Cappadocia, Turkey: Where Fairies and Pigeons are One

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

I can think of only one thing worse than kissing a frog to find a prince… and that’s kissing a pigeon to find a fairy, but that’s just how things roll in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Having fostered a strong dislike for pigeons over the years, I found this tale especially hard to come to terms with. Pigeons (aka rats with wings) litter town centres across the UK with their filthy excrement while flying dangerously low, as if scoring points with their mates in the sky every time an elderly lady shrieks in fear or a gaggle of teens duck unnecessarily. They are ugly, menacing and downright dirty. And, unlike dirty burgers, dirty birds are not good.

But in the beautiful, fairytale region of Cappadocia in Turkey, which boasts huge swathes of deep-cut valleys with phallic boulders and hills that resemble Mr Whippy ice cream, the pigeon is of upmost significance. Or at least it was.

In a land where people created homes and communities in the caves they dug through the hills and inside fairy chimneys, pigeons were kept, loved and cherished. Little holes can be found across the hills where the pigeons were kept.

The story goes that once upon a time humans and fairies lived together in Cappadocia, but alas, they did not see eye to eye. However, against the odds one man fell in love with a fairy and they were determined to be wed.

The humans were angry, livid… Outraged. They cried things like: “How did that big, hairy oaf manage to pull a dainty little fairy?” and: “This must be stopped, their children will look like a cross between Tinker Bell and Chewbacca.”

So the horrid humans hatched an awful wicked plan to kill all the fairies. They organised a fake wedding for the pair and sat all the fairies together so they could be easily killed. But just before the genocide was about to take place the fairies, realising something was amiss, all turned into pigeons and flew out of the windows.

The horrid humans, on reflection of their ghastly behaviour, felt ashamed and embarrassed by their actions. So they built homes for the pigeons and looked after them very well… Until the tourism industry took off in the 1950s, that is, and then the pigeons sort of fell by the wayside.

But nevertheless for years, pigeons were the pride and joy of the people here – they were used to carry messages between communities, their excrement was mixed with other ingredients to make a paint to decorate frescoes in the cavernous churches, and they were even used as a bargaining chip in marriage. (I know, can you imagine?! Daughters up and down the land crying: “Dad, am I only worth two pigeons to you?”)

So as we wondered, cycled and climbed up the dusty paths surrounding the hilly caves, I tried to come to terms with the suggestion that pigeons might just be fairies. I tried to imagine their diseased feathers turning into pink, glittery wings and their crooked little feet with missing toes transform into dainty, tiny fairy feet.

And the more I walked, and climbed, and looked, and saw, the easier it became to believe. Because after all, nowhere can be quite this magical and not have been filled with fairies at some point.

So perhaps next time I am in Stevenage town centre surrounded by pigeons, getting dangerously close to me in the hope I may drop a smidgen of food, I will remember this story and see them in a new light. I don’t think I will kiss them though. After all, a fairy in Stevenage would not last long at all.

Travel Tips

Where to stay in Cappadocia?

We stayed at the cavernous Shoestring Hotel, which has an amazing cave-dorm where a bed will set you back a mere 25 Lira (£10). Bargain. But more importantly, the staff are wonderful. They helped us organise our onward travel and made quite a few phonecalls for us to save us from the terrible if-I-speak-louder-maybe-they’ll-understand-me scenarios.

How to get to Cappadocia?

We took the night bus from Istanbul to Cappadocia – run by a company called Metro. You can book it online but make sure it stops at Goreme (some will stop before that but provide a shuttle service – just be sure onward travel is included!) It was not clear online so we ended up booking one through an agent in Istanbul. It cost the same price as online – 65 Lira (about £25). It departs at 8pm and 10pm and also has a day service. The 10pm bus is quicker, and took about 11 hours. The buses are comfortable, and the seats recline quite far back… I slept well at least! There is also a hilarious ‘bus steward’ dressed in a dickie-bow who feeds you cake and pours tea for a midnight snack.

The best street food in Istanbul: The Islak Hamburger

Posted on May 3, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you visit a city and need to tell the world about its crumbling city walls, stunning churches and mosaic mosques. Other times you need to eulogise about its food. Specifically a hamburger.

The Islak hamburger may only cost £1 and look like a heart-stopping combination of soggy bap and dirty meat, sold on unreliable street corners across Istanbul – but allow me to dispel such myths.

After purchasing said burger from a kind looking man at a stand on Taksim Square (where it had been sitting in a hot glass tank for longer than is probably worth thinking about), I was delighted to discover how soft the bread was. Biting into the warm, soft bap, a rich meat infused tomato sauce oozed out.

A few bites later, I was into the heart of the burger… a herby, spiced lamb mince pattie that made me make inappropriate noises and earn unfavourable looks from passer-by’s.

The Islak Burger is, my friends, the burger of kings, the king of burgers – the burger that looks down at Burger King from his hot, glass tank and mocks their dry baps and spiceless meat.

The pictures of me actually eating it are not suitable for public viewing but here’s me being all excitable by the stand.

However, if you are after something a little more fresh tasting then I can also heartily recommend making your way to the Gelata Bridge (that crosses over the Golden Horn) to one of the stalls where the fish is grilled fresh from the fishermen’s net. Meaty mackerel (or whatever the catch of the day is) is thrown into a crunchy baguette, drizzled in fresh lemon juice and topped with giant rocket leaves and crunchy onion slices, with a slight sprinkle of salt and paprika.

This will set you back just £2 – which means you can definitely go back for seconds.

Istanbul is a street food lover’s haven… We drank the juice of three freshly squeezed oranges (costing 50p) every day and munched on giant sesame seed sprinkled pretzels, costing about the same.

But it is the rows of dirty looking burgers that is the real secret gem in the city’s street food scene. Trust me*.

PS If you want to know more about the highlights of the city then take a look at my picture-led post from when Matty and I first visited Istanbul a couple of years ago.

*The hamburger was tried and tested after about four pints of Turkey’s finest Efes lager.

So, What’s Bucharest Like?

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Delia

As we hastily packed our bags* in a dorm room in Budapest, a balding, middle aged man from the opposite bunk enquired where we were off to next.

‘Bucharest,’ I replied, trying to shove two backpacks worth of toiletries into the top of my rucksack.

He slowly sucked in his breath through his yellowing teeth and gave us a knowing look. He had some advice for us: ‘Be careful of the Romanians, watch your bags closely,’ he said, before adding in a brighter and more positive tone: ‘But they do have hookers. They are very cheap.’

Hard to know how to respond to such advice, but fortunately time was not on our side as we had a train to catch. So, it was with that newly formed preconception of Romania’s capital, that we boarded the sleeper train to Bucharest. The Lonely Planet’s description that travellers often ‘depart shell shocked’ was also less than encouraging, and the Romanian in our carriage did his best to convince us to go anywhere and everywhere in his home country… except Bucharest.

But nevertheless, 17 hours later, looking almost as dishevelled as the city itself, we stepped off the train – to be greeted by stray dogs and a ferocious looking ticket woman who begrudgingly booked us onto the next train to Istanbul. In the meantime, we had 24 hours to explore the city.

It felt a bit like seeing your elderly grandparents surrounded by pictures of their younger selves… you can see how good they once looked and you know they didn’t always need a walking stick – but somehow you can’t really imagine it. Bucharest is exactly that. Beautiful, grand old buildings are now chipped and crumbling while once-glinting domed roofs are brown and rusty. Scattered among such shabby chic architecture stand the bland, concrete towers of the Soviet era.

The city is a picture of faded grandeur but just when you think you’re beginning to suss it out, Bucharest throws a curveball at you. Like the moment we turned a corner to discover a huge, tree lined boulevard that is six metres longer than Paris’s very fine Champs Elysees, with a huge, imposing palace-like building at the far end.

The Mongoose and I look onto the huge Palace of Parliament, the brain child of Comunist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu, which was never finished.

And then just 20 minutes later we found ourselves on the cobbled, continental streets of the old town, where tables line the pavements and hundreds of people spend afternoons and evenings wining and dining into the early hours.

Irish pubs, Italian restaurants and bars that would not be out of place in Ibiza are hustling and buslting, as if waiting for European stag dos to discover them. One Glazweigan pub even displayed a banner claiming, ‘We proudly welcome heavy drinkers’.

Oddities at every corner

But just when we started warming to this strange city, which often seems completely at odds with itself, I saw that man in the hostel again… grinning and rubbing his thighs. Because sex tourism is clearly a well-cornered market here after all.

The 'information' stand in our hotel's reception largely contained exotic massage material.

So when my good friend rang me just after we had bid farewell to the city and asked, ‘So what is Bucharest like?’ I found myself stumbling over my words, unsure of exactly how to define the city… or what I thought of it. Is the architecture stunning or tragic? Is the vibe upbeat or desperate? Are the people happy or sad? Is it stuck in the past or looking to the future? I certainly didn’t leave shell shocked but I did depart feeling somewhat mystified by a city that still seems to be working out its own identity.

*We might have been packing our bags hastily because I may have developed an unfortunate habit of making up train times, which are actually completely wrong and only realised about half an hour before the actual time. This might have happened on more than one occasion.

Why you should visit Budapest…

Posted on April 28, 2013 by Delia

Every now and then you visit a place that you don’t just love, you adore. You walk through the streets but really you want to skip, you pause somewhere and you want time to stop, you go for coffee and imagine returning every Saturday morning with a paper… when you live there.

It doesn’t happen to me very often but when it does it hits me hard. Melbourne, Beirut, Lisbon, Brighton and Bristol. I could live in any of them. And now I have a new one for the list.. Budapest.

The last (and first) time I visited Budapest was 10 years ago and I was at university, travelling for the first time with a group of eight friends. But when I returned this time I felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I’m not sure if the city has changed, if my memory is terrible or I just saw the city with a youthful naivety all those years ago… but wow, Budapest is ace.

The skyline is exactly how I remember it. The fabulous Danube River swims between Buda and Pest, with each side boasting impressive architectural delights.

But the city has an underbelly that passed me by on my last visit… Dozens of old ruinous buildings, once home to a vibrant Jewish community before WWII, have been transformed into weird and wonderful underground bars and restaurants. The kind where No Smoking signs are made from lace and people sit in bath tubs while sipping G&T’s.

Matty and Donagh in Szimpla Kerta - the 'daddy' of the ruinous bars

Yes that's right, she is sitting in a bath tub

And if youre not sure what to order, try the Palinka hanging from the ceiling in a dispenser.

Even public transport is a little something out of the ordinary. The eclectic, electric street cars are like something out of a novel and the metro is so retro that it’s back in fashion.

On one of the city's many fabulous bridges

Funky blue seats line the platform

The city has a great big whopping list of ‘cool things to see’ including a palace that looks like a parliament and a parliament that looks like a palace, as well as a museum devoted to the history of communism ‘terror’. But when the sightseeing all gets too much and you just want to, I don’t know, sit back in a 40 degrees (Celsius) ancient bath, then fret not because Budapest has already run it and put in the bubbles for you.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Gellert Baths. The ornate complex, which dates back to the early 20th century, has an outdoor pool (surrounded by deck chairs), an indoor pool and about five mosaic-decorated thermal baths with water at various temperatures from about 35 to 40 degrees Celsius. For those that are feeling brave there is, what can only be described as, the most painfully hot steam room I have ever come across… followed by a plunge pool so icy cold that it leaves your skin pink and tingling as if repeatedly slapped by a pair of particularly brutal plump, bare hands.

And so it was, with tingling skin and slight hangovers we boarded the fabulous metro system for the last time to catch the sleeper train to Bucharest and continue our journey east.

But as we did so, I made a silent promise to return, wondering how long it would take me to master the Hungarian language and which coffee shop would become my local. Budapest, we have some unfinished business to tend to…

Where to stay in Budapest?

We stayed at the Wombats Hostel, which I can heartily recommend… it’s on the right side of town, in the heart of the ruinous bars and funky nightlife – but the hostel is also wonderfully clean and spacious. Our six-bed dorm cost just €10 per night, including breakfast amd free wifi. They even give you lockers for your valuables in the dorm.

Home for the night

Our dorm bathroom... I'm sure they were never this swanky last timeI travelled.

Getting cosy Under the Stairs, Edinburgh

Posted on April 1, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you just have to eat somewhere that has a fish tank built into its fireplace.

It was a cold, sorry – I mean a BITTERLY cold day in Edinburgh – when I found myself desperately googling ‘warmest pub in Edinburgh’ and ‘warmest place to eat in Edinburgh ever’ and ‘make me warm in Edinburgh NOW’, when I realised I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore and Google hadn’t provided. So I did what we used to do a few years back and looked around frantically for somewhere to hibernate.

For those of you in Northern Europe who are currently suffering a similar fate – how are you coping and what survival strategies are you employing? For those of you elsewhere or reading this in the future I am writing during the period of time that I am sure will be known as The Great Easter Freeze of 2013… I mean, let’s be honest there is no way Jesus would have risen 2013 years ago if the weather had been like this.

Anyhow, I digress. So with numb fingers and a distant memory of feeling my toes, I headed down Merchant Street in Edinburgh (just behind the lovely statue of Bobby, the bonniest dog of Scotland who sat on his master’s grave for 14 years after he died…. Ahhhh!) And it was down that little road that I spied some railings with a sign reading ‘Under the Stairs’ and in the window below, a big comfy looking chair.

I shuffled my frozen feet down the stairs and tentatively pushed open the door. Immediately I was greeted by array of retro sink-into-me armchairs and the fire place/fish tank feature. I knew I had struck gold.

Glancing around, I realised this was one of those rare places that doesn’t really have a ‘bad table’ in the house. Table picking can be a tough gig. Too often when walking into a restaurant you immediately spy the two good tables – perhaps by the fire, with the comfiest seats etc – which are always taken, leaving you with the remainder of the room and its cold, drafts tables packed too closely together, by the door – the loo – the mad woman muttering to herself.

Under the Stairs offered no such predicament. The large cosy room, with its thick and battered wooden floor boards, offered a plethora of mismatched, cobbled together tables and chairs – each as lovely as the next.

The man behind the bar greeted me in a warm, Scottish drawl and told me to sit wherever. I immediately wanted to try out a few tables before settling on one – they all looked so good.

In the end I settled for one that boasted both a fabulous old armchair (they just don’t make them like they used to, do they?), and an old lampshade that gave off a warm, orange glow. Feeling very pleased with myself I perused the menu.

This is where Under the Stairs gains a few more brownie points. It has a fabulous selection of sharing plates… Anti pasti, cheese boards, breads and dipping oils etc that can be ordered until midnight. I am constantly seeking establishments that will cater to both my food and wine needs at all hours, if only I lived a little closer.

The rest of the menu also appealed – from the imaginative twist on a veggie burger (black bean, spring onion an mushroom burger), to the venison casserole and salmon and cous cous fish cakes, I was torn.

With most dishes costing about £8.95 it’s definitely a cheap lunch option in Edinburgh.

But it was this sign that caught my attention:

And this one:

Two things. One, they had my sandwich and soup and I needed them back and two, red wine must always be pondered.

So I pondered and I ordered and I sat in my Grandad’s chair, listening to David Bowie, plotting how to steal the Scottish Crown Jewels over a large glass of Rioja. I’m joking, I’m joking… I was drinking Cabernet Sauvignon.

The food arrived and I decided it was definitely the best use of £5.95 that I have put the pound to for some time. Ladies and gents, allow me to introduce you to my soup and sandwich.

Aren’t they lovely? Divine? As soon as we were ‘reunited’ I realised I had unknowingly missed them my whole life.

The soup, a spicy parsnip and puy lentil number, was delightfully coarse and rich with a heart-warming chilli kick to it. Meanwhile, the sandwich was door stopping – huge slices of granary bread were filled with Cajun marinaded chunks of chicken breast, accompanied by a sweet, caramelised onion garnish and garlic mayonnaise. There was no corner cutting.

As I finished my lunch, the tank cleaning man came in to tend to the fish. As I watched him remove water, add water, and do his thing, I couldn’t help but feel they definitely have the best spot in town. If I was a fish I would want to be by the fire, swimming around Under the Stairs.

Food Facts

My soup, sarnie, and large glass of Rioja came to £12.80.

If you want to get involved you’ll find Under the Stairs at 3a Merchant Street. Bell them on 0131 466 8550.

Weekend Cottage with a Hot Tub in Suffolk: Perfect for Four Little Piggies

Posted on February 10, 2013 by Delia

Everybody has a little piglet in them. Whether it’s behaving like hogs at the trough, indulging in a little dirt and mud every now and then, or perhaps thinking you’re a little bit cleverer then your pen mates sometimes, we’re not as different to our curly-tailed friends as you may think.

So it was quite appropriate after a two and a half hour journey from Nottingham to Suffolk (pigging out on pretzels and banana cake) that four little piggies arrived at Piglet’s Place, in a little village called Culford in Suffolk.

Matty and I are desperately trying to make sure we spend lots of time with our loved ones before we depart on our trip across Central Asia, and that is exactly what brought us to Culford with our good friends Gemma and Marco. We had a boot full of booze and grub, and a new, shiny pen to play in for the weekend.

Formerly a pig barn, Piglet’s Place has been somewhat spruced up in recent years.

We walked in, bagsied bedrooms and furiously filled up the fridge for the weekend.

But Piglet’s Place is more than just a posh pigs pen, it is a posh pigs pen with a hot tub. I have decided that cottages with hot tubs in the UK are the perfect answer to dealing with the uncertainties of British weather. I don’t mind battling the horizontal rains on a walks that leave you exposed to the elements for hours on end, but I do want to warm up afterwards. And hot tubs are the perfect way to soothe those aching trotters after such countryside adventures. It’s one of the few British outdoor activities where it doesn’t matter if its raining – in fact it is almost better if it is, just take a shower cap instead of an umbrella.

To be fair, the hot tub is more like a nightclub under the stars… It has flashing disco lights (I know, amazing), you can be in it until 3am – and you don’t wear many clothes. It might just be my new favourite club.

But it was the little touches that made this cottage stand out from the rest. Sitting on the work surface of the kitchen, in a cute little blue tin, sat a homemade cake, freshly baked for us.

Let me repeat that – they had baked us a cake! It was delicious and we ate it for breakfast.

So aside from eating, drinking and hot tub dancing, there is plenty to do in this corner of the world. Surrounded by acres upon acres of beautiful countryside there are plenty of walks to enjoy – and it is also near the quaint town of Bury St Edmunds, which is home to the Greene King brewery and has lots of lovely pubs and restaurants scattered across its cobbled streets. Oh, sorry that’s eating and drinking again, isn’t it?

We went for a lovely 6.5 mile walk across Thetford Forest, filled with tall, skinny trees as high a the sun and was quite delightful.

Me (on the left) with Gemma and Marco being naughty piglets. Do not try this at home folks.

A pretty river runs through the forest.

Sun worshipping.

This little piggy got numb fingers (me).

This little piggy led the way (Gemma).

This little piggy walked in the road (Marco).

And this little piggy went (for a) ‘wee, wee, wee’ all over the forest (Matty).

Then it was over to Bury St Edmunds for an ale or two. The pretty town boasts a wonderful old abbey that dates back to 633 and was over-run by the town’s people in 1327 who destroyed the Abbey Gate and killed several monks, as well as decapitating the abbot as he tried to flee. The placard, telling the story of the abbey, read like it had almost been written by the town’s people themselves – clearly quite proud of their rebellious history.

Abstract shot of the old abbey.

The Abbey Gates as they stand today.

All in, it was the perfect retreat for four little piggies… who did not want to drive ‘all the way home’ on Sunday afternoon.

Traveller’s Tips

Piglet’s Place is run by the lovely Steve Flack of Home Farm. He has about three properties on the farm and they also share a swimming pool, which opens in the summer. At least two of the properties have private hot tubs – we originally intended to book The Dairy, which is a smaller two-bed cottage with a hot tub. There was some confusion with our booking but Steve ended up offering us five star Piglet’s Place (which has three bedrooms) for £182 for two nights, which was the price of The Dairy at this time of year.

To make a booking or find out more click here.

There are some fab pubs within a one to three mile radius of the cottage including the Cadogan Arms at Ingham, the Woolpack at Fornham St Martin and the Three Kings at Fornham All Saints. We ate at the Cadogan Arms, which is more like a gastropub restaurant than your average spit and sawdust style ale house. The food was exceptional – we enjoyed perfectly cooked medium rare steaks and beautiful tempura squid. The wine list is very good and a two course meal with plenty of wine cost about £40 per head.

PS And I can’t believe its taken me this long to mention this – Piglet’s Place is a working farm and they have an amazing shed of cows that you can go and hang out with. Amoozing!

World in Pictures: Hyson Green, Nottingham

Posted on January 26, 2013 by Delia

What is it about leaving a place that makes you fall in love with it all over again? As we prepare for our big journey across Central Asia I find myself looking around at all the little things I have on my doorstep, and appreciating them more than ever.

The things that make me smile, things that hold so many memories, and things I will miss…

I want to make it clear that curry is not the ONLY thing I will miss. I’m sure my body will get used to eating fatty morsels of meat on kebab sticks as we travel over the ‘stans, I’m sure it will be fine. There will be no tears – or waking in the middle of the night, interrupted from dreams where I was about to tuck into a spicy melt-in-your mouth lamb curry with a freshly baked, soft naan bread to my side – none of that.

The problem is, I live in Hyson Green – home to some of Nottingham’s finest curry houses. If you are reading this and have not yet sampled such delights then can I suggest you grab your purse and go straight away. Now. My personal favourites are Kabul (where Mantu, steamed dumplings of chopped lamb, onions and herbs topped with yoghurt, is an absolute must) and Desi Express, which has an array of delicious curries and the amazing takka-tak dishes, where the meat is chopped up as it cooks on a large metal grill. It literally makes the sound ‘takka-tak takka-tak takka-tak’ as the chef chops away, which incidentally is a beautiful sound. A curry and a naan bread in both establishments will set you back £5.

So, yes I am a bit worried there might be some curry-starved-tantrums on the Silk Road. But just to prove that is not all I will miss about this lovely ‘hood, here are a few pics I’ve taken in recent weeks of my other favourite things…

The Forest Recreation Ground… thank you for the wine-fuelled summer evenings and crisp, snowy walks

Oh Gregory Boulevard, we’ve had some times, haven’t we? You look prettier in the snow.

Thank you tram for stopping at the end of my road and sometimes making me a little bit less late to things.

Asda, we’ve had a love-hate relationship, but thank you for always serving me wine at 21:59.

You’re one of my favourite doors in Nottingham (and no, I have not been behind it)

Hyson Green, you have buildings of all shapes and sizes. I like your eclectic style.

And I love your rows of red-brick terraces with big bay windows

Errrrm… you have some nice trees?!

The fabulous New Art Exchange: For art, music, craft and FOOD.

Hello My Name is… Hyson Green

Art on every corner.

And yes, there probably will be another post yet on the colourful vegetable stalls, Indian-sweet stores and ahem, curry houses of Hyson Green. Talking of which, I’m getting peckish… time to “make the most” of what’s down the road, eh?

What have I missed? Feel free to share your favourite haunts.

Urban Exploring in Nottingham: The Great Northern Railway Warehouse

Posted on January 3, 2013 by Delia

I have become one of those people who looks at an empty, derelict building and thinks: ‘Can I get in there?’

I’ve even specifically cycled to buildings just to ‘stake’ them out.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately as my mother would see it, I’m not a very good law breaker and am easily deterred. For instance on a recent stake out to the old Radford Mill site near Garden Street in Nottingham I walked away within minutes after seeing the Warning: Guard Dogs on Site sign.

If I stop to think about this it’s probably fairly unrealistic that dogs have just been kept at this old mill for god knows how many years… But am I going to risk it? Not a chance.

More recently, as Matty and I walked home from town after a few ales, we passed the old Forest Mills buildings off Alfreton Road, which are currently being pulled down by the council. We skulked around the edge of the site, threatening to go home and get our camera – ‘and just get in there’, and making other such brave comments. It was then a bloke appeared out of the shade and said ‘you wanna get in?’ – as if selling tickets for entry.

‘Yeah, yeah’ I muttered, desperately trying to disguise my Home Counties accent for something a bit more street.

‘Don’t think much is left in there,’ he said darkly, as much to himself as to us. ‘I know a bloke that got in that one,’ he said, turning his arm 180 degrees across the dark sky, towards a 1960s tower block that had just been emptied and was earmarked for demolition. ‘He stripped it, got about £5k of lead,’ he continued.

‘Crikey,’ I said (I couldn’t help it, it just slipped out), thinking I’d probably written stories about his mate.

‘Anyway, you want to get in? I can get you in’, he said, our eyes falling back to the site we had been scouring just minutes earlier.

‘Errr yeah, that would be great,’ I found myself saying. ‘Although not tonight, we’ve, errr, got to meet some mates now.’ And with a dramatic glance at my watch and a slightly over-zealous gasp, we were off on our way home.

You get my point. As fascinated as i am by old empty buildings that are laced in history and scattered with little pieces of life from another time, I’m just not really cool enough for all this ‘urban exploring’.

But if a door is left open, that is another matter.

My first experience of ‘urban exploration’ was when I stumbled across this old corn warehouse in Nottingham, which used to belong to the Great Northern Railway. Built in 1850s, it has stood empty for years and was pretty much gutted by a fire that ripped through the building in 1996.

I was doing a spot of homework for my photography course and wandered over to its main entrance, on Manvers Street, to take a few snaps.

But as I was taking pictures of these seemingly impenetrable gates I was interrupted by a couple of teenagers. Truth be told, I was lying on my back at the time, trying to get some ‘arty shots’ that never actually worked out.

‘You into urban exploration?’ I suddenly heard. Lowering my camera down from my face, I saw a girl and a boy peering down at me.

I think I might have said something intelligent like ‘what’s that?’ as I peeled myself from the floor, ignoring all the stones and grit stuck to my skin.

‘We go into old places and record it, take pictures and stuff,’ replied the girl, who must have been about 14 tops. ‘We can take you in here if you want’, she added, pulling away a wooden panel at the side of the locked gates.

I was tempted. I nearly followed them in, but I held back, a little unsure about my new friends.

‘Just don’t go in on your own,’ one of them warned me. ‘Full of skag-heads and homeless people. Two women were murdered in here,’ she added.

And with that as their parting shot they trampled over the wooden panel and into the unknown. I gingerely put my head through. There was a grassy hill leading into the unkempt grounds with weeds almost the size of trees and grass as long as wheat…. I decided to just perch on the hill and take a small picture.

I knelt down into the grass (avoiding the needles) to change my camera lens and at that penultimate moment where both lenses are off and the camera is naked to the elements, I heard rustling and voices. I looked up to see a bloke and a girl walking towards me. Holding eye contact with my camera only, he greeted with me with an ‘Alright’ while her eyes rolled around in their sockets. As I took in the dark rings around their eyes, and their pale, hallowed faces, I felt certain that they could hear the loud thumping of my heart as I debated whether to try and run back down the hill or just play it cool.

I attempted the latter, I think I squeaked an ‘alright’ back as I ~~casually~~ furiously changed my lens. They staggered past me and were soon lost in the jungle-like weeds ahead. I turned on my heels and ran the hell out of there.

Two days later I was back. With back-up… in the form of Matty. And after walking through the needle-strewn grass we reached an entrance of sorts….

As we approached it, we heard someone call out. As we have discussed before on this blog, I am a massive scaredy cat, so news that we had company naturally terrified me.

The man shouted down, ‘I just wanted to let you know I’ll be coming down the stairs. It’s pitch black in parts so I didn’t want to alarm you.’

Well, what a lovely chap, I thought. But as we walked into the darkness and started climbing the stairs I did think, ‘it’s probably a trick, what if he’s just luring us in…’

Suddenly I found myself thinking of the two homeless women that were found in the building in 2005. Was this how it started for them, I wondered.

We soon passed him on the stairs and he was most pleasant.

So… what did we see?

Passing all the dark, leaking, empty rooms – one of which had numerous tents in it – we finally stepped onto the roof.

See Matty is a much cooler ‘urban explorer’ than me and my mental, over active imagination.

Nevertheless, as we headed back down the rickety stairs (at a quicker pace past the tent room) and into the wilderness, stepping over bottles of Buckfast and fag packets, I mentally made a note to add ‘urban explorer’ to my CV.

If you want to see some more impressive explorations, take a look at this site called 28 Days Later, which has some wicked stuff on it.

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This is, of course, a fictional tale. Under no circumstances have I ever considered breaking and entering and certainly not trespassing. These pictures were borrowed from someone naughtier than me. And no, that’s not Matty in the picture, it’s his pesky doppelgänger, who gets us in all sorts of trouble.

World in Pictures: Istanbul – The Accidental Holiday

Posted on November 18, 2012 by Delia

Travel is never without hiccups. Or at least it isn’t, when Matty and I are involved. I’ve already mentioned the time we got stranded up a Lebanese mountain, and now I’ll tell you about the time we were meant to be flying to Portugal and accidentally ended up in Turkey.

It was a cold frosty December morning when we arrived at East Midlands Airport and we were fully intending to run the Lisbon half marathon two days later. We had all our running gear packed, we’d been (kind of) training for months and we were sort of prepared and very excited about becoming “international runners”. Having been to Lisbon before, we had taken a fairly gung-ho attitude with the whole planning side of things and didn’t buy our city guide until we got to the airport, where we excitedly sat down and starting planning.

Sipping water (like athletes) we kept an eye on the flight board, which continued to show no information about our flight. Eventually we got up and asked someone.

“No, your flight has been cancelled,” we were told.
“All flights to Spain and Portugal are cancelled due to air traffic control strikes.”

Got to love the continentals with all their strikes. Scratching our heads and realising we would not be running in the Lisbon half marathon after all, we wandered over to the bar and sank a couple of large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. Then we tackled the Easyjet desk.

It was like something out of a reality TV show – people doing their best angry faces, lots of loud phone calls being made in a variety of languages, there were even tears. Not from us mind you, we were just hoping they would fly us somewhere – anywhere a little bit warmer – plus I love airports, and felt like I was already on holiday (the Savvy B helped).

When we got to the front the woman looked up wearily and apologised for the cancelled flight.

“No worries,” we said cheerfully. “Where can you send us instead?”

She looked surprised, smiled and tapped away on her computer.

“Istanbul? Flight leaves in two hours,” she suggested.

Result. We were now flying twice the distance for the same price. So, clutching our freshly printed flight tickets, we headed back to WH Smiths to swap our unneeded Lisbon book with a much needed Istanbul one (much to the check-out girl’s amusement).

And that is why we ended up in Istanbul with nothing but the clothes on our backs and our running kits. And no, we didn’t run once.

Enjoy the pics x

Mmmm…. Turkish coffee should be adored by all

The markets are a dazzling array of colours

The super impressive Sultanahmet Camii (aka the Blue Mosque)

As if oblivious to the dozens of tourists in the Blue Mosque

The antique tram that runs down the main shopping throughfare Istikal Caddesi (and me)

Matty doing his research

The stunning interior of the Byzantine church Aya Sofya, which was the largest enclosed space in the world for almost 1,000 years (anyone know what is now?!)

Tee hee, this bird which was happily perched on a boulder at the top of the Gelata Tower, which offers superb views across the Golden Horn to the Old City, flew off after taking this picture… and landed on Matty’s head. Priceless.

City centre fishing: Dozens of fishermen line the Galata Bridge in Istanbul

The city has som fab street art…

Wicked arcitecture to be found at every turn

We fell in love with Istanbul, aside from its spectacular mosques and rich culture, it’s riddled with superb shops, bars, restaurants and cafes. The only city in the world to straddle two continents, perched across the Bosphorus that divides Asia from Europe, it really does feel like a wonderful mixing pot of many different worlds.

Chino Latino, Nottingham: Food Porn on a Plate

Posted on November 11, 2012 by Delia

WARNING: This post contains serious food porn. If you’re feeling peckish right now I suggest you eat something substantial before reading…

I first stumbled across Chino Latino at the Nottingham Food and Drink Festival this summer, when Old Market Square is transformed by dozens of stalls offering delicious treats from around the world. I was a bit of an embarrassment that week if I’m honest… I gave up any lunch-making ambitions and shamelessly ran to the square at noon every day to get my fill.

It was on one of these days that I noticed Chino Latino’s little stall that had chefs rolling sushi and impressively tossing ingredients around in a large wok. They had some gorgeous little dishes on offer and I went for the wasabi prawns. To this day I still talk about these prawns… There were about five of the giant, juicy fellas, dressed in a spicy, wasabi dressing, sitting in a large shell. They were divine.

That weekend when my friend Nicki visited I took her straight down to the square for a prawn fix.

She LOVED it

I pledged then and there that I would dine at Chino Latino before the year was up. And when it comes to food I never break a promise.

Finally, on a chilly, autumnal Tuesday evening last week I made it. Eating so early in the week can often be challenging when it comes to atmosphere, but I needn’t have worried about that. The restaurant, which sits underneath the Crowne Plaza Hotel on Maid Marian Way, was absolutely heaving, although I think its warm, dim lighting with red tones would still create an inviting atmosphere when empty.

The menu is basically a list of all my favourite things. It’s ‘Asian fusion’ so has a fabulous selection of small bites including sushi and dim sum as well as more international favourites like tempura, duck pancakes, chicken wings and Thai fritters. That’s even before we get to the ‘main courses’, but it’s the kind of place that encourages sharing, and we all know how I feel about that, so you don’t even have to order a main – you can just order lots of little dishes.

The staff were wonderful. And that means a lot to me. I spent years working as a waitress so I know how easy it is to be nice and helpful (bar the occasional nightmare customers who deserve every filthy look they get) – but unfortunately so many waiting staff seem to disagree with this. Not so at Chino Latino, our friendly waiter explained we could just order small plates, or one main plate with a few of the smalls – or just whatever we fancied. There were no rules. And I love nothing more than a good waiter with no rules.

Afters much ‘umming and ahhhhing’ we settled on about four small plates, a main to share and a delicious bottle (or two) of Chianti. The latter, the Chianti Superiere II Leo made in Ruffino, Italy, was a warm, spicy number with cheeky plummy after tones.

Our waiter explained that the food would be served as and when it was ready but said he would put breaks between some dishes. I was impressed by his foresight and managed to ignore the fancy pants within me who wanted to stipulate which dishes arrived when. I decided to trust him.

And sure enough, first up was the vegetable tempura. The very dish I would have asked to arrive first.

Juicy is not normally a word I would use to describe vegetables. Crunchy, fresh, green – yes, but not juicy. However, I have to say these vegetables were just that – chunky slices of aubergine, red pepper, courgette and sweet potato were deep fried in the lightest of tempura, allowing the oils to seep through and bring out the deep and unique flavours of each veg. With a light, sweet soy sauce to dip them in, I have never enthused so much about vegetables.

From the juicy, light veg, we tucked straight into some naughty dim sum of foie gras and shiitake mushrooms. I’ll let the picture do the work here…

Imagine breaking into those steamy buns?! The foie gras gave it a wonderfully rich edge but the mushrooms brought it down a ‘meaty’ peg or two, making for a mighty fine dumpling.

Meanwhile the scallops (pictured above – but again now to make sure you really understand them) were equally special.

Meaty and juicy, the pan-fried scallops were perfectly cooked and drizzled in a rich soy sauce. Their melt-in-the-mouth texture was enhanced by the creamy yuzu aioli and complemented by the crushed, crunchy wasabi peas sprinkled on top.

The crispy duck was also a raging success. Served whole and carved at our table, we happily rolled up little pancakes of meat, cucumber slices, spring onion slices and hoisin sauce.

And then, just when we thought it couldn”t get much better, we were served a basket of beef. That’s right, a basket of beef. Served piping hot but perfectly pink, the slivers of fillet came with a selection of three dips; wasabi, teriyaki and a garlic and chilli. And if that was not enough, you could actually eat the basket. It was made from threads of sweet potato, I might refuse to take any other kind of basket in the future.

This beautiful basket of beef was our “main course” dish

After initially rubbing our bellies and declining dessert, curiosity got the better of us and we asked to see the menu (for research purposes only you see). Upon perusing our options I immediately found a small, fifteenth of a stomach that was free for dessert and while it pains me to admit there wasn’t quite room for the chocolate and ginger fudge cake or the passion fruit cheesecake with blowtorch marshmellow (both of which I will have to return for), I did sign us up for the homemade exotic sorbets to “cleanse the palate”.

These little balls of rasberry, lychee, guava and mango sorbet were a taste sensation. My friend Lorna, who hath protested she needed no dessert just minutes earlier, cried: “Can you feel the goodness going into you?” as she sooped the sorbet up by the spoonfuls.

I can conclude that Chino Latino has not only made it into my all-time top three Nottingham restauarants, but is easily jostling for the first place position. It does come at a price with small plates ranging from £7 to £12 and mains from £11 to £25, but if you’re looking for something a little bit special to top the taste charts then it’s worth every penny. If, on the other hand, you’ve not got the budget for that then we’re only a (cold, bitter) winter away from the Nottingham Food and Drink Festival and my shell of meaty prawns only set me back about £4.

World in Words

By a girl who loves to write, eat and explore…

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