Category Archives: Holiday

November travel to Tirana, Albania

Albania, Holiday, Tirana, Travel, , , , ,

My flight to Tirana in Albania was via Bergamo in Italy – or ‘Milan-Bergamo’ as Ryanair calls it – as if Bergamo is a mere suburb of Milan and not a separate city of 120,000 people, more than fifty kilometres away. Flying over the Alps into Bergamo gave impressive views – not a cloud in the sky with mountains, towns and lakes fully visible from the airplane forty thousand feet in the sky. It was Friday November 8th, 2024, and for the first time in my life I was visiting the Balkan nation of Albania. Landing at 11.10 in Bergamo I had a four-hour layover until 15.20. My friend G was waiting for me in Tirana – he had arrived from Heathrow a few hours before I landed.

Skanderberg Square, Tirana

The internet had warned me that public transport from the airport to the city centre was sporadic, so we had booked a transfer to our apartment with our landlord at a decent price. What a very friendly and talkative man. He gave us a running commentary about the buildings we saw on the way to the city centre. He told us that the route to the airport was like a continuous building site as Italian investors were swooping in to erect buildings now that the Albanian government has decided that Albania needs to become Mediterranean tourist hotspot.

Our apartment was located about fifty metres from the city’s main Skandenberg Square. We dined that evening at the restaurant Ceren Ismet Shehu in the grounds of the Toptani Castle just off the Square. This was a traditional Albanian restaurant with a wood fire burning in the middle. A very tasty and very meat heavy dining experience. The Toptani Castle has become a nightlife area so after our meal we enjoyed a few glamourous cocktails for about a quarter of the price you’d pay in Ireland (one hundred Albanian lek is worth about one euro).

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Travels to Tangier, Morocco

Chefchaouen, Holiday, Morocco, Tangier, Travel, , , ,

Our plane touched down in Ibn Battouta Airport in Tangier at 9.50pm on Saturday night so we hopped into a taxi driven by a friendly man named Omar and asked him to call our host Mohamed. We were going to be staying on the narrow laneways of the walled old town (medina) of Tangier so he had to give Omar instruction where to drop us so he could take us to our lodgings. The medina is inaccessibly by car. Our house was an old-style house with a rooftop courtyard and blue tiles on the walls. It was already quite late when we arrived, so we headed over the coast (about ten minutes’ walk away) for an evening meal before heading to bed for an early night. There was walking to be done the following day and we wanted to be fresh. 

Break from a busy day, Tangier

The following day gave us sunshine so after a quick outdoor coffee on a terrace in a medina café with indoor smoking and without tourists, we walked down to the coast (La Corniche) again for a breakfast looking at the sea. Based on my judgement (and Google Maps) the landmass in the distance must have been the southernmost tip of Spain. Tangier is located on the Tingitan peninsula and is on the coast where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea. We took a walk along the beach where we spied some camels in the distance giving rides to tourists for a cash payment. A friendly local dog approached us and sat with us for half an hour before heading on his way. I noticed that he had a yellow plastic earring. I wondered what that was. Lunch was consumed outdoors where I had a lamb shawarma – a dish traditional to the Middle East but seeing as Morocco is an Arab-Berber country the cuisine is similar. Moroccan cuisine is very tasty but not new to me. Having lived in Amsterdam – a city with a large Moroccan population- for many years I know my Moroccan dishes.

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Madrid in December

Holiday, Madrid, Spain, Travel, , , , , , ,

My plan to visit Madrid in December 2022 was thwarted, when standing at the gate in Dublin Airport, ready to board at 7pm an announcement was made, to inform us that due to weather conditions our flight was cancelled. Disappointed, as I had been looking forward to visiting the Spanish capital for the first time since 2006. This December another flight was booked – for our winter wanderings we’d be spending three days in Madrid followed by three days in Tangier in the northernmost tip of Morocco. Sunshine at this time of year is a great means of cheering oneself up in the Irish grey season.

‘Guernica’ by Picasso at the Reina Sofia Museum

The Ryanair flight from Dublin to Madrid was non-eventful and we landed at 2pm, whereby we each acquired a ten-ticket metro pass for fourteen euros and followed the internet’s instructions on how to access our apartment. Lunch, en route in Chinatown involved Szechuan chicken and rice. Out apartment was located on the edge of the city centre so theoretically it was possible to walk to the heart of the city. We took the metro that evening to Gran Via which was festooned in Christmas lights. We enjoyed a few drinks in the Chueca district which seemed to have calmed down from the riotous party district it had been twenty years ago. A more likely story is that Chueca has remained the same and it is I that has become more sedate. We dined on pizza at ‘ThatsAmore’ – a pizzeria owned and run by an Italian man. Rather tasty.

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Porto on the Douro River

Holiday, Travel, Uncategorized,

Early in the year there was a newspaper article outlining Ryanair’s plan to offer two new routes from Shannon Airport – the destinations were Naples and Porto. Having relocated back to Limerick last year after twenty-seven years away, this news piqued my interest. The travel options from Shannon are more limited than those from Dublin Airport (which for some unfathomable reason accounts for 90% of flight to and from Ireland –but without a train service to Dublin city centre). I had visited Naples last year but had never been to Porto. I booked it instantly – a credit card is a dangerous weapon in my hand on pay day.

It’s a city I knew little about. My two previous trips to Portugal had been to the capital Lisbon. Porto is the country’s second city, and the country is named after it(or maybe it’s the other way round – either way Porto is an older city than Lisbon. Today it is home to more than a million people in its metropolitan area and it straddles the Douro River as it meets the sea.

Porto on the Douro River

My friend was arriving from London two hours after my flight landed. I decided to use this time to work. My travels this year meant that I had very few actual holidays left, so I needed to bring the work laptop to minimise official time off. When he arrived, we took the Metro to the Bolhao region in the city centre. We emerged to the sight of a beautiful, blue-tiled church called the Chapel of Souls. These blue-tiled building are dotted all over the city and in olden days blue tiles worked as status symbols for wealth. All churches are covered in these intricately designed tiles.

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Weekend in London

Gay, Holiday, Travel, , ,

London is a reliable city for a weekend visit. Close and well connected to Ireland it’s possible to take a Friday to Sunday trip and still have ample opportunity to have a good time. It is too vast a metropolis to absorb in a single visit obviously, so it’s better to select your intentions for each visit and focus on those alone. The rest of the city will still be there when you return. I have visited the city dozens of times – but never for longer than three nights. It remains an ever-exciting destination.

London

My trip last weekend was from Shannon to Stansted Airport in the Republic of Essex. The flight from Shannon Airport was on time and upon arrival I boarded the National Express busw which dropped me outside Bethnal Green tube station. Located in the East End of London this feels like my part of town having visited on multiple occasions over the past decade. I walked along the Regent’s Canal to the house in Shoreditch where my friend lives, resisting the urge to yell ‘You ain’t my muvva!!! Yes I AAAAHM’ a la Kat Slater in Eastenders, at various passers-by. I felt that might be slightly inappropriate.

The sun was shining and it was 7pm. We strolled over to Broadway Market – a Victorian market street that divides Shoreditch from Hackney, located beside the canal. There’s a variety of cafes and bars and food stalls on this road- but not one of them are part of a chain. We chose the Koya-Ko restaurant where a rice bowl cost an eye-watering fourteen pounds and a beer cost eight quid. Cost of living crisis etc.

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Marseille thwarted

France, Holiday, Travel, ,

The ‘fare finder’ section of the Ryanair website offered an unexpected gem. A return flight from Shannon to Marseille on the first weekend in May for a mere seventy euros . This was unusual. Flights from Shannon are more limited in terms of destination than Dublin and they tend to be more expensive. So this was a treat. I had never been to France’s oldest and most notorious city. The reputation it has for being a dangerous city did not alarm me – Naples has a similar reputation and that was one of my favourite recent trips. Plus I have been to the United States twice over the past year. Marseille might be a bit rough and ready but mass shootings are not a a daily occurrence like in the US. So long as I kept my wits about me there should be no problems encountered. The alternative was to stay in Ireland where a one night stay in Cork city cost the same as return flights and four nights’ accommodation in Marseille.

My research told me that the Old Port was a must see. Marseille was founded as a port city by the Greeks 2600 years ago. A tourist train would take me to the Notre Dame de Nord cathedral overlooking the city. Le Panier looked like an eclectic street. The papal town of Avignon was a short train journey away – the palace where seven popes was based for a period of seventy years in the fourteenth century was one of the world’s finest. I had always wanted to visit it.

The bus journey to Shannon Airport was frustrating as it is poorly served by public transport. I probably have unrealistic expectations considering how small the airport is. My flight was at 19.20. I booked a bus ticket for 16.25 which was meant to get me there by 5pm. The bus arrived into Colbert Station from Cork thirty five minutes late. The rain that fell during my wait can only be described as vengeful. I reached the airport at 17.35 – my journey enlivened by the young woman with streaky tan complaining on the phone to the friend she was visiting in Birmingham about how her flight was delayed by two hours and how she would only arrive at 10.30pm. I gave a smug inner chuckle. My flight was on schedule and I would arrive at 22.45 and reach my AirBNB by 23.30.

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San Francisco open your golden gates

Gay, Holiday, Travel, USA, , , , ,

It was in 1999 that I first travelled to the land of the movies – the United States of America. My destination was California – San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego to be precise. In the quarter century since that trip, I have revisited the country several times, usually to the East Coast. However, I have always harboured an inclination to return West. It just seemed too far though – involving an eleven-hour flight from Ireland – or too expensive. But still so appealing. When Aer Lingus had a sale last November, I got a shiver of anticipation when I noticed that a return flight from Dublin to San Francisco cost a mere three hundred euros, with a March travel date . I bought it instantly. Prices like those are rare. It was time to make my triumphant return to the city by the Bay.

Golden Gate Bridge

My memories of the city were magical. Being a 24-year-old gayling on my first trip there, it was a pilgrimage. The Greeks may have invented the Gay, but San Francisco had become one of the world’s major gay capitals since World War 2 when soldiers returning from war decided to remain in the coastal city rather than return to the Flyover Land of their birthplace. I travelled back then, with some friends from Dublin. We partied hard. I had a weeklong affair with a man from Virginia named Topher who I met in the Midnight Sun bar on my first night out. He introduced me to Jägermeister – that grotesque liqueur with mind altering powers. I went to work with him one day – he was a professional dog walker with a side business in selling marijuana to San Franciscan lesbians – the most Californian job I can think of. I bought the first of Armistead Maupin ‘Tales of the city; books in a second-hand bookshop in the Haight-Ashbury district – the district in town where the 1960s flower power, hippie movement began. My memories of that time are as golden as the bridge.

Painted Ladies

The flight to San Francisco was unpleasant as all long haul, economy flights tend to be. My traveling companion was arriving from London so despite the fact he had departed before I did, the pre-clearance for the US that happens in Ireland meant our arrival times were coordinated. After dumping my bags in my grotty Fillmore hotel (San Francisco is one of the most outrageously priced cities in the USA) we made our way to the Castro where we dined on Indian food and quaffed some refreshing G&Ts in Twin Peaks gay bar (this bar opened in the 1970s and was noteworthy for the fact that it had big open street level windows so passers-by could look in, and patrons could look out). It was emblematic of gay liberation – gay people were no longer banished to dingy, windowless basement – and the opening of the culture. Having invested in a public transport Muni card, we got the bus home and retired quite early – jetlag induced exhaustion was acute.

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The tale of the Swedish suitcase

Holiday, Solo travel, Travel, , ,

I arose early on Good Friday – I was a man on a mission, with places to visit and things to do. Late last year when Ryanair was doing another of their promotions I managed to find an Easter deal to visit Stockholm – departing on Good Friday and returning on Easter Monday – for 98 euro return. Stockholm (or Sweden) had never featured highly on my ‘places I must visit’ list – partly because I had visited Malmo on a day trip from Copenhagen years earlier. This meant I had already been to the land of IKEA and Volvo, so it was not a gaping hole on my European travel map. This coupled with the fact that it was still sub-zero at night in Stockholm in April, meant my attitude towards Sweden was one of mild interest rather than burning desire. Don’t misunderstand me – I adore ABBA as much as the next person, but they are a band that has transcended time and space that can be appreciated from anywhere.

I packed my bags, taking special care to look after my passport card. When I replaced my ten year passport book last year I also invested in a five year passport card. This credit card sized item enables travel within the EU without the need for a regular passport. Good thing really. My passport is currently at the Nigerian Embassy in Dublin as I wait on a visa for my brother’s June wedding. This would be my first trip solely using the passport card. Into my hand luggage it went along with bank cards; phone, insulin; change of underwear and a book – my reading material for this journey was ‘The wonder’ by Emma Donoghue.

To the station I went to catch the 12.55 train to Dublin. This wouldn’t be a direct train – I would need to change at Limerick Junction. Regular readers will know of the existence of Limerick Junction – a bleak, desolate station in a field in county Tipperary where passengers from Limerick travelling to Dublin must change to the Cork train to their final destination of Heuston. The Junction is a hovel where dreams go to die, suffering as it does from a micro-climate where it rains 367 days a year, where the temperature rarely exceeds 4 degrees and where there are only two hours daylight even in the height of summer. While I might be exaggerating somewhat, you’ll understand the type of place it is.

Surprisingly that Saturday the Cork to Dublin train was already waiting at the Junction. The sun was shining. How unusual, I thought to myself. My seat was D33. I was seated at a table of four. The other three passengers at my table were three Dublin grannies who had been to Cork to support their grandchildren at an Irish dancing Feis (competition).
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A gas time in Athens

Holiday, Solo travel, Theatre, Travel, , , , , , ,

I made my way to the airport in an almost fugue state.  A 6.20am flight meant arrival at the airport at 4.30am – not the time of day that I want to live, laugh or love. After I made my way through the security screening I realised that I had lost my ring – between the metal detector / X-ray machine and the point when I was on my way to the gate. My father’s wedding ring had slipped off my little finger. Perhaps it was when I removed my belt and jacket, or took the liquids and laptop from my bag for screening. This was unfortunate. I have worn the ring intermittently over the past twenty years. I received it after my father died in January 2003, while I was on holiday in Melbourne. Having noticed that the ring was slipping off my finger more easily in recent months I had made a vague commitment to being more careful with it. Fully awake now I went back to the screening area. The guards re-Xrayed my bags and in an apologetic but firm manner told me that they could do no more, and gave me a card to report it to Lost and Found, who updated their website with missing items daily. I was peeved. I am not somebody who is sentimental over physical things, so I wouldn’t be weeping into my pillows over the missing ring. Save for the ring though, and a brown leather box, these were the only items I possessed that belonged to my father.

Parthenon

There was no point in stressing. It had happened, it couldn’t be undone, and I’d have to get on with my trip (after an email to Lost and Found). My first ever journey to the cradle of western civilisation – Athens. I’d been to Greece’s second city Thessaloniki a few times previously with work, and to the beautiful island of Mykonos, but this would be my first trip to Athens. I didn’t know what to expect. I knew there would be magnificent, ancient ruins for sure, but had been told by various people – Greeks included – to be careful, as it was a fairly grungy city where petty crime was sometimes a feature.

Travelling on Friday 3rd March,  four days earlier Greece had experienced its worst ever train disaster when a packed, passenger train travelling at full speed from Athens to Thessaloniki had a head on collision with a freight train coming in the opposite direction. Fifty seven people (at the most recent count) had been killed. Greece was a county in mourning, while also seeking answers from the government who had privatised the rail network without securing the rail infrastructure’s safety.

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Tenerife

Holiday, Spain, Travel, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

The flight to Tenerife was chaotic. It was a sold out flight, and the passengers were a youthful demographic. I am not saying they were all feral but there was a sizable number who seem to  have been dragged up. After a spot of turbulence I decided to avail of the facilities. The agitated, young man in  front of me  in the queue starting banging the toilet door shouting ‘Will you hurry up, I’m dying for a slash!’. I recoiled in horror. The occupant was a companion of his and the expletive laden response burned my ears. Everybody seemed to order multiple mini bottles of hard liquor for the flight. Being far classier, I demurely sipped my bottle of flat warm Diet Coke, while reading ‘Enduring Love’ by Ian McEwan. I ordered pasta for lunch estimating a twenty minutes delivery time. I took my insulin injection at what I thought was a reasonable time before food would arrive. One hour later there was no sign of it, and the food trolley was still far away. I was starting to feel poorly so I invoked the help of the lovely Clondalkin girls beside me who fed me a Kit Kat. ‘Are you alright love? My sister’s s diabetic. It’s a SCOORGE.’

My friends collected me in the rental car and we made our way to the villa in Adeje on the south west of the island, which was to be our home for the next five nights. Four days before our arrival I had received an email from booking.com informing me that due to an ‘electrical fault’ at the property our reservation had been cancelled. No alternative was offered – leaving us without a place to stay mere days before departure. With four of us in the group I was stressed – booking rooms had been my job. Thankfully AirBNB offered a few alternatives. Several were managed by a character named Oksana however – the same charlatan who had cancelled our booking.com reservation. Avoiding all properties managed by her, I located a beautiful house with a pool, only marginally more expensive than the previous place. That evening we dined on steak – mine as always, rare – and met a Scottish couple. They had been a couple for a few years – she’d been widowed three years earlier and this was her first subsequent relatrionship. We consumed a few beverages with them.

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