken which was slow-cooked in a pot of spices and herbs that made the meat dark–the taste was similar. 

We forgot all about the croissants in my pack and I only discovered them a couple of days later in Seville.  Later that same day in the bus station, just after we had returned to Seville from Italica, I had ducked into the restroom by the platform.  On coming out I saw “kill the rabbit” written on the wall.  I pointed this out to my companion and we just looked at each other and chuckled.  After which I had to record it–for posterity.