The Restaurant at the End of the Holiday

Well, I'm home.

After Barcelona, I had a day in Madrid, where (with the constant travel starting to get to me) I decided to eschew any sightseeing, historical investigation or other form of cultural or intellectual pursuit in favour of good old retail therapy. I spent the entire day clothes shopping. Then I got the train to Paris and did much the same thing again there.

Paris also featured two dinners of particular note: the first was a visit to Le Cinq, the restaurant of the George V (or George Cinq) Hotel. Le Cinq is one of Restaurant Magazine's World's Top 50 Restaurants, I think about number 29, so I was slumming it almost as much as when I was eating 10 cent street food in La Paz. The menu includes both light and grand degustation menus, of which the grand was nine courses and I received a copy of the menu signed by chef Philippe Legendre. The food at Le Cinq was breathtaking and the service unmatched anywhere I've ever been. All in all, the perfect meal, and a great way to end the holiday. I've put a copy of the menu at the bottom of this blog entry for any gourmands who happen to be reading.

The second meal of note was a vegetarian pizza the following night. This one was noteworthy mostly in respect of the case of gastroenteritis (or something comparable) that had me bedridden the following day. I don't think I have ever as violently physically ill in my adult life, and the vomiting and diarrhoea were so violent that I was unable to even keep water down for most of the day. The only saving grace was that I was in a hotel room rather than a hostel, as I expect the latter would have been more unpleasant by orders of magnitude for any fellow room members as well as myself.

Somehow I had managed to make it through Central and South America whilst both washing my teeth using the water, sometimes drinking the water, eating street food and hostel buffets, ordering food from roadside truckstops while travelling by bus, and then I get sick in Paris???? How the hell does that happen????

So, after an entire day lying sick and shivering and being overly acquainted with the bathroom, I headed off to London for some more shopping and to get my flight back to Sydney, and arrived home just in time for Easter.


So before I sign off, I'd just like to thank everyone who has sent me emails over the last three months, and to say how pleased I am that so many of you enjoyed the blog. I am genuinely amazed (and somewhat humbled) by how many people seem to have regularly or irregularly checked on my movements - particularly as I expected I'd be writing for an audience of about four people. Special thanks also to Will for remote IT assistance, Siobhan and Tara for accommodation in New York and London respectively, and Michelle for looking after my house for three months (and not accidentally burning the kitchen to the ground).


Now, as a parting message to you all, may I say: Get back to work!



Love, David.




From the Le Cinq menu, 14 March 2008

DEGUSTATION
The Gourmet Tasting Menu

Palm Heart from la Reunion island, Tricasting black truffle

French toast of Belon oysters and Oscetria caviar

"A la ficelle" poached leek in winter scent and black truffle

Fricassee of Dublin Bay prawns, lasagne with aged parmesan cheese

Milk-fed lamb from Pyrenees in sesame and mint cream

Roasted fillet of venison and his "gouge" with a Tricastin black truffle salad

Our <> cheese selection

Exotic fruits surprise

Manjari chocolate souffle flavoured with orange

Restaurant Magazine's Top 50 for 2007, as copied from Wikipedia

1. El Bulli, Roses, Catalonia, Spain (Best in Europe)
2. The Fat Duck, Bray-on-Thames, UK (Chef's Choice)
3. Pierre Gagnaire, Paris, France
4. The French Laundry, California, USA (Best in the Americas)
5. Tetsuya's, Sydney, Australia (Best in Australasia)
6. Bras, Laguiole, France
7. Mugaritz, San Sebastián, Spain
8. Restaurant Le Louis XV, Monaco
9. per se, New York, USA
10. Arzak, San Sebastián, Spain
11. El Celler de Can Roca, Girona, Spain
12. Gambero Rosso, San Vincenzo, Italy
13. L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Paris, France
14. Hof van Cleve, Kruishoutem, Belgium
15. Noma, Copenhagen, Denmark (Highest Climber)
16. Le Calandre, Padua, Italy
17. Nobu London, London, UK
18. Jean-Georges, New York, USA
19. Hakkasan, London, UK
20. Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée, Paris, France
21. L'Astrance, Paris, France
22. Can Fabes, Sant Celoni, Catalonia, Spain
23. L'Ambroisie, Paris, France
24. Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, London, UK
25. Troisgros, Roanne, France
26. Le Bernardin, New York, USA
27. Martin Berasategui, San Sebastián, Spain
28. Le Gavroche, London, UK
29. Le Cinq, Paris, France
30. Charlie Trotter's, Chicago, USA
31. Dal Pescatore, Canneto sull'Oglio (Mantova), Italy
32. Daniel, New York, USA
33. Rockpool, Sydney, Australia
34. St John, London, UK
35. Chez Dominique, Helsinki, Finland
36. Alinea, Chicago, USA (Highest New Entry)
37. Bukhara, New Delhi, India (Best in Asia)
38. DOM, São Paulo, Brazil
39. Oaxen Skärgårdskrog, Oaxen, Sweden
40. Chez Panisse, Berkeley, California, USA
41. Enoteca Pinchiorri, Florence, Italy
42. Cracco Peck, Milan, Italy
43. L'Arpège, Paris, France
44. River Café, London, UK
45. Oud Sluis, Sluis, Netherlands
46. Combal Zero, Rivoli (Turin), Italy
47. Le Quartier Français, Franschhoek, South Africa (Best in Mid East & Africa)
48. Taillevent, Paris, France
49. Bocuse, Collonges-au-Mont-d'Or (Lyon), France
50. Les Ambassadeurs, Paris, France

Gaudi but Good

Well, what can I say? Marrakesh was marvellous, but Barcelona was better.

After a week roughing it on the mountain, Michelle and I decamped to Casablanca and then Marrakesh for a little rest and relaxation. Casablanca had two great attractions - Rick's Cafe and the Hassan II Mosque, the largest mosque in Africa (and the largest in the world outside Saudi Arabia). It was built in only six years, and apart from Venetian crystal chandelliers and two Italian white marble columns, is made entirely from Moroccan materials.

The mosque has space for 30,000 faithful, and they run tours for infidels like me (including plastic bags for our shoes) when the five daily prayer sessions (sunrise, 1pm, 4pm, sunset and dinner [8pm]) were not taking place.



Inside the structure but separate from the Mosque a set of baths have been constructed for muslims and non-muslims. These aren't currently in use (and the guide was a little vague on whether they would ever be opened to the public), however they include a cashier, showers and change rooms all ready to go. Being a conservative muslim country, there are of course separate pools for men and women. And as an aside, I was quite pleased with the photo.


The old town in Marrakesh was great. The Souk (or market) had all sorts of traditional Morrocan goods for sale, most of which were produced there. So while there were dozens of stalls selling the same glass and metal lamps, trinkets, leather slippers, teapots, trays, glassware, ... there were also stalls where they were making these same items. Apparently the artisan markets are subsidised by the Government which seems to work as it made a welcome change to the equivalent markets in Casablanca which sold second hand televisions, fake Louis Vitton bags and plastic childrens toys.


After Marrakesh, Michelle headed off on a plane, so I reverted to my travellers ways and got the overnight train to Tangier, then a ferry to Spain, picked up a car in Algercias and then ate a perfectly respectable British lunch of Steak and Ale pie in Gibraltar. I had always thought Gibraltar was an island, but it is actually just a peninsula onto which the British have squeezed a military base, an airstrip (you drive across the middle of the runway to get into the town),
a World War II Cemetary and memorial, a cable car, English architecture and street signs, and a defiantly ¨British¨ attitude to being perched precariously on the edge of Spain. Many of the tourist trinkets proclaimed that Gibraltar was proudly British since 1704.

A couple of days of driving 'round the coast took me up to Barcelona which was fantastic. At first I wasn't sure if it was just relief at being back in the developed world, but shortly concluded that it is just a great city. I had a day and a half of sightseeing which wasn't nearly enough to see all of the architecture and sights in the city, let alone visit all the museums and go shopping.

I managed to make it into the Sangrada Familia de Anotoni (the Gaudi cathedral that is the Barcelona equivalent in recognition terms of the Sydney Opera House), La Pedrera and the Battlo House, but never made up up town to. In addition to Gaudi, there are a bunch of other notable architectural works and notable architects who lived in the city.




Please turn your head 90 degrees for this one.



In addition to the architecture, the shopping was great, the food was great, the people were friendly and, despite forecasts of three days of rain, the weather was pretty good too!

Here's looking at me, kid...

Me in Rick's Cafe, Casablanca. Rick's was inspired (rather obviously) by the movie of the same name.

Mount Kilimanjaro : The Day of the Gnocchi

A couple of weeks ago I was in Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, reading about a tradition they have each month called the Day of the Gnocchi. In the 19th century people were paid on the 30th of the month, and by the 29th they were so low on money that gnocchi (made from potato and flour for the non-culinary minded) was all they could afford. A bit like the years I spent having $2.20 chips and gravy at the University Bar, I guess. Anyhow, more than 100 years later, all the restaurants in Montevideo still serve gnocchi on the 29th of the month, even if they don't serve gnocchi normally.

What does this have to do with Mount Kilimanjaro? Well, actually not much, except at 12:10am on the 29th of February, myself and eight travelling companions set out on the fifth and final days climb to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro.




We were warned that many people returning from the top found the day of the summit climb one of the hardest things that theyhad ever done in their lives, and scrambling over loose rock in howling winds and sub-zero temperatures really wasn't a lot of fun. However, not only me, but all eight of my companions successfully reached the 5,895m highest point (known as the Uhuru peak) shortly after sunrise.

The view from the top is breathtaking, and the attached pictures don't really capture the enormity of the challenge or the scale of the view at the top. They also don't capture just how cold - about minus 20 degrees Celcius - and windy it was up there, but you really don't want to experience that. Let's just say I was a lot happier about being at the top than I appear to be in the photo.


The five day trip itself was something of a biology tour as we walked upwards through environments that changed with the altitude. At 1,500 metres the park was rainforest, thinning to alpine forest at around 3,000 metres, then alpine desert above this and finally desert above 4,000 metres. The only thing missing in the red soil desert zone was a couple of skateboard sized Mars Rovers looking for interesting rocks and evidence of water.

Out of Office Message II

David has been reunited with his luggage and is now currently climbing Mount Kilimanjaro with the hope of finding either enlightenment or, more likely, some nice stories and photos to put on his blog.

He will be out of contact and therefore unable to upload any blog posts until his return from the mountain top, however would love to hear from you, so please email him at david dot m dot beck@gmail.com

What is this man doing in Buenos Aires?

It's Will Scott from Sydney for those who don't know him. Say "Hi", Will.

Get me off this ¿@$% bus!!!

Some people think flying from Sydney to London takes a long time.

From memory, it takes about 22 hours and, if you travel economy class, there isn't much room to move around. There is always the chance to stretch your legs during the couple of hours stopover in Bangkok or Singapore but other than that the only thing between you and a potential case of deep vein thrombosis is the occasional trip to the bathroom.



Now everyone's got that image in their mind let me tell you about my 57 hour bus trip from La Paz to Buenos Aires.



Bolivia is stunning. The series of photos below were all taken out the window of the bus and don't really do the landscape justice. The only visual experience I can compare it to is Tuscany where every hilltop brings a new Kodak moment. In Bolivia, every death defying turn on the one lane dirt road similarly provides a new photo opportunity, which is especially amazing given how high and dry most of the country is.

Special note: The above photo is Tupiza where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid met

their end after robbing a payroll coach in Huaca Huañusca, which we also passed through.

As my extended stay in the US to get the visa cut a week out of my South American travelling time, unfortunately I didn't get the chance to go and see the Uyuni salt flats and missed some of the best views. 16 hours after leaving La Paz, a city that is a photo opportunity in its own right, the bus reached Villazon on the Argentine border.

Buses in Bolivia (like those in Guatemala) are notorious for their poor quality and I consider myself fortunate to have reached the border without incident as we passed more than one broken down bus on the trip south, including one that had hit a fallen rock during the night and appeared to have broken an axle.

During this bus ride there was no bathroom, however there was one bathroom stop, in a town with a pair of squalid toilets (amazingly, western style rather than squat) where each patron was handed a wad of paper before entering, in which you "locked" the door by pushing a rock against it, and the toilet was "flushed" by retrieving a bucket full of water from the 44 gallon drum outside the toilets and pouring it into the bowl. Hand washing was accomplished under a dribbling tap feeding the aforementioned drum.

Border crossings haven't always been the smoothest part of my travel, and I can report that my experience at the Bolivian-Argentine border was no exception. Suspiciously on arrival at the travel company office, the Argentinian passport holders were shuffled immediately to the border crossing, while myself and two German backpackers were advised to go have lunch and we would cross in good time.

Three hours, and a strange lunch consisting of chicken, rice, spaghetti AND french fries (this wasn't my poor ordering skills, the restaurant had only this one dish which they served to all patrons), rather than the 7pm onward bus I was expecting, I was instead presented with a 12:05am ticket for departure. Apparently there were no seats on any of the earlier buses, possibly on account of them being given to the "frequent flyer"Argentinians.

So over the border I went, passing through both Bolivian and Argentinian migration which was nicely incident free, to collect my boarding pass (for whatever reason, the travel agency can't deliver actual bus tickets, only vouchers) only to discover that there was no 12:05 service, there were no seats on any of the direct buses that did exist, and my only option was to accept an 11pm Collectivo (mini bus) with two or three bus changes during the next 24 hours to get to Buenos Aires and no ETA.

Now this may have breached the migration laws of two countries, but I'm pretty sick of this happening and I'm now confident enough in my broken Spanish to explain the problem and ask for a nwe ticket. So I marched back across the border into Bolivia, ignoring those little details like passport control leaving my luggage with the Germans. I went back into the tour company office and asked for a new ticket... and got one, albeit with a 3am change of bus at General Guemes. Feeling good, I then marched straight back across the border again, once again ignoring migration offices on both sides. And as a bonus, no-one shot or arrested me.

The connecting bus from General Guemes to Buenos Aires was a bit of a mystery, and my new connection ticket (printed in a hurry) had a couple of anomalies, like being for 20/02 at 8:10am rather than 18/02 at 03:00am which had been hand-marked over the top. Not exactly filling me with confidence that I wasn't going to be spending a cold night in the bus terminal.

So, was I going to be jumping straight on another bus to Buenos Aires at 3am or getting dumped by the side of the road until I could convince some bus conductor to accept my dodgy ticket?

Yep, at 3:45am the bus terminates at Salta (about an hour short of General Guemes) and the bus conductor rather unhelpfully points out that the person who issued the original ticket obviously made a mistake as (a) it isn't possible to get to General Guemes on the Salta bus and (b) there is no 3am connection to Buenos Aires from either Salta or General Guemes in any case. Thanks.

So its 4am and I'm stuck spending the rest of the night in a cold bus terminal waiting for the ticket office to open to see whether, when and how I can get to Buenos Aires on Monday which is still 20 odd hours away. And at this point I've already been travelling for 31 hours.

Actually, it didn't end up being that bad. The ticket office opened at 5am, there was a bus to Guemes at 5:30am and a connecting bus to Buenos Aires at 8:10am, and there was one remaining free seat on the Buenos Aires bus. Apart from the final bus being about 30 minutes late, the rest of the trip was incident free and I arrived in Buenos Aires at about 6am Tuesday morning, having left La Paz at 7pm on Saturday.

Well, now I've shared all that, do I think there is a moral to this story? Don't give up? No. Don't take No for an answer? No. Don't pay any attention to border control? In hindsight, I probably won't be doing that again and don't recommend anyone else try it either. No, the moral of the story is when faced with a $350 airfare or a $100 bus ride that takes two days longer, take the flight because however nice the view of the country side, it isn't worth the pain of three nights on a bus, lazy travel agents and four bus changes.

Oh, and don't ever whinge about how long it takes to fly to London.