THE FUTURE’S LOOKING ROSÉ FOR TUNISIA

TRAY BIEN: Try Tunisian wines, they're
surprisingly good and very affordable too

The plane was heading for Tunis airport when the turbulence hit. It wasn't too bad, just a bit bumpy for a couple of minutes, nothing to worry about. But the elderly lady sitting next to me clearly thought otherwise. She was as white as a sheet. So was I, but only because I hadn’t seen the sun for a while.

When the senior flight attendant hurried up the aisle to the front and lifted the phone, my nervous neighbour lifted her right hand and blessed herself. She was probably expecting an announcement along the lines of: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been nice knowing you.”

Instead, we were advised to “ensure your seatbelts are securely fascinated”, which got a great laugh. It was the best malapropism I’d heard since my primary school pal Vinny Costello told Fr. O’Keeffe the Pope is never wrong because he’s inflammable.

We landed without further hilarity and transferred to the 5-star Hasdrubal Thalassa and Spa Hotel in the seaside resort of Yasmine Hammamet where I bounced on the bed once slept in by Colonel Gaddafi. The late Libyan dictator booked the penthouse suite for a year and stayed just 24 hours. This is no reflection on the hotel (his bagman happily settled the whole bill), which had long been a favourite with Irish and British holidaymakers.

GADD CHOICE: The 5-star Hasdrubal Thalassa and Spa
Hotel in Hammamet where Col Gaddafi stayed one night

Then came the popular revolution in January 2011 that ousted the rotten-to-the-core regime of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali and triggered the Arab Spring. Ben Ali was a thief and a despot, but he wasn’t daft — he didn’t hang around to face the wrath of the people he had for so long terrorised and robbed. Rather, he and his wife Leila stuffed several suitcases with countless millions of dollars and, with their three adult children, hot-footed it to Saudi Arabia. There they live in the lap of luxury while their countrymen and women struggle to pick up the pieces after 20-odd years of oppression.

In the immediate aftermath of the uprising, visitor numbers plummeted as Tunisia descended into don’t-go-there chaos. But that was then. Today, it’s open for business again and holidaymakers are returning to this safe, sunny and cheap Mediterranean destination. Ben Ali won’t be returning any time soon — he’s been sentenced in his absence to 35 years in prison for money laundering and drug trafficking.

There’s a tangible air of can-do everywhere you go from the moment you step off the plane. It’s clear from the warm welcome visitors receive that a great weight has been lifted from the genuinely friendly and instantly likeable Tunisians. Not that they weren’t welcoming or friendly before. It’s just that they were always cautious, what with having to look over their shoulders all the time. That’s what comes from living in a country where the police used to — and I stress used to — routinely top up their salaries by fleecing their fellow citizens. No one ever ended up in court for a minor traffic offence. On-the-spot fines were pocketed by cops who never issued receipts. They were as corrupt as the regime they represented.

Things are different now. A respected government committed to widespread reform is running things, and instead of looking warily behind them, ordinary decent Tunisians are looking forward to a bright new future.

QUAY ATTRACTION: Fabulous Hammamet yachting marina
is one of the biggest and plushest in the Mediterranean

The Hasdrubal is the plushest place to stay in Hammamet, with 211 suites the size of parade grounds, four top-class restaurants, outdoor and indoor pools, a spa, sauna and gym. Better still in these belt-tightening days, its five-star opulence comes at three-star prices, and there’s free wifi throughout. With such a wealth of facilities and the beach just a pebble’s throw away guests could be excused for not wanting to venture far, but Hammamet is worth exploring.

This is where mass tourism began in Tunisia, just as Torremolinos was the first resort in Spain. However, while a risible snootiness often greets the mere mention of the popular Costa del Sol destination, which is a lot larger, no one looks down their nose at Hammamet, which is a lot cheaper.

It’s partly because Hammamet has one of the biggest and poshest marinas in the Mediterranean. Here you’ll see hundreds of multi-million euro ocean-going yachts and their multi-millionaire owners strolling in and out of the umpteen fancy restaurants, exclusive boutiques and piano and cocktail bars. Many of the yachts, some the size of frigates and with helicopter pads, remain moored from one year’s end to the next, but anyone who can afford one can well afford to keep it permanently berthed and pay the occasional visit while paying a permanent crew.

SOFA SO GOOD: Suite in Hasdrubal Hotel

It’s all very glamorous. Talking of which, don’t be surprised if the elegant lady in a big floppy hat and sunglasses sipping a glass of chilled rosé wine at a quayside cafe looks familiar — it’s probably Sophia Loren. The film star regularly stays at her villa just outside of town and, according to a waiter, is very generous when it comes to tipping. The same guy told me — why, I don’t know — that camels are bashful as well as bumpy and never mate in front of other camels.

That’s the sort of fascinating fact that can clinch a pub quiz tiebreaker. And here’s another, based on extensive, exhaustive and exhausting research: Tunisian wines are excellent, especially the rosés which account for 70 per cent of the total production. You can’t go wrong with the Magon label, but if beer’s your tipple the local Celtia lager is every bit as good as Heineken and Carlsberg and costs half the price.

ROCKS STAR: Stroll below the walls of Hammamet's medina

In the old part of Hammamet, a short stroll from the marina, visitors to the imposing 13th century seafront fortress and the 15th century medina within its walls step back in time to the days when the only boats on the water were manned by fishermen. Or, on a bad day, Spaniards intent on filleting something more substantial than a net full of sardines. In 1601, more than 300 Spaniards stormed the fortress and took 700 prisoners, mostly women and children (the male defenders did a runner as soon as the sails appeared on the horizon). Four years later the Spaniards came back, but this time the resident Moors turned the tables and massacred 1,200 of them on the beach.

It was on that same stretch of sand that Field Marshall Erwin Rommel took his daily run before breakfast during his ‘visit’ in World War Two (he couldn’t afford to stroll as the Allies were closing in); Paul McCartney wrote Another Girl for the Beatles’ 1965 album Help between bouts of sunbathing; and German-Swiss expressionist painter Paul Klee (1879-1940), whose paintings fetch millions of dollars at auction, found the inspiration during a 1914 sojourn that made him a major player in the art world. Klee’s watercolour, Hammamet With Its Mosque, hangs in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, and prints of it and his other Tunisian works are among the most popular souvenirs on sale in the narrow streets of the medina.

Wannabe Klees sitting on little stools at their easels abound in and around the souk, but it’s the young women who do face painting for the kids (and henna tattoos for their mums and big sisters) who make the most money. Being a child-friendly resort, Hammamet is a smart choice for family holidays, especially as it’s wallet-friendly too. Among the top fun attractions are Carthage Land theme park and Aqua Land water park, and there’s a replica pirate ship that offers half-day cruises with lunch included. Once out in the bay, dolphins will often provide a free show by shooting out of the water ahead of the ship, and when the anchor’s dropped there’s the chance to walk the plank and go for a swim. Rather than buy your tickets from hotel receptions, get them at the quayside kiosk where they’re cheaper.

˜STAY: 5-star Hasdrubal Thalassa and Spa Hotel Yasmine Hammamet. (www.hasdrubal-thalassa.com). DINNER: Restaurant La Bouillabaisse, La Marina, Yasmine Hammamet (www.labouillabaisse-tn.com).

TAN-TASTIC: Hammamet's seafront fortress provides the
backdrop as holidaymakers soak up the rays on the beach

A visit to the real Carthage, 15 kilometres east of Tunis, and the nearby hillside village of Sidi Bou Said is well worth the two-hour round trip from Hammamet.

An address in modern Carthage is the most coveted status symbol in Tunisia. This is where the super-rich live, as was the case 2,000-odd years ago when the city was one of the most prosperous in the Roman empire. But day-trippers don’t come to admire the magnificent mansions of the wealthy, who no doubt own some of the biggest yachts in Hammamet. The ancient ruins are the principal attraction.

Carthage was founded in 814BC by the seafaring Phoenicians who ruled the Mediterranean for hundreds of years from this strategically located port. In 146BC, following the Punic Wars, the Romans sent the Phoenicians packing and demolished everything in sight. They then rubbed salt in the wound in more ways than one by flooding the fertile land with seawater so that for decades no crops could be grown. A century later, in 44BC, Julius Caesar displayed his recycling credentials by telling his lads to get busy with their trowels among the ruins and put all that old rubble their predecessors had created to good use. The city he established became second in importance to Rome itself, and by the early third century AD had a population of 300,000.

REMAINS OF THE DAYS: Ruins of ancient Carthage and,
below, the colourful nearby hillside village of Sidi Bou Said 

The Vandals conquered Carthage in the fifth century, but despite their name they developed rather than defaced and it continued to flourish. However, by 650 the harbour had lost most of its trade to other Mediterranean ports, and by the time the Arabs took up residence in 698 the city’s glory days were long gone.

Today, Carthage — the place which down the centuries was so fiercely fought over — is again in ruins and a fraction of its previous size, but this sprawling World Heritage Site retains enough architectural gems of days gone by to merit the bus journey. Among the highlights are the imposing remains of the massive Antonine baths which were the biggest the Romans ever built anywhere. You can walk among the underground chambers of the baths where slaves sweated in temperatures of 50C-plus keeping the furnaces stoked while the Roman bigwigs upstairs sweated over their selections for the day’s chariot races.

Sidi Bou Said with its whitewashed houses and vivid blue doors and balconies — even the bouganvillaea clinging to the buildings is blue-ish — is by far, and then some, the most beautiful village I’ve ever set foot in anywhere in the world, which is probably why ambassadors have their residences here. Step inside the lovingly-preserved Family House for a taste of life as it was lived by the well-to-do lawyer who built it in the 18th century — it’s still owned by his descendants, who serve cold drinks, mint tea and snacks to visitors. From the rooftop patio there’s a fabulous vista of the Bay of Tunis far below, but the very best views are from the terraces of Aux Bon Vieuz Temps restaurant and the Cafe Delices.

I didn’t come across the hardware store that sells all that blue and white paint that’s in constant demand, but I’ll bet that if the owner’s car was parked outside it was the flashiest set of wheels in town. He must be the richest guy around.

BLUE-TIFUL: Balcony and orange trees in Sidi Bou Said

Tunis’s main boulevard, the Avenue Habib Bourguiba, bears the name of the respected first president of the Republic of Tunisia who served for 30 years from 1957 until he was declared medically unfit and removed by Ben Ali in a bloodless coup.

There was nothing bloodless about Ben Ali’s response to the popular and peaceful uprising that reached its peak in January last year and which at one point saw half-a-million people pack the capital’s principal thoroughfare, which is 60 metres wide and 1,600 metres long. More than 300 civilians died at the hands of the despised police and security forces in the four-week revolution that was triggered by the self-immolation of 26-year-old Mohamed Bouazizi. The young street vendor’s wares and vegetable-weighing scales had been confiscated by police after weeks of harassment and he was allegedly humiliated by a female officer, Faida Hamdi. An investigation that saw Hamdi arrested twice ultimately cleared her when Bouazizi’s heartbroken mother withdrew her complaint.

ARMOURED CAR-THEDRAL: The Roman Catholic
Cathedral of St. Vincent de Paul in central Tunis

Stroll along the Avenue Habib Bourguiba today and cops will salute and step out of the way when you pause to take pictures. They might even pose, whereas 18 months ago they’d have insisted on seeing ID and tried to extract a fee for a “photo permit”.

There are still signs that the revolution wasn’t all that long ago. It was odd to see razor-wire barriers, heavily-armed soldiers and armoured cars in front of the splendid Roman Catholic cathedral of Saint Vincent de Paul (1882) until I realised they were guarding the Ministry of Defence across the street. It was odder still to see a guy sitting on the steps of this neo-Romanesque church in a judo suit and wellies — either the poor fella wasn’t the full dinar or he was waiting for the launderette to open so he could collect his washing. He had a black belt around his waist, so I wasn’t going to ask.

Tunis isn’t big on must-see sights (the rest of the country more than makes up for it), but the Finance Ministry as viewed from the fountained garden outside the entrance looks as if it was built with photos in mind. A whitewashed wonder with black and white Moorish arches on pillars, it’s topped by a clock tower from which the red national flag adds a splash of vivid colour against the clear blue sky.

WONDER-NEATH THE ARCHES: The splendid Ministry of
Finance and, below, shopping in Tunis's bustling medina

Le Bardo National Museum, in a renovated 13th century palace, contains the world’s biggest collection of Roman mosaics brought from throughout Tunisia and ancient Greece, and is considered one of the two great museums in North Africa along with the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. It’s four kilometres from Avenue Habib Bourguiba, but taxis are cheap and, if you’re feeling adventurous, hop on the metro to Bardo station.

Back in the centre, it’s very easy to lose your bearings in the medina once you enter the souk, but ever-smiling guide Kamal was on hand to lead the way through the warren of alleyways to the Dar Bel Hadj restaurant where lunch awaited. As soon as we stepped inside I felt like hugging him. I’ve been in many a fancy place where the food failed to live up to the decor, but Dar Bel Hadj, occupying the 400-year-old former home of a nobleman who was clearly mosaic-mad, scored top marks all round. From the ferociously hot harissa dip containing piri piri, chili peppers and garlic (plus two sticks of dynamite) to the tasty lamb tagine and the best dessert I’ve ever tasted — a rose water-flavoured cold custard topped with crushed pistachios — it was heavenly.

˜LUNCH: Dar Bel Hadj, 17 Rue des Tamis, La Medina, Tunis (www.darbelhadj.com).

TREE-MENDOUS: Outdoor pool at El Mouradi Palm Marina

Sixty kilometres south of Hammamet is the purpose-built tourist resort of Port El Kantaoui, where I spent a couple of very enjoyable nights at the 4-star all-inclusive El Mouradi Palm Marina Hotel that opens on to the long sandy beach. From the shore, if you dare, you can get strapped into a parachute and go up for a bird’s eye view of the area while being towed behind a speedboat.

The resort, which welcomed its first overseas tourists in 1979 while the paint was still wet, is a buzzing modern suburb of historical Sousse and is packed with great-value restaurants plus several more upmarket ones in the marina for a swankier evening out. The Hannibal theme park and the water park provide day-long fun, and for golfers there are two PGA-approved 18-hole courses (green fees from €40/£33, special five-day rate of €172/£139).

A 20-minute ride on the frequent local bus service takes holidaymakers to Sousse for a few hours of gawping and shopping in the souk (vegetarians and camel-lovers should avert their eyes when passing the butchers’ stalls); but the best excursion in all of Tunisia involves a 70-kilometre coach ride from Port El Kantaoui to the third century Roman amphitheatre at El Djem. Pronounced “gem”, it more than lives up to its name. The Monty Python team thought so, as did director Ridley Scott, as it features in The Life Of Brian and Gladiator. Don’t miss the opportunity to sit high up in the steep terraces from where up to 45,000 spectators watched gladiators knocking — and lions biting — lumps out of their unfortunate opponents.

˜STAY: 4-star El Mouradi Palm Marina Hotel, Port El Kantaoui (www.elmouradi.com). LUNCH: Le Mediterranee (www.lemediterranee.com.tn). DINNER: La Daurade. Both restaurants are in Port El Kantaoui marina.

GRAND CIRCLE: Ancient Roman amphitheatre at El Djem

Tunisia has had its well-documented woes. In the aftermath of the revolution, those who’d been visiting for years understandably gave the place a wide berth, and the consequences were sorely felt. Last year, tourism revenue — the country’s lifeblood — almost halved from 2010’s €1,800 million. Happily, the latest official figures show that the peace and stability that followed Ben Ali’s overthrow have encouraged holidaymakers to return.

Long-time visitors are re-acquainting themselves with Tunisia’s many attractions, and first-timers looking for a cheaper option than already-cheap Portugal and increasingly-expensive Spain have been discovering a destination that doesn’t leave them scrimping.

Optimism has replaced oppression. Charter flights are full, hotels are busy and unemployment is coming down. For a country that produces more pink wine than red or white, the future’s definitely looking rosé.

GETTING THERE

Sunway Holidays offers seven nights all-inclusive at the 4-star El Mouradi Palm Marina in Port El Kantaoui from a bargain basement €619 per person sharing. Seven nights B&B in the 5-star Hasdrubal Thalassa and Spa Hotel, Yasmine Hammamet, costs from €1,099pps. Prices include return flights from Dublin, transfers, free baggage allowance, resort representative service and taxes.

˜See www.sunway.ie, call 01 288 6828 or contact your travel agent.

˜See also www.cometotunisia.co.uk

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PETRA IS A JOR-DROPPING WONDER

GORGE-OUS: That first glimpse of the
fabulous Treasury seen from the siq

Nothing can prepare you for the magical moment when the sun-bathed Treasury at Petra appears just ahead, framed by the towering pink sandstone walls at the end of the narrow, snaking, kilometre-long siq (gorge). Visitors stop in their tracks. Hearts skip a beat. Eyes widen. Jaws drop. There’s a sharp intake of breath followed by a stunned silence that lasts several seconds while the image ricochets around the brain. Then comes the fusillade of clicks and whirrs as cameras capture that first, unforgettable glimpse.

In July 2007 the results of a worldwide online poll that attracted nearly 150 million votes named Petra, in southwest Jordan, as one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. Machu Picchu in Peru, Chichen Itza in Mexico, the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, the Taj Mahal in India, the Great Wall of China and the Colosseum in Rome were the others. Petra’s inclusion on the unranked roll of honour was long overdue considering the Treasury, or Al Khazneh, has been a wonder for more than 2,000 years, though it’s been known to the western world only since 1812 when Swiss explorer Johann Ludwig Burckhardt paid a visit.

ROCK STAR: Visitors are tiny specks at the Treasury at 
Petra and, below, erosion leaves colourful layers in stone

Burckhardt, who was fascinated by the world of Islam, mastered the Arabic language, studied the Koran, got himself a tan and grew a long beard before he set off in 1809 on his adventures in what are the modern-day Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, Jordan and Saudi Arabia where he travelled around in traditional costume. So thorough were his preparations and so convincing his appearance that he easily passed himself off as an Arab wanderer. His family, however, remained dubious about his professed conversion to the Muslim faith, dismissing it as a turban myth.

Carved out of a 50-metre high sheer rockface some time between 100BC and 200AD by slaves and masons using crude hammers and copper chisels, the Treasury gained international recognition following the release of the 1989 Steven Spielberg movie Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade in which it featured. However, film fans keen on entering the temple where Harrison Ford hopped, skipped and jumped his way towards the Holy Grail will be disappointed to discover there’s no great interior to speak of. It’s all a front — but what a front.

In his 1845 poem, Anglican clergyman John William Burgon described Petra as “a rose red city half as old as time”, which isn’t bad considering he’d never seen the place. I was moved to wax poetical myself, but all that came out was “Waow!”

OFF THE BEATEN TREK: The Monastery high above Petra
and, below, the arduous route up through the mountains

While the Treasury, which is best viewed early when the sunlight is at its photo-friendliest, is the most famous feature of the 2,600-year-old capital city of the cave-dwelling Nabataeans, it’s not the sole attraction.

An hour’s trek into the mountains that involves climbing 800-odd steps sounds a daunting prospect (less-able visitors can hitch a ride on a donkey), but the effort is rewarded with the sight of the Monastery, or Al Deir. Twice the size of the Treasury, it too was carved into a sandstone cliff, and though less intricate in its decoration and ochre rather than pink it’s no less impressive. Completed during the reign of first-century god-king Obodas I, this massive temple built in his honour stands 50 metres high and 45 wide and has a spacious single-room interior (try the echo). Those with a head for heights and the lungs of a marathon runner can tackle the steep path to the left of the facade that leads to the 10-metre ornamental urn on top, but only in the company of a guide.

Back at base camp, I chuckled as a thirsty camel delighted onlookers by tipping its head back and drinking mineral water from the plastic bottle gripped in its front teeth. Nearby, the Bedouin owners of souvenir and snack stalls were attracting customers with a variety of comical come-ons.

“No hurry, no worry, no chicken curry!”

“Lovely-jubbly, Coke is bubbly!”

“Don’t be a mug, buy a jug!”

And, best of all, from a giggling little boy: “Have a break, have a Kat Kit!”

WATER RELIEF: Thirsty camel enjoys drink

New Zealand-born former nurse Marguerite van Geldermalsen was busy at her stall, selling silver jewellery handmade by local women and signing copies of her memoir, Married To A Bedouin (Virago Press paperback, also available for Amazon Kindle), which has been reprinted more than a dozen times and was flying off the shelves.

In 1978, the then 22-year-old Marguerite and a girlfriend were doing that grand tour thing so many young Antipodeans do when, on the steps of the Treasury, they got talking to souvenir seller Mohammad Abdallah Othman. It was a meeting that produced one of the best chat-up lines of all time: “Where are you staying? Why you not stay with me tonight — in my cave?”

Marguerite and Mohammad were wed three months later, they lived in a 2,000-year-old cave, she learned Arabic and converted to Islam and they had two boys and a girl. Mohammad died 10 years ago at the age of 50, but Marguerite stayed put, apart from a four-year spell in Australia where she has family. She and Mohammad’s children now live in Jordan and her elder son, Raami, mans the stall when his mum takes a holiday. If you visit Petra while Marguerite’s there you’ll find her a charming lady with a charming tale to tell. Don’t expect to see her dug-out des-res, though: all the cave and tent-dwelling Bedouin families now live in a settlement of whitewashed apartments on a nearby hillside.

BEDOUIN BRIDE: Marguerite van Geldermalsen

Twelve kilometres from Petra, the village of Taybeh was once a thriving community that fell into decline and was abandoned in the 1960s when the residents gradually upped and left their homes. Today those homes are enjoying a new lease of life as the 105-room, 5-star Taybet Zaman Hotel and Resort that retains all the charms of village life with the bonus of modern facilities and leisure amenities and great restaurants.

It was there, after dinner in a tent beneath a cloudless, starry sky that the Jordan Valley echoed to the sounds of some of Ireland’s best-loved ballads sung in Irish by a couple of my colleagues. Not to be outdone, our guide, Elias, who once played in a successful pop group, then led the waiters in a medley of lively Jordanian folk songs. It was a fun-filled evening, memorable not least for the feast of mezze — dozens of different sharing dishes including kibbeh (lamb meatballs), shanklish (spiced goat’s cheese), makdous (stuffed and pickled eggplant) and falafel — and huge platters of mansaf, a desert-dwellers’ main meal of boiled mutton with rice and yogurt that’s traditionally eaten by scooping it up in the hand, making it more messy than mezze. Having washed down our Bedouin banquet with a few too many bottles of Jordanian wine (it’s really good), the eggplant wasn’t the only thing that was stuffed and pickled as we heaved ourselves on to our coach for the short trip back to the Petra Marriott Hotel and bed.

●STAY: 5-star Petra Marriott Hotel (www.marriott.com). DINNER: International buffet in the Petra Marriott; 5-star Taybet Zaman Hotel and Resort (www.jordantourismresorts.com). LUNCH: The Basin Restaurant in Petra Archaeological Park.

MUST-SEA: Floating in the Dead Sea

It’s impossible to sink in the Dead Sea unless you’re wearing a suit of armour and lead flippers. The 34 per cent salinity, making it nearly nine times saltier than the oceans, is what keeps swimmers bobbing about on the surface like corks. It’s a weird sensation, akin to stretching out on an invisible li-lo. Just make sure cuts and scratches are covered before you take the plunge and avoid getting water in your eyes because it doesn’t half sting, so much so that shaving should be left for later.

Only a handful of other lakes have a higher salt concentration, including the chart-topping Don Juan Pond in Antarctica, but at minus 30C it might be a bit chilly for a paddle. The Dead Sea, however, which is bordered by Jordan to the east and Israel to the west, is warm, especially in August when the water temperature is around 31C.

On the private beach belonging to the Jordan Valley Marriott Hotel where I stayed on my first day and saw Jerusalem in the distance, guests were plastering themselves with Dead Sea mud from a couple of plastic tubs before entering the water for a pre-breakfast dip. While some coated themselves from head to toe, I scooped up a handful of black goo, drew a crude grid on my chest and stomach and challenged myself to a game of noughts and crosses. I lost.

The mud, while messy, is bursting with around three dozen beneficial minerals including magnesium, potassium, natural tar, calcium and silicon compounds that help alleviate skin conditions such as acne, eczema and psoriasis. A hugely-profitable industry has grown up around collecting, packaging, processing and marketing the mud which is in big demand worldwide as the active ingredient in a wide range of beauty products and therapeutic balms. I checked out the prices in Debenhams in Dublin where a 150ml bottle of Dead Sea Magik hair conditioner costs €24, a body mask is €22.50 and a salt brushing scrub is €18.50, proving that where there’s muck there’s brass.

MUCKING ABOUT: Mineral-packed Dead Sea
mud is good for the skin ... and fun photos

Although the Dead Sea region enjoys 330 days of sunshine a year, sunburn is less of a concern than in other hot spots because harmful UVB rays are filtered through an extra atmospheric layer, an evaporation layer and a minimum depletion ozone layer, so you can float without frying. Nevertheless, common sense dictates that visitors should still apply sunscreen, though those who allow their coating of mud to dry and harden, thus ending up Petra-fied, are more likely to bake than blister in the lowest-lying spot on Earth (the surface of the water is 401 metres below sea level and getting lower by about one metre a year because of evaporation).

●STAY: 5-star Jordan Valley Marriott Hotel (www.marriott.com). DINE: El Terrazzo Italian Restaurant in the Jordan Valley Marriott.

The amphitheatre in the ancient Greco-Roman city of Gerasa at Jerash, 50 kilometres north of the capital, Amman, was the last place I expected to see two Arab bagpipers marching around playing Scotland The Brave, but life on the road is full of surprises. The skirl of the pipes is a sound that always made the hairs stand on the back of my neck (until they fell out along with the ones on the top of my head), but it’s not to everyone’s taste — the old joke has it that a gentleman is someone who CAN play the bagpipes but DOESN’T.

PIPE STARS: With bagpipers in the
amphitheatre at ancient Gerasa

These pipers were good, as well they might be — they’re veterans of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. For three weeks in August 2010 they were among the Royal Jordanian Armed Forces musicians who played for 217,000 spectators and were seen by a global TV audience of 100 million. While they gave their all each evening, they understandably saved the best for August 18 when their monarch King Abdullah and his wife Queen Rania were the guests of honour.

Gerasa, the second most-visited historical site in Jordan after Petra, was founded around 2000BC and enjoyed its golden age following the Roman conquest in 63BC which brought peace and economic development. An extensive network of roads built over the following 170 years connected the city to important trading routes, and the city of around 20,000 people prospered. However, by the middle of the third century its fortunes had waned with the growth of shipping (Jordan’s only port is at Aqaba, 320 kilometres to the south), and Gerasa fell into an irreversible decline. The Persian invasion of 614, the Muslim conquest 22 years later and a series of devastating earthquakes in 749 sealed the city’s fate. The population dwindled, and by the time the Crusaders arrived in the 12th century the place had been abandoned, with not a citizen in sight. Having heard of the Crusaders’ bloodthirsty reputation, they were probably hiding.

OLD AND NEW: The excavated remains of Gerasa and,
in the background, the modern day city of Jerash

Gerasa gradually disappeared under the shifting sands and only partly re-emerged in 1806 when German explorer Ulrich Jasper Seetzen was having a poke around and uncovered the ornate head of a monumental column. He started digging, and his chance discovery led to a series of widespread excavations that are still going on. In the 206 years since Seetzen stumbled across the buried city, millions of tonnes of sand and earth have been removed to reveal one of the best preserved Roman sites outside of Italy. Archaeologists say we haven’t seen even the half of it yet.

Like Burckhardt, who ‘discovered’ Petra, Seetzen immersed himself in the culture of the Near East where he travelled widely, becoming fluent in Arabic, converting to Islam and changing his name to Musa al-Hakim. Among his many early adventures he spent almost a year disguised as a beggar happily and hungrily wandering the shores of the Dead Sea. His big mistake was in later proceeding to Yemen where, in 1811, he got on the wrong side of a local warlord and ended up dead in a ditch.

●LUNCH: Lebanese House Restaurant, Jerash (www.lebanese-house.com).

MAP-NIFICENT: The mosaic Map of Madaba

Madaba, 30 kilometres southwest of Amman, is known as the City Of Mosaics, but it’s for one in particular that it’s especially famed, and it’s special indeed. The Greek Orthodox Basilica of Saint George is home to the sixth century Map Of Madaba showing the towns and topography of the Holy Land from Lebanon in the north down to the Nile Delta and from the Mediterranean to the Eastern Desert. Features include a lion hunting a gazelle in the Moab Desert, several bridges across the River Jordan and, curiously, two fishing boats on the Dead Sea. They’d have more chance of catching that gazelle in their nets — any fish swept into the sea from a feeder stream in spate wouldn’t survive more than a couple of seconds in all that salt.

Made with two million pieces of coloured stone some time between 542 and 570AD, the Map Of Madaba contains the earliest existing depiction of Jerusalem and has been an invaluable reference for Biblical scholars since it was uncovered in 1884 during construction of the present church on the site of its Byzantine predecessor. The 16 by five metres floor mosaic’s significance is lost on visitors who haven’t done their homework and stand staring at a map with big chunks missing. However, despite the ravages of time and the scuffing of countless feet, its accuracy has led archaeologists to long-buried locations, and as a work of art it more than holds its own.

PEAK-A-BLUE: Mount Nebo and, below, Giovanni Fantoni's symbolic Serpentine Cross

Mount Nebo, 10 kilometres northwest of Madaba and 817 metres high, is a hugely important Biblical site. Moses is said to be buried here, and it was from this vantage point that he peered west into the distance and spied the Promised Land. More recently, Popes John Paul II and Benedict XVI enjoyed the same views which take in the northern end of the Dead Sea and, on a clear day, Jericho and Bethlehem. If on rare occasions there’s no haze, Jerusalem can be seen too. In the Torah, those of the Jewish faith are told that the Ark of the Covenant and the Tabernacle were secreted in a cave deep inside Mount Nebo, but scholars remain dubious.

In the mid-third century, pilgrim monks who had travelled from Egypt built a small church on the mountain top, and over the following 300 years it was expanded into a basilica. Several splendid floor mosaics were created, and while only fragments of the original church and basilica survive as part of the present day shrine, the excavated mosaics have been restored to their former glory. Along with the panoramic views from the terraces, they are a major — but not the principal or most-photographed — Mount Nebo attraction. That distinction goes to Italian artist Giovanni Fantoni’s rusty Serpentine Cross, a symbolic representation of Christ’s crucifixion and God’s command to Moses to raise a bronze asp on a rod to save Israelites who’d been bitten by snakes.

●LUNCH: The Mazayen Nebo Restaurant just a couple of minutes’ drive from the Mount Nebo shrine serves a great buffet.

BIRDS' EYE VIEW: Jordanian capital, Amman

I visited Amman, which is home to nearly three million people, four years ago during a stopover when I spent the day sightseeing before catching the mid-evening flight home. This time I was staying overnight and wanted to see how the Jordanians let their hair down when the street lights come up. The plan was to have dinner in the Deir El Qamar Lebanese restaurant then hit the town. I had an ulterior motive — I wanted to sample the pubs and clubs until the wee hours and headline this article “Gimme, gimme, gimme Amman after midnight”.

But it wasn’t to be. Come midnight, after working my way through umpteen delicious cold and hot courses, I was almost comatose. Deir El Qamar is one of those top-notch, top-nosh, don’t-tell-anybody restaurants the locals like to keep a secret in case it gets overrun by tourists, but I’ll risk the wrath of the regulars and tell you it’s fab.

Cosmopolitan Amman, which sprawls over seven hills, is the regional base for many multinational corporations, but away from the impressive skyscrapers of the business and financial districts the old town area, al-Balad, that surrounds the colourful souk and the King Hussein Mosque is the place for wandering and buying souvenirs and spices.

CENTRE STAGE: The Roman theatre in Amman

The 6,000-seat Roman theatre, built into the side of a hill between 138 and 161AD by the Emperor Antonius Pius, is the main historical attraction and houses the Museum of Popular Traditions and the Amman Folklore Museum. Its northern orientation was much appreciated by spectators as it kept the sun off their faces, but it didn’t half make the actors squint. The other disadvantage, for those who were performing badly, was not being able to see the rotten tomatoes thrown by the crowd until it was too late. The theatre is still used for concerts, but patrons are no longer frisked for fruit before they enter.

The Archaeological Museum on Citadel Hill exhibits artifacts from throughout Jordan, including the Ain Ghazal statues which are the stars of the show. Dating from some time between 8,000 and 6,000BC, they’re not exactly pretty but they are the oldest statues ever discovered anywhere. Visitors can also see some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, including the only one inscribed on copper.

The hill, which offers sweeping views, is also home to the ruins of the second century Temple of Hercules, said to have been similar in size and form to the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. While only a single pillar sticking out of a swamp remains of the Turkish version, thereby demanding a supreme effort of imagination, there’s a lot more left of Amman’s.

●STAY: 5-star Amman Marriott Hotel (www.marriott.com). DINE: Lebanese Restaurant Deir El Qamar (www.deirelqamarrestaurant.com).

INDIE SADDLE: Spielberg's Hollywood blockbuster
featured the Treasury  as a major location

Jordan, which prides itself on being the most stable, liberal and progressive nation in the Middle East, is a place where ancient and modern, traditional and trendy sit comfortably side by side. Nowhere is the contrast more evident than at Petra, the jewel in the country’s crown, where the simple-living locals whose forefathers raised their families in caves interact with sophisticated visitors who’ve flown thousands of miles to stand in front of the Treasury, many on the strength of having seen it in Spielberg’s film.

Entry isn’t cheap at 50 dinar (€55) for a one-day pass, but it’s money well spent. Despite the hefty admission charge, keep some change for the cheeky-faced but charming kids who run around all day selling postcards, trinkets, fossilised shells and pebbles split open to reveal their exquisite quartz interiors. A couple of dinar will send them happily on their way. Come to think of it, if the little girl below sold half-a-dozen knick-knacks a day she wouldn’t be too far off earning the average nett monthly salary of €470. Little wonder she’s smiling — good for her!

SCARF FACE: Cute kid sells souvenirs

No one knows what the Bedouin guide said in 1812 when the saddle-sore Burckhardt got off his camel in Petra and asked if there was anything worth seeing at the end of that gorge there.

Maybe it was: “I wouldn’t bother if I was you, there’s nothing but an old Treasury and a Monastery that were carved from solid rock 2,000 years ago.”

But I like to think the guide smiled knowingly, pointed the way and said: “Siq and ye shall find.”

GETTING THERE

Insight Vacations offers 5-day premium escorted tours of Jordan year-round with prices from €899 per person sharing including breakfast and special menu or buffet dinners in 5-star hotels, air-conditioned luxury coaches with business class legroom (40 seats instead of the usual 50), professional tour director, headsets for commentary during guided visits and walking tours, entrance to ancient sites and airport transfers. Return flights from Dublin via London are available from €400. If you want to extend your stay, transfer from Amman instead of flying home and enjoy an additional two nights B&B and dinner at the 5-star Jordan Valley Marriott Hotel from €365pps.

●See www.insightvacations.com, call 01 775 3838 or contact your travel agent.

●See also www.visitjordan.com

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THE FABULOUS TITANIC BELFAST: A VISITOR (AND FRIDGE) MAGNET

MAGNETIC ATTRACTION: Fridge magnets on sale at the souvenir shop in Belfast Titanic

One year almost to the day after first setting foot on the then mucky building site that was Titanic Belfast, I went again yesterday morning and took the full tour of Northern Ireland's biggest purpose-built visitor attraction. It's absolutely fabulous. And I bought a fridge magnet to add to my collection. I've written about Titanic Belfast before in an article you can read on this travel blog. To see the photos I took yesterday, and those from previous visits, go to www.flickr.com/photos/sweenster/sets/72157626863307248
For information on visiting Titanic Belfast, see www.discovernorthernireland.com/titanic2012
Where to stay? The Europa is Belfast's most famous hotel. See http://www.hastingshotels.com/europa-belfast/

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SCOTLAND: IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF HEROES

PART 2: BELFAST TO CAIRNRYAN AND LIVERPOOL BIRKENHEAD TO BELFAST

CAN DO: 92-year-old Tartan terror Tom Gilzean

The world of electronics — and rascally scrap metal thieves — will be forever grateful to the two fellas who were walking down Aberdeen’s Union Street many years ago and spotted a halfpenny on the pavement. The ensuing tug-of-war during which the coin was stretched beyond all recognition and one of the combatants ended up in Dundee while still pulling resulted in the thinnest copper wire ever produced.

That at least is the story I was told by 92-year-old and much-decorated war veteran Tom Gilzean when I stopped for a chat on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile a few hours after stepping off Stena’s Superfast VII ferry in Cairnryan. Tom, who was resplendent in full Highland dress and sporting a chestful of campaign medals, knows a thing or two about pennies — he raised 4.2 million of them (£42,000) for disabled servicemen and sick children in 2010. And then some pea-brained pencil-pusher on the city council banned him from rattling his collecting cans in the street and threatened him with legal action, saying he didn’t have the correct permit. You can imagine the public outrage when distraught and frail widower Tom shed tears during an interview on nationwide television.

Fortunately, furious deputy council leader Steve Cardownie kicked up such a stink in the chamber, where he described Tom as “a man who does Edinburgh proud”, that a special dispensation was hastily granted and the former Royal Engineers sapper was allowed to resume his admirable work. But the memory of that permit palaver still rankled as we chatted outside the Camera Obscura, one of the city’s top tourist attractions.

WARPED FACTOR: In the Camera Obscura

“I was married for 55 years and miss my wife so very much,” said Tom. “That’s the reason I’m out here on the streets doing this — I don’t know what I’d do if they stopped me collecting for the injured soldiers and the poor wee bairns. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. I was ready to go to jail if that’s what it took. The way they were treating me, you’d think I was a beggar. If I’m not allowed to do my charity work they might as well put me in my box.”

Just then, a beautiful young Spanish woman dropped some coins in one of Tom’s cans and planted a kiss on his cheek. His face lit up and he did a little jig. If he’d been a younger man and fitter he might have done a cartwheel as well, but in a kilt it would probably have got him arrested.

“Gracias, señorita!” he called as his new admirer headed up the cobbled street towards the castle — the home of the Scottish Crown Jewels, it attracted 1.3 million visitors last year — with her giggling girlfriends.

“She’s clearly not from Aberdeen,” said Tom, reinforcing my impression that he’s none too fond of people from the Granite City. “It’s a job and a half getting money out of Aberdonians. Oh, a tight-fisted lot they are. They’ve got padlocks on their purses and pockets in their shrouds.”

And then he let out a blood-curdling roar which startled several passers-by. “Come on all you miserable Aberdonians! Dig deep for the wounded soldiers and sick bairns!”

Tom, who began collecting for charity in 2005 when a friend asked him to help the Sick Kids’ Friends Foundation, is one of Edinburgh’s most colourful characters, but if he stood beside Brazilian-born former nurse Elaine Davidson he’d be invisible.

MOST-PIERCED: Elaine Davidson

Forty-four-year-old Elaine, who sells fetish gear — and postcards — from her Tropical Rainbow shop in Candlemaker Row where she also offers crystal ball and tarot card readings, is the world’s most-pierced woman. Her 6,925 piercings, including nearly 200 in her face and more than 500 in her — how shall I put this? — in her knickers weigh around three kilos. Not surprisingly, her appearance turns heads in the street, but none was more turned than that of retired civil servant Douglas Watson who met her in a Glasgow coffee shop 15 years ago and married her last June. He must have a magnetic personality.

When I got talking to Elaine in the Lawnmarket, the teetotal non-smoker told me her wedding in Edinburgh’s register office had been a “low-key affair” at which Douglas, who has no piercings, no tattoos and no intention of every getting any, wore a dark blue suit, blue shirt and Marks and Spencer tie. She arrived in a puffy white dress and with her face painted green, yellow and blue, the colours of the Brazilian flag.

“Douglas is a kind and gentle man,” said Elaine, “and being married to him is wonderful. I’m so happy. After 15 years of friendship and growing closer, having a wedding ring on my finger isn’t going to change the way I live my life. Mind you, I’ve had to give up sleeping on my bed of nails.”

I had to ask: Why so many piercings? Wasn’t it painful? And when will enough be enough?

“You get used to the pain,” said Elaine. “After the first couple of hundred I didn’t really feel it. I like my piercings, they’re an expression of my personality. Some people express themselves by the clothes they wear, I do it by getting my body pierced. It’s how I am. I don’t know how many you could call enough. It’s not that I can’t stop, it’s just that I’ve never thought of stopping. When I had 462 piercings back in 2000 somebody said to me it must be a record. That’s when it became a challenge. I thought, I wouldn’t mind being in the Guinness Book of Records, so they examined me and said yes, I was the world’s most-pierced woman. I’ve carried on getting piercings since then. I suppose one day I’ll decide, right, no more, but I don’t think that day will be any time soon.”

In bumping into tartan terror Tom, who’s raised more than £200,000 for charity in seven years, I’d met a hero, which was appropriate as I’d gone to Edinburgh specially to see the man who’s been my personal hero since I was a child. The fact he’s been dead for nearly 220 years is neither here nor there.

HE'S MY HERO: Poet Robert Burns

Alexander Nasmyth’s 1787 portrait of his close friend Robert Burns — said to be the truest likeness of Scotland’s national poet — had been in storage for two-and-a-half years while the National Portrait Gallery where it hangs underwent an £18 million renovation, reopening last December. I last saw the painting 30 years ago, but my fascination with Burns goes back nearly 40. In that time I’ve amassed an obsessionally-large collection of books about the man who wrote Auld Lang Syne and more than 500 other poems and songs during a tragically short life (he died aged 37 in 1796). I don’t have anywhere near as many Burns books and bits of memorabilia as Elaine has piercings, but the weight of them all will one day cause my floorboards to collapse.

My nose was no more than a foot from Burns’ as I stood for ages admiring Nasmyth’s work, which is the best-known and most widely reproduced image of Rab, Rabbie, Robbie, Robyn or, as Americans are wont to call him, Bobby. Slightly more than a foot to my left but within grappling-to-the-ground distance, the tartan-trousered guard kept a hawk eye on me (actually, in the local parlance, it was a hawk eye the noo). He looked like a man who’s never lost a staring-out contest, and I got the idea several of his colleagues had been put on red alert, ready to pounce on his signal. But he needn’t have worried — I was there as a pilgrim, not a pilferer.

To break the ice I struck up a conversation, telling him I’d come from Dublin to see my hero.

“Dublin?” he said. “Lovely place, but it’s gotten awfy expensive, has it no?”

When I told him the price of a pint he nearly collapsed. Must be from Aberdeen, I thought. Having gained his confidence, he stood down the SWAT team and we got yapping.

“This is the picture they all come to see,” he said, and took the wind out of my sails by adding: “We’d an old gentleman in here the other day, an expat Scot, came all the way from New Zealand just to stand where you’re standing. From Dunedin, he was. A retired school teacher. Imagine that — 12,000 miles just to look at a portrait.”

My measly 143 miles from Belfast as the crow flies paled into pathetic insignificance next to my fellow pilgrim’s daunting journey which probably involved a couple of gruelling long-haul flights, but if that old gentleman had dropped by again I’d have shaken his hand and maybe even genuflected.

FAMOUS SON: Burns statue, Ayr

Dunedin — from the Gaelic Dùn Èideann for Edinburgh — has a statue of Burns in the central Octagon (his nephew, Presbyterian minister Thomas Burns, was one of the city’s founding fathers). Scotland has 19 statues, and there are 15 in the US, nine in Canada, eight in Australia and one in England, in London’s Victoria Embankment Gardens. With three others in New Zealand making a total of 56 worldwide, Burns has had more statues erected in his honour than any other poet in history. I’m not alone in placing Rabbie on a pedestal, which was the sculptors’ job anyway. In a 2009 survey he was named as the Greatest Scot Of All Time, narrowly pipping William “Braveheart” Wallace to the post from a shortlist of 10 that also included Robert the Bruce and, perversely, Billy Connolly and Doctor Who star David Tennant.

As I took a last look at the portrait, I noticed for the first time that what I’ve for so long taken to be a nascent smile might well be the beginnings of a smirk. Rabbie, who fathered 12 children — seven of them illegitimate — by four women, had as many critics as admirers during the 10 years from 1786 when his first volume of poems was published until his death from a rheumatic heart condition. There are still those who refer to him as “that damned whoremaster”, but his literary legacy — some of the world’s best-loved poems and songs that have been translated into most modern languages (and Klingon) and still sell in huge numbers in book and CD form — is good enough reason to smirk. As he told his wife, Jean, as he lay in his deathbed: “I’ll be better kent (known) a hunder years from now.”

WHERE IT BEGAN: Burns' Cottage in village of Alloway

A full-sized replica of the Ayrshire cottage in which Burns was born into abject poverty on January 25, 1759, can be visited in Atlanta, Georgia, but the real thing, all whitewashed walls and thatch, is in the village of Alloway, an hour’s car journey north of Stena’s Cairnryan port.

The highlight of the scenic drive along the coast-hugging A77 is the view on a clear day of the majestic and uninhabited island of Ailsa Craig, the plug of a volcano that last blew its top 500 million years ago. Being roughly the halfway point on the old ferry route between Belfast and Glasgow, it was nicknamed Paddy’s Milestone by generations of Irish labourers and potato pickers heading to Scotland in search of work. Rising out of the sea to a height of 340 metres 10 miles west of Girvan (where Mr. Chips serves the best fish suppers in Ayrshire), this former refuge for Catholics fleeing the 16th century Reformation which was also a prison colony in the 18th and 19th centuries is now a bird sanctuary for hundreds of thousands of gannets, kittiwakes and guillemots and a growing number of puffins.

It’s most famed, though, for the quarry that provides the rare Blue Hone granite known as Ailsite from which 70 per cent of the world’s curling stones are made, including those used by the gold medal-winning British women’s team at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Utah.

ROCK OF AGES: Volcanic isle of Ailsa Craig

One of the most-visited homes in Scotland, Burns’ Cottage is a humble, four-room residence comprising a kitchen, spence (parlour), barn and byre that was built by the poet’s father, William, in 1757. Just down the road is the £21 million Birthplace Museum that opened in December 2010 and houses more than 5,500 items of memorabilia plus many original manuscripts in Burns’ distinctive hand.

Nearby are the ruins and well-kept graveyard (where William is buried) of the reputedly haunted 16th century Alloway Auld Kirk that was the scene of the witches’ and warlocks’ dance — with music provided by the Devil himself — in Burns’ epic poem Tam o’ Shanter; and the medieval Brig o’ Doon, rebuilt in the 18th century, over which the terrified and rapidly sobering Tam fled the “hellish legion” on his grey mare, Meg. The bridge is overlooked by the Burns Monument which was paid for by public subscription, allegedly including donations from Aberdeen, and completed in 1823.

WITCHES' LAIR: Haunted Alloway Auld Kirk and graveyard

My trip was drawing to a close as I stepped off the train from Edinburgh in Liverpool, where I had one last pit stop in what had become a heroic journey — I was going to the Cavern Club in Mathew Street where, on the afternoon of Thursday, February 9, 1961 a local band called the Beatles who would become the heroes of millions played to a full house in the original building on the same site. The new Cavern Club, built using 15,000 bricks from the old one which was demolished in 1973 by British Rail (Boo! Hiss!), opened its doors in 1984 and is a thriving live music venue and one of Liverpool’s most popular tourist attractions.

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and Pete Best’s first lunchtime gig in the Cavern blew the audience away and earned them a regular booking. The line-up changed, of course, and by the time the band made the last of their 292 appearances there on Saturday, August 3, 1963 they had become the Fab Four of John, Paul, George and Ringo. Other Cavern regulars included Cilla Black, Gerry & The Pacemakers, The Swinging Blue Genes, Billy J Kramer and The Dakotas, The Merseybeats and The Searchers, but it was The Beatles who put the club and their home city on the musical map, triggering Beatlemania and leading a Liverpudlian takeover of the charts on both sides of the Atlantic.

BEST CELLAR: Music in Liverpool's new Cavern Club

I had a great night at the Cavern, but mindful of an early start the next morning when I had a date with a ferry down the Mersey and onward across the Irish Sea, I headed to bed. I’d followed in the footsteps of heroes Robert Burns and The Beatles and met a new one in plucky old soldier Tom. For someone who’s petrified of being punctured, I could only marvel at the courage of pierced lady Elaine. And now it was time to go home. Rabbie lamented in To A Mouse that “the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley”, but as I boarded Stena Mersey at Birkenhead this second part of my ferry adventures had been free of the minor disasters that usually dog me on my travels. Suspiciously free. Arriving in Belfast bang on time and with an hour to kill, I popped into The Crown Bar for a pint. As beer lovers know, there’s no such thing as “a” pint, so I had two. And missed the last train to Dublin. Then a pal of mine walked in, we got talking and, before I knew it, I’d missed the last bus.

The taxi driver watched as I withdrew a hundred quid from the ATM outside the Europa Hotel. The meter was running. Ah, well.

●To book your crossing on Stena Line’s Irish Sea routes and for details of special money-saving fares see www.stenaline.ie, call 01 204 7777 or contact your travel agent. In the UK see www.stenaline.co.uk. Further information on visiting Scotland, Belfast and the west of Ireland can be found in other travel articles on this blog: The Most Faithful Little Dog That Ever Cocked A Leg, Scots Whey Hey, All Aboard As Titanic Gets Set To Sail Again, I Lost My Heart To A Galway Grill, The Movie That Put Ireland On The Tourist Map and Oh Mayo My.

●See also www.visitscotland.com, www.discovernorthernireland.comand www.discoverireland.ie

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Destination Austin: Franklin Barbecue

Brisket, sausage, potato salad, slaw, and a Big Red


On a dreary Wednesday morning I was sitting on metal patio furniture, hoping that the clouds above my head didn't bring rain. I was entering the second hour of my barbecue trials. Despite arriving at 9:30 in the morning, I wasn't first in line for a restaurant that didn't even open until 11:00. I wasn't surprised; I had done my research beforehand. You have to be prepared when you're pursuing the best barbecue in the country.

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The line at 10:30. Photo taken from my spot below the ramp.

Franklin Barbecue has been a gourmet press darling since its humble beginnings as a trailer in an East Austin parking lot in 2009. Since then, it has moved to a building off the 35 freeway. Every morning, besides Mondays when it is closed, Aaron Franklin gets up before dawn to prepare his daily ritual. While the restaurant is not a one-man operation, Franklin's involvement is critical, from stoking the flames of his hardwood smokers to carving up every single customer's order.


Aaron Franklin, proprietor, chef, and all-around nice guy

Because Franklin takes his time to chat up each of his customers, the line moves at a glacial pace. The restaurant's official hours are eleven until sold out. At this point, they don't bother removing the sold out signs anymore. If you're not already in line by eleven or twelve, you're going to have slim pickings of whatever meats are left, if any.


Finally at the front of the line

Around 11:30, I finally made it to the counter. As a Texas barbecue, Franklin's claim to fame is is brisket. Considering I had just done my Lockhart barbecue marathon the day before, I was hesitant to get more. But I had yet to try any Texas sausage.



At Franklin's suggestion, I got half fatty, half lean brisket. Keep in mind that lean is a relative term and does not imply any dryness or lack of flavor. The brisket was as good, if not slightly better than the brisket at Smitty's, my favorite of the Lockhart three. There is complexity to Franklin's barbecue that many places lack. While many barbecues have two or three flavor notes, the brisket at Franklin has a chorus. The sausage was phenomenal. I made very little progress cutting through the casing with my plastic knife, but when I finally punctured it, the juice squirted out from its cylindrical prison. I'm not sure what mix of meats went into that sausage and the seasonings were relatively simple. But the barbecuing process made it uniquely delicious. Franklin's also offers three signature barbecue sauces, but besides the chipotle flavored one, they weren't too notable.

I'll have to come back and try the pork ribs one day. The bit of pulled pork, donated to me by my line compatriot, was bland. The big question is whether I think Franklin Barbecue was worth the two hour wait. For those visiting Austin with time to spare, it is worth a free morning. It would take even longer to drive out to Lockhart.

Franklin Barbecue
franklinbarbecue.com
900 E. 11th Street
Austin, TX 78702
(512) 653-1187
$13 for a two-meat plate

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