In which Layla and Roz play Lawrence of Arabia in the desert, and give Berlin a second chance

By Layla

Wadi Rum is a desert area in Jordan characterised by pink sand, looming cliff faces, Bedouin camps, and Lawrence of Arabia’s house. We got there by taxi, driving through mist so thick that we couldn’t see more than a metre or two in front of us… Which made it all the more delightful when we descended to the desert, and swapped the mist for a beautiful blue sky. When we got to the visitor centre, we were met by a Bedouin guy who was to be our guide for the next day. There are various activities you can arrange at Wadi Rum, and I’d opted for everything they offered. So we set off, comfortably seated on the back of our guide’s truck, and wrapped up vigorously for warmth, into the desert.

It is hard to describe just how brilliant Wadi Rum is. I’ve travelled a lot but I wonder if Wadi Rum might be one of my favourite landscapes. We drove for miles across the sand, through cool rock formations, past people on camels, and hopped out to climb a huge, bright pink sand dune (note: I am not good at climbing sand dunes!), and to climb through an amazing canyon. Eventually, with sunset approaching, we were deposited at our camp for the night.

The traditional way to ‘do’ Wadi Rum is to spend a night camping in the desert with Bedouin people. There are consequently a million different camps you can book. And in a moment of slightly extravagant silliness, we decided to go with the Wadi Rum Nights Luxury Camp. Never having been ‘glamping’, we were astounded by how lovely it all was. The setting looked as though it had been designed by Disney, tucked into a little desert rocky nook. Our tent, looking simple and elegant from the outside, unzipped to reveal a mahogany king-size bed, sofa, dressing table, chandelier, slippers, bathrobes… it was astounding, like that part in the Labyrinth where the heroine steps through a door from the wilds and finds herself in a beautiful bedroom. We walked through the desert for a good spot from which to watch the sun set, then had a really delicious meal in the dining tent. Strolling back to our tent, we marvelled at the truly spectacular stars visible in the desert sky. We finished off the evening on a sofa in our tent, wrapped up in twenty layers (including a giant full length sheepskin coat), and watching the Spirited Away DVD Roz gave me for Christmas. Surreal and delightful. And probably the best sleep of the whole holiday.

The next morning we had a delicious breakfast, and headed out in the truck with our guide to visit Lawrence of Arabia’s house in the desert, and drink tea with some nearby Bedouins who were friends of our driver. From there, it was off to another pink sand dune for our next activity: sandboarding! We were presented with a snowboard, and told to board elegantly down the sand dune. With a total lack of snowboard skills, we decided to use it as a sledge, and passed a very entertaining time hiking up the sand dune and flying down it on the board. Great fun. Another desert drive and soon it was time for our final activity: a camel ride. I managed not to scream when it stood up, and Roz managed not to scream when it sat down, so I guess we are even… at any rate, not sure Lawrence would have approved of our camel-riding skills… but we had a fun time.

We were sad to say goodbye to beautiful Wadi Rum (and our delightful tent), but as with Lawrence, Aqaba beckoned. Though rather than conquering it, our plan was to luxuriate in warm sunshine and a fancy hotel (for which Roz had found a good deal). It was luxurious to finally swap our pink-sand-filled winter clothes for the lightweight summer dresses we’d been pointlessly carrying all holiday! After a quick lunch in a nice bakery, we headed to the Red Sea. After all, Aqaba is a beach resort, so when in Aqaba… actually it was quite odd to look across and see Eilat, Israel’s equivalent Red Sea beach resort, just round the corner. We strolled over the sandy beach and put our feet in the water. Brrrrr! We retreated to the lovely heated swimming pool and the Jacuzzi surrounded by Roman pillars, and finished off the afternoon with drinks on the beach.

That evening we ventured out to Aqaba town centre for food, and found a serviceable option where we ate our fill of the usual mezze. It wasn’t really a long, lingering meal though, and before long we were back at the hotel, arguing with the bar who had sold out of all champagne under £130. He offered us Jordanian wine instead but it was rather unpleasant – and this is how we came to celebrate New Year’s Eve with Perrier, Galaxy Chocolate, yet another anime film (The Girl Who Jumped Through Time), and the twinkling lights of both Jordan and Israel.

A beautiful breakfast buffet was an excellent, if not slimming, start to 2016. Having eaten our fill, we took a shuttle bus to Tala Bay with the hope of going paddleboarding. While paddleboarding would have been a fabulous start to the new year, falling in the freezing water without a change of clothes would have been less good. On seeing the waves were white-capped and vigorous, and the swimming flag on the beach was a decisive red, we opted for a lovely new year’s stroll along the beach, some delicious ice cream, and a few games of ping pong (at which I was sadly trounced) before heading back to the hotel.

Just a four-and-a-half-hour bus journey lay between us and our return to Amman. The bus was fine but it was disconcerting to see how we were leaving behind our lovely Aqaba sunshine for snow! When we finally stepped off the bus, it had turned to hail and we desperately grabbed a taxi and were duly ferried back to Heritage House Hotel. And from there to that delicious Christmas restaurant, where we made even better ordering choices and had an absolutely glorious last night in Jordan. What a fantastic country of contrasts and amazing natural and manmade wonders and completely different weather systems and ancient things and hipster coffeeshops. On discussion, we might even have loved it more than Lebanon.

But it was time to go, so we bid farewell and boarded a late, annoying plane to Berlin. By the time we got there, it was almost evening and we were bitter (both in terms of the airline stealing our day, and the insane cold temperature that Berlin had adopted in our week’s absence!). But then we checked into our delightful, design-tastic hotel, nibbled their free hipster chocolate, and had a hot chocolate in their trendy bar, and felt quite revived! Not least because by a stroke of luck, our Washington friends Tom and John were in Berlin that night and we were meeting for drinks. We decided to walk to the bar, a walk quite attractive but so chilly that we had to periodically duck into a heated shop to avert frostbite! (One might suggest that our dedication to taking a certain number of steps each day is sometimes a little too obsessive…) But when we got there, all was worth it. It was delightful to see Tom and John and drink cocktails and catch up. And then we left the main road, wound down an alley past the rubbish bins, and up a dodgy staircase to Cookies Cream, an amazingly hip, well-reviewed vegetarian restaurant. Fortunately Roz’s reservation finger had been on the pulse and we were quite smug as we surveyed the packed restaurant. The food was, as hoped, amazing, especially a spectacular dessert! Afterwards we started walking home but it was so cold I thought I was going to die, and we took a train instead.

This morning we woke up early and traumatised that after moving country 4 times and hotel 10 times, our amazing holiday was coming to an end… but we still had a day in freezing Berlin and we were determined to enjoy it. After breakfast we strolled (in the freezing cold) along a river and past Parliament, and through pretty Tiergarten park and ended up at the Sony Centre to drink tea and watch The Little Prince at a cool cinema. It was just us and a handful of (disconcertingly well behaved) kids, but it was very enjoyable. Afterwards, in search of lunch, we went to westberlin, a gloriously hipster coffeeshop, full of white furniture and exposed brick and pretentious indie architecture journals. And amazing cake… we stayed for ages with our books, revelling in the ambience and the heat (and the cake). And then headed round the corner to visit one of Berlin’s more obscure museums, the Game Science Centre. Not that we know anything about video games but we do love an interactive exhibit, and this one delivered! There were about 20 video games, all of which used some experimental new bit of technology. There were games we controlled by hovering hands over a sensor. Games we controlled with our eyes. A game where you had to play real ping pong effectively to kill aliens. Dance games with motion sensors. Music mixing things. And a virtual reality headset. We spent ages there and laughed that we had made a much better job of enjoying Berlin this time around. Reluctantly we headed back to the hotel, but squeezed in a quick hot chocolate at another hipster café before it was time to pick up our bags and head to the airport. Where we were duly punished for wailing about the end of our holiday by Easyjet assuring us that it wasn’t over yet: they were providing us with a charming delay in a rubbish airport. Alas. But overlooking this current drawback, what a really brilliant holiday.

In which Roz and Layla prove themselves to be speedy hikers, and walk in an explorer's footsteps at Petra

By Roz

We awoke in Dana to a freezing room and a freezing shower.  Alas.  Over breakfast, the hotel manager tried to dissuade us (not for the first time) from going ahead with our 16km hike.  I couldn’t quite work out whether his lack of enthusiasm for us doing this particular hike was because (a) he thought we looked weedy (b) he wanted us to do a guided hike with his wee friend or (c) it really was a dreadful idea.  I hoped for vehemently that it was (b)…  To be fair, as we set off on the hike, the winds were extraordinary.  So vigorous that Layla and I both had to brace ourselves when gusts came to avoid being blown over.  Maybe this was a dreadful idea, I thought…

Of course, it wasn’t a dreadful idea.  After 2km steeply downhill – in some ways aided and in some ways hindered by the wind – we were in the depths of a canyon.  Huge and majestic, it felt as though we stepped into another world - all the more so since we were alone the whole way other than a few Bedouin and a group of three cheery hikers going in the other direction.  The path twisted and turned and at a few points we were uncertain of the way and set off determinedly one way only to realise that this was definitely the wrong way a few minutes later.  We stopped a couple of times for a break and at one point had tea with three Bedouin young women.  Intriguingly, though very definitely a unit of some sort, they turned out not to be sisters.  Since there was no sign of husbands or children, I hoped to myself we had encountered a tiny lesbian enclave…

Just as we were beginning to flag, we started to encounter more Bedouin tents and saw a large building in the distance.  Layla reminded me that one of the descriptions of the route had mentioned that the canyon / wadi didn’t finish where you expected it to, and so this wasn’t going to be the end.  I indignantly told her that I was more than aware of this.  And so we waved cheerily at the Bedouins and then proceeded to walk past the building.  Until one of us suggested that it might be worth taking a look at the building to find out what it was “just in case”.  Amusingly it turned out to be our destination – an ecolodge where we were to be picked up and taken on to Petra.  We were, unaccountably, an hour early, having apparently walked faster than every other hiker on the route. However, the sofas in the deserted ecolodge looked inviting and the hotel staff gave us drinks and showed us truly amazing pictures of the moon and Jupiter which they’d taken from their telescope.  (I’d have been happy reading my book but looking at craters on the moon was definitely a spectacular alternative.)  Our very nice driver turned up, immensely surprised to see us there (“no-one does it in five hours…”, he said as we looked smug and tried to look as if this was the kind of thing one would expect from the McCampion clan) and shortly afterwards we set off. 

The drive turned out to be more interesting than I expected.  At first, we were more or less driving through desert – very scenic, and intriguing to drive alongside a waterpipe with a few leaks in it which had created a narrow oasis-type strip of greenery and tomato-growing in the otherwise barren landscape.  Then a tarmac road appeared – the first time I’ve seen a road have such a definite end / beginning (depending on your perspective).  We then proceeded to take a short cut, which turned out to be on a road that was still being made.  This was terrifying / fun (again which it was depends on your perspective).  I’m confident that our driver found it terrifying but on the plus side the men who were making the road were very cheery about having to push our car over the rocks that were to become the road to get us over the worst of it as we teetered on the edge of a cliff…  And then, as we approached Petra, there was the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.  The sky was pink and the clouds looked magical.  It felt as though aliens were liable to descend from the sky at any moment.

Our hotel turned out to be less than excellent (sigh) in a far away location.  So our best option was to put down our bags, grab a taxi, and head straight into Petra proper for a much-deserved evening drink with our books.  We went to the rather excellent Cave Bar (which is in a 2000 year old cave) and I delighted in reading a slightly sci-fi novel about Antarctic exploration whilst we were on a holiday that felt like it was going over the ground trod by very remarkable explorers in the past.  We left the bar, looking at the entrance to Petra as we passed with glee, and then headed up the hill to a perfectly delicious Jordanian dinner.  And then got a taxi home. 

Next morning we were up early (Layla earlier than she wanted, due to a Mosque being right next to our bedroom) and after a slightly peculiar breakfast (I like orange squash as much as the next person, but not usually for breakfast…) were en route to Petra. When Layla and I were devising this holiday, I’d lobbied we go to Jordan for lots of reasons, but mainly I think because it was a place I remember my mother (who died about a year ago) going when she was my sort of age and loving.  And Petra and Wadi Rum were the places in Jordan she talked about most often – she’d been enchanted by the pink rocks and sand and by the romance of both places.  I was equally enchanted.  Petra is just remarkable: an ancient city carved out of and into rose red rock cliffs.  You enter the city through something called the Siq – huge tall cliffs on both sides of you create a passageway that is a metre or two wide.  It’s both gloomy and mysterious and it is brilliant to imagine the Swiss explorer who “discovered” Petra disguised as a Bedouin to gain access to this mythic place, making his way through the passage, unsure what he’d find on the other side.  You eventually pop out at the Treasury, a massive, delicate façade carved into Petra’s red rock face.  Possibly sacrilegiously I thought it had a lot in common with the US Treasury.  There are huge columns and thinking about the negative space (as my guidebook put it – in other words, thinking about all that was carved away) is astonishing.  To appreciate the whole thing (i.e. rest our legs that were reminding us vigorously that they’d walked 16km the day before) we sat down in a cheery café and had freshly squeezed orange juice. 

There weren’t many people in Petra (which was of course great for us, though somewhat surprising) but nonetheless we decided to go slightly off grid and so began a hike up to “the High Place” – a place of sacrifice (which is not ill named as our legs were keen to emphasise).  From here, we hiked through the ruins, past a terrific carving of a lion (which had once been a fountain) and by caves and small temples.  We took a short rest in one temple and befriended an entirely delightful cat.  Continuing on, we were dismayed when it began to rain.  We took shelter in a mini cave and somewhat incongruously began to read our books.  This proved entirely delightful – there’s nothing so cheery as reading something brilliant in an amazing place – and in some ways we were somewhat disappointed when it stopped raining.  We eventually headed back to Petra “city centre” (i.e. the ancient street which most tourists stick to) and had lunch.  After lunch, we walked back through the main street, delighting in the fact that – like Jerash, where we’d been a few days before – you could imagine ancient people going about their daily lives, popping into the theatre and so forth. 

We were eventually back at the Treasury and beginning to flag (unsurprisingly since it was late afternoon by this time).  So we decided to head back through the Siq and to our hotel for a brief rest and shower.  Fortified, we headed out to the Cave Bar once again before dinner.  Dinner was in fact going to be more exciting than usual, since we’d signed up to do a cooking class (the idea being that you learn to make Jordanian food and then cook it and have it for dinner).  This was super fun, though Layla was quick to point out (just to me) that the lentil soup recipe was pretty much the same as her mother’s…  There was a fun mix of people though I was intrigued to meet several (Western) men who’d never actually cooked before and thus were at a loss as to how to chop a vegetable…  Dinner was delicious and we congratulated ourselves on another excellent day in Jordan. 

Next morning, things looked a little less bright.  The weather forecast was awful – rain all day and the next – and there was a ton of mist making visibility rotten.  We decided to skip the hotel breakfast and went in search of something better.  We were foiled in this aspiration and as the rain poured down, I decided to shake things up a bit by suggesting that we consider leaving Petra at lunchtime and bring all our plans forward by a day and chase the sun.  Layla looked astonished by such a radical plan but in the end we decided to do so.  It took a bit of phaffing to execute this, but by 10.15 we were back at the gates of Petra with a plan to make this second visit our last.  Then, two strokes of luck:  Layla spotted a café with a proper coffee machine and I had my first coffee for days (hooray – I’d just been wondering whether to force myself to start liking Turkish coffee or Nescafe…) and there was a break in the weather.  So we walked through the Siq very happily, marvelled again at the Treasury and then had a proper explore of the main street. We then headed back to our hotel to blow their minds with our early check-out.  Next stop, Wadi Rum!

In which Layla and Roz spend Christmas viewing Roman ruins and Boxing Day in the Dead Sea

By Layla

A short plane ride (punctuated by an excellent re-watching of the film Spy), an impressive whiz through customs, and hey presto: our European wintery holiday had been transformed into a Middle Eastern extravaganza. (Albeit the weather had not changed as much as we’d hoped...) Having checked in to the very pleasant Heritage House Hotel near the First Circle in Amman, we popped round the corner to Books@Cafe. Only hours after looking at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, we were ensconced in a charming, busy little bar/restaurant over an English-language bookshop tucking into our first dose of hummus. Afterwards we strolled around Rainbow Street, enjoying a rather pathetic but well-meant Christmas tree, and young boys in the square doing some crazy synchronised dance and being impressed at how nobody hassled us at all. An excellent first evening in Amman.

It was unfortunate to start Christmas Day with an alarm, but holidays, of course, are no time for relaxing. And we clearly had to wake especially early to exchange presents. I was delighted with my extravagant array of books from Roz (including a newly translated Haruki Murakami – my favourite author!) not to mention a selection of top Japanese animated films. In turn I gave her some cool jewellery, various silly nonsense, and best of all, a domino game about the geography of Europe. Well pleased, we had a quick breakfast and then hopped in a car (with driver) and headed north, destination: Jerash. Jerash is an old Roman provincial town and quite delightfully (a) it is impressively preserved, so we could imagine people going about their business in Roman times, (b) there were hardly any other visitors, and certainly hardly any non-Jordanians, and (c) the sun came out and it was delightfully warm. What an excellent, if off-beat, way to spend Christmas! We roamed all over the ruins, climbing into temples, and strolling along market streets, and sitting in the hippodrome, and the local theatre. Fabulous. From there it was off to Aljoun, a Muslim Castle whose purpose was to defend against the Crusaders. A cool castle, and we walked all over it, finishing in a brilliant view from the top.

Back in Amman, we headed to a fancy café, Wild Jordan, for a very late Christmas lunch of halloumi sandwiches and a few games of Europe Mapominoes. I won. Just saying… Afterwards we went for a stroll to find the art house cinema but since it wasn’t open, we had tea in a hipster coffeeshop (the area abounded with these, rather unexpectedly!). Then we stuck our head in at an art opening, before going back to our hotel to watch the first of my anime film Christmas gifts: Summer Wars. Quite mad, but most enjoyable. It finished just in time for our reservation at a fancy local Jordanian restaurant where we finished Christmas in fine style with a spread of delicious mezze and even a little Christmas décor.

The following morning we embarked on a walk through Amman’s downtown, and up a giant hill to visit the ruins of the Citadel, then down to the Roman Theatre, and finally we wheezed our way back up a thousand steps to our hotel. Amman is a really nice city but there is something unpleasantly San Francisco-ish about its many hills! We bid farewell to said hills in a taxi bound for much lower climes: the Dead Sea!

Strange how 45 minutes of driving can bring about such a change in weather. Suddenly, below sea level, we were warm and ready to float! The Dead Sea is one of the saltiest seas in the world. I sampled its floaty fun back in 1999, from the Israel side. I remember it being chaotic and a bit dirty and not as magical as I’d hoped. Turned out I’d just done it wrong. This time we checked into a fancy (but not especially expensive) hotel, and entered the water from their private beach. And what fun! Beautiful, serene, pearly vistas. Hilariously floaty water – not really possible to swim, but entirely possible to read the paper while floating. We applied the Dead Sea to make our skin extra-beautiful. And then took a little golf cart to bring us back up to the hotel when we had had our fill of floaty fun. We finished our water fun in an outdoor Jacuzzi, followed by a quick swim. What a fun day! That evening we read our books in the bar, had dinner at a disappointing Italian restaurant, and finished off watching 21 Jump Street at the hotel’s cinema. And feeling very positive indeed about the Dead Sea.

This morning we were up far too early because whenever you book anyone to take you anywhere, they always want to start early. We had a delicious breakfast from the hotel’s extravagant spread, then bitterly waited for a slightly late driver. He eventually turned up, accompanied by his small daughter, ready to drive us anywhere we wished.

Today’s plan was to go down Jordan’s famous King’s Highway, a road that winds past all sorts of interesting sights. Our first stop was Mount Nebo. This is allegedly the spot from which Moses first saw the Promised Land. Quite fun to be there, with the same view (albeit a tad obscured by mist). We also saw a church, and the first of what would become a theme of today: ancient mosaics.

If you’re in the market for ancient mosaics the place to go, of course, is the Christian town of Madaba. We took a walk around the town, visiting all the key mosaic sites. There was a little church with a full floor of mosaic tiles, the centrepiece of which was a woman representing the sea, surrounded by imaginary sea creatures. There was a vibrant floor mosaic depicting a topless Aphrodite spanking Eros, and some rather good ancient wall mosaics of townhouses. And of course, the most famous mosaic, housed in a Greek Orthodox Church: the first known map of Palestine. We also enjoyed the nearby café… and then headed to Wadi Mujib, Jordan’s answer to the Grand Canyon, for some fabulous views.

Soon we were off again, this time to Kerak to see the finest example of a Crusader castle in the desert. After a quick but tasty lunch in a local place where our driver seemed to have friends, we headed up to the massive castle. And proceeded to get fairly lost in its labyrinthine corridors. Still not sure whether we saw any of the main sights of the castle, but we walked around it for an hour, climbed the turrets and had lots of fun. And then, after some more amazing views of otherworldly desert cliffs and rolling landscapes, we arrived at this evening’s destination: Dana!

When we told our Jerash driver we were doing to Dana Nature Reserve, he laughed at us. “But it’s one of the best nature places in Jordan!” we told him. “But it’s cold,” he responded. Our driver was not lying. Having had a pleasant, if chilly dinner, we are currently huddled by an old gas heater in an otherwise unheated and flimsy hostel pseudo living room. The hotel workers are wearing ankle-length sheepskin cloaks. Roz and I are wearing seven layers of clothing including four jumper layers, listening to the wind literally whistling and hoping that our planned 6 hour hike in Dana Nature Reserve tomorrow is worth it all! 

In which Roz and Layla go in search of Christmas in Berlin (and find art, cheesecake and Syrian refugees)

By Roz

We touched down in Berlin late, neither of us sure what to expect – both of us have been to Berlin before, separately, and neither of us had loved it. But everyone we speak to seems enchanted by Berlin and we were ready to follow suit – and particularly ready to succumb to the Christmas vibe of the city.  Throwing caution to the wind (a tiny bit) we hopped into a taxi from the airport to try and make up for some of the time we’d lost through our plane being late.  Relatively swiftly we were in our tiny AirBnB flat on the outskirts of an area called Kreuzberg – a locale about which we’d read vehement descriptions as hip (though their very vehemence rather reminded me about how I used to describe the area of London I lived in before – Camberwell – which was more aspirationally hip than absolutely hip…).

Having dumped our stuff in our new home, we hesitated over the right plan for the night, feeling a bit intimidated by the depressing vibe of our street… and then decided to leap on a train and head straight into the centre of the city to visit a Christmas market and drink Gluwein (which is rather like mulled wine if you haven’t had it – if you have, please forgive what I’m sure is heresy).  It was very cheery meandering around the festive stalls, watching a little ice skating and listening to Christmas music.  We then headed back in the direction of Kreuzberg to have Italian food in a cool place called the Gorgonzola Club.  (The irony of coming straight from Venice to have Italian food in Germany does not escape me.  However, German food isn’t absolutely vegetarian-friendly…)  Candles twinkled and hipsters abounded: phew! We then wandered home via a cocktail bar in a basement where they served terrific concoctions (if so strong that I am ashamed to say that Layla had to conveniently spill some of hers to avoid the shame of leaving a drink that the bartender was clearly very proud of). 

Next morning, we were up relatively bright and early for a free walking tour of Berlin.  Our tour guide did a nice job of taking us through German history in an interesting way (starting in the 12^th century!)  and showing us the standard tourist sites from the Brandenburg Gate to the Holocaust Memorial to the spot of Hitler’s bunker and Checkpoint Charlie.  Not exactly cheery but it was an interesting and efficient way to see them.  We were more than ready for lunch at the end of the tour and were delighted to find a mainly vegetarian but otherwise wholly chic place nearby.  As I debated salad sizes with the waitress (ah, some traits from America will never leave me I suspect!), I unfortunately came up with the peculiar question “which do most middle-aged ladies order?”.  Ah, I have never embraced middle age or going with the norm before, and yet I managed to do both in one sentence. Layla cried with laughter. (The waitress later asked me whether the size had been right and I have a vision of her giving future customers kindly advice “well, I understand the medium salad is about right for most middle aged ladies…”) 

Our plan for the afternoon was to explore a couple of different northern areas of the city by foot.  Unfortunately, Berlin turns out to be the opposite of Venice – there you look at the map and think the destination must be far, far away, and then find you get there in a couple of minutes, whilst in Berlin places look close and then you find the opposite is true.  Nonetheless, we had fun walking up in the direction of the Jewish area (including past the British Embassy which I waved hello to) and to the Hamburger Bahnhofstrasse Museum, which is a modern art museum housed in a former railway station.  We fortified ourselves with coffee and cake first in a cool little museum cafe, and then enjoyed meandering round the first part of the museum, which had mainly Warhols and Lichtensteins.  We mused that the museum had turned out to be smaller than we had expected as we left these galleries – and then found that we’d only touched the surface of the museum and found lots of experimental works in what looked like old railway sidings.  We had fun walking through the endless galleries and playing on video games (something I always find both fun and surprisingly hard since it wasn’t part of my childhood), which were inexplicably one of the exhibits. 

We continued on with our walking route (though by this time my legs were pointing out that this wasn’t absolutely what they were accustomed to in London) and eventually ended up in a posh and apparently tourist-filled area which turned out to have very cool linked brick buildings full of galleries and shops and even a cinema, but though they were open, the whole area was somewhat disconcertingly deserted and grim.  We meandered through, picking up some fortifying chocolate for Layla, and then scrapped any plans to linger and headed back into the centre of Berlin. 

Our plan for the evening was dinner and then Star Wars.  Layla is not at all a Star Wars fan, and I’m only moderately enthusiastic (by which I mean I’ve seen the first film numerous times, the second and third once and the newer films not at all).  But this film has had such glowing reviews and there’s been much chat about it having the first properly feminist lead, that I wanted to jump on the bandwagon.  There was an awesome-sounding old East Berlin cinema, Kino International, which had it on at the right time, and I was foolishly confident that we’d find somewhere nice to eat close by. It took so long to walk there that our legs were wailing and our teeth were chattering by the time the cinema finally came into view. Then we found there was absolutely nowhere to eat, nice or otherwise, in the vicinity (but we walked another mile just to make sure).  We ended up in a flap and then in the unfortunate position of pretty much missing out on dinner (bar some random snacks).  On the plus side, however, the cinema was beautiful – the inside was a little like the Royal Festival Hall in London (despite having been built 15 years later) and there was delicious Reisling to sustain us too.  We both thought the film was excellent and the cheery vibe of being there with a lot of very excited people more or less made up for the lack of dinner (especially the guy behind us brandishing his own light sabre…). 

We woke up the next morning feeling rather hungry (even hungrier than usual, I mean).  This was the perfect justification for us to walk in the direction of one of Kreuzberg’s cool cafes, Five Elephant (said to have the best coffee and the best cheesecakes in Berlin) along the lovely Landwehrkanal (you might be able to guess that this is a canal).  Despite the time of year (or do I mean because of it?) it was a lovely walk with a blue sky and austere looking trees lining the canal and various locals walking their dogs.  The café lived up to its reputation and their banana bread was also excellent, so we enjoyed our stop there, including spending much time trying to lure a small dog, also in the café, to be friendly.  Whilst there, we concocted the slightly odd plan of walking to a nearby, somewhat dodgy park to play indoor mini-golf.  We were frustrated in this plan by the fact that the mini-golf was closed for the winter (Berliners have inadequate devotion to mini-golf it seems), so we summoned our remaining walking muscles and continued across the river, past some cool buildings, and on to the East Side Gallery – an outdoor display of murals painted by artists along a remaining piece of the Berlin Wall to capture their thoughts about it coming down. Interesting stuff.

I was fearful that we’d end up in another scenario where we walked so far that my legs wanted to fall off.  And so when Layla, after some urgent research to find ideas for somewhere to pass a delightful afternoon, announced that our next destination (and lunch) was a mere hour’s walk away, I determinedly steered us onto a bus.  Stepping off the bus in posh west Kreutzberg, I feared the plan might have been flawed when first the place we’d had in mind for lunch proved to be closed for Christmas and the streets seemed deserted. Happily we’d just walked down a disappointing street. Which made it all the more glorious when we turned the corner and unexpectedly found ourselves in a delightful indoor food market, reminiscent of Union Market (Washingtonians) or Borough Market (Londoners).  We had a delicious lunch of quiche and salad and such like and then meandered around, stopping for coffee and Turkish tea. 

From here we headed to Templehof park.  This is a defunct airport, used during the Berlin blockade, which has now been turned into a park. For a change, this destination was close by, and my legs rejoiced.  It’s not hard to find an airport entrance and so once spotted, we headed towards it confidently.  We were soon stopped by some bemused looking police and after a while realised that the former airport terminal building is now being used to process Syrian refugees and that this was what we were trying to barge our way into.  Oops.  We eventually found the airport-turned-park entrance.  Unsurprisingly, tons of Syrian refugees were kicking around the area, including hanging out in the park and after it dawned on me that they’d take us for German locals I felt it incumbent on me to smile enthusiastically at each one in an encouraging and welcoming fashion.  I fear the end result was more maniacal than would have been optimal.  But I meant well.  As we meandered round the airfield, watched people flying kites and pretended to be planes on the runway (did I really just confess this?), we mused on how handy it would be for the authorities to have such a large building in the centre of the city (it’s the civil servant in me) but we also mused that it seemed most odd that such a big building had remained basically empty and unused for such a long time. Is it wrong to think: that would make amazing flats!

Afterwards we wandered back to the food market for some gluwein before hopping on a metro to go bowling.  This proved a very cheery experience, and I say that even though Layla won both games.  But it felt like our bowling balls had some magic about them, since neither of us have played so well – with numerous strikes – in years (for which read ever).  From bowling it was a surprisingly short walk home when we had a quick rest before dinner at a really excellent Italian place (I know, again not German) for some delicious small plates.  They played pretty much every Christmas song I know (cheery) and we entertained ourselves by musing on New Year resolutions and eavesdropping on a nearby table where a German boy was introducing his non-German-speaking English girlfriend to his not-enthusiastic-about-speaking-English family. 

Our plane to Jordan was early afternoon the next day, so our morning was composed of quickly packing and then a lovely walk round Tiergarten (Berlin’s answer to Central Park the philistine would say).  It’s a beautiful and interesting park, with a only a few locals and seemingly no tourists.  It felt a cheery way to spend the morning of Christmas Eve and we skipped with joy at the thought of a whole 10 more days of holiday. I felt a bit sheepish at not feeling sorrier at leaving Berlin… I had expected to fall in love with its quirky, hipster, arty vibe, but while I enjoyed the art museum and the cool cinema and the lovely parks, somehow it all felt a bit flat and utilitarian and uncharming, and somehow so ensnared in its dreadful history that it seems to be struggling to write new chapters, as though doing so would unacceptably distract from the horrors. We were left seeking the city’s 21^st century personality in vain. It didn’t even feel all that festive, despite a hundred Christmas markets. But with everyone else raving about Berlin, we must be doing it wrong, somehow. Maybe it’s a city you need to spend more time in if it’s to grow on you… or maybe Layla and I are just Philistines… at any rate we’ll be there for a final day at the end of the holiday, so we’ll give it one more chance… But for now, goodbye Berlin and hello Amman!

In which Layla and Roz explore the canals and alleys and pastry shops of wintery Venice

by Layla

Who would have ever guessed that being a language student would rob Roz and me of our fabulously frequent holidays in a way that even our most intense jobs have never managed? Poor Roz has been in class every day for seventeen weeks with only one paltry weekend in Rome during that time to give her a taste of what might be, while I've done thirteen weeks. But at last: my class has a 2-week break over Christmas and the moment the clock struck 1pm on my last day, we were both en route to the airport like addicts with our addictive substance in sight. In our case a glorious two-week holiday to Venice, Berlin and Jordan.

An odd combination? Well the flights from Berlin to Amman were cheap. And the Europe flights were the price of a glass of wine or two. And I'd never seen Venice - and given our imminent move, I knew it was either now or wait at least 5 years!

Apparently in summer you can hardly walk for the crowds in Venice. Everything is expensive and stressful. Not so in December. We came in from the airport on a waterbus and as I stepped out onto the misty pier, gondolas bobbing and ornate churches illuminated around me, I realised that everything I knew about Venice came almost exclusively from the books Miss Garnett's Angel and What Katy Did Next. For instance, I had no idea there are genuinely no roads for cars in Venice! 

As we stood in the dark mist, our AirBnB host not appearing, I began to feel a little anxious. But then we splashed out on a phonecall and found there had been a miscommunication. Five minutes later someone had rescued us and was leading us through gloriously atmospheric cobblestoned lanes to our very own Venetian apartment. And having dumped our luggage in what was potentially our nicest-ever AirBnB abode, we ventured forth into the night. First stop: prosecco and fabulous pizza and a toast to this long-awaited holiday. Second stop: a walk over our first of ten million little Venetian bridges over canals to reach St Mark's Square, only 5 minutes away. This is the huge central square of Venice, and it was a delight to walk through it at night, admiring the amazing church that flanks it, the huge Christmas tree, and the brilliant architecture. We strolled home, shivering just a little, and feeling quite delighted with the first stop in our Christmas holiday extravaganza.

The next day we breakfasted at a cute local bar and got properly acquainted with Venetian pastry skills. Delicious. Then we thanked goodness for Google maps as we made our way to the starting point of our Free Walking Tour, just a 20 minute walk from our flat, but across about 20 bridges, through 10 charming squares, and with about 75 twists and turns through narrow cobbled alleyways featuring cute little shops and restaurants and other such sights that felt like they had surely fallen out of a book about a fairytale place. 

Our tour was fun: it gave us a real feel for how Venice had grown on these tiny islands in a lagoon, how each one was its own neighbourhood even though they were only metres apart, and the unique way of life of Venetians today. We wove past churches (popped into one with a painting on the largest roof canvas in the world), stopped for a spritz (alcoholic drink that most Venetians seem to drink most days in cute little bars on their way home from work - a key social tradition in the city), and heard about high tide, when the waters rise so much that the streets are routinely flooded and everyone goes around in wellies. Afterwards we wandered in desperate search of lunch, found somewhere with sandwiches, got a bit lost and eventually found our afternoon target: Fortuny Palace. This art gallery had the double benefits of being (1) housed in an old Venetian palace (just like the one I was currently reading about in The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins), and (2) having new exhibitions opening that very day, notably one by lesbian artist Romaine Brooks (plus another intriguing exhibition of the works of Ida Barbarigo). We had a hilarious and delightful time exploring the nooks and crannies of this huge, dark, quirky building and its cool art, before we extracted ourselves reluctantly and put the coordinates of one of Venice's top chocolate shops into Google maps. We spent the rest of the afternoon winding our way through yet more charming, complicated cobblestone mazes until, hooray, there it was! I indulged accordingly... We popped home, then out to a vegetarian restaurant that we had read about, a significant trek across the Rialto bridge and copious other little bridges and corners and alleys until our great triumph at finding the restaurant was staunched by the sad fact that they were fully booked. Huffily we retraced our steps and then veered off in another direction to find Roz's plan B restaurant, a very quaint, typical Venetian place that whipped up butternut squash lasagne for us, and a cheese plate, and was entirely delightful until I had some weird allergic reaction to, probably, cheese (the horror! I refuse to be developing an allergy to cheese!), and we had to flee homewards for antihistamines... duly dosed, we went out again to stroll in St Mark's square, eerily/atmospherically cloaked in mist this evening, before bed. 

The next day we had concocted a scheme to visit one of the further-away Venetian islands, thus enjoying a boat ride and getting to see a little village. Our choice was the lace-making island of Burano (because Roz had visited the closer island of Murano, where they make glass, when she was 11, and the boat didn't stop at the more obscure Torcello in winter). The morning was hilariously misty, so we found ourselves cruising through water that was entirely cloaked in mist - all we could see was the pearly surface of the water next to the boat and an occasional duck. Entirely surreal. Burano, also deeply shrouded in mist, was charming: lots of tiny houses painted in every colour, lots of lace shops, and a hot chocolate for me. Much needed: it was chilly! On our return we walked north and grabbed some tapas-y lunch and prosecco at a delightful little canalside bar before heading to an obscure dock for our extravagance of the holiday: a rowing lesson! We met a cheery Texan girl and she took us on board what looked like a gondola but was technically something slightly more stable, and before long, we were rowing our way through the canals of Venice, waving to passers by and executing slightly expert turns (well, Roz was...) while not even shrieking as we balanced on the top of the boat while doing so (well, Roz didn't...). The sky turned unexpectedly blue, and we had an entirely delightful time, smugly wondering why anyone would take a gondola ride when they could propel their own sort-of-gondola instead! 

After our lesson, feeling very proud of ourselves, we walked to the Jewish ghetto (apparently the first Jewish ghetto - the word comes from the Italian word for a foundry that was previously on that island) and soon found ourselves in the much-needed warmth of a fantastic pastry shop. We demolished several while reading our books and musing on how we felt totally exhausted. 

Finally sated, we stepped out of the shop, planning to head to a boat stop on the Grand Canal and do the requisite touristy cruise down the Grand Canal. While we ate cake, the weather had changed from a chilly, sunny day to the mistiest day in the world. Undeterred, we got on the boat. Turned out it was heading not down the Grand Canal, but to the lagoon and various unscenic locations. Off the boat, onto another one, thanking goodness for our 24-hour pass, and soon we were indeed cruising down the beauty of the Grand Canal. Well, what we could see of it beyond the mist. We chose to find it charmingly atmospheric. And huddled together for warmth... and decided to ditch our plan of getting a boat to an island with a bell tower from which we could see all of Venice, since in fact we could only see about 2 metres in front of us! 

We warmed up at home with tea and the giant box of Quality Street chocolates that were technically part of my Christmas present from Roz... then went out to a nice bar for pre-dinner drinks, and onwards for a final evening's delicious pizza. And of course Roz made me do a final evening's stroll around St Mark's square, undeterred by my chattering teeth and chilly wails. It was mistier than ever, and very lovely.

On our final day we eked out the last value from our 24 hour ferry passes by hopping over the water first to a cafe, and then to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum. A really attractive building with some great modern art, though my greatest amusements came from looking out to the Grand Canal from its windows, and laughing vigorously as Roz whacked her forehead off the glass while doing so. After our fill of Picasso and Warhol and the like, we did one final expedition, this time weaving and winding our way to one of the top pastry shops in Venice. Where I indulged appropriately. We dashed back to our flat, grabbed our bags, dragged them through various cobbled mazes, and over various giant bridges, and eventually we were on the boat to the airport. I have never taken a more surreal conveyance out of a city. It was so misty it felt that we were in some strange post-apocalyptic world, bobbing along in the pearly obscurity. It felt quite surprising when, after a significant walk at the other side, we entered a perfectly normal airport. Back to reality. Next stop: Berlin!

In which Layla and Roz celebrate marriage conversion on a Rome mini-moon

By Layla

Exactly six years after our civil partnership and the start of this blog, Roz and I were finally able to do the paperwork to convert it to a legal marriage. I got her a necklace to mark the occasion. She has always been better than me at gifts… and got me a surprise mini-moon to Rome. So on Friday afternoon we were Italy-bound. The last time I was in Rome was with my parents for a few days over Christmas 2004, directly after I had worked a traumatic set of seven 13-hour nightshifts in my first year as a junior doctor. My memories of Rome were hazy. And Roz had never been at all. What fun explorations awaited!

Having installed ourselves in our cheap but very nice hotel in Prati, we strolled past the impressive-looking Supreme Court and over the bridge to Plaza Navonna, a beautiful old square teeming with cobbled backstreets of restaurants and cocktail bars. Having eaten on the plane, we opted for cocktails and Roz took me to a fabulous hipster cocktail bar (Bar de Fico, I think) overlooking the cobbled streets, where after celebratory glasses of fizz and an outstanding Belle Epoque cocktail, Roz persuaded the waitress to give us crisps, and thus launched the weekend in perfect style.

The next day we breakfasted in a cute little Italian coffeeshop. After our coffee and juice and croissants, we hopped onto the Metro. First stop: the Colosseum! We strolled around the upper and lower levels of this really amazing building, imagined grizzly entertainments of yore, and what it must have looked like when covered with marble, and made disparaging asides about the lacklustre attempts of the people who’d dressed as gladiators and stood around smoking and using their phones rather than staging a gladiator fight or the like… then headed across the road to the Roman Forum for fabulous views and more clambering over ruins, these ones old enough to make the Colosseum feel almost brand new.

At this point, I expressed an urgent desire for lunch, but Roz made me walk for it, wanting to explore the cool Trastevere district. We eventually got there, found a cute local pizza lunch spot and dined happily on margarita and artichoke pizza. Soon it was off again, this time with a doomed promise of a coffeeshop and cake for me. Alas it was not to be. The road veered steeply upward, through tiny lanes, and atmospheric Roman architecture, to… a forest? Or at least a very overgrown section of park. As Roz and I vigorously hiked up, hacking our way through the overgrowth, delightfully encountering random Roman arches and suchlike, I did muse that this sort of activity was not the hallmark of a typical first day in Rome…

Eventually we popped out at a great lookout point (Rome is full of places with good views, it seems), and having peered appropriately, I was promised a bus. It did not come to pass. Instead, my fitness bracelet buzzed with increasing kudos as we hiked all the way to the Spanish Steps, and installed ourselves in the literary café we had found in our guidebook. Alas the guidebook had failed to make clear that said cafe was on one of the most glamorous shopping streets in Rome – and the coffeeshop had prices to match! A coffee was 12 euros, Roz abstemiously bought tea for a bargain 10 euros. And I thought well, if we’re spending 10 euros, it should clearly be spent on a big slice of pavlova cake. Delicious. We lingered there for a while, then relocated to a cheaper café for coffee and cake ahead of our 5:30pm free walking tour.

We both really like free walking tours, where you sign up in advance and pay the person a tip at the end. This one was full of interest and history and character. We walked around the streets of the historical centre of the city, through parts that are the Vatican, past the President speaking to news cameras about the weekend’s terrible shootings in Paris, into churches with amazing sculptures and paintings and a fake, optical-illusion dome. We learned about Margarita, after whom the Margarita pizza is named. We went into the Pantheon, and finished up at the Trevi Fountain which has been closed for two years and only opened again last week. What luck. It was swarming with tourists, but still looked beautiful.

One nice thing about Rome is that the tourist areas are claustrophobically busy, but turn a corner and it’s gloriously serene and cool and atmospheric, and all of it felt like we were walking the streets of history. But for now, it was time to flee the touristy centre. We headed back to Prati for dinner and after a little hunting, finished our action-packed day at a hipster restaurant with one of the best cheeseboards we have ever had! (the spaghetti wasn’t bad either…).

The following day we embarked upon a slightly less trodden-path for a Rome weekend, with a bike tour of the Appian Way, one of the great Roman roads that ran 600 miles from Rome to the coast, and still exists. We had the glorious luck of beautiful sunshine. And so, after breakfast, we set off, atop a glorious innovation that has officially spoilt me for cycling forever: electric bikes! I’d always imagined an electric bike would be a bit like a motorbike, but not at all! It essentially captures all the niceness of cycling and just removes the unpleasantness associated with going up hills by making each pedal revolution much more effective than it would otherwise be. There are several settings. ‘Turbo’ is the setting of my dreams. We viewed the Colosseum from the angle of one of Rome’s seven hills, and heard all about the history of it. We passed through gates in the ancient Roman walls. We cycled past the catacombs where the early Christians buried their dead, and had a slightly creepy but interesting tour through the underground tunnels. We bumped along the Appian Way itself, once lined with beautiful, extravagant family memorial structures, juxtaposed with lots of dead criminals, left there as a warning to those approaching Rome by this route. It was a delightful cycle, with no cars and loads of Romans out for strolls and cycles along this amazingly old road. Then, not satisfied with this little piece of infrastructure tourism, we proceeded to a pretty park to view aqueducts – an engineering miracle. We cycled all through that park, past locals sunbathing, local boy scouts playing football, and the like, through another park, and stopped for wine and cheese at a local farm (maker of said cheese), before returning to Rome via the Roman baths. What a spectacular bike tour! We grudgingly trudged back to the hotel to grab our bags and head to the airport. So cruel that our holiday is over so soon – but it was a perfect mini-moon.

In which Roz and Layla finish their long goodbye holiday extravaganza in Oslo

by Roz

I can’t quite remember how we chose Oslo as the destination for the final weekend of our five week holiday extravaganza, also known as #wivesontour #thelonggoodbye to our life in America – and hello to London.  But I do know that we had some anxiety about how this weekend would work out – there’s nothing like the end of a holiday and the imminent start of a whole new chapter to produce some stressful moments.  But a few months back we came up with the novel (for us) plan of inviting our friends, Lee and Alan, to join us in Oslo as a distraction technique (and of course because they are fun company!) and so here begins the first Travelling Wives blog where the wives are not alone…

We arrived at the hotel to find Lee and Alan awaiting us (keen!). Having deposited our bags, we all walked in the sunshine to the nearby modern art museum.  This entailed walking down to the harbour and along the waterfront in the beautiful sunshine, and Layla and I began to muse that perhaps we ought to move to Oslo.  We’re so fickle…  The museum contained the art collection of a former explorer (who’d been to the North and South Poles and up Everest) and was not exactly to my taste but quite good anyway.  We spent quite a while musing whether a discarded banana peel was the work of a reprobate child or was art (and later established it was art) and that probably gives you a reasonable vision of the museum.  But it was fun to see some Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin out of their natural habitats and, with a delightful stop in the middle for a cup of afternoon tea and a cake on the museum’s stylish patio overlooking an urban beach, we deemed this a good start to the weekend…

We returned to the hotel to acquire cardigans and the like before our evening walk to Vulkan and Grunelokka, two adjacent cool areas of Oslo filled with hip shops with an array of enticing things, including furniture (Layla and I are particularly alive to the allure of nice furniture, given that we are currently furnishing our new London flat from scratch).  But our actual destination was the Mathallen Hall food market (a la Union Market for those who know DC).  This proved to be all high ceilings, steam punk lighting, exposed brick work and delicious food. We meandered around before settling on dinner from a terrific Asian place where you could customise your meal in a delightful fashion.  Noodled up, we headed deeper into the area in search of mini-golf.  Many of you will know that Layla and I are avid (if not especially talented) mini-golfers.  But Lee and Alan hadn’t played since childhood.  I felt internally gleeful and looked forward to victory (or at least coming only second to Layla, who always seems to win).  But this course was somewhat different from that which we were used to.  It was very definitely not for tourists, not least since the course was very home-made in what seemed to have once been a children’s playground.  Nonetheless, I was confident that Layla and I would be victorious…and then suddenly we were defeated by a couple of tricky holes at the end.  I took 15 strokes on one insanely hard hole (which Alan did in 1).  And Layla went on a crazed rampage to try and batter her golf ball into the hole through a weird construction on the last hole after she started to fail (this didn’t work out well).  And so, Layla came last, and I came second.  But any smugness that I might have hoped to feel was entirely tempered by the fact that it shouldn’t have been thus…

We meandered home through the streets afterwards and then went to bed.  Next morning, we had a nice breakfast in a nearby café before heading back to the marina – but this time, to get a ferry to an Oslo fjord island called Hovedoya. Alas for Layla (who loves a boat ride) it was a brief trip – only ten minutes or so.  But it felt delightfully local with very few other tourists in sight (we were, in fact, surrounded by Norwegians who’d all clearly thought through their plan for the day very well since they all carried very large picnic baskets, blankets and the like).   After admiring the view back to Oslo, we hopped off and found ourselves on a clearly well worn path that took us to the ruins of an old monastery (and past a delightful café) and then onto a path round the island.  We set off enthusiastically.  We sat in the sun on rocks at the water’s edge, watching the tide lap the shore and musing on rock formations. After a while though, once we started walking again, my enthusiasm turned to envy when I suddenly realised that our trip had become a hike and my Birkenstocks were really not absolutely up to the task – in contrast to the hardcore hiking shoes that Alan was wearing.  It’s always disappointing to find that someone else has read your plans for the weekend – and then planned / dressed appropriately when you haven’t!  Nonetheless, we had a very cheery time scrambling over rocks with beautiful views of Oslo and the surrounding islands and only getting a bit lost.  We eventually made it back to where we started (which was harder than it should have been) and then settled down in the delightful café for a very tasty lunch (including waffles) and then a read of our books on the grass.  Eventually, we felt the need to continue on with our sightseeing and we caught the ferry back to the mainland and then hopped on a tram to Vigeland Park. 

The park is famous for having numerous sculptures, including one of a small London child stamping its foot in a temper tantrum.  But I loved the park even before I saw its sculptures for its European feel: it was big, but it felt organised if you know what I mean.  The sculptures themselves turned out to be more fun than I’d have guessed, including the highlight (for Layla and me) of a couple of lesbian statues (which we decided we’d happily have in our garden in Tokyo when we move there… if only the Norwegians fancy lending them to us).  We pottered around for a while and then resolved that it was time for tea and so headed back to a cool area of town we’d seen on the tram as we’d gone past.  We settled ourselves happily in another stylish café, the type of which Oslo is obviously adept at producing, and then presented Lee and Alan with their options for the evening.  We did a blind vote (I was in a minority of one – humph) and so then made our way back to the hotel for a short rest before our evening’s delights began. 

Emerging from the hotel, we headed to the nearby metro (which is delightfully efficient) to have dinner before going to see a 3D version of the film Inside Out at Europe’s largest cinema.  Dinner – Indian food – was very nice indeed (though Alan and Lee showed themselves not up to our levels of greediness and shared a meal…).  We then headed to the largest cinema in Europe to print out our tickets.  The machine only communicated in Norwegian (not unreasonably) but seemed very clear it didn’t want to give us tickets.  We eventually asked for help from the kindly kiosk girl.  She pityingly pointed out we were at the wrong cinema.  It turned out that the cinema we were actually booked to see the film at was not Europe’s largest cinema at all, but instead was a somewhat smaller affair 100 feet from our hotel… Ah well, you win some you lose some!  We headed to the other cinema, grateful for the efficient metro and then settled ourselves down for the film (which was very good, though Layla and I were both upset that there were no Norwegian subtitles – is everyone in the rest of the world other than us really that good at languages?!).  And then, to bed. 

Next morning was Sunday.  In other words, our very last day of holiday.  It’s an odd feeling after thirty seven days.  I feel sad not to be on holiday any longer (and also sad at the realisation that this must mean we definitely aren’t from Washington any more), excited about our new life in London (and our home) and scared of learning Japanese (my course starts tomorrow).  Fortunately, having Lee and Alan around, Layla and I weren’t able to indulge in any unhelpful agonies on this combination of feelings – all the more so since we’d persuaded them into booking a 3 hour kayaking trip (for which we got the last laugh as they hadn’t been warned in advance so couldn’t dress 100% appropriately).  So we all had a brief breakfast in our room with rather good options foraged from the foyer before getting the train to the marina. 

The marina was entirely deserted when we arrived.  This was – we assured ourselves nervously – because we were ridiculously early.  So we retreated to a hipster bakery for tea and such like (this means we ate more food but are a little shamefaced about it).  When we returned, there was more life around and we found the kayaking place without difficulty.  The owner and tour guide was a nice German lady who gave us the best instruction I’ve ever received on how to be good at kayaking (and for once I implemented it) and we soon we were in the beautifully clear waters of the Oslo fjord.  We passed by a number of houseboats and I enjoyed imagining the lives of those living on them (surely the lives of the beautiful contents of the flowerpots could only be brief?!) before heading into the fjord properly.  It was just beautiful to pass by swimmers, naked sunbathers (ah Scandinavia, so liberal!), one hardcore paddleboarder (who was impressive in her ability to stay upright notwithstanding some alarming waves) and the like.  We stopped for strawberries and water on a beach and I mused that it seemed exceptionally unlikely that at that very moment 24 hours hence I would be having a Japanese lesson in rainy London…  Alan challenged me to a race at the end of our trip.  This would have worked out better if either of us had absolutely known where we’d been meant to be docking…  But I don’t think I shall ever recover from his suggestion we consider it a draw (I’m not that kind of a girl).  But just in case I’d had any worries that he might have won the race, I was amused to see him managing to fall completely into the water as he tried to get out of his kayak at the end (nothing to do with me, honest!).  Slightly dripping, we headed back to the area where our hotel is – for Alan to change and for lunch in yet another delightful and stylish café. 

And that’s it.  The end of #thelonggoodbye and #wivesontour.  After lunch we went straight to the airport, and I’m typing this from our plane.  Our plane home, I guess I should say.  Odd to think that this doesn’t mean I’ll be landing in Dulles.  Five weeks of holiday has been glorious.  It has gone by in a flash… 

Time to book our next holiday, I think – don’t you?

BOOKS READ ON HOLIDAY

ROZ: Life as we knew it (Susan Beth Pfeffer), The Dead and the Gone (Susan Beth Pfeffer), The World We Live In (Susan Beth Pfeffer), The Shade of the Moon (Susan Beth Pfeffer), Wonder (RJ Palacio), The Book of Strange New Things (Michael Faber), Landfall (Nevil Shute), Auggie and Me (RJ Palacio), Ruined City (Nevil Shute), The Mirror World of Melody Black (Gavin Extence), The Crimson Petal and the White (Michael Faber), Landline (Rainbow Rowell), A Possible Life (Sebastian Faulks), A Man Called Ove (Frederik Backman), The Revolving Door of Life (Alexander McCall Smith), Some Luck (Jane Smiley), Early Warning (Jane Smiley), and some of Great Expectations (Charles Dickens).

LAYLA: The Fever (Megan Abbot), The House of the Scorpion (Nancy Farmer), Fudgeamania (Judy Blume), Family Life (Akhil Sharma), An Abundance of Katherines (John Green), My Salinger Year (Joanna Rakoff), Belzhar (Mog Wolitzer), Auggie and Me (RJ Palacio), An Old-Fashioned Girl (Louisa May Alcott), Great Expectations (Charles Dickens), The Affinities (Robert Charles Wilson), The Storied Life of AJ Fikry (Gabrielle Zevin), Seveneves (Neal Stephenson) and Landline (Rainbow Rowell).