Angry Sea Turtles The Podcast is finally here!
Here’s Episode 1 – in all its three minute glory – explaining what Angry Sea Turtles is and why and who and where and piglets and so on.
Music: Seven by Katzenfrau
Angry Sea Turtles The Podcast is finally here!
Here’s Episode 1 – in all its three minute glory – explaining what Angry Sea Turtles is and why and who and where and piglets and so on.
Music: Seven by Katzenfrau
Last month, we went to Buffalo!
Cue: Angry Sea Turtles’ Top 7 tips for being in Buffalo!
Buffalo, New York
Slogan/tagline: “If you haven’t seen Buffalo lately, you haven’t seen Buffalo.”
Obligatory see/eat/do: Buffalo wings, Beef on Weck, Fish Fry, Buffalo Bills games
Obligatory activity score: 0/4
Visit rating: ***
What would we do differently? Go in summer and explore along the river with its grain elevators, saunter through Olmsted-designed parks, redeveloping Canalside bits and the Cobblestone District, check out the 16 adjacent wineries along the wine trail (yep, all of ’em) and visit farmers’ markets when the temperature hasn’t turned everything edible into freezy-pops. Try brunch at Betty’s, Burmese food at Sun, Viet-Thai combos at Niagara Seafood and Buffalo BBQ.
Would we go back? Yep! See above.
Other Buffalo guides I think you should examine:
Visit Buffalo Niagara – great site! We did most of our trip research here.
Jim Byers’ Buffalo – the article that first got us intrigued about popping south of the border from the former Travel Editor at The Toronto Star
Flight #: 849
Craft: Ooh, a Boeing 787 Dreamliner!
Route: LHR-YYZ, London Heathrow to Toronto Pearson
Three words to describe staff: Professional, easy-going, Canadian.
Seat spaciousness: Despite being in the dreaded middle seat of the middle seats, this nine-hour flight was actually not hideous, so the seats must have been reasonably roomy.
Seat comfort: 7.5 out of 10. Considering I’m giving this score for a middle seat, this is really like 300 out of 10. My only complaint was that I got a permanent crick in my shoulder from being forced to weld my right arm to the armrest in order to prevent the guy beside me from elbowing my entertainment system control panel emphatically at every hilarious point of whatever he was watching on-screen.
Edibles/drinkables: One dinner meal, one wee bottle of red wine and two cups of tea consumed. The chicken (in a creamy red pepper sauce, with salty broccoli and mashed potatoes) was actually very tasty! In fact, if I was served it in one of those mediocre Italian restaurants that my dad insists on frequenting, I’d be most quite delighted. It would be an exceedingly pleasant change from the desiccated chicken and industrial laundry dryer-blasted tomato concoctions they usually serve.
Age ambience of craft: Impressively new! The plane looked like someone had just whisked it out of its protective bubble wrap and gently popped it down at Gate B39 seconds before our flight. This was my first time on an infamous Dreamliner, which – on the basis of the DL’s, um, initial wee safety hiccups (aaargh, fire!) – I wasn’t quite as thrilled about as the cabin crew obviously were. But the staff seemed quite delighted with their good fortune and made much trumpeting about how lucky we were and how the vast plane was a plane-baby at just six months old. The lighting (soothing blues courtesy of the 787’s supposedly jet lag-reducing LED lighting) and crammed-with-options entertainment system were pleasingly modern. The taps in the toilets were fancier than any I encountered in Tokyo, famed home of high-tech toiletry. I’m sorry I didn’t have a window seat to try out the button-touch window blinds. Next time, Air Canada…
Fellow passengers: Rugby-thighed PhD guy on my left and bearded, retired husband guy on my right. PhD guy and myself watched Divergent and there was much hilarity as we compared how woeful we thought it was, although there was nowhere near as much high decibel guffawing as came from bearded guy while he watched seven billion episodes of something that, from my few peeks at it, must have been called British Upper Crust Dinner Table Buffoonery.
Things I enjoyed: The fancy taps. The food. PhD guy’s company and film reviews.
Things I did not enjoy: Not getting to play with the fancy high-tech window blinds. How much and how loudly my neighbour enjoyed his in-flight entertainment choices. A super fancy new plane with volume and light controls placed precisely where the person in the seat next to you will elbow them on, off, up, down or hurtle you into a terrifying, opera-blasting channel change just when you’re getting to the only gripping bit of some lacklustre dystopian teen vehicle.
Ahoy readers, whoever you are! Here is a new feature of this erratically updated site: Adding to the hotel reviews I have already started to scrawl (and the destination guide and site and restaurant reviews that I often smack myself for not having got round to writing yet), here’s a new feature/thingy/random piece of content… airline and airport reviews!
Flight #: 3130
Route: YYZ-PHL, Toronto to Philadelphia
Three words to describe staff: Weathered, smiling, arthritic.
Seat spaciousness: Circulation to knees not cut off during flight, bonus!
Seat comfort: 4 out of 10. Lumpy! The seat back was like a badly assembled Zen pebble path. Lumpy is never a good word when used in relation to furnishings.
Edibles/drinkables: Two cups of tea consumed. My, those tiny wee cream capsules, once air pressured by a few tens of thousands of feet, really do blurt their contents an impressive distance! By the second one I’d learned to direct its frothy venom away from all items of clothing. By the third, I could have used it as a tiny dairy weapon.
Age ambience of craft: A big lumbering beast from the 1980s. It reminded me of the one that first brought me to the US in 1991. All that was missing was my Tiffany hair, penchant for faded denim dungarees and air of youthful amazement at the world.
Fellow passengers: Several furiously pushing hot dogs into their faces as they boarded as if they had to urgently cushion their intestines and esophagus against impending zero gravity.
Things I enjoyed: The chatty, friendly desk ladies at the gate. The eldest air crew lady’s permanently raised quizzical eyebrow.
Things I did not enjoy: Cream. With tea. Why, Air Wisconsin, why?
Detroit’s Inn on Ferry Street is a welcoming delight of an overnight address. Or, rather, six addresses. It’s practically an entire street! Comprised of a constellation of six separate century-old homes on a slow, leafy street off main thoroughfare Woodward, you’re sure to be able to find one that suits your colour scheme—and if you’d prefer a whole house and think nothing of nabbing three to nine rooms for the night, you’ve still got plenty of choice. Rooms range from cosy attic perches, placed perfectly for spying on comings and goings, to roomy suites nestled in carriage houses, set back off the street.
We were in a main house room, above check-in and the breakfast room, which saved us from having to brave brisk winds each morning (pleasing!), dashing to and from the extremely generous breakfast spread. Our room was pink. The colour was pretty much what I imagine the innards of a whale must look like. I imagine that sort of thing way more than you’d think. Blame my Bible-heavy Catholic upbringing. Anyway, definitely more “whale innards” than “salmon.” Well, unless you’re someone in the habit of seriously overcooking your fruits de mer or have recently netted a salmon crimson with fury at the prospect of being eaten. Let’s call it “New England Berry Puree” instead. It was a much more appealing room than I have made it sound. Sorry for mentioning whale innards.
I particularly enjoyed that the bathroom soap was a green tea and willow concoction that declared itself the “finest bathing soap.” This description immediately made me want to don a demure Victorian bathing costume and trot off in search of the nearest bathing pavilion. Detroit being a wee bit short on such swimming institutions, I made do with a swift shower and an amble over to the Detroit Institute of Art, conveniently situated about 100 feet from the Inn’s back door.
Spotted at breakfast: a member of seminal Goth band Bauhaus! Wearing shades! Eating granola! Spotted at check-in and at various inconvenient times by the breakfast waffle station: a glowering minivan-load of Ontario lesbians! Including at least two carrying what appeared to be feathered crow costumes! The views from our chamber’s bay window were of the adjacent mansion and the DIA’s and the Inn’s car parks, which allowed excellent spying opportunities as we attempted to work out why a sextet of frowny Canadian ladies were carting crow costumes about with such grave expressions. Were they in town for an ornithology convention, early Halloween hijinks or some feathered flight of fancy? To make a statement about cross-border migratory policies affecting rooks and ravens? Who knows? Alas, our fellow guests were far too frowny to be interrogated about their avian accoutrements.
More perturbing than coinciding with angry ornithologists or Goth demigods on our repeated jaunts down to make the most of the constant supply of coffee and cake in the breakfast room (Cake! 24 hours a day!) was the fact that Google’s first suggested auto-complete for the inn was “Inn on Ferry Street haunted”. I debated whether to tell A or not, but when I did, she was just hugely relieved that I hadn’t told her we were sharing sleeping quarters with any nasty creepy crawlies. While it’s distinctly possible that we simply have the supernatural sensibilities of a brick and so were not in tune with any ethereal inhabitants of the inn, we didn’t encounter anything remotely spooky or suspicious, other than the fact that at least three other breakfast guests leapt to their feet any time we even thought about approaching the waffle maker.
Summary? Go! You’ll like this place. An easy place to overnight and make the most of a first visit to Detroit.
Who would this hotel suit?
*Me!
*The Inn would also win points with my parents, who would have been pleased by the classical music playing gently in the common areas of the inn and by the proximity to the DIA.
*People who travel with their own life-size crow costumes.
*Goth legends.
*Grown-ups, in general, whether solo, couples or friends.
The Summary:
Pros:
*Kaleidoscopic array of clientele. You’ll fit in, no matter how weird you are.
*Plethora of pleasing 1930s/Arts and Crafts-era features, from beds and fireplaces to artworks.
*Tasty local Great Lakes coffee and an array of cake served 24 hours a day. Cake!
*Breakfasts served till 11:30 on weekends—bonus points!— and 10 on weekdays. Tasty scrambled eggs or frittata, plus many berries and many representatives from the muskmelon spectrum.
*Instead of an overpriced in-room minibar that taunts you with treats that will capsize your monthly budget if you dare to even peel off the lid, the Inn has a few demure baskets of cookies and so on ($1 for McClure’s Spicy Pickle Chips! Spicy! Pickly!) downstairs, and a wee selection of wines and beers for less than you’d pay in a corner store.
*Location! Although locals look a bit concerned at the sight of people using their legs to propel themselves, stay at the Inn and you can saunter to the DIA, The Wright Museum of African-American History, Michigan Science Center and Detroit Historical Society. Or you can get dropped anywhere within five miles by the hotel shuttle. The Motown Museum, hip Corktown and the tasty Eastern Market district are within ten minutes drive. Free parking!
*The hotel’s brochure describes it as “aptly accommodating,” which I agree with wholeheartedly. Very apt.
*Every one of the staff I encountered was a fine and entertaining human. If Detroit’s artistic and cultural offerings (and slew of adjacent dive bars) hadn’t been so enticing, I’d have happily stayed in and hung out with the Inn’s desk folks.
Cons:
*The Victorians or whoever built this place in 1886 were maybe better sleepers than us. Voices and coughs carry from the lobby and along corridors.
August 2014
I’ve stayed in hotels with many very different decorative statements and themes over the years. The Golden Age of Hollywood (Prohibition era cocktails! Dim lighting! Sepia tones!) Fashion (Menacing arrays of creepy, randomly placed, store mannequins, without even Andrew McCarthy around to make these sorts of props acceptable.) Llamas (fear not, this review is coming!)
But I’ve never before stayed in a hotel with a bee theme. I’m not saying that bees aren’t stars or that they shouldn’t be celebrated for their all-round awesomeness; After all, without them, there wouldn’t be honey, flowers or a significant proportion of income reaped by epi-pen manufacturers. No, bees rock and honey is delicious, but you generally wouldn’t smather some on an art board and pin it on your wall… or line up haphazard bits of hive and stick them, jenga-like, in your front room, now, would you? Well, the fine folks behind the Annebrook House Hotel have done exactly this. My favourite bee-work was the series of honey splats that looked like someone had bought three really gooey cinnamon swirl buns, squished them down briefly but enthusiastically on a sheet of paper, and then stuck it in a frame. Yum.
But, really, other than a misplaced desire to give bees the artistic acclaim they have been long denied, the AHH is quite delightful. The hues of honey, wood and caramel are soothing, the rooms are roomy and bright, the bar is crammed with exuberant Irish people and the restaurant is in an atmospheric cellar. Staff include a super helpful front desk lady called Martha who hummed happily as she checked train timetables and a slew of excellent restaurant servers who remained cheerful, polite and unbothered despite my dad’s repeated efforts to insult them at every meal.
Who would this hotel suit?
*Anyone wanting to explore the wonders of County Westmeath. Presumably there are some.
*Couples, families, solo travellers, larger groups.
*People not planning to sleep before 2am on Friday or Saturday nights/people who enjoy covers of The Cure, various Irish bands of the 80s and 90s until the bar closes.
* Beekeepers.
*Retired bees.
*People not allergic to bees.
The Summary:
Pros:
*It seems that most people who stay in Mullingar of a weekend are rather intoxicated for the duration. A few wee stings, courtesy of the bee hives up on the third floor smoking balcony, could be a helpful way of waking guests up when they pop out for some fresh air the morning after. Also, yay, bee preservation!
*Sarcastic Estonian restaurant manager, well able to out-insult persistently cheeky 74-year-old guests.
*Atmospheric restaurant in the House’s old cellar with best food in town and a generous breakfast buffet for all guests. Great, dark alcove/nook for romantic dinners or for those wanting to avoid sunlight at breakfast time.
*Views of rooftops, the old church, river and park, chefs having a sneaky smoke out by the bins.
*Perfect location on the main street of Mullingar, opposite a coffeeshop and the fascinating Dealz bargain store – if you need some religious statuary or toilet cleaner for your stay, you are in luck.
Cons:
*Bee art.
June 2014
Are you going to Malaga? Do you like windows? Yes? Well, the Echegaray Suites may be the place for you! It offers a whopping 28 panes of glass in the living room alone! Floor-to-ceiling ones arrayed in a charming bay arrangement on the corner of a historic, pleasingly Spanish street corner! Plus more shutters than you’d find in a particularly sleepy Andalucian village at siesta time. AND the windows have delightful decorative wrought iron railings thoughtfully positioned over the lower bits of window so that you, your cat** or an inadvertently dropped bagel don’t cascade onto the streets below.
And then there are the views! Looking through these 28 panes allows views of quaint marbled streets, bustling restaurants, Malaguenos doing Malagueno things below. And, depending on shutter situations on the other side of the streets, you also sometimes get views into the little old Spanish lady opposite’s apartment, complete with ancient chandeliers and dark, aged, oil paintings of religious scenes. Sounds perfect? Well, it is… unless you are a person even partially partial to sleep.
The variety of noise that will prevent you getting even four consecutive minutes of sleep during the night really is truly amazing. The Spanish may be the most impressively creative noisemakers in the galaxy. And such energy! They think nothing of a rousing chorus of an Enrique Iglesias classic to celebrate it turning quarter past five or an impromptu 6 am drum recital. There’s the general restaurant chatter from the three restaurants opposite, the one below and the two on the side street. There’s the booming gong that echoes through the streets, letting waiters know that it’s time to thunk a plate of overpriced tapas down in front of a baying table of drunken stag lads. There are the whoops and bellows of “Ole” when they do. There are the sporadic whistling competitions, the saxophone versions of The Pink Panther Theme, the flamenco guitar duels, the surprisingly frequent and belligerent piccolo solos. The squeals, the shouts, the singing. My, how the Spanish like to sing! And such a varied repertoire! There’s the nightclub below, which is obviously the most hilarious place to stagger out of in Western Europe. My, how they cackle! And apparently it is necessary to empty all glass recycling bins in the historic centre every 37 minutes all night with a thunderous crash.
And those lovely marbled streets? The Malaguenos love them so much that they despatch armies of tiny marble mopping trucks to clean and polish them on the hour every hour, their tiny wheels squeaking like swarms of terrified piglets throughout the night until 7 am… when the church bells start and the swifts start shrieking their ear-piercing delight at the beginning of a new day.
BUT, despite having detailed these diverse diversions from sleep, it’s such a supremely Spanish cacophony that I was actually happy to stay here for the first night. By the fourth, I was ready to murder myself.
Who would this apartment suit?
*This would be a good apartment for my dad who has excellent eyesight, so would enjoy peering into the darkness of the wee lady opposite’s apartment, trying to identify religious scenes in her paintings. And his abysmal hearing would edit out the worst of the piccolo performances.
*It would also suit someone only wanting to stay on a Sunday night, when restaurants are either closed early or, joy, don’t open at all.
*It would also suit someone with the ability to harness a 747’s worth of white noise and batten it closely to their ears.
The Summary:
Pros:
*Awesome, unbeatable location in the historic centre.
*A truly stunning apartment with soaring high ceilings and gorgeous light streaming in.
*Photos of shoes, plus other perks such as washing machine, TV, microwave, kettle, toaster.
*Pets can come too! (**and are unlikely to cascade out of the windows…)
*This place is so vast that I got different phone network options at one end of the apartment and the other.
*Walking home up atmospheric Calle Echegaray is a splendid experience.
*The ancient original door adds to the awesomeness.
*The soundproofing WITHIN is great… so, um, you won’t be bothered by someone blasting white noise in a desperate attempt to snatch fragments of sleep in the next room.
*Great aerial views of the tops of people’s heads and bird life.
*Excellent opportunities to drop inexplicable things onto plates of people eating below, such as plastic octopii and paper planes featuring poetry about goats.
Cons:
*A tad noisy.