Tag Archives: travel

Winding Down

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After a couple of days of cold and gales, I wake, pull the curtain and the sky has returned from iron grey and angry to blue dotted with fluffy clouds. Crete’s weather has regained its sunshine and we can go back to our routine of late, leisurely breakfast, read in the sunshine, walk, coffee, relax, drink, dinner. Except that we’ll leave out the read as it isn’t quite unbroken sun yet and everywhere is puddled and damp from the previous night’s storm.

Walking out, it’s a novelty to see how green and verdant the parks and gardens are. There’s a park on the way to new town, shady and pleasant with fountains and statues.

Each time we walk in Chania, we find different streets and pathways we haven’t travelled before- an intricate network of narrow lanes housing gift shops and cafes, tables squeezed outside in spite of the narrowness.

During this time, I’m capitalising on a temporary measure that’s allowing me to walk pain-free, whilst being aware that the chance to walk is finite, but it’s a treat to be able to wander freely like this. So we go further around the bay and as far as the larger of Chania’s two beaches, passing a huge building site as new developments of hotels or apartments with sea views rise up. The coastline is rocky between beaches and there are stretches of wildflowers plus one or two bizarre statues and shrines.

When we arrive to the beach, the seafront bars are busy with lunches but we’re able to get a drink and sit in the breezy sunshine. There are a few striped huts for changing and some rows of sunbeds. Returning through the old town, I’m struck how people have created shady courtyard gardens from the tiniest of spaces. One street has some ancient Minoan ruins, partially excavated, where we stop to look, wooed by a friendly [for once] feral cat, winding itself round our legs but unwilling to pose for photos.

Growing wild along the streets, nasturtiums cascade down from slopes and walls in a riot of colour and prickly pears are already sprouting pinkish fruits. While I know them to be delicious when carved up, I’m unwilling to pick any, having attempted to on previous occasions and experienced their brutal spines.

Throughout the day, horse and carriage rides continue, the horse clopping round on the cobbles and running the gauntlet of traffic jams which build up as the day wears on. The horses look glossy and well cared for but one I try to make friends with bares his teeth at me in a menacing way and I back off!

We’re past the half way point and heading down towards the last days. In the evening we go to the quayside and find another restaurant, where I cannot resist yet another Greek salad. The meals here are huge- a starter alone is generally enough. We are now familiar with this place and seem to have done most things, but we might yet get to see something new…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Cold Crete

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We’ve got into a routine by the end of three days: lazy start, late breakfast, read in the early sunshine, midday saunter into town to get a coffee, longer walk, return for later afternoon sun, out for an early evening drink followed by a search for somewhere we fancy eating. We can go close- to the bars and restaurants near our hotel, or wander further to Venetian Harbour, where the wide sweep of the quay is fringed by restaurants. In addition to this, there are many, many more places lining the network of lanes behind the harbour.

On day four though, I wake and twitch the curtain to see a gloomy, cloudy sky, also it isn’t warm. Horrors! Our entire routine is founded on warm sunshine- heat, even. Hmm…

It’s not raining however, so we can still walk if we wrap up. We skip the post breakfast read and set off. If we turn left out of our hotel instead of right, the road takes us straight into the modern centre of Chania, a big contrast to the old town of course. We use our map, provided by the hotel reception. The main road passes a grand, if not old, building set back behind the tourist information booth [firmly closed, boarded up and fenced]. This, then, is the market. There’s nothing to explain its closure. I’m disappointed. I enjoy looking round a market, especially in a different country.

We plough on. It’s quite an extensive shopping centre and there are what feels like an out of proportion number of pharmacies. We need a couple of items and some advice so we step into one. The pharmacist speaks excellent English and the service is super efficient.

We come to the old town and wander the tiny, narrow backstreets. The cathedral square is an elegant space and we enter the cathedral but I’m not allowed to photograph its interior. Nearby should be the archaeology museum but in spite of much searching and use of our map, we can’t find it. Then we’re told it is closed.

Backtracking to the quay, we go along to the maritime museum at the end where we can escape the cool breeze for a while. The first exhibits date back the longest time and are absorbing, as Crete has a rich, mixed culture from being colonised by several different civilisations. Moving further into the museum it is mostly second world war memorabilia, with a huge number of model battleships and upstairs, a collection of uniform pieces and various items in cases, one of which is a ‘German soup bowl’- a white, ceramic, oval plate covered in holes. ‘I don’t think much of this German soup bowl’, I tell Husband, who replies that it’s no wonder they lost the war, as they must have been starving. I feel an overwhelming urge to laugh, which I have to stifle rather than destroy the gravitas of the war relics, so it’s time to leave.

We return to the hotel to relax a bit, but it’s tricky. Outside is windy and cold, our room is not conducive to relaxing [except for sleep] and the hotel bar area is furnished with some of the most uncomfortable sofas I’ve ever sat on. But I can make do if I use a pillow from our room, so we sit and read there for a bit.

We opt to go local for dinner- just down the road, In the meantime, the weather worsens into a deluge of wind and rain and we are to learn that this is the coldest May day in Greece for seventy years. The rain hammers down on the restaurant’s enclosed awning as we share the space with a family celebrating a birthday. Ho hum…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Lie of the Land

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The first couple of days in a new location are all about orientation. The best way is to walk, although there are horse and carriage rides and bus tours in Chania, but no ‘Noddy Train’ which is a surprise.

We’ve opted for early sun then out to explore and find late morning coffee. Since I gave up most dairy products I’m always on a hunt for non-dairy milk- either in a cafe or for use in our hotel- which provides no dairy alternatives. I like oat milk best but soya will do. Our nearest mini-market only stocks almond milk and even then the carton looks a little dated.

We stroll down the road to the front- Venetian Harbour. The wide sweep of the harbour is home to swathes of cafes and bars and, judging by the hoards of tourists, all must do well. I am to discover, though, that few offer non-dairy milk. Once I’ve managed to get some oat milk, I decant some into a water bottle and carry it with me.

The vibrant blue of the sea and the sky, together with the curving bay and the lighthouse make for a gorgeous view anywhere here by the harbourside. There is a terrace of old warehouses and a few other old buildings beside the wide promenade. I’m taken with a gift-shop boat moored up, offering keepsakes and trinkets besides shells and sponges.

Cats are everywhere, as always in Greece, semi-feral, opportunistic as they weave their way through the tables of diners hoping for titbits. They are, however, well cared for by the locals, cat food containers and small heaps of dried food commonplace in the streets. When I first began visiting Greece and the islands, the wild cats were in poor shape, skinny, mangy and often with diseases like eye problems etc. Nowadays they are sleek, glossy and smug as they prowl the restaurants. Sometimes they are friendly and welcome a stroke but mostly they retreat from any attempt at physical contact. On our first night, I donated my sardine heads and tails to a hopeful black and white one, who left me as soon as the meal was finished.

On the busy harbour front there are hoards of tourists of many nationalities, the restaurants touting for business all the way round, most often trying German on us. It’s not the first time we’ve been taken for Germans. There are a surprising number of Americans, presumably doing their ‘Europe tour’, as well as French, Spanish, Italian- and possibly Russians, although I’m unable to identify Eastern European, Russian etc.

After walking and coffee, we return to the hotel for some later afternoon sun. The small pool is surrounded by high, concrete walls which make for a sheltered crater of heat without a breeze. The sunbeds are limited to the smallish space and the sunshades, with their concrete bases, can’t be moved, so it’s a case of careful selection and changing when necessary.

Later on we’ll return to the harbour to choose a place to eat- and we’ll be spoilt for choice!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Outbound at Last

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Back we go to Crete, where we enjoyed a warm, sunny holiday in October 2024. This time we’re in Chania, which looked picturesque in the brochure photos.

We land at the small airport and descend into a balmy, sunny evening. Arrival is quick and easy with a quick perusal of passports and the luggage comes with no trouble. Greece has yet to adopt the new, digital scans etc due to wanting lots of British tourists!

Out in arrivals, we’re soon identified and join just one other couple in a minibus- a vast improvement on the unwieldy coach of last time, which took us all down and back along narrow lanes it couldn’t manoeuvre, for hours and got us to our hotel at midnight. This time it’s only half an hour to our hotel, a smallish, four storey, nondescript building on a corner at a crossroads.

After check in, we go to our second floor room, which is, to say the least, snug. There is a small wardrobe, a bathroom with a minute shower cubicle, some shelves and a fridge [which is, at least, cold] a TV, twin beds and a very narrow balcony with two uncomfortable chairs and a little table- all only just fitting and with no sun. Our room and balcony overlook a car park. So far so unimpressive then…

Nevertheless, there’s enough time left int he day to explore a bit. Outside the hotel and to the left, down a short road, there is the sea, together with a few very promising bars and restaurants, some still bathed in late afternoon sun. It seems churlish to waste the evening so we get a drink at an outside table then decide we’ll eat here. Greek salad- lovely salty feta cheese on top of fresh salad greens in an olive oil dressing. Hooray! This is a reason to visit Greece- delicious fresh food in the sunshine.

Back at the hotel, there’s a small bar and some extremely uncomfortable furniture. A large screen is showing…football. It’s quiet and a little lacklustre and I wonder what the barman can find to do…

The hotel does breakfast only, which suits us fine, and better still it goes on until 11.30am, which is great. We don’t need to hurry down to the dining area on the ground floor. Again, breakfast is adequate, although there’s tinned fruit to go with the [delicious] yoghurt and we are to find the cooked items are a little repetitive.

After breakfast we decide to get some sun and a read by the small pool, which does have a few sunbeds. It soon becomes too hot. The pool is surrounded on three sides by tall concrete walls.

It’s time to explore the town and the famous Venetian Harbour. Another advantage of the hotel is that most places are in easy walking distance- which is good news as I’m only just walking again after months of being barely mobile. Today, the sky is blue. There are scarlet Jacarandas tumbling over rooftops and when we get to the quayside, smart motor cruisers lined up in their moorings on the azure blue of the harbour. Little wonder the Greeks have adopted blue and white as their trademark colours.

The holiday stretches ahead of us…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Wet Winchester

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So it’s rained pretty much every day since 2026 began, a relentless, sodden late winter that has encompassed all forms of precipitation, from drizzle to storm, from mizzle to squalls. As yet, nowhere in Europe has warmed enough to be escaping to sunshine, so the only thing is to find indoor things to do. To this end, we decide to make a visit to an interactive exhibition in a nearby city.

A visit to Winchester, a little north of us in the county of Hampshire, is always a delight. It is beautiful, historic and elegant, has many interesting sights and boasts a lot of lovely restaurants, cafes and pubs. We could get there by train very easily in about 45 minutes, except that rain and more rain has disrupted the railway, causing delays and cancellations.

Husband suggests we do a cheeky overnight stay, which I’m not about to argue with and he finds a ‘pub with rooms’ in the city centre with parking nearby. Winchester is one of those cities with a complicated one way system and not a great deal of convenient car parks, so this will do nicely. Maybe we’ll look at some more things in Winchester, although we have seen all the obvious sights on previous occasions.

After driving round and round the one way system in an abortive attempt to find the nearby car park, we do locate the entrance- only for a while though, because the science centre is outside of Winchester, a car journey away. We park and check into the Westgate Hotel- part of the Youngs Brewery chain. I need hardly say that it’s raining. We won’t be doing too much wandering outside.

The Westgate is charming with a tasteful decor, although our room is up several flights of steep, narrow stairs, which do my arthritic hip no favours. The room, however is dinky and has a great view of the castle.

There’s only time to drop the bags then we must collect the car and set off for the science centre, hindered by traffic, rain and the huge road works en route. The rain continues as we park and enter the centre- only just in time as it happens, because the show is starting and there don’t seem to be any empty seats. We’re in the planetarium part, projections circling on the domed ceiling. We’re taken through Van Gogh’s early life through his paintings then progress onwards through his various locations.

I’m very excited to see Arles and Saint Remy portrayed, as these are both places in the south of France where we have stayed and both beautiful in their own ways. By the time he got to Saint Remy, poor Vincent was suffering with his mental illness, his painting obsession having driven him, quite literally, mad; so that he needed to stay in an asylum. All in all, it’s enjoyable, although probably not the best value for the price.

When we exit, the rain is still plummeting [of course]. Rather than trudge round town, we opt to stay in the cosy Westgate, whose restaurant is perfectly good with a few menu options well cooked.

Next morning the rain has slowed to drizzle with a few bright intervals so we pack up and dump bags in the car then go to the ‘Arc’ cultural centre where I’m sure there’s a William Morris exhibition, except there isn’t, because it finished yesterday…

So it’s coffee, a short stroll to the cathedral and home….

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Winding Down

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The day of the Alcazar visit arrives- the penultimate day of our week in Seville. And it’s hot- possibly the hottest day of a very warm week.

During the second half of the week, we’ve been using the supermarkets opposite the hotel to gather brunch items- baguettes, cheese and cold meats, which is all very handy. Judging by the fellow guests by the swimming pool, this is what everyone else is doing, too!

We have our tickets for the visit and a time slot, so we set off down to Seville centre- a route we’ve become familiar with now, except that although we’ve visited the cathedral- and we know the Alcazar is nearby somewhere- we can’t seem to find it.

We wander round, scrutinise our map, walk again. It’s hot. I feel for the poor horses, lined up- albeit in the shade, to pull tourists around on carts.

Finally, we trudge up a narrow lane at the side of the cathedral and there it is, which makes me feel foolish, as it was behind the cathedral all the time. At first, on seeing long queues for the Alcazar, we feel smug to have bought tickets- that is until we see that of course- so has everyone else. Despite the allotted time slot, we must queue with everyone else. There are some pockets of shade though, thank goodness!

At last we’re through the gate and at first there’s nothing to hint at what lies inside the tall, ancient walls. We go first inside the building and up the stairs, where there’s an exhibition of very old tiles- 16th and 17th century- so astonishingly fresh and contemporary-looking, I’d be happy for my bathroom to be clothed in them! There is also a tiled portrayal of the crucifixion.

Downstairs the building consists of a series of small courtyards, shaded and charming. but the real beauty of the Alcazar lies in its vast and gorgeous garden, Moorish in design and set out in garden ‘rooms’. It’s very formal and there is a sense of calm in the lines of hedging, the squares, the symmetry and the planting.

We descend steps to a raised pond, where a few hopeful ducks swim within arm’s reach. A woman holds out a carefully manicured finger and I hold my breath until the nearest duck snaps at it, then I’m disappointed when she withdraws just in time.

Each area, marked by low hedges, is planted with shrubs, palms, trees and flowers- a rose garden being one. It’s a riot of flowers and colour for November. Further on the garden becomes less formal and wooded, a sea of green Mediterranean shrubs beneath the trees.

A staircase leads up to the top of the retaining wall, a covered corridor with views over the garden; a great way to end the visit.

At the end of our week, we make one more visit to the restaurant we found where we had a simple but delicious steak, then it’s time to take our leave of Seville- an elegant and beautiful city with a thrilling array of grand, historic sights…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Best of the Rest

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In the middle of our week in Seville, the weather turns sultry and cloudy. We are setting off to walk what we’d discovered was the route to the ‘sights’ and as we leave the hotel, are warned by a doorman that a big storm is coming, which was good of him. We determine, however that we’ll be back before any harm befalls us.

On this day, the parks and gardens are all firmly shut and locked, the result of accidental tree falls in previous storms. The authorities are taking no chances! These closures include the park in which the Plaza de Espana is located, although we are able to get into it by ascending steps and through a doorway.

In the event, there are a few grumbles of thunder and some gloomy, electric -looking clouds plus a few spots of drizzle. On our way back, and wanting brunch, we stop at one cafe, sparsely peopled and are asked if we have booked a table! We move to the next cafe, which is quiet. We have to use the QR code method for the menu [a system I’m not fond of] but manage to order a few items. We wait. We begin to realise why the cafe might be quiet when the wait extends and becomes over-long. A large party of Frenchmen arrive and order a lot of things, some of which arrive before our brunch, which is annoying. Husband is nervous about the coming storm [although this does not become an issue]. At long last, our meals arrive. It’s not so far to walk back to the hotel and as it happens, there isn’t really a storm.

The afternoon is still warm and, wanting to relax with a book by the pool, we get the lift to the third floor. The pool area, however has been stripped of all its comfortable cushions and quite a few of the loungers are gone, presumably in preparation for the ‘storm’ which hasn’t arrived! We make the best of it, using the loungers that remain and we have the place to ourselves.

In the evening, we venture to the top of our street and across to a restaurant we’ve spotted. It has evening outside heaters and a very cosy interior, plus a promising menu. We both choose steaks, which arrive on slates, mine still sizzling on arrival and it ranks amongst the very best steaks I’ve had, simply accompanied by chips [fries], tomatoes and okra. We order a glass each of their house wine. It is all delicious.

Another meal, at the ‘California Burger’ is a resounding failure and epitomises everything loathsome about fast food- a nasty, greasy, falling-apart in my hand load of gloop served in disposable cardboard- and resulting in a morning’s incarceration in the toilet for me and my UC-inflicted gut.

I’ve learned that if we want to visit the ‘Alcazar’ [which we do], we need to book tickets. We can do this at our hotel reception, which we do, choosing our penultimate day. This is something I am looking forward to!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Orientation

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An exploration of the locality surrounding our Seville hotel reveals two useful supermarkets [one exactly opposite us] and a network of small streets in which there are plenty of cafes, bars and restaurants. Every one has outside tables with people sitting and partaking. One reason could be that we’re in an area of university student accommodation blocks.

Exploring further, we meander towards the historic part of the city. Seville is blessed with a network of green spaces- gardens and parks- many with water features and all with beautiful, landscaped planting; palms, exotic trees and flowers and of course, the ubiquitous citrus trees.

At last we arrive at Plaza de Espana, an iconic space that was built in 1929. It is vast, a Spanish square, though the curved canal and semi surround render it less ‘square’- like. It’s hard not to be impressed, even though the ornamental canal is depleted of water. The park the square sits in is closed off due to storm warnings, but we are able to access the Plaza via steps and through the building [which houses a military museum]. The lower part of the curved wall of the museum displays mosaic maps of the Spanish provinces. Today, at the base of the main steps, a Flamenco dancer accompanied by a singing Spanish guitarist is entertaining a crowd.

An open top bus tour seems a good idea next day. It’s something we often do in an unknown city- a good way to understand the layout of a place and identify sights we may wish to visit.

One issue we find is that, like Madrid, there is a dearth of public lavatories, although we get lucky and having bought the bus tickets we are directed to one attached to a cafe in the park opposite the bus stop. Husband declines the use of the commentary on board the open top bus, resulting in my having to hiss information to him piecemeal as I receive it. The bus drives us past a lot of famous bits we’d never have time to visit on foot- the ‘pavilions’, a set of buildings from south American countries, the palace of justice, the golden tower, the river Guadalquivir and its beautiful bridges, the technology centre with a replica of Europe’s Ariane space rocket, the old Romany quarter, an area famous for tile-making and the Macarena district- an area I especially like, with its narrow streets of historic houses and beautiful squares.

Seville’s streets are decked with Christmas decorations, all ready for the festive season, although [just as in Adelaide] it feels bizarre to see sparkly Christmas baubles in warm sunshine. When the bus loops back to the river we get off by the golden tower- the Torre del Oro. It’s a wide promenade overlooking the water where there’s a ‘galleon’ moored.

We’re in need of some refreshment by now and have walked back into the city centre and to the area housing the huge cathedral, the street thronged with visitors and trams swishing by. There is an inevitable Starbucks and we dive in there, as much for the toilet facilities as anything else, although there is no lock on the ladies’ ,which makes for a nerve-wracking few minutes for me!

As with so many iconic buildings these days, we are supposed to have bought tickets for the cathedral, but we discover we can buy them from a counter, which we do, then we’re in straight away…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Flight from Gloom

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It’s a return to travel tales in this week’s post…

The UK autumn descended into gloom with the clock hands depriving of us light and the weather becoming unsettled.

At the end of October, we got the go-ahead to collect Jazzer, the campervan from its enforced incarceration in a French garage, where it had finally been repaired. Husband went off to collect it, retracing the steps we’d taken as foot passengers a couple of months before when we’d had to abort our late summer trip and come home.

Once the van was back, we could reclaim all the things we’d missed, plus a lot of things we’d forgotten about. Items of clothing, items of kitchenware- even a few food items were still in date and edible!

Having had weeks of waiting and telephoning, writing emails and stressing, now we were ready for some kind of holiday. I’d been Googling ‘warmest place in Europe today’ for weeks. Now we could go. The warmest places, I’d learned, were not Majorca or the Canary Islands- no- the warmest place was Seville, Spain.

We’d been to Seville many years ago, with our first van, a little, white VW with a pop-up roof- a thing of beauty and gorgeousness- but no longer suitable for our needs. At that time, we were still constrained by school holidays and been restricted to the hottest, summer months, so It was mega-hot in inland Spain. We’d found a site somewhere near the airport and although we’d planned to visit the city, we spent the stifling daytime in the site’s swimming pool. We’d managed a trip into town later in the day but sightseeing was impossible due to searing heat.

Similarly, Seville has languished this last summer in temperatures of C40+, brutal conditions for everyday life. No wonder that we are greeted on our first morning’s reccy by the sight of locals wrapped up in woollies and puffa jackets in the moderate 20+ temperature.! Meanwhile we’re attired in shorts and T-shirts, which must look bizarre to them.

We got picked up from the airport [eventually] and dropped at our hotel a little later than expected, due to a flight delay. The hotel- which is a massive structure, has a ground floor cafe serving a range of light meals, drinks etc and is open until midnight. Having checked in, we descend the nine floors from our room and get perfectly acceptable meals. So far so good.

The next morning, we set off [in our shorts and T-shirts] in search of brunch, having first bought a phone charger due to not packing one, from a store at the end of our street. There’s a breakfast cafe just around the corner which looks promising, although the menu is beyond my rusty Spanish skills [which were never great to start with] and the staff seem unwilling to engage in a ‘Spanglais’ garbled conversation. Plates of toasted baguettes with delicious toppings keep emerging, which we decide would be perfect for us- but what are they?

We sit at a table. A nearby diner indicates that we need to queue at the counter first and order. Husband, who considers that I must take responsibility for linguistics, prods me in the direction of said counter. I put on what I hope is a winning smile and attempt to engage with the harassed woman on the other side. ‘Er…tostado?’ I splutter, at which she looks baffled. She calls a man from the other end of the bar. He speaks English, at which I am both relieved and feel a failure. At last we are seated and get a delicious brunch and luscious, freshly squeezed orange juice. There is no shortage of oranges in Seville in November. The pavements are lined with orange trees and ripe fruit covers the ground beneath each tree.

The day begins to heat up and it feels like some relaxation might be in order. The hotel has a third floor swimming pool and sun deck- minus a bar at this time of year, but with comfortable loungers and sofas with cushions. We can explore a bit once we’ve acclimatised and it isn’t so hot. For now- we take books to the sun deck and take in the views over the city- phew!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Autumn Arboretum

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The dry and sunny weather has stuck with us for October so far. Husband’s birthday comes around and I cast around for a good activity on this Sunday afternoon, hitting on the idea of Hilliers’s Aboretum, near Romsey, Hampshire- a charitable trust that offers a garden centre as well as a huge estate full of assorted, indigenous trees. Early autumn is a great time to visit because the colours of the trees’ leaves is beginning to develop as they wind down for their winter sleep.

The colours of the Hampshire countryside are already showing promise even before we arrive to Hillier’s. The car park is busy so we’re not the only ones wanting to experience the best that a British autumn can offer today.

At the ticket counter, we’re given a map plus an opportunity to take out a ‘lifetime membership’, a deal that feels questionable. given that we A] won’t be coming every weekend for ever’ and B] ‘lifetime’ doesn’t seem that much of a bargain when you’re in your later life…

Still, we’re here and stepping out around the plantation, starting with a magnificent view down across the hills and over the landscape. Then we turn left and plunge into the trees. Husband, who is a botanist, knows a great deal about plants and trees, although not their names, which amuses me.

Wandering down along the path towards the pond and the bog garden, the colours range from purple and crimson through to flame orange, gold and yellow. En route there is an occasional added item for interest- a xylophone, some drums, a mud kitchen- all there to entertain bored children.

After a wrong turn or two, we find the pond, which has fish, lilies, timber seating areas and, in the centre of the water, a spectacular larch. Larches are unique in that they are conifers but shed their needles in the winter. Before this, though, they turn a bright orange. This single tree’s reflection on the water is amazing.

Around the outside of the pond, in the bog areas, there is towering Gunnera, just starting to decay, the enormous leaves beginning to blacken. Further on, beyond and above the pond area we walk through a tunnel of tall bamboo.

The path winds up and out then we emerge at the start of a wide alley flanked by herbaceous borders, a grass area between, that seem to extend as far as the eye can see. The borders, even this late in the year, are chock full of colour, with dahlias, geraniums, asters and so many more flowers, most being visited by bees, a lovely sight.

Then we’re back to the start, and since we’re by the cafe, it feels churlish not to give it a visit for tea and excellent fruit cake.

Later, I feel glad to have had the cake as I wait [too long] for my meal to be delivered to our table in ‘The Botanist’ restaurant. But what an appropriate place for botanist Husband’s birthday meal!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com