Waiting for the sun (Copenhagen, Denmark part 2)

Hello again dear reader, today's title might be somewhat of a give away. After yesterday's beautiful sunny afternoon we returned to more familiar patterns of grey cloud and drizzle. Well, following a brief burst of morning sunshine. Once again we were left waiting for the sun, a classic from one of the best bands to come out of America, The Doors.

Our discovery of Copenhagen continues. There is so much to do here, museums, galleries, historic buildings and statues, of course. Being here over Easter has limited our options due to public holidays so we have decided we will definitely return in their summer next year. Although our accommodation is spacious and very central, we hope to stay in the same building but on the ground floor.

Our second full day was also affected by the weather. The cold has really not been an issue for us. Thermals, a warm coat and gloves and a beanie work wonders. Even the rain hasn't been such a problem. Drizzle is never far away and mostly is just an inconvenience since it is so light. Not today. Rain is predicted.

Our place through the Rosenborg gate.

At breakfast we returned to Buka to sample different pastries but still with a double espresso. It was reasonably cool, but not cold. We returned home to rescue the washing and place it in the drier.

Reffen

Initially our intention was to go to Reffen in the morning before the rain set in. Despite Easter, Reffen was open and had a number of events happening to attract the holiday crowd. There's food, alcohol, music and dancing. Some Christian religions would be appalled.

Reffen is a street food market where you can buy street food, obvious, but also fresh food to take home and cook. It was a 30 minute bus ride and given the weather and the need to check out the station for our impending departure, Reffen got the flick. Until next time.

Central Station

The bag-drag to our accommodation was defined by crowds, cobblestones and misdirection. Walking 2 km with a wheelie bag is OK if the conditions are kind. I was determined to arrive at the station on Saturday, not stressed or tired or sweating profusely. Searching for the route that would deliver this was problematic because a lot of it was similar to the reason why the LNP elected Dutton as leader, a mystery.

The back of the Church of the Trinity.

We set the GPS which immediately redirected us to the path we had trodden a couple of days before. Useless. With a rough map in my head, we continued on regardless until Google caught up with us. I ditched Declan for this excursion. It proved to be an interesting morning. We finally found the Roundtower which is part of the Church of the Trinity. There was quite a queue to walk up the spiral ramp. The line moved slowly and we had other plans.

The Roundtower.

A little further along our chosen path, we came across two armed soldiers patrolling a section of road that had been closed to cars by the installation of metal swing gates at either end. Interesting. On the fence protecting the building from the street and passing traffic were laminated photographs each captioned "bring them home". It was outside the Great Synagogue. No photos.

The spire of St Peter's.

The rest of the walk was unremarkable. Cafés, restaurants, shops of various descriptions, the usual medley of buildings and businesses. The cobblestones still made their presence felt but not to the extent of our previous trek.

We arrived at the station in 35 minutes, including time for me stop and take photographs, found the required platform and returned home before the drizzle turned to rain. And to see if the washing was dry. Navigating washing machines and dryers is a little challenging when all the controls are marked in Danish or German.

Part of the bike storage at Copenhagen Central Station.

The rain increased in intensity and kept us indoors for the afternoon. Once it cleared, we ventured out in search of dinner.

Bistro 23

The rain had gone but the wind had picked up and it was certainly like a slap in the face if you turned into it. Jayne's coat has a hood and I wore a beanie as we set out to find a restaurant that served steak. That was the easy part. The French influence ensured there were many offerings of steak et frites. The problem was in the size of the offering.

Bistro 23 from across the water.

The first restaurant had the steak but not anything for Jayne. The next offered a 300g steak, way too much for me. And so we kept wandering and reading menus, passing many, many pizza places until we were back at Kongens Nytorv, a stone's throw from Nyhavn.

As I said in the last post, Nyhavn is lined with restaurants but we were uncertain whether they offered seating inside. All the action on a sunny day was outside. As we walked alongside the King's New Square where yesterday we sat in the sun and sipped beer, Jayne quipped, "I'll bet there is no problem getting a seat over there now." A particularly icy blast send my hands deeper into my pockets. She was right, there were plenty of seats available, but amazingly there were also some hardy souls sitting at tables drinking cocktails. And smoking of course.

Flowering bulbs hanging outside a florist.

We soldiered on until we stumbled across Bistro 23 in Nyhavn. A French Bistro with the right dishes, a waiter with a good sense of humour and most importantly, tables inside out of the wind. We may have left the Arctic circle but tonight it hadn't left us.

We had a delightful meal accompanied by a silky, smooth French red. My steak was perfectly cooked and Jayne's lamb chops turned out to be a rack of lamb. No complaints here. We were warm and comfortable and outside the smokers, rugged up like Kenny from Southpark, we're enduring freezing winds so they could feed their habit. Brave? Determined? Stupid? Addicted? I'm not judging, just smirking with a kind of Scott Morrison smugness.

Caspar, our waiter, gave us his card. We told him we'd see him in the summer next year. He thought national service might intervene on our rendezvous. He had not been required this year because there were too many candidates. I guess we'll see. I've written his name on the card so we won't forget.

It was a 10 minute stroll home. We really are in a central location.

Until next time.

Sunny afternoon (Hamilton Island)

More rain overnight but the morning arrived with decreasing cloud, warmer temperatures and light breeze. Today promised more than any of the preceding days. Island paradise at last. Which inspired today's title. Yes my encyclopaedic reader it is another Kinks song, but I'm trying to inspire the younger generation to expand their music repertoire. They were such a great band and a part of the British rock invasion of the 60s.

The day commenced as it should with breakfast delivered to our room, but I said I would commence this blog with a review of dinner. Happy Easter my dear reader I hope the Easter Bunny was kind to you ... if that's your thing of course.

The Yacht Club from across the marina

Bommie is the up-market restaurant in the Hamilton Island Yacht Club. As I made mention yesterday it has a strict dress code. Well, no thongs, singlets or board shorts. I've never been a fan of dress codes so I wore a singlet, albeit under my shirt. The rules seem specifically aimed at men. Certainly there were men in trousers - previously the only trousers I'd seen were on staff in various establishments. It is a resort in the tropics after all. What makes a daggy pair of canvas shoes more acceptable than a pair of thongs? Why is it that a pair of thongs not made of rubber, aka women's sandals, are acceptable? There were some interesting outfits on show that passed muster to get through the door. The shortest pair of faded, ragged denim shorts I've ever seen. Tennis shoes - they still exist apparently. Some outfits were not able to be critiqued because the ladies in question had obviously been caught short without a cardie (unlike Jayne) and were rugged up in bright red blankets supplied by the restaurant. Seemed a bit OTT as the dining room was not al fresco.

The restaurant itself is all dark timber and mood lighting with expansive views over the water. The tables are enormous triangular pieces that are way too big for two people. This arrangement, however, means you are well separated from other diners and do not have to yell to be heard. You may think that means you cannot hear the other diners' conversations, but the couple to our left were engaged in an animated discussion, regularly punctuated by expletives and absences from the table in between courses. And they were smokers. That's allowed, but no thongs. It is still legal, although snorting cocaine is not. This, I discovered in the toilets, didn't appear to worry the middle-aged (OK he was younger than me) guy from another nearby table. But again, no thongs, so it was OK.

Our waitress was lovely and decidedly nervous and moved through the learned-by-heart patter as if she was reciting her mother's death notice in public for the first time. The 8 course degustation was served with matching wines and there were some interesting choices. A pinot noir with the bitter chocolate dessert. I get the reasoning, but it just didn't work. You got the feeling they were trying just a little bit too hard when compared with the simplicity of the fare at Beach Club. The latter was the winner in my humble opinion.

Nice view from IGA

Back to today. What a stunner as far as the weather goes. Sunshine. A bit of fast moving cloud. No rain. I repeat, no rain. That was a first. Despite the unusual weather pattern, we followed our routine. Breakfast followed by activity, but today the activity included a swim. Well, a wade and a float. There are some serious obstacles beneath the surface of the water. Had we not wandered the shore at low tide we would have been unaware of the rocks that lurk beneath the blue-green water.




Interestingly, there is a shelf of conglomerate that sits just below the high tide line. There is also a significant amount of rock and pebble that gets moved around by the dominant current. Beyond this, there are rocks encrusted with razor sharp oyster shells. The water is too clouded for snorkelling and I certainly wouldn't wade in there without reef shoes. The colour of the water reminds me of a glacial lake. As you know my scientific reader, that colour is made up of rock particles that have been ground up by the passage of the glacier. Given the lack of visibility in this water, is it also dense with fine particles of ground rock?

Lunch time view

Enough thinking, it is holiday time. Wearing our reef shoes, we made access and egress from the water look easy by comparison to some other visitors to the island. They walked, they hesitated, they stepped forward, they danced back, they moved sideways, they slipped, they fell, but they made their way into the water. We walked in and walked out.

While we were waiting to dry off a little two tweenies and their gravelled-voiced mother arrived from further down the beach. Mother looked around, read the "Beach Club visitors only" sign and sat down on a day bed in the shade. The girls then made use of one of the hammocks. They did NOT belong here dear reader. They were children under the age of 18 and were therefore NOT staying at our adults ONLY resort. Sadly the lights and sirens I had hoped for did not eventuate, nor did armed guards rise up from the sand and gun them down. In fact, nothing happened at all and after a few minutes the tweenies became bored and departed with mum in tow.

After drying off  and seeing the interlopers off our property we strolled to the eastern end of the beach and back again and thence to the resort pool to wash off the salt.

After all that exercise it was time for lunch. Not such an easy choice. This is HI - the island of restaurants that DO NOT do lunch. We are SERIOUS restaurants, we ONLY do dinner. Well, we are on holidays and like to be lazy and enjoy a long lunch, so, you won't be enjoying our cash.

From the deck at Manta Ray

We walked into Restaurant Manta Ray. I know, more exercise. And scored a table on the water. Unlike our favourite restaurant at Amoudie Bay on What-is-this-WHS-you-speak-of?-Santorini where a painted white line was all that stopped us from tipping off our chairs into the water, a sturdy railed fence lined the restaurant deck to keep tipsy patrons from  coming to grief on the rocks below.

Not long after the place was packed and people were waiting for water-view tables. It is an Italian-style restaurant, not pretentious, with quick turn-over, if desired, or a long lunch if that is what you are after. We ordered sourdough and tiger prawns to begin and enjoyed them them with a bottle of Yarra Valley chardy. Could we have a break between courses? Of course, let me know when you want the mains started ... how cool is that?



The sourdough, oil and roasted garlic was lovely and the prawns and pesto were very tasty. We sat and chatted and watched the planes landing and the boats bobbing in their moorings. As the tide receded it revealed crabs on the rocks and some large fish swimming past as lazily as we were eating lunch. Then we asked for the mains, which were delivered promptly, linguine with prawns and chilli. Just yum. Paired nicely with a bottle of rosé from Adelaide Hills. The service, the view, the food; everything was first class and all within view of the ostentatious yacht club. We could have eaten here all week for what we spent on dinner last night. And I was wearing thongs!

Back to the Beach Club for a siesta, some reading, some blogging, some champagne and the slow holiday drift from late afternoon into evening.

Until tomorrow.

If I can muster the energy.

Bombora (Hamilton Island)

Welcome to day three my dear reader. All the photos in this post were taken yesterday in the intermittent afternoon sun. It gave old Hammo an opportunity to show herself off a bit.

Looking down the hill at the marina

The pattern was set yesterday and we are adhering to it, at least for today. The Stone Curlews returned around dawn to serenade us. Oh, you don't know what a Stone Curlew sounds like my inquiring reader? Click here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qi1GX_VRaM0 I'm sure that will rectify the deficit in your knowledge of this Australian bird.

There was rain overnight, but today is proving the best to date. We had our breakfast in our room watching the fast moving clouds, occasional shower and the build up of people on the beach. 

Easter, it would appear, is not the time to travel to Hamilton Island. The weather is not ideal, well at least at this time, and it is very, very crowded. Perhaps the confluence of Easter and the Queensland school holidays has facilitated this, but all I know is that every restaurant we have tried to book has had nothing available. Or if they did it was at 8:30pm or later. As I am sure you realise my dedicated reader, I am turning 60 later this year and 8:30pm is my bed time - far too late to be entertaining dinner. Anyway eating that late will give you nightmares. We did have two restaurants organised for dinner, the Beach Club on our first night and Bommie tonight. (Hence today's title, Bombora by The Atlantics, a classic surf song from the '60s). Both were booked from Sydney two weeks ago. I'm supposed to be on a relaxing holiday - who thinks about booking dinner two weeks in advance?

When the tide goes out, it really goes out.

But I digress. Breakfast was lovely. We then continued in relaxation mode on the verandah - reading. Time for some activity. We walked the beach, thankfully the tide was at mid-point so there was plenty of sand. The crowds seemed a little smaller than yesterday, either that or the hordes of marauding, noisy children were amusing themselves with activities away from the beach. A wander into town supported the theory the children were not around. If it was the Pied Piper, I would happily pay the fee.

After calculating the wardrobe requirements for the remainder of our time, it became apparent I would be one shirt shy if we jagged a lunch or dinner reservation at the Golf Club or the like. Resort casual means a collar. Why not go all the way and insist on a tie as well. The fashion police are alive and well. A shopping expedition was incorporated into our morning walk and I am now the owner of a new Oakley shirt.

Glad I bought my reef shoes

Back at the resort, it's time to read on the verandah and contemplate the most serious problem for the day. What time to open the champagne? We have dinner at 6:30 tonight so the bubbles need to be moved forward.

Lunch is champagne and a charcuterie plate on the verandah, listening to the waves, background noise from the beach and rustling palms fronds as they sway in the breeze. If I close my eyes and ignore the sound of the palms I am transported back to my teenage years lying on Elouera or North Wollongong Beach being lulled to sleep by the waves, drowsing in and out of consciousness, thinking about life changing issues, like girls and sex and when I'll go and get some chips and a can of Passiona, the sun baking me brown. The only thing missing is the smell of coconut oil and the crackle of the loud speaker playing Crocodile Rock by Elton John. Ah the good old days. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have been sitting in the shade under the kiosk verandah, covered with a towel avoiding the skin cancers I have cultivated so carefully over my lifetime.

The charcuterie plate was delightful; prosciutto, salami, grilled zucchini, eggplant, pickled onions, greens, sour dough and sun dried tomato relish. The champagne of course, was the highlight. The rain came and left again. The sun has returned and the tide is still slowly ebbing away. Perhaps time for a siesta before the next round of activity.

Skippy having an afternoon feed

Siesta time was interrupted by tonight's favoured restaurant calling to confirm our booking. Our 6:30 reservation is now 7:15 and ... you are aware, it is the degustation sir? ... yes, that's fine ... and of course we have a dress code: no thongs, no beach wear and no singlets ... of course, do you mind if I go commando? ... and one more thing sir, purred the British accent, only people carrying Queensland passports or photographs of Joh Bjelke-Petersen or Clive Palmer are welcome. Long live the the right wing and white shoe brigade! I'm not really sure why I'm dining here, it really doesn't suit me. The last restaurant to question me about a dress code missed out on my dollars. Yes, I do have a jacket and no I'm not wearing to suit you (see what I did there?) - that was Dallas, Texas. The dining post-mortem will be posted tomorrow.

Until then.

It was so then, still not sure about the high rise.