Swedish "Summer" Cycle Breakdown: The Route VII (part 1)

When sketching out the first plans for the wider pan-Europe cycle trip a few years ago, the core leg across Sweden did not raise many flags to me. A quick hop from one coast to the other between the county’s main two cities. No doubt there would be plenty of forest, but not much to impede us on a straight forward journey from Gothenburg to Stockholm. Clearly I had not looked at the map closely enough…

Having cycled all the way from the middle of France to Gothenburg, this was the natural next leg. As usual before booking flights, I whacked the cities into Google to check out a rough route and… got a shock. Sweden was a wee bit bigger than I had given it credit for. Our rough route was approximately 600 km and we had only 4 days to do it. That’s 150 kms a day or, to put it another way, like doing the Ride London Surrey four days in a row with saddle bags. At least there weren’t any mountains in the way, right? Right, but instead seemingly non-stop hills. We had to climb the equivalent of Mont Blanc in altitude on route.

As we shoved our bikes into their boxes and caught the plane from London one thing was for sure, it would be an adventure and a tough one at that.

DAY 1 - THAT FREEZING, BREAKING FEELING

First issue. One light between us. We arrived a Gothenburg airport late at night, put our bikes together and wheeled out the airport in the direction of our digs for the night. Two things happened quickly. The road ramped steeply down-hill and the street lights ran out. Hurtling down hill at 40 kmph in pitch black with nothing to follow except Uwe’s wee red back light was a good adrenaline rush to start the trip!

A few drinks, amateur map planning and a bit of sleep later, we woke up to Swedish summer. Early August and a balmy temp of 9 degrees C, augmented by cold, slanting rain. What better way to start a day?

It was miserable and, to be honest, I was in no way equipped for this type of weather. What made it worse was a forecast of more of the same all day and we had a minimum 150km to do before dark. Looking for a glimmer of positivity, our road was well paved and relatively traffic free, but even this seemed to turn into a negative as our trip was regularly interrupted by large lorries taking advantage to power narrowly past us, knocking us sideways and more often than not splashing us with dirty road water.

If this sounds like a bit of a shit experience, I can confirm it was. A couple of hours in, with not even a view thanks to the non-stop trees, we finally got to a semblance of a town, Borås. I saw a bike shop, wheeled off the road and shouted to the others to shop. I was soaked through, shivering, without feeling in my sodden feet and needed something to improve the situation. Ten minutes and an extortionate amount of Kroner later – Sweden is many things, but one of them is not cheap - I at least had some thermal shoe covers.

With things looking a tiny bit up, we passed through the town centre and out the other side, hoping to find a more pleasant route forward. Clunk. Clank. CRUNCH... My pedal stopped turning with an ugly sound of meshing metal. “Guys, I think we have a small issue. My bike is fucked!”

Fortunately we had a real cyclist on hand, Uwe,  to identify the problem and provide a solution. Unfortunately the problem was that my entire rear derailleur had bent in on itself and there was nothing Uwe could do to right it. “Fixed wheel?”, he suggested with a smirk. There was no bloody way I was going to cycle the next 540km in one gear! We huddled in the freezing rain in our Lycra and worked out what the heck to do.

Solution one. Hip flask. For the first time in my life, I genuinely appreciated the warming “fire ya’ belly” effect of Whisky. Solution two, find a bike shop. On this point we were very lucky. My bike self-imploding was seriously shit, but it could have happened anywhere on route which, that first day, only passed through one proper town. The one we were in. It could therefore have been a hell of a lot worse (i.e. lose a day and trip over worse).

The nice bike shop I had bought my feet warmers in came to our rescue. Despite a rather confused phone call, they managed to find us in their van with the help of some directions from nice passer's by and got right down to trying to remedy the bike. Try is though the operative word, as the guy shook his head and explained this was not good. He did not have the part, but it was possible they could fix it back at the shop. Waving goodbye to my buddies with directions where to meet at the McDonalds by the highway, I crammed into the van with my bike and headed to the shop.

Life was looking up, at least for me. The bike shop was warm and dry.  The mechanics had a fitting rear derailleur and associated bits. I even had a nasty chuckle, realising that the repair guy had accidentally sent Dave and Uwe in the wrong direction and they would right now be doing pointless circles in the rain.

The awesome bike shop guys dropped me off at the McDonalds and rode away. After taking a bit of stick and being told in no uncertain manner to “buy a fucking new bike” (fair enough, it had now broken down 2 years in a row), we had to weigh our options. It was mid-afternoon with 100km between us an Jönköping. With no meaningful town in between to shorten our day, we said what the hell and decided to go for it.

THINGS CAN ONLY GET BETTER

From that nadir, things did look up... slowly. First up, a few hours of workmanlike churning in line through driving rain. Km by km, with head down. Little, but trees and cold for comfort. The bike was though working and, eventually, the rain abated

We were finally making good progress, but it was touch and go whether we would make it to Jönköping before night fall. We took out the map and got a bit adventurous. The main road was due to take a wide loop, so we decided to turn off and try one of the smaller, dotted roads. We soon found ourselves deep in a forest. Tarmac turned to gravel, at which point Uwe’s road bike was just waiting to puncture. It always does…

We pushed on as the path narrowed, before turning into nothing more than a churned track through the trees. A rarely used logging lane. Inevitably, Uwe got his puncture and was not impressed. I was quite chipper, this being just about the only conditions where my old hybrid bike can hold its own. We had come a few km’s down the track, but given the ever deteriorating conditions, the collective was tempted to turn back. On a tight call, we decided against it and bumped on through the dense trees. Thankfully, the path turned back to gravel and a bit further on we had connected back on to something that resembled a road. 

I can’t pretend the journey thus far had been a pleasure. It had been a miserable trudge, but it all became worth it for the final hour’s cycle of the day. We climbed up and into more sparsely forested hills. A perfect smooth road lit, unbelievably by sunshine. The sky had opened up a bit and the light was a warm orange as the sun arched to the horizon. We didn’t meet a single car, truck or bike. Riding in parallel, the only thing that interrupted our serene path was the odd incline and dozens of deer.

All day we had waited for a sign of wildlife and now, in the last rays of the day, one deer after another caught sight or sound of us and galloped off. Often away or parallel to our path, but on more than one occasion straight across it. The crowning glory was a large stag leaping across the road in front of us as the sun set.

Then up another hill and we could see Lake Våttern and Jönköping nestled at its southern point.The lights were already on in the city as we raced to our destination for the night. By the time we arrived it was 10pm and dark. Knackered, we went in to the first place we saw and begged for a room. Thirty minutes later we were on the top floor of the highest building in the city, kicking back in a sauna with beer in hand. The only thing better than the redemptive powers of the heat after 160 km on a wet saddle was the view. The sauna had a glass wall, which overlooked the moonlit giant lake at the centre of Sweden. Rarely has one of my days ended in such better condition to how it started…

DAY 2 – (HALF) VÄTTERNRUNDAN

The largest mass participation cycle race in the world is called “Vätternrundan” or in English “Around Vattern”. A self-explanatory title for a race which seeks to go around Lake Vättern in a day. That is some 300km and every June the best part of 30,000 people attempt that or one of the smaller distances. Thankfully, our aim for the day was one such smaller distance. We wanted to conquer half of it, pedalling circa 150km along its western shore from the lake’s toe to its tip.

Given the long distance, we aimed to head off early. That did not happen. Aches from the day before slowed us up and I don’t think any of us were exactly rearing to go as the bums went back on the seats. Plus, the rain was back, though only a drizzle.

Our morning ride was one of those cycles which just does not seem to get going. Repeatedly getting lost (the Vätternrundan path was illusive, appearing and disappearing at will) and slowed down by small town roads. The magnificent lake barely showed itself, our path mainly the other side of a rise from the water and in very nothing countryside.

With so much time lost we decided to power it along the main road. We were in for another sharp does of Swedish summer. As if Thor had snapped his fingers, blue sky turned into a raging hail-storm.

At first a few pellets, shattering and skidding across the tarmac, then a torrent of grape sized ice balls. Interest and surprise soon turned to pain and noise. As you can imagine, Lycra does not provide much padding against rocks of ice falling from the sky. It felt like having hundreds of paintball pellets serially fired into your back. Add the deafening noise of the barrage on our helmets, the white out of the landscape and thin bike tyres sliding on the ice and it was quite a sensory experience.

We scrambled for shelter (which gave me the chance to shoot this little CRAZY video) and rode the storm out chuckling. Swedish "summer" indeed... I mean, look at the size of these ice balls!

UP AND FINALLY INTO THE LAKE

In another snap of the fingers the ice storm stopped.  We got back on our bikes and rode off pretty gingerly, crushing thousands of melting ice balls as we went and just trying not to fall over.

We powered on and lunched at the beautiful marina at Hjo. Thawing out in the renewed sunshine, lake before us and beer(s) in hand, it is not surprising that we stayed far too long.

Pushed for time as ever, we set off mid-afternoon and enjoyed a relatively uneventful, pretty ride north. While the lake had its dramatic moments, the countryside was largely gentle. Up and down rolling hills, switching between fields and forest and passing the odd smart little settlement.

As we approached the northern tip of Lake Vättern the shoreline became more interesting, breaking up into loops and bays. We grabbed a weak Swedish beer on a bench, staring out at a massive fortress across the water, before pushing on and reaching Askersund just before night fall.

It has been another long day and what we did not need was a struggle to find somewhere to kip. Struggle we though did, cycling aimlessly around the little town until we eventually managed to beg our way into the last rooms at a slightly off Best Western on the edge of town. More trucker stop than idyllic Scandinavian stay.

As ever, it did though have a sauna and, after a long searing stay, Uwe and I sneaked out the fire exit in our boxers and plunged into the chilly waters of the lake in the darkness. A re-vitalising, if slightly painful, experience. 

Some more beers and a bit of map planning later, we had collapsed. Just 300km and half of Lake Vättern behind us, over 300km and a whole load of forest ahead. Stockholm seemed along way off and more adventures awaited…

In the Shadow of Mount Etna - Sicily (Part 5)

We had kept the best until last, or at least that is what we thought based on the guide books and notoriety. We headed to the famed Taormina, home of stunning sites, views and celebrities.

Much of the route from Palermo was impressive motorway - I have never seen so many tunnels and bridges - forcing a course through the mountainous north coast of Sicily. While cutting the journey time for several hours and clearly sucking up a lot of subsidised funds from the mainland (these roads must have cost hundreds of millions), they did unfortunately hide much of the view.

We made up for this somewhat by stopping off at the beautiful little city of Cefalù. Situated in a sheltered bay beneath towering hills, it is a place of beautiful old buildings and steep streets dropping down to a harbour of aquamarine.

The cathedral is another Norman beauty and all the better for still having much of the original interior intact. We had an amazing lunch in the square beneath it, devouring pizza in the sunshine.

TAORMINA

To cut a long story short, this was my biggest (and perhaps only) disappointment in Sicily. It is not that I did not like it, I did, but it fell short of the high expectations set by its renown and, indeed, other sites and cities we had seen in Sicily.

Taormina’s setting is undeniably impressive. Set high up on ragged hill, jutting out into the sea, with the mighty Mount Etna for a backdrop. Its streets are attractive and its ancient theatre is large and well preserved, framing the mighty volcano perfectly (the classic photo of the island). It was great to scramble up the dodgy paths to the peaks above the city, enter the small shrines and look down upon the brilliant combination of nature and nurture that the city entails.

The place though lacks charm. It is as if the sheer level of tourism, both of the jet-set and tour bus variety in equal measures, has sucked the life out of the place. Very little is real or local. I am glad I have seen it, but can take or leave it in future.

In three days we did find one clear exception that I can't fail to mention. On a twisting backstreet down from the main thoroughfare is the best granita I have ever tasted.

In case you do not know, granite is a Sicilian speciality of ice and flavour, usually lemon, but in this granite specialist café every flavour you can imagine. It is refreshing, sets your taste buds buzzing and is a perfect antidote to a long day walking in the sun. Another produce of Sicily’s complicated past, supposedly emanating from the Arabs who once ruled the island.

MOUNT ETNA

Etna was most certainly not a disappointment. It is just ginormous and, silly as it may sound, so perfectly volcano shaped. It dominates the East of the island, simultaneously drawing you in and threatening.

We took a day to drive up its slopes, leaving behind vineyards and forests, to the treeline and beyond. There we found old volcanic craters to explore. With wind buffeting us and the kids half laughing, half grimacing, we ventured into one of them, rubbing our hands in the dark black volcanic dust at its base. I have never been anywhere that so resembled the moon.

Etna is still decidedly active. Small eruptions are frequent, larger ones blow every few years and then, infrequently, it really goes, wreaking havoc in its wake. The lower craters we explored dated from violent eruptions in 2002-3, which knocked out much of the ski-station area.

To my middle child’s particular dismay, high winds had stopped the cable car. Not wanting to give up, we managed to get a ticket for the off-road upwards adventure and were soon sat on a many wheeled monster of a vehicle powering up the volcano on twisting dust tracks. It took quite a lot of strength to hold the kids to our laps and stop them smashing into the windows.

We were soon at the snowline, but, as the weather closed and the truck steamed up, we could see less and less. Every so often we would get a glimpse of a dead drop through the swirling clouds, before the truck powered around another corner, jerking back and forth. Onwards and upwards.

By the time we arrived at the intermediate base (2500 m), we were in a snow cloud with even higher winds. Instead of the usual walk around, we were ushered into the shelter with some urgency (and I dare say a little panic) by the mountain guides, being pushed sideways by the swirling, buffeting winds. The conditions had turned heavily against us and, after having to wait for some time in the shelter pouring over tacky gifts, we were relieved to squeeze past a tour group and get back on a truck heading down the volcano and out of the turbulence.

It was a bit of an adrenaline rush, adding some fizz to the end of our vacation. We decompressed on a relaxed drive back to Taormina, clockwise around the verdant lower slopes of Etna.

CATANIA AND HOME

On our final day, we had just enough time to stop off in Sicily's second largest city, Catania, before flying home. It is living proof of the power of Etna, lying in its shade with scars of its fury. In 1669 much of the city was destroyed by horrifically violent eruptions. Volcanic dust and flame covered the city and a river of lava smashed right through it.

Much of the centre was rebuild with ambition, using distinctive black and white stones and in the baroque style. We parked up in the centre and enjoyed a walk around the grand squares, around its smelly fish market and through its backstreets to its towering thirteenth century castle, Castello Ursino. While the castle was interesting in and out, it was outshone by rock at its base. Here were the remains of the lave flow form  1669, still winding their way around this massive building.

A final word for the people of Sicily. They were warm, welcoming and friendly throughout. None more so than a father and daughter we met at the last in their small café off Catania’s central square. For our final minutes, they chatted, played with our kids and served us some great food.

UNTIL NEXT TIME...

In short conclusion, we found Sicily remarkable. It combines stunning nature, history, architecture, people, food and culture. I could not recommend it more highly.  In fact it is one of my favourite places on earth. No exaggeration.

Palermo Treasures - Sicily (Part 4)

Part of the draw of circumnavigating Sicily, was to explore the different faces of this fascinating island. It was therefore essential that we stopped by in the capital, largest city and melting pot of people’s past and present – Palermo.

 

Everyone and his dog had warned us about the mad cap driving in Palermo. We were not disappointed, with cars and mopeds winding in and out of us on the road in to the centre, where we met narrow packed streets, honking horns and, on one occasion, street urchins joyriding a moped right past us, wheelie and all. It was a minor miracle that we arrived unscathed and found some where to park. That somewhere was the tightest space I have ever parked in on a dodgy looking back street, but, fortunately, a shop teller opposite laughed at how long it took me to park and promised to watch the motor for us.

FOR RICHER FOR POORER

Palermo is not a rich city, but it contains many treasures. Walking towards the historic centre through high, narrow, dirty alleys, it immediately reminded me of umpteen Latin American cities. Semi-grand buildings that had seen better days. Washing hanging out the windows between damp walls and chipped stucco. Street noises and kids playing football. The hot smell of pollution.

 

That may sound like a negative description, but for me it was immediately alluring. From experience, these kinds of places are full of interest, excitement and passion.

The comparison to Latin America is not just coincidence. Spaniards ruled Sicily on and off for centuries, right down to when Palermo was a twin capital of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies (along with Naples). The influence can be seen in the density of imposing ornate baroque churches. The most impressive sites are though of older stock and this is where unique riches lie.

NORMAN PHENOMENA

It may come as a surprise that at almost exactly the same time (well, OK, two years later) as a famous Norman by the name of William was invading England, another Norman, named Roger, was invading Sicily. His dynasty reached heights of sophistication rarely touched in medieval Europe.

A driver of this cultural blossoming, was the broad variety of different cultures in situ in Sicily. Amongst others, there were Arabs, Byzantine Greeks and, of course, the Normans themselves. Against the tide of an age, the Norman kings embraced these different cultures with open mind, drawing on the talents of each culture in terms of learning, philosophy and architecture.

This can be seen in the almost Python’esque named "Book of Roger" (check it out). For its time, a world map of unparalleled accuracy and beauty, created through the patronage of King Roger and the brilliance of Al-Idrisi, an Arab. This was a product of one of the great courts of medieval Europe. A cultural flourish built on familiar Norman military prominence.

The architectural legacy is arguably even more impressive. As a first port of call, we visited the Norman Cathedral. From the outside, it is an imposing and fascinating building. Combining Byzantine Domes, Gothic buttresses and touches of Moorish decoration. Unfortunately the inside is less interesting, with a later make-over which masks much of the original style, but down in the crypt the original Norman remains.

After that, we visited the most famous site in the city. Situated in the Palazzo Reale, which is itself no slouch in terms of interest and architecture, is the Cappella Palatina (the Palatine Chapel). This place is a wonder of the world. 

At its heart it is a Byzantine church, with glittering mosaics beyond any I have seen. This is then enhanced with delicate Norman stone carving and simply beautiful Arabic wood carving. It is both surprising and inspiring at every turn. I was spellbound and had to be dragged away in the interest of stopping the kids climbing the walls.

 

Getting on for 900 years after it was commissioned by Roger II, the Cappella Palatina is testament to the enlightenment of Norman Sicily and the enduring benefits of reaching out to and fusing with cultures beyond our own.

INTEREST AT EVERY TURN

We spent the rest of the day pushing the pram around street after back street, discovering new sights sounds and smells (not all pleasant) at each turn. It was great to just get a little lost in the city, stumbling from dilapidated area to grand area and back again, and right through two bustling markets. 

 

The first was for food of every description, the second for cloth and clothes. The kids loved this bit, meandering in and out of different stalls and getting a first grip on capitalism (finite funds in their hands but seemingly infinite amount of things to spend it on).

 

We were also pleased to discover that Palermo does gelato as good as any Italian city (as far as I can tell) and devoured the ice cream in the shadow of what we discovered was an old mosque. Palermo really is a city full of surprises. 

Out on our feet with the day at its end, we made it back to our protected car. The smiling shop teller wished us well and gifted the children some sweets. A nice end to a great day in the city. I got a taste of it and I want more, perhaps in the form of Palermo's Nuttier sister... Next year Napoli?

Castles in the Sky and Theatres on High - Sicily (Part 3)

We arrived in Scopello at dusk, struggling against what appeared to be a mad sat-nav to find our apartment. The damn thing kept telling us to zig zag back and forth and re-corrected itself at every other turn. We found ourselves back in the small village square twice before finally figuring out that it wanted us to turn out the village onto a rough track heading up the steep hill. This soon turned into a dirt track full of rivets, holes, mini canyons and drops. Now in darkness, we wound our way up and up, guessing the turns and increasingly unsure of what we were doing.

Against our instinct and the recommended capabilities of our rented Fiat 500, we pushed on for over a kilometre at a snail’s pace, took a final left and arrived at our home for the next 5 nights - Casale Corcella. It proved to be a remarkable little corner of the world.

We were greeted by Marco, the owner of the small collection of stone buildings who, along with his Labrador, was a warm host. Knackered, we knocked out, to awake in the morning and immediately realise that the tortuous drive had been worth it.

Stepping out our door, the view smacked us in the face. We were much higher than I had realised. Situated on a crest with cliffs behind and below, falling to flower strewn slopes and the terracotta roofs of the village proper. Beyond that was Castellammare del Golfo, an expanse of water sparkling in the morning sunlight. Its long arc only broken once, by a narrow peninsular beneath us, capped by a crumbling tower. Jaw dropping.

To cap it all off, fresh orange juice and breakfast were waiting for us on the cliff side patio with the aforementioned vista for back drop. It is fair to say we were pleased with ourselves.

ERICE

It took some effort to drag ourselves away from our temporary home, but we managed for a day trip to the fortified town of Erice. As a well preserved (if touristy) old town, it proved interesting to walk around, clambering up bell towers and getting lost in side alleys, but it is the setting that took the biscuit.

Erice sits atop a 750m high mountain. An impenetrable fortress, combining sheer cliffs on each side with high walls, fortified gates and a castle atop. The only road up is so twisty that one of my kids discovered the inside of their stomach before we reached the top.

The views from the top are like nothing I have ever seen. On a clear day like the one of our visit, you can see for what must be 50 kms. Sicily itself switching from mountains in the north, through hills, to salt flats in the south. The Mediterranean surrounding on two sides, punctured by mountainous islands to the west. You have to see it to believe it.

In terms of history, Erice is one of those places which gives more with each scratch. Beneath the medieval battlements are remains of Phoenician walls. Within the remains of the Norman castle, which clings to high point of the mount, are fragments of the Temple of Venus, where travellers reportedly came from all over the ancient world to revel in ceremonies of legendary disrepute.

It is in the latter place that my son gave me an odd memory. A three year announcing he is desperate for the toilet at the most inopportune time - nowhere near facilities on the crumbling ramparts overlooking a 500m vertical cliff – finding an unseen corner for him to do his business while looking over said cliff and the boy then demanding “Daddy, make my poo fly”. I had little other choice.

ANCIENT SEGESTA

On returning from Erice Chris unfortunately came down with a nasty bug which left her bed bound for the next day or so. I was therefore left with three kids to entertain. What better way than to find more ancient sites to scramble over…

Within an hour’s drive of Scopello are the remains of Segesta. Originally an Elymian settlement, one of the original peoples of Sicily, who were Hellenised by Ionian Greeks and ended up leaving to the world some phenomenal very Greek looking architecture.

On arriving, we did not have to walk far to find one of two highlights of the Segesta. A large and well preserve Doric temple, dating from approx. 420 BC. The temple is very impressive and, when we visited in April, set in fields of wild flowers, giving way to dramatic hills.

Being given many a look of sympathy and surprise by other tourists seeing me with one kid in my backpack, one on my shoulders and the other hand in hand, we explored the site and surrounds and then jumped on a rickety bus to take us to the top of one of those dramatic hills. At the top was the other highlight of Segesta, the ancient theatre.

Carved out of the rock into a perfect high-banked semi-circle, it opens out to a remarkable view. So remarkable in fact that I wonder how the audience in ancient times could drag their eyes from the view to concentrate on whatever play was performing.

The kids loved scrambling around the steps and searching for lizards. I did my best to stop a 4 year old, 3 year old and 1 year old from smashing against ancient marble or falling off an unfortunate edge. A real adventure in a very special place.

SCOPELLO AND ZINGARO

Thankfully Chris recovered to ease the more difficult side of the adventure and we spent a couple of days exploring Scopello.

The village itself was lovely. In spring it is slow moving and full of charm. Locals sitting outside on the street watching the world go by. Small eateries, arranged around a courtyard shaded by old trees. Great views up to the tower and down to the grand building of the old tuna factory and sea beyond.

Taking the northern coast road out of Scopello, we soon found even more stunning coast and no more road. This was the entrance to Zingaro nature reserve. A wild, wonderful haven, stretching up the steep cliffs and coastline of San Vito Lo Capello.

This place has been protected since the early 1980s (in a successful attempt to save the Bonelli’s eagle) and is only crossed by a couple of narrow trails which streak along the hillside, occasionally dropping down to one of the unspoiled beaches.

We made sure we were suitably provisioned up with food and water, put the little one in the backpack, held the hands of the other two and set off on the main trail. It was stunning. Yes, the views of the sea, cliffs and beaches were phenomenal, but the minutiae was equally great. Flowers and insects were everywhere as well as literally hundreds of small lizards (I know, my eldest counted everyone we saw).

This was fortunate as we had to spend much of our time looking down, making sure we did not trip on the rocky terrain or take a slip off many a steep edge. We made it 5km before locating a particular beautiful white pebble beach and descended for lunch, some pebble play and, in my case, a chilly swim.

The walk back was equally stunning, and, in the case of two of my kids at least, not too strenuous, with the smallest one falling asleep in my backpack soon after we set off and the middle one succumbing somewhat closer to the end while on my shoulders.

Everyone was though awake again to see what looked very much like an eagle gliding overhead. This put the icing on the cake.

A great trek to end a great stay in Scopello. If you get the chance, go there. I certainly plan to visit again.