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iarmandostuff-blog · 5 years

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Traveling and Tourism

Traveling into a city, town or village is a means of getting exposure to the new world even for a second. As we spend time on our travel destination it exposes us to a new culture, language, new experience, new friends and the room to tolerate one another and handle our differences. This may our passion to take another trip to another destination.

Traveling to Italy

With 58.3 million tourists a year (2017), Italy is the fifth most visited country in international tourism arrivals. People mainly visit Italy for its rich culture, cuisine, history, fashion and art, its beautiful coastline and beaches, its mountains, and priceless ancient monuments. Italy also contains more World Heritage Sites than any other country in the world. Tourism is one of Italy's fastest-growing and most profitable industrial sectors, with an estimated revenue of €189.1 billion.

The Colosseum in Rome, Italy, one of the most popular tourist attractions in the world

Traveling to Italy is a lot of fun to many as well as I will also love to take a tour and experience for many reasons, some of which will be listed below.

sites of attraction

Florence: This city is the rightful birthplace of the Renaissance and is loaded with wonderful art, architecture, and some of the finest museums in the world, the Uffizi and the Galleria dell’ Accademia. Florence truly is of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Venice: Venice is that it’s old, sinking into the lagoon, floods occasionally, and sometimes smells. What other cities on this planet can claim a list like this and still be one of the most sought after destinations in the world? Maybe everyone wants to visit Venice before it disappears into the Adriatic and becomes the lost city of Venice?

Cinque Terre: This beautiful coastal region of Italy is simply spectacular. Its five villages are all unique and connected by a network of trails that vary in difficulty and distance. And if hiking is not your thing, don’t despair— the local train connects all five villages, as does the local ferry system, except for Corniglia, which is perched high up on a cliff above the sea.

If you love seafood, then you have certainly come to the right place. Tourism, fishing, and farming the terraced hillsides are the only industries here. If you want to see one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world, then add Cinque Terre to your list of must-see places.

Inventions

Cars

Italy is the birthplace of some of the world’s most famous car brands, including Alfa Romeo, Fiat, Lamborghini, and Maserati. Italian automotive design is coveted by petrolheads the world over for its beauty, exclusivity, and performance. Take Ferrari, for example – the company began as a race car manufacturer in 1939 and is now the gold standard for aspirational autos. In 2012 they sold just 8,000 cars but made record net profits of €537 million (£484.5 million).

Art

Italy’s contribution to the art world is immeasurable. Works by Giotto, Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, Titian, Caravaggio, and Bernini are among the most recognizable and most celebrated in the world. Not just limited to paintings and sculptures in museums, artistic wonders can be found everywhere in Italy – in churches, castles, historical residences – and in the architecture of the country itself.

Fashion

Italy’s first internationally recognized fashion show took place in Florence in 1951. These days though, Milan is considered Italy’s main sartorial hub and the city’s high-end shopping district, known as the Quadrilatero d’Oro, is home to some of the world’s biggest luxury brands. Prada, Gucci, Versace, Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, and Valentino are all headquartered there.

Sports

Football

Football, or il Calcio, is taken very seriously in Italy. Teams from the top league, Serie A, attract some of the world’s best (and most well-paid) players, while the national team, known as the Azzurri, have won the World Cup four times. Their 2018 defeat against Sweden was met with disbelief and marked the first time in 40 years they failed to qualify for the tournament.

Explorers

Amerigo Vespucci, Marco Polo, John Cabot and, the most famous explorer of all, Christopher Columbus, all hailed from Italy. The Italians played a big part in the Age of Discovery, exploring the world in search of trade, wealth and knowledge. Though Columbus was born in the Republic of Genova he sailed on behalf of Spain.

People

People of Italy are warm and hospitable, though there are unscrupulous types who will pick your pocket if the opportunity arises, this can be said of almost any city. Just be sure to always be aware of your surroundings.

Italian cuisine

No one area of Italy eats the same things as the next. Each region has its own spin on "Italian food," according to CNN. For example, most of the foods that Americans view as Italian, such as spaghetti and pizza, come from central Italy. Italian cuisine has influenced food culture around the world and is viewed as a form of art by many. Wine, cheese, and pasta are an important part of Italian meals. In the North of Italy, fish, potatoes, rice, sausages, pork and different types of cheeses are the most common ingredients.

Religion

Religion in Italy is characterized by the predominance of Christianity and increasing diversity of religious practices, beliefs, and denominations. Most Christians in Italy adhere to the Catholic Church, whose headquarters are in Vatican City, Rome. 71.4% of Italians ascribe to Christianity making it the dominant religion in the country with Catholicism being the majority Christian denomination. Other Christian denominations include Orthodox, Jehovah's Witness, Protestant, and Methodists. The Catholic Church accounts for 93% of all Christians in Italy.

Mountains and Lakes

The mountains and lakes might not be the first thing that comes to mind when considering a visit to Italy but they are reason enough to start planning that trip. From the stunning Dolomites in the northeast to the Italian Alps in the north, this is a playground for those of you who love to hike, bike, and ski. And dotted among the valleys of these majestic mountains are some of the most picturesque lakes in all of Italy.

ConclusionWith all the above exciting features, one will love to travel and take a tour in Italy. Though there are still many others which are not mentioned.

References

https://wanderwisdom.com/travel-destinations/10-Really-Good-Reasons-to-Visit-Italy

https://www.livescience.com/44376-italian-culture.html

https://theculturetrip.com/europe/italy/articles/10-things-italy-is-famous-for/

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 6 years

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What would being a defense attorney, Alex Cabot being your s/o and one day coming face to face with her in court entail?

FINALLY! Another Alex Cabot request! I must do my idol justice (Note the pun). (also sorry your ask got posted by mistake, hence this format)

You and Alex had come face-to-face in court for the first time only one year into her bid as an A.D.A.

You butchered her case to pieces and then promptly fed them to the jury, a pack of rabid dogs eating up all of the bullshit you handed to them on a silver platter, which is exactly the law you used to dismantle her case.

She was floored, appalled, and frankly a bit impressed. Though her ego wouldn’t let her admit it, especially after the less than humble response you gave her in return.

And the next time she had to deal with you, she prepared in spades and in aces, which is exactly how she won.

Satisfied with her win, she was on her way out when you stopped her.

“Congrats on your win, Ms. Cabot, it was a hard fought victory,” And she tilted her head at your niceties, and you only continued. “I was wondering if we could discuss sentencing, say, over dinner?” And the lilt of your smile with your painted lips told her that sentencing was only one of the many things you wanted to discuss.

And it was only in that moment that she had realized simply how stunning you looked in your suit, with those red heels that you had spent the entire trial strutting around in.

She thought she had found it annoying, but in truth, she found it tantalizingly frustrating.

So she did the only sane thing: she said no, on the conditions, that they could have dinner after the completion of the trial.

And one dinner led to another and then to lunches to breakfasts, and to an entire life together.

And one that was going to take center stage in a court room it seemed.

Your relationship had been a well hidden secret from colleagues, work companions, and friends even.

An A.D.A. and a defense attorney? Eyebrows would be raised, and glasses would be lowered.

But in the interest of justice, the two of you came clean to the judge about your relationship, but the judge, seeing that this trial had been rescheduled three times due to weather, and knew the good work that the two of you did, decided to make an exception, this one time.

And so the games begun.

Alex had done her usual bid, an outline of the charges, the evidence they would present, all within the confines of the story that painted the defendant, Eve Watson, a killer.

And as Alex sat, she wondered how your style had changed over the years. It had been so long since she had seen you in action.

In court, that is.

“Ms. Watson is a murderer, there is no denying that. She waited until her husband fell asleep, tired out from his drunken rage, and shot him, but was it in cold blood?” You paused, as you spared a glance at Alex, “In fact, I’d say Ms. Watson’s blood was warmer than most with what her heart tolerated for twenty-two years.” And you detailed the abuse, the drunk and disorderly counts, the domestic disturbances, and the list went on. “This went on for years and years, and Ms. Watson had tried to escape before, only to be found and forced back home. That night, he had forced her into the bedroom, at gunpoint, and then he proceeded to rape her. Her killing was one of self-defense, of prevention, of a battered wife. Ms. Watson was scared for her life, afraid of the future, and unsure if she would make it to see the next morning. And if this doesn’t excuse murder, what does?”

And she would be damned, if the jury was going to vote on guilt now, they would not only declare Ms. Watson not guilty, but give her a key to the city.

But Alex wouldn’t stand for it. And the trial was well fought on both sides.

And she didn’t expect anything less from you.

The trial was frustrating on many levels, every advance she made was parried by you, not to mention every action of affection was under strain.

As it drew to a close however, the jury’s decision kept you both in anxious anticipation.

But even as Alex turned into bed early, you followed her in, getting under the covers beside her, and as your arms wrapped around her, and you pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek, “Y/N?” You hmmed in response, “I love you,”

Because at the end of the day, Alex loved you, and crawling into bed beside you seemed more important at the moment than the jury’s decision, especially as your hands trailed lower.

Much more important

#alex cabot #alex cabot headcanons #alex cabot hc #svu #svu headcanons #svu hc #law and order headcanons #law and order: svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order svu #law and order #svu imagines #svu imagine

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painterlegendx · 4 years

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Why Is Painting Of Horse Face Considered Underrated? | Painting Of Horse Face

by Karen Rubin, Travel Appearance Syndicate, goingplacesfarandnear.com

Happy Horse Dave Painting - Happy Horse Dave Fine Art .. | painting of horse face The Crazy Horse Canonizing is sensational, alarming and profound. The carved account in the cliff-side, which I aboriginal appointment by abruptness as I bike on the Mickelson Aisle amid Custer and Hill City is amazing enough, but there is so abundant added to discover. There is additionally a superb Architecture of Built-in Americans of North America (it rivals the Smithsonian’s Architecture in Washington D.C.) area you watch a agitating video that tells the adventure of America’s aboriginal bodies and can appointment the studio/home of the sculptor, Korczak Ziolkowski. It is the highlight of our third day of the Wilderness Voyageurs “Badlands and Mickelson Trail” bike bout of South Dakota.I blitz to accompany a bout (a bashful added fee) that brings us appropriate to the abject of the sculpture. You accessory into this extraordinary, able face – some quartz on the audacity has a glint that suggests a tear.Only afresh do I apprehend that abundant to my surprise, seeing the axle and equipment, that 70 years afterwards sculptor Ziolkowski started abstraction the cairn in 1947, his grandson is arch a aggregation to abide carving. Appropriate now it is mainly a apprehension – admitting the better bean abstraction in the apple – but as we see in the museum, the completed carve will appearance Crazy Horse astride a horse, his arm ample adjoin the acreage that were taken from the Lakota.At 87-feet, 6-inches high, the Crazy Horse Canonizing is the world’s better abundance abstraction in progress. They are now alive on the 29-foot aeriform horse’s head, the 263-foot connected arm, and 33-foot aeriform hands, the adviser tells us. The horse’s arch will be as alpine as a 22-story building, one-third beyond than any of the Presidents at Mount Rushmore. The abutting appearance of advance on the Abundance involves abstraction Crazy Horse’s larboard hand, larboard forearm, appropriate shoulder, hairline, and allotment of the horse’s aigrette and arch over 10-15 years. The plan is to carve the abaft of the bedrock face as well, which would accomplish the Crazy Horse Canonizing a three-sided monument.When completed, the Crazy Horse Abundance abstraction will be the world’s better sculpture, barometer 563-feet aeriform by 641-feet long, carved in the round. The nine-story aeriform face of Crazy Horse was completed on June 3, 1998; assignment began on the 22-story aeriform horse’s arch anon after.“One of the hardest decisions (after two years of planning) was to alpha with the head, not the horse (in added words, assignment way down),” the adviser tells us.In 71 years of construction, there accept been no deaths or life-threatening injuries of the workers (though there was that blow aback a guy active a apparatus slipped off the edge; his ancestor told him he had to get the apparatus out himself.)Four of Korczak and Ruth’s 10 accouchement and three of his grandchildren still assignment at the Memorial.On the bus ride aback to the aggregation center, the adviser tells us that Ziolkowski was a busy Apple War II adept who was blood-soaked on D-Day, but was so adherent to the Crazy Horse Memorial, he alike planned for his death: there is a tomb in a cavern at the abject of the monument.Back at the aggregation center/museum, the adventure about the Crazy Horse Canonizing is told in an accomplished film.The cutting affair is to acquaint the story, to accord a absolute appearance of built-in culture, to appearance that Built-in Americans accept their own heroes, and to restore and body a bequest that survived every attack to blemish it out in a anatomy of genocide.There were as abounding as 18 actor citizenry active in North America aback the Europeans accustomed (the accepted citizenry is 7 actor in the US). “These Black Hills are our Cathedral, our angelic land,” the blur says.

Quarter Horse Face Watercolor Portrait Drawing by Mike Theuer - painting of horse face | painting of horse face Crazy Horse was an Ogala Lakota, built-in about 1840 on the bend of Black Hills. He was aboriginal alleged “Curly” but afterwards proving himself in battle, he becoming his father’s name, “Crazy Horse” (as in “His Horse is Crazy”). The arch warned of advancing the “river” of settlers, arch to 23-years of Indian wars. In 1876 Crazy Horse led the action adjoin General Custer, the Action of Little Big Horn (known as Custer’s Aftermost Stand, but Indians alarm it “the Action of Greasy Grass”). It was a achievement for the Indians, but short-lived. Anon after, the U.S. government angled up the rebels and asleep Crazy Horse while he was in aegis at Fort Robinson in Nebraska. (See www.nps.gov/libi/learn/historyculture/crazy-horse.htm)I am additionally alien to a new hero: Standing Bear.Standing Bear was built-in 1874 abreast Pierre, South Dakota, and was amid the aboriginal Indian accouchement beatific abroad to the Carlisle Indian Academy in Penn., area his name was about afflicted to “Henry.” In the school, their Built-in American character was forcibly removed. They cut the boys’ hair, and they were not accustomed to allege their accent “to best advice them amateur the means of non-native.”“As a aftereffect of accessory Carlisle, Standing Bear assured that in adjustment to best advice his people, it would be all-important for him to amateur the means of the non-Native world. Somewhat ironically, Carlisle – an academy that was advised to digest Built-in Americans out of their aboriginal means – became a antecedent of afflatus that Standing Bear would afresh draw aloft to appearance his aware compassionate of cross-cultural relationships, as able-bodied as to acquisition new means of attention his people’s ability and history.”He acid administration abilities like accessible speaking, reasoning, and writing, acumen that because of the alteration times, the action for cultural adaptation would no best be waged with weapons, but with words and ideas. “This ability became a active force abaft abundant of his assignment during his developed activity and led him to become a able backer of education,” the accomplishments absolute on the Crazy Horse Canonizing website explains (crazyhorsememorial.org).Standing Bear abounding night academy in Chicago, Ill. while he formed for the Sears Roebuck Aggregation to pay for his schooling. With anxiety durably placed in both worlds, he became heavily circuitous in the diplomacy of his bodies over the advance of his activity and politically adroit —working with Senator Francis Case and confined as a affiliate of the South Dakota Indian Diplomacy Commission. He led the action to account President Calvin Coolidge with a acceptable name – “Leading Eagle,” demography the befalling for advancement during the allotment commemoration to claiming President Coolidge to booty up the administration role that had been ahead abounding by highly-respected leaders such as Sitting Bull and Red Cloud.In 1933, Standing Bear abstruse of a cairn to be complete at Fort Robinson, Nebraska, to account his affectionate cousin, Crazy Horse, who was asleep there in 1877. He wrote to the organizer that he and adolescent Lakota leaders were announcement a abstraction of Crazy Horse in the angelic Paha Sapa – Black Hills.Standing Bear looked for an artisan with the accomplishment to carve the canonizing to his bodies that would appearance Indians had heroes too and angry to Korczak Ziolkowski, a self-taught sculptor who had assisted at Mount Rushmore and had acquired acceptance at the 1939 World’s Fair. Standing Bear arrive him aback to the Black Hills.Born in Boston of Polish coast in 1908, Korczak was orphaned aback he was one-year-old. He grew up in a alternation of advance homes and is said to accept been abominably mistreated. He acquired abilities in abundant architecture allowance his advance father.On his own at 16, Korczak took odd jobs to put himself through Rindge Technical Academy in Cambridge, Mass., afterwards which he became an amateur patternmaker in the shipyards on the asperous Boston waterfront. He experimented with woodworking, authoritative admirable furniture. At age 18, he handcrafted a grandfathering alarm from 55 pieces of Santa Domingo mahogany. Although he never took a assignment in art or sculpture, he advised the masters and began creating adhesive and adobe studies. In 1932, he acclimated a atramentous blade to carve his aboriginal portrait, a marble accolade to Adjudicator Frederick Pickering Cabot, the acclaimed Boston adolescent adjudicator who had befriended and encouraged the able boy and alien him to the apple of accomplished arts.Moving to West Hartford, Conn., Korczak launched a acknowledged flat career accomplishing commissioned carve throughout New England, Boston, and New York.

111 best Horse Art Work images on Pinterest | Horse .. | painting of horse face Ziolkowski capital to do article advantageous with his carve and fabricated the Crazy Horse Canonizing his life’s work.“Crazy Horse has never been accepted to accept active a accord or affected the pen,” Ziolkowski wrote. “Crazy Horse, as far as the calibration archetypal is concerned, is to be carved not so abundant as a affiliated likeness, but added as a canonizing to the spirit of Crazy Horse – to his people. With his larboard duke gesturing advanced in acknowledgment to the cheeky catechism asked by a white man, ‘Where are your acreage now?’ He replied, ‘My acreage are area my asleep lie buried’.”There is no accepted photo of Crazy Horse, Ziolkowski created his affinity from articulate descriptions.He congenital a log flat home (which we can visit) at a time aback there was annihilation about – no roads, no water, no electricity. For the aboriginal seven years, he had to booty himself and his equipment, including a decompressor and 50-pound box of dynamite, up 741 steps.Living absolutely abandoned in the wilderness, Korczak and his wife Ruth bought a 1880s one-room schoolhouse, had it confused to this abandoned acreage and assassin a abecedary for their 10 children.There is so abundant to see here: The Museums of Crazy Horse Canonizing affection exhibits and agreeable adventures that let you ascertain Built-in history and abreast life, the art and science of abundance abstraction and the lives of the Ziolkowski family.The Indian Architecture of North America houses an astronomic accumulating of art and artifacts absorption the assorted histories and cultures of over 300 Built-in Nations. The Museum, advised to accompaniment the adventure actuality told in bean on the Mountain, presents the lives of American Indians and preserves Built-in Ability for approaching generations. The Architecture accumulating started with a distinct affectation donated in 1965 by Charles Eder, Hunkpapa Lakota, from Montana, which charcoal on affectation to this day. The Indian Architecture has about the aforementioned cardinal of anniversary visits as the National Architecture of the American Indian at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, DC. Close to 90 percent of the art and artifacts accept been donated by acceptable individuals, including abounding Built-in Americans.The attractive architecture apartment the Architecture was advised and congenital by Korczak Ziolkowski and his ancestors in the acrid winter of 1972-73 aback no assignment was accessible on the Mountain. The Architecture congenital Korczak’s adulation of copse and accustomed lighting, actuality complete from ponderosa pine, harvested and formed at Crazy Horse Memorial. The aboriginal addition of the architecture was committed on May 30, 1973. In the aboriginal 1980s, Korczak planned a new addition of the Architecture to board the growing accumulating of artifacts. He did not alive to see his affairs realized, instead, his wife Ruth Ziolkowski and seven of their accouchement fabricated abiding the new addition was built. The anatomy was congenital in the winter of 1983-84 and allotment came in ample allotment from a $60,000 analysis larboard in the Crazy Horse Canonizing addition box in backward August of 1983. The contributor said he was confused by the purpose of Crazy Horse, Korczak, and his family’s abundant advance and by the sculptor’s assurance on chargeless action and abnegation to booty federal funds.The Ziolkowski Ancestors Activity Accumulating is apparent throughout the circuitous and demonstrates to bodies of all ages the around-the-clock ethics of authoritative a affiance and befitting it, ambience a ambition and never giving up, alive adamantine to affected adversity, and devoting one’s activity to article abundant beyond than oneself. There are portraits of the brace and claimed furnishings that acquaint their life’s story.The Abundance Abstraction Gallery shares the amazing history of abstraction the Mountain. It appearance the accoutrement Korczak acclimated in the aboriginal years of carving, including a half-size replica of “the bucket” – a board bassinet acclimated with an aeriform cable car run by an aged Chevy agent that accustomed the sculptor to booty accessories and accoutrement up the Mountain. Displayed in the Abundance Abstraction Allowance are the barometer models acclimated to carve the face of Crazy Horse, plasters of Crazy Horse’s face and the abundant aesthetic progression of abstraction the face.They additionally detail the abutting appearance in the Memorial’s abstraction which is focused on Crazy Horse’s larboard duke and arm, the top of Crazy Horse’s head, his hairline, and the horse’s mane. If you angle in aloof the appropriate spot, you can band up the archetypal of how the accomplished assignment will accessory adjoin the absolute abundance carve as it is.

Black And White Horse Face Painting by Gull G - painting of horse face | painting of horse face Crazy Horse Canonizing is absolutely a private, nonprofit (they additionally accept a nonprofit academy and medical training centermost that educates Indians), and alert angry bottomward federal allotment because “they didn’t accept the government would do it right.” Indeed, Mount Rushmore (which we see on the aftermost day of our bike tour) was never completed because the federal government chock-full allotment the project. The access fee ($30 per car, 3 or added people, $24 per car two people, $12 per person, $7 per bike or motorcycle) abutment the connected carving, the Indian Architecture of North America and the Indian University of North America, which assists condoning acceptance get their academy degrees.Once again, I am so beholden that I am not actuality pushed forth with an bogus time absolute by the Wilderness Voyageurs guides, I aberrate through the all-inclusive circuitous aggravating to booty it all in. I am absolutely fascinated.I buy postcards for 25 cents apiece and stamps, sit with a (free) cup of coffee in the bistro and mail them at their tiny post-office. There is an accomplished allowance shop.The Crazy Horse Canonizing is accessible 365 canicule of the year, with assorted melancholia offerings.(Crazy Horse Memorial, 12151 Avenue of the Chiefs, Crazy Horse, SD, 605-673-4681, crazyhorsememorial.org.)I’m the aftermost one to leave the Crazy Horse Canonizing and agenda that the bike of our sweeper adviser for today John Buehlhorn, is still on the rack, but I amount he will see that I accept gone and bolt up to me, so I get aback on the Mickelson Trail. He catches me afresh aback I don’t apprehend to get off the aisle at Hill City, area we are on our own for cafeteria and exploring the town.Hill City is absolutely absorbing and the home of the South Dakota State Railroad Museum, area you can booty a ride on an old-time beef railroad. The shops are absolutely pleasant.The Wilderness Voyageurs van is anchored there in case anybody needs anything.The ride to the Crazy Horse Canonizing was acclivous on the abuse aisle for 8 afar but activity decline isn’t a barbecue because of the apart alluvium – but not difficult and absolutely enjoyable. We ride through alternation tunnels and over trestles. It is no admiration that the 109-mile connected Mickelson Trail, which is a centerpiece of the Wilderness Voyageurs’ tour, is one of 30 rail-trails to accept been called to the Hall of Fame by Rails-to-Trails Conservancy We accomplishment this day’s ride at Mystic at the 74.7-mile brand – we’ll ride the actual afar on addition day. Mystic acclimated to be a cogent boondocks aback the railroad ran here. Now there are aloof two barrio and four residents.I apprehension the assurance tacked up at the shelter: “Be Aware: Abundance Lions spotted on the aisle adjoin Rochford aural the aftermost few days.”We are shuttled aback to Custer for our additional night’s break at the Holiday Inn Express (very comfortable, with pool, bold room, WiFi and breakfast), and advised to a astonishing banquet at one of the bigger dining restaurants, the Sage Creek Grill (611 Mount Rushmore Road, Custer).

Horse Print of Blaze Face 1 Print of Original Oil Painting - painting of horse face | painting of horse face Wilderness Voyageurs started out as a rafting adventures aggregation 50 years ago but has developed into a absolute outdoors aggregation with an all-encompassing archive of biking, rafting, fishing, and alfresco adventures throughout the US and alike Cuba, abounding guided and self-guided bike itineraries congenital about rail-trails like the Eric Canal in New York, Abundant Allegheny Passage in Pennsylvania, and Katy Aisle in Missouri.Wilderness Voyageurs, 103 Garrett St., Ohiopyle, PA 15470, 800-272-4141, [email protected], Wilderness-Voyageurs.com_________________________© 2020 Travel Appearance Syndicate, a analysis of Workstyles, Inc. All rights reserved. Appointment goingplacesfarandnear.com, www.huffingtonpost.com/author/karen-rubin, and travelwritersmagazine.com/TravelFeaturesSyndicate/. Blogging at goingplacesnearandfar.wordpress.com and moralcompasstravel.info. Send comments or questions to [email protected]. Tweet @TravelFeatures. ‘Like’ us at facebook.com/NewsPhotoFeatures Why Is Painting Of Horse Face Considered Underrated? | Painting Of Horse Face - painting of horse face | Delightful in order to our website, within this time I will explain to you concerning keyword. And from now on, this can be the first graphic:

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cakelanguage · 7 years

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Here is part 2 of the fic for the prompt: Dorian from DAI prompt (any pairing) w/ 77. “Maybe I’m meant to be alone.” This has the happy ending in it!

Part 1

You can also read it on AO3

Bull’s door is never locked, it’s a fact that the man boosts about, that he never has to go looking for bed partners. It helps that he isn’t picky, Dorian decides. He himself would say that there are aspects of a partner that Dorian is more inclined to, but he’s never afforded true pickiness for himself. He counts himself lucky when someone spares him the time of day.

Even with Bull’s open door policy, it takes him almost a week to muster up the courage to come to the man’s room. He takes time in his own grooming himself, making sure he paints on his confidence with the kohl around his eyes, the special small clothes he’d bought in Val Royeaux clinging to him in all the right ways. He wears something nice, but an article he doesn’t care too much about just in case. He adds an extra dab of perfume behind his ears, a warm, spicy floral scent that lingers like an old friend. Vanity is a shield Dorian has clung to since he’d first been called pretty.

The walk to the Herald’s Rest is quiet and he feels restless in his own body. Why is this so different? He hears uproarious laughter before he enters the tavern and he feels his shoulder’s ease into a more relaxed position. He puts on his best face and walks in before he can second guess himself.

The place is reasonably full, and he can see the Chargers all seated together in their corner. He should go up to Cabot and order a drink, mingle a while, perhaps tempt Bull for something more exciting upstairs but Dorian can’t get himself to move. Instead he makes his way to the stairs, putting an extra sway to his hips than he usually has. Bull catches him before he can reach the stairs and gives him a curious look. A sultry smirk makes its way on Dorian’s face and he playfully quirks a finger in a come hither gesture. The grin he gets back is positively lewd and Dorian feels his cheeks flush as he continues up the stairs to Bull’s room.

The room is cleaner than he’d thought it’d be and Bull’s multitude of axes are propped in the corner. He sees little knickknacks on top of the small dresser that he’s seen Bull pickup every once in a while on their travels. He would’ve continued examining the room had Bull not suddenly joined him, the door closing with a clunk.

“So, you finally decided to come see me,” Bull said, his lewd grin from before seemingly getting bigger.

Dorian sniffed haughtily. “You’re the one with the open door policy, I’m just reaping the benefits so to speak,” Dorian replied. He hopes it sounded more convincing aloud than it had in his head.

Bull hummed and took a step closer to him. His large hand cupped Dorian’s neck tenderly and laid his thumb against Dorian’s bottom lip. It’s so achingly intimate and Dorian can’t help but feel like something treasured in that moment. “What can I do for you then, Dorian?”

It takes a few moments for Dorian to find his words, but Bull is patient. “I thought you would know what I needed, that’s what you do isn’t it?”

Bull nods. “You want me to choose?”

“Do you think you can’t?”

Bull laughs at that, full bellied and beautiful. “No I got it, just making sure. You can ask for anything and we could work it out.” He says it so confidently, like Dorian asking him for anything is a small thing. “But you have to promise me, if I do anything that you don’t like, anything at all, and you want me to stop, you say ‘Katoh.’” The Iron Bull’s face is so serious that Dorian doesn’t even question it. “You say that and I’ll stop, no questions asked, okay?”

“Yes, yes, I got it thank you.” Bull gave him a hard look and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, I promise I will say ‘Katoh’ if it gets to be too much, alright?”

Bull gave a small rumble of approval before he let his thumb pull Dorian’s lip down just a bit, letting the lips part. Dorian slowly brushed his tongue against the grooves along the pad of the thumb. It’s salty and there is the sharp bitter flavor of Ferelden ale that’s mostly gone. The soft groan that Bull released sent a spark of arousal through him.

He reached his hands up, wrapped them around Bull’s horns and directed Bull down until their lips met. It was hungry. Primal. Their teeth clanking uncomfortably before Bull shifts Dorian’s head to a better position. Then it’s achingly perfect; Bull trailing his tongue against the seam of Dorian’s lips before Dorian let him in. The taste of Ferelden ale was stronger as Bull’s tongue maps out his mouth and Dorian could have sworn he tasted hints of citrus.

The pitiful whine that left his throat as Bull pulled away made the other man smile as he slowly backed them both towards the bed. Dorian fell back onto the mattress with the firm press of Bull’s hand against his chest and he wiggled his way to the middle.

Bull’s hands trail along the fabric of his robes before, with a delicacy Dorian didn’t know he possessed, unclasped the buckles holding the material in place. Dorian moved his hands to help, but Bull gently grabbed his hands and guided them above his hand.

“Just relax,” Bull said with a wink. “I’ve got you.”

Dorian felt his cheeks flush hotly and he silently scolded himself for acting like some chaste Sister. His focus returned back to Bull when the man finished undressing Dorian’s upper body. He dutifully lifted his hips and then upper back to allow Bull to pull his robes completely off of him and onto the floor. Bull made an appreciative noise and leaned down to begin placing kisses along his collarbone and down his chest.

This is what Dorian was familiar with. Sex was sex, he didn’t have to think about feelings especially when Bull captured his nipple. Dorian moaned as the nub was worried between Bull’s teeth before the wet drag of his tongue soothed the ache. He lavished in the attention, delighting in the gentle massage of the Qunari’s hands against his arms running up until their hands met. Bull didn’t even hesitate when he laced their fingers together briefly, giving a comforting squeeze before repeating the action.

Dorian fought back the wave of emotion that hit him unexpectedly at the action, instead wrapping his legs around the Qunari’s waist attempting to pull him closer. All it did was elicit a rumble of laughter from Bull that sent pleasant vibrations through his body.

“Impatient aren’t you?” Bull asked, his nose grazing Dorian’s jaw. “I already told you, I’m going to take care of you. Take a deep breath, you’re way to tense right now.” Bull’s hands were still laced together with his own. “It’s just you,” a chaste kiss against the skin right below his ear, “and me,” a warm brush of air against his ear that sent shivers down his spine. “Focus on this moment.”

He wasn’t aware he was letting his slight distress interrupt their moment, but Bull just continued to reassure him. To lock him into this moment, where lips and tongue and sensual touches were all that mattered. Where the little gasps and cries of Bull’s name were beautiful. Where each moan was a confession on Dorian’s tongue, tied up in more pressing matters like the weight of Bull’s cock against his tongue and the Bull’s tongue dancing with his own. Where Bull’s gentle pets through his hair were more grounding than trying to force himself not to fall further in love with the other man.

It was too late anyway.

He’s a garble of moans masquerading as words by the time Bull gently prods his opening with an oil slicked finger. “Relax, big guy,” Bull said, slowly pushing in the first finger. “I’ve got you.”

Dorian wants to tell him, to tell Bull that he always has him. Forever if he wanted. But that isn’t what comes out, even when he’s delirious with pleasure. “More.”

Bull rubs a thumb against the jutting bone of Dorian’s hip, continuing the lazy pumps of his finger in Dorian. “Patience,” he said as if Dorian had any more to offer. He continues at the same steady pace edging deliciously close to the spot inside him that makes him feel sparks across his spine. Bull continues his game, listening with a grunt of approval as Dorian mumbles his praise. After a while Bull nudges a second finger against the hole where already one finger is stretching it. “I’m pushing the next one in okay?”

It’s a tighter fit, but nothing Dorian can’t handle. If anything he relishes in the delectable burn and the jolting pleasure that courses through him when Bull brushes against his prostate. He hisses softly when the fingers scissor inside him, but Bull is quick to capture his lips to distract him. Bull really does know what he needs, doesn’t he?

Their kiss breaks when Dorian has to tilt his head to the side to release a moan, Bull’s fingers slowly rubbing against the spot inside him. It seems that Bull enjoys the noises that he can coax out of Dorian because he keeps doing it, keeps the steady, slow glide of his fingers inside of him.

“Bull,” Dorian’s voice is hoarse as it breaks away from a whine. “Bull, please- no more teasing please.”

But the man just grins. “So polite now.” The way he says it makes Dorian want to both puff up in mock offense and sink into the praise. “Good boy.”

He releases a shuddering breath and looks coyly up at Bull, knowing he must paint a pretty picture: bronze skin flushed and slick, chest heaving, cock standing at attention, and Bull’s fingers stretching him open. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d love to have you inside me some time this age, please.”

Bull snorts, slipping another finger into the mage and enjoying the gasp he releases. “Polite, but impatient.”

“P-plenty patient.”

The Qunari shakes his head. “You’re supposed to take in the moment, lose track of time, lose yourself even for a moment.” Bull moves his free hand to the curve of Dorian’s back to match the arch. “Maybe next time we’ll try a blindfold and some restraints.”

Dorian nods frantically, feeling his orgasm approaching fast. “B-Bull, I’m not going to last if you keep this up.”

“Never said you had to, the nights still young.” Bull pulls away from him so the man can look at him. “Let go, Dorian.”

And he does. The pleasure spikes so sharply that it draws an almost pained cry of Bull’s name from his lips. His cum splatters against his abdomen and he tries to catch his breath.

“Damn, you’re pretty.” The Iron Bull mutters, refocusing on his efforts at making sure Dorian’s fully prepped for him. “You okay to keep going?”

Dorian manages to get out a pitiful ‘yes,’ still trying to capture his bearings. It’s weird that he’s still hard, hasn’t occurred since Rilienus, not that he’s complaining. Bull’s fingers are stretching him so nicely, but he wishes that he had Bull’s cock instead.

The Iron Bull should add mind-reader to his list of skills because Bull is suddenly pulling his fingers from Dorian. He feels open, his hole clenching around the sudden departure of the fingers that had spread his opening. He watches as the Iron Bull spreads oil across his length with a hunger that he’s kept under control until now.

“You ready for me, big guy?”

Of course Bull would still check if it was okay, Dorian thinks fondly with no small amount of warmth. He cares about people, about him. He reaches his arms out to Bull. “Come here, you big oaf.”

“Not the nicest thing to say to someone who’s about to fuck you.”

Dorian makes an amused hum. “Only said with affection, Bull.”

Bull rolls his eyes, but leans over him and hefting Dorian’s hips up so that his cock can drag along the crack of Dorian’s ass. He slowly directs his cock to Dorian’s hole and makes sure to watch Dorian’s face for any signs that he’s in pain.

It’s slow going, Bull’s shallow thrusts only a fraction of what Dorian wants. And he does. He aches for Bull to be fully seated in him, for the ache of being stretched and the warm, pulsating appendage filling him. Dorian carefully folds his legs around Bull and pulls them closer together. Bull surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, lets Dorian pull them together so that their hips are flushed against each other’s. Dorian might let out an elated giggle, not that anyone has to know.

But Bull doesn’t increase his pace at all now that his fully seated, instead favoring the small thrusts that light up Dorian’s nerves. He feels like little bolts of electricity are traveling through his limbs, his mind a pleasure filled buzz of Bull and desire for more. The Qunari strokes Dorian’s cock from the base to the tip, thumbing at the head and Dorian is gone in another orgasm.

The second orgasm is what triggers Bull to speed up his movements. What were once shallow thrusts turn into a hard piston, the man’s muscles flexing attractively against Dorian’s ass and the slap of skin echoes through the room along with the harsh panting.

Painful pleasure tugs at Dorian, his cock aching and spent, but he still wants. He doesn’t even know tears have escaped his eyes until Bull is kissing them away, his rhythm unbroken. Dorian desperately pulls the man into another kiss, their teeth clanking slightly. It doesn’t last though, both in dire need of breath and they pant against each other’s lips.

Bull leans their foreheads together. “Can you come for me again, Dorian?”

“I can’t, I can’t, Bull.”

Bull’s tugging at his cock again, matching the speed of his thrusts and Dorian shouts, the painful pleasure increasing. “Yes you can. You can do that for me, right?” His thrusts are growing erratic, but he isn’t slowing down. “Come on Dorian, just one more.” Dorian lets out a keen, his body trembling. “Cum for me, Dorian.”

It’s the way Bull growls his name that sends Dorian tumbling into orgasm for the third time. Bull quickly chases after his own orgasm and Dorian feels the warm cum splash against his walls.

They lay there, coming down from their high and Dorian could honestly stay there forever. Their bodies pressed together, warm and safe in a way that he’s missed. He basks in the moment, clinging to the recesses of their union that still encapsulate them.

He isn’t sure how long they take to catch their breath, but the Iron Bull carefully pulls out of Dorian and stands up from the bed. Dorian watches through lidded eyes as the other man goes to the corner of the room to a small washbowl full of water. The man first cleans himself up before dipping the clothe back in and bringing it over to Dorian. He cleans Dorian’s stomach first before carefully cleaning Dorian’s hole, being sure to catch any cum that has leaked out of him. He’d debated on whether to tell Bull to let it be, but he knows it’d feel disgusting later.

Besides, the care Bull is putting into this small act makes him feel special. He could even say loved, if he didn’t know how bad it was to delude oneself.

He tries getting up but is gently pushed back into the mattress. Bull gives him a playful smile that pulls at the scar on the man’s lip. “Relax, you don’t have to rush out.”

Dorian can’t help but match the smile, even though the words make his heart clench in his chest. “Perhaps a while longer will be alright.”

Bull nudges his shoulder and catches Dorian’s hand when the man bats back at him. He brings the hand to his lips and places a kiss on each knuckle. Dorian’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head so he doesn’t have to see the soft look that Bull is giving him.

After a while, when Bull is sleeping Dorian maneuvers his way out of the bed and gathers his clothes, dressing quickly. He spares a glance at the Qunari before he quietly leaves the room, his night with Bull coming to an end.

In an act of rebellion against his better judgment, he leaves his silky smallclothes on Bull’s floor.

The Iron Bull has no discretion, not that Dorian expected him to, but he wasn’t expecting him to bring it up in front of their party. Senna gives him a wide-eyed look and looks imploringly at Bull before turning her gaze back to him. He knows she’s asking if he told Bull about his feelings so he shakes his head. Senna’s shoulders droop and it makes her look smaller than she already is.

The thing he has going on with Bull continues whenever they aren’t out with the Inquisitor. Even once while they were, in the depths of the Emerald Graves where fireflies float around like balls of magic. Dorian finds himself falling more in love with the man each day, and he keeps it bottled up tightly.

He ignores Senna’s pleas to tell Bull how he feels.

He and Bull experiment more now, trying out different things to see what they like. Ropes are a classic for them, blindfold on occasion when they need to lose themselves in the moment, and on a memorable occasion fire licking at the edges of his mouth to imitate the dragon they had fought. He’d set the curtains on fire after the fourth round of sex.

He doesn’t anything has changed, but Senna renews her effort to get Dorian to tell Bull his feelings with a ferocity he’s seen targeted at when defeating darkspawn. And she keeps asking him about what’s going on between them.

“I’m just asking as your friend, Dorian,” Senna insists.

“Things are fine,” Dorian is surprised that he means it. Bull flirts with him openly and isn’t ashamed to admit they sleep together.

“But you have to know that something is there.”

Dorian sighs. “It’s something,” he concedes. “A whole lot of something.”

But it’s their something.

He says it in a moment of post-orgasmic bliss, the Tevene rolling off his tongue. “Amatus.”

Bull, who was running his fingers along his spine pauses, and he pauses, his eye twinkling in the low torchlight. “Kadan,” the word rolls around in his mouth like marbles, his chest rumbling pleasantly underneath Dorian’s.

The meaning of the word is lost on Dorian, but it’s said with such affection that Dorian doesn’t doubt the weight of it, instead snuggling into the Bull’s chest.

Varric brings it up in a proposal for a book.

“Two worlds tearing them apart, Tevinter and Qunari, with only love to keep them together,” Varric said as they trekked through the Frostback Basin.

Dorian lets out a huff. “I don’t see how this is even remotely your business, Varric.”

Senna is grinning like a loon and he imagines if she were sitting down she’d have her chin propped up on her hands like an eager child. “I like it, Varric,” she adds.

“See, the Inquisitor can appreciate the makings of good literature.”

The Iron Bull rubs the back of his head and Dorian can see the makings of a blush on the man’s cheeks. Though that could be the cold. “Could you make it sound angrier? ‘Love’ is a bit soft.”

Dorian starts to object, but Varric cuts in. “How about passion?” Varric asked.

Bull lets the word mull over in his head before nodding. “Yes, that’s better. Love is all starlight and gentle blushes. Passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets.”

Dorian thinks it’s both but he lets it slide for now.

When he finally admits it, tells Bull his feelings the man just gives him that soft smile and responds with the one thing Dorian has always wanted.

“I love you too, Kadan.”

He was finally enough.

#adoribull #adoribull fic #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fic #dragon age inquisition #the iron bull #dorian pavus #da fic #da:i #fanfic #My fic #tasteful smut #hopefully done correctly

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kristie-rp · 5 years

Text

“Do I know you?”

Prompts: 3. “Do I know you?” / “It’s three in the morning.”

“Do I know you?” The pen clamped between Matt’s lips muffles his question. He has a sturdy canvas bag slung over his shoulder, loaded down with books and paperwork. A file is clasped in his hands, open and being flicked through. The clock over the door reads 8:15. His watch, synced up to his phone through the wonders of modern technology, says 9:37. Apparently the clock needs new batteries, which he makes a note of as he grimaces. Adria’s not gonna be happy, he thinks, which is a delightful way to phrase his expectation that his girlfriend of three years is probably going to end things, or at least threaten to in one of her theatrical fits. It won’t be the first time for the latter. He’s been waiting for the former for too long.

The woman standing in his doorway has sunglasses on, despite the late hour. She’s short and petite, and if anyone has ever been deserving of the adjective description small boned, it’s her. She’s of a height to match someone with dwarfism, but her build is much more delicate; there is nothing stocky about her. He thinks of her as small boned, and when she raises a hand, he notes that two of her fingers are fused, or she is missing one. She pushes the glasses back to rest on top of straw blonde hair, and Matt finds himself staring at glowing green eyes. They are as bright as the lamp on his desk. “No, Devi sent me,” she says, in a voice that sounds the way fresh air feels. There’s a ring of uncertainty. “Are you Matthew?”

Matt sets down his paperwork and removes his pen from his mouth. “Matt Cabot, attorney at law,” he introduces himself. “You are?”

“Desperate,” she says, then grimaces. “You may call me Audra. I – Devi said you would be able to advise me.”

“That depends on the matter, but yes, that’s generally what I do.”

“Excellent,” she says, and steps into the room. She closes the door behind herself. “Someone is – I am in danger of losing my ancestral land.”

He blinks. “Loss of property? I’m not specifically suited to that.”

“It’s possible I don’t legally own the grounds, at least according to city rule,” she explains, her voice wavering. “And I have been told my case is weak at best. I need to fix that. I – I can’t lose my home over this. I can’t.”

Matt was getting ready to leave, planning on being home on time, or close to it for once. But he sits back down at his desk and gestures for Audra to take the plush seat across from him. “Then let’s see what we can come up with, hm?”

The relief that lights her face are enough to make this worth it.

He crawls into bed hours later. Somewhere in the world, the sun is rising. Not in Port Lyndon. Rain traces a soft trail down the window, and he smiles faintly at it before he switches out the light and rolls over to get the three hours of sleep he should have time for.

“Matty?”

His smile grows, however guiltily. “Yeah, Re’. Sorry I’m so late.”

“Ugh. We are talking. Today.”

Apparently not right now, though, and she rolls so she no longer faces him. Matt shrugs. This isn’t going to be anything he doesn’t expect. Regardless, it’s been a long time coming – and every moment of reprieve is a relief.

They meet for lunch at a restaurant not far from his office, one that has taken on a vaguely surreal theme. Matt would rather be at the Black Cat, a cafe across the street, but Reagan made the reservation in her name, so it’s her who makes the choice of where to meet.

“I just don’t feel like this relationship is what either of us needs right now,” she is saying.

Reagan is, objectively, quite pretty. She’s got soft brown hair and kind eyes, even ringed in the kohl she gets away with as a lawyer who deals mostly with divas and fashionistas who care about accenting appearances that really don’t need it. She’s a lovely person with a bright future, and not too many months ago, Matt had glanced at engagement rings, entertaining the idea of her being his future. But it didn’t feel right, and anyway, that was after the start of each of them pulling away from one another.

She’s got a list of issues she has with Matt, which she has taken the time to write out for him. It’s less kind than she generally is, but it’s a very matter of fact work. ‘Works too late’ is written and underlined three times with a red paint marker at the top of the page, which he accepts, though winces over. He loves his job more than he loves her, that’s her problem, and it permeates the rest of the list: hogs the covers. Always leaves the airconditioning on when he’s not home. Forgets to pay rent. Won’t discuss his day with her. She feels like he’s hiding something from her. She’s worried he doesn’t see their home as the place he belongs.

Yeah, Matt knows this has been a long time coming, and she’s very civil about it. Methodical, almost. He’s known her for long enough that he is fully aware this is a coping strategy, that she’s rehearsed this speech nineteen times in the mirror while clutching the cross pendant that hangs around her neck.

“Hey,” he says gently, and reaches over to tap her hand. He did this before they started dating, to get her to look at him. It still works. “I’m not mad. I’m sad it’s over, but it’s for the best if you think it is, Re’. And there’s no rules saying we can’t still be friends, are there?”

She swallows and shakes her head, but he sees the hesitation. She thinks this is going to be painful; that they are better off having a clean break. He expects they’ll maintain a steady stream of voiceless contact for a while before they lose focus, trail off, give in to the pressure of reality.

“It’s fine,” he says aloud. He feels numb, honestly. That’s the only reason his voice doesn’t shake with the lie.

#kristie's writing #kristie writes #kwrites #kwriting #ft. matt #matt

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meadowstoneuk · 4 years

Text

We’re (almost) going on a summer holiday

Team AG discuss where they will go first when travel is properly back on the agenda

Garry Coward-Williams, editor

The lockdown has taught me to appreciate things oft taken for granted: free movement, socialising and being able to physically be with family and friends. Had it not been for Covid 19 I would have visited Ireland in May to see my parents who live on the Northwest coast. I go there twice a year and it is an important biannual fixture.

It’s not the prettiest part of Ireland, in fact it is a bleak area. You see few trees and much of the land is bog, but there is something about it that calls to me in the way ancestral places do: I feel drawn to it’s craggy rocks and dark, misty mountains, but most of all the beautiful beach at Inishcrone.

The beautiful, empty beach at Inishcrone

It is an unspoilt sandy beach of about 1.5 miles long and a quarter of a mile wide when the tide is out. It is usually deserted and long walks across its wide expanse, enjoying the brisk sea air and the stunning view is an elixir for the soul.

My other regular port of call is an isolated pub about 10 miles north of Inshcrone, at a place called Pullaheeny. If you didn’t know it was there you’d never come across it, as it lies at the end of a two-mile winding track, past old farmhouses and outbuildings.

Garry with long-lost Cousin Vincent and ‘the wee fella’ at Browne’s bar in Pullaheeny

It has been in the Browne family for generations and Gerry Browne is a veritable encyclopaedia of local history and people. It’s not often you can drink it a pub where the landlord knows all your family going back to your grandfather and beyond. Many times I’ve been introduced to a 2nd or 3rd cousin I never knew existed and yes, that means another round of drinks!

I can’t wait to go back.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Wendy Humphries, letters editor

My first planned trip will be to the magnificent NT gardens at Stourhead, Wiltshire. I just love the place and it makes my membership worth many times its face value. There’s over 2000 acres to explore and a big country mansion to marvel at along with the beautiful lakes.

The truly magnificent gardens of Stourhead, with an overnight stay for good measure, is where Wendy is planning to go first

My favourite view is over the famous Palladian bridge across the lake to the Pantheon inspired folly on the other side; it’s spectacular framed by the red, yellow and brown tones of autumn. I wish I had the skills to paint this scene but I just settle with taking photos.

The gardens are not too far away but I plan to book an overnight stay in one of the cottages so that we can enjoy the peace at dusk and dawn, plus there’ll be the added treat of a trip to the pub.

I know it’s not a very exotic or ambitious destination but for me the joy of nature and the guaranteed peace will be an absolute godsend.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Janey Goulding, assistant editor

It might be a while before I shake the mothballs off my inflatable travel pillow but I’m perusing a certain Lonely Planet guide with longing: Canada.

Truthfully, I don’t know which bit to visit first. There’s Jasper, an alpine settlement in the Alberta province, with a ‘sky tram’ that lifts you up Whistler’s Mountain. Alberta is also home to the Moraine Lake in Banff National Park, apparently like a real-time version of the perfect screensaver.

In Dinosaur Provincial Park, millions of years of sandstone provide a backdrop to over 160 species of bird including the loggerhead shrike, basically a musical raptor. Plus, there’s Alberta’s delicacy: green onion cakes – crispy, squishy loveliness drizzled in honey & hot sauce. Not forgetting the shimmering, shape-shifting spectacle of the Northern Lights.

Big nature and moose is what Janey is after in Canada

But right at the other side, there’s Nova Scotia; the colourful houses of Lunenberg, the Cabot Trail with 185 miles of staggering coastal variations, and Burntcoat Head Park, famed for the world’s highest tides. There’s also Moon Mist, a grape, banana and bubble-gum ice cream that’s so dreamy, the locals dye their hair to replicate its unicorn pastel tints.

Wherever I go, I hope I see a moose. Ungainly, resilient and Zen-like, the muscly moose can dive 16ft under water and trek through snow 3ft deep. I’d gawp at Mr Moose in wonder while chowing down on split pea soup and butter tarts, washed down with boozy butterscotch moose milk, and the whole of this big, beautiful nature would be my bud.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Ruth Hayes, gardening editor

The first destination I will visit is the place where I would have, SHOULD HAVE, been on holiday right this minute, if Coronavirus hadn’t got its pesky claws into normal life.

Orgiva is a little town in Andalusia, halfway between Granada and the coast. We discovered it 25 years ago trawling through The Independent small ads looking for a self-catering cottage. This was, coincidentally, around the time Chris Stewart made the town famous in the fabulous Driving Over Lemons, but luckily that hasn’t caused an influx of ghastly ex-pats (he is still there however, and frankly, who can blame him?).

The Andalusian town of Orgiva is Ruth’s home-from-home

Nestled in the spectacular valley of the River Guadalfeo in the foothills of the Alpujarras mountains, it is a simple working town, not a beautified tourist-trap whitewashed village.

Having found it, we inexplicably waited for 20 years to return, but for the past three we have been falling increasingly under Orgiva’s spell.

Its draw is hard to distil, but for this pair of middle-aged hippies it’s perfect. The walking is spectacular, the nature and plantlife a never-ending gift, the market an explosion of noise and smells and, as we discovered the hard way, best not attempted after few over-generous brandies at a locals’ taverna the night before.

Then there’s the legendary hospitality, the drinks are cheap and the tapas that accompanies them astounding – garlic prawns, meatball, quails eggs, all generously provided at no extra charge (perfect fuel for whiling away a few hours in a friendly bar with a book). And nothing beats a long, lazy Sunday lunch in your favourite restaurant watching Spanish family life unfolding around you.

We will be back next year.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Lesley Upton, features editor

The first place I would book to go on holiday after lockdown is New York. I have wanted to visit this city for years, but have had to postpone it because of work, family commitments and unexpected events.

I don’t think I’ll be visiting New York any time soon, though, as the city is still undergoing phased reopening. I also don’t fancy travelling by plane in the immediate future.

Lesley would like to go to New York to be a typical tourist and pay her respects to the victims of 9/11

But this won’t last forever. When we can travel again, I would like to visit the usual tourist spots of the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the Empire State Building, the Staten Island Ferry and Grand Central Station.

I would also like to take a helicopter trip over the city – even though I hate flying! Somehow, a helicopter seems ‘safer’ than a plane. I don’t know why I believe that, but it works for me.

I still can’t work out why I want to visit New York because I hate cities! I love the countryside, but for some reason I feel drawn to New York. I even love the accent, even though it can grate after a while.

Another place I would like to visit is the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. I remember watching the events unfold live on television – on the day I was due to fly out to Crete to go on holiday. We did fly out eventually, but it wasn’t the best of flights.

And while we were in Crete I remember seeing an image known as The Falling Man, taken by Associated Press photographer Richard Drew. I will never, ever, forget that photo. And maybe that’s why I need to visit New York – to pay my respects.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Kathryn Wilson, features co-ordinator

Let’s face it, the past three months have been difficult, and we are all in need of a holiday right now. But as lockdown eases while the future still remains so uncertain, the thought of spending hours on a plane – possibly wearing a face mask – is of limited appeal.

Kathryn wants to be as laid back as this leopard when she goes to Port Lympne Safari Park in Kent

So, this summer I’m hoping to revisit somewhere that feels exotic, yet is within easy reach of home: namely, Port Lympne Safari Park in Kent. We went there two years ago when the weather was just as glorious as it is at the moment, for an overnight experience that involved camping out within the African animal enclosure, and the opportunity to learn about and feed the resident giraffes.

It was something I’ll never forget – even though the shower gel in the en suite of our luxury tent was so hot it burnt your hands! – and I would love to go back.

With some 600 acres to explore, social distancing shouldn’t be a problem, and waking up to the sight of zebras and rhinos gathered at the water hole just beyond your balcony is truly magical.

Like all charities, the park has been struggling due to its enforced closure earlier this year. And knowing that, this time around, my visit really will be helping to feed the giraffes will make it all the more special.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Keep on gardening!

One of the great things about lockdown was that more people discovered the joy of gardening and growing things and we greatly hope that this won’t wear off now that a sort of ‘normal’ life has resumed.

This blog is an insight into what the AG team is up in their gardens when they’re not working on the mag, what we grow, what we pick and harvest, what’s worked for us and what hasn’t – because like everyone, things most certainly go wrong for us too!

Team AG will be showing you what they are up to in their gardens and allotment

Our gardening ‘agony uncle’ John Negus is also still working hard. Send him your problems and questions, with pictures if you can, and he will get back to you with an answer within 24 hours, as he has been doing for decades. Contact him using the AG email address at: [email protected]

amateurgardening.com/blog

We already have a thriving Facebook page but are also on Twitter and Instagram. These sites are a brilliant way of chatting to people, sharing news, information, pictures and just saying hello –we will get back to you as soon as we can.

Best of all, as gardeners are generally lovely folk, more interested in plants, hedgehogs, tea and cake than political shenanigans and point-scoring, so the chat is friendly and welcoming.

You can find us at:

Facebook: Facebook.com/AmateurGardeningMagazine

Twitter: Twitter.com/TheAGTeam

Instagram: instagram.com/amgardening_mag

So please drop by, follow us, ‘like’our posts and say hello –we will reply as soon as we can. Happy gardening!

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Cruising around Newfoundland: An unspoiled wilderness full of surprises

Uncrowded and rich with wildlife, Newfoundland offers a lifetime’s worth of exploration. Tom Zydler reports

All photos: Tom Zydler

Two beluga whales flanked Frances B, our Mason 44, as we threaded out of Ingonish, on northern Cape Breton Island. Belugas don’t live in this area so this unexpected show was a symbolic beginning to a summer of surprises.

Frances B headed across Cabot Strait, vaguely pointing towards the south-west corner of Newfoundland. The plan was to circumnavigate the island whose coastline, including all bays, fjords and sounds, tops 10,000 miles. In view of weather patterns the whole operation had to run efficiently – we’d better be out of these waters by the end of September.

Now in July, and for the rest of the summer, south-west winds would prevail but come September depressions begin to slide from the Arctic bringing strong northerlies. Whether to go around clockwise or counterclockwise was the question.

During a night of flopping in expiring puffs we decided on a counterclockwise route. At dawn the night fog lifted over a line of dark islets, with long, lazy swells foaming over sunken ledges. A couple of guys fishing in a dory by a red buoy waved cheerfully.

The town wharf in Isle aux Morts settlement now became our springboard to eastward exploration of the southern coast. The village has probably existed for five or more centuries. The Indians were first. Next came the seasonal waves of European fishermen. Catholic Europe craved cod. Merchants and shipowners grew wealthy, fisheries gradually became deadly efficient.

In 1992 the cod fisheries, the mainstay of Newfoundland’s life and economy, were closed. The cod were gone. Isle aux Morts, and scores of other ‘outports’ were nearly abandoned. It took the discovery of offshore oil to push Newfoundland towards economic recovery.

Article continues below…

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Tales of old

A walk over a hill took us to the older harbour, tight but safe behind a fence of islets. Below a church on a hill the town museum welcomed visitors. Percy Billard led the tour, upstairs, downstairs, through rooms scarcely larger than a dollhouse’s, filled with scrapbooks preserving tales of perils at sea, wrecks, home-made furniture, spinning wheels, boat models, tools hewn from timber. The tiny structure had served as a family home, a school and a chapel depending on the need of the week.

For the next 300 miles, till the coast turns north at Cape Race, we had expected to blunder on through blinding fogs. Yet blue sky often won out. In the channel between the Ramea Islands the boat floated on Caribbean blue waters, rocks a few fathoms below clearly visible. Several impressive fjords cut into long stretches of this wild, roadless, sparsely inhabited coast.

Percy Billard leads a tour through a home preserved as a museum in Isle aux Morts

While steering through into Grey River, bright sunshine painted one range of hills a lively green. Looking ahead into the main run of the fjord revealed high battlements of colourful yet brutally naked rock. We chose to follow the greener walls into Southeast Arm and anchored off a shallow lagoon fed by mountain streams.

But a couple of days later La Hune Bay fjord reminded us why Newfoundland had been nicknamed ‘The Rock’. The dramatic, high rock walls rose into dark cloud, and waterfalls tumbled from above into Deadman’s Cove.

Most harbours with connections to the road system of Newfoundland have public wharves, often even floating docks with water and electricity. We enjoyed such comforts in Fortune, a harbour on Burin Peninsula and found in the small town propane, diesel, groceries, a restaurant serving fresh fish – all dear to a sailing visitor.

Also, it wasn’t all rock in Newfoundland after all; trails led into flower-scented forests and meadows along a river. Time went fast while we waited for good weather at the next important waypoint – the infamously foggy Cape St Mary’s.

Clear, cold waters and spectacular scenery are all part of the Newfoundland landscape

Sea birds numbers are declining worldwide but Cape St Mary’s on Avalon Peninsula has a colony of over 20,000 nesting gannets. The dawning sun threw long shadows of high land over the ocean when we arrived.

Despite the lazy swells of a calm sea the scene was frantic. Raucous bird calls and whiffs of guano drifted down the rock stacks. Overhead squadrons of gannets circled searching for schooling fish, and there were several whales and fishing boats doing the same at our level.

Now and then the surface boiled with gathering prey and gannets plummeted like rockets from a great heights. Fishermen revved up to get their nets down. Whales, fish, birds and fishermen in all northern waters depend on vast schools of capelin. The stocks of this small, sardine size fish exploded in 2018 and codfish, whales, birds and coastal people thrived.

A puffin in summer plumage brightens the skies near Bonavista

Soon after Cape St Mary’s the Avalon Peninsula turns north. With Ireland the nearest land 3,000 miles across the Atlantic, we expected the ocean to roll in gigantic swells. But no, the seas stayed down and visibility was good, just a bank of fog anchored farther offshore. It was a perfect time to hang around islands near Witless Bay.

Strings of puffins raced to sea and back, and flocks of fluffy white kittiwakes floated near Great Island. Row upon row of black and white murres and guillemots occupied Green Island’s cliff ridges. Every so often clouds of birds rose blurring the land.

Another surprise lurked a little farther north on this Avalon coast. Without help from a chart one could easily sail unaware by St John’s, the capital of Newfoundland, a city of over 100,000 hiding on the inner hills. The Narrows Cut, steep cliffs on each side, guarded by cannons, opens up on a landlocked port of trawlers, longliners and oil rig tenders.

Berth for the night

It must have been a challenge to enter in the days of sailing ships and today the challenge is finding a place to tie up a modest yacht. Forget the busy commercial wharves with titanic fenders and look for a long liner to raft against.

Heading north from Avalon Peninsula brought to light different aspects of coastal Newfoundland. While St John’s rushes on into modernity, in Bonavista, one of the oldest ports thrusting into the Atlantic from the north-eastern coast, people renovate the clapboard salt box homes from the late 18th and early 19th Century.

After leaving Bonavista, the Dutch yacht Maaike Saadet sails out into Blackhead Bay

Jerry Mouland, the Bonavista harbour master and talented professional photographer, pointed us towards a colony of puffins, a few miles from town. From a small headland we looked down onto a breeding roost 75m away. Puffins rocketed to and fro right by our heads. As we sat mesmerised, just before dark, a few unattached birds landed 5-10m from us to dig nesting burrows for the next season.

Leaving Frances B at a wharf of the Marine Interpretation Centre in the harbour of Seldom-Come-By allowed exploring Fogo Island. While at it I realised this island was a symbol of how the lives of Newfoundlanders have improved. The fisheries continue at reduced scale but continental Canadians have discovered Newfoundland.

So encouraged, local people now cherish their past of hardship and resilience through art and entrepreneurship. The strikingly modern structure of Fogo Island Inn crowns the shore cliffs at Joe Batt’s Arm. The very upscale resort is the brainchild of Zita Cobb, a native of the island who made a fortune in fibre optics. The avant-garde architect was Todd Saunders, another child of Fogo.

The settlement at Fogo Harbour

Treasured islands

West from Twillingate are waters of Notre Dame Bay, treasured for its islands, sounds, bays and passages. While we swung at anchor off Long Island a traditional wooden skiff approached. The man on board called to us: “Go around the corner to Beaumont Cove, totally protected bay, and come visit!”

The Flowers family use their summer house there when visiting from their home in Hopedale, Labrador, where Valerie, a Beaumont native and her Labrador husband teach. They took us walking over the island’s wild hills. Near a remote pond we saw small trees that bore deep incisions and a giant heap of twigs, all of it the work of a beaver.

The family is used to living off the land, and for supper they laid out ptarmigan stew and bannock. We had to leave in the morning, so we missed the next evening’s treat: boiled caribou lips. Island fare was becoming interesting. In Round Harbour, another remote bay shaded by high hills and cliffs, we received gifts of halibut and squid from the local longliner skippers.

The author at Frances B’s mast

On a walk along one hilly road we stumbled onto a display of large models of a variety of boats, sail and power that once worked these waters. Pat Skinner, a retired skipper and a shipwright, just couldn’t resist building a few more boats. He still fishes so we carried quite a few cod fillets back to our boat.

The massive Northern Peninsula stretched for miles across our westward course like a fat finger pointing directly at the Arctic. The charts and a map promised high lands conspicuously lacking any roads. An unspoiled wilderness awaited.

At first the approach to the grand fjord of Great Harbour Deep caused controversy. The raster chart display put the boat in the correct place but lacked any detail. The vector chart, a newer product and off by three quarters of a mile, had us climbing cliffs. However, the radar, our worn out paper charts and the old fashioned method of keeping our eyes open helped us all the way to the head of Soufflets Arm and through a squeeze by a gravel bar.

At anchor in Soufflet’s Arm of the Great Harbour Deep

The fertile, cold waters that wash this coast nourish great numbers of marine mammals. Whales seemed totally indifferent to our approach, and we saw dolphins too. Every few miles a slot in the cliffs marked another fjord like bay. The contrary current slowed progress and off Croc (also Croque) Harbour, Frances B headed in.

After some poking into the shoreline margins we slipped into Épine Cadoret creek. A couple of newer homes overlooked a classic outport scene: white crosses in a cemetery just above timber wharves, weather-worn, red-painted sheds teetering on the brink of collapse, and an old sloop wreck slanted on rocks.

We swore to return while sailing northward. After a visit at St Anthony Harbour, an important but charmless fishing vessel base, the fresh easterly propelled us to the end of the peninsula. The wind-reinforced current cannoned the boat through Quirpon Tickle, a mid-channel rock buoy and the shore flew by in a blur.

Fairer weather

Frances B enjoying a calm day in Noddy Harbour, Bonne Bay, western Newfoundland

With the east wind in the Strait of Bell Isle the sea smoothed, visibility improved and the breeze hummed from low hills abeam. Thankful for the good spell, we hurried on southward; these waters turn challenging during the usual strong south-westerly. The wind backed to a light southerly next morning but by then the bow pointed into the slot leading to Port au Choix.

The shelter came at the right time. In the lee of high breakwaters the boat dozed at a floating dock while the rigging moaned in the gusty south-westerly – for seven days. During our enforced stop, we walked and walked, mostly out to the cliffs facing the sea, following a herd of caribou every day that sauntered down to the few plants at the water’s edge. We noticed the moose preferred a different shore backed by a forest of dwarf trees. They were less trusting and trotted away from us.

From Point Riche and Port aux Choix the western shore runs south. The mountains dominate the coast and embrace two deep branching fjords with land in shadows of dark rock walls. These heights do awful things to gale force winds. Twice in the past we had cowered as williwaws whipped up water spouts.

On calmer summer days exploring the Southeast Arm was a delight. At Woods Island, out of line of squalls, the shelter is good, and floating docks are available courtesy of Bay of Islands Yacht Club based in Corner Brook. The walks in the forests ashore lead to rings of bright yellow mushrooms, the best chanterelles this side of the Atlantic.

Days went by as we waited for weather to ease. Close to the end of September, late season at this latitude, we finally got a break. We had a run of 180 or so miles along a shoreline lacking really good ports and that took us to Cabot Strait. The forecast southerlies ahead of another low were late – our luck held.

We crossed all the way to Bras d’Or Lakes, the protected waters in the heart of Cape Breton Island and a worry-free waterway almost all the way to almost balmy Nova Scotia. It was hard to leave Newfoundland, an uncrowded island where people welcome visitors with sincere pleasure.

We lost count of the all the places we didn’t have time to explore. Really it would take more than a lifetime to see it all. But trying to would be fun.

About the author

Tom Zydler is a marine author and photographer, who has written many articles and cruising guides. He and his wife Nancy sailed round the world via South America and Antarctica.

The post Cruising around Newfoundland: An unspoiled wilderness full of surprises appeared first on Yachting World.

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