Exploring bridges: burning them, building them, and what it all means.

I literally took a trip down memory lane the other day. I was asked to drop a file off at a building across from where I lived when I first moved to the city. At first, the thought of going there filled me with absolute dread – it had been a really weird time in my life when I lived in a grim, box-sized room. I had been overwhelemed by the city, threatened to be swallowed whole by the dirt and the noise; overstimulated but also lonely. I was young, with no coping mechanisms in place – it is not a time I remember fondly.

I saw the pub on the corner, the familiar trees on either side of the road. I walked slowly down the street, expecting that feeling of dread to fill and suffocate me. What happened next was weird – it didn’t happen at all. The large Georgian building made me feel next to nothing. I was merely an observer, and it was merely a building. I realised I’d given it so much power in my mind, only to realise it was just bricks and concrete.

It seemed that perhaps without the shadowing of subjective memory, all these bad times that I hold in the back of my mind with near reverence were the same, just times. Would it be the same for some of the other periods in my life? The flat in Greece we were burgled in, the inner-city hospital that saw my first big loss? The school I struggled to fit into? Have I been carrying all these bad memories, cards tightly held against my chest, for nothing?

As a third culture kid (TCK), I’ve become used to leaving places and likely never going back, leaving people and likely never seeing them again. It’s my modus operandi, my protection; never looking back was something I thought was beneficial. The other day made me realise, however, that sometimes going back is good. Sometimes confronting the skeletons in your closet, or the places that saw your perceived worst, can be beneficial in order to truly move forward. Sometimes, on closer inspection, they don’t actually look like skeletons at all.

We Came for the Porter: Tour of a Brewery in Hackney, London

At Christmas we were bought tickets for a tour of our favourite local brewery, 5 Points Brewing Company in Hackney, London.

Located down a small cobbled street, under the Victorian arches of a train station is a relatively small and unassuming brewery. Conceived only five years ago, this relative newcomer solidified it’s place in our hearts a few years ago after a particularly memorable afternoon of IPA at an outdoor event at their London Fields warehouse. 5 Points are strongly community-oriented: their brewery uses 100% renewable resources, and is a living wage employer. It’s clear that sometimes in business, small is better.

The selection

The tour started with tasting a selection of 5 Points beers at shared long tables, while members of the team talked about the history and brewing process. This was great as we got a chance to get stuck in and avoid any long lecture-style talks!

The four light beers

First up was the pils, robust and dry. This was followed by various iterations of a pale ale: XPA, pale and IPA. The surprise favourite at this stage was the XPA, or extra pale ale. It was crisp and bright with a citrus flavour and grassy smell. The pale ale packed a bitter punch, and the IPA was a welcome burst of almost creaminess with an almost perfumed finish. It’s worth noting that all the beers are unfiltered and unpasteurized, which is really evident in the strong character of all the brews on offer.

The resident packaging expert talking through the merits of cans vs bottles

Last up were the two darker options, the brick field brown ale and the all-time best: the railway porter. Both had rich, creamy coffee and chocolate flavours but the latter is just dessert and alcohol all in one neat package.

Brown ale

Most suprising was the relative small size of the brewery, the main floor occupying only one or two railway arches. We were given tbe opportunity to walk through the process from beginning to packaging (cans are superior for preservation than bottles due to better blockage of beer-damaing UV rays), leaving me feeling like I could hold conversation with even the biggest beer buffs.

The brewing process, from start to finish

Included in our tickets was a ‘beer haul’, AKA a goodie bag of cans to take home and continue our beer education. Beer homework, if you will. Possibly the best part of the goodie bag was the bag itself, a gorgeous sturdy tote perfect for next weekend’s farmers’ market!

We left having made new friends with two older east London gents, and with an extra free beer ‘for the road’ (I prattled on and on about the porter so one of the tour facilitators opened a ‘spoiled’ bottle for the walk home). The staff were really passionate and knowledgable; promoting an almost dream lifestyle of working with friends, being paid to drink beer, creativity and fulfilment.

Where do we sign up?

Sudden Stranger

Spotlight: 18 Hours in Los Angeles

At the end of our California trip, we spent a whirlwind night and morning in Los Angeles. This is a how-to for finding a selection of pintrest-worthy hotspots in just a few hours.

 

 


 

The skyline of the city of angels appeared over the horizon of a six-lane motorway. It almost felt like we were emerging into civilisation after living in the wilderness – the freedom we’d experienced at the lake, and in the desert dissipated with every mile driven into the concrete heart of the city. We arrived at our hotel in Echo Park, a rather grim low end chain joint, but even this was covered by the almost trademark Hollywood glow.

Rosa Mexicano


For our last night in the USA, I had a Lakers game at the Staples Center planned. I was excited to go to Rosa Mexicano for a pre-game meal, as I have always been a fan of their New York location. The food was plentiful, and the heaped, fresh guacamole made table-side was luxurious. I dragged my food coma to our seats, way up in the dizzying height of the nosebleed section. After the game, we lost our parking space for over half an hour. Roaming the emptying lots, we laughed as we retraced our steps multiple times and in various different directions before we could retrieve our car.

Staples Center

LA Lakers v. Toronto Raptors


Our flight was at 4pm the following day. As soon as we woke, our bags were in the car and we stopped for fantastic flat whites and handmade pastries at Alfred Coffee on Sunset.

A good motto


It seemed like this was the embodiment of L.A; it was a bricks and mortar metaphor for a city built on facades, glitz and the money of some.

There were so many things I had hoped to see in L.A, we just did not end up having time for every one of them. However, we had a few hours to kill before our flight from LAX, and were up to the challenge of hitting a few spots on the way to the airport. To do this, I combined sights that were in close vicinity. First off, across the street from the cafe, were the Micheltorena Stairs.

Micheltorena Stairs


Next, we headed further west towards the Pacific. The Hollywood sign was visible to our right as we drove high above the city on the Rosa Parks freeway, even through the heavy morning cloud and fog.

Tired and Sad on Santa Monica beach

Towards the Pacific


Sticking to the ‘two birds, one stone’ method, we strolled a few minutes down the beach boardwalk until we found hidden between the modernistic millionaires’ homes a real-life Barbie house; the home of Barbie Creator Ruth Handler. It seemed like this was the embodiment of L.A; it was a bricks and mortar metaphor for a city built on facades, glitz and the money of some.

Barbie House, IRL


The drive southward, and ever closer to the airport, took us through iconic Santa Monica and our final L.A stop: Venice. Very different in winter to the lazy, sunny, surfer images I had seen, the quiet side streets off Abbot Kinney Blvd contained every dream bohemian house I could have imagined. We roamed the streets, waiting for our lunch reservation at an eatery I had always wanted to go to. The Butcher’s Daughter, on Abbott Kinney, is a vegetarian restaurant that serves food as beautiful as the surroundings it is in. We each had a huge mixed bowl, for him a tumeric latte and for me a cacao latte on the side.

The Butcher’s Daughter, Venice


Strangely, it was here we felt the most out of place on our whole trip. Slim, highlighted blonde girls dressed similarly in expensive knitted jumpers gossiped over coffee; tall, athletic-looking guys talked about crossfit, mindfulness and yoga over their food. As beautiful as this place was, and as tasty the food, we were outsiders in our hiking boots and unbrushed hair.

In a way, it was almost a perfect end to our trip; the only way to leave a place you love is to finally look forward to going home.

Mairead Daly, 2017

Lazy Beach Days: Ibiza Weekend

June brought a long-awaited trip to Ibiza for the wedding of two friends. I arrived to our house at Vadella Pueblo past midnight on my own, my own husband having arrived earlier for the stag party. The 40minute taxi ride to the little bay where we were staying for the weekend, Cala Vadella (Vadella Cove), was stressful conducted in my half-Spanish. It included many dead ends and wrong turns, literally, not linguistically, as the driver spoke to me in fast Spanish. I went to bed after checking all the closets for hidden intruders by torchlight, glad to put the journey behind me.

Cala Vadella, Ibiza

I woke up to the steady hum of cicadas, alone in the silence of our whitewashsd house, and able to actually see it in the light of day. I pottered around, looking through each of the rooms in turn. When I had left my hunger long enough in the empty apartment, I prepared to venture out En Español.

Barely a breeze

Walking down the quiet street towards the beach of Cala Vadella, I marvelled at the Balearic houses sitting perfectly in place under a flaring hot sun – whitewashed with cactus-lined pools.

The view from our front door

The road to the bay veered sharply to the right at the edge of a cliff, then wound steeply downwards. Through a break in the trees the sapphire bay opened up dramatically in front of me, and though it may sound corny it did take my breath away.

Cala Vadella from above

My husband joined me, and we spent our first afternoon together on the sandy beach eating bocadillos de jamón at Vadella Beach Bar and drinking fabulously strong mojitos para llevar from Restaurante Cana Sofia.

Cala Vadella

Laziness and hunger took us from our beach loungers to Cana Sofia when the sun started setting, where we had a meal of freshly prepared tapas under the vines. We sipped on ice-cold rosé wine and watched people walking the beach beside us.

We returned to our balcony to sip a €4 bottle of local cava, listening to the steady hum of crickets and cicadas and talking long into the night.

A long evening on our balcony

The heat woke me before sunrise, I returned to my spot on the balcony from the previous night, and watched the sky turn from navy, through light blue, to spectacular pink.

Timelapse of the sunrise

 

The second day was our wedding anniversary. To celebrate we did what we do best, headed down to the beach to do it all again. I swam through the azure water, one of my favourite things to do, and had a run-in with a rogue jellyfish producing a nasty sting. I had no idea at the time that this sting would ‘re-appear’ weeks later as the venomous stingers were still in my arm. We had a fantastic stone-baked margarita pizza from Cana Sofia (again!) which was covered in fragrant basil leaves the size of my hand.

We went home in the late afternoon to freshen up for dinner, and I was desperate to see a famous Ibizan sunset as clouds obscured the one the night before. On our walk back in to town for dinner, we stopped at the cliff, in a deserted parking lot. The sunset was better than I had hoped for, the sky seemed to be set on fire, and it gave both our faces a golden glow as we looked around. We could hear music, and walked closer to the cliff’s edge to see a huge sound system set up in a small cave below, the bass so loud I could feel it in my chest. Only two people danced around, and it felt like we had crashed a secret party.

All above: that golden glow

 

We concluded the night with an enormous, and first ever, paella, followed by a beer on the beach. I can still taste the flavour, it was so rich and savoury.

Ibizan sunsets: plenty bang for your buck

The next, and final, day was the wedding day. We struggled to a achieve any semblance of ‘pretty’ in a heavy heat, but made it to the other side of the island in time regardless. Experimental Beach was a venue within Las Salinas nature park, a UNESCO world heritage eco-system area, and a large exporter of salt. I knew we were drawing near in the taxi when we passed salt ponds and piles. We were greeted at the venue with a citrus-crisp white sangria, and we had enough time to look around before the wedding got started.

The venue before the guests arrived

After a beautiful ceremony where two friends were promised to each other for life, we ate and drank in the glare of the setting sun, and danced for hours under a navy blue sky.

The venue from the beach

 

Ibiza was a surprise, it was somewhere I hadn’t really planned to go to due to its reputation for a wild party island. What I saw was completely different, our quiet bay was such a refuge from City life, the local food so spectacular. I found the locals on ‘our side’ of the island to be some of the most friendly I’d ever met. I loved the peace and being close to nature once again.

 

 

 

By Mairead Daly

Where Snow Meets Desert: Lake Tahoe to Death Valley, USA.

Part two of my USA retrospective, find part one here.

After our last photo stop, we took the route 50 perpendicular to the lake that wound through the mountains. The contrast between the thick pine forest, streams and snow of the lake basin with the desert beyond Lake Tahoe’s surrounding peaks was astounding. It somehow felt like we were either returning, or going into outer space. I couldn’t quite work out which.

In Carson City, NV, we took the route 395 headed almost due south. Anticipation and trepidation filled the air gaps in the car between us and our suitcases. As we left the relative comfort of Tahoe, we knew we would head far south, beyond our comfort zone.

The route

Where snow meets desert, Mono County.

 

The road followed California’s backbone, the Sierra Nevada mountains. We watched the landscape slowly change from snow, to the moon-like desert as traversed Mono County. I’d found another brewery for us to stop at for lunch on our journey. We turned off for June Lake, the sleepy little sister to Big Mammoth further south. June Lake Brewing was hidden deep in the little town, seemingly the only place people existed here. We ate Hawaiian Tacos at Ohanas food truck parked in the brewery lot.

June Lake Brewing against a crystal clear sky

 

Messy Hawaiian taco-eating

 

The tacos were messy but delicious, and we enjoyed a small beer in the brewery enjoying the heavy metal echoing throughout the building. We bought a few large bottles of porter, and rejoined route 395 to resume our journey.

”With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert”

The small towns of Mono then Inyo county passed by, empty motels with ‘Vacancy’ signs blowing in the wind. Luck would have us find a Starbucks in Bishop,Ca. The town was otherwise a more local affair. Towns got smaller and smaller the further we drove, and our last tough with civilisation was Lone Pine, CA where we stocked up on gasoline and water.

From Lone Pine, we forked left towards Death Valley National Park. With the burning red-pink of the Sierra sunset now behind us, we were headed into the darkness of the desert.

A glowing Sierra sunset

 

We survived multiple hairpin turns and arrived at Panamint Springs Resort, on the edge of the park – our home for the night. We foolishly had no camping supplies, and the shop had run out of sleeping bags for hire, so we donned our ski gear and sat on the picnic bench outside the tent to have one of our June Lake beers.

 

Home for the night

 

Death Valley National Park is a recognised dark sky area, and I never fully grasped how much I could see without air pollution and high-rise buildings obscuring the view. The milky way looked close enough to touch, every single star glowing as bright as the moon, and shooting stars framed our view. Road-weary, we went to bed and endured the coldest night of our lives.

An unbelievable Panamint sunrise

Before dawn the next morning, feeling fragile and ready to flee our campsite, we waited for the gas station to open for coffee and gas before hastily retreating deeper into the park. The elevation dropped and dropped with every mile driven, giving fantastic views for miles.

Waiting for the only gas station for miles to open

 

Panamint Springs general store

 

The road into the park at dawn

The descent into the heart of Death Valley

Mesquite Dunes

 

Palms outside the Furnace Creek Resort

 

We drove through the park, stopping to add our footprints to the Mesquite Dunes and later the Furnace Creek resort for a slightly bizarre and hasty breakfast. The palms outside the resort signalled that we were getting closer to our final desert destination. Leaving the heart of Death Valley behind, we headed to the deserted south. Badwater Basin, the lowest point of elevation in North America. That was a bucket-list item ticked off.

At Badwater Basin

With the end of the national park, we entered the Mojave desert. Food options were a bit grim roadside in Barstow, CA, so we bought Jerkey and Reese’s cups and pushed through exhaustion for the last of the day-long journey.

Arrival into Palm Springs

 

The tell-tale windfarm heralded our arrival into chic Palm Springs, welcome civilisation after what felt like an eternity in the vast and lonely expanse of the desert. Our hotel, a 60s-themed tiki establishment (definitely what I would consider a niche market!) had a plush king-size bed and on-site restaurant, everything one needed after a frightening frozen desert night the night before.

Death Valley made me feel small, it is so hostile that surviving there for only one day feels like an accomplishment. Watching the snow turn to sand as we covered only inches of the map of California felt like a small rebirth. Seeing the small roadside towns, the forgotten ones like Independence and Baker, CA gave me a glimpse into the victims of the American dream. The orphans left behind their glitzier cousins, where faded pitch and putt greens sat unused, and teenagers’ best prospects may be to depart for somewhere bigger.

This is the real US, no In-n-Out or flat white coffees, no Whole Foods or kale. Just real people, scratching out a living in the middle of nowhere, wathing the odd tourist pass by on the way to somewhere else.

Part 3 | Palm Springs coming soon!

Lake Tahoe, USA

I thought I would go back over our honeymoon trip of a lifetime back over Christmas 2016 in a 3 part series including: Lake Tahoe, Death Valley, and Palm Springs.

I knew I was never going to be the same after our trip to a small part of the Wild West. We decided to take our honeymoon to the US over our first married Christmas, to put off the ‘whose family will we spend it with’ for another year. I could easily orientate myself on the flight route from San Francisco, CA to Reno, NV. I knew the wide expanse with no lights to my right to be Lake Tahoe, a deeper than black hole in the night, followed by the festive glimmer of Reno in the distance. To get to our condo, we had to drive over Mount Rose pass, which winds treacherously over its namesake mountain.

Flying over Reno, Nevada
Our condo was in Incline Village, right on the shores of the beautiful lake Tahoe.
During the days, we snowboarded at Homewood Mountain Resort, where we had a great 3-day beginners package deal. The mountain had excellent choice of terrain, and everytime you turned your back to the mountain you would be rewarded with the jewel-like lake. I literally felt like a different person when staring at the peaks lining the Tahoe bowl, and never thought I would have the chance to see such an iconic, all-American horizon in person. The base restaurant at Homewood served up the enormous plates of chilli/burgers/pulled pork required to keep us going all day.


The courtyard at our condo


The view from our window

Jet-lagged early mornings gave us a chance to watch the first snowfall out our window before any of our neighbours even stirred. Cup after cup of filter coffee passed the time from 4am twilight to fully-fledged day. I could just imagine a mama bear and two cubs trundling by, paws crunching the new snow.


The view from the lower Homewood slopes

A secret find of mine to surprise my beer-loving partner was Alibi Ale Works, where locals serve and drink fantastic brews. We tried the Rubus Nocturne, a barrel-aged dark raspberry sour, a pale ale, and Boysenberry Berlinerweisser. The porter was rich and deep giving us a warm glow to carry on our walk home. We panic-bought a couple of growlers of that to keep us going over the Christmas period when shops would not be open.


Alibi Ale Works, Incline Village, NV.

We didn’t eat out much in the evenings, jet lag and hours being flung down slopes rendered us useless past 6pm. Homemade margaritas, blue corn tortilla chips and pasta were generally all we could muster up the energy to put together.


Homemade margaritas

One of the first days, we visited Squaw Valley/Alpine Meadows resort while we had a rest from mountain activities, ate delicious football-sized burgers fireside at the Plumpjack Inn, and strolled through the faux-alpine ski village. There was such a peaceful calm about the place. Due to the altitude, we could feel the sun beating down overhead in contrast to the ice cracking below our feet.


Squaw Valley, Ca.

We spent Christmas Day at Lone Eagle Grille, literally on the Incline Village lake shore. The Christmas meal was a buffet, not my usual choice, however it proved handy this time when we went back for the pork belly canapés too many times to count! We tried razor clams, crab, and had lamb that melted in the mouth. Cocktails were at the fire pit afterwards, all wrapped up and ruddy-faced from a bottle of rioja. I had a spiked hot chocolate that seemed made for this moment. It was this evening I fully caught the splendor of a Tahoe sunset, as previous evenings had seen snowstorms.


Top to bottom: spiked hot chocolate, sunset, fire pit

On our last morning, as we started heading south to our next destination, we had to stop multiple times for me to take pictures. The Lake really pulled out all the stops, almost as if sensing and regretting our impending departure. On these last few looks back, over the mirror-blue surface, I knew I would never be the same. I knew I would be back, and somehow, to own my own clapboard condo and stroll those lazy streets forever.


Top and bottom, our final views of Lake Tahoe.

Make sure to check out parts 2 and 3 of my Wild West restrospective, coming soon!