O Porto!

Two weeks ago (apologies for the delay, we've been kinda busy as you'll soon read about), Bec reached that magical milestone birthday, the big 3-0. Johnny had planned a weekend away to celebrate, and he wasn't giving any hints away as to the mystery location, to the point of making Bec avert her eyes and block her ears in the airport whenever someone or something might spill the beans. She did think she heard the check-in lady mutter "Bordeaux" at one point, which confused her a little as we've been to Bordeaux before... but as it turns out she actually said "Porto" and that's where we went!

Porto (or Oporto as the Portuguese call it) is Portugal's second largest city, probably best known for the port wine which takes its name from it. There are several port cellars along the river and we certainly made the most of them, joining a few tours and more importantly tasting lots of port - the white variety in particular being quite new to us and full of sweet, syrupy goodness.





















Unfortunately it rained quite a lot while we were there, which meant we didn't really get to see Porto at its best. Although there are clearly some lovely parts of the city, particularly along the riverside.
















The food was fabulous and the people extraordinarily friendly (even though at times they sound like they're talking with a sock stuffed in their mouths!) And on the plus side, as Johnny had booked us into a swanky 5-star hotel complete with the most amazing, relaxing, luxurious spa you could possibly imagine, the rain actually gave us an excuse to spend some time just chilling by the pool.

A Look at London: Ye Olde Tower Of London

We are lucky to be in a quite unusual situation in that we have a lot more explore-time than most tourists who visit this great city, but haven't yet hit the been-there-done-that threshold which (we assume) must exist for every resident. So we thought it might be interesting to give our thoughts on London's various attractions in an occasional series. For our first instalment we'll be reporting on The Tower of London.


First and foremost, it should be noted that The White Tower, the tallest and most readily-identifiable structure in the complex, is going to be swathed in scaffolding and plastic sheeting for the next THREE YEARS while it gets refurbished. You can still go inside - there are numerous rooms full of weaponry and suits of armour, including Henry VIII's hyper-codpieced mid-life-crisis sports model - but your exterior photos will not be quite as instantly recognisable. You'll still have a great angle on Tower Bridge though!


Of course, no visit to the Tower is complete without a stickybeak at The Crown Jewels - you'll be whisked past them on a travelator, but there's nothing to stop you going back for another look. Frankly, they're not the most impressive bit of royal jewellery on display. Queen Victoria's crown features a diamond comfortably bigger than a golf ball.

There is a MUST DO when you go to the Tower however. The Beefeater Tours are free with your entry ticket, run several times a day, and are definitely well worth hanging around for. On our visit, we had a real tough-nut ex-paratrooper who was also absolutely hilarious. He'd ask the assembled crowd a series of simple questions, to which we'd all dutifully reply "yes", "yes", "yes" etc until he'd throw in a trick question - we'd reply "yes" and he'd bellow "NO!!!!!" Terrifying but funny. He picked on Bec for being a "ginger" (like Queen Elizabeth) in between teasing Americans for being fat and stupid. Legend.


He also had a neat explanation for the "ER" on the front of his tunic:

"Would've thought it was obvious. It's 'cos I work for 'ER (jerking thumb towards Buckingham Palace) isn't it?"

Bec's (Pre) Birthday Bash!

A certain milestone birthday is fast approaching for Bec, but as Johnny is planning to whisk her away to a surprise location for the big event, we decided some early celebrations were in order. Bec's uni buddy Kieran had reached the same milestone during the week, so Friday night's party was doubly significant.

It was a great turn-out, with a huge contingent from Star (Bec's work). Here's Esther & Pete with the birthday girl, Jainy & James, Sam and a sliver of Tutu:


A proper one of Tutu, who keeps Bec extremely entertained at work, and Kevin, Jo & Myles:















Also joining in the celebrations were some familiar faces from back home. Here's Dan with Johnny, Chris (an honorary Aussie) and Kate, and also old friends and flat mates Bec & Beth:















By the end of the night we were all feeling merry and finished up with some impressive moves on the dance floor, the birthday boy and girl happily partying on 'til the end:















After all, they do say life begins at...

Chamtastic

Waaay back in February we met up with Brett and Belinda again, this time for some skiing action in the French Alps - Chamonix to be exact. Also staying with us was B-and-B's friend Kate, another Aussie who was also celebrating her birthday. We had secured a self-catering chalet apartment just on the edge of the town for a long weekend of fun - but in typical Bec and John fashion, it started on the back foot somewhat.

Despite leaving copious amounts of time to get there, we'd only just managed to check-in to Luton on time - and it turned out that our bag had not been so lucky. We waited around the baggage reclaim area in Geneva for an eternity before finally giving up and getting the shuttle minibus to Chamonix. It ended up being a full 24 hours before our bag was delivered to us - so big thanks to Brush and Bel for all the gear-lending that allowed us to have a great first day regardless!


Chamonix is a slightly difficult place to get around, as it's not one mountain/resort but actually half-a-dozen or so, all based around and above the town. To get to each from town requires an annoying bus ride followed by a gondola ride to the piste. Still, once we were up there on the first morning, all the hassle of travelling was quickly forgotten. The weather was really great, and while the snow was not super-fresh, there was certainly still plenty of it.

Here's Brett demonstrating that when sweaty, his hair is several thousand metres in height, comfortably dwarfing mighty alpine peaks:


Subsequent days were less great weather- and snow-wise, but it was still ace to get back on the white stuff. Evenings were filled with food (soooo much cheese!), frequent groans as new sites of pain and soreness were discovered, but also much merriment - like when Kate requested a nice refreshing Margarita and received a nice cheesy pizza!

Five Days, Five Dress Codes

One of Johnny's favourite things about his new job (which he's still loving, by the way) is the complete lack of a dress code - it's a tiny company so there's just no need. You might think that would make dressing simple, but the choice of what to wear to work is actually complicated when there are no rules at all. John's natural nerd-tendency to slob around in jeans and a T-shirt is tempered by two factors - firstly, he actually likes wearing a nice suit every now and again, and secondly, he works with an italian man who dresses quite elegantly. How to reconcile the two forces?

Easy! For the last few weeks, John's been using a revolutionary scheme he calls the Five-Way Open Approach to Regalia (or FWOAR for short). What it boils down to is a gradual lowering of standards as the weekend approaches:



Monday Maximum Attack or "Going for an interview, are we?" A strong nod to Stylish Italian Man with the full suit-and-tie treatment.










Tuesday The tie is ditched (a nice relief - it often makes Johnny overheat) for a look Bec calls The Hugh Grant.







Wednesday The middle of the week is celebrated by dressing like a middle-aged man, apparently :-)










Thursday Things are starting to slacken off, hence, a nice pair of slacks.











Friday Or indeed, Pub Friday as it is almost universally known over here, requires very little effort. And the clothes are pretty casual too!

Viva Valencia

It seems every time we go to a city where we struggle with the language, that city turns on some spectacular festival, carnival or street parade to commemorate something that we're completely unable to decipher. It happened in Barcelona, it happened in Athens, and on our recent visit to orange-capital Valencia, halfway down the East coast of Spain, it happened again!

After jetting in bargain-style (1p per person each way!*) from London, we landed late on Friday night at Valencia's shiny new airport. This town has its public transport sorted too, with a metro train waiting for us down a set of escalators just beyond Customs. Are you paying attention, Melbourne? Weirdly, the town seemed pretty dead - we thought that at 10pm-ish, the streets would be full of Spaniards getting out for some pre-dinner drinks, before sitting down for dinner at about half-midnight. You know, those crazy Spanish and their late evening meals! It seemed Valencia, despite being Spain's third-largest city, is actually quite provincial. In fact, we struggled to even find a restaurant that was open at all - and when we did, it seemed to be full of fellow tourists. Weirder still, due to a major language barrier with our waitress, we ended up communicating in French! A very strange introduction to a Spanish town!

The next day we wandered in standard semi-aimless tourist fashion, quickly coming across the Plaza de la Virgen, overlooked by the handily-named Basilica de la Virgen de los Desamparados (Basilica of Our lady of the Defenceless/Homeless/Abandoned Ones).


Then, all of a sudden, while we were stopped for a coffee, all hell broke loose. The bells of the Basilica began ringing out and quickly all the other churches in town joined in, occasionally punctuated with what sounded like cannon fire. Then, from every corner of the town, marching bands started converging on our location!


The festivities continued all day, including late-night parades featuring pretty horsies.


On the Sunday we returned to the Plaza de la Virgen for a quieter coffee, only to find troupes of flamenco dancers arriving to dance on a big stage. We did not (and still don't!) have any idea what it was all in aid of, but we were very pleased to be spectators!


By now, we realised that the quiet Friday night was just the locals' way of charging up their energy for a massive weekend!

(* plus booking fees, fuel surcharges and taxes bringing it up to 12.49 per person each way...)

Gorgeous George

While we were planning our move to London, Johnny had a certain great hope for our new life: to find a friendly neighbourhood cat who would pay us semi-regular visits for milk and cuddles. We had both felt starved of feline company since leaving our cat Tuesday back in Melbourne.

As fate would have it, John's dreams were realised on the very day we moved in. We were literally turning the key in the lock, excited to finally be living in London town, and the words "now all we need is a cat" had barely escaped his lips when, out of nowhere, appeared a large ginger cat! He then proceeded to follow us into our flat and stroll around like he owned the place. We christened him George after one of the Weasley twins from Harry Potter (it's the ginger thing...)


Since then George has made himself somewhat of a regular at No 10, following the sound of Johnny's deliberately jingling keys as he walks up the path. We've discovered he lives across the road, but seems to divide his time between several of the houses in the street. A very friendly neighbourhood cat, then. We're certainly not complaining!