I really hope everyone’s having a lovely summer. We’re heading back to the desert soon and so I’m making the most of all the greenery before we leave. Here are a few of my snaps, including some details from my green-fingered mother’s garden. In a week’s time, I’ll feel like I’ve landed on another planet!
Note: Big white bird included on the request of Son1 who seems to have invented a new game, Angry Swans.
Edited using Picfx for iPhone and the photo collage website PicMonkey
“LOOK out the window!”
I don’t know how many times we’ve said this to our children in the car, and in how many different countries, but however amazing the view, it falls on deaf ears.
Boring.com to my children. But, kids, you’re missing so much by not looking out the window!
I’ve long since learnt that if someone pipes up, “Sheep!”, they’re not looking at a flock of fluffy animals grazing on grassy meadows outside the window. There’ll be a pixelated sheep swimming across the small screen in whatever world they happen to be inhabiting on Minecraft.
And, another thing, the vast swathes of life that took place in our BC (before children) world? No interest to them. Whatsoever.
In Florida, we drove by the apartment we used to rent when DH and I were newlyweds. “Look, boys, that’s where mummy and daddy lived before you were born!” I said, pointing excitedly at the grey-timber building, nestled in lush landscaping.
There was a flicker of interest, a brief glance out the window, with one eye still on the square-headed sheep.
Then Son1 says, nonchalantly: “C’mon, let’s go! You don’t live there anymore!”
And returns to his electronic stimulation.
If my eyebrows had risen any further, they would have shot past the atmosphere.
I’ve already posted about Orlando’s theme parks – including the fact I got over my allergy to Disney – but I don’t want to leave the impression that Florida is all about mass development. Because, the truth is, it’s a supremely wild place.
Follow me, if you dare!
When we lived in the Sunshine State, in an apartment complex snuggled in swampland, with a sparkling pool and carpets of thick-bladed grass all around us, a new warning sign was staked into the ground one day. Right by our mailbox.
BEWARE OF ALLIGATORS, it said. And it wasn’t a joke. They’d found a baby gator nearby.
For me, a city girl from London, this served as a reminder that I was now living in a subtropical paradise where alligators turn up in neighbourhood swimming pools and roam the golf courses. It was the first time in my life that getting eaten was actually a possibility.
This time around, on holiday with our boys, I talked up the gators. “Look out for the alligators,” I told them, every time we were near swampy water. “They especially luurrvvve naughty boys.”
We came across a pool of baby gators you could feed small children to at a crazy golf course in Daytona Beach, and spent a long time peering at a head-like rock in the crystal-clear waters at Blue Springs State Park. But, our one and only up-close sighting came at a rather surprising place.
On a bus tour round the Kennedy Space Centre.
Remarkably, there’s a pristine wildlife refuge right by the rockets with 500 different species, including sea turtles who heave their huge bodies onshore to lay eggs just a short distance from the launch pads.
For my boys, the alligator made their day – and was upstaged only by the black-spotted snake and giant spider’s web we encountered on a walk in the woods.
Who says holidays with children can’t be wild?
The wonderful wetlands of central Florida: Not somewhere to dip your toe in
Can you remember what you wanted to be when you “grew up”?
Until I was about 15 and had to start filling in careers advisory forms, I dreamt about being an astronaut [laughs head off now].
It might have been because my mum sat me in front of the 1972 moon landing when I was a baby, but whatever the reason, being something of a space nerd definitely played a big role in knowing my husband was the one.
Excuse me while I digress and remember the moment: On a date (in a light aircraft), he flew us at a low altitude down the 4.5km-long runway at Nasa’s Cape Canaveral. ‘Wow, this is what you see when you return from a mission,” I thought to myself, amazed.
With 33 space flights under its belt, and still covered in space dust, the Atlantis will spend its retirement ‘wowing’ visitors to the Kennedy Space Centre.
(It was the closest I’d ever get to being an astronaut, because, the truth is, I wouldn’t last five minutes in space with all that bird-legged bouncing around, zero-gravity puffiness and endless freeze-dried food.) And, obviously, if we attempted to fly low over the space shuttle landing facility now, we’d be shot down. Pronto.
But my fascination with space is still there and bubbled over on a visit to the Kennedy Space Centre on holiday. My most memorable moment of the entire trip took place when the doors to the new $100m Space Shuttle Atlantis exhibit opened.
“Is it real?” I gasped, eyes wide as I walked slowly up to the black-and-white space shuttle. Presented as though it’s in mid-flight, the Atlantis still bears all its scuffs, scorch marks and space dust from her last mission. “Yes, it’s real,” confirmed DH (who used to see the shuttle zoom past while buzzing around Florida airspace years ago).
In awe, and so close I could almost touch it, it was as much as I could do to not start clapping.
Of all the many fun-filled, wallet-emptying attractions that Orlando has to offer, there were two my boys really wanted to visit: Legoland and Titanic: The Experience.
The latter was unsinkably brilliant, and I really recommend it; the former, we didn’t do, because they’d literally just been to Legoland in Windsor. But, kids, they have a short memory, don’t they?
Obviously, you can’t bring children to Florida and not take them to Disneyland, so we knocked out Animal Kingdom, and, because we used to live near Orlando and always enjoyed SeaWorld, we spent a day there, too. And it was here that Son1 experienced his first white-knuckle rollercoaster – completely by accident.
SeaWorld was heaving with visitors, and after deciding we didn’t fancy waiting 90 minutes to see some penguins (albeit in a whirly saucer thingy), we bankrupted ourselves further by purchasing two fast-passes.
“It’s only gentle. Really!”
We wandered over to the famous Kraken rollercoaster (guess what? No queue anyway! You should have seen DH’s face) and went to the fast-pass entrance, where we were told there was a short delay as the ride was experiencing a technical fault.
The staff were distracted. All no more than college age, they were busy testing the floorless, sea serpent coaster and not paying the waiting visitors much attention. So, when it was ready to go again, Son1 and I walked on and took our seats.
For a panic-stricken moment, I felt like the worst parent ever, because just as the ride was unleashed, Son1 decided he wanted to get off. “You can’t,” I hissed, imagining the scene I’d have to create to stop the ride mid-roll. “It’s very gentle,” I lied.
He went quiet, and the rollercoaster hurtled round at break-neck speed, flinging us down a 144-foot drop, through two loops, a dive loop, a zero-G roll, a cobra roll and a corkscrew.
“You okay?” I asked as we clamboured off, clutching each other’s hand and wondering which way was up.
“Yesssss!” he replied, eyes shining. “Can we go again, pleeeeeease!”
A little later, DH took him back, only to reappear shortly afterwards with a disappointed Son1 – who, this time, had been turned away by more-attentive staff for being quite a bit too short.
Ooops.
…They really do know how to make life easier. I spotted this vending machine at SeaWorld – definitely a ‘momvention’, it’s filled with all the kiddie essentials that parents on the go might need, from diapers, wipes and cream to formula, bottles, pacifiers, Tylenol and sunblock.
Desperately seeking diapers? No problem, Nanny Caddy to the rescue (and no junk food in sight). When my children were this age, this handy machine would certainly have helped ensure our survival away from home.
And, while at SeaWorld, I couldn’t help noticing that sea creatures aren’t the only things they keep behind glass.
She’s a pearl diver. Several ‘work’ the tank and dive for oysters pointed out by visitors
Note to SeaWorld: How about some mermaids next?
This is a stolen term, from a writer in the Times newspaper, but I’m borrowing it because she was talking about a six-week British school holiday. Anyone reading this in the US or expat-land will be thinking, ‘Six weeks? PAH! That’ll be over in the blink-of-an-eye!’
Try 27 June – 2 September for size, presently yawning in front of us like a gaping hole – a mind-bending vortex that needs to be filled with activities, every.single.day, to prevent my children’s boredom from toppling us.
Happy (long) holiday, kids!
And because Dubai is as hot as Hades at this time of year, many of these activities need to be planned in another country, maybe even two or three different countries, if you’re going to get anywhere near the romantic notion of happy, rosy-cheeked kiddies hanging off the farm gate.
So, right now, we find ourselves in the UK – then tomorrow, we head off again, for our annual trip to the US. This year, to Florida, where we lived as newlyweds.
Something tells me we’re destined to meet Mickey Mouse and his motley crew, and obv. this means peaking far too early in the holiday, because when we return to the UK, and DH disappears off over the horizon to the blue yonder of Dubai, there’s still another six weeks to go. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Grandparents rock!
There’s also the small matter of keeping my newly founded Writing Inc. going – it has to take a back burner, of course, but still demands attention, at times like a hungry child. So, I’ve packed my career in my suitcase and, this week, worked remotely from my parents’ dining room.
With this as the view (mum’s garden, a 20-year project that was a field when we moved here), and sausage rolls in the fridge, it’s been such a lovely change. Best of all, the ankle-biting whippersnappers can be thrown outdoors for lengthy and wholesome, energy-burning games of hide-and-seek.
Office with a view: And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up – playmates wanted.
Numerous spa hotels have set up shop by the healing waters of the Dead Sea, offering visitors pampering packages and the chance to find out what the other-worldly experience of floating in the salty water feels like
Luxe on the lake: The infinity pool at the Kempinski hotel Jordan, by the Dead Sea
There’s something in the air down by the Dead Sea. You can feel it as you inhale; as you climb stairs with a spring in your step. You’d even be forgiven for believing the extra room in your lungs might make running seem like a walk in the park.
Of course, it wasn’t that I’d suddenly reached a new level of fitness without even trying. We were staying on the shores of the Dead Sea in Jordan, where the air contains 18 per cent more oxygen than at sea level.
When the mud slinging started, more health benefits revealed themselves. The hotel spa’s main ingredient – sloppy mud – was being dredged from the salty sea right on our doorstep. We slathered ourselves with mineral-rich gooey muck, until our skin pores started gasping for fresh air. Then stepped into the serene water to marinate and bob like a cork.
Up to 10 times saltier than seawater, the Dead Sea derived its name from the fact nothing can live in it due to its extreme salinity (and yes, that’s me fulfilling a lifelong ambition)
I had wanted to visit the Dead Sea since seeing photos of people floating on top of it, clutching newspapers, years ago. And I wasn’t disappointed: you really are unsinkable. Each time I moved, the buoyancy created an upward pressure that kept me afloat like a rubber ring. I wrapped my arms under my knees and laughed aloud – it’s the most peculiar, memorable experience.
At 400m below sea level, the lake marks the lowest point on the planet. Each day, millions of litres of water evaporates from the surface, creating a thick, atmospheric haze overhead. Noises are soaked up by this haze, leaving little to hear but the sound of lapping water, and dangerous UVB sunrays are filtered out, so you tan but don’t burn.
Therapeutic tourism has been big business for centuries, with visitors flocking to the area to take advantage of the seawater’s healing properties (King Herod was a regular apparently). Dead Sea water and mud contain high concentrations of minerals including calcium, magnesium, bromine, sulphur and bitumen, which can relieve skin conditions such as acne and eczema, ease the pain of arthritis, beat allergies and boost circulation.
These healing properties come at a price, though: even the smallest of nicks start stinging when you enter the water (don’t shave first!). Bobbing around in liquid that kills all marine life also has a slightly eerie feel. DH didn’t stay in for long, citing a tingly sensation that saw him slipping out the warm sea faster than you can say pass the salt.
Just one splash in the eyes or mouth is also enough to send bathers scrabbling for the shore. I was enjoying myself far too much to be too worried, however, and after a good shower, my newly exfoliated skin felt as soft as a baby’s cheek. Nature’s loofah comes highly recommended.
The Anantara Spa at the 345-room, five-star Kempinski Hotel Ishtar is the largest spa in the Middle East, with 20 spa suites offering a host of massages and treatments. An oasis of gardens and lagoons, the hotel is designed to be an affectionate tribute to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Other five-star properties that have opened their doors at the lowest point on earth include the Movenpick Resort & Spa Dead Sea and Jordan Valley Marriott Resort & Spa, as well as the four-star Dead Sea Spa Hotel.
Adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Other posts in my travel series: Hong Kong and Beirut
From the lights to the shopping to the fusion of Chinese and Western influences, there’s so much to sample in this fascinating and fast-paced city. This is the next installment in my series of travel posts and is adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Normal blog service resumed tomorrow!
Flight time from Dubai: Just over seven hours
Hong Kong bristles with such vibrant, non-stop energy that you can fit more into a 48-hour whirlwind tour of ‘Asia’s World City’ than you ever thought possible.
Transformed from a colonial outpost into a thriving, international business centre, Hong Kong is a city of contrasts. A Chinese metropolis with a 156-year history of British rule; a densely packed home to seven million people with islands and jungly undergrowth; and a shopping mecca famous for bright, neon lights, tucked-away temples, high teas and dim sums.
Hong Kong’s nightlife is electrifying
Its name means Fragrant Harbour, and while Hong Kong’s sensory overload may overwhelm at first, once you get your bearings you’ll find yourself drawn to this teeming hub like moths to a light. Here’s what you can do in 48 hours.
Day one: A friend who lived in Hong Kong for several years told me, “If you only have time to do one thing, go up The Peak.” Provided it’s not too cloudy or polluted, the views of Victoria Harbour, central Hong Kong and the city’s 260-plus islands are exhilarating.
By day, your eyes scan the gleaming skyscrapers, the traditional ferries that dot the waters of Victoria Harbour and an abundance of green landscape stretching all the way to the hills of the New Territories. As the sun sets, the hues change to pink and orange, before melting away to reveal a glittering nightscape that twinkles beneath you.
You can ascend Victoria Peak on foot via walking trails or take a bus to the top, but we opted to ride the historic Peak Tram, which climbs the mountain at an astoundingly steep angle. Dating back to 1888, the tram was the first cable funicular in Asia. Don’t be put off by the crowds at the terminus – the journey is a jaunty, not-to-be-missed visual experience in its own right.
The highest point on Hong Kong Island, Victoria Peak was home to many of the city’s early colonial administrators, who wanted to escape the heat and humidity of urban life below. Today, the exclusive neighbourhood still attracts the rich and famous, with some of the most expensive real estate in the world
After feasting our eyes, it was time to exercise our wallets at the Temple Street Night Market, which starts around 4pm but really gets going after dark. The emphasis is on fashion, but you can find just about anything, from chessboards to chopsticks.
There are quite literally hundreds of stalls stacked high (expect to haggle), and even if you’re not looking for a good deal, it’s worth visiting just for the atmosphere. The night market is also known for its dai pai dongs (open-air food stalls), fortune tellers and deafening Cantonese karaoke.
If you’re really determined to shop until you drop, you could always move on to Mong Kok’s Ladies Market, a one-kilometre stretch of market stalls selling piles of clothing and accessories, as well as home furnishings, CDs and trinkets.
Rounding the day off with a trip to Lan Kwai Fong, a small square of streets in Hong Kong’s Central District, will give you a lively taste of the nightlife enjoyed by the city’s expats.
Day two: The next day we opted not to visit the busy, bronze Tian Tan Buddha statue (known as the Big Buddha due to its size) and instead took a local ferry from Central Pier to the little island of Cheung Chau. A world away from the suits and skyscrapers of Central, Cheung Chau is a warren of little roads with few vehicles. It’s all too easy to while away the afternoon strolling around and sipping cold drinks at a seaside café.
As a grand finale that evening, we couldn’t resist one last look at the city’s glorious skyline, viewed from the waterfront Avenue of Stars. Modelled on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame, we saw the big names from Hong Kong’s entertainment industry immortalised in stone and took a photo with a bronze statue of Bruce Lee.
But, for me, it was watching the city’s lights come on – bringing the iconic skyline into even sharper focus – that was the most memorable. Then, at 8pm, as if we hadn’t been dazzled enough already, the Symphony of Lights set the sky ablaze with lasers.
MY TIP: Eat scones and sandwiches while listening to a string quartet at The Peninsula’s high tea, or if Cantonese is more your thing, try one of the dim sum restaurants in Tsim Sha Tsui
If you’ve been following this blog, you might remember that my in-laws live in Beirut. I may also have mentioned that my mother-in-law (MIL) is an absolute whizz at designing and furnishing houses.
When I was 15 and dating DH, I stepped into their London basement apartment on Gloucester Road and knew immediately that I wanted to live in a house just like it. The Japanese screens, oriental ornaments, Persian carpets, silk cushions and golden Buddhas that adorned their flat conjured up images of far-flung corners of the world that I yearned to travel to.
My MIL’s uncanny talent for interior design has been unleashed on homes all round the globe (places they’ve lived include Kuwait, Thailand, Japan, Hawaii and Washington DC, to name just a few). Most recently, my in-laws have been renovating a property perched high above Beirut – a yellow-stoned, cavernous building that was a crumbling, derelict shell when they bought it.
What they’ve achieved is astonishing.
Next door to their home is a guesthouse that they’ve just finished, and I’m posting it on the blog because it’s available for holiday lets (and no-one knows about it yet!).
From my in-laws’ two-bedroom guesthouse, there are 360-panoramic views of the Mediterranean and surrounding olive groves. Nestled in the mountains just 30 minutes from downtown Beirut and 15 minutes from the airport, Casa Mia Shemlan is a tucked-away village retreat, located 700m above the city’s humidity.
On our first visit, I got a taste of the flair Beirut is known for while leaving the airport. Lebanese drivers were jockeying for position, edging forwards into the smallest of spaces to gain an advantage, and leaning on their horns.
As we climbed up to Shemlan via steep mountain bends, my father-in-law wound down the car window to pluck a fig from a tree and stopped to greet a neighbour in Arabic. There was an air of relaxed friendliness. But it was the panoramic view that stole the show. Beirut, laid out below, stretched alluringly across a headland jutting into the azure-blue, east Mediterranean sea.
A popular destination for Middle Eastern travellers, and a cosmopolitan melting pot of people and influences, Beirut is the most distinct of all Arab cities
From above, the city looked peaceful, almost sleepy. It’s anything but, of course. On the ground, Beirut pulses with life, glamour and hedonism.
Rising optimistically from the war-torn ruins of decades of fighting, Lebanon’s capital is a vibrant metropolis, inhabited by beguiling, beautiful people whose hospitality knows no bounds. Many are fluent in English, French and Arabic. “Bonsoir habibi, how’s it going?” someone asked me, using all three languages in one sentence.
You might spot a tank on the streets of Beirut, rolled out as a show of security, but these days you’re far more likely to see sports cars with their hoods down, or a Ferrari dealer next to a flat bread stall.
In the city, bullet holes stare, like unblinking eyes, and shelled-out buildings punctuate the landscape, but there’s a spirit of resilience that’s helped Beirut dust itself off repeatedly from periods of conflict. Once the self-proclaimed ‘Paris of the Middle East’, there’s still an outdoor cafe culture, and European architecture can be found everywhere. Hamra is full of smart boutiques and the downtown has been rebuilt, exactly as it was, with a series of elegant streets branching off from a central plaza.
Everywhere, the city’s jumble of history is evident. Sitting in front of the huge Blue Mosque is a tiny Maronite chapel, and there’s a perfectly restored Orthodox church next to a Catholic cathedral – all within yards of each other.
My favourite place to be at dusk is the waterfront Corniche, where at sunset it’s as though the entire city is out strutting its stuff along the wide, palm-lined seafront promenade. From here, you can watch the sky turn pink over Pigeon Rock, then head into Hamra to sample the city’s famed, vibrant nightlife.
Beyond Beirut, the scenery is stunning. Lebanon offers every type of recreation, from skiing to swimming, walking, ancient ruins and wineries. A famous, old Lebanese boast is that you can ski and swim in the same day. And don’t get me started about the food, made from the freshest of ingredients. Provided everything is peaceful politically, Lebanon gives the south of France a run for its money.
This post is adapted from a travel column I write for a magazine called The Source (click here). More travel posts coming up!
We drove to the mouth of the Dog River, where there are inscriptions that bear witness to more than 3,000 years of Levantine history