Back in the CCCP

Those of you familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet will know that CCCP stands for Сою́з Сове́тских Социалисти́ческих Респу́блик (or as we know it, the USSR). The Soviet Union may be long gone, but its varied peoples and cultures live on. 


In the past decade or so, Thanet has seen a large influx of asylum seekers, refugees, and immigrants from the former Soviet nations, but it was during my recent trip back to England that I really saw evidence of their culture putting down new roots. Two trips to weekend markets revealed stalls selling baklava and other Eastern European pastries, but it was a casual walk from my parent's house to town which offered the greatest revelation - a parked car emblazoned with advertising for CCCP, a new restaurant. Ever eager for a new culinary experience, I stopped by with Nic and my parents for lunch on New Year's Eve.


The restaurant itself is fairly small, and seems to have been segmented into three tiny rooms, no doubt a result of adding on more space as the neighboring properties became available. The television played what appeared to be a form of talent show, with small children singing alongside a group of grannies in traditional garb. We were mesmerized.


In chatting to our waiter/barman/owner, we discovered that the restaurant was owned by Belarussian immigrants. He was keen to make suggestions regarding the menu, and we were eager to follow his advice. Mum and I each had the wild mushroom soup, followed by a shared Farmer's Snack platter of bread, meats, and pickles. Much as I love mushrooms, my previous experience of mushroom soup was limited to something from a can. This freshly-made soup, however, was delicious - creamy, full of flavor. Nic, realizing that this may be his only chance to visit the restaurant during his trip, decided to try the Wild Boar, while my dad had the pork fillet. We all had nothing but praise for the food. And to drink? Despite the extensive selection of vodka and brandy, we knew that we would be celebrating New Year later and so chose to wash everything down with giant mugs of kvass, a bread beer which has an overwhelmingly yeasty smell but a surprisingly refreshing flavor. 

After posing for a pic (they like to post pics of their happy customers on their Facebook page), we were off on our merry way again, bellies full of good food and ready to tell everyone that they needed to cast aside their images of borscht and cold potatoes to visit CCCP for some delicious cultural education.

That was then; this is now.

I've been pondering how to write this for the last week or so, but the confusion intensified when I came across some pictures taken during a trip to Paris back in 1999. Yes, that's me in the photo below, cooling off outside the Louvre.

I have many photos and stories from that trip, so many years ago, that I would love to share with you. I also have so many stories from Japan, Hong Kong, New Zealand and other spots I've been lucky enough to see. Then there are the tales from my recent trip to England, including the influx of Russian culture and cuisine to my hometown, and an expert-guided behind the scenes tour of the Ray Harryhausen exhibition in London. I am dying to tell you how safe Mexico is, and to share with you a New Year's Eve in an isolated Japanese country-western bar (think silver tassels and a bizarre rendition of "I Will Always Love You").

But a part of me feels like a fraud. Much of this has been triggered by my approaching 40th birthday, which has set me thinking about where I thought I would be by now. Fortunately, I realized that the corporate life was not for me and escaped before even entering it, disregarding career advice to become an accountant because it was a "nice secure job until I had kids". Instead, I have carved my own path, a curvy non-traditional path that has included travel, academia, teaching, coaching, and now writing. Along the way, I have experienced things that many never will, and for that I am ever grateful.

So why the fraud?

Part of that curvy path has included marriage (to a wonderful man who "gets" me), a mortgage, and two dogs. One of the consequences has been an inability to travel as much as I would have liked in recent years, or at least the inability to travel other than around the U.S. and home to England. Mexico was a pleasant exception.

So now I am feeling that I still have so many places to go and see, and I have been pondering ways to make that happen while still making space for husband's job (which keeps us tied to one location) and mortgage payments.

Over the last few weeks, Nic and I have been looking at ways for me to travel more and to see some of the things I have dreamed of: sunrise over the Ganges from a train on my way to Darjeeling, the Skeleton Coast of Namibia, the frescoes of Florence. It has been rather overwhelming to consider all the possibilities, until my ever-sensible hubby reminded me that I don't have to try and do it ALL in one trip.

In college, when we were wondering about our futures, one friend labelled me most likely to be found among the gorillas in Africa. My love for all things primate-related is the reason I visit the Aspinall parks back in England and spend hours watching the chimps and gorillas. It is the reason I read anything I can get my hands on by key anthropologists in the world of primatology. It is the reason Dian Fossey and Jane Goodall are my heroes, and why hearing Jane Goodall speak last year was an absolute highlight.

And so, that is the dream I am hoping to make reality within the next year or so. I am looking into several options, considering funding, potential for writing, and most importantly, potential for me to feel as if I am once more a true traveler. I am also considering some other temporary work options, which may come to fruition, but in the meantime, expect to see updates over the next few months as I investigate ways in which I can make my dream come true.

May Be Smaller Than They Appear

I've been putting off writing for several months because it always feels a little odd to be writing about a visit to my hometown from the perspective of a traveler. However, it is time to get back into the swing of things and today the topic is art.

When traveling, I always try to make time to find and view art that moves me, whether that is a trip to the Louvre or simply wandering through an exhibition at a local library. And over the years, I have typically found that it is the lesser-known pieces which inspire me the most. In fact, some of the most "sought-after" tourist must-sees are often the least impressive. During a visit to the aforementioned Louvre, some twelve years ago, we made the obligatory pass by of the Mona Lisa. When I finally was able to fight through the crowd, my first though was, "It's so small." The canvas is much smaller than you anticipate and, to be brutally honest, it's not that incredible a painting. My favorite part of the Louvre were the sculpture rooms; many were completely deserted and offered a delightfully peaceful opportunity to enjoy the art on display.

My husband had a similar experience several years ago in Brussels, when he felt obliged to locate the Mannekin Pis, only to later call me and disappointedly note how small it was.

But back to art and my recent trip to Thanet. One of the primary local controversies over the past few years has been the use of exhorbitant amounts of taxpayer money to build the Turner Contemporary along the Margate seafront. Regardless of whether you approve or disapprove of its construction, let alone its architectural design, the Turner Contemporary is open and claims to be doing a booming trade educating the artistically starved Thanet residents.

Margate's Turner Contemporary

Before traveling home, my family decided that they should visit the museum to see what all the fuss was about. After all, it seemed wrong to criticize unless they had seen it for themselves. This led to a disgusted phone call from my mother, not to mention an equally disgusted letter from my young niece, both of whom shared the verdict that if this was modern art, it could go back to where the sun doesn't shine. My mother then insisted that I visit it, to see if I agreed with her assessment.

And so I found myself walking along the Margate seafront one cold January morning, my mother and another niece in tow. Fifteen minutes later, we were walking back the other way. Yes, that is how long it took us to explore the artistic treasures of the Turner Contemporary (including a restroom stop).

So what exactly did I find inside? I was fairly excited since the local media had been promoting a new exhibition, Walk by Hamish Fulton (on display until May 7, if you feel so inclined). I needn't have bothered. Upon entering the museum, my eye was drawn to what, in retrospect, was the only piece on display worth seeing - Rodin's The Kiss. The only problem with this was that I saw an incredibly beautiful bronze of the same piece in the Rodin Garden at Stanford just a few years ago. Still, this was in a rather nice setting, in front of a large circular window with views across the English Channel.

Kissing by the Sea

I attempted to explore this floor further only to find a locked door, the bathrooms, and a classroom where there appeared to be some sort of workshop going on. Upstairs, then.

Upon arriving upstairs, we encountered a wall with several arrows painted on it, informing us of the  distance and direction to London and Eastbourne. Further round the corner was the exhibition: a large wall painted with random facts about walking. On another wall was a television screen showing a video of people walking around and round in a square on Margate beach. Hmmmm..... In the middle of all this, sat a member of staff who did not acknowledge us but instead continued to read her book. We tried the doors to the other galleries but they were also locked and again, the incredibly unhelpful staff made no attempt to interact with us.

So that was our very brief (and oh so uninspiring) visit to the Turner Contemporary. I saw much more of artistic merit on the walk from the bus stop to the museum, than I did inside this multimillion pound structure's walls. (For the record, my mother was even more furious, proclaiming that it now contained fewer exhibits than it had on her previous visit).

To be fair, we later learned that the main gallery was locked in preparation for an upcoming exhibition of Turner seascapes. All the same, the most popular part of the museum was the tearoom. During my six week visit, I encountered many people who said they love to visit the tearoom but have no interest in the museum.

Fortunately, I did come across some much more interesting and inspiring art a week or so later, during a blustery walk along the Ramsgate seafront. Bordering a large area that is currently under construction, I came across a series of murals dedicated to the town, all painted by local artists, both amateur and professional. From paintings by schoolchildren to a piece charting the history of the town library, destroyed by arson a few years ago and now rebuilt, the artwork here was personal, full of life, and showed the interaction of art and local community. Sadly, I did not have my camera with me and I flew back to Kentucky the next day, but I hope it is still there on my next visit as it represented what I feel art should be.

Adventure Travel in Mexico's Copper Canyon

Just one of the fabulous views in the Copper Canyon

If the beaches of Mexico are a little too touristy for your liking, not to mention reminiscent of a bad MTV spring break special, you will want to head further north in your search for relaxation and adventure. The Barranca del Cobre, or Copper Canyon, offers endless opportunities for hiking, mountain biking, horseback riding, rock climbing, rafting, and more, in an area that dwarfs the Grand Canyon.

The Barranca del Cobre is a series of interconnected canyons located in the state of Chihuahua, part of the Sierra Madre range. Claims in guidebooks vary from its being four to more than seven times larger than its US rival. So remote are parts of the region that the area was not properly mapped until 1986. Today, it remains blissfully serene, home to the Tarahumara, Mexico’s largest native population, who have lived here for thousands of years. Instantly recognizable by their colorful clothing and distinctive footwear, they continue to live in dwellings that are built into the sides of the canyon walls.

Tarahumara homes in the canyon walls

Your trip will undoubtedly begin in the small town of Creel, known to tourists as the gateway to the Copper Canyon region. In addition to a few small hotels and a town square that provides delightful opportunities for people watching, you will find a number of shops geared towards the adventure traveler. Here you can rent mountain bikes, buy maps, and find a guide. The cost of renting a fully equipped mountain bike for one day is about 180 pesos ($14), a small price to pay for what is considered some of the best and most challenging biking in the world. The 50 kilometer la Onza, (Copper Canyon Race) attracts hundreds of racers every July, as does the Cristo Rey race in September. 

Street in Creel

If rock climbing or rappelling are more to your liking, there are some excellent opportunities within a short drive of Creel. In fact, the Cueva de Leones offers some of the best hard climbing in the region, all within walking distance of town. But remember, a map is essential if you plan to explore the area without a guide. Trails are not signposted; they simply branch off in every direction – a spider web of pathways across thousands of square miles. To hike to the bottom and back will take several days so be sure to have sufficient food and a means of purifying water. A better option is to join one of the guided trips that are available - Amigo Trails Travel and Umarike Expeditions both have offices in Creel.

Trails vary from short and relatively easy day rides (or hikes) to extremely strenuous multi-day trips. If you choose one of the latter, whether on foot or on bike, be sure that you are fit enough to manage the changes in altitude. In addition to the risk of minor altitude sickness (the canyons range in depth from a little over 4000 feet to 6100 feet), trips to the base frequently involve tricky river crossings. The area’s remoteness means this is no time for false bravado. However, hiking is one of the best ways to experience the canyon’s magnificent vistas and to truly sense their greatness.

Whatever means you choose to make your way through the Canyon, you will be treated to a wonderful glimpse of life untouched. Home to more than 290 species of birds, it is a twitcher’s paradise. Waterfalls and incredible rock formations lay seemingly at every turn, and you will often see deer and black bears. This is one trip where you will definitely want to have your camera with you. 

Mulatto tree - one example of the fascinating flora within the canyon

The Copper Canyon is a largely unspoiled, natural wonder that offers adventure seekers a chance to enjoy the excitement and the beauty of one of North America’s lesser known treasures. From scenic vistas to rocky trails, the Copper Canyon is one trip you won’t forget.

Finding Freedom Through Travel

 

            Picture yourself in the following scenario…. You are in a foreign land where you don’t speak the language and you stand out visually, Japan for example. You have just moved there, not to a big city, but to a small rural area and after your first week, you bravely decide to take the train into the regional city. There is only one train line and it runs right outside your apartment so getting to the city is not a problem. You spend an afternoon wandering around, looking in the shops and taking in the sights, always aware that you, as an outsider, are being stared at. You even end up sharing your lunch with a dreadlocked homeless man in the park, finding comfort in a joint sense of non-belonging. When it is time to go home, you face a problem. There are six train platforms and the maps and directions are all in Japanese. It looks very impressive but you have no idea what any of it means, other than the fact that you can’t get home.

            What do you do?

            Of course, being an international traveling soul, you don’t panic. You pull out your phrase book, repeat the necessary words in your mind several times and then approach a little old lady, tap her on the shoulder and politely ask for directions. She turns, looks up at you, throws her arms in the air and runs away screaming. “Gaijin!” “Foreigner!”

            That was my introduction to Japan.

            My husband, who is the same height as me at 5ft 6 liked to say that in Japan he was tall. If he was tall, I was Godzilla, stomping through the mountains of a country that was far too small for me. Looking back at photographs of the local women’s group I taught, I see a row of women who barely reach my shoulders. I tower over them like a giant sumo, ready to pick them off one by one for a snack. I remember trying to buy some slippers once, only to find that delicate Japanese shoes were far too dainty for my gargantuan feet and all that would fit my size 8.5s was a pair of men’s sandals.

            I soon discovered though that being an outsider, an apparently giant one at that, was actually very freeing. Living in a tiny town, people knew my every move – who came to visit, who I visited, what I bought etc. Everything I did was seen as evidence of how Westerners lived. I was asked if I owned a gun because they had seen on TV that all Americans own a gun. As a Western woman, I was considered headstrong, clearly rebelling against my parents since I had moved overseas. (Another assumption was that I would be rather promiscuous, again based on movies and American TV). A gun-toting, rebellious, harlot. In fact, I was an incredibly shy, English girl, just out of college.

            So how could it be considered freeing when my neighbors were constantly observing my every move? After a few months of living in my tiny Japanese town, I realized that no matter what I did, everyone would think it was just crazy foreign behavior. When I wore short sleeves in April (before “official” summer weather), I was a strange foreign woman. When I danced on my balcony during my first typhoon, enjoying the rain after the hot, humid summer, I was that eccentric Westerner. When we sang Christmas carols on the train on December 25^th, we were crazy gaijin.

            If you are going to be considered eccentric or crazy, whatever you do, then why does it matter what you do?

            I’m not saying that I behaved irresponsibly, or broke the law, or anything like that, but I did learn to worry less about what others would think.

            Sometimes, I was pleasantly surprised by Japanese reactions to my new found freedom as well. An impromptu roadside snowball fight while traffic was backed up in a snowstorm drew cheers from other motorists and a brave few even joined in. When my boyfriend asked for a kiss and I obliged, we were suddenly interrupted by a coach load of middle-aged women who erupted into a chorus of cheers and claps. During my final year there, I traveled with my husband (boyfriend at the time) to Kyoto. After an odd New Years Eve that included a Japanese Country Western bar, and the standard trip to the temple, we came across a choir by an outdoor fountain. As midnight struck, fireworks went off and the choir sang Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. As is typical for Westerners at New Year, my boyfriend and I hugged and kissed, only to find the crowd around us staring in amazement. I hugged one of them and wished them a Happy New Year. Suddenly, one by one, they each turned to their partners and started hugging. We spent the next half hour laughing and drinking hot rice tea with them. The evening remains one of my favorite memories. It seemed that my new freedom was perhaps giving my Japanese neighbors an opportunity to do something a little out of the ordinary too. For just a second, it allowed them to break out of society’s strictures.

At the Sapporo Snow Festival

            Ten years after leaving Japan, I wish I could say that I no longer get embarrassed by anything but that would be a lie. I am far less shy than I used to be thought and I now appreciate the value in worrying a little bit less about what others might think. Who knew feeling restricted could be so freeing?

Danville, KY - Small Town American Charm

I first heard of Danville in Japan of all places. I was dating Nic (now my husband) and he mentioned that his stepdad worked at the radio station there. Just a few months later, while perusing a book of the best 100 small towns in America, lo and behold - there was Danville again!

Summer evening in Danville

It seems we were fated.

Once I moved to the US, and eventually Kentucky, I became more familiar with the town, visiting the Pioneer Playhouse, Constitution Square, and other local landmarks. I decided the book had probably been right. Danville seemed like a very nice place.

Ten years later, and Danville has undergone quite a renaissance. It's become an even more lively town, thanks to liquor laws. Coming from Europe and a liberal, social attitude towards drinking, the concept of dry and wet counties is something of a bizarre novelty to me. It seems amusing to note which are the dry counties in Kentucky - you can always tell by the presence of a liquor store just across the neighboring county line.

When Danville voted to change its liquor laws a few years ago, I heard from relatives that this could bring a bad element into the pleasant, college town. On the contrary, it has led to the birth of a new Main Street. No longer do the doors all close at the end of the regular business day. Now, Main Street stays alive into the evening with a wonderful selection of new bars and restaurants.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to experience some of the new dining choices in Danville when the Kentucky Food Bloggers were invited to tour some of the local businesses. A huge thanks must go out to Adam and Amandalin from the Danville/Boyle County Convention and Visitors Bureau for being incredible guides.

Our first stop of the evening was V-the Market.

I thought that Lexington had some great outlets for buying liquor, wine, and gourmet cheeses, but this could put the best of them to shame. Mary Robin is knowledgeable about the products she has in store, and is quick to advise customers about suitable pairings. In addition to several ales, we also sampled a blue goat cheese, Lincolnshire Poacher (similar to a white Cheddar), and some prosciutto di parma that melted in my mouth. Goat cheese is something I have only recently come to appreciate, but this was delightful. I have already sent my father-in-law back to buy more of the delicious Life and Limb ale that we tasted.

I'm sure I'll be visiting again soon to see what cheeses are in store and to further explore their extensive wine and bourbon selections.

V-the Market has an extensive selection of craft beers and imports.

 

Some of the bourbons available at V-the Market

The new lounge area at V-the Market is nearing completion.

 

From V-the Market, we crossed the street to Mermaids. This charming restaurant may not have been open for long, but it is already making quite a splash on the Kentucky restaurant scene. Earlier this year, Mermaids won the Outstanding Dining Experience Award at the TourSEKY "Experience the Bloom" Awards.

Mermaids co-owner Kelly took the time to chat with us. Among the first to see the potential for a restaurant in Danville should the new liquor laws be passed, Kelly had his license application ready to submit as soon as the City Hall doors opened.

The menu celebrates locally grown and produced foods. We tried some local steak, shrimp in prosciutto, and Ahi tuna wrapped in greens and cucumber with a dash of wasabi. There were also drinks a-plenty - the restaurant's signature punch, sprinkled with nutmeg, and their Porch Punch - as we admired the fabulous blue-lit bar. The decor is particularly noteworthy. With ice blue and white, it would have been very easy for the resulting effect to be cold; instead, Mermaids manages to make the combo feel rather cozy. Mermaids is now on my list of romantic dinner locations, although it is equally suited to cocktails and appetizers with friends.

Bubbles the Mermaid

The next stop was where Adam reminded us of his earlier warning to pace ourselves. There was food and lots of it at 303W on Main Street. The rich wooden interior of this pool hall and bar reminded me of a 1920s
speakeasy. Whether you want to watch the football game, play pool or darts, hang out with the locals or meet friends for a beer, 303W is the perfect place. Relaxed, laid back - what more do you need from a bar?

And there's food. Good, simple bar food. Wings. Pretzel bread sticks with pimento cheese. Beer cheese. Cheese sticks. It was hard not to just eat everything here. In fact, I think we all staggered out, wondering how much more we would be able to eat. But still three more stops....

Yummy Pretzel Bread

Appetizer Selection

On to Bluegrass Pizza and Pub. Much as I like pizza, I am pretty picky about it. I don't mind if it's deep-dish, thin crust, hand tossed, etc, but I do dislike most of the chain pizza places because they are so greasy. On the few occasions when I go out for pizza, I tend to go to the smaller, privately owned places where I can enjoy good quality, handmade pizza. Bluegrass Pizza and Pub is now on that list.

Cheesy Bread

Mediterranean Pizza from Bluegrass Pizza and Pub

It is small, and therefore it gets crowded very quickly, but if you want a friendly place with beer and absolutely divine pizza, this would be my first recommendation.The pizzas are huge (and grease free). We split a Mediterranean, piled high with artichokes, olives, red onion, and chicken, and some bread sticks. There was still plenty for our hosts to take home as leftovers.

And what could be better after pizza than beer? Danville is developing a bit of a reputation as a spot for craft brewers, thanks in part to the Beer Engine. If you didn't know it was here, it would be all too easy to miss pass this bar completely. It's back off the street, in a secluded parking lot. Take a close look at the tables and you'll see why. This used to be a bowling alley (the former floorboards were used to make some pretty spiffy tables).

The owners offered us samples of several beers, some brewed on site. Although the Nut Brown was a bit strong for my beer tastes, I adored the honey ale and the Dogfish Head Peche. Everything is available on tap; no bottles here. With the variety available, you are sure to find a brew to your liking.

And finally, we all collapsed in the comfy chairs at The Hub, Danville's favorite coffeeshop. We had eaten; we had drunk; and we were merry after a jolly evening of tasty treats and fun conversation. Yet despite our full bellies, we still managed to find room for cupcakes from The Twisted Sifter.

Champagne and Pumpkin Spice Cupcakes

Then, laden with gift bags of goodies from Burke's Bakery and Karamel Kreations, I made my way home. But I can definitely say I will be back. After all, I still have a whole lot of eating to do in Danville!

The Ashley-Drake Historic Inn, Franklin, IN

It goes without saying that travel doesn't have to mean weeks off work, hours at the airport, and miles of road between you and home. Sometimes, all you need is a weekend break to recharge your batteries. And if that's the case, I highly recommend hitting the road to find a taste of small town America.

Franklin, Indiana is one such town. Located between Indianapolis and Louisville, it is one of my favorite small towns in the Midwest. A few days there makes you feel as if you've stepped back to the days when everyone knew everyone else. The local movie theater, the Historic Artcraft has been restored to its former glory and features Saturday night classics, complete with popcorn and audience participation. When we attended a screening of A Christmas Story in December, my parents were delighted to win a prize for having traveled furthest to see the movie. To be fair, they had flown from England to celebrate Thanksgiving with us, but they were the only Brits in the place.

Rather than staying in Indianapolis, make Franklin your base and reserve a room at the Ashley-Drake. This gorgeous old house is just across the road from Franklin College, and is within easy walking distance of the downtown square. Owners Kim and Craig will make you feel incredibly welcome, so much so that you might be quite content to stay there all day!

The Garden Room at the Ashley-Drake

With just four rooms, you will never have that overcrowded hotel feeling. Both of my stays have been in the upstairs Garden Room with its wonderful claw-foot bathtub. Other rooms are the Depot Room, complete with all the train memorabilia any enthusiast could ask for; the Heritage Room, which if memory serves had a beautiful kimono on display; and the Liberty Room, bedecked in Stars and Stripes for a true taste of Americana. All rooms have a private bathroom and breakfast is also included in your stay.

The Depot Room at the Ashley-Drake

Breakfast deserves a mention as Kim provides a feast to make sure you won't starve. Omelets, bacon, waffles, pancakes, fresh fruit, biscuits and gravy...simply fill out the request form the night before and wake up to the most delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

One of the fountains in the front garden of the Ashley-Drake, frozen by the November snows.

Several living rooms and a wonderful garden provide plenty of privacy and space for relaxing during your stay. I just wish I could visit the Ashley-Drake every weekend!