In which Roz and Layla watch a play of their relationship and explore the wilds of Minneapolis

By Roz

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Next morning was our last full day in Bar Harbor, much to my consternation.  How can it be that 37 days of vacation can start to speed by already…?

We began the day by fulfilling a lifelong ambition of Layla’s: walking over a sand bar.  I didn’t know it was an ambition of hers when I read about a sand bar that connects Bar Harbor town proper with a tiny nearby island but I am happy to take credit where it isn’t due.  Layla yet again demonstrated her (lack of) skill in skimming stones and when we got to the island I demonstrated my (lack of) skill in following a hiking path.  It was all very lovely, though, with lots of cheery holiday-makers kicking around in a surprisingly non-annoying fashion. 

We headed back into town in more than enough time to avoid being caught by the tide and headed to a coffee shop to contemplate our plans for the day.  We mused on getting a boat to an island (argh, expensive) or on climbing Cadillac Mountain (argh, steep) before eventually settling on hiking up a smaller mountain.  We bought a couple of bagels to sustain us for lunch, and headed on to the ever-delightful free bus.  Our hike proved to be the perfect combination of relatively shady, not that uphill and beautifully scenic – with the delightful addition of a glacier lake in the middle. 

Back in town, we headed home only pausing for an ice cream (alas this was one of those occasions where we agreed to share, compromised on flavour and neither of us was entirely content).  And then, packing.  Revolting.  To console ourselves we headed out afterwards to dinner at a nice place which had once been a speakeasy called Gayln’s Galley where we had squash cakes (the vegetarian’s crab cake) and beets and such like.  We then went for one final meander along the shore path before heading over to Improv Acadia.  I’d lobbied to go again partly because I’d enjoyed it so much and partly because I’d been horrified that when they asked for a volunteer couple to describe the history of their romance (so the troupe could perform a version of it), Layla had felt she shouldn’t volunteer because – as a lesbian couple – we wouldn’t be family-friendly enough for the audience that was largely composed of children and their parents. Layla was repentant and annoyed at having given in to her own ridiculous prejudice, so was up for going again. The show was just as good second time around and we mused that they are probably the best improv troupe we’ve seen outside of Austin (where we saw the best improv show we’ve ever seen which rather spoiled us for all other shows!).  Sure enough, towards the end of the show, when the audience was asked for a volunteer who’d been in a relationship for more than two years, Layla was the first to have her hand up (amusingly she was so eager, she looked rather like a three year old volunteering to be the first to open a present or some such).  She was brought on to the stage and after some cheery banter and questions where Layla told the troupe – and audience – all about us, the troupe then performed a play of our romance.  And it was just brilliant.  And entirely family-friendly…

Next morning we were up early for our drive back to Bangor airport.  Same chatty and enthusiastic driver and in our hour-long drive we covered everything from politics to the merits (or otherwise in his view) of Uber.  It’s probably best to draw a veil over the rest of the journey to Minneapolis.  Suffice to say our second plane was cancelled, and so we spent an unfortunate amount of time at Philadelphia airport and my plans for Minneapolis fun that day went up in smoke.  Though it was cheery enough in some ways – we found a Vino Volo and passed a good amount of time playing Scrabble (though I lost), drinking sparkling wine and eating cheese.  We arrived at Minneapolis airport around 8.30pm and were surprised (and pleased) to find our luggage had made it there too.  The public transport nerd that exists in both Layla and me was delighted by the tram that took us cheaply and quickly to our hotel from the airport. 

Under normal circumstances we’d be thinking of bed by 10pm.  But driven by the imperatives of our step trackers and by the depressingness of having spent all day in and around airports and planes, we decided to head out for a cocktail in the warehouse district despite the late (for us) hour.  The bar – Marvel - was one of those speakeasies that you’d never find if you didn’t know it was there which I’d come across in my over-zealous holiday research.  Inside it was mismatched furniture and industrial chic and lots of locals (not a tourist in sight – a far cry from Bar Harbor), and the unpleasantness of the day melted away quickly.  Layla bravely went for a cocktail with olive oil and egg white in it (I’m still not convinced, but she insists it definitely tasted like dessert) whilst I went for something pleasant with gin and citrus.  We walked back to the hotel – going a different route, and quickly establishing that Hennepin Avenue (one of the main streets in Minneapolis) was definitely not a place for us (our skirts were too long and our heels too short) and collapsed into our very comfy bed. 

Next morning we went to a very pleasant place nearby for breakfast before heading over to the ‘chain’ of five lakes on the delightfully efficient local bus.  We’d heard about the walking/cycling/boating fun offered by these lakes from pretty much everyone we’d told we were going to Minneapolis (well everyone who hadn’t looked horrified at the prospect of going there at all) and so we hired bikes from a place near Lake Calhoun and set off.  The paths were for cyclists only (walkers have their own paths – so civilised) and it was delightful to spin along the shore in the sunshine.  After a while, we stopped to check our route and Layla broke the news to me that there was an email from our lawyer about our London flat-purchase.  This caused a reasonable amount of angst – not because the news was particularly bad, but because the whole process of buying a property is a tedious and stressful one in England (and if it doesn’t go through we are going to be homeless when we get back to the UK).  But, having dealt with the lawyer’s email, we continued on, around Harriet Lake and then bound for Cedar Lake, and all was going relatively well until I made the rash decision to change gears when going uphill.  This did not work out well and the bike chain ended up jammed somewhere it shouldn’t have been.  I tried to do my best butch work to fix the problem.  No success. Eventually we called the people who’d rented the bikes to us.  I was – in some ways – relieved when they came and also couldn’t fix the bike.  All the more so when the girl who’d come to fix it agreed to give me her bike so she could walk mine back to the shop…  Still we felt we’d had our bike-riding fix by this time, and so once we’d deposited the bikes, we went for lunch in a nearby spot and contemplated our flat-purchasing and lack of furniture.  And so it was that we found ourselves eating vegetarian tacos by the lake whilst Layla ordered a sofa to put in a home we don’t yet own…

After lunch we walked around the prettiest of the lakes, Lake of the Isles, towards Sebastian Joe’s, an ice cream spot that had been strongly recommended by a friend who’d grown up in Minneapolis.  The day was growing hotter, and so we pretty much collapsed when we got there– but not before we’d acquired an ice cream each (enough of the compromising and sharing!). We hung out there for a while with our books, before braving the sun again and walking over to the Walker Art Center. The art – a pop art exhibition and a retrospective focussed on the art that the gallery had acquired in its 75 years of existence – was quite good.  But our main interest was the artist-designed mini-golf.  This was exceptionally well designed –quite the hardest and most interesting mini-golf course I’ve done.  I lost.  It’s best to gloss over my feelings…  We walked back through Loring Park which was pretty – and with a walkway that seemed to be Minneapolis’ answer to the High Line Park in New York City - and dreamed of being indoors and in air con. 

Back in our hotel room we cooled down and showered and eventually our faces faded to more or less their usual hues.  We resolved that the following day we’d be more careful about being outdoors in the full blast of the sun (ha, didn’t manage to do that).  We eventually headed out to an early dinner at a place called the Bachelor Farmer which I’d booked for our first night and had to cancel in favour of the delights of Philadelphia airport. It’s one of the best restaurants in Minneapolis, and the food was interesting and delicious and included a popover (the favourite of Bar Harbor which I’ve never seen on a menu otherwise).  I’m not really a dessert person, but for the first time in memory regretted agreeing to sharing with Layla since the panacotta was amazing.  We then went to a comedy show.  I loved the venue for giving a free drink to anyone who had come on public transport – all the more so since I persuaded them that Layla and I were both deserving by proving we’d walked there by showing our step trackers.  The comedy was good (and a skit on Governor Scott and climate change had particular resonance given my recent visit to Tallahassee) but towards the end of the show Layla was fading with tiredness and so we made a speedy exit and went to bed. 

Next morning, I woke up with a racing heart wondering if there’d been an email response from our lawyer (who is of course in a different time zone from us). As did Layla. Disappointingly I only remembered it was Saturday after I’d woken up enough to look at my phone…  I went for a brief run whilst Layla was getting up and then we headed out for breakfast and then on to the tram to Minnehaha Park. The park is huge and delightful and has a little shady river path to walk along that takes you from a waterfall all the way to the Mississippi river.  We felt very cheery as we walked along this, passing and being passed by the odd local.  We then hiked back along the other side of the river, passed the Hiawatha statue and then on a longer walk along a creek to Hiawatha Lake.  It was beautiful and we felt unexpectedly local as we debated the merits of the different houses we passed.  Eventually, a little hotter than we would have liked, and on a quest for a hipster coffeeshop, we arrived in a cool little area where we had lunch and then hung out with our books in the Angry Catfish, a ridiculously hipster bike and coffee shop (including consuming a slightly terrifying doughnut from a nearby and excellent bakery).  When our books finished we hopped on a bus and then the tram back to the hotel where we showered and packed before heading out for dinner in a Japanese izakaya that I’d booked near the Guthrie Theatre.  I’m occasionally booking this kind of place in hopes of convincing myself that we’re not doing something silly by moving to Japan. However, this is mainly backfiring on me at the moment since Layla breaks off in the middle of conversations to gaze fixedly at various Kanji symbols to assess whether she (a) knows it (b) used to know it but can’t remember (cue for berating herself) or (c) doesn’t yet know it (also cue for berating herself).  Nonetheless the food was very good and I enjoyed my “east meets west” beer flight too… 

We then walked round the corner to the Guthrie Theatre and had a little meander there before going inside to see the play The Music Man.  This was well-done, if not my favourite musical of the era.  But it was a sold-out show, and we were exceptionally glad to be there.  Immediately after the show, there was a giant 20 minute firework display which seems to be an annual thing to celebrate Minneapolis.  It was clearly a really big deal, since people had been camping out for some hours to get a good viewing spot.  And it was a great display, which we watched for 10 or so minutes before walking home.  I almost liked the walk home more – because we were walking past lots of enthusiastic people watching from their balconies and we could hear their “ooos” and “aaas” and see the reflection of the fireworks in their windows.  And then, bed.  And the end of the second chapter of our grand holiday.  

In which Layla and Roz embark on a 37 day Farewell to America Odyssey

by Layla

On holiday for 37 days? Is this an elaborate Travelling Wives April Fools gag? Of course not: it’s July. And en route back to London after nearly four glorious years in Washington, what could be more fitting than thirty seven glorious days of holiday? Nothing, I say!

And so on Friday 17^th July, Roz and I left work at 5pm, walked home, grabbed two large suitcases, one small suitcase, and two little rucksacks, bade farewell to what was home, and dragged all our bags to one of our favourite DC restaurants, Rasika, where we had a last supper with some of our friends, before grabbing a cab, classical music playing on high volume as a fitting movie soundtrack as we whizzed past the Washington monuments, tears in our eyes, but a little thrill in our heart. It was Day 0 of the most decadent holiday of our lives.

We arrived in Bangor, Maine at midnight and headed immediately to our hotel, right inside the airport, then after a good sleep and a quick breakfast, hopped in another cab and we were off to our first destination: Bar Harbor. Now I must immediately call foul upon our American friends. We have long been asking for suggestions of where we could go for a week of hiking, biking, paddleboarding, and the like, without the need for a car. Nobody EVER mentioned Bar Harbor. And so far it is fantastic.

Bar Harbor is the tourist epicenter of Acadia National Park, a ye olde village complete with village green, touristy shops and pretentious crafty shops, perched on the beautifully scenic Maine coastline, on the tip of a beautiful forest, with free, frequent buses shuttling visitors between all the sights and trails of the Park. It is a glory of infrastructure. The weather, alas, has been a little less glorious. On our first day it was grey and lightly spitting (but luckily it has since perked up). We checked into our bed and breakfast, and headed straight for the Shore Path – a scenic stroll along the coast, with the waves breaking, the rocks in cool formations, islands popping up, and just a little mist rolling romantically across the water. Afterwards we strolled up to Two Cats, a famous Bar Harbor eatery which had superlative strawberry butter which we ate on biscuits / scones alongside a really excellent breakfast burrito which we split. We then sanctimoniously stocked up on groceries for our good intentions of eating at home, filled our fridge, collapsed in exhaustion… and then dragged ourselves awake and headed out into Acadia National Park.

Our first hike took us a few miles up the Jessup trail through beautiful forest, and along a boardwalk up to a little nature garden – and then all the way back down again. Back in town, we rewarded ourselves with local beer (and not-so-local hummus) at Lompok bar before walking over to Reel Pizza, a cool and quirky independent cinema which sold pizza, which we were happy to have for our dinner while watching Minions. I was so exhausted I fell asleep during it whilst children around me (and Roz) were transfixed. The shame. But a really lovely first day of holiday.

On Sunday we managed the first long lie-in either of us have had in weeks – nearly til 8am! We ate in our little studio apartment, then boarded our first free Island Explorer bus, destination: Jordan Pond. This is a really beautiful lake, the sort of scenery that makes my heart happy. The landscape felt similar to our recent trip to Banff in Canada. And yet again, hooray for Maine vacationing infrastructure: beautifully demarcated little paths and subtle signs steered us to a ridiculously idyllic woodland path around the perimeter of the lake (with a diversion on a path to Bubble Rock which was rather less pleasant in its vertical nature!). The sun was shining and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Until we reached the restaurant at the end of the walk and had an outstanding lunch overlooking Jordan Pond. Their specialty is popovers, which turned out to be very tall Yorkshire pudding-esque items you eat with jam and butter. Both of us were fans.

We took the bus home, collapsed onto the bed and fell into a coma-like sleep. When we eventually awoke we felt horrible. A brisk walk down to the water didn’t help waken us… but two giant ice creams served as effective medication. We had a delicious meal at home, cooked by Roz, and finished the evening with drinks at Lompok.

Monday brought the sun: hooray! After Roz shamed me by going for an early run while I read my book in bed, we celebrated the sun by renting bikes and heading out on the carriage trails. There are about 45 miles of these carriage trails, beautiful wide gravel paths that wind through the National Park and around the lakes, with no car, just charming signposts and only occasional hills: perfect for cycling. We went around Eagle Lake and some other pretty lakes and had a picnic overlooking Bubble Lake. Literally picture postcard perfect scenery, and glorious warm-but-not-humid sunshine, and paths shaded by trees. This part of the world is amazing.

When we got home, we bought local cheeses and a bottle of Chardonnay and spent the afternoon reading in the pretty garden attached to the B&B, which we had all to ourselves. Roz cooked a delicious salad dish incorporating all the delicious ingredients you can think of. And then we walked down to the water and to the paddleboarding shop… oh yes, it was time to seize the sun! They wouldn’t let us paddleboard on the sea as it was too rough, but they would let us do paddleboard yoga on Echo Pond. Roz was delighted. It was a bit chilly by the time the yoga started, especially as I’m not very good at yoga on dry land, much less on a paddleboard! But the scenery was idyllic, the sky felt huge and blue, the water was warm and less polluted than our regular Potomac River experiences, and Roz, the yoga teacher and one other bendy girl had a beautiful time doing various yoga poses while I managed approximations that sometimes earned a patronizing compliment that made me giggle. We did yoga on the lake til sunset, at which point the sun slipped behind the hills, we all shivered in the chill, the teacher instructed everyone to do the ‘warrior three’ pose and immediately fell into the water, I tried to disguise my amusement, and Roz cannily seized the moment to suggest we paddle back to dry land. We walked home via the scenic shore path and had the rest of the wine and cheese before bed.

Today the sun had taken his hat off and the place was shrouded in mist. Undeterred, we had some coffee (Roz) and weird Japanese drink (me) in a cool wee Japanese coffee shop before getting on a bus to Sandy Bay to embark upon a couple of miles of Ocean Path, commonly described as one of the most scenic walks in the area. Obviously the describers were not there in the mist. But we had fun anyway. After returning to town for a rather excellent lunch, we got on another free bus bound for the Pirate’s Cove Adventure minigolf. I am a sucker for minigolf. This one was particularly fun and kitsch, being elaborately pirate-themed, complete with a full pirate ship. We played both courses, and Roz annoyingly beat me in the first; we drew in the second. And Roz won an icecream which she generously / smugly shared with me.

After enjoying said ice cream in the drizzle, we headed back to town to put on a warmer outfit, have a beer in Lompok, eat a tasty dinner at home, and then head out to ImprovArcadia – a daily improv comedy show just down the road. It was surprisingly good though Roz is still chastising me for not being one of the volunteers. An excellent end to an excellent start of the holiday.

In which Roz and Layla see transport-themed art, hear stories, and explore their fifth NYC borough

When we arrived in New York, Roz and I were rumpled by the thought of this being our last New York minibreak for some time, possible years. We struggled with a plan, with a wild internal panic that we might not make the most of it – and the rain certainly didn’t help. Soon we had found a hipster bakery for lunch, and we started to calm down. We headed for a transportation exhibition at the New York Transit Museum outpost at Grand Central Station, which was quite pleasant, then headed down to the Meatpacking District to see the Whitney in its new location. The Whitney is a modern art museum and its new building beautifully reflects this. I loved the outside balconies and steps and views over the Highline Park and out to the Statue of Liberty (once the rain went off). I wasn’t quite so enthused by the actual artwork, though the reviews would suggest I am alone in this. Lots of interesting things to see though, and rounded off with an icecream at the unbearably (yet delightfully) hipster Gansevoort Market.

While we ate our ice cream, I noticed a tweet about an exhibition at the Society of Graphic Illustrators, all about art commissioned by the New York Metro Transport Authority. How could we resist our second transport-themed art extravaganza of the day? We hopped on a train and soon we were the exhibition’s only (and most enthusiastic) visitors, very much enjoying all the cool train art, not to mention the enviable restaurant which was sadly closed. Instead we went to a rather lovely wine bar and had a quick dinner and glass of wine before getting on another train and heading north, destination: the Bronx.

We popped out at Yankee Stadium, walked a few minutes, and found ourselves at the Bronx Museum of the Arts, location that evening of The Moth story slam. The room filled up with story lovers and while I put my name in the bag, for at least the fourth time of trying, I was not selected to tell my story. However, this was probably for the best as there were some truly excellent storytellers, especially the eventual winner who was an absolute treat to hear. We laughed, we cried and we drank cheap beer, and wondered how New York storytellers were so outstanding.

The next day we marveled over the superlative buffet (one of us more than the other – this does not bode well for my behavior at the breakfast buffet aboard the Queen Mary 2 in a couple of months…) at the Marriott Residence Hotel, before heading out in the rain to the IFC to see a Japanese anime film. This is becoming a bit of a New York tradition for us! The film in question was When Marnie Was There, which we were quite excited about as a potential lesbian romance, til sadly this was disproved. But very enjoyable nevertheless, and by the time we emerged, the rain had gone off. We strolled down 6^th Avenue towards Soho, stopping for some falafel sandwiches for lunch, before catching up with the New York Gallery Tours, our favourite tour of the best current gallery exhibitions. We’d never been on a Soho-based tour, and really enjoyed many of the seven galleries we visited, particularly one with a really cool light and shadow approach. Afterwards we went to a hipster coffee shop and read our books, then strolled around the perimeter of Washington Park in the sunshine, watching dogs frolic in the various size-specific dog parks. Then we grabbed ice cream, and got in line at the Cornelia Street Café. Not only did we go there on our New York honeymoon, the Cornelia Street Café is home both to some outstanding hummous, and to The Liar Show, the Perfect Liars Club’s New York sister. We had an entertaining time listening to the stories and trying to guess the liar… and I was insufferably smug when I was successful! After the show we went upstairs and drank champagne and had dinner and toasted a delightful Saturday.

On Sunday morning, I tried to restrain myself at the breakfast buffet though sadly my eventual choices could not accurately be described as such. We walked our suitcase half an hour down the road, through the Sunday morning streets, to put it in left luggage at Penn Station, then hopped on a train bound for Queens.

We’ve had plans for a while to explore more hiking in New York City, and had heard good things about Forest Park. It involved a train and a bus but eventually we got there. Forest Park is flawed by being too loudly surrounded by freeways… but it was otherwise lovely. We took several trails around the park and it felt satisfactorily foresty. Perhaps we should have quit while we were ahead…

“Hmmm, you know what looks near on the map?” asked Roz. “Flushing Meadows!” It was, it turned out, not that near. Thank goodness we stopped at a random place for bagels, because it turned out to be quite a trek to get there, along sidewalks that had not encountered another pedestrian for years, in the increasingly blazing sun. It probably took us about 40 minutes to get to Flushing Meadows, on the banks of a pretty lake, and when we did, Roz stepped in mud up to one of her ankles. We stopped to de-mud and rest in the shade under a tree while watching a huge Korean party that involved repeated games of tug-of-war. What was delightful about Flushing Meadows was how many local families were there to hang out and have fun.

We kept walking, and soon found ourselves up where the World’s Fair once took place. This was very cool – all the paths were named after parts of the world, or ‘commerce’ or whatever. There was a huge globe, and various old fashioned futuristic buildings. Plus it turned out to be a big anniversary festival, with music and food and cheeriness. We walked all through it and ended up playing minigolf which was very satisfactory, particularly when I won!

We headed home past the Mets stadium. Or rather we headed to a sushi bar just off Union Square, then to Dear Irving, one of our favourite cocktail speakeasies. We had some delicious drinks in delightfully cool surroundings and toasted our lovely weekend, before walking another half hour, because clearly we had not walked far enough, to Penn Station and home to DC. My Up Jawbone says I walked 30,000 steps today… I can believe it! Goodbye New York. The next time we see you we’ll be preparing to sail away.

In which Layla and Roz have a New York weekend extravaganza

By Layla

Almost one of the first things Roz said when we moved to the U.S. Is how she'd like to run a New York half marathon but somehow it never came off... Until now. Things, however, conspired against us. First we had the wrong date in our calendar for when the Brooklyn Half-Marathon tickets went on sale - but I managed to swoop in and grab one of the last numbers. Then there was a train crash so our trains were cancelled. But we got two seats on the bus. Finally, with two days to go before the run, Roz put out her back.

Undeterred, we turned up in New York, dropped our bags at the rather lovely French Quarters, were talked into paying more for a room not directly above a raucous bar... And then it was off on the train to Brooklyn Heights. After a delicious lunch at Sociale, I left Roz getting a back massage while I walked down to Pier 2 to pick up her running number and other official stuff. It was so delightful that when Roz was done I persuaded her to come back with me. We walked along what felt like the seashore, the water lapping at the rocks, the sun shining, the Statue of Liberty in front and Brooklyn Bridge behind us - and marvelled about how we always forget just how brilliant New York is til we get there. We watched people roller skating, we licked ice creams, we played Brooklyn landmark-themed miniature golf. And then we lay in the sun feeling holiday-ish.

Eventually we stood up and walked over the Brooklyn Bridge which was lovely, then zoomed up with some haste to Ippudo, one of the latest hottest restaurants in town. We'd lounged so long that the wait for a table was over an hour, so we snacked on cool Japanese dumplings til we realized that if we were going to be at the theatre in time, we had 10 minutes to eat! The restaurant staff made it happen and it was cool and fab and delicious. And we skidded into the theatre in the nick of time. The play was the new musical adaptation of Alison Bechdel's Fun Home, a graphic biography we both loved. The show is drowning in Tony nominations and it was both fab and the first musical I've seen about being a lesbian. We skipped home feeling delighted with our first day in New York.

The next day started at a horribly early hour. Up we leapt and took the train to Brooklyn, Roz gasping with back pain and wailing 'wait, I can't walk that fast!' Which I must say did not auger well for her imminent half-marathon. However she was swept up in the crowds and when I cheered her at mile one and two, she was smiling. Alas on my walk down to cheer at mile six, in Prospect Park, torrential rain was introduced to the picture. Like a drenched rat without an umbrella, I cowered literally inside a bush til my app told me Roz was approaching and I leapt out to cheer again.

The race wasn't a circuit and it ended in Coney Island. When my train eventually got me there, I realized (1) there were ten zillion people there, (2) it's like Blackpool, and (3) my phone weirdly had no signal. After a frantic but fruitless hunt I ended up getting back on the train towards the hotel. A couple of train stops away and my phone signal magically resumed and Roz had messaged with "I did it!" With an incongruous mix of 'I'm a bad wife' for missing her, and 'I'm the BEST wife for spending the last six hours running around trying to see her at the crack of dawn in torrential rain, I met her at the hotel and we soon headed out for a large brunch at Riposo 46.

Next up was the theatre, and not just any theatre. A two-show Hilary Mantel Broadway marathon of Wolf Hall followed by Bring Up the Bodies. My failure to love these excellent shows called the appropriateness of our marriage into question... But I think I was forgiven. I mostly felt bad that Roz suggested a walk in Central Park to make it up to me - then when we got there she appeared to be in agony with her back. We creaked down to an Indian place for dinner and a cocktail bar til the second show kicked off. And I used the opportunity to require lots of chocolate. Despite its odd components, it was another great New York day.

But could we make it a hat trick? We had breakfast in the hotel, then headed up on a beautiful walk through Central Park and across an AIDS march and past a man walking two tortoises ok a leash to one of our favorites, the Museum of the City of New York. The exhibits weren't great this time but we saw a cool film about the evolution of New York, enjoyed some cool design work by Rand Paul, and ate lunch in their cool cafe. Afterwards Roz had the good idea to go visit the Whitney in its new Meatpacking District location. Sadly everyone else in the city had had the same idea and the line to get in was spectacular. Lacking hours to waste standing in line, we climbed up to the Highline Park. This was also disgustingly busy but as ever the views were fab. We bought ice creams and then perched with books at the top of stairs meant for sitting on. Roz decided to lie on her back with her feet up in the air against the wall. Amused, I went to take a photo before noticing someone else had seen her and been inspired. That person did it too. Then another and another til there were six. It was like a charmingly surreal flashmob. Very cheery. And Roz is now the star of a thousand tourists' Highline Park holiday snaps...

All good things must come to an end, but as we headed back to the hotel to pick up our bags, we realized that the Highline Park, instead of ending, had been extended quite far! With delight (and just a bit of anxious speed) we marched around the new extension, which incorporates a cool view of the trains coming and going from Penn Station (sadly stationary today) before walking back to the hotel, and from there to the bus stop. Goodbye New York: you've been delightful.  

In which Layla and Roz go off piste for a central Puerto Rico adventure

by Layla

When we decided to return to Puerto Rico we were both clear on one thing: it mustn't be a repetition of last time (other than copious visits to the fabulous Marmalade restaurant). We'd already solved that with our crazy River/caving/climbing adventure, but adventure is just one component of a McCampion holiday: it was time to dial up the crazy. 

A couple of months ago I asked Tripadvisor for advice about a walking trip. There was but one reply, from Juan Carlos, a Puerto Rico librarian. He told us of a mythical expedition called the Caminata Panoramica. For the past 31 years, a group of Puerto Ricans have got together to walk the length of the island from east to west, he told us, broken up into 26 segments (A-Z) tackled every Saturday and Sunday morning from January til March, along a road called the Ruta Panoramica. The weekend we were in Puerto would be N and O... And did we want to join him? Well, of course. 

Juan Carlos picked us up in his car, and off we drove. First stop: Puerto Rico's second city, Ponce, because I had expressed an interest in seeing it. Alas it wasn't that exciting. We photographed lion statues and an old fire station, and drove up to a stately home on a hill, but soon we were on our way. Our destination was Adjuntas, but JC declined my suggestion via Google to take the highway. Instead we headed out on a long winding country road so he could indulge his obsession: chincharros. A chincharro is a roadside dive bar and Puerto Rico has hundreds of them. Most of which Juan Carlos has visited, and posted photos to prove it on his Facebook page. We all had a beer, took the requisite photograph, and we were on our nausea-inducing way. 

Eventually we got to our hotel, deep in the centre of the island. Juan Carlos immediately met a group of three extremely cheery walking friends who had done all the segments so far, and every year for decades. We all headed out to a charming little restaurant where they all busied themselves with finding us vegetarian food. We were introduced to our new middle-of-nowhere-in-PR staple, trifongo. Despite not really understanding, the dinner was extremely jolly. 

The next day we were up hideously early, driving to the end point of the walk, from where a yellow school bus conveys walkers to that day's starting point. Except we were feeling green with the winding roads, so we were let off at the start line to potter in a tiny Puerto Rico mountain village til the walkers started to gather. A range of ages, verging on older, the fashion of the day was a hat sporting cards from all the previous sections of the route walked that year, ie A-M. We proudly claimed our N cards and smiled for the photographs ensuing. Everyone was amazed and delighted that we tourists had somehow come across our walk and wanted to know all about us. I can't remember encountering any friendlier people. And their cheeriness continued. As we set off and walked along the road, the chickens clucking and dogs yapping from roadside homes were joined by roars of laughter from our happy walkers. As we progressed, walking through forest and mountain scenery, little buses drove by, handing us bottles of water and huge grapes. It was quite delightful. The first day was just under 10km, and at the end, the walkers gathered at a chinchorro for beer, delicious stew, and ice cream type snacks called a limber. "You are maybe the only non-Puerto-Ricans ever to visit this village!" More than one fellow walker announced with glee. The village in question was so remote its claim to fame is being the home of the native Puerto Ricans that survived longest after the Spanish invasion. 

We were happy to get back to our hotel, particularly given the beer consumption of the drivers, and elected to stay there for dinner that night, alas declining JC's kind invitation to an Argentinian restaurant, and then to watch him playing the bongo drums. We hear it was a triumph. We, however, ate trifongo and played a hundred games of Guess Who before going to bed and grudgingly setting our alarm clock for 5:15. 

Up dark and early, we were again deposited at the start line. The regular walkers couldn't have been more delighted at our return. And just like the day before, we set off. All uphill, but lovely scenery. And yet another chinchorro at the end. We decided to circumnavigate the afternoon beer-fueled festivities and paid for a place on the minibus headed back to San Juan. A couple of hours later we were in our new hotel, The Gallery Inn, being disturbed by parrots shouting "hello!" And then out to the rather good Museo de las Americas. This eclectic art/history museum had some high-quality exhibits but we particularly liked a great photo exhibition about "Who we are" as Puerto Ricans in Puerto Rico, and elsewhere in the Americas. We also liked cocktails in their cafe afterwards, facing towards the huge grass expanse around the fort which was clearly the place to be with a kite on a Sunday afternoon. There may have been over a hundred kites. We contemplated them over cheese and cocktails, before heading for one last glorious meal at Marmalade. 

The next morning we mercifully didn't have to awake at 5:15am. We headed out paddleboarding on the Condado Lagoon, the place we first tried paddleboarding. Then it was something obscure; today the lagoon was packed with paddleboarders. So we squeezed under a bridge and pottered our way up a port inlet, hoping not to be squashed by a giant ship. Luckily they were mostly small. As I stared in trepidation at one coming towards us, Roz had to suggest I avert my eyes as without my glasses I hadn't noted the people on board were all naked. Oops. 

After paddleboarding we had lunch, then hired bikes and went cycling, though alas the route wasn't very scenic. So after an hour or so, we returned to a seaside perch with a last Medalla beer and our books and contemplated the horrifying thought that it's 123 days til our next proper holiday. Nooooo. 

BOOKS READ WHILST ON HOLIDAY

Roz: The American Lover (Rose Tremain), Black Swan Green (David Mitchell), The Crysalids (John Wyndham), The Day of the Triffids (John Wyndham) and A Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet (David Mitchell). 

Layla: Shift (Hugh Howey), Dust (Hugh Howey), Black Swan Green (David Mitchell), Fluent in 3 Months (Benny Lewis), and some progress into A Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet (David Mitchell). 

In which Roz and Layla up the adventure quotient of their Caribbean vacation

By Roz

We arrived in St.-Martin after a very choppy ferry ride and found ourselves in a cute port with lots of French cafes etc. I might have cast a longing gaze towards them (not least because of a somewhat menacing looking sky) but Layla was having none of such tame plan and hailed us a cab. We were off in pursuit of a Tripadvisor promise of horse-riding! We arrived at the 'nature park', which entailed going through a dodgy looking industrial park, and I certainly had some doubts. But the woman who greeted us did so very cheerily (if with a certain amount of amusement that we had brought suitcases in odd contrast to their usual cruise clientele) and soon we were booked to go out on a ride at noon. This left us with an hour to spend sipping drinks overlooking the sea and reading our books. But our books got somewhat scant attention as we both enjoyed seeing other groups going out into the sea on their horses... Soon enough it was time for our ride, and our very sweet guide laughed at us for our semi-genuine nerves. Our nerves turned out to be not unfounded, given that Layla had a horse with an enthusiasm for rolling in the sand and mine an enthusiasm for nipping the other's bottom. Notwithstanding these terrors, we had a very cheery ride along trails in the countryside passing cacti and suchlike. The ride concluded with an expedition into the sea, and although neither horse absolutely swum, it was very cool indeed to be up to our chests in the water on horseback. 

From there (having changed) we taxied to the airport and got on board our plane to San Juan, Puerto Rico. As long-standing readers of this blog will know we came here not long after moving to the US so we had worked quite hard in advance to come up with some plans to entertain us during the last part of our holiday that we hadn't already done on our previous trip (successfully, as you will soon see). But it was very cheery to land in San Juan and be back on the cobbled streets and - on this occasion - staying in a small apartment in the heart of the old town. Having dumped our stuff and acquired a few supplies to ensure breakfast for the next two days, we went down to a bar we remembered from last time, ahead of the main event of the evening - dinner in Marmalade. Last time we went it was one of the best meals I've had, and this occasion proved similarly delightful with a four course vegetarian tasting menu (with wine pairing for me). We had beets, and beautifully fragrant gnocchi and fancy mac'n'cheese and felt very cheery to be there. 

We didn't stay up too late that night, though, since the next morning was a very early start. Up before 6 we emerged from our apartment at 6.30 to find a hipster bearded man (our guide for the day) waiting in his pick-up truck. He cheerily greeted us , inspected our shoes to ensure that they would be hard core enough for the day, and then we set off on a 90 minute drive towards the middle of the country and our destination - the Arecibo Observatory. This is the world's largest single-aperture radio telescope and our plan was to go on a giant hike around it. Our guide was very cheery - it turned out that he runs the tour company as a part-time thing and spends the rest of his time working for the US Department of Agriculture as an environmental planner. This meant he had huge enthusiasm for showing us bits of nature (which we were enthusiastic about because of his enthusiasm if you know what I mean). He handed us a couple of life jackets and hard hats (for a hike?) and then we set off. We began with a steep uphill hike giving us a perfect view of the telescope. It was huge - much bigger than I imagined - and it was fun to imagine all the researchers working there, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. After a bit more hiking in the downwards direction, we found ourselves at a river which circles most of the telescope. And then our guide walked right into it. Thus commenced an energetic, hair-raising but jolly time rock climbing, wading and floating down the river, including through three giant, black, bat-filled caves through which the river ran. We saw nobody else all day, as we traversed miles of glorious forest, stalactite-encrusted walls, and crystal clear gushing water. It felt a little as though we were in a Disney film since it was so lovely and so deserted with beautiful water, little waterfalls and such like - almost cartoonish in its perfection. We slid and clambered and - on one occasion - used the rocks as a big slide into the water (which was simultaneously delightful and terrifying). We declined the high leaps into the water below... After we'd gone several miles, and had a small picnic outside the last bat cave,

 our guide left the water and point to a small piece of red rope, and told us that we just needed to hop up that to get back on to the path. At first I thought he was joking. Then I thought it was impossible. But yoga seems to have given me slightly more arm strength than I knew, and so I hopped. As did Layla, leaving me thinking that her recent gym excursions have not been in vain. We then continued hiking - though being wet from top to tail made this a bit less fun than it was at first. And then, we were back in sight line of the telescope and could even hear signs of other human life. Eventually we got back to the pick-up truck, changed and consumed a vast number of grapes and pita chips with great enthusiasm. And then we headed home to San Juan...

Having showered and de-rivered more generally, we went out for a (slow) wander along the river, stopping for a beer with a sea view and contemplated the cruise ships with interest and trepidation (ahead of our own trip to the UK on the Queen Mary in August). And then, dinner. We found a lovely place, Verde Mesa, with lots of vegetarian food which was really interestingly done. San Juan has such good food. And if brussels sprouts aren't terribly Puerto Rican they are certainly both delicious and very American. So I didn't feel that ashamed. We then went for a wander through the streets - which feel very old Europe if you know what I mean - and stumbled across a movie being shot which we watched for a bit before heading home to read - and then sleep. 

Next morning we had a long lie - by which I mean we got up at 8.15 - and then got our stuff ready for an insane weekend expedition into the mountains. Then we went out for a wander by the old fortress by the water, and  then had a coffee and a contemplation of where we should buy a property in London (a seemingly never ending debate). And then lunch in a cute nearby cafe and then coffee (and finally wifi to post our last blog) ahead of meeting a man called Juan Carlos in a nearby square. And who is Juan Carlos and why are we meeting him, you ask?! Good questions which I shall leave Layla to answer in our next blog. But he is our companion for the weekend and we have high levels of confidence in him despite knowing very little about him because he used to work in Arlington Public Library. Logical indeed. 

In which Layla and Roz sample the Caribbean delights of Anguilla

By Layla

When we told our friends in the deepest of snowy Washington winter that we'd booked a holiday to the Caribbean, their faces were a mixture of 'jealous!', 'wow, you finally booked a normal holiday,' and 'gosh, what's wrong?' Our motivation was to visit our friend living in Anguilla. And so, we ditched our usual adventure for a stretch of beautiful beaches. We got to Anguilla via Sint Marten (Dutch territory), then a 5 minute drive to Saint Martin (French territory) before taking a 25 minute ferry over to Anguilla (British overseas territory). I've never visited so many countries in the space of an hour! 

But soon enough our friend had met us, we'd dumped our bags and we settled in a choice spot, sipping prosecco, on a picture-perfect, almost private little beach looking out onto the Caribbean. Nice. We couldn't resist a dip in the sea to round off the perfect start to a Caribbean holiday. That night we caught up with our friend over wine and food before admiring how rapidly our skin burned... And off to bed. 

The next day our destination was of course the beach, this time Crocus Bay. We acquired loungers, ate lunch at an attractive restaurant with live music, and hired paddleboards. We paddled into the (little) waves all the way past Pelicans and fancy yachts to a picturesque spot called Little Bay. On our return we got lots of street cred for our great paddleboarding finesse. Our friend joined us for a cocktail before returning home to de-sand and then out to Sandy Ground, a little restaurant strip on another picturesque beach where we watched the sun set over the water and negotiated a vegetarian dinner. 

Us being us, by the next day we were restless with all this crazy relaxing. We took a taxi to Island Harbour where we acquired ice creams and joined a school field trip to a miniature golf course, which was very much fun (especially when I won). Then we found the one French bakery on the island and acquired a picnic. Our mission: Windward Point, the easternmost point of Anguilla. We'd heard it was a nice hike but when we asked the minigolf people's advice on how to get to the start of the trail, they were appalled: 'if you asked for our advice, we'd say: don't go!' Luckily one of them was more adventurous and sweetly drove us to a place called Junk Hole. From there we walked down a long sandy track, cooled down with a beer at a single beachside restaurant, and then set off on our adventure. It was cool - but alas not temperature-wise. The sea looked all wild and moody. The lizards scrambled around. The strangest cacti popped up their heads. But there was nothing higher than us in any direction. The sun blazed down with zero shade. We tried. We gasped. We decided to cut out walking loop shorter than originally planned. Still, it was a while in that blazing sun before we eventually hit a road, and then a beachside cafe where we gratefully sunk into shady seats with a beer. 

Afterwards we got a cafe customer to drive us to Shoal Bay East where, after some false starts, we settled on loungers with books and drinks (spotting a pattern?) then hopped into the sea with a rented boogie board for some fun and frolics before returning home by taxi and going out with our friend that evening to the fancy schmancy hotels in the West of the Island for cocktails before an excellent meal at SandBar, and home for Bananagrams. Because we are cool. 

On our final day we walked an hour to Crocus Bay and spent the day on loungers with our books, and persuading the paddleboard people to let us rent them despite the wind... Fortunately we were able to prove our paddleboarding finesse once more after everyone else fell in the water and we suavely glided past sea turtles and flying fish. Very fun. For our last meal, we returned to SandBar. And then first thing today, we hopped on that ferry from Anguilla back to Saint Martin.