Kodachrome (Madrid - Hong Kong - Sydney)

After a few early mornings, we finally had a later start. Our tickets for the Prado listed an 11:15am entrance but before that, we had to download the audio guide. Of course, dear reader, this meant downloading another app with which to listen to the guide. Do you see where this is going? Have you been with me since the Gaudi Park in Barcelona? Correct. I was duped into purchasing tickets from a third-party web site. Again. That was not evident until we arrived at the museum, so as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself.

We left with enough time to arrive at the Prado at our appointed time, but not with enough leeway to stop for breakfast. Hardly an unusual occurrence for us when we travel. Had we not experienced the indulgence of the APT cruise and the Matt’s Produce food and wine tour, we would have come home significantly lighter.

We made it.

As expected, the line to purchase tickets for immediate entrance, stretched from the ticket office around the side of the museum building. A smug smile as we strolled past, around the corner to the entrance for ticket holders where there was no queue. To be fair, we did have to ask where the entry was - Spanish signage, as I have mentioned, is structured for the intuitive only. If you need a sign, it is invariably not there. I’m sure there is a philosophical discussion to be had around this. I think therefore I am. Do I need a sign of there is one present?

No queue for us.

Through security, I grabbed my camera and an extra battery just in case there was an issue like I had at San Lorenzo. Headphones on and map in hand we tried to decipher how the museum was laid out. I’m sure someone believes it was logical. My perspective? It was designed by a committee after a long lunch and several bottles of Pedro Ximénez.

We found the first headphone symbol with a number and went to our audio guides. No deal, as they say. Back out to the foyer area and a quick chat with one of the helpers made me realise I had been sucked in again. Our audio guide was not their official audio guide although the tickets were good.

One thing I have learnt about the major tourist attractions in Spain is that there are many, many sites that masquerade as the genuine site. We ended up with a guide that probably had notes on less than a third of the artworks when compared to the official guide. Not happy Jan. To exacerbate the problem, there were two voice overs, both British, who couldn’t pronounce simple words like ‘annunciation’ or ‘Titian’ or ‘typified’. The male couldn’t even follow the punctuated script in front of him.

The next shattering realisation was that there was a strict, enforced, absolute rule of no photography. I spent the whole day with my camera slung over my shoulder, as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. Which of course is the tenuous link to today's title, Kodachrome by Paul Simon from 1973.

The only photo I was allowed to take inside the museum - inside the museum cafe.

Nonetheless, we had an audio guide and three floors to cover. The no photos rule turned out to be a bonus. It meant no endless selfies, so some tour groups moved on faster than others. For you, dear reader, it means a shorter post than usual because I have no photos to illustrate our experiences.

The short story is that the Prado houses a wonderful collection of European art from the 12th century through to more contemporary pieces. There is one solitary painting of Picasso's from 1943 that sits uncomfortably in contrast with the works around it. Perhaps the pained look on some of the saints' faces is because they have to look at Picasso's Buste de Femme all day.

Goya before his depressing 'black' stage.

Around 2 pm, the constant standing and walking on an empty stomach was taking its toll and we hadn’t even completed the first floor. A quick espresso and something to pump up the blood sugar levels saw us back on the circuit in no time, realising that we needed to pick up the pace if we were going to make it home that night.

We walked from the Prado to head for dinner just after 6pm. We had been on our feet for almost 7 hours with an audio guide that was clearly deficient. If we’d used the official audio we might still be there. There was still a queue at the ticket office, a longer one than in the morning; it snaked all the way down the side of the museum.

A queue as far as the eye cold see.

My Amex card regularly delivers little presents to us (unpaid advertisement) like $200 off a meal while you’re travelling overseas. Happily one of the listed restaurants was less than a 10 minute walk from the museum. We were seated, perusing the menu in no time.

It was a seafood restaurant so we ordered prawns and octopus, a side of asparagus and a bottle of Albariño. Sadly the octopus was overcooked and Jayne left it all to me. Since Amex was picking up the bulk of the bill, we also ordered dessert and my favourite Spanish accompaniment, two glasses of that thick, luscious Pedro Ximénez. Aside from breakfast, it was the cheapest meal we had at $74 AUD including tip, after the Amex contribution.

The streets were coming alive as we walked back to the hotel to pack for the long trip home.

Titian's Last Supper from San Lorenzo.

The night was punctuated, as usual, by the comings and goings and discussions of the other residents on the floor of our hotel. The number of people who conduct all their conversations with outside voices is amazing. Anyway, there would be payback tomorrow morning as we dragged our suitcases down to the foyer at 8am before the sun rose.

The guy at reception unlocked the car park lift for us and the first step in a very long journey was taken. The drive to the exit was negotiated safely and then the exit door creaked and groaned after I pushed the exit button and stuttered to a stop. Here we go, I thought, transit day drama. I leant out and pushed the clearly signposted exit button again and the door miraculously opened - we were free. It would have been nice if the entry to the car park had been as clearly marked quipped Jayne.

Titian's St Jerome in Penitence from San Lorenzo.

Our route to the airport was a circuitous one because we needed to fill up the tank of the hire car. How many petrol stations are there on the lead in roads to the airport in Madrid, dear reader? None, actually. Why? Spain. Things are not what you might think they should be at times.

Anyway, tank full, we set off again into the Madrid morning peak. We had programmed Google to take us to the rental car return as Google suggested. Except it listed Terminal 1 and we were departing from Terminal 4. The journey to this point had been punctuated by the usual trauma of driving on unfamiliar roads in heavy traffic. As we neared the turn off I had cold feet and headed for Terminal 4 instead of the mapped route to Terminal 1.

A marigold to break up the text.

As we approached Terminal 4, it was again decision time. Do I take the road to arrivals or departures? Rental car return was at arrivals. I chose departures because we were leaving the country. Incorrect! It was a drop-off area only. A quick trip around the area and its numerous round-a-bouts had us shortly driving into a car spot at the Europcar rental, just prior to the 9:00am deadline. Key handed over, mobile phone signed, I’ll never get used to the lack of paperwork, and we headed for the terminal to check in.

This would be the next test. I couldn’t check in online because some of Jayne’s details were missing. This is not usually a problem, but booking through a third-party agency to get cheap Business Class flights meant I didn’t have the details. We were third in line when the desks opened and they called all the Business Class ticket holders straight to the attendants. Nice. We were sitting in the lounge in no time. It seemed an easy transit but we were both on edge and keen for a glass of cava. Not today, they had red or white wine or beer. Coffee and croissants it was; the bubbles would have to wait until we were on the plane.

Boarding happened on time and we left as scheduled. Double thumbs up to Cathay Pacific. The champagne was delightful and the meals okay. The plan was to sleep on this leg and stay awake on the next so when we arrived home, we would be ready to sleep. No, it didn’t happen. Jayne binged movies and I wrote the blog posts.

Another text breaker.

We landed in Hong Kong on time but the process through security was ludicrous. The queue stretched almost as far as the line to get into the Prado. We were directed to another area, about 500 metres away where at least there was no queue. 

Drappier champagne in the Cathay Business Lounge helped calm the nerves. Once again, comparisons with our national carrier are not flattering. The food offerings here were amazing but we did not have the time to explore them. Separate breakfast bar, noodle bar, teahouse and a bar for alcoholic beverages.

We were late leaving for reasons that weren't explained. The flight was uneventful except for a few minor bumps and the fact that Jayne did not receive her selected main meal again. Not what we'd been told to expect with Cathay.

Almost nine hours of flight time with minimal sleep again. In Sydney we were forced to wait 20 minutes for our disembarkation bay because it was blocked by an Emirates A380. Our bags were out early, well done Cathay, and customs was a breeze. Can anyone tell me why, in Sydney, we still need to fill in those ridiculous 'arrival cards' when everything should be available in digital format?

Our pick-up was a few minutes later than expected but we were at home by 10:30pm. All up, door-to-door we spent 32 hours in transit with less than an hour's sleep.

And that, dear reader, is a wrap. There will be another blog in March when Dave and I tackle the Tarkine again. The big trip in '26 will be a return to Europe, Tuscany with Matt's Produce and a cruise down the Nile on the way back to Australia. I still need to fill in the bit in between. Stay tuned.

Until next time.

If I only had a heart (Barossa to Mt Lofty House)

Good morning, dear reader. It is our last day in the Barossa and I decided to do the 'tourist' thing and capture my own sunrise over the vines. Alas and alack, the positioning of our unit and a rather large gum tree thwarted my efforts. My morning adventure offered nothing more than a still morning, bird song and some distant colour in the sky. Despite popular belief, there are no points for trying, so I turned my attention to Wordle and Quordle instead, lest I disturb Jayne, whose lack of belief in sunrise as a concept continues unabated.

Today's title is one from the classics, The Wizard of Oz, 1939, even before I was born. All shall become clear my dear reader.

A musk lorikeet

As we sat on our balcony late yesterday afternoon we were assailed by the arrival of some new "guests". Oh dear. The noise. The cacophony. The effrontery. They are staying several units away but were SO LOUD. With children. Had I sufficient voice projection, I could have easily participated in their, um, conversation. If that is what it could be called. I do hope Roland behaved himself; he sounded like he could be in trouble. Perhaps if he didn't behave, his mother would sing louder. If that was humanly, or inhumanly possible. Shudder. It was like people trying to have a quiet chat - across a river valley, punctuated by a very bad attempt at an operatic aria.

Even the galahs were frightened of Roland's mother

After surveying the travel route today, we decided we could visit one more winery (sorry not Hentley Farm Brendo). Turkey Flat fit the bill nicely. It was close by, they do a lovely rosé and also have some other interesting wines. Most importantly after the debacle of Rockford, they take bookings.

They do big bottles

Another treasure. An interesting array of wines, some of which you could taste side-by-side. The Marsanne Roussanne Viognier was one such wine. We sampled the 2021 and then the 2010 vintage appeared. Wow. The rewards of patient cellaring. A big tick next to that one on the tasting list. The rosé is an old favourite (cheers Vikki & DJ) and did not disappoint. The reds were also good although some were sold out. Good for them, not so much for us.

At the bottom of the list was a Pedro Ximénez, delicious, and a Quinquina. The latter is a vermouth style made with Marsanne grapes. It's a vermouth so you can play with it. On the rocks, add soda, add dehydrated orange slices (this is a real thing around here - if it is fruit, they will dehydrate it and stick in jars), add pink grapefruit juice, choose your own adventure. A rival to the current gin craze. The Gin Austen Book Club will be sampling some in the near future.

We could have spent longer at Turkey Flat but they were being inundated by people who hadn't booked a tasting. Like really? Did they think they were at Rockfords? One group of six, in a minibus, who had not booked in, arrived and were disconcerted by the wait time and left. They missed out. Um, hello, how about, get your shit together and make bookings in advance, so then a winery can put on sufficient staff to cater to the crowd - and some unexpected arrivals.

Wine ordered, we drove to a landmark we have passed multiple times a day since we've been here. The Tinman, hence today's title. Yes, we saw him and immediately went on the lookout for the Lion and Scarecrow or even Dorothy. We even chanted, lions and tigers and bears, oh my. They did not show either. As it turns out, the Tinman was the entrance to some children's park, that no longer exists, but he still clings on to his power pole with his axe. Apparently at other times he gets dressed in costume. Santa and stuff. Like Santa wouldn't be scary, carrying an axe eh? Nope. Totally cool.

There were no lions or tigers or bears.

Leaving behind their localised version of Pennywise, we drove to Lyndoch for lunch. This time to The Table. The wonderful Sanna had mentioned it when we visited Brothers at War yesterday. It did not disappoint. An interesting range of café and traditional pub food. We had the best steamed prawn dumplings for entrée and then, moving to boring old couple mode, we followed that up with a BLT. Be fair, all local produce. Very tasty.

Yum!

Back in the car and getting closer to our final destination for the next couple of days, Mt Lofty House, we left the navigation decisions to Apple Maps. What? I hear you shouting my exasperated reader. I know, I know. In the grand scheme of life, it's only time we wasted and we did see places we would never have seen. I didn't even know banjos were still a thing.

Despite our robotic navigator, we did arrive at Mt Lofty House. It is as impressive as it is confusing when you first arrive. To compensate for your disorientation, the staff are lovely. Everywhere. On every level. And offer help and assistance wherever you are. Even if it is not required, although mostly it is.

The rear entrance

After our orientation tour, we collected our bags and returned to our room to enjoy our 'welcome drink' and homemade choc chip cookies, their words not mine. Boo to American cultural imperialism. They were really nice though, cookie or biscuit. 

We didn't have much time to relax before it was time for our "hosted masterclass tailored for wine lovers". Not quite what one was expecting, dear reader. However, the delightful Amanda introduced us to three different wines all with grapes of Spanish origin: albarino, grenache and graciano. While we were familiar with grenache, especially after four days in the Barossa, we'd sampled albarino a few times before, but graciano was entirely new. It was an interesting experience. The cellar, where we did the tasting was amazing. I wouldn't mind spending some time there unsupervised.

A true picture window

The concept of dinner tonight did not sit well with us. Lunch had been more than enough sustenance for the day. The bar area, which has a picture window, literally, overlooking the valley, also served light meals. Allegedly. There was nothing particularly light on the menu and, after discussion with one of the staff, we ordered one pasta meal to be shared. Nothing is too difficult here, nothing is a problem. They really do go out their way to make your stay as carefree as possible. For me, this has not gone unnoticed.

As the sun set on the other side of the house, we enjoyed great service, great food and great wine. And there is the story for today - the wine we had at dinner. The wine list is expansive. We called for Amanda. She arrived, asked what we were eating and suggested two wines, one French, the other from the Barossa. We bristled when it was revealed the Barossa one was a ... wait for it ... (cue dramatic music) ... a Rockford.

The view across the garden

Jayne has yet to forgive Rockford, so we weren't keen to drink their wine, but Amanda insisted on a tasting and produced the two bottles and one of those nifty coravin contraptions. The wine was tasted. Now, we love all things French as you know, dear reader. Tonight, the Rockford was a clear and decisive winner. Jayne begrudgingly allowed the Rockford GSM to grace our table. Damn nice drop, a pity they can't be better organised otherwise we would probably have some of their wine winging its way home to Sydney.

Wine chosen, dinner arrived and we sat quietly in the picture window enjoying our meal, the wine and the evening, watching a wedding happen in another part of the House. As close to perfection as you can get.

Then it was time to check our four poster bed for real.

Tomorrow could be anything, but I'm predicting a lazy day. Potentially we won't communicate for a few days. It's almost time to return to rainy, sodden Sydney. Oh, joy.

Until next time.