Author: Snoo

Our last night in Denver was spent at the Thirsty Lion – a recommendation from Denver Dan. It was great food and tasty beer although I have never had an orange slice served on the glass with a beer – Blue Moon wheat beer originated in Colorado. And the tuna poke stack was amazing.

So this morning we picked up the Nissan Rogue – a small SUV – and very easy to drive. I was a little nervous about driving out of Denver but Bert successfully navigated us onto the right road and we set off on our 1,200 mile journey, first stop Boulder. Boulder was a great place – lots of walking shops – so managed to get a bit of retail therapy in and we had brunch at Snooze! My burrito was enough for four people and was delicious.

Fully spent and fed, we headed up to the Rocky Mountains. As our first day, we took it easy but managed to glimpse a few elk and some snowy deposits. It rained a bit and then the sun came out. We had a pitstop at Allenspark in a mountain cafe and some delicious pie.

Arriving at The Gateway Inn at Grand Lake, we sought out the hot tub and sauna. Sadly, the hot tub looked a bit closed and the sauna wasn’t turned up but they turned it on and we sat shivering for about 10 minutes before the heat began to build. 10 minutes later we called it a day and had hot showers to warm up.

A lovely evening stroll to a BBQ restaurant where we shared a pitcher of beer and ate the best beef brisket I have ever eaten (so tender and smoky) with buffalo sausage and cornbread. First greens of the trip too – broccoli!

Tomorrow we are going for a hike and to bear lake. And I promised Bert we would get back in time for a round of mini golf.

S’all goodman!

Denver Dan was our food tour guide and was worth every cent. We met at Marco’s pizza place and had pizza washed down with limoncello and vodka – bit early for me to hit the vodka but I sipped slowly. The pizza was made using water from Naples but that was 100 years ago – now they use local water and adjust it to match the mineral content of Napoli water. Hmmmmm – not quite the same. But for pizza it tasted like pizza!

The group was a great mix of mainly Americans and a Swede. Some local Denver people (interesting to live somewhere all your life and then decide in your mid-40s to see what the local food was like), a couple from Cleveland who had been to Yurop a few times and were pretty friendly and broadminded, two family groups and three friends who had been to see New Kids on the Block the night before and were unable to speak because of all the shrieking and singing along. As I have said before – a food tour isn’t just about the food.

Next stop was Lazo Empanadas – a delicious empanada with beef and a raisin or two, accompanied by a glass of cold red wine.

It was really good. Next stop was a green chilli soup place called the Cherry Cricket. Denver Dan didn’t know why it was called the Cherry Cricket but it wasn’t to do with cricket. The chilli soup was okay. The photo does it justice.

Stop number four was at a great place in the old dairy quarter – would recommend eating/drinking there if you are ever in Denver. We had a wagyu beef taco – to be honest the beef didn’t seem to be as wagyu-ey as other wagyu beef I have tasted. But the taco itself was very good. The accompanying margarita was even better.

We ended up at Union Station which was a great building – the main hall is now just restaurant and bars but they have kept the destination boards and window numbers. And the lights were stunning. One of the eateries (see I am speaking all American already) was a Spanish bar which included those magic words ‘Sherry on tap”. I just had to pop in and check what sherry that actually had on tap and was offered a free taste – a manzanilla called Aurora. Not bad!

Our final tasting was a pastel de nata – hmmm – I have high standards and for me this was less good than the frozen ones you get from Waitrose and bake for 15 minutes.

A great few hours spent with some interesting characters – one of the guys had 28 cars. That’s just 27 too many.

There seemed to be a weird dogfest going on outside the station. Doggy friends look away now…

The margarita was so good we had to go back and have another one. Jet lag has caught up with me and I think it’s an early night.

More weirdness tomorrow and that’ll just be me trying to negotiate the roads out of Denver.

Whenever I see Denver, I think of Denber – I loved Money Heist so you’ll know why it’s always Denber. I left you falling asleep and waiting for Bert. I must say I had a weird night – I know I did sleep because of the crazy dreams, but I also know I lay awake thinking of random stuff too.

At 7am I decided to call it a day on lying in bed and planning another holiday in November to Tunisia with a girlfriend, so went to find the swimming pool. Luckily it was empty and a little larger than a handkerchief. So I could do five breaststrokes end-to-end. Rather than count “lengths” I decided to swim for 20 minutes. I realise I am not great at massive repetitiveness which is probably why my gym memberships only ever lasted a month. Variety is the spice of life.

The shower was sadly lacking – one of those that you could have on full but only scorching hot, or just a dribble but cold. Anyway, it sufficed and I got back to the room as Bert was waking up. We identified a diner for breakfast – I fancied “Snooze” but it was at the Union Station which is where our food tour will finish later today – so rather than spoil the ending, Bert found us Sam’s No 3. I girded myself for the first sugar onslaught.

Bert suggested the chicken and waffle – for sharing as I saw enormous plates of mainly carbs and more carbs pass by. There were loads of things to add so I took a photo….

We split the waffle and I poured maple syrup everywhere. Was so great to be with Bert.

We are off to the food tour soon. I’ll be back later…

Greetings from Denver, Colorado. Am sitting in a bar/cafe in a hotel and it’s 7pm but my brain and body are very confused. It is 2am in terms of my brain but my body has been constricted for almost 10 hours in a plane so it is keen for me to go for a walk. I think my brain might win this one.

Sat next to a lovely woman on the plane who invited me to stay on her farm. She was wearing a t shirt with a cannabis leaf design, admitted to having a gummy bear every now and then to help her sleep and was embarrassed at the state of US politics. We got on very well.

Bert is arriving in two and a bit hours but I am fading fast. Tomorrow we start our two-week driving adventure – heading through the mountains and a bit of desert and ending up at Venice Beach, California.

I plan on writing a little each day and include pictures. Today doesn’t really count but here is a picture of the baseball stadium snapped as I sped by in my Uber.

See you tomorrow!

Just been to Seville. My second trip. First time round it poured with rain – not what we were expecting at all. All the memories of that trip are blurry and a little surreal. Was chatting with one of the guys we went with and asked if she remembered the boat trip – and she couldn’t. We could both remember dashing out from the doorway of a museum which was closed as it was Monday and seeking shelter in a grotty cafe. Husbant remembers going to see Real Betis play in the rain and he remembered some tiny restaurant I dragged everyone to in the middle of a housing estate that had formica tables. But luckily he remembers the food was really good.

So no pressure, Seville, this time you had to be sunny. We arrived just as it started to rain. Husbant did the “I don’t believe it” refrain and believed we were cursed. But, it was a passing shower and the sun came out a good 20 minutes later. It stayed sunny most of the time too. As I have written before, the first day of the holiday is usually not without a drama. This time it was Keygate. Naming no names, but we ended up locked out of the apartment. Working on plan B, the girls went in search of a local bar to have some sherry while the men sorted the doors/keys. By the time we were all reunited, I was speaking fluent Spanish. It’s amazing how much your confidence grows after a few glasses of fino.

Food tours are great. I usually book the food tour within minutes of booking the flights and the airbnb. This time was no different. But I had forgotten that I had booked a food tour. On the plane I saw an email that had popped in saying how much the Spanish Sherpas were looking forward to meeting up the next day. As Husbant would say “Say What Now”?! We had also booked the Alcazar, Cathedral, flamenco show and dinner on the same day. Luckily, I was able to move it forward.

One of the best things about a food tour is the other attendees. The Seville gang produced some beauties. An Australian couple from Perth who had been travelling around Europe for a few weeks and were planning a trip to Scotland next year to trace ancestral ties, a couple of women from the UK who seemed vaguely famous and were dripping in gold rolexes (cleverly hidden by scarves wrapped around wrists – so much so that I thought one of them had actually broken their wrist), a grandad and grandson from the US – the grandad was full of stories and loved his wife very much “a wonnerful woman”; and a young American couple who seemed only to want to talk with their fellow Americans. The best bit for Husbant was the final stop – which was lunch at the Betis supporters club (sadly that day he wasn’t wearing his Betis cap).

Some highlights if you plan to visit include a lovely restaurant called La Casa de Maria right on the river in Triana, Casa Rafel in Los Remedios, Seville cathedral is awesome (Husbant finally got to meet his nemesis) but also visit the Iglesia de El Salvador which makes your jaw drop (and there’s a lovely bar opposite that does great pork montaditos which we washed down with ice cold Cruzcampo). The bullring is amazing – I know it’s controversial but I seem to absorb the excitement which appears to exude from the seats and the sand. I guess this comes from reading Hemingway’s ‘The Sun Also Rises’ which I loved.

I also learnt a new Spanish word. Chupón.

It was a perfect break. Husbant bought a new hat and I got some new shoes. We finally persuaded our friend to get a man bag and some Birkenstocks. And not to be left out, my partner in sherry crime got some Spanish pyjamas, a bracelet and a new bag. And my suitcase was filled with lots of goodies to make the party last longer at home.

The places you can go while you sip your tea on a Sunday morning are fantastic. Actually, sipping tea while trying to scroll through pages of trips that look like you should be jumping on the next train/plane is physically difficult. So I have gulped my tea to focus on my next ‘might not happen but I can enjoy researching’ holiday.

Given the nonsense of returning from Spain, air travel is becoming too much like UK train travel. Have sat on too many trains waiting for them to move/had them cancelled last minute and this seems to be creeping into air travel. We boarded at 21.50 and as soon as boarding was complete, the captain gets on the hoot and says “Sorry, folks, bad news. We have had trouble getting our slot from the French controllers over the Bay of Biscay, and will be parked here for an hour or so. We are in negotiations and there is a chance it could be less. Please remain seated…” blah blah blah – you know how that goes on. Two hours later, we took off. Perhaps the negotiating skills could be improved. We arrived back in London and finally walked through the door as dawn was breaking (slight exaggeration but it felt like we had been travelling for 24 hours). I worked out I had been sitting down for 10 hours in total (including the drive to the airport). Numbness had started to set in.

Back to musings – Husbant’s WhatsApp got hacked so spent a good half hour trying to help him fix it not realising he had tried to fix it last night. The power of communication! Anyway, I probably confused people by creating a list of shared contacts on WhatsApp and sending them a message to ignore the message from Gary. Makes you want to go off grid for a bit, actually.

Which brought me to my latest holiday thought. I love walking. I have been lucky to go on quite a few walking holidays with some great mates. Just walking from one place to the next, up and down hills, by streams, the sea, lakes, getting hot, rained on, hailed on, sunnied on and chatting, laughing, crying all day – so fab. Husbant asked me once “But what do you talk about all day?” Wow – where do I start. Luckily I am at the age where I have forgotten what I have talked about just after I have talked about it. But I do know we have some great conversations.

Today’s ideas include a walking holiday in Spain – a bit rugged, a bit rural, some nice swimming options – Instagram appears to read your mind and was offering some great trips. So if anyone is free this September or maybe May next year, let me know. Am open to all options – could be Italy or Greece. Could be cycling rather than walking, or a bit of both. Not a triathlon or Iron Woman though (is that a thing?)

Have also thought about a trip to India and a 26-day at Hinterland yoga retreat (I have been a couple of times and it’s a great reset). Would love to take some trains in India too – maybe up to the far north. The world is such a big place. Instagram/Facebook has replaced the old travel agents shops called things like ‘Intasun’ or ‘Going Places’ with their glossy brochures of gleaming hotels on the Costa del Sol. With their algorithms, they offer me a hiking holiday in El Torcal de Antequera one of the most unique karst landscapes in Europe, an invitation to take part in The Snowman Race in Bhutan (the world’s toughest ultra-marathon – something wrong with that algorithm) and so many million pound house lottery draws (does anyone actually do those?)

Need to stop looking and actually start living the day.

May you be well and happy today.

I love Cadiz. If I won whatever people win now (the pools, ernie, the lottery), I would have an apartment in Cadiz, among other things. It’s loaded with history and has an amazing energy. The central market is gorgeous (sadly I took Husbant on a Monday when everything in the market was shut but I tried my best impression of (insert any name of someone who exudes passion while walking around but not Michael Portillo), but clearly we have to return. I did find the only place where La Gitana manzanilla sherry is on tap though (sadly also closed).

So yes we will definitely be back. We went round the cathedral – I wrongly promised Christopher Columbus’ relics to Husbant forgetting they were in Seville cathedral (luckily we are there next trip), but the loos in the cathedral are awesome (never before have I looked up and seen some Roman relief in the ceiling of a toilet). Art historians might rubbish this but I was moved.

After trying to locate the two oldest trees in Cadiz, which are baobabs, we arrived too hungry at Freiduria las flores where Rick Stein sampled dogfish. It’s in a beautiful square too. The process of getting a table was a little confusing but we had some beers while we waited and eventually sat down. We ordered carefully – the potato salad, fried dogfish, puntillitas, and what my Spanish speaking Husbant thought was fried eggs. I should have interjected and said “this is a fish place” and I hadn’t seen many plates with fried eggs on them. Safe to say it was fried eggs, of the fishy type.

Not a person who wastes any food at any time, Husbant took one for the team and ploughed through enough eggs to create a large shoal of fish. Not sure what sort of fish, though. Is there a general sort of fish which they use? We’ll never know.

Driving back from Cadiz we got lost again – well I think we got lost but we ended up at the Cadiz football stadium (although Husbant supports Betis and Cadiz has just been relegated). I think the detour was fine but I don’t like driving round a roundabout twice. Things get tense in the car and then we laugh. It’s so great to have him here, despite his tendency towards being a “Chuck” (Better Call Saul, if you want the reference).

A lovely Bank Holiday Monday in the sunshine of Cadiz. I loved it.

PS, my toothbrush still had a faint taste of travel wash despite repeated brushings and rinsing… Not doing that again.

Does anyone else find the first day of every holiday the worst day? Particularly if it involves flying somewhere. They seem to have got it just about right with the security channels but the glaring disco floor and bright lights in the funnel you have to walk through are just mind numbing. It was an ok flight but we were sat at the back and so it took ages to disembark but the mortifying embarrassment of not being an EU citizen and joining the other aliens queue always upsets me. By this time, I am tired. So everything from then to actually getting inside the apartment just seemed difficult. We queued again for the car hire – hate the upsell – and then it’s dark by the time you find the car. It has lots of scratches so in the dimness of the parking lot we take loads of photos. I have to really concentrate hard to work out which side of the road I am driving on – my trick is to say to myself “I am in the middle” (of the road). Try it – it does work! Getting out of airports and finding the right road and the right direction on the road takes patience which has started to wear a bit thin through the tiredness. Husbant is patience personified. Google maps can be confusing so I don’t get cross if we take wrong turns. Sometimes it is also my fault because I vaguely know which direction we are going in. Suffice to say that Husbant had not been to Cadiz before and now he has. It was a little dark so he didn’t see much but we are going back tomorrow for a better look. There was an amazing full moon that appeared just at the right time which I kept looking at, worrying Husbant as I apparently swerved a bit when I was looking at moon and not the road ahead. Oh, and by the way, have you ever driven a car that tells you to drive straight and seems to take control of the steering wheel if it thinks you are driving badly? What nonsense was that! Dangerous I think – particularly when you are overtaking a big lorry at 10.30pm at 120kph. I know what I am doing, thank you very much.

So a few hours later than we thought (slight exaggeration) we arrive in Vejer and I park in the only place I know that is free. The instructions for the apartment included a free parking space but I was too tired to think about how to get to it, and tap in codes etc etc. so we walk to the apartment in the dead of night and have to rouse the person who looks after the flat as we didn’t go to the right car park where the key for the apartment was. Bless her she came out and let us in.

By this time, Husbant was hungry. The only available food was camomile tea so I half-filled the mug with sugar. He loved it.

So it was good to get the first day done. Second day was just sleeping and sun bathing and going to get provisions. We met up with the lovely AnnieB for dinner and copious amounts of Xixarito at my favourite restaurant, Casa Varo. Husbant caught up on all the missed meals too. I must have been a little unsteady as I used the travel wash to clean my teeth…

Monthly updates from genealogy sites always make me laugh. Mainly, it’s the latest list of a parent’s 4th cousin, 5th cousin or 4th cousin’s son with whom I share a smidgen of my DNA. As most people who know me already know, I was adopted as a baby so have been fascinated by my genetic history. When I was growing up, genetic history wasn’t an every day term – we used “natural father/natural mother” which changed to “birth father/birth mother” in the late 1970s.

I have always known I was adopted, and had a good family life where we all got along most of the time. I used to run away a lot when I was little to find my “real mum”. But usually only ever made it to the end of the road. The last time I ran away I got to Shalford (about 4 miles away from home): it was summer and they had a playground there which I played on and then got bored and decided to go home because it was getting dark. I remember hiding when I saw a police car while making my way home. I had caused some mayhem with my dad out looking for me and the police involved. A big burly policeman put the fear of God in me and told me never to run away again. I didn’t. Many years later, Bert ran away but luckily only to the stairs at the far end of the house. I realised then how much worry I must have caused.

The journey to finding Barbara, my birth mother, is a story for another time but it was incredible and very life-affirming. Hard to explain to people who weren’t adopted. The reason for the brief pre-amble is because Barbara died quite young with the last five years of her life lost to dementia, among other horribleness. So as my mind starts to get fuzzy and I lose words, I have decided to become part of a trial to investigate further into what used to be called “old age”.

I hope to blog my way through the process, but if it gets too boring then I will stop. I am still at a very early point with no concrete knowledge that my brain has lost some of its cells because they have been smothered in amyloid plaque. The first test was a phone call where I described my symptoms – mainly losing words, tinnitus, and sometimes repeating stories or forgetting conversations. These seem pretty run-of-the-mill and everyone seems to agree that they have the same things. But the knowledge I have of my potential genetic link to early onset dementia is at the fore-front of my ever-decreasing brain. Some friends don’t see why I want to know, as they would rather just let nature take its course and I am not saying that I might also change my mind.

At the end of the first call, I had my first “test”. Having seen my dad go through the tests I knew that it was important to focus on the first three words that were given to me to remember. Orange, coin, chair. See! I even remember them today and the test was last week! Then I was asked what day of the week it was (something I quite often ask myself anyway), what the date was, what the season was, to spell the word clock, to spell the word clock backwards (I would have died if I got the spelling one wrong) and to count backwards in 7s from 90 (readers of my last blog will know I regularly do this to try and get to sleep). At the end I had to repeat the three words from the beginning and I believed I got them right.

Next step is an MRI to see how the brain is checking out right now and then weekly injections. Given my imminent retirement and plans to travel around the world, the weekly injections might need to adapt a bit … but I am around in August and September mostly. Short term thinking is the way ahead. We really only just have the next breath.

PS. I did try the test out on husbant. He had been very busy working 12 hours a day. So maybe that explained why he couldn’t remember the first three words…

6.37am at London Heathrow Terminal 3. It’s a twice/thrice a year gig as Bert comes home to get sMothered for a few weeks. I always sleep badly the night before. All the sheep in the world are counted, the counting down in multiples of 7 from 501 accomplished, the breathing in for 6, holding for 6, breathing out for 8, holding for 8 for what seems like hours, and yet my mind doesn’t shut itself down. That is, not until about 45 minutes before the alarm is set. And then when the alarm goes off I am in such a deep sleep that i really have to force myself to get up and wake up enough to safely drive the 50 minutes to the airport. I always plan to arrive when the plane is due to land. I always forget to check the flight before I leave home. Ergo, I arrive too early as the flight has been delayed. Or I arrive after the plane has landed and then Bert is stuck for 2 hours waiting for his bags to arrive. Today, it’s the former – and i knew the plane was delayed before I went to bed so there’s no excuse for getting here when the plane was meant to arrive (I guess I have this expectation that flying from the US is always a lot quicker than “they say”. And with most airlines seemingly adding on half an hour to flight times to avoid disappointing passsengers, I now expect flights to be faster than advertised.)

So in most cases, I end up have a crappy coffee in cafe Nero and a stale croissant. And then I go to the over-priced M&S and buy some fruit. And then I just stand and people watch. This is the best part of the waiting time (apart from the unbridled excitement of seeing Bert again). I always cry at the bit in Love Actually at the end when they are at the airport. Seeing people meeting each other with such warm embraces reminds you that the world is actually full of love. We are bombarded with hate in all forms by the media, but people have enormous capacity to love.

The shrieks and laughs, the tears and the hand-clapping. The passengers emerging as if from a deep sleep through the automatic doors looking bewildered but expectant, their eyes taking time to adjust to the blaze of neon signs and walking as if they have only just learnt how to use their legs. It’s great. People holding flowers, home made welcome home banners, the conversations you overhear on people’s life stories of the last time they saw so-and-so. It’s a lovely microcosm of life.

Am off to check the board again and see if Bert has landed. And to buy some fruit. He’s not got any check-in bags so fingers crossed he’ll be through soon.