Sunday, July 25.
Sunday morning in beautiful Saint-Malo.
Remembering the fabulous fish and seafood from the last time we were in Brittany many years ago, we’re thinking maybe we should stay longer, go around the area for a while, before heading off to Paris.
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But by lunchtime, after a desultory search for hotels, we’ve decided to keep to our original schedule.
At Le Lion D’or, we indulge our craving for great French food in a fun setting without the typical grouchy French service.
Dinner is at La Cabane beside the quay. This is an interesting restaurant. You enter through a quirky little narrow door marked Entree, into a sparsely decorated open space with simple tables and chairs. You order at the bar counter where the day’s menu is explained to you and you pay upfront, in cash, cafeteria style.
They have an all you can eat buffet but we opt for grilled sea bass from the à la carte menu.
La Cabane is owned and operated by a very charming lady who tells us it’s only been two weeks since she started operating it. Her experience working at Hotel Chateaubriand for 19 years probably partly explains why everything goes so smoothly with only two women manning the dining room. They even manage to sing Happy Birthday and bring a slice of cake with a lighted candle to one of the tables.
Monday, 25.
Finally, my long awaited fish soup! Lunch at Brasserie du Sillon.
I had photographed it a lot, this mysterious-looking house on the beach. Mommy would’ve loved to paint this dreamy seascape. Stuart says I should paint it for her. Maybe I will.
We were back in the restaurant for dinner. The tide had gone out, the afternoon’s wild surf had calmed down; a lone surfer was making the best of the dying waves. Gliders and kites sailed in the rising wind.
We watched all this from our window-side table, the same one we had at lunch, while we battled with the exquisite sea creatures on our plate.
It was a protracted pitched battle and it was just the starter. By the time we’d gone through the rest of the meal, which ended with lime sorbet in chilled vodka, the sun was beginning to set and a cold wind had gone up.
We shivered in our summer clothes as we hurried back to the hotel but I had to keep stopping to take pictures of the gorgeous sunset.
Tuesday, July 19.
We flew to the Channel Islands to escape sizzling 39 degree London.
It was touch and go for a while; we wondered if our flight would even go. A London airport had to close the day before because part of the runway had melted in the heat.
The hotel porter struggled to find an air-conditioned taxi to take us to the airport. We weren’t getting in a taxi with no aircon in that heat.
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We landed in Jersey in lovely 23 degree weather.
However, the hotel we had booked online was no good. We quickly walked out of our assigned room because the bathroom smelled bad.
In the hotel’s half-open restaurant, we sat down to fish and chips and wine to help us decide what to do next.
When Samuel in Reception came to report that he checked the room himself and found nothing wrong with it, we decided that Radisson Blu Hotel had nothing better to offer.
We went to the Royal Yacht Hotel instead.
An excellent decision!
Thursday, 21.
The world goes at a much slower pace here. From our balcony we watch the tide come in at midday and go out in the evening. I look up the tide times at St Helier.
High water at midnight and noon, low water at 7.
| Thursday 21 July | HWLWHWLW | 00:29
07:14
12:54
19:36
| 9.1m
3.2m
8.7m
3.6m |
The ferry to Saint-Malo leaves early in the day. It’s already half way there as I get ready for breakfast.
Locals play boules in the park.
I love walking around the marinas.
Meanwhile, the hotel has champagne sent up to our room by way of apology for the spotty wifi.
Saturday, 23.
We’re on a 4- hour bus tour around the island.
Stopped for cream tea at The Priory Inn in a place called Devil’s Hole.
All in all, a lovely getaway less than an hour’s flight from London.
Now at the port waiting for our ferry to Saint-Malo. It’s an hour late.
Monday, 27 June.
After two and a half months in Italy, it’s time to move on. We’re now doing England.
This is the London roof line viewed from our hotel room. I’m waiting for Peter Pan to fly out of a window or maybe Mary Poppins to float down with her umbrella.
London still enchants. Most of the time.
Unfortunately, after a few days, the incredible lack of professionalism in the hospitality area begins to grate.
The Waldorf Hilton needs to shape up to protect the Waldorf Astoria franchise.
Harp music and coronets on the table can hardly justify their Jubilee Afternoon Tea’s £49 price tag. There’s nothing special about the tea and the service is atrocious.
Why we’re kept waiting for our bill while the restaurant manager chats with staff right in front of us is beyond me.
When we check out the next day, we find that the charge for the tea has been taken out of our hotel bill.
Friday, 1 July.
We’re headed for Dorset to revisit Stuart’s childhood seaside holidays.
That’s Dad’s plane on one of many nostalgic posters on the Bournemouth pier.
Mussels and fish & chips in Sandbanks.
There’s not much else for us to do here, so we soon bid good night and goodbye to our seaside interlude.
Monday, 4.
We’re racking up miles on the Great Western Railway, now headed for the city of Bath.
The Royal Crescent Hotel showcases things the English do very well: gardens, tiny bedrooms, and afternoon teas.
Breakfasts too, of course. Preferably served with a garden view.
Tuesday, 5.
English Gothic: magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling in Bath Cathedral.
Georgian is the English take on Neoclassical and Palladian. All done in the lovely caramel-coloured Bath stone.
And can there be anything more English than pubs and Cornish pasties?
Wednesday, 6.
On our last day in Bath, a perfect composite multinational meal. French lunch at Chez Dominique, Portuguese pastel de nata from Nata & Co for dessert, and Argentinian coffee at Cortado. All just off Pulteney Bridge.
Friday, 8.
Back in London. Beautiful weather, fabulous views from the Hilton Metropole.
Monday, 11.
With Marilou and Eddie at the Barbican for Anything Goes.
Friday, 15.
Lovely easy Friday on the canal. At Merchant Square in Paddington, just across from our hotel. No sign of a heatwave here.
Sunday, 17.
We've moved right across to the East End, City of London.
This magnificent Victorian red-brick building opened in 1884 as the Great Eastern Hotel. It’s listed Grade II on the National Heritage List.
Once through the doors of what is now Hyatt’s Andaz London, the Victorian era morphs into the 21st century.
I’m thoroughly intrigued by the hotel’s creative aesthetic. The decor barrels through traditionally conservative Victorian motifs, setting everything down squarely in the present. They’ve painted Palladian columns and Georgian architraves aggressive shades of green and red.
Our guest room goes deeper into Alice’s “through the looking-glass” adventure with artwork unlike any I’ve seen in hotel rooms before. This is vibrant street art, 3D murals crawling up to the ceiling. Marvellous!
