Category: On Travel

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A Nordic Road Trip: What Were We Thinking?

For years now Paul has teased about taking a Winnebago across North America after retirement. Fat chance, I always retort, that is, if you expect me to come along. I can think of few things worse. Seriously!

Born and bred in the Southern USA, I’ve had enough of extenuating road trips, endless highways stretching from east to west and from north to south, and standard and some substandard roadside parks and rest areas. I’ve long taken to the skies.

Still recently, however, Paul and I drove about 3,500 kilometers (approximately 2,200 miles) around Sweden, Norway and Denmark, after flying to Stockholm, where we hired a trusted Volkswagen Golf for the tour.

What were we thinking? Paul, likely, in true British style had high hopes for more sunshine and less rain, a big desire for wild adventure and an eagerness for plenty of surprise. Not to mention his laid back attitude about our accommodation.

I, on the other hand, longed for above average accommodation, haute cuisine–even if I am darn near intolerant of all things yummy–haute couture and a destination  relatively close to Georgia, USA, preferably with a spot of sunshine.

I know. I know. Distance is all relative, but at least we didn’t head off to India, Africa or on Paul’s much talked about round the world trip. Make no mistake about it, I am game, well at least for the first two, but not now with my mother being seriously ill.

Anyhow in compromise we ventured into lessor known parts of Sweden, unknown and well-known parts of Norway, and hotspots of Denmark.

Having done little or no research for the holiday, unlike us to be honest, we faced plenty of surprises, pleasant ones for the most part. At the last minute, however, I picked up a copy of Lonely Planet, after a necessary trip to my orthodontist in Marylebone. After nearly 10 years, my permanent retainer had broken. With a new one fastened securely, I found myself leafing through the travel guide on my Uber ride home and briefly glanced up to respond to the driver’s curiosity about what I was reading.

Just before then my eyes had feasted on Copenhagen’s Noma, voted the world’s best restaurant for the last three years in The World’s 50 Best Restaurants guide. Thus, I told him Scandinavia in a rather irritated voice, knowing there was no chance we would get into Noma at such late notice. People reserve for months in advance to get a table there.

‘Don’t go there,’ he said. I closed the book and looked ahead in dismay. His dark eyes searched my face through his rear view mirror. ‘It’s not a good destination for brown people,’ he said, explaining that though he was originally from Iraq, he grew up in Denmark.

Having read earlier on the Internet what the street committee had to say about racism in Scandinavia, long after the tickets were booked albeit, my heart sank to its lowest degree again. What were we thinking?

But then I remembered all the racial matters going on in the world, particularly  in my home country. So I tossed the cynicism out the window and got thinking again about the pending holiday, all the opportunities ahead.

The excitement of exploration opened my mind and pretty much kept it accessible throughout the entire two weeks. Thus, I found the Swedish people youthful and accommodating, with the odd exception here and there, the Norwegian scenery breathtakingly beautiful, save for the few rough spots, and the Danish cuisine, delectable, even if it is over the top expensive, not to mention my refusal to admit to allergies and intolerances. Never mind, it was worth it. And I did a bit of my kind of shopping, too, in both Stockholm and Copenhagen.

In short I am pleased to say we have been there and done that, even though we didn’t get much sunshine or less rain for that matter. Not to mention the less than average accommodation in some spots. Would I do it again? Not a chance in full. It was too much to cram into the short period of time, only affording us one night in most places, albeit this was more than enough in a few cases. The point it is, however, the trip was exhausting, though exhilarating.

Besides, road travel is not my thing, remember. A different option would be to take the trip off the road and do it my way–fly!  Still we not only racked up miles but also awesome memories, too, memories to savour for years to come.

What were we thinking? And what did we discover? Find out more here on sonjalewis.com. Stay tuned.

 

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Charming London – A Love Affair

I can’t tell you how far back my love affair with flowers goes but nowadays it’s torrid, so much so that I get a weekly delivery just because. And I love showering people with flowers, too, and visiting the varied gardens and parks not only around London but also throughout England.

Admittedly, I’m not much for gardening but I ‘m a keen admirer, even if I haven’t ever been to the much talked about Chelsea Flower Show, which is on now. Why? I have no idea. Up until nearly three years ago, I lived within a short walking distance of the Royal Hospital Gardens, where it is held.

And what I remember most is the excessive vehicle and pedestrian traffic on my street, causing the most exciting fanfare, mimicking an amusement of some sorts, sunshine or rain. Good thing because the rain has been torrential this week. Yesterday it hailed, at least twice.

Anyhow, this got me thinking about places that I admire in London, places that are ever so charming and varied like flowers, but aren’t necessarily on the main tourist map, though the first one is more central that the other two. Twice now, however, I have taken visitors there, who simply didn’t know it existed.

So with schools already breaking for summer in the US in particular, I thought now would be a good time to share three of these charms, which are great places to visit for holiday makers and locals alike, again sunshine or rain.

That’s par for the course here. So grab your rain hat and your sunglasses, too, and off we go:

The South Bank – Sure, I am still a newbie to the London south of the river but in less than three years, I’ve likely spent more time on the South Bank than I have in the seventeen years I have lived here. Likely to do with Waterloo Station being a main artery nowadays but whatever the reason, it continues to be a pleasure.

Though there isn’t much shopping on the South Bank, that’s the only thing that isn’t there. From favourite foods to enticing entertainment, it’s happening.  As well as its festive atmosphere, the South Bank offers stunning views of the city of London.

Richmond upon Thames – Staying south, if you will, head to this charming village. Though popular with Londoners, particularly when the weather is warm, it shows a different side of the capital to visitors. Let’s say a smaller side with cobbled streets and hidden lanes.

Plenty of shopping here, including many speciality shops, but that’s not all. For a picnic or stroll or to just catch a breathtaking view, make your way to Richmond Hill or Richmond Park and at the latter, prepare for deer spotting.

Hampstead – Head altogether north for this pretty village on a hill. Fortunately, I spent oodles of time there working with the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts a few years ago and took endless opportunities to explore the many trendy shops and restaurants.

Filled with gorgeous English mansions and pretty side streets too, Hampstead is one of London’s most characteristic, and certainly most affluent areas. But if that is not what you are looking for, never mind. Go to the Heath and chill out there, enjoying nature as its most uncultivated finest.

Charming London! What a wonderful affair. I could do this for a long time yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charming London! What a wonderful affair. I could do this for a long time yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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No Need to Compare Bright Light to Mysterious Smoke

I don’t know about a thousand words, but this picture certainly says a few – stroppy, serious, sad yet sanguine and simply Sonja.

Wrapping up our weekend in Paris at the Musee d’Orsay was delightful, yet I stropped at Paul for taking a close-up photograph of me. I so despise head shots and then on the way home on Eurostar, getting my second fix of magazines (the first one was on the way there), I read an article about self-image and how women could sometimes be their own worst critics.

Ouch – I sat up straight and considered the charge, flipping through photos on my iPad. The closer up the photo, the more unpleasant the emotion, proving me guilty as charged.

I found it unbelievable that I, so full of self-worth, could have self-image problems. Who would have thunk it? Of course, my problems pale in comparison to serious esteem matters, which are no joke whatsoever. Still the point is all the same – poor self-esteem leads to dissatisfaction, unhappiness, unhealthy living and so on, even if it is on a small level.

And who has time to be unhealthy, unhappy and dissatisfied when in Paris or London for that matter. So with memories of The City of Lights in the near distance, I took in the blustery air of The Smoke.

On the taxi ride home, I recalled returning from Paris to London last year with my BFF, godson and one of his friends. Having gone from one elaborately stunning hotel to a sedately beautiful one, I remember thinking that the Parisian hotel got the prize. I even said it out loud and suggested that the London beaut was a bit tired, though I wouldn’t turn down a night there anytime. I love the place.

The City of Lights shines
The City of Lights shines

Suddenly, however, this Londoner felt second-class to a Parisian. Oh dear. And now speeding through Bloomsbury, I was comparing the two cities again, having been caught up in the romantic atmosphere of Paris for the weekend. I compared the Seine to the Thames, Marble Arch to Arc de Triomphe (unfair!), our bridges to theirs, museums and so on and then it struck me that I needn’t choose one over the other.

Like their respective luxury hotels, one wears its opulence on its sleeve and the other is ever so mysterious. And to be honest, I like a little mystery now and again. No wonder I can’t get enough of Hercule Poirot.

And anyhow, I haven’t seen the real the grit of Paris, albeit it is a dirtier city than London, on the surface. Still they are both impressive cities, just different—one characteristically French and the other English. Come to think of it, so are many of those headshots of mine, different that is.

But one showing is enough, at least for this outing. No need to compare, seriously!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Expat Goes North for Castle Scouting

Britain is known for its stupendous castles, the world over. From Windsor to Warwick Castle, such fortresses are still home to modern day royals, their kinsfolks and the likes. Thankfully, however, they make certain areas available to the rest of us at different times of the year.

Reflecting back to the late 90s when I first came to live in England, I made castle hopping, including a few palaces, a pastime of sorts. Not only was it great fun but also it was a rich historical expedition, if you will.

In those days, even if we did dine at Amberley Castle in Sussex quite often, I still couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to live in a castle, at least for a day or two. Fast forward to this past weekend and Paul and I flew to Northumberland to find out just that. Planning well in advance for a festive event in 2016, we made Langley Castle our home for the weekend. Well, sort of anyhow.

It so happens that we stayed in a more modern castle view room on the grounds of Langley with a view to reconnoitre the facility for our upcoming event. Not a problem at all because many castles have become seasoned hoteliers.

Langley is one of several of Britain’s castles that has done so, and like it, many castles have rooms available within the castle and extension rooms on the grounds, too.

So off to the grounds we went, admiring two extraordinary peacocks with coats fit for a king, and three or more attractive peahens. From this vantage point, we got a pretty good impression of the castle, even dinning there and admiring its 14th century décor, but when the manager gave us a guided tour, we were more than impressed, as we viewed the well appointment rooms in the castle, including those where events are held.

Has the scouting ended? Who is to say? Also, we did check out nearby Otterburn Castle. In meantime, we made a stop at Hadrian’s Wall, where we would surely do more than stop if we do celebrate in this area. And before returning to the airport in Newcastle on Sunday, we visited Alnwick Castle and Gardens.Splendid but it does not offer boarding. In fact, it wasn’t offering anything when we were there but the tourist season kicks off soon, if it already hasn’t.

And I am jolly glad it has with this inclement weather lingering around. Castle hopping might just be the thing to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Expat Takes Off On Flying Holiday

Make no mistake about it I love airplanes. Without them, I would be grounded, likely in the US, instead of the UK. Let’s say I owe my expatriate experience in many ways to the airline industry. I never took to the waters, if you will.

And certainly I owe my visits to the US to see family and friends to planes, not to mention holidays abroad. And I am not the only one indebted to the industry; the tourism industry must be, too.

In 2013, the UK had more than 31 million visitors with London leading the way with 16.8 million of them, an increase of 1.3 million from 2012, when the Olympics were held here.

The rise was the highest recorded number of overseas visitors since records began in 1961.

Presumably, many of these visitors arrived via airplane, though the Eurostar, ships and coaches provide other travel options. But if you are in a hurry, flying is the fastest route. And I almost always am.

Admittedly, however, I find the preparation for flying rather tedious. I do understand it and wouldn’t have it any other way for safety. Still I long for the nonchalant preparation of throwing things in a bag or two willy-nilly and taking off.

Last weekend, Paul and I did just that, joining our English family at a Center Parcs village, sort of a vacation park, which offers short breaks year-around. How very interesting we found it.

Though marketed for families with children, Center Parcs offers something for everyone from outdoor activities such as walking and cycling to indoor sports including swimming and playing tennis and squash. Also, the facility has a spa, plenty of restaurants and a few shops. The accommodation is not bad either. 

Honestly, it’s not a holiday destination that we would take without family but with them, it measured up. I’ll take their Aqua Sana Spa over the chilly rain any day. And most importantly, there was no commotion about packing and travelling. So, I did throw in two bags after all, one for each day.

The next stop, however, calls for flying, with only one-bag to carry on. Argh! Considering that the trip is tomorrow, I’d better get sorting. Otherwise, I’ll be grounded. And I do like flying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Going Forward to the Next Hot Spot

Somewhere along the way I got the idea that Lanzarote was one of Europe’s hot spots. Having spent a long weekend there recently, I must admit I have experienced hotter in more ways than one. Not only was the temperature a lukewarm 64 ˚F, the island wasn’t exactly budding with youthfulness either.

Still, it was hotter there than in the UK, which was about 34 ˚F when I made the comparison. On that note, I stopped wondering why the place attracted so many middle-aged visitors, and got on with enjoying it. After all, Paul and I fit the description technically.

Like the other Canary Islands, Lanzarote has volcanic origins. Located off the coast of Morocco, the island, owned by Spain, does offer some stunning scenery yet also some rough terrain, owing to its volcanic history.

As such we found at least one spot way hotter than others—Timnafaya National Park, where a volcano last erupted in 1824. There is home to Fire Mountains, known as Montañas del Fuego, created between 1730 and 1736 when more than 100 volcanoes, covering more than 50 km², erupted and destroyed this part of the island.

Although the last eruption seems eons ago, the park still has its devastated landscape, if you will, and temperatures only meters underground of 752 to 1112 ˚F.

As we stepped into the area for a fire demonstration, in which the demonstrator puts bushes in a hole, he handed us pebbly sand, if you will. Hot, let me tell you. And then magically, the fire started.

Prior to watching it grow out of nowhere, rather naturally, we had witnessed steam shoot from the ground like a geyser. And then later ate at the restaurant on site, which grills food from the natural heat of the dormant volcanoes.

Fun indeed but not the best food we had on the island. That was at our hotel, which surprisingly treated food intolerances as if they were par for the course. Remarkably each of their restaurants, at least the three we tried, offered gluten free options, as well as vegan and so on.

Certainly a hotter ticket in this area than anywhere else I have been in Europe, even London. Alas, Lanzarote still has a lot to learn about luxury from its fellow Spaniards and other European neighbours.

While it has plenty of Spanish charm, it could use a bit of an update, even the five star hotel we stayed at. Would I go again? Probably not but I might not go to Barcelona again, either, unless someone surprises me, and I absolutely love it there.

The point is the world has so much to offer. Why back track when you can go forward. So what’s the plan for Valentine’s Day? I hear there is a surprise on the horizons. Watch this space.

 

 

 

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Considering 2015 For The Sake Of Old Times

So what were you doing when 2015 arrived? Not surprisingly, many of us can answer this question without missing a beat, whether we were sleeping, partying or perhaps praying. After all, the coming of a New Year is a momentous occasion.

As for me, this year I gathered with a group of Happy Brits at a quaint hotel in England’s Peak District and as the clock struck midnight, we kept with tradition and joined hands and sang Auld Lang Syne. As I sang cheerfully, suddenly I got thinking about the song’s meaning. What does it all mean? Are we pledging something here and will we honour the pledge, even if we never see each other again? Thus, I turned to Paul and popped the question.

 ‘For old times sake,’ he answered, ‘in gist.’

What a relief that I hadn’t made a commitment to my new acquaintances but the singing had stoked memories of days gone by with old friends. How I longed to reach out to them, in that moment, to reminisce. So I attempted to whiz off a few, select text messages shortly after midnight. Normally, I send out many well wishes as I wish everyone well, but this year as I considered Auld Lang Syne, I was selective with a view to add special meaning.

Sadly, the mobile service was lousy so I had to send an email instead via a spotty Internet service and as such misspelled ald, so frustrated. Never mind. If you were a recipient of the my short Happy New Year’s wish, forgive my typo if you will, and accept my extension of good will, good health and so on for the New Year, for the sake of the cherished times we have shared together.

And for those special friends and family who didn’t get my message, blame it on technology. In the meantime, interestingly enough, I have sang the traditional Scottish song many times on New Year’s Eve and must have known that its author, the treasured Robert Burns, had not written exactly the world famous song that New Year’s celebrators sing today. Other Scottish poets before him and perhaps afterwards might have had a hand in it too – the debate goes on.

Still, Auld Lang Syne is unequivocally Scottish in its wording, its title in gist meaning ‘for the sake of old times’. And its meaning of remembrance and goodwill, whether sang at New Year’s, graduations and so on, has global notoriety. Check out the lyrics here.

So for old time sakes, I sincerely wish each and everyone a Happy New Year!

In the meantime, just what were you doing when the year’s changed hands? Post your messages here.

 

 

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Breathing Through The Holidays Easily

Niagara Falls is breathtakingly beautiful, even when it is cloudy and a bit wet.  Refreshing, isn’t it.  In route to the US for Thanksgiving, Paul and I had the opportunity to stop off in Canada and visit with good friends and also see some of the natural beauty of the country, such as the Falls.

What a wonderful opportunity to slow down, somewhat, and catch  my breath, which got me thinking about the art of breathing, if you will. Although breathing comes naturally, thank goodness, too often we lose sight of how important it is to breathe slowly and deeply, which might require some skill, that is, if we have lost touch.

Without skill and practice, our breathing often goes on a high-speed treadmill with the rest of life, even more so during the festive season. Not to panic, however, I have just the thing for getting off the fast track and reconnecting with your breathe.

Check out my latest Huff Post blog, hot off the press, just in time to breathe through the holidays. Have a nice and easy Christmas and New Year, too.

 

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In Oz After Being in Hometown Parade

 

After a three-week absence from home and work, I feel a bit like I am in Oz, but am hoping that I will find my way, perhaps more expediently than Dorothy did in the Wizard of Oz.

Lots of work overdo, including reporting the fantastic news that one of my short stories, The Coloured Girl, adapted as Guess who is coming to lunch, was published in Love Sunday, magazine of the Sunday People, on November 23. A paper of the Trinity Mirror Group, the Sunday People has a wide readership.

How about that! Watch this space for the pdf of the story, in case you missed it. Think of it as a Christmas treat, if you will. But still, there is time to bag The Seasons for Christmas or gift it. So I am told it is a fast and exciting read. Actually, I think so, too.

In the meantime, I must take the opportunity to publicly thank the Leary, Georgia, Christmas Parade committee for inviting me as their special guest this year. As Grand Marshal of my hometown’s Annual Christmas Parade, I had the opportunity to speak at a breakfast and lead the parade. Equally as exciting, I interacted with both familiar and unfamiliar community members. How very exciting.

It was an emotional yet fun event for me as I rode through the streets of the small town, remembering Leary when I was a youth. Like most small towns, Leary has had its ups and downs, evidently so in the population and other areas. On the upside, the town now has a library and yes, yours truly has three books in it. How about that!

Appropriately, after the parade, there was an opportunity to sign books. Many thanks to those who visited and supported!

Again, thanks to the committee and everyone who came for sharing your day with me. Having been back in the place where I grew up, if only briefly, I learned a valuable lesson about holding on to who you are, even if it means letting go of the past, so often necessary to spring forward.

Now to go forth and find my way through Oz; wish me luck in meeting the old Wizard, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Missoni Checks out of Edinburgh

Edinburgh is a cool city —pretty cobblestoned streets, majestic hills, sweeping valleys, and a smashing choice of fine restaurants.  We loved The Honours. Not much in choice for cafes and bistros, if you ask me, unless you like pizza, pizza and pizza.

I thought we were in Scotland. Still, I love going there, if for no other reason than to stay at the Hotel Missoni, described by the summery dressed Scottish woman, whom I sat next to on the plane, as very American.

Have I got  news for her?  It’s Italian, not to mention that the weather is not summer yet, not even spring.

Never mind. In any case, the Hotel Missoni is leaving Edinburgh, not the hotel per se, but the design house is taking its name off the five-star hotel sometime in June this year.

Previously, having bagged two great buys at a quietly closing Missoni store in Westfield Shopping Centre in West London, a month or so ago, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that Missoni must have been on the decline. My heart ached, as I have so enjoyed the brand over the years and feel as if I am just warming up. Not now, please!

On the contrary, the massage therapist, explained as she caressed the stress out of my back.

While the fate of the Missoni empire does seem a bit hush hush—closing shops and only trading in department stores, at least in London, and taking their name off of a remarkable hotel—it’s well known in the industry that co-founder, Rosita Missoni, is likely to retire in her early eighties.

Daughter Angela has been creative director for years now while her mother headed up a new home collection and opened a few luxury hotels, the flagship one in Edinburgh, a few years ago. Somewhere along the way, Rosita might just have loss her soul, understandingly, having lost her son and his wife prematurely in a plane crash in 2013 and then her beloved husband and longtime business partner a few months later.

Though the epitome of modern design in one of the world’s most traditional cities (aside from the onslaught of pizza places) Hotel Missoni will be missed, if only by me.

I’ll just have to find another hang out in Edinburgh. I do like the city.  While strolling around the Old Town you can easily slip back into time while climbing a mountain of stairs to Edinburgh Castle or making your way back to lower ground, where there are gorgeous cathedrals such as St Giles, the old government buildings, and several narrow historical buildings that have become museums of sorts or fine restaurants. And the entire time, your ears ring to the sound of bagpipes.

But if you’re not much into that sort of old thing and you prefer the new scene, Edinburgh has much to offer there, too, even if a festival isn’t going on.  Last time, we went to the new Scottish Parliament, and this time, visited the Museum of Scotland. Impressive!

And no trip to any city would be complete, not for me, without a bit of shopping, though I find the scene in E-burgh lacking. While Harvey Nichols doesn’t have a patch on their flagship store in London, I managed to find a really cool local designer and walked away with some gorgeous knitwear. Got some for my BFF, too!

Enchanting is the word that springs to mind. Speaking of spring, it was spring when we arrived–so there, the florally dressed Scottish woman on the plane actually had news for me—but sadly for her, it was winter when we left.

That’s old news, right. Still, we had a great time.