We had a day in Reykjavík . The Fram was extraordinarily busy disgorging passengers, collecting fresh ones, bunkering fuel, and loading victuals. We, on the other hand, needed to do a little shopping but otherwise had an empty day. Diane’s birthday was fast approaching so a helicopter trip seemed in order. She has always been excited by helicopters and, as we discovered, a flight in Iceland is something special. With a little help from Jón, our friend in Reykjavík , we booked a trip. The weather was perfect and ideal for the half-hour stroll from the harbour to the airport. We even managed to get the necessary shopping done on the way.
Our captain was the incredibly cool Solveig and our aircraft was a six seater Airbus H125. I do not know anything much about helicopters, so I looked this up. We shared the trip with a very pleasant American couple who were visiting from one of the big cruise ships. We compared notes about sharing a vessel with 6,000 passengers as against the 200 onboard little Fram. We walked out to the helicopter, settled in and, after a very short brief, took off. First, we flew south towards the coast. Reykjavík looked very neat and tidy from the air. I caught a brief glimpse of the Fram in the distance. Then we were flying over part of the great divide. The line where Iceland is pulling apart at a few millimetres each year. From our vantage point we could clearly see the fault lines and volcanoes. As Solveig explain, in Iceland, if it looks like a volcano, then it probably is. I asked about living with volcanoes and the possibility that your house might suddenly get destroyed. Solveig said that people just get used to it. Apparently, whenever there is a new eruption, everyone packs up their trucks, not in preparation for escape but to drive out and get a good look at it. We also passed over some oddly coloured lakes and a massive steam vent.
Reaching the coast, we flew along the cliff edge for a while and then turned inland along the the Reykjanes Peninsula. Iceland is an extraordinary country. There is so much volcanic activity that the ground seems alive. From our viewpoint we could see many volcanic cones (if it looks like a volcano, it probably is a volcano) and vents emitting sulphurous steam. Solveig took us in to land at what appeared to be a small car park right next to one of these cones that was dotted with fumaroles venting steam. Closer inspection revealed that we had genuinely landed on a small car parking area – an ideal place to park your helicopter. I did notice that Solveig followed standard car park protocol in carefully locking the doors of the vehicle before we left. A short climb got us to the crater rim for a round of photographs then back to our aircraft. I could not help thinking that this was an incredibly cool way to explore volcanoes.
Geothermal power station
We flew over the Blue Lagoon, a man-made geothermal spa. The water is a byproduct from the nearby geothermal power plant Svartsengi. Superheated water is vented from the ground near a lava flow and used to run turbines that generate electricity. After going through the turbines, the steam and hot water passes through a heat exchanger to provide heat for a municipal water heating system. Then the water, rich in salts and algae is fed into the lagoon. A remarkably high silica content accounts for the milky blue colour and forms a soft white mud on the bottom of the pool. Bathers like to wallow, hippopotamus like, in the pool while smearing the mud liberally about themselves.
Then we circled round the new volcano a couple of times. The cooling craters of Litli-Hrútur are the newest landscape of Iceland. The area, known as the Fagradalsfjall volcano, has erupted three times since 2021 and remains a top attraction in Iceland’s southwest corner. The broad valley where all recent activity has occurred is completely uninhabited and considered very dangerous. New erupting fissures and craters can open up anywhere without any notice. However, it is only 35 km from Reykjavík and glow was visible from Iceland’s capital. Litli-Hrútur was still emitting lava, smoke and steam when we first arrived in Iceland. Sadly, for us, it stopped while we were exploring the fjords of eastern in Greenland. None the less it was still fascinating. You could clearly see where the fresh lava had flowed to merge with slightly older rock and fumaroles were everywhere. Brand new rock was laid out underneath in complex swirls and patterns. We looped past one of the earlier calderas., a fearsome looking carbuncle of cooling lava and vents, then turned for home. I could very happily spend days flying around an incredible country like Iceland and I would strongly recommend a flight. But be warned, this is Iceland, so the cost is fearsome. Even our short trip cost around €1,000.
Blue Lagoon
We calmed down a little on our walk back to the harbour. Although even when we stopped for a beer all we talked about was how fantastic the flight had been. Eventually we arrived back at the Fram to a pleasant surprise. There were fewer passengers on this next leg of the trip, so we were offered a free cabin upgrade. This new cabin had a balcony. We did not hesitate for a moment and so ended a particularly good day drinking wine on our balcony as the ship set sail for West Greenland and the North-West passage.
Siriuspatruljen (the Sirius Patrol) is an elite Danish naval unit that conducts long-range reconnaissance. Set up during the advent of the cold war in 1950, they patrol and enforce Danish sovereignty in NE Greenland. Soldiers patrol in pairs, using dog sleds. They travel independently for months at a time in the winter and cover a combined distance of 20,000 km. Volunteers sign up for this duty but need to satisfy a gruelling qualifying course before the elite, few, are chosen. These are properly hard men and are truly maintaining the Viking spirit. Women are allowed to apply – but so far nobody has. The name, Sirius, comes from the main star in the Canis Major constellation, also known as the Dog Star. Ironically, although Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky and is visible across most of the world, it is not visible at latitudes above 73°N – the location of the patrol’s main operational area.
Greenlandic sledge dogSirius base
We landed at their base but did not encounter any active Sirius solders. Instead, we had a pleasant walk up a hill to a view over the next fjord. We also saw a few dogs tied up outside but were warned to give them a wide berth. On the way back from our stroll we met a couple of “old dog men” as they introduced themselves to us. They had sailed up to the base in a small red boat just as they had been doing for years since they retired. We chatted a little about the old times and they reflected that this was probably their last trip up here.
Small red boat
By early afternoon everyone was back onboard, and we set sail for Reykjavik. There was no rush. We still had a long and spectacular trip back out along the fjord. Plenty of time to take in more of the austere rocky magnificence of the awesome cliffs and powerful glaciers. At the mouth of one wide valley that opened into the main fjord we spotted muskox. The name derives from the strong odour emitted by males during the seasonal rut. However, despite the name, muskox are more closely related to sheep or goats rather than oxen. Big, hairy things, they are up to 1.5 m at the withers and weigh up to 400 kg. Native to Greenland and Arctic Canada, they are well equipped for the conditions with thick, dark hair overlaying a lighter layer called qiviut that is prized for its softness and insulation value. Sadly, we could only see them from what seemed to be a great distance. Even with my best camera lens the animals can only be discerned as little dark blobs.
Muskox
Approaching the entrance to open water we came across drifting sea ice. Although well broken up, this was still thick and dense in places. Possibly strong enough to cause the Fram a few problems. We slowed right down and worked our way forward using the excellent manoeuvrability of the ship to dance round the larger icefloes and bergy bits. The sunset provided a perfect backdrop to the scene, and we enjoyed some spectacular dusk views while sitting out on deck with a glass of wine.
Next day we made our way serenely down the coast of Greenland. The captain kept a course close to the coast in case we might sight anything. All was peaceful on the Fram so we got to have a tour of the bridge. I could, at this stage, go off on a rant about the terrible state of digital chart systems in the over-regulated marine world. However, I could see that nothing much has changed, and I got bored of this rant fifteen or more years ago. Suffice it to say that the bridge was loaded with official, type approved navigation displays that were largely being ignored in favour of a small, cheap system designed for yachts. Diane got to sit in the captain’s chair. Late afternoon, the tannoy barked into life to announce polar bears. This was true but, again, they were far, far away. So, try as I might, I could only add little white blobs to my collection of animal pictures. That evening there was a little party in the bar. The following day we crossed the Denmark Straight ready to arrive back in Reyjavik early the next morning.
Northeast Greenland National Park is the world’s largest national park and largest terrestrial protected area in the world. At almost a million square kilometres it covers the whole of the top, righthand part of Greenland. Nobody permanently lives there. Typically, the wintering population, a mix of scientists and military, amounts to about thirty people. We had permission to visit a small part of the park.
Two days later, early in the morning, we sailed into Keiser Franz Josephs Fjord. The sky was dark and overcast. Fog clung to the mountains. The steep, dark and imposing fjord walls loomed over us. The place was dead. Usually, at sea, there is always some life around you. Sea birds, especially near land, things swimming in the water, occasionally animals on land. Here there was nothing. The land was steep, rocky, barren and almost lifeless. Just the occasional patches of rough grass and stunted plants. There was not a bird to be seen and the water remained still, dark, and deep. All felt a bit sinister. We stopped a couple of kilometres short of the snout of the massive Waltershausen Glacier. This is fed directly from the main Greenland ice sheet and is around 10 km wide.
The Fram has a Dynamic Positioning (DP) system. This keeps the vessel on station without needing to tie up or drop the anchor. It is rather clever while being extremely easy to use. Once the ship is in the required position and orientation, the skipper presses a button, and she simply stays there. Under the covers is a sophisticated process that monitors the ships position and orientation then uses the bow thrusters and azimuth pods to keep her there. This is an enormous benefit and allows the Fram to stop and deploy the RHIBs from a position that might be impossible to maintain otherwise. In front of the glacier the bottom is several hundreds of metres deep, far too deep to use an anchor. Elsewhere, it means that the seabed is not damaged unnecessarily. In the RHIBs we could get right up close to the glacier and see some of the very dark, old ice formed deep inside – ice that is possibly hundreds of years old.
In the afternoon we went for a walk. This is Greenland, it is not so simple to just go for a walk. First the “Expedition Team” go ashore and secure the area. They check for polar bears and set up sentries. They also unload a great pile of survival gear, food, shelter, and water, just in case we inadvertently get stuck ashore for a while. Then we can be ferried ashore by RHIB in small groups. One of the conditions of visiting the national park is that only a few people can go ashore at a time. We all keep our life jackets on in case we need to return to the boats in a hurry. This time, we also slapped on extra mosquito repellent. It was a pleasant walk and nice to get off the ship for a while. We climbed a small hill to take in a view of some lakes and the surrounding area. That done, and in the spirit of all great expeditions, we headed back to the Fram for diner, a glass of wine, and an early night. Next morning, we would find out about the Sirius dog patrol.
In the morning we were out messing around in boats. Small groups in each RHIB. Up close with the icebergs, getting a feel for the place from water level. This is a lot more fun that it might sound. The weather was warm and sunny. The sky was clear, the water was incredibly clear. Most of the ice we were looking at are lumps that have calved off the many glaciers flowing into Scoresbysund. The shapes of icebergs can be fascinating although you must treat them with a little caution. They are melting and can occasionally roll over or break into pieces. The wave caused by this could easily swamp a small boat and this is not a good place to go swimming.
Next day we moved further up the fjord for another landing. At our first landing, mosquitoes had savaged us. A few poor souls quite serious swellings. This put many people off, so they skipped the next trip ashore. Fortunately, the airborne molestation was not repeated and by the third landing we were back up to full numbers. In general, there are few insects in Greenland. It is all a matter choosing areas that do not have any swamps. If there is no stagnant water for the larvae to hatch, then then will not be any mosquitoes. In many ways, there is not much to do on these shore trips. Walk up a hill, admire the view, spot a few plants, take a few photographs, and enjoy the fresh air. At the same time, it was great to walk somewhere that hardly anyone else had ever been. To actually step foot on Greenland and try to connect with the place a little.
Following morning we woke to see the town of Ittoqqortoormiit outside our window. Ittoqqortoormiit means “the place with the big houses” in the East Greenlandic dialect. Despite several attempts I have not been able to pronounce it. The houses are quite large and certainly very colourful. There are very few settlements at all in east Greenland and this one, population 345, has been described as one of the most remote settlements on earth. We arrived the day after a cargo ship had turned up. Only a few vessels visit because sea ice closes off maritime access for much of the year. This meant the town was unusually busy with loading and mostly, unloading cargo. Everything came off in standard shipping containers. These were craned off the cargo ship one at a time to a small ferry that delivered them to the quayside. Here, they were collected by one of the towns two trucks and, I assume, delivered to their final recipient. The whole process seemed perfectly organised, so we stayed well out of the way. We did go ashore however and wandered around for a while. I know what it is like to live in an extremely remote place, so I had a small sense of what life might be like here. There are, however, some very striking differences between Ittoqqortoormiit and my old base in Antarctica. For a start, we only went there for two years. Importantly, we had everything provided for us. We were not trying to earn a living and raise a family. I think that fundamentally breaks the comparison even though there are similarities in terms of weather and isolation. We never needed to worry about polar bears in Antarctica and we never needed to go on hunting trips. There is good hunting in the area around Ittoqqortoormiit. Seals, walruses, narwhals, polar bears and Arctic foxes. This still forms the backbone of the economy although there is a slowly increasing income from tourism. Fishing is important during the summer months but becomes increasingly difficult when the sea ice forms.
In the evening, the Fram pulled out of the harbour area, and we set a course for the Greenland National Park. Only the Danish Sirius patrol and a small number of hunters from Ittoqqortoormiit are allowed to enter the North-east national park without special permission. We had no idea what the Sirius patrol was, but we had just received permission for a visit. I amused myself for a while trying to photograph the Black Guillemots hanging around on lumps of sea ice. These are ridiculously cute birds. Eventually I gave up and went to check out the cocktail of the day in the bar.
Just after lunch, we joined the Hurtigruten ship, the Fram, in Reykjavik and easily settled into our cabin. The ship slipped her moorings early evening. By the time we had finished dinner, Iceland was receding far into the distance. Next day we spent the morning catching up on some sleep before wandering out on deck to discover that whales had been seen while we still in bed. Never mind, we had plenty of time on the Fram and hopefully there would be much more to see. We spent the rest of the day finding our way around the ship and enjoying the sense of anticipation. The next two weeks would be about exploring East Greenland. New places ahead.
Next morning we awoke in time for breakfast and there was sea ice. This was quite exciting and, for me, brought back many memories of the last time I had been in sea ice some thirty years earlier. The ship had come to a dead halt. It was explained to us that we had to get past this ice before we could get into Scoresbysund Fjord, the first of two large fjord systems we hoped to visit. We bobbed around there for the rest of the day and by the next morning we were still bobbing around in pretty much the same place. Back in the day, on my old BAS ship, the Bransfield, we would have easily smashed through this small ice floe. The Fram however, is a much more delicate vessel. She has a bulbous bow. Great for stability when cruising but hopeless in ice. She also uses azimuth pods, again, great for manoeuvring but a bit fragile for ice work. The Fram is ice strengthened and rated for polar operations – but anything other than very thin ice needs to be avoided. In the evening a shore lead finally opened and next morning we were in Scoresbysund ready to go ashore.
To a good approximation, we are in the middle of nowhere here. There are no facilities, no landing stages, no roads or tracks. Just wilderness and the odd polar bear. Everyone had been issued with heavy duty neoprene wellington boots called muckboots. We also had waterproof jackets and inflatable life jackets. Thus prepared we were ready to be ferried ashore in RHIBs. First an armed party needed to secure the area. Polar Bears are not common but they are very, very dangerous. So the first people ashore carry rifles and flare guns. Their job is to scout the area and then to stand guard. When the passengers land we are instructed to stay within a marked trail. On the hillsides around us stand people with rifles. Gives the place a slight sense of a day out from prison. We had a pleasant walk, took in some views, looked at some flowers and got eaten alive by mosquitoes. I have encountered mosquitoes many times before and can confidently assert that these are the worst ever. They are quite capable of biting though thick trousers and socks. Later I discovered that some people had reacted very badly to them and needed treatment. Diane and I were prepared with insect repellent from Finland (strong stuff) but even so I got nasty bites on my legs and chest. It was several days before the swelling went down.
With everyone back on the ship, we could continue along the fjord. Scoresbysund branches like a tree. The main trunk is 110 km long before it branches into multiple channels up to 350 km long. This makes it possibly the largest fjord system in the world. It is deep too. From 600 m down to 1,450 m in places. The walls are steep and imposing. They rise to 2,000 m and are punctuated by many glaciers. This rock is old, very, very old. Whereas, Iceland is geologically brand new at a mere 16 million years, Greenland rock dates back over 3 billion years. Almost to the birth of the planet. In Iceland the strata was simple and mostly flat, here the rocks are bent and twisted. Geological forces, the collision of continents, intense heat from deep underground and time, an awful lot of time, have shaped and reshaped the rock. Folding and twisting. Cracking it open and filling the gaps with molten rock. Then folding and twisting it again. Finally, ice sheets and glaciers carve great fissures deep into the strata, laying it bare and exposing the great metamorphic complexity to the world. There is so much raw history in the walls of these fjords as to be breath-taking at times. Dark, austere, imposing and powerful like some hallowed monument celebrating the dawn of planet earth. That day and much of the next, we made our way slowly through this amazing network of channels. I saw very little life. There is some here but it is sparse. Patches of grasses growing in flat areas near the water was the most of it. Very occasionally there was a bird. Of animals on the land or in the sea we saw nothing.
There are an awful lot of waterfalls in Iceland. Some estimates reach 10,000. Truly a fabulous place for a cascade connoisseur. We are strictly amateur in our appreciation of waterfalls. However, we did discover that our increasingly bold offroad excursions were often rewarded by some terrific cataracts in places that were a little more remote and a little less crowded. From Húsavík we continued west, via several lovely waterfalls, round the coast to the Hofssadir Guesthouse. This was another lovely place to stay where we had our own little shed complete with large French windows and a little patio.
Next day was quite a long drive. Obviously we stopped at a few waterfalls but eventually we ended up right out on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. This is a very dramatic landscape in the far west of Iceland dominated by the glacier capped, Snæfellsjökull volcano, a 700,000 year old stratovolcano. Our knowledge of volcanoes increases by the day, so I can tell you that a stratovolcano is one that keeps erupting. Snæfellsjökull last erupted about 2,000 years ago. The volcano has many pyroclastic cones on its upper slopes while lower down are craters that produced basaltic lava flows. The whole area is dominated by the multiple lava flows of many eruptions. Volcano fans would not be at all surprised to learn that Jules Verne’s famous novel Journey to the Center of the Earth was set here. The general rule in Iceland appears to be that if it looks like a volcano then it probably is. If it does not have a crater then it erupted under the ice during the last ice age. Easy. In the morning we walked up a little volcanic cone right next to road. A steel staircase had been thoughtfully constructed to help us and we did not have to pay to park there. We were very impressed.
We drove directly inland for a couple of hours to visit a volcanic cave, a lava tube Víðgelmir. I had cheerfully assured Diane that it was not a real cave because they only occur in limestone and are caused by the action of water dissolving the rock. However, I had to back-track on this a bit because, much to my surprise, the tube did contain many cave-like features. It was formed as the lava cooled. The low viscosity surface flow cooled enough to create a solid crust forming a roof above the more fluid lava below. The crust is good thermal insulation and so hot lava continued to flow underneath until eventually draining out downhill and emptying the tube. That was in 900 AD so it has had a chance to cool off. You can clearly see how the flow has filled the glacial U shaped valley giving it a flat bottom. We were kitted out with helmets and lamps before being taken down a wooden access ladder that descends through a hole in the surface crust. The tube is long, 1½ km, so we were underground for the best part of an hour. Lighting and walkways have been installed making it a very easy trip. The first cave-like feature I noticed was some stalagmites. Admittedly these were made of ice but even so they were caused by water seeping into the tunnel through cracks just like a real cave. Then I spotted real stalagmites on the ceiling. There were two main types. The first were small, rounded drips which I imagined were formed just after the tube had drained but while it was still very hot and the walls were “wet” with molten rock. The second type we longer and more delicate caused by minerals separating out into liquids with a slightly lower melting point so that they dripped through into the main tube. We saw several other features which reminded me of calcite flows but were actually molten rock running down the walls in different ways.
That was it. We were done with Iceland for now. I dropped Diane off at the hotel in Reykjavik, took the car back to the hire company and enjoyed a pleasant walk back to the hotel. We had a ship to meet the next afternoon, which left us just enough time in the morning to meet up with a correspondent friend called Jón who lives in Iceland. He is building his own expedition truck so we had plenty to talk about. He gave us a brief tour of Reykjavik in his car and his wife prepared a light lunch. It was delightful, thank you.
South of the Vatnajökull icecap are vast plains that are occasionally inundated with glacial meltwater. In places you can see where dykes have been built to try and control this. In other places are previous generations of bridges that have been destroyed. Several glacial tongues push down towards the coast. These have been receding for a few hundreds of years and a couple of them have created lakes by leaving a large terminal moraine that blocks the valley. The weather was a bit gloomy but we still enjoyed walking around one of these lakes and watching the occasional bit of ice fall of the glacier. The next lake we came across had an outlet to the sea. Small lumps of ice can drift out through this and then get washed up on the “Diamond” beach. This is an immense tourist draw. Took a while to find space in the car park. Then I had to wait ages just to get a photograph of a small section of the beach that was not full of people waving their phones around. Thirty minutes later, three photographs and a substantial parking fee later, we left. I hope you enjoy the picture.
We pressed on, taking in the scenery and wondering why there were so many ponies. Properly, the Icelandic breed are referred to as horses. Please do not ask me why or what the difference is. By law, horses cannot be imported to Iceland. Even horses from Iceland cannot come back if they leave. There is just the one sort of equine animal here but there is an awful lot of them. We saw the occasional group out pony trekking, or is that horse trekking? Otherwise, they mostly appeared to be quite happily standing around in fields. We rounded the bottom, right-hand corner of Iceland and had just started making our way north when we came across a flock of swans. We have seen swans before. Usually in small groups. Here we were confronted with 200 or more of them. In a sea water fjord. Whooper swans I think but I will cheerfully admit I know almost as little about swans as I do horses. Made for a very nice scene.
By the evening we had arrived at the little village of Fáskrúðsfjörður, pop 650. The hotel used to be a French hospital looking after fisherman until 1935. This clearly made a big impression on the residents because the village still sports bilingual signs indicating street names in Icelandic and French. The French cemetery with 49 graves of fishermen possibly indicates how busy the hospital was. We arrived just as celebrations for “French Day” were getting into full swing and the place was heaving with French visitors. In the evening there were fireworks. Sadly the weather remained stubbornly overcast and raining. This plus the lack of darkness at this time of year meant the display was not quite at its best.
In the morning we drove the long way round the headland and were rewarded with some terrific views. We then pushed on into the northern part of Iceland and for a few brief hours started to feel like we had left the crowds behinds. There were a few detours, involving dirt tracks, to visit yet more waterfalls. Iceland has a lot of waterfalls in gorges. Apparently this sort of topology is typical of young mountains. Iceland is very young, only 16 million years old – a mere blink on the geological timescale. The young Iceland is perched on top of a massive magma column that reaches deep into the depths of the planet. It erupts onto the surface from time to time. Elsewhere, just a few tens of metres separate the surface from fiery, subterranean heat. In these places the ground can feel alive. Pools of boiling mud, spouts of boiling water and steam escaping from many vents. Multicoloured deposits and the smell of sulphur and worse in the air. Also, there are pay car parks with number recognition cameras.
Having paid our dues, literally, we pressed on across a long mountain road through the highlands. There were lupins here. Brightly coloured flowering lupins alongside many of the roads. These looked lovely. I even took some photographs of them. However, it turns out that all is not well with Lupinus Arcticus in Iceland. Despite being very pretty, it is an invasive species. Introduced from Alaska in 1945 it is doing very well but displacing many types of native plant species. Recent studies show that the resultant decrease in diversity is bad for the pollinating insect population. We met some of these pollinators at the next hotel. Great crowds of them swarming around your head at the slightest opportunity. Fortunately they were not the biting type but they flew into your mouth and ears and eyes making them thoroughly irritating. Why were they trying to pollinate me when there were lots of lupins to go at?
Puffin IslandNot far underground it is very hot
The morning came when we were going to see the whales. Húsavík bills itself as the ‘whale watching capital of the world’ and there may be some justification for this. We were loaded into a rather smart and powerful RHIB along with ten other people. A RHIB, rigid hull inflatable boat, is ideal for this job. Stable, light, fast and seaworthy. As we set off out of the harbour I reflected on how we were going to see whales in a boat invented in Wales. First stop was an island full of puffins. They were very cute and very numerous. Further out into the fjord we caught sight of other whale spotting boats and then there were whales. Loads of them Humpbacks. Each one would come to the surface for a breath, bob up and down once or twice and then lift their tail into the air as they dived. In a couple of hours we saw a dozen or more whales. All quite remarkable really and we were easily getting close enough to take some great photographs. I wondered a little if the whales were bothered by the boats buzzing around but I hope they were not. There is really an awful lot of space in the Skjálfandi bay and the animals could easily have stayed away from the boats if they wanted to. The boats always tried to avoid getting too close or in front of the whale. Trip over, we had a light lunch while we calmed down. The car was now looking quite embarrassingly filthy and we still had plenty of driving to do.
Reykjavik is among the cleanest, greenest, and safest cities in the world. It is small, with a population of just 140,000 and very popular with tourists. Our first hotel was right in the centre. We stepped out of the door onto a walking street packed with souvenir stores and restaurants. The weather was mild and we had a pleasant couple of hours looking at the vast range of goods onto which the image of a puffin can be displayed. Diane eventually settled on a t-shirt and some puffin socks. We also encountered some enormous stuffed polar bears, a vast array of woollen goods, mugs, walking sticks and more fridge magnets than I have ever seen. Eventually we ended up eating noodles with expensive cheap wine at a Vietnamese restaurant. Alcohol is expensive at the bars and restaurants so, apparently, people tend to drink before going out. Beer is becoming increasingly popular and Beer Day celebrating the legalisation of beer in 1989, is celebrated every March 1st. Before then, Iceland was in the rather odd position where strong spirits were legal but beer was not.
In the morning I collected our hire car and we set off for the “Golden Circle”. The name is a bit of a tourist gimmick applied to a trio of sights readily accessible from Reykjavik; a tectonic rift, a waterfall and some hot springs. It is not really a circle but more of a triangle. The name “Golden Triangle” has been used by the CIA since the 1950s to identify an area of illicit opium production north of Thailand so this might give the wrong sort of impression. Fortunately, there is a mathematic theorem stating that just one circle can be drawn through any three given non-collinear points, you and I would call this a triangle. So I guess the tourist board went for this.
Our first stop was the Þingvellir National Park. This was the site of Alþing, the annual parliament of Iceland since 930 ad. From 1881 they have used a rather nice and much more comfortable building in Reykjavik. Much more interesting to me is that this is a rift valley. The very line where the North American and European tectonic plates are pulling apart. The width of the valley increases by about 2cm a year. My back-of-an-envelope calculation initially suggested that Iceland is getting bigger by 5 sq km a year but later I discovered that coastal erosion balances the expansion so the overall land area remains constant.
Next stop was the hot springs, steam vents, and sulphurous mud pots at Geysir. This was the original geyser from where the name came. It seldom spouts these days but fortunately the Strokkur geyser just a few metres away reliably gushes boiling water up to 30 m into the air every ten minutes or so. During the wait some people inevitably accumulate on the downwind side of the water spout and then get soaked when the great belch of water, steam and sulphurous fumes erupts. I found this oddly satisfying to watch.
Last stop of the day was Gulfoss, a magnificent waterfall that attracts crowds of thousands each day. It is aesthetically a very nice waterfall. There is an awful lot of water doing more than its fair share of falling and is worth a visit. We did find the crowds a bit too intrusive.
Our plan was to circumnavigate Iceland, anti-clockwise in ten days. We had pre-booked the car, the hotels and a route plan. This is quite a popular package and we found ourselves bumping into the same people in the evening at each successive hotel. First step next day was the Lava Centre in Hella. This hosts some very impressive displays to explain the vulcanology of Iceland. It also cost £45 entrance for the two of us. Such is the cost of things in Iceland. We did learn quite a bit and enjoyed some of the displays but in less than an hour we had read all the explanations and were ready to move on.
Next came another very impressive waterfall. Paying at the car park was mandatory and then there was a large queue of people up to what was, presumably, the perfect view point. I took a photograph from the roadside and we pressed on. As we distanced ourselves from Reykjavik, the traffic became less and we started to feel we were getting away from the crowds.
Right down in the most southern part of Iceland, below the Mýrdalsjökull icecap, are the black sand beaches. Lovely sandy beaches with, as you might have guessed, black sand formed from volcanic rock. This was also where all the crowds had come. We avoided the car park fee simply because the car park was chock packed full. We had to walk quite a long way down the road instead. The beach was interesting and we found some lovely basalt columns. Eventually the squabbling children left and could get a photograph unadorned with colourful little darlings. We also spotted some eternally cute Puffins nesting high up on the cliffs. They were safely above the reach of the tourists however the tourists were still well within range of the Puffins, who, being clean Puffins, preferred not to use their cliff as a toilet. Actually, I have heard that Puffins build a separate part of their nest cave as a bathroom. This may be true but I know what I would do if I were a Puffin.
That evening we stayed at the wonderful Magma Hotel. There is a main building for reception and the restaurant. The rooms are a short walk away. Each ‘room’ is actually a wooden hut. Very comfortable and self-contained. The rooms were arranged so that each one featured a large window and balcony overlooking a lake. I enjoyed myself trying to photograph some of the birds fishing in the evening.
Come morning we were ready to set off across the glacial outburst plains below the mighty Vatnajökull icecap. This is the largest glacier in Iceland and occasionally causes a few problems. Volcanoes can erupt underneath the ice creating large pockets of melt water. Occasionally one of these will burst causing a deluge of flood water. The first part of our route took us past yet more waterfalls and then across a rocky plain created long ago by a massive flood of lava from one of the many volcanoes on Vatnajökull. This was a bleak and desolate place with just some sort of lichen growing on the tumbled mass of rock. In the distance we could see glacial tongues reaching down from the icecap above.
We went on an organised motorcycle tour. We had signed up quite a while ago. The trip was organised by Paul Beattie, my motorcycle instructor of a few years ago and mostly involved a group of friends we had met through motorcycling. Seven years ago we had all done a very enjoyable trip around Scotland. Ireland offered the chance for another great journey and to catch up with friends. It also made a novel change to how we normally travel. Usually I plan ahead but not too far, we can change our plans easily. This time, I did not have to worry about where we were going, we just had to turn up at the right place at the right time. Day by day instructions were on my phone, the route was loaded into my satnav. We no longer had many choices but we were ready to go.
Our trip actually started in North Wales, at Betws-y-coed, in a lovely little cottage about the size of a toolshed. We came here to make an easy start for the journey. Most of the others would be up early to get to Holyhead for the afternoon ferry. We opted for a more leisurely approach. Next day we took a lovely route through the mountains of what used to be called Snowdonia. The mountain range has a different name now. Not sure of the new name, I imagine it to be unpronounceably Welsh but I do not really care. I was brought up walking and climbing in Snowdonia and there is no way that will ever change inside my head. I do wonder however, what authority it takes to change the name of a mountain range. What group of people feel they have the right to change important place names? Snowdonia is a fabulous UK national treasure so possibly nothing short of a national referendum should be needed. Caution though. We have encountered problems with badly thought out referenda in the past. Making significant changes on the basis of insignificant majorities leads to instability and unrest. I would also suggest that a pre-determined majority, say 65%, should always be required as an indicator for major policy changes.
The sound of screaming engines focused me back in reality. Having shunned the main road we drove around the coast and stumbled across a motor racing circuit where some sort of track-day was happening. This looked great fun. We watched for a while as an assortment of riders of wildly different skill levels wrestled their street bikes around the track. Eventually, dragged ourselves away and presented ourselves at the Holyhead MacDonalds to meet up with the others. Ten of us in total. A motley crew of aging, overweight bikers making more than our fair share of engine noise. The ferry was straightforward. Dublin was busy but the rather nice hotel was only a short way. Not long afterwards we were heading down O’Connell Street looking for somewhere to eat.
In the morning, we set off for the anti-clockwise circum-navigation of Ireland. Diane and I made a heroic effort to get up early but were still last to breakfast. By the time we were ready to start riding everyone else was long gone. This seemed to set a pattern for the rest of the trip. The concierge took us down to the underground car park and casually mentioned that our bike, the last one there, had a flat tyre. This was very worrying and could easily cost us a day or two stuck in Dublin. However, as we neared the bike he conceded that the puncture was a joke. I smiled weakly but in my mind had already smashed him firmly in the face and was considering kicking him as he rolled on the floor.
Up the coast through the lovely Mourne Mountains to a ferry where we briefly met up with the others. After lunch they gave us the slip again but we were happy following the coast northwards. We skipped past Belfast on the motorway network and arrived at hotel number two a little way further north. Next day was a tour of the Giant’s Causeway and other NI tourist attractions. We had been here a few years ago, so instead we followed a very tiny road to the far top right-hand corner of Ireland. Here, at Torr Head, we were rewarded with peace and quiet and terrific views across the sea to Scotland. Encroaching rain and wind encouraged us to get on with the riding. We made our way to Portrush just as the sun was returning. Parked up at the very cosy B&B then wandered into town to find a perfect gin & tonic on the balcony of the old lifeboat station.
First café next day was the Pickled Duck in Derry. For me, the name alone made it worth a visit. There was more rain and as we came into Derry we caught up with Paul and Jeannot. They split at a junction. We followed Paul, figuring he was most likely going the right way since he planned the route. However, he did an unexpected double loop of a roundabout and we lost him. Undeterred, we found the Duck as the rain was getting heavier. Cappuccino with some mushrooms on toast made for an excellent second breakfast by which time we had dried out a bit and were keen to get back on the road. The rest of the day was mostly about rain. Final call was a stone circle which, when we finally found it and walked down the track, was a handful of small rocks. I took a photograph of some cows instead.
Group photograph
The next couple of days we crossed and recrossed the border to Ireland several times. As promised by numerous politicians, this remains frictionless, although it is quite clear which side you are on by the density of Union flags. I could not help reflecting on how this border, which is now a boundary between the UK and the EU has to remain sacrosanct while other UK, EU borders are being reinforced and becoming increasingly difficult to cross. Border controls are now in place for traffic across the Irish Sea to NI. The UK is possibly unique in having an internal international border. To my mind, this all serves to illustrate how ludicrous and artificial Brexit is. Whatever your opinion, it is hard to see how this border situation can be tenable. The riding was good if a bit damp. There was plenty more rain but realistically this is just part of bike riding. Especially in Ireland. We had two long riding days roughly following the Wild Atlantic Way. Fabulous scenery, wild cliff tops, open moorland and quiet, rolling roads. We stayed at a posh hotel in Galway that turned out to be rubbish. It was probably much nicer back in the day but had been sitting on its laurels too long. We rode right out onto the Dingle peninsular, which was terrific, and ended up in an interesting hotel in Killarney that featured an immense rainbow flag outside a pink themed bar inside. The room proved to be very nice.
A rare sighing of our fellow ridersAnne respecting the sheep Best name for a cafe
Diane and I are the odd ones out in this group. For a start we have never travelled with Globebusters. This is a company that organises motorcycle trips. Everyone else had been on grand adventures with them. South Africa, Patagonia, China and elsewhere. Paul had organised this trip just like a Globebusters trip. It was all a bit new to us but comfortably familiar to everyone else. Secondly, we were the only KTM on a BMW outing. KTM (Kraftfahrzeuge Trunkenpolz Mattighofen) are based in Austria, BMWMotorad (Bayerische Motoren Werke) are based in Germany. Both companies have built bikes since the 1920 and, worldwide, KTM sell about twice as many as BMW. I am assured, by the BMW riders that KTM has a poor reputation for reliability. My experience is limited but our current bike has already done 14,000 faultless miles and not quite reached its first birthday. From my point of view, I still feel too young to ride a BMW. Each to their own. We are the only bike with a pillion. It does make the bike a bit heavier, slower and harder to handle but suits us well. Diane has no ambition to ride a bike. Finally, we were the only bike to get knocked down. This happened approaching Killarny. We were stopped, at a stop sign, when someone drove into the back of us. Fortunately no one was hurt and there was not much damage. Luckily he did not hit us square on because we would then have ended up lying in the busy main road. After everyone had calmed down a bit and the police had visited, we negotiated the cost of damaged paniers and went our own ways.
We stayed two nights in Killarny. This gave us a chance to ride the picturesque Ring of Kerry. The route started up some winding mountain roads where we had to bunny hop past slow tourist traffic. Further on the road opened up towards the Skellig islands. On Great Skellig are the remains of the Skellig Michael monastery which has since been revealed as a Jedi temple and final home of Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately we did not have time to visit the island although, heading back, we managed to slip an extra and completely unauthorised ferry trip into the route. We arrived back in Killarny feeling much calmer and more relaxed than on the first night and rounded off the day with an excellent curry.
In the morning we set off for the Ring of Beara. Heavy rain was forecast until late morning so we lazed around, pretty much like we normally do in the morning, before setting off around 11am . Heading south west, again, through the Killarny National Park we noticed several new waterfalls since the day before. Pushing further south we rode out into the wilderness of the Beara Peninsula with tremendous sea views, mountains, moorlands and winding roads. On the way back we stopped at a Buddhist retreat for tea, a sandwich and some calm peacefulness. Lovely. Last item on the official agenda was kissing the Blarney stone at Blarney castle near Cork. At €20 a snog, we decided to leave this to those that had a reason to kiss a rock.
Travelling around Ireland is usually a story involving rain. The next day was no exception. We stopped at Dungarvan for a quick look at the remains of the castle and a very good espresso from a van by the docks. Next stop was Tipperary, I am not going to say anything about how far it was but will mention that it was tipping it down with rain. The town was crowded and wet so we pushed on. Kilkenny was a similar story. Packed with tourists and throwing it down with rain. We glimpsed the long queue to visit the castle and carried on to the hotel.
Last day in Ireland took us over the surprisingly remote and very pretty Wicklow mountains. Mid-morning we met up with the others at a café. For a moment there looked to be the possibility of a group ride to the wonderfully named Deke’s Diner and then on to the port. There might even have been a group ride, I do not know because yet again, they gave us the slip even though we left less than a minute later. I followed the route carefully on my satnav and we arrived at the port. No sign of Deke’s Diner or everyone else. Not really sure how they managed this but this is why, in all the photographs from the trip there are virtually none of the other riders. We did not mind, this just seems to be the way. They turned up, together, about 15 minutes later and we all happily boarded the ferry back to England.
Diane and I have packed the bike away for the winter now. This may seem a bit premature but we have great plans, starting with Iceland. We will be back on the bike but it is going to be a long break.
We had arranged to meet the indomitable Lars and Inge in France. They had driven from Denmark for the Le Mans 24. Last year we had found the crowds a but much at Le Mans so we just planned a short trip to meet up with our friends. While thinking about the best way to cross the channel, it occurred to us that we had never been to the Channel Islands. Using Condor ferries we could go Poole -> Guernsey -> St Malo and come back via Jersey. This is how we found ourselves, a few days later, on a high speed trimaran doing 35 knots towards Saint Peter Port.
Guernsey was a bit damp and overcast. We had a ride around the island. This did not take long, it is only about 10 km across in any direction. There were a few nice beaches and coves linked by a myriad of small roads. My overall impression was to do with how compact the whole place is. Houses and buildings everywhere. Not a square inch of space going to waste anywhere. If you ever wanted to get away from it all don’t come here. The hotel was lovely and very welcoming. In the morning, we went round the island the other way, just in case we had missed anything, and hopped onto the ferry to St Malo.
Saint Malo
The old part of St Malo looms impressively above the port as a solid block of four story stone buildings. It is surrounded by a large wall and you enter through one of the impressive gateways. Inside is a labyrinth of cobbled street, small shops, restaurants and bars. We stayed at the Hotel Nautilus, right in the centre. Recommended. The owner is very friendly and helpful. He has a small garage, where he keeps his Harley and where we could also park our bike overnight. Just up the road was a wonderful vegetarian restaurant. We sat at a table on the cobbles and Diane had to move her chair in occasionally to let cars past. The food was terrific, tasty and imaginative. Finally, we took a stroll round the ramparts to watch the sun set over the ocean.
Heading east from St Malo for a couple of hours brought us to the town of Falaise, birthplace of William the Conqueror, first of the Norman Kings of England. Just south of here is a small, converted barn that we had rented for a couple of nights. Lar and Inge, still driving the 1975 Volvo 303, arrived and hour or so later. We sat up until late around the barbeque chatting and catching up. Back in Falaise, the next day, we explored the castle and ended up having a big history lesson. The castle has been partially renovated but also patched up using modern materials. We were each given an iPad through which, in each of the castle’s many rooms, you could view how it might have looked back in Norman times. A combination of virtual reality and augmented reality that was really quite effective. We learnt how William, a direct descendant of Rollo the Viking, consolidated Normandy before taking the English crown after the battle of Hastings. England and Normandy and a large area of France remained a single kingdom, the Angevin Empire under the control of the House Plantagenet, until the Wars of the Roses in the late 15th century. I sometimes think modern politicians could do with a better understanding of long and common history of France and England. The day was rounded off with cheese toasties and beer sitting outside a classic café. Perfect.
History lessonsFalaise castleMont Saint Michel
In the morning we breakfasted on “Eggs in purgatory” – eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce with chunks of fresh, crusty bread. Lars and Inge set off to explore some of the WW2 sites in Normandy while Diane and I headed for the evening ferry to Jersey. Along the way we followed the coast and came across Mont Saint Michel – a striking looking island, abbey and fortress that rises steeply from the sea. Sadly we did not have time to visit but we did collect a small bottle of Calvados from one of the many local sellers.
Previously I only knew a few things about Jersey such as Jersey butter, Jersey milk, Jersey cream and Jersey Royal potatoes. This led me to imagine Jersey as being predominantly fields of happy cows interspersed with potato patches. The reality is more like a massive and spread out housing estate full of old people. Bailiwick of Jersey is a self-governing British Crown Dependency. It is not part of the UK – as my phone provider was keen to point out just after slapping me with a load of roaming charges. Jersey was part of the Duchy of Normandy and remained loyal to England when Normandy was lost to the English Kings in the 13th century but never became part of the Kingdom of England. Being on the border between England and France, the island was at the fore in the Anglo-French wars and was invaded several times up to the end of the Napoleonic wars. In WW2 the island was invaded and held by the Germans for five years. The main source of income for Jersey is financial services, not cows. In fact, we never saw a cow in the two days we were there. I now suspect that name ‘Jersey’ is given to a breed of cows and that Jersey milk comes from Jersey cows that have never been anywhere near Jersey. Anyhow, Jersey is one of the world’s largest offshore finance centres and has often been accused of being a tax haven. Agriculture accounts for just 1.2% of the island’s GVA. There are some interesting signs of the money around the island. Public toilets for example. Something which appears to be rapidly going out of fashion in most of the UK. Clean, well kept, free to use, public toilets. Very handy. Also parking space by the beaches, coves and harbours. Free parking up to twelve hours. Lovely. A few odd things as well such as the expensive sports cars on a tiny island with a maximum speed limit anywhere of 40 mph. I can see the appeal as a retirement location, if you can afford it (average house price £567,000). Mild climate, nice little beaches, quiet pace of life, comfortable life style mixing with other retirees who are similarly comfortably off.
Calvados
At the top, right-hand corner of the island we found a pair of immense wicker-work puffins. Momentarily excited at the prospect of seeing real puffins we read the associated plaques and discovered that, these days, the iconic Atlantic Puffin colonies of Jersey are down to just 4 breeding pairs. Fishing, pollution and rats are blamed.
David has always been keen on cycling and big fan of cycling. One evening, while drinking a particularly nice red wine from Montepulciano, Helen, David, Diane and I came up with the idea of a road trip to northern Italy so as to experience some of the great Giro d’Italia road race. The Giro is second only to the Tour de France in terms of significance in world cycling. It is a multi-stage race typically run over 23 days, mostly in Italy. The very best riders in the world compete for honours and the overall leader gets to wear a pink jersey. The Giro was started in 1908 by La Gazzetta dello Sport, the sports newspaper. This was printed on pink paper, I have no idea why they chose pink paper, but this is why the leader wears pink.
First job was to get to Italy. David spends much of his time in an electric wheelchair now. This can be loaded into the back of a specially converted van, imaginatively called a Wheelchair Adapted Vehicle or WAV. The chair runs all the way to the front so that David is in the normal position of the passenger seat. This all works well. To get the wheelchair through the WAV it has to be empty. Two seats at the rear are folded up and turned around. The wheelchair runs up a ramp at the back and while Helen secures the chair in the passenger position, Diane and I load all the luggage and open the seats up. Finally the ramp is raised, the back door closed and we are good to go. After a few days we started to get very good at this.
Overnight ferry from Hull to Rotterdam and then a night by the Rhine River. Approaching the hotel at Rüdesheim am Rhein, the satnav indicated we had 1.5 km to go but also that this would take over 30 minutes. The conundrum was resolved when we rounded a corner and came across the ferry. This was a fun way to end the day and Rüdesheim proved to be a delightful place to spend the evening.
By evening the next day we were overlooking the Bodensee Lake from the Hotel Lilienberg on Swiss side at Ermatingen. This was a very nice hotel but of course, being Swiss, it cost a fortune. From there we crossed over the Alps. The mountains were overcast and foreboding. After many hairpins in the mist we descended into Italy and arrived at the lovely and comfortably old Hotel Risi, right on the banks of Lake Como. That night, to celebrate our arrival in Italy, we dined on Pizza, red wine and ice cream.
Finally, we were getting close to the Giro. A short and easy drive took up to Cassano Magnogo where the stage for that day was scheduled to finish. The Giro is a terrific spectacle. Roads, villages and whole towns get shut down when the cyclists arrive. Many hours earlier the roads are marked off and banners hung from railings, windows and trees. The first spectators arrive as roadside vendors and officials start to get organised. Local cyclists ride up and down the road enjoying the lack of traffic and the building anticipation. A long caravan of advertisers vehicles precedes the riders. This entourage of colourful vehicles is a good ten minutes in passing. A lone police motorcyclist rushes past, blue lights flashing and horns blaring. He waves and the assembled crowd cheer. Excitement starts to build. The streets are lined with enthusiastic people all ready to cheer for their favourite riders. More arriving every minute. More police cars. More sirens. Then the first of the team cars. Then we hear the helicopter. We know it is filming the leading group. Closer and louder. The crowds erupt as the first riders come round the corner. These are the final few hundreds of metres of the stage. The competitors have been battling all day. Hours of flat out pedalling and jockeying for position. Sometimes it all comes down to the very last section and the width of a tyre on the line. We have a reasonable position by the roadside. Some kind spectators have moved aside so that David can see past them. We can see what is going on but we don’t really know what is going on. Later we will use the internet to find out who actually won. Just here and now we experience the moment, enjoy the atmosphere, and marvel at the athletes. Faces locked in grimaces of concentration they turn themselves inside out pushing for the line. A few minutes later comes the main peloton. This sort of race is very much a team sport and these guys have spent their everything trying to keep the team leaders in the first group. Finally and possibly most desperately, come the stragglers. The guys who are having a bad day or who spent themselves too early. No prizes for them but they still get cheered as they push determinedly to cross the line in time to avoid elimination.
Cassano MagnogoBergamo
Later, back at the Hotel Risi, David planned our next day at Bergamo. This time we avoided the crowds at the finish and instead headed to a corner, not so far from the finish, at the end of long straight. It was also on part of a loop around the town so the race would actually come past the same point twice. We got there early and set up so that we had a terrific view down past the shops and offices. We also found a nice bar for a couple of beers to help pass the time. When the race arrived we could stare straight into the riders’ faces as they pushed down the road. I busied myself taking photos while everyone else cheered and shouted. The day before it had been cold and raining. The crowds were a little difficult to deal with and we could not get a really good view. This time, the weather was warm and sunny, we had a brilliant view point and beer. An hour or so later, the race came past for the second time. Yet again we had the perfect viewing position and by the time we left we were all feeling pleased with ourselves. That evening we drove along the picturesque shores of Lake Garda to the Hotel Villa Enrica in the holiday town of Riva del Garda.
Next day the wheels came off our well laid plans. Not literally, but almost. The brakes of the WAV were making horrible noises. Investigation at the local garage showed new parts were needed. In the meantime we were stuck. Fortunately, the plan for the day was a rest day and the following day the Giro was coming right through Riva del Garda. So all we had to do was sit tight and let it all happen. The weather was beautiful, the mountains were spectacular and the lake glittered in the sun. Paddle boarders, dingy sailors and even the odd swimmer were dotted around the lake although the majority of people seemed to content to bask and the sun, drink beer and eat ice cream. Helen and I had a brief shot of swimming in the lake. We did it but it was very cold. The swim was short and we felt no great urge to repeat it. In the evening a massive thunderstorm rolled in and the pent up heat of the day exploded around us. Sheltered on our balcony we could enjoy the spectacle of moody, grumbling mountains while finishing up a glass of wine.
The Giro came to town. Everything shut down. The road was closed. Barriers went up and we put yet another brilliant plan into action. We went to the bar. I particularly liked this plan. It had been well thought out and rehearsed. We went to the bar, ordered drinks and sat under the awning watching the race on a large screen television. One Aperol spritz and a few peanuts later, we could see the race would be arriving soon so we turned out chairs around. Having cleverly chose a bar right on the actually road that the race was using, we could simply move a little and we had prime position seating. After it was all over, we took another beer before wandering further into town for celebratory ice creams.
The fixes to the WAV were delayed while parts arrived. We had to skip a stage of the Giro but, eventually, we were back on the road again. Now we headed to Venice. It is a rather odd place and even after a couple of visits I do have rather mixed feelings about the place. However, quite rightly, it should be on most people’s bucket list and this was the case with David. From landward, you approach Venice across a long bridge, Ponte della Libertà, at the end of which are several car parks. Fortunately one of these was happy to give us prime position so that we could unload the wheelchair. It was a good start but twenty minutes later we hit a problem
The boats were on strike. Helen asked at the information desk about wheelchair access to the Piazza San Marco. This is one of the most famous places to go in Venice and on the opposite side to where we were parked. The city is built on 180 small islands connected by 400 or so arched bridges making a boat by far the easier way to get around. In fact, we were told, a boat is the only practical way to get around with a wheelchair. So, utterly impossible, because the boats are on strike. Now, Helen likes a challenge and she does not like being told she cannot do something. So, as she then explained to me, in a rather expletively laden and dramatically delivered sentence, we would carry the damned chair if needed. And we did. I lost count of how many bridges we climbed. One early and particularly long bridge over the Grand Canal we were helped by two burly policemen. This was encouraging. Elsewhere, quite a remarkable number of passers-by stopped to lend us some muscle power. We pushed and pulled and heaved and sweated and, some three hours later, arrived at the Rialto Bridge. David was pleased and the rest of use definitely felt a sense of achievement. After a couple of hours of touristing we came across a lone ferry still running to Tronchetto – an artificial island that is mostly a big car park. This made the return trip much easier. From Tronchetto the ‘Venice People Mover’, a monorail, took us back to our original car park.
St Mark’s BasilicaPiazzetta San MarcoFerryMonorailRialto Bridge
Next day we headed to the very top, right-hand corner of Italy to catch the penultimate stage of the Giro, a time trail in the mountains. The lovely alpine village of Tarvisio is tucked up in the Julian mountains right on the borders of both Austria and Slovenia. The time trial started here and the riders were set off at one minute intervals to ride 19 km up the fiercely steep Monte Lussari. Just outside the village, we found a perfect spot by the cycle track and set up a picnic. Here we could sit in the sunshine watching the world’s greatest cyclists going past us one at a time while we nibbled some cheese and sipped wine. Unfortunately it was not such a good day for the Welsh cyclist Geraint Thomas. He started the time trial leading the Giro and looking set for an epic victory. Painfully he lost 26 seconds to Primož Roglič, which cost him the lead. At the conclusion of the final stage, next day, their positions were confirmed with the Slovenian Primož overall winner and Geraint second.
The last few days of our road trip took us back through the scenic mountains of Austria to Germany. We made a detour through the Black Forest and then north into the Netherlands. Then the ferry to Hull and back to England where the first thing we noticed was that it had started raining.
The ride down to Portsmouth was wet and cold. We had only been back from Thailand for a week and were enjoying the cooler weather. A change in temperature had initially been enjoyable but by the time we had ridden four hours in the rain we were like a pair of shivering, miserable drowned rats. We sat in the ferry terminal building and dripped on the floor while clutching mugs of tea. Half an hour later morale and warmth was restored and we chatted to some friends who were joining a large, organised trip to Morocco.
The ferry from Portsmouth to Santander takes 36 hours. We sailed in the evening and arrived in the morning, two nights and a day later. The ship is only a year old and of quite a modest size. About a thousand passengers and just two bars. We had an inside cabin with a rather fetching illuminated picture of window. The restaurant was French. The food was good. We spent a while on deck looking, in vain, for whales. We chatted in the bar, ate more that we really needed and watched a film in our cabin. A couple of valiant crew members attempted to provide entertainment in the form of quizzes, bingo and songs. I suspect many of the passengers thought this was not a good use of their time.
From Santander we headed fairly directly to Porto. No special reason for this. It was just somewhere both of us fancied visiting. As it turned out, Porto was a delightful place. We had a hotel a short way from the central area around the river and used the local, very efficient, metro system to get into town. The old part of town is a maelstrom of activity. Many, many people eating, cooking, buying, selling, sitting, running, dancing or standing like statues. It was fascinating to wander round and take in the full range of activities. Eventually we settled for a meal while perched on a tiny balcony overlooking the river.
Next morning we visited Henry the Navigator. Prince Henry was famous in the 15th century as a figure central to the expansion of the Portuguese Empire. In particular he was an innovator in practical and theoretic marine navigation. Back in 1996, my great friend Andy also became a business partner in the fledgling company I had started a few years before. Together we improved the marine navigation system that I had been working on ready to bring it to market. After long and tortuous discussions, we named the system “Henry”. Over twenty years later we sold the company on but Henry was still going as a core product. Visiting one of the very few statues of Henry in the world (there may only be two) felt like a bit of a pilgrimage and was very gratifying.
That done, it was time for some port. We crossed the river on a small ferry to the side where all the great Port Houses are located. Sadly, we rapidly discovered that tours around these places are all booked up days in advance. We were actually quite happy just looking around the area and then down a very narrow back street, we came across a bar offering not just port tasting but also a selection of local cheeses. The combination was genuinely irresistible. There was quite a lot of port and we enjoyed every last drop of it. Then we rode a cable car up to the top of the bridge, walked across the bridge, found yet another port bar for one last bedtime drink and finally hopped on the metro home. We did not sing on the train but it was quite a relaxed trip.
Back on the bike, we had planned to head south to meet friends. However, reports of high temperatures from the guys heading to Morrocco and the weather forecast suggested we would be cooked. So, sorry guys, but we turned tail and headed back north along the cool coastline. We came across some delightful small Spanish coastal towns and life for the next few days settled into an easy rhythm. We would arrive in the afternoon, shower, change and wander down to the town square. After a bit of pottering, and possibly a beer, we would settle on somewhere to eat before heading back to our hotel and a welcoming bed. Next morning we would breakfast, pack the bike and set off to do it all over again. The rhythm of the road can be an immensely satisfying way to spend some time.
All too soon we crossed through the Picos de Europa mountains, where it was briefly cold and raining. There was snow on some of the peaks. As we were admiring this, a black storm cloud, complete with thunder and hail, descended on us. Carefully, we made our way down the mountain pass to the north where the skies cleared, the air warmed and the roads were dry again. Right down on the coast we arrived at the final, but very delightful, small town of Comillas. Here we enjoyed a particularly good sunset and next day got the ship back to Portsmouth.
We were back in Bangkok, three weeks and several thousands of kilometres later, having driven round Thailand, clockwise. The traffic had not improved and it was possibly just a tad warmer than when we left. First job was to drop off the car. We were pleased when, after a fairly cursory check, the hire company gave us our deposit back. Next stop was the tailor. They had made me a jacket and Diane a couple of dresses. This is a bit of a speciality of Thailand. Custom tailoring at a very reasonable price. We had been for several fittings but only now got the finished items. They were very good. My jacket was well made, good material and fitted beautifully. All for less then the price of an off-the-peg in the UK. Diane was happy about her two dresses as well.
Next day we met Claudia and Patrick in the elevator. This was not a complete coincidence, we had arranged to meet in the lobby. It was however a nice surprise. They had just arrived from Germany at the start of their holiday. We all went off to explore the city. Claudia and Patrick have been to Bangkok many times, so when I say explore, I really mean we followed them around for a couple of days. This was great – we got to see loads of new places. We also got soaked.
Wat Arun
The Thai New Year is called Songkram and is celebrated with a week of festivities in the middle of April. Chief amongst the festive activities are water fights. There is lots of other stuff, Buddhist traditions, offerings, prayers but for the tourist it feels like the whole city has armed itself with water pistols. We had already experienced a few squirts of water while wandering the streets. The weather is warm (did I ever mention that?) and your clothes dry quickly. We had sundowner cocktails on a rooftop bar across the river from Wat Arun. This is a spectacular golden temple, recently renovated, that catches the evening sun and then is lit by floodlights as darkness settles. Terrific background for an imaginatively named cocktail or two. Then we went off to find dinner and all piled into a tuk-tuk. These can be a good way to get round. Not so comfortable but fast, cheap and often quite exciting. On this occasion, however, it was a big mistake.
View from our hotelSundowners Wat Arun
The Khao San Road and Silom Road are the hubs for modern celebration of Songkran. The roads are closed for traffic, and posts are equipped with water guns and buckets full of water. The party runs day and night as gangs armed with water roam the streets. We thought we might have a look at this but completely underestimated the extent of the crowds and the enthusiasm for water. We got stuck, in a traffic jam, in the tuk-tuk, at the start of the Khao San Road. This is how we got soaked. I do not just mean a light misting of sprayed water, I mean a full on drowning with multiple buckets of water, multiple times over about ten minutes before we abandoned the tuk-tuk and ran for safety. I noticed, in passing, that the street vendors of waterproof phone covers appeared to be doing a roaring business. The evening ended well. We found food, we eventually dried off and finally we said goodbye to Claudia and Patrick, in the same elevator. It had been really enjoyable to meet up with them, albeit for a very brief time. They were leaving in the morning for Phuket and the next day we would be flying home.
The following evening, our last in Bangkok, we visited the rooftop bar at the Lebua State Tower. Known as the Hangover Sky Bar it was a filming location for the movie Hangover 2 – which we have never seen. It is also one of the highest rooftop bars in the city. 63 floors up. We bought cocktails – by a large margin the most expensive drinks we had bought anywhere in Thailand. I mean, these were prices that would have been eye-watering in London. So we made it last and enjoyed the views over the city by way of saying goodbye to Thailand.
Durian fruit are banned in many hotels and on public transport in much of Southeast Asia. Some people describe the persistent smell as raw sewage with rotting onions. However, other people enjoy the taste and smell of these large, spikey objects, calling them the “King of fruit”. I had been keen to try some ever since reading about them years ago. My interest was tempered with a certain nervousness. We had seen a few in Thailand and now, as we followed the Mekong river south, we were seeing more and more. Finally, after mentally bracing ourselves, we stopped at a roadside stall and bought some. The fruit is large, up to 30 cm. The flesh is buried quite deeply inside and it appeared to take some skill to extract it. The stall holder was skilfully cutting into large, spikey fruit and flipping the contents out into small, plastic trays. We bought some and, to my delight, found them delicious. The flesh is soft, yellow and oddly reminiscent of custard. Diane liked it as well. We were pleased. It felt like a rite of passage.
Durian fruit
Arriving in Mukdahan Province we came across the Second Thai–Lao Friendship Bridge. This is one of several bridges built to improve trade with Laos. Traffic in Thailand drives on the left, as in the UK. While traffic in Laos drives on the right like most of the rest of the world. So associated with crossing the bridge is a lane-change, controlled by traffic lights. On the Thai side of the bridge a selection of dragons have been built. I have no idea of their significance but they were very bright and colourful. Made a nice backdrop for a cup of coffee while we contemplated the river for a while.
We continued south, following the Mekong river for a couple more days. At long last we got away from the choking smog caused by burning. The lowland scenery was one of endless rice fields. Thailand has a strong tradition of rice production. It has the fifth-largest amount of land under rice cultivation in the world and is the world’s second largest exporter of rice. Much of this is Jasmine rice. Less productive than some varieties but far more lucrative. At the 2017 World Rice Conference held in Macau, Thailand’s hom mali (jasmine) rice was declared the world’s best rice, beating 21 competitors. The Mekong drifted off westward across Laos before it headed south through Cambodia and ultimately Vietnam before emptying into the South China Sea via the ecologically important Mekong Delta. We had to turn back west to complete the great circle that would eventually bring us back to Bangkok.
We drove through rice for a couple of days. Each paddi was a vibrant bright green bordered with banana plants, palms and other exotica. Eventually we arrived at Ryan’s Resort. Ryan, we discovered, is actually called Gary and used to be a Disc Jockey in Derby. Through a rather random set of circumstances, he married a Thai woman, became an expat and now runs a lovely little hotel close to the border with Cambodia. The resort consists of a clutch of small bungalows, a swimming pool and a restaurant area. The restaurant features a well-equipped and modestly price bar along with a terrific wood-fired pizza oven. We were immediately made very welcome by Gary and the gang of international expats gathered round the bar. I suspect the gathering to be a regular occurrence. Later the oven was fired up and Gary cooked us pizza. In all honesty, I can say this was the best pizza we have encountered since Italy. By far the best ever seen in Thailand.
Ryan’s parrotsRyan’s resort
We stayed in the pretty town of Chanthaburi on the banks of a river of the same name. Arriving at our small hotel we were offered Durian fruit – although we had to eat it in the outside kitchen. Upstairs, Diane was rather surprised to find a mattress on the floor. It did, however, turn out to be quite comfortable. In the evening we wander along the river front with numerous small stalls and shops. As night fell, we settled into a very local restaurant for some excellent noodles and stir-fried rice. This was accompanied by freshly roasted cashew nuts served with chopped chillies – I really like this.
Last stop before Bangkok was the lively and popular city of Pattaya. Once a quiet fishing village, this is now a riot of resort hotels, high-ride condos, shopping malls, cabaret bars and 24-hour clubs. We took a taxi to the “walking street” full of hustle and neon signs. Someone shoved a laminated leaflet in front of me. Initially, it looked like an illustrated price list for gynaecological examinations but was in fact an invitation to visit the many strip clubs. We politely eschewed the delights of the ping-pong ball girls and managed to find a rather nice Indian restaurant for our first curry in months.
We were still struggling with the heat and the poor air quality. Temperatures persisted on sneaking up to 40°C and we continued to pass forest fires. Days had got into a rhythm that always began by waking to the sound of the air conditioning. This, we regarded as an essential and carefully chose our hotels to ensure cooling. Some rooms were better than others but whenever the temperature began to drop even a few degrees we both felt like we were coming back to life. I did ponder this a little in the context of climate change – the key to surviving higher temperatures is to expend even more energy on cooling. In Bangkok many public areas, including large shopping malls, are air conditioned. So there is an irony. Using energy and releasing carbon is causing global warming but the way to survive in warmer places is to use even more energy.
Such ruminations usually see me to the first important discovery of the day, breakfast. This was usually very good and often quite surprising. Fortunately coffee, black and strong, was a common element. Diane prefers tea. There was usually fruit. Lovely fresh local fruit. Water melon, yellow melon, banana and pineapple. A simple salad of tomatoes, lettuce and onion was common. Eggs were scrambled or fried. I once had baked and fried eggs with a tamarind sauce – very nice. Other days we might have noodles, stir-fry vegetables, bread, rice or soup.
The Mekong river is one of the great border rivers of the world. Originating in Tibet, it divides China from Myanmar, Myanmar from Laos and Laos from Thailand before heading across Vietnam and finally reaching the ocean in Vietnam. The tripoint where northern Thailand meets Myanmar and Laos is known as the Golden Triangle and is strongly associated with the opium trade. We had heard of a very interesting opium museum in the area. Unfortunately the heat and smoke compelled us to keep moving south and east in the hope of fresh air.
We finally encountered the Mekong in Nakhon Phanom. Hills had given way to flatlands. Rice fields were everywhere and we spotted quite a few cattle grazing. Our hotel was right on the banks of the river had windows looking across to Laos. This far inland there is very little traffic on the river. Mostly just a few fishermen. Sounds like the scene here would be idyllic, perhaps it is sometimes, but not this evening. The heat remained unrelenting. The river is a mucky brown colour with silt and a dull mist hung over everywhere that washed out all the colour. The sun set into the grey murk and then it was dark. Next day we continued south.
We headed north. It had been nice to get out of the Bangkok smog and into the clean, fresh air in Phuket. Around Kanchanaburi we had noticed a few fires and there was a general haze in the air. Driving towards Chiang Mai the smoke and fires became worse. I later learned that in 2017, Chiang Mai had been rated as having the worst air pollution in the world. The problem is mostly about fires. Farmers set fires to clear old crops but far worse are the fires in Thailand and Myanmar used to clear forest. The cumulative effect of all this burning is a ubiquitous fog which obscures the view, tightens you chest and gets in your eyes. I needed to stop wearing contact lenses completely and was using eye drops every half hour or so while we were driving. So although Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai looked to be interesting cities, we breezed through them in short order hoping to find somewhere we could breath again. We also explored some of the jungle areas and hills in the many National Parks. Found many places where the view could have been spectacular but was just a fog. Found many places where we would have lingered longer but the heat and breathing issues kept us moving.
A few kilometres before Chiang Mai, we stumbled across a large temple complex and were compelled to take a look. The scale and complexity of the buildings was breath taking. Without doubt, we failed to understand much of the symbology, purpose and meaning of the statues and decorations. However, we could still be astonished, appreciative and amazed at the fabulous features. The total amount of work that must have gone into the construction was staggering. White and gold were the primary colours, with inlays of silver and small mirrors. The overall effect was a level of intricacy and complexity that was simply dazzling.
From Chiang Rai, we headed east towards the border with Laos. As we entered one National Park there was a sign warning us about wild elephants. This was exciting for a while although we never actually saw any elephants. Travelling though various countries, we often see signs warning of wild animals, moose, boar, otters, red squirrels. These creatures are usually completely elusive. Sometimes it feels as if the main purpose of the sign is to make an area seem more interesting.
Thailand is hot. Too hot for me and Diane to be comfortable. I may have mentioned this already. As we drove east the mid-afternoon temperature sneaked up towards 40°C. Enough to slow cook Northern Europeans but great for many types of plants. A tremendous number of plants and a massive range of varieties. The vegetation in Thailand is lush, magnificent and diverse. Much grows here that cannot tolerate colder climes and we found it fascinating to spot flora that we had always considered rare and exotic. Mangoes grow on trees, we discovered. Each one dangles down on vine of a few inches. At the roadside stalls we could buy perfectly ripe, fresh mangoes that were so tasty and succulent as to make the tough, tasteless, over-preserved instances on the UK supermarket shelves, completely pointless. Pineapple plants – a first for Diane – fields of small, spikey leaves with baby pineapples growing on stalks. Coconuts and dates on palms. Papaya and figs and bananas. Bananas everywhere. Not just in the big, sprawling plantations but also along the roadside and randomly dotted just about everywhere you look. Nearly every household appears to have their own banana plant.
We hired a car and headed north west. Diane was past the worst of her insect bites and allergies but we were both still finding the heat a bit much. We figured that a road trip would fit the bill since, with a nice air conditioned car, we would have somewhere cool to escape to during the day. We collected the car, without any problems, about 11am and tackled the Bangkok roads. Like most cities, Bangkok roads are busy and you really need to pay attention. However, most drivers are quite polite and fairly laid back so driving is nowhere near as stressful as some European capitals.
After about four hours driving we still felt like we were in Bangkok. The road was lined with buildings, businesses, shops and people busy with their daily lives. Almost all the way to Kanchanaburi it seemed to be the same story and, frankly, made for a boring drive. Fortunately, a few miles before we arrived the buildings gave way to fields and we could start to see a little of the countryside. Our hotel was located right next to the River Kwai and set in a large, impressive garden. It was also very quiet. Just a handful of guests in a large hotel. Very peaceful. The food was very good too. Probably some of the tastiest and most authentic Thai food to date.
Next day we went to visit the Bridge over the River Kwai. This has become a memorial to the people who died constructing the Burma Railway during the second world war. Much of what I thought I knew about the bridge came from the 1957 film, Bridge on the River Kwai. Sadly, this is mostly fiction and the film was actually shot in Ceylon. The reality of the 248 mile “death railway” was probably far more horrific than the film or the book it was based on. Between 180,000 and 250,000 Southeast Asian civilians and over 60,000 Allied prisoners of war were subjected to forced labour by the Japanese during its construction. Around 90,000 civilians died, as did more than 12,000 Allied prisoners. Two bridges were built over the Khwae Yai, one wooden and one of steel and concrete. They were both bombed by the RAF and then repaired by allied POWs, several times. In 1946 the British ordered the Japanese POWs to remove large sections of railway to protect British interests in Singapore. The Burma section rapidly fell into disrepair and just a small section of the Thai side in still in use.
We pressed on north and west, stopping to look at a view point in the Khao Laem National Park. Here we discovered that foreigners pay ten times as much as locals for entrance into the parks. The view point was interesting but dulled by the pall of smoke hanging over everything. This was to prove to be a persistent and unpleasant occurrence. Further up the road we were driving past sections of burning forest. Eventually, we arrived at Sangkhla, close to the border to Myanmar. At the Three Pagodas Pass, Thai people can get a day-pass to Myanmar but not foreigners. We took a boat trip on the Khao Laem lake to visit some temples. The two young daughters of the boat owner acted as our guides. One of the temples was being taken over by tree roots giving it a distinct “Indiana Jones” appearance. This was enhanced by the beautiful Buddha inside which has just been given a new coat of gold leaf. From the lake, way off in the distance, we could see another completely enormous Buddha, that was being worked on. Later we attempted to find this immense statue by car but failed.
Back in Sangkla, we stumbled into the middle of a procession. Never discovered what was being celebrated but there was much singing, dancing and bright colours. Everyone seemed very happy. That evening, we walked across the old wooden bridge spanning the Song Kalia river to the Mon village Wang Kha. A quite remarkable structure that looks to be hundreds of years old but was actually built in 1980. At over 400 m, it is Thailand’s longest wooden bridge and the second longest in the world. A pleasant restaurant at the far side was happy to feed us before we crossed back as the sun was setting.
Two days later we were in the jungle. Having reached the end of the road, we set off back towards Kanchanaburi but took a detour eastwards to explore some minor roads. Here we found the Lam Klong Ngu National Park and a sign to the Nang Kruan Waterfall. Getting into the park would have been easier with a 4×4. Then we followed a trail by the river for half an hour before actually arriving at the waterfall. This is an area of tropical rainforest and, where ever farmers are not asserting themselves, there is lush, dense, vibrant green vegetation. We saw butterflies, lizards, many types of bird and even a lizard that was a good 40 cm long. It jumped off its branch into the river before I could photograph it. All felt like a proper jungle adventure. Certainly we were very hot and sweaty at the end of it. Closer to Kanchanaburi we found a hotel which featured floating bedrooms. The novelty value was fun and we did attempt to use the kayak moored outside the bedroom window. It did not go well. Either the boat was very unstable or, more likely, we were very wobbly. We paddled into the river, wobbled a lot and came back. The thought of going into the river, or worse still, swallowing some, was quite enough to bring out my instabilities.
90 minutes flying from Bangkok will get you to the island of Phuket. 50km long and just 20 km wide, Phuket is one of the more popular tourist destinations in Thailand receiving some 10 million visitors each year. The beaches are probably the biggest lure for tourists. The weather remains tropical all year round giving rise to lush jungle vegetation. We could spot bananas and coconuts growing everywhere. Obviously it was hot. Just as hot as Bangkok but at least here the air was fresh and clean. Diane and I are still struggling with the heat and our days tend to be punctuated with finding some way to cool down. Fortunately the sea is the perfect temperature for swimming.
We had committed ten days to the Phuket area but did not have any real idea what we were going to do there or even where we would stay. For many holiday makers I think it is all about beaches, bars and nightclubs. I tried sunbathing once and, after about ten minutes, had a headache, felt too hot and was generally uncomfortable. The idea of lying on a beach at 35°C while my skin crisps before going red and falling off, strikes me as some sort of torture. Diane is of a similar outlook and so we set off to find some other sides of Thailand. We hired a very small scooter for a modest fee and this gave us the freedom of the roads. The scooter, a Honda Click 160 is very easy to ride. Just twist and go. Ideally suited to the local roads. Good for filtering through the many traffic jams and simple to park – although you have to be careful that you can find it again amongst the many other almost identical scooters.
Our first trip was to the beach just outside the airport. This is actually slightly more interesting than it sounds. The runway starts right at the edge of the beach. So, you can sit there, sunbathing if you like, and watch the planes coming into land a few metres above you. With correct positioning you can also experience the power of the back-wash from the jet engines as the planes take off. Occasionally a particularly powerful jet will blow people into the sea. Because this is a slightly popular area, a surprisingly wide variety of street food is available. It was early in the morning and I breakfasted on fresh coffee with an egg filled roti (fried flatbread). Instant coffee is very common in Thailand and also one of my pet hates. Every now and again, civilisation takes a faltering step in the wrong direction from which it can take a while to recover – the invention of instant coffee is one such mistaken lurch from the true path. I trust we will get over it eventually. In the meanwhile it is sometimes necessary to search a while for real coffee. Close to the roti stall was another cooking up espresso pots on a small gas stove. Strong and bitter. Ideal for breakfast.
We moved to another hotel right on Nao Thon beach. This was convenient for a dip in the sea and also for watching the sunset. Combining the two, that is, swimming as the sun goes down, does have a romantic appeal however it is not always so practical. The problem is that the mosquitos and other flying, biting insects, tend to get active around sundown. As soon as the light starts to fade it is a good idea to cover up. After getting soundly bitten a couple of times we settled on a evening routine that still saw a cooling dip in the ocean but well before sunset. By the time darkness began to encroach we would be fully dressed and safely ensconced in a bar.
The next big scooter trip was to explore the beaches to the south and west of Phuket. These included Laguna, Kamala, Patong and Karon beaches. In many ways the beaches were quite similar. A massive industry based, apparently, on sleeping in the sandy patches by the ocean. A thousand deck chairs all neatly arranged. Sellers of every type of drink or fruit. Sometimes combined, so you would see coconuts and pineapples sporting straws and cocktail umbrellas. The Thai are very keen on massages, or at least they are very keen on selling them to tourists. Rows of middle aged people laid out on blankets getting their flesh pummelled and contorted. Elsewhere echelons of sun seekers are trying to change the colour of their skin. The pursuit of the all-round and even tan gave rise to some remarkable attire and poses. While nudity is not the normal on these beaches we did spot a few positions combined with perilously flimsy clothing that would have given a porn star second thoughts. Souvenir stalls, food stalls, clothing stalls, tours guides collecting punters for trips. Not for us but this is clearly a great place for those of the beach life inclination. Some people even enjoy the heat I imagine.
On the way back we visited an elephant sanctuary. There are quite a few of these. They are not really sanctuaries. Whatever they say. The elephants are a tourist attraction, a way to make money. People pay to bath with elephants, ride on elephants, feed elephants, pet baby elephants and to pose for the perfect holiday photograph. The poor old elephants probably have a better life than the hard working animals of old. Even so, that attitude of using animals for our own entertainment and amusement does not ring true with me or Diane. Of course, the real problem is that there is almost nowhere elephants can live in the wild. For many endangered species these days there are far more animals in captivity than in the wild. Some species now only exist in captivity. They have been saved by zoos. The bottom line for us with regards to “sanctuaries” is that they make us sad. We would rather not see elephants in chains. We had a short look around. Felt sorry for the elephants and left.
Scaramanga’s lair
Two hotels later we went on a tourist trip. I am not good on tourist trips and naturally rebel at a deep, instinctual level to being treated like a sheep. When the tour guide says we should all go this way every fibre of my being wants to head in the opposite direction. However, realistically, it is the only way to get to see some things. For a long time I have been intrigued by some of the odd shaped “upside down” islands off the coast of Thailand. Is there an inspirational link between these dramatic rocks, Roger Dean’s artwork and the film Avatar? I wanted to see for myself. We joined up with a group of some thirty other sheep. After a short introductory talk we were herded onto a shallow bottomed boat sporting three large outboard engines. We visited several islands and they were quite interesting. At the first we hopped into small, inflatable kayaks and were paddled through some caves into the a large space inside the island. Next island was a similar topography but this time we waded through some longer caves before emerging into a central area that had a strong “lost world” feel about. Mud skippers, a strange sort of amphibious fish, were walking, skipping perhaps, in the boggy sand. Large butterflies fluttered past and the sunlight cast beams of light through the foliage that reached high up inside the hollowed island. Then came “James Bond” island with racks of souvenir stalls. “The man with the golden gun” was made fifty years ago but this place still has a strong attraction to many. Late lunch was a buffet at a restaurant on stilts. The food, like most Thai food, was remarkably good. Finally we were deposited on a beach for an hour. Presumably so that we could enjoy the great beach life. Fortunately there was a bar with shade from the sun and cold beer.
Cave entranceLost world, rediscovered …… by the 6th group todayLunch stop
Next day Diane was suffering from allergies. Multiple insect bites had broken out in lumps and bumps all over. Heat rashes afflicted her legs and she developed terrible bags under her eyes. Looked like she had been fighting. Not sure if these we cause by heat, insects or something else. She loaded up with antihistamines and liberally smeared creams all over. We visited the quieter northern part of the island by scooter and then packed to fly back to Bangkok. Time to start phase three of the Thailand trip.
I have never been a fan of long haul flights and successfully managed to avoid them for over a decade. This blissful abstinence abruptly came to an end with flight KL0803 from Amsterdam to Bangkok. It was, for the most part, just as I remembered. Long, tedious, noisy and the residual jet lag gave me a headache. Stepping out of the pleasantly cool airport into the hot, humid and polluted tropical air of Bangkok served to compound my misery. The hotel was a half hour taxi ride. We arrived at the relative sanctuary of our room with its air conditioning doing sterling service. This was wonderful. We could cool down, lie down and inevitably, fall asleep. In the evening we had a snack in the hotel café before heading back to bed. By next morning we felt just about ready to tackle Bangkok.
15:22 to Sheffield
It is hot here. I think it is always hot in Thailand. 35°C by mid-afternoon. Everyone else seems quite comfortable with this but Diane and I sense that we are being slowly cooked. After a modest stroll round the park next door we felt thoroughly braised and retreated into a very nice French bar with air conditioning and chilled wine. The park was interesting. We were not familiar with any of the wide range of birds, flowers and or large reptiles swimming in the lakes.
Next day we went for a more urban experience and visited a shopping mall. Eight floors of retail heaven. Not really my thing but Diane needed some stuff and anyhow the whole mall was air conditioned. Bangkok is busy and crowded. Slums and modern high-rise offices snuggle together. Smart, young people step over the beggars on the pavement and everywhere you need to negotiate the street vendors. Everything from souvenirs to shampoo. Street food abounds. Small trolleys with a charcoal brazier cooking up a variety of snacks mostly involving meat and noodles. The range of smells is a whole nasal adventure of its own. Cooking often dominates, frying meat, garlic and vegetables with an underlying hint of burning wood. Traffic fumes complete with excesses of cheap perfume as people hustle along the pavement. The lakes and river add a damp smell while the sewers and pools of stagnant water are constantly lurking to remind you to just keep moving in some places.
A tuk-tuk driver offered us the unmissable tour of Bangkok for a mere two pounds. This was fun although I am far too big to fit into the back of a tuk-tuk comfortably. The vehicle leaned perilously on corners and squeezed through the dense traffic with mere millimetres on each side. Best just to shut your eyes sometimes. Obviously, we needed to visit the taxi driver’s various sponsors. The tailor was actually quite interesting but the high-light of the tour was a river trip. We had a long tail boat to ourselves. The ‘gondolas of Thailand’ feature a large engine on the back with a direct drive propellor. This whole assembly is pivoted so that the boat is controlled by driver wrestling the entire running engine. The result appears effective and is probably cost effective but it also looks remarkably precarious and dangerous. We bounced up and down the river for an hour. The water is a sinister brown colour and there is a tang in the air that reminds you to keep your mouth shut when spray comes over the bows. The tour included several temples and the royal palace. We paused at a one-man floating store to buy beer and mangoes.
Our last trip out was to a market not far from the hotel. Not really a tourist destination but still quite interesting. The total amount of food there was staggering. Looked to be enough to feed the whole of Bangkok. Vast mountains of chicken, fish and all types of vegetables. Porters ran round continuously with sack barrows shifting stuff here and there. From a distance, I imagine the market would look like a giant ant’s nest that just got disturbed.
View from hotel
Six days in Bangkok. One of the most popular tourist destinations in the world but also very hot, crowded and polluted . The air quality is at an all-time low. 200,000 people admitted to hospital with breath problems just this week. The Public Health Ministry say that we should wear masks outside. Time to get out of the city.
La Thuile is a lovely little alpine town tucked up to the side of the Aosta valley in the far top, left hand corner of Italy. In the summer, you can drive the Little St Bernard Pass, 2188 m, to La Rosière in France. During the winter, the roads are closed but ski lifts still link the two towns. Many of the runs are at high altitude and so were holding the snow quite well. I enjoyed myself immensely by skiing over to France for a coffee in the morning before heading back to Italy for a late lunch with Diane. La Thuile lurks in the bottom of a steep and spectacular valley. Looks great but does not get a lot of sun. Diane much preferred to get the first big ski lift up out of the cold valley and into the sunshine and fabulous views.
French/Italian border
There was no more snowfall. In fact, during our entire two month stay in the Alps there was only one significant dump of snow. Even that was quite modest. In a more normal year there would be snow every week. By way of a silver lining, the sunshine was terrific. On our second day the skies were spotlessly clear and the sun was blazing. Ideal conditions for a trip up the Skyway Monte Bianco, a fantastic cable car from Courmayeur to Pointe Helbronner, at 3466 m on the southern side of the Mont Blanc massif. Since I was last up there, a new cable car has been built. Took four years, was completed in 2015 and, at the time, was the most expensive cable car in the world. The hanging cabin rotates as it ascends so everyone gets an all-round view.
Monte Bianco
The visible scenery from Pointe Helbronner is really quite remarkable. It is well worth investing a few hours to absorb it all. Monte Bianco (Mont Blanc) is very close. Slightly further away are the Matterhorn, Gran Paradiso and Monte Rosa. Looking round, you can see hundreds of significant peaks many of which are the setting for amazing stories of mountain heroics and achievements. The thin air is freezing cold and takes your breath away. The sun bores into your eyes and frost forms in your nose as your imagination soars and you take in the full majesty and grandeur of the incredible massif. Then you can pop downstairs to the warm, cosy bar for a beer. At 3pm the station closes. Everyone is herded back down the mountain. I think we were among the last to leave.
Two days later and the weather was still perfect. We decided to have a day trip to Chamonix. Despite four weeks there, we never took the cable car to the Aiguille du Midi because the weather was never good enough. It is quite an expensive trip and really, it is worth waiting for a good day to make the best of the views. We nipped through the 11.6 km Monte Banc tunnel and arrived in France. Unusually, we were pulled over by some French customs officers. Were we bringing any tobacco or alcohol from Italy? We explained our mission. The officer grinned at me conspiratorially, and asked “not even a little Limoncello?” before waving us on our way.
The Aiguille du Midi cable car, at 3842 m, is higher than the Italian Skyway. It is also quite a bit older, smaller and does not rotate. Nonetheless, it is every bit as spectacular and capable of taking your breath away. I first visited this peak in 1981 and have been back sporadically ever since. Most recently, Diane and I came up here in 2008, which is not that recent I suppose. Anyhow, we were here with a group that skied across the Vallée Blanche and all the way down the Mer de Glace to the railway station at Montenvers. That was a terrific day out. Today, our ambitions were much more modest and allowed plenty of time for standing around gawking at the view. Like Pointe Helbronner, this is somewhere I can happily spend many hours lost in the views of mountains, snow, ice and rock. There is similarly a pleasant bar here and even a plush restaurant. On the way back down we stopped off at the mid-point station where there is a lovely little bar in a wooden hut. We could contemplate the setting sun while sipping vin chaude – this is a pretty good way to end a day.
Serre Chevalier is a lovely ski area in the southern part of the French Alps. We had heard rumours of snow earlier. In fact, it was looking like one of the best places in the Alps for a bit of skiing. The month in Chamonix had been a spectacular failure, ski-wise, so we were hoping for some change. Also, we both had a terrible cold over the New Year. Not covid, we tested repeatedly, but irksome all the same and stubborn to leave the chest.
Feeling much healthier and more optimistic, we arrived at Briançon in the rain. Undeterred, I went for a walk round the old part of the city while Diane telephoned some people. An hour later I was soaked and Diane was bored, so we had coffee and pizza at the bakery across the road. The chalet we had rented turned out to be compact but very cosy and well appointed. As darkness fell the rain turned to snow and we settled down with a bottle of local wine in hushed anticipation.
Next day there was snow. A good healthy dump overnight and it was still snowing. A few hardy souls were digging out their driveways and the only cars moving were sporting snow chains. Fortunately, the owner of the chalet had let us park the Jaguar in an underground car park. It is a beautiful car and a joy to drive but completely unsuitable for the Alps in winter. Low profile tyres and rear wheel drive are terrific on dry roads but quite the opposite of what you want on icy roads. We cannot even fit snow chains, there is not enough clearance. We had done what we could to prepare. Proper winter tyres are not only important but also mandatory in some areas. I had bought some snow socks, a sort of fabric equivalent of chains, but hoped we would not need to use them.
Car forgotten, I could finally get some nice skiing done. Everywhere was open. All the lifts were running. There was fresh snow. Happiness.
That was the last fresh snow we saw for the next three weeks. Mostly it was just sunshine. This is rather lovely for being out and about in the mountains. I find, as age encroaches, that I cannot ski all day, every day so I’ll often alternate rest days and go somewhere with Diane. After last year’s broken hip, she is quite adamant about not skiing again. A sentiment I am inclined to encourage. So we go for walks, explore the area and have the odd drive out. For three euros you can buy a day pass for the bus running between Briançon and Le Monêtier-les-Bains. This stops at all the ski areas, shops and the massive thermal spa at Monêtier. Great way to explore the valley an occasionally, Diane would use the bus to come and meet me for lunch.
Alpine zip wirePelvoux
We also went up some of the cable cars together. After a couple of weeks of sunshine the slopes were starting to get a bit thin and icy again. It was nice to travel without skis and instead take my full sized camera. The camera is a bit too big to comfortably carry while skiing. I enjoyed pottering around a little and being able to concentrate on the view while trying to capture some sense of it with the camera. I was particularly struck by one mountain, called Pelvoux, which I had climbed over forty years ago with Mark and Andy. In the ensuing time it appears to have become much steeper, higher and generally fiercer looking.
Traversee du PelvouxMark and Andy on the Violettes GlacierMe (back in the day…)
In Feb 2016 we had a ski trip in our Dethleffs motorhome. Diane fell heavily, fracturing her wrist and suffering bad concussion. We gave up on skiing and called in at Unicat on the way back to see our new truck. So far, all we had was a truck chassis with a cab on it. First impression was dominated by just how big it was. Completely dwarfed our motorhome – and we thought that was quite big when we first bought it. Thomas, boss of Unicat, stuck some trade plates on the truck and we went out for a drive. This was exciting and a little intimidating. Up to that point the only truck I had driven was the one I used for training. The MAN TGS 33.540 6×6 cab was considerably higher and left hand drive. However, I soon settled into it and by the time we came back, about 15 minutes later, I was feeling quite comfortable. From the driving seat your viewpoint is about 3m above the road. This is terrific. You can see so much further down the road, over hedges and over other vehicles. This makes for a great sense of presence on the road and a good understanding of everything going on around you. In general everything to do with driving a truck is quite a bit slower than in a car so there is a lot more planning and anticipation going on.
We did not see the vehicle again that year. Between several visits and a lot of email exchange we had discussed many aspects of the design. My general approach was to take a fairly light touch. Unicat were clearly the experts and I assumed that if I talked about what we wanted to do in the truck then they would be well capable of building something suitable. So for example, we wanted to be able to go a good way off the beaten track – this would mean plenty of fresh water storage and solar panels on the roof. We wanted to travel in snowy places which meant internal water tanks and batteries. We wanted to go off-road occasionally so everything needed to be fairly strong and well secured. There were quite a few choices to be made. Picking a colour was quite difficult. We eventually settled on white as being cooler in the summer and not looking in any sense military. On reflection, I can see that I should have involved myself a bit more with the design. I mentioned concerns over ventilation and how the shower would drain. Our current motorhome was enormously better on both these issues than our previous one so I had a sense how important good design could be. However, I was reassured that Unicat had everything in hand so I didn’t push this. Delivery was agreed for the end of 2017 and we let them get on with it.
Early 2017 we took the motorhome skiing again. All was well until Diane dislocated her shoulder. We gave up on skiing and popped in to see Unicat on the way back. Can you see a pattern here? Unicat had begun work on the chassis and cab. The cab was being re-lined to improve the insulation and look of it. The chassis needed many changes. Mounts for the main body were added along with an extra fuel tank and the generator. Originally specified as an 8 kVA unit this ended up being 15 kVA. Most of the cost of the generator was in the fitting. Because the bigger, but quieter, three cylinder engine would fit into the same housing, the more capable unit seemed worthwhile for a relatively modest increase in cost. Using a motorhome in the winter over many years, I had discovered that a generator was essential. The house batteries would rarely last more than a night or two off-grid. Running the vehicle engine on idle was hopeless because the alternator would not deliver enough charge. A DC-DC convertor can help with this. A generator, however, can get you out of all sorts of trouble. It can charge the house batteries and the engine battery. It can run all the electrics in the motorhome and even provide power for heating. Of course you had to get it out, set it up, fill it with petrol and start it. Now we were going to have a completely built-in generator that could be started by a push button inside the living unit. This felt like real luxury.
Full of anticipation, we headed back home and launched ourselves into a busy year. Highlights included getting married, selling the old motorhome and selling the company.
At the end of August, Diane and I set off on a short motorbike trip around Europe. This included a visit to Unicat, a few days in the Alps and some business meetings in Denmark. We were hoping to see the main body assembled and possibly mounted onto the truck. Shortly before we set off, Thomas got in touch to say they had been delayed because there were four other trucks being finished. Could we come later? Well, no, we could not because everything was booked. So we turned up anyhow even though there was very little progress to see on the main body. A lot of the cab and chassis was finished though. The cab was back together and looked good. The chassis modifications were nearly complete. We discussed a myriad of details and then got to the delivery date. This needed to be pushed back because of the other work they had been doing. Presumably their other clients were more important than me, but no matter, we agreed on the end of January 2018. This suited me because we would be able to use Baloo to go skiing.
Mid-October we were sent some pictures of the panels that make up the main body. The panels are 50mm of closed cell foam sandwiched between two sheets of fibreglass. The floor panel is thicker, contains a steel sub-frame and a supporting layer of wood. Holes are cut for doors and windows. Frames are glued in and eventually the whole box structure is glued together. A lot of planning needs to go into the panels. The glue is incredibly strong but it is also a one-way trip. You cannot change your mind later.
Mounting pointsRoof with solar panel mounts
At the start of November, we were sent pictures of the assembled panels and the main body mounted on the chassis. Meanwhile, I had completed the deal to sell the company. Everything was starting to work out. I put together a plan to get me, Diane, the dogs and everything else, out to Dettenheim (Unicat workshop near Karlsruhe) ready to go skiing at the beginning of February. I sent my plan to Thomas and this is when the wheels came off the project. His response was to express surprise that we thought the vehicle would even be ready by the end of February.
Furniture (sub-contracted)Shower areaBox nearly completeBox mounted on chassisPainted
Ok, time to get bit more involved. If nothing else, Diane and I needed a date to work to. So I wrote to Thomas “How about you send me a proper project plan with key milestones, construction phases, targets, dependencies and a critical path analysis ?”. This elicited absolutely no response at all. Nothing. These terms represent key concepts in any project management system (PMS) but none of them appeared to hold any meaning at Unicat. After a little more discussion, I arrived at the opinion that Unicat had absolutely no effective PMS. For a company involved in projects regularly exceeding a million Euros in value, this struck me as remarkable. It was useful information however. For a start, it was now obvious why Unicat could not deliver to a schedule. Also, it would be a good bet that any time estimate was going to be over optimistic. When Thomas suggested they would need at least three or four months after Christmas, I mentally added another 50% and we agreed on the end of June.
Meanwhile, we had eight months to kill. We had sold our motorhome
Chamonix has long been a focal point for alpine activities. Mountaineering, climbing, walking, running, skiing, snowboarding, cycling, paragliding, hang gliding and all the other games people have dreamt up to play in the Alps. Chamonix is also home to Mont Blanc which, at 4,808m is the highest mountain in Western Europe. This all sounds very promising for a visit and often the area is fantastic for all things alpine. However, sometimes it just rains.
We had hoped for a snowy Christmas with plenty of skiing and amazing views but mostly what we got was rain. I did ski, on my birthday, but it was hard work. A lot of work can go into keeping a ski area open because the consequences of closing can be severe. Ticket refunds, whole holiday refunds, loss of income, loss of reputation and so on. With a combination of shovelling snow around and making artificial snow, they try very hard to stay open. However, to be open, they really only need one run. This was the situation in Chamonix. Each of the four ski areas really just had one run open. Without fresh snow these soon become very icy and they were also crowded. Fewer people will be skiing than in good conditions but everyone is confined to just a single run. Icy and crowded can make for a dangerous combination and frankly, not much fun.
Mont Blanc
We found some other things to do. Walks in the valley, trips into town and a few drives to explore the area. The weather stayed unremittingly bad, even raining high up on the remains of the ski slopes. Another consequence of the damp and cloudy weather was an almost complete lack of views. We had hired a little apartment on the south side of the valley. On the odd occasion that the ski cleared we had sunshine and some fantastic views of the mountains. Not just Mont Blanc on the right but also the whole of the Midi-Plan ridge across to the Dru on the left. Every once in a while the mountains would reveal themselves to us and I enjoyed myself trying to photograph them.
One day the weather was nice. We took the cable car up to Brévent. A few braves souls were skiing the single slope there. We were happy to take in the views and watch the colourful paragliders floating around. Across the other side of the valley, the Aiguille du Midi was beckoning. The cable car up to the viewing platform, 3,842m, is one of the highest in Europe. We went up there over a decade ago when we skied 20km down the Vallée Blanche to Montenvers. It is a bit of an extreme place and well worth a visit. When the weather is good the views are quite incredible. However, if it clouds over you will not see a thing. Sadly, we did not get another clear day and so, after one of the warmest festive periods on record, we left Chamonix in search of snow elsewhere.
We went on a cruise. David, husband of my baby sister Helen, had a cruise on his bucket list. Diane and I are not really cruise people but we thought we might enjoy a short one. So between us, we found a good deal on a short trip around the English Channel on board the MSC Virtuosa. First step was to drive to Southampton. We stayed at the Southampton Harbour hotel. Good hotel. Friendly and accommodating with an excellent breakfast. When we first arrived, we drove right up to the front door, which helped a lot with David and our great pile of luggage. The hotel parked the cars for us while we on the ship and shuttled us to and from the ship. Room was comfortable and we had a nice view over the marina. Top marks.
We had paid a bit extra for some nice cabins. This also meant that when we arrived at the cruise terminal, we were fast tracked through security and the other formalities. I’ll admit that we did quite enjoy this but more seriously it made things a lot more comfortable for David. Once onboard, our first impressions were very positive. The cabin was terrific. Plenty of space and nice little balcony. Helen and Dave had a lovely cabin as well. Also, it had a walk-in shower and a few other adaptations to make life a bit easier for them. Later, we reconvened in the bar where we discovered free champagne and nibbles. Of course, when I say ‘free’, I mean that they were included in the rather substantial ticket price but it felt like free which was good enough. I suspect one of the pleasures of cruising is that it takes you off into a different and, temporarily, better sort of world.
First stop was Brest in France. It rained. It seriously rained. We went into town, walked around for a couple of hours, got very wet then headed back to the ship. In the evening we explored the rest of the ship. The MSC Virtuosa only came into service a year ago. It is brand new. It is big as well, 182,000 tonnes, that means, up to 6,000 passengers being looked after by 1,700 crew. It is equipped with all the modern cruise ship facilities such as bars, restaurants, swimming pools, gym, games, casino, shops and on and on. You can easily lose several hours just wandering round. Fortunately, we had picked a week after the school holidays and before the Christmas markets, when the vessel not so many people were cruising. Our cabins were at the front of the ship in a relatively small area referred to as the ‘Yacht Club’. The area was at well less than half capacity, which made it quiet and peaceful.
Next day was supposed to be Cherbourg but the weather was too bad. Cruise ships tend to avoid bad weather. They are sea-worthy and generally capable of dealing with strong winds and big seas but this is not what the passengers expect. On commercial ships it is not uncommon for the vessel to roll sufficiently to spill your coffee and send your plate sliding across the table. However, cruise passengers are not salty sea-dogs and would worry if their cocktail glass were not finely balanced. So, on passengers ships there are often stabilisers on the hull look like little wings and steady the ship against the ocean swell. These work up to a point. The sides of the ship stop a lot of wind. Again this can be compensated for by the stabilisers and by using ballast water but only to a point. So we skipped Cherbourg and spend two days at sea heading, slowly, towards Hamburg. Up on the top deck is a swimming pool, a hot tub and an open air bar. In fine, sunny weather this would be lovely. However, with cold rain blowing horizontally across the deck it was less pleasant. Helen is a fell runner and is completely unphased by horizontal rain so we gave the hot tub a go. Fortifying ourselves with champagne definitely helped.
A local taxi driver gave us a short tour of Hamburg. It is a big city with two million inhabitants and 2,500 bridges – most bridges of any European city. The port area, third largest in Europe, is massive so it took us a while just to drive away from the cranes, ships and lorries into the centre. Hamburg is popular with tourists and has a large central shopping area. We wandered around for a while and David bought a couple of smart new shirts. Found a lovely little café for a late lunch, with beer and then headed back to the ship.
Bruges was the only place that MSC managed to provide genuinely wheelchair accessible transport. It was advertised for many of the excursions but, we discovered, what they really meant was the wheelchair user needed to get out of the chair and walk up the steps into a coach. Then they would put the wheel chair in the storage. Helen patiently explained to the MSC excursions people that David could not get up to walk and that wheelchair accessible normally meant accessible in a wheelchair. Eventually we got our money back but it was a bit annoying. The coach took us a short way along the coast to Blankenberge. From here we could get a train into the centre of Bruges. All felt like a bit of an adventure. The weather was greatly improved and Bruges was lovely. The main part of the town is a modest size and easily small enough to walk around. There are some lovely old buildings, many chocolate shops, souvenir shops and other tourist essentials. We all remarked on how clean the place is – no litter at all. After a bit of a general wander around we found ourselves in a bar. This was such a surprise that we had a beer. In fact we had several beers, small ones, arranged on a tray as a tasting set. It seemed appropriate to try several local brews as this particular bar had what they called a ‘beer wall’. A glass fronted wall supporting racks and racks of beer bottles. The wall is over 30m long and displays 1,250 different types of Belgian beers. This bar set the mood so when we arrived at the only local brewery actually in Bruges, we were primed to taste a whole bunch more beers along with a selection of cheeses. Doesn’t get much better.
Wheelchair accesible
Retracing our steps proved a little more problematic. We arrived back at Blankenberge to discover that the one wheelchair accessible coach had been sent home for the day. We waited patiently for over an hour while apologetic excursion people made many phone calls. Eventually, just as we were starting to get really cold, the coach arrived. The ship sailed on time but we only boarded five minutes beforehand.
Next day we were at Le Havre. This is quite a commercial port. Seems particularly busy with wind generators at the moment. Massive yards filled with turbine blades and other components. Opposite Le Havre, on the other side of the River Seine is the little city of Honfleur. We found a local taxi that would take us round there. The drive was quite interesting. We crossed over the impressive Pont de Normandie bridge. Our driver seemed particularly proud of this. Honfleur is a pretty place. The central area is a large collection of old buildings. Some dating back to the 15th century. Apparently Monet like to come here to paint. We particularly like the harbour area. When we first arrived, our very helpful taxi driver, pointed out the best place for lunch, ”where the locals eat”. So we booked a table and went for a stroll around. The centre of Honfleur is a very impressive wooden church built in the 15th century. The famous “Axe masters” of the naval yards of the city created this lovely building without using any saws, just like their Norman ancestors the Vikings before them. Shortly after this we found a shop specialising in truffles, which caught my attention. And then a shop selling just nougat, which caught David’s attention. Lunch was great but then we had to head back to the ship, which was sailing quite early so as to get back to Southampton the next morning.
Another item on David’s bucket list was a casino. So in the evening we got dressed up and headed down there. After a little looking around he settled on Black Jack as his game and invested in some chips. We ordered some vodka martinis and gathered round to watch. Helen needed to actually play the chips under Dave’s instructions. At some point in the proceedings he began calling her ‘Moneypenny’ despite the obvious risk of getting slapped. It took a while but eventually he lost all his money. In my experience this is what always happens at casinos and nobody was surprised. Dave was happy that he had played a casino and so we retired to the champagne to toast the end of good trip.
Eleven years ago, Andy and I decided to sell our company. It was a classic situation. When we started the company we were two computer programmers with some big ideas and very few resources. It was fun. We took risks, we tried to punch above our weight commercially and we worked long hard hours. After twenty years it was all working out as a business but we had lost much of what we enjoyed. We had, of necessity, become managers, accountants and salesmen – roles which we neither enjoyed or were particularly good at. We also realised that if we waited until the “right time” to sell the company then it would never happen. There would always be something that needed our attention. So we agreed a five-year plan to sell the company. It actually took six years and turned out to be difficult and painful but, eventually, we got there. The company sailed off to a great new future and we stood to one side and waved it goodbye. Five years later we are released from all our contractual obligations – the company has vanished over the horizon. Time for a celebration.
For some reason we came up with the idea of a posh meal in a castle. Not sure where the idea came from but some rudimentary research found us a suitable Scottish castle. That meant we were going on a short road trip. It started badly. On route to the agreed meeting point in the Yorkshire dales, Liz and Andy’s Land Rover broke down. Liz is very proud of her Land Rover so this must have been a bit demoralising. A friend of mine, Mark, who spends much of his life driving overland in Morocco, once remarked “A Land Rover is a great vehicle so long as you enjoy repairing Land Rovers”. Much as I am a fan of the Land Rover, I have to admit that there is some truth in this. In best road trip fashion, Diane and I got on with driving north and hoped they would sort something out.
Whisky for breakfast
The first part of the route took us up the backbone of England. North through the Yorkshire dales. To Settle, past Ingleborough Fell, past Ribblehead Viaduct and over Buttertubs pass. Wide sweeping moorland vistas under a moody overcast sky punctuated by bursts of rain and flashes of sunlight. It was a terrific drive. We were in our 2006 Jaguar XJ8 Sovereign. This is a beautiful vehicle to drive. Fast and smooth. The 4.2 litre V8 engine wafts you along serenely and quietly. However, put your foot down and you can enjoy the big cat growl from under the bonnet as the car bounds off down the road. We pressed on north through Alston then up through the Kielder forest.
As dusk was falling we arrived in Peebles and the small cottage we had booked at the back of Cringletie House hotel. Liz and Andy eventually turned up. The Land Rover had gone for repairs and they hacked up the motorway in their Kia. The day ended well with an excellent meal at the hotel after which we sat in the hot tub by the cottage.
Diane and I have differing views on porridge. I regard it as a tasteless slime usually fed to prisoners, Diane however, quite likes it. She particularly liked the Cringletie breakfast porridge which was served with a small bottle of whisky. Breakfast done, we pushed on further north into darkest Scotland and the rain. The drive was great. We skipped round Glasgow fairly painlessly and then stayed west through Inveraray. The weather remained obstinately dull punctuated with periods of rain. Even so, the highlands are magnificent and the roads were quiet. Loch Long, Loch Awe, Loch Etive and finally along the banks of Loch Linnhe to Fort William and the Inverlochy Castle Hotel.
Rain was the theme of the trip
This was to be our home for the next couple of days. The hotel is a converted mansion named after the actual Inverlochy Castle which is a couple of miles away. The place exudes a sense of old fashioned grandeur. It also, to me, seemed strongly connected to the hunting, shooting, landed gentry set. This made me a bit uncomfortable. The snooker room in particular, celebrated the murder of many beautiful animals. First thing we saw when shown to our room was a dog bed and bowls on the floor. When we had booked the room, we still hoped the Cent would be with us and the hotel had thoughtfully provided for this. It was strangely disturbing. We had only just lost Cent and I was feeling quite raw about it. Explaining that we no longer needed the dog things was surprisingly difficult.
Over the next days we canoed, walked, drove and rowed. Canoeing was on Loch Eil. Liz had arranged this. Two Canadian canoes and a guide. We paddled across the loch to a small island. It was a pleasant afternoon. Our guide brewed up some tea on the island and we paddled back. All very relaxed. We chatted a lot as we paddled and the views across the water were spectacular. Rather remarkably, we did not get rained on but we were treated to an excellent rainbow. We walked in the hotel grounds and the woods around it. The weather was less kind but the scenery is fabulous here. The hotel is set in a terrific location with Ben Nevis looming directly behind it. When the rain became particularly persistent we went for drive out to the west coast. The little ferry to Corran was fun despite the drizzle. From the quayside are some lovely roads over the hills and along the coast. Views were a bit limited by mist and yet more rain but still full of Scottish character. Back at the hotel we discovered a small lake and a boat house. We borrowed life jackets at the hotel reception and set off to explore the lake. Four people in a small rowing boat. Getting all the way around the small island required pushing through a narrow channel overgrown with weed and bullrushes. Tricky, but we made it and were rewarded with a great sense of satisfaction and some superb views of the hotel with its mountain backdrop albeit through the ever present rain.
Finally we got to the posh meal. This was intended to be the highlight of the trip and we dressed accordingly. The restaurant claims a connection with Michelin star chef Michel Roux Jr. Clearly they are paying to use his name, equally clearly he is not the chef there. The meal was disappointing. Billed as a tasting menu we were presented with five courses. Possibly part of the problem was the vegetarian option. Typically the menu includes wild boar, Highland venison and Scottish oysters so it is probably better suited to the hunting and fishing brigade. Later, I checked the wine list, which reinforced my sense of poor value for money.
In the morning we headed for home via the Tankerville Arms in Alnwick. This is a lovely, classic pub. Small but comfortable room. Excellent evening meal. Friendly staff and brilliant breakfast. Much more our sort of establishment and well recommended if you find yourself in Northumberland.
Cent, our beautiful German Shepherd, stayed with Helen, my baby sister, while we were in Italy. A year or more ago we saw the first signs of Degenerative Myelopathy in him. This is a progressive, incurable, disease of the nerves of the spinal cord which causes gradual loss of mobility and loss of feeling in the limbs. The condition is common in German Shepherd dogs and Cent has not been able to walk properly for many months now. Helen had the ideal place for him to convalesce. He could get everything he needed without having to move far and he had Misty, Helen’s lovely Australian Shepherd for company. Sadly, after a few weeks away in Italy, we could see how far and fast his condition was progressing. It is all a matter of quality of life and although it was very painful for me to admit, I could see that he was at the end of his journey.
I got Cent twelve years ago to help with Mitsy (not to be confused with Misty). You may remember Mitsy – her story is here. Mitsy was a problem dog. Cent was not. In fact Cent was the best dog I have ever known. Right from the start we bonded strongly and he was always very much a one-man dog. Diane used to complain that if she ever told him to do something that he would look at me first to see what he should really do.
Early trainingFerry to SantanderDefence training
Training Cent was a complete delight. It is all about the relationship. He was so keen to engage with me that, for the most part, if I showed him what I wanted him to do then he would do it. For the most part training was just part of the “doing things together” that we both enjoyed. I rarely used any treats or other inducements although we would usually play for a while after training. The basics of recall, sit, down and stay were mastered very quickly. Then we moved onto some more advanced things such as just using hand signals. When Cent was paying attention, I could get him to sit, stay and so on with just a very small hand movement or even just a nod.
Keith the dog trainer had helped me deal with Mitsy several years before. Now he also helped with Cent although this was a very different sort of approach. I suspect that it is always the case with dog training that it is actually the owner that is getting trained. Dogs are fairly predictable creatures that tend to react the same way to the same circumstances. Humans however, tend to massively over complicate things and lean towards anthropomorphising their relationship with dogs. So the reality was that Keith was teaching me how to handle Cent while Cent just thought it was all great fun.
The Reservoir Dogs
We did some protection work. This was very interesting. You may have seen a police dog chase down the baddie, grab their arm and drag them to the ground. Sometimes the bad guy will be pinned to the spot while the dog barks and snarls at them. All looks quite scary, dangerous and a bit vicious. What does the dog actually think about all this? My first clue was in how we started the training – with a toy. We had a pillow made of strong sacking with a handle. Really just a tougher version of many pulling toys. Cent loved it and would happily spend hours tugging and pulling. I always let him win the toy. This was important in building his confidence. With your household spaniel you probably don’t want to do this. You should always remain the owner of the toy. Before long I needed to fasten the training pillow to a hook because Cent could pull so much better than I can.
Over time we transferred Cent from the pillow to a sleeve. You have seen these. A thick, padded, hessian sleeve that a pretend baddie can wear and the dog bits onto it. To do this we needed a volunteer to wear the sleeve while Cent tried to pull their arm off. Keith runs a dog food business and fortunately one of the helpers was brave enough to do this. At the same time we worked on triggering Cent. We set up little scenarios where the bad guy would shout abuse at me and generally behave very aggressively. I would respond in kind and threaten to release the dog. Cent would join in by barking and growling. Then he would grab the sleeve and hang on to it until I told him to release it. In time I got to actually release the dog who would then run down the poor lad wearing the sleeve. And there we were. Doing it just like the police do. It looked like I was letting loose a viscous and savage animal but to Cent it was more like a game. He was not out of control at all. I could always stop him with a word and get him to lie down right in front of the bad guy.
Spin cycle
Now, to be honest, Cent was not a natural to this and we did not want to take it too far. But he could do it. He had the on/off switch and ever after it was comforting to know that if we were ever genuinely threatened that he could be our police dog.
Another form of training I did with him was tracking. We would go out to somewhere quiet where I could tie him up for a while. Then I would wander off following a convoluted route out of sight and hide his toy. I would come back the same way and then off we went to track it down. For this I used a long lead. The idea was that Cent was free to sniff around but not to actually run off and leave me. I could stay in touch with the dog but, for the most part he was unhindered and I was not inadvertently guiding him. This all worked well and Cent absolutely loved doing it. We both did. When I got the long lead out he would get very excited.
It was comforting to know that if he ever got out of sight on one of our walks that he would be able to find me. In fact, most dogs are pretty good at this and will use a combination of back-tracking, sound and smell to catch up with you. Of course if you are further apart more skills are required. Many years later, he tracked me down for real. Diane and I had been collecting mushrooms in the forest. Back at the motorhome, I decided I would go try find some more of a particularly tasty fungus we had found called Hedgehog mushroom. Diane was cleaning up the rest and flicking little bits of unwanted mushroom into the hedgerow. Cent was busy trying to find these discarded bits and did not notice me wander off. Sometime later, according to Diane, he realised I was not there and just set off after me. Meanwhile, I had wandered deep into the woods in a big loop and was in the process of working my way back to the truck. Cent found me. I heard a noise and then he just bounded out of bushes looking very pleased with himself. The reason I knew he had tracked me was that he did not arrive from the direction of the motorhome but from almost the opposite direction, from the part of the forest where I had been a few minutes earlier.
Cent was a well-travelled dog. 28 countries I once worked out. His first big trip was to the Pyrenees by way of the Portsmouth to Santander ferry. This is an overnight trip across the Bay of Biscay. We were going skiing. It was the middle of winter and the weather was not too great. Fortunately we had a dog friendly cabin. Some ferries required him to go in a cage. Neither of us liked this and it was only possible for short trips. This time he could sleep with us and I could take him out on deck to a special dog area. During the night the sea got up and Cent started to be disconcerted by the way the ship was rolling. In common with most dog friendly cabins, this one was small and a bit grotty. Diane and I each had a small bunk, narrow and not as long as I am tall. Shortly after we settled down, Cent decided he was really not happy with the motion and got onto my bed. So we have a quite big person, me, in a very small bed with a 40 kg German Shepherd sat on top. It just could not work. In principle I did not mind sharing my bed but there was simply no space. And he would not stay still. Having you ever tried pushing a big, heavy dog that does not want to move? Every time I got him off he would sit by the bed and whine. Then next time the ship moved he would jump back on. Diane thought it was hilarious. Eventually, just after dawn, the sea and the dog settled down.
Cent got to come skiing with us. We would wait until the last cable car up and then take him with us. By then, the slopes would be mostly empty. Cent would run down the side of the piste and we would ski. He loved it. I also took him on a few ski tours. He could usually get up, and down, the deep snow better than I could manage on skis.
Cent and Mitsy became great friends. They did nearly everything together. Mitsy was clearly a bit calmer and more relaxed when he was around. Occasionally she would get a bit uppity with Cent and he would just pin her to the ground for a short time while the correct balance was restored. For several years they lived together outside our cottage by Torside Reservoir. I called them the reservoir dogs. They each had a kennel although Cent more usually just slept outside. In the summer he would be in the long grass in the field. Sometimes in the winter, I would go outside first thing in the morning and could see the depression in the snow where he had been sleeping.
The dogs were very happy living outside. They had a big field to run and play in. The house was ours but the field was theirs. At the edge of the field were the woods. I did not want the dogs running around in the woods so I bought an electric fence. It was just three feet high and I only plugged it in for week. During that week, both dogs managed to touch it, just the once. After that they never went near it. Two years later we got a couple of chickens. The first task was to explain to the dogs that the chickens were not food. This was actually quite easy although you could tell that Mitsy really, really wanted to chase them. The chickens went in the woods during the day. They just stepped through the gaps in the electric fence, which by then had been switched off for a long time. The dogs would watch them but still would not go near the fence. Either dog could easily have jumped the fence but no, they just stood fascinated as the magic chickens passed through the fence unharmed. It was a good arrangement. The chickens would put themselves to bed at night and the dogs would keep them safe from foxes.
Mitsy died while we were travelling in Norway and Cent became really quite depressed. Very quiet and a bit listless. What can you do for a depressed German Shepherd? We made sure he stayed well fed and well exercised. We also tried to spend a bit more time with him. A few months later we got back to the cottage and the first thing he did was to run around excitedly – presumably looking for Mitsy. After that he never wanted to sleep outside again and preferred to come in at night.
Cent proved to be the perfect travelling companion. After Brexit we needed to re-register him in Germany. This was very easy to do and so he became a genuinely German, German Shepherd. Not that he cared although he did enjoy the travelling. Whenever we arrived somewhere new he would jump out excitedly and the pair of us was go an explore. If we ever had to leave the motorhome we knew he would guard it safely for us. No-one is going to mess with a vehicle with a GSD inside. And at night we could sleep soundly knowing that if someone even came too close the motorhome then our finely tuned burglar alarm would go off. Most days there were long walks together – that unspoken, unconditional companionship that make walking feel a bit empty at the moment. We swam in lakes, climbed mountains, crossed deserts and wandered around foreign cities. He was not so keen on the heat. That great thick, bear like coat was perfect for the snow but less so for warm climates. So sometimes he would just lie in the shade. Whenever we ran the air conditioning in the truck he knew exactly the best place for the cool air flow. He was perfectly polite with visitors and even persuaded a few non-dog people that at least some dogs were quite nice.
So Cent is gone now and it is my turn to feel a bit depressed. I do miss him a lot and so does Diane. We had many great times together. Sometimes doing things but often not doing anything. Just being together. He always seemed happiest if he was not too far from me and I loved having him around. I always felt a bit proud with him walking next to me but now I feel that a piece of me is missing.
These pictures were chosen by Diane
Sheep, what sheep?Cruising with my dogComforting a depressed GSDHappy days
It is a relatively short hop from Rome to Florence (Firenze), the capital of Tuscany. Our immediate concern arriving here was the ZTL (Zona Traffico Limitato). This prohibits through traffic and limits access to residents with permits. Fortunately for us, it turned out not to apply to motorcycles. Happy days and further evidence that a bike really is the ideal tool for an Italian road trip. As we had been travelling around I had been considering how things might have worked out if we had brought Baloo. Overall, I think it would have been terrible. Like in many European countries, we would have essentially been confined to the motorway network and finding parking would be very difficult. Visiting popular cities and other tourist destinations would be possible, if restricted, by bobbing in on the small motorbike for a few hours. The national parks all have weight restrictions and would be completely off limits. Meanwhile, we found our B&B, parked the bike in a secure garage, had a shower and were out wandering the city in a thoroughly comfortable and relaxed way.
Florence is a lovely place. Far less of the tourist hustle than Rome. Some fantastic architecture, shops, restaurants and bars. We happily wandered around for a few hours taking in the artisan street traders, the artists and street musicians. All very comfortable and relaxed. Eventually we came across a small restaurant that offered us a vegetarian tasting menu. A lot of very small courses that showed off their culinary skill. Each course was matched with a wine and the whole meal took well over two hours. It was spectacular. A remarkable range of flavours and textures served in imaginative ways that allowed you to really focus on, and enjoy the food. Throughout Italy we have been consistently impressed by the food and this feast was the perfect highlight.
Next day we left for Barolo. Sadly we could not stay longer in Florence but one day I would like to come back and explore it a bit further. The fastest way would have been the coastal motorway but we took to the mountains. Yet another beautiful area of Italy and a fantastic place to travel on a motorbike. Arriving at another lovely agriturismo just outside of the town of Barolo we asked about wine. Barolo wine is one of Diane’s favourite so we really wanted to get a local bottle. We were directed to the building at the end of the agriturismo, which turned out to be a winery. Here a lovely couple made wine from their small vineyard. Within 30 minutes of getting off the bike we were tasting some of most fabulous wines with locals. Sometimes everything just seems to work out really well.
Due north in the morning up into the Aosta valley. First we crossed the wide flat plains as we passed Turin and then the Alps began to rise in front of us. Entering the mouth of the valley, the mountains start to close in around you. This is a beautiful drive despite the motorway carving its way up the valley. To the right is the Matterhorn and left is Mont Blanc. At the city of Aosta we leave the busy valley and go right up a much smaller valley to the Colle del Gran San Bernardo at 2472m. The road works its way steadily upwards. There was little traffic so we could lean into the wide open corners a little. The sun was shining. The valleys opened up beneath us and the views were spectacular. Coming south, the Splügen Pass had been cold and bit tricky. The Gran San Bernardo was just a simple, easy pleasure. In 1045 a large hospice was built near the top of the pass to given shelter to travelers. From the 16th century, the canons of the hospice bred the large Molossian dogs that eventually became the famous San Bernardo with their reputation for finding safe trails through the snow and rescuing travellers from bad weather and avalanches. We were reminded of this proud historic heritage by a box of stuffed toys as we crossed the border into Switzerland.
I had been a bit concerned that by the time we were heading north again, the weather might have started to turn cold. In fact, I had carried a pair of long, thermal leggings all the way around Italy just in case of this eventuality. It was not cold. In fact the weather, for a drive through Switzerland, was perfect. The first snow of the year was clean and white on the mountains. The forests were resplendent with the colours of autumn. The sun shone and the road was dry. We left the main road after Martigny and took a loop over the hills by Gstaad to Bern just for the pleasure of it. By the evening we were in Germany and a lovely hotel in the Black Forest.
Next day we dropped down onto the Rhine autobahn and unleashed the KTM. It really is very fast. Much faster than I am. On the autobahn, where this sort of thing is legal, I took it up to 230 kph (142 mph). The bike was still keen to go faster and urged me on but it was enough for me and I throttled back to a more comfortable cruising speed. One where I can relax a bit instead of having my buttocks permanently clenched. Even so, the bike can devour the miles. We skipped past several roadworks and traffic jams without barely slowing. By late afternoon we were in Amsterdam.
We enjoyed our stay in Amsterdam back in July so we had booked a hotel for a couple of nights. Autumn was clearly advancing on the city but there was still plenty of street life. We pottered around for a while enjoying the city and reflecting on the end of the road trip. All too soon we were on the ferry back to Newcastle. In the ship’s restaurant, we had prepaid the evening meal. Apparently this covered two of the three possible courses. Diane examined the menu and asked if she could just have the soup and pudding. This seemed quite acceptable however, the waiter considered a single dessert to not be the equivalent of a full main course and so he brought Diane three Crème Brulé. And she ate them all.
It was a four day ride to Rome. Once back onto the Italian mainland we headed straight up into the mountains. The route then was roughly up the center of the country taking in numerous national parks. The hills and countryside were marvelous. Pretty little villages, winding country roads, spectacular scenery. Increasingly we made use of agriturismo. A combination of the Italian words agricoltura (agriculture) and turismo (tourism). Generally an agriturismo is a farm that will receive guests for overnight stays. These can make great places to stay. Often they feel much more genuinely Italian than the more commercial hotels. Often they are in more remote an interesting places out in the countryside. Often they come up with the most lovely local wine and food – even for vegetarians. Overall, agriturismo, can make a really interesting and cost-effective way of getting around.
Breakfast in Italy, especially southern Italy, tends to be a very sweet affair. Sugar and Caffeine. We were greeted one morning with the proud statement “we have four types of cake”. Croissant often feature. They are heavily dusted with icing sugar and when you bite into them you discover a thick filling of jam. Biscuits, dried and in plastic wrappers. Jams and chocolate spread. Yoghurt – sweet fruit yoghurt. Occasionally some fresh fruit. The coffee was always very good. I enjoyed the coffee but would typically leave breakfast feeling giddy with the caffeine and sugar rush.
Founded in 753 BC, Rome is the capital of Italy and, at one time, was the capital of the world. After London and Paris, Rome is the most visited city in Europe with typically eight million visitors each year. Within Rome is Vatican City, an independent country in its own right and the world’s only country in a city. A lot of history, a lot of culture, a lot of tradition and a lot of tourists. We arrived, as usual, hopelessly prepared. We did not have a plan, we had not worked out where we wanted to go or what we wanted to see. We just wandered off into the city to see what would happen. It actually worked out quite well. We’d booked a hotel for three nights so we had two full days to explore.
On the first evening we walked down to the Trevi fountain in the hope of finding something to eat. The place was packed. I mean really solid with people. You could barely see the fountain for the press of humanity. Traditionally, you are supposed to throw a coin backwards into the water. This will ensure good luck and that you will return to Rome. An estimated €1,000,000 is thrown into the fountain each year. It is actually illegal to take coins out of the water. The money is collected and sent to Roman charities. In the streets around the fountain are hundreds or restaurants. Finding good food was no problem at all. That evening, I booked tickets to visit the Colosseum and the Vatican museum. You have to book these in advance and for a particular timeslot. Now we had a plan.
The Colosseum is big, impressive, heavily scaffolded and very, very crowded. We took a coffee at a street café close to the entrance while we waited for our timeslot. Here we discovered that the proximity to the ancient monument of the café doubled the price of coffee. Twenty minutes of queuing later and we were in. Along with many thousands of other tourists. Built in 80 AD, the Colosseum is the largest ancient amphitheatre ever built and is still the largest amphitheatre still standing in the world. It was designed to hold 65,000 spectators at gladiatorial contests, executions, dramas and other public spectacles. In two thousand years the building has been badly damaged by earthquakes and thieves removing stones for other buildings. Even so, 20,000 tourists manage to pack in there each day. It is very interesting but the crowds do make a visit into a bit of an ordeal. As at many other ancient sites, we could see the tension between conservation, preservation and restoration. The effects of pollution adds to the general weathering of the building. It also supports a wide variety of plants which sadly also cause damage. €20m was spent in the 1990’s on repairs. In the last decade a public-private partnership has commanded €25m to tackle further cleaning and restoration. My simple maths suggests that 6m visitors a year each paying €20+ for ticket should provide plenty of funds for restoration.
In the afternoon we could relax a little wandering around the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill – all included with our Colosseum ticket for just €31.80. We could have paid more for a guided tour, even more for a guided tour with a small group, more to skip the queues, more to the visit the Colosseum floor, the Colosseum underground and so on. The tourist milking machine is working well. The Roman Forum and Palatine Hill combined are a large outdoor area forming an open air museum and some of the oldest parts of Rome. We enjoyed a nice stroll around but much of the place looks, to me, like so many piles of rubble. Perhaps we should have paid for a guide. In the evening we discovered a classic Roman dish, Carciofi alla giudia, deep-fried artichokes.
Day two we tackled the Vatican. Specifically we queued to get into the Vatican museum and then spent several hours being herded through room after room of massive paintings and statues. Some or these are quite awesome in their scope and scale but it is nigh on impossible to spend any time contemplating them. The steady pressure of moving people makes standing still an act of defying the current. After a while it all gets a bit too much. Yet another incredibly detailed painting covering an entire wall. My brain started to fizz. By the time we reached the Sistine chapel with its famous frescoes and ceiling by Michelangelo, I mostly just wanted to leave. The crush there was really quite serious and if anyone panicked it would have been dreadful. “Show some respect” the guard said and made me take my hat off. Why does removing my hat equate to respect? I have no idea. As we had come in there were many signs telling women that they needed to keep their shoulders covered. Once respectfully clad, we could then walked past umpteen statues and paintings of nudes. There is much about the Vatican that made no sense to me at all.
We picked up the pace when we left the Amalfi coast. A week spent pottering around Naples, Pompei and the Amalfi was very pleasant but we still had a lot of Italy to see. We took the coast road south. At Agopoli, the main road cuts inland so following the coast more closely involves several small roads. Highly recommended for a bike ride. Remote, quiet and scenic. One of several places we stumbled across in Italy that were just a complete joy to ride through.
Two days later we were getting close to Villa San Giovanni where we could take the ferry to Messina and Sicily. I thought I would be clever and buy the ferry ticket online the night before – save some time when we got to the port. This proved to be very easy. I also thought, since we had plenty of time in the morning that we would follow the scenic coast road into Villa San Giovanni, avoiding the motorway. So, mid-morning, we rocked up at the ferry queue feeling like the day was already going quite well. The ferry arrived and the man inspected my ticket, which I showed him on my phone. No – this is not a ticket. It may say it is a ticket, but it is not. We have to go to the office and get our real ticket. We were ejected from the queue and rode back to the office at the entrance of the queuing area. There the man said we needed to go to another office and waved vaguely in the direction of town. We rode around town for a while hoping to spot a ticket office and eventually stumbled across the motorway exit – where we spotted a ticket office. Hooray. Because this was set up to catch vehicles coming off the motorway we needed to do an unorthodox manoeuvre to get us onto the other side of the road. My riding instructor would not have approved, but we made it to the office. No – this is the office for another company – you need the other office on the far side of the motorway junction. Fortunately there was not much traffic around so another slightly tricky bit of riding and we were there. The alternative, the correct and legal way would have been to ride about 6km along the motorway to the first junction and then back. But it was hot and I was getting more than a little annoyed at the amount of chasing around we were doing. Anyhow, we made it, we were finally at a ticket selling office whose name matched my downloaded document and the ferry. No – we cannot give you a ticket at the office, you need to use the machine. Yet another U-turn in the road and we were at a row of machines, each with a little barrier, next to which was a screen and keypad. There was no English language option and my Italian is almost non-existent. I could work out how to buy a ticket but not how to use the document I had been sent. Fortunately I could wriggle the bike past the barrier to get back to the office where we once again tried to explain our predicament to an uninterest official who spoke no English. Then a fixer appeared. I think he had been dozing by the wall of the office. He offered to help us and suddenly I started to feel like we were travelling in a third world country. We all went back to the machine. Our new fixer showed me what to do, I thanked him and paid him for his time. Ticket in hand we rode back to the ferry terminal where we had just missed a ship so we needed to queue for another half hour. Five hours after arriving at the terminal we actually got on the ferry and 20 minutes later we were in Sicily. Between the cost of the online service and the fixer (a fixer in Europe for goodness sake) we had doubled the cost of the ticket. On the way back we stopped at the machine at the motorway exit, bought a ticket and hopped on the ferry. Easy when you do things the right way.
Shortly after leaving Messina we could see the smoke from Mount Etna. At first we were not sure if we were looking at cloud or smoke. As we got closer the smoke clearly resolved itself. Etna, at over 3,000m, is the highest volcano in Europe. It is also one of the most active and has erupted 80 times in the 20th century. We had booked a room in a hotel at 1,700m on the side of one of the world’s more dangerous volcanoes. The road up the volcano cuts through lava fields and a strangely desolate landscape. Occasionally lava flows down the hillside and destroys parts of the road. The result is a winding, patchwork road bordered by black ash that has been brushed to the side by the traffic. We stopped to have a look at this ash. It was mostly little balls of pumice type material. Very slippery stuff. I took great care to keep the bike well away from it at corners.
The Hotel Villa Dorata turned out to be lovely. It is a hundred years old and owes its longevity to luck – according to the owner. We sat outside on the terrace with a beer, contemplating volcanoes as the sun settled into the distance. Each side of the hotel are lava flows. The large flows from 1992 were pointed out to us. On this occasion, the town of Zafferana was only saved when explosives were used to divert the flow. Our ruminations were interrupted when we spotted a fox. A lovely little silver grey fox sat outside the kitchen door. Occasionally it would duck inside and pop back a moment later licking its lips. I suspect someone was feeding it.
Next day we headed a little further up the volcano to a ski resort. Yep, there is a ski resort on the side of Europe’s highest and most active volcano. No snow at this time of year but the Sapienza Refuge, the main tourist hub, is one of Sicily’s biggest tourist attractions. After a long queue for a ticket, we got to ride up the cableway in a gondola and then joined a small group of tourist in a small guided tour. A truck took us up a little higher to where we were herded into a small roped enclosure and given a moderately interesting talk. On the way back down we stopped to walk up the side of a small cone with fumaroles. I was plodding up a steep, narrow and somewhat insubstantial path when an indignant and piercingly Teutonic woman’s voice above me demanded “You are in my way. How can I come down when you are on the wrong side of the path?” I was somewhat taken aback and dutifully stood aside while considering just how a rough and tiny trail up recent volcanic debris could possibly have right and wrong sides. Cultural differences was my eventual conclusion.
All the way down the South West flank of Etna and we could pick up the motorway to Palermo. We stayed a couple of nights in Palermo. Had a walk round, checked out a few old buildings, rode on a horse drawn carriage and ate at the tables outside the restaurants. The weather was warm and sunny. We relaxed and enjoyed the change of pace for a day. Sipping Aperol Spritz outside a café we reflected on reached the halfway point of our Italian odyssey.
From Naples we worked our way around the Bay of Naples. First south to Pompei and then west through Sorrento to the village of Marciano at the end of the Sorrentine Peninsula. Here we had a fabulous lunch of ravioli while enjoying the view across blue water to the island of Capri. Then we rounded the headland and continued west which brought us to the Amalfi coast.
Known as the “Divine Coast” (Divina costiera) this picturesque landscape has long been one of the more popular destinations of the world’s jet set. It was also listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997. From a biker’s perspective the place is a bit bonkers. Tiny winding roads, steep hillsides, narrow streets through crowded villages, plenty of traffic. The views are spectacular, but I found it much safer to get off the road and stop before contemplating them. Often the ocean was just a short plummet off to the right of the road while a mix of busses, trucks (small ones) cars and taxis all vied for priority on a diminishing patch of tarmac. We felt a little vulnerable on the bike but, for the most part, motorists gave us some space and were considerate.
At one small layby and viewpoint was a local trader and a stall stacked with an impressive array of fruit and vegetables. Biggest pomegranates I have ever seen. The layby was on a particularly sharp and unsighted corner so not only was there a fantastic seascape to take in but also endless entertainment watching the traffic. One coach was especially memorable. The local bus drivers take no prisoners, and this minor conflict was only resolved by four cars reversing, like a mutant caterpillar, to get out of the way. The stall owner squeezed some oranges for us. Honestly, some of the freshest, most tasty orange juice I have ever had. On balance, the ten-minute break in a layby turned out to be a highlight of the day.
A satnav induced navigation error caused us problems in finding our B&B. There is just the one continuous road along the coast. It snakes along the precipitous slopes and cliffs. In places the road balances on ledges leaning out over the ocean. Elsewhere it dives into short, dark, narrow tunnels. The route through some of the villages is a small passageway that seems barely wide enough for a motorcycle never mind a four wheeled vehicle. If you ever choose to drive along here, I would strongly recommend a very small car. In various places there are even smaller roads above and below the main through route. Mostly these contour along the hillside parallel to the main road with just the occasional touchpoint. Elsewhere, haphazard tracks, footpaths and steps connect the roads vertically. Our satnav tried to guide us up one of these. The bottom of the route looked steep but possible. Fortunately, a taxi driver set us right and so, deferring to local advice, we drove several miles further before cutting back along the next road higher up. From this vantage point we could see the wisdom of following local knowledge. Trying to get a fully laden adventure bike up a diminishing path would have ended in tears.
We descended from Vesuvius down a thin road straight into Pompei. Possibly we had been following the path of a pyroclastic flow from hundreds of years ago. It still intrigues me that so many people live in this area. Vesuvius will erupt at some point and many people will die. I know there are evacuation plans in place but even so the collateral damage could be massive and the cost in human life is inevitable. Naples and this area is ranked amongst the seven most dangerous places in the world to live – tectonically speaking that is – along with the likes of Miami and Istanbul. Apparently, all risks considered, Afghanistan is the most dangerous country in the world and Tijuana, Mexico is the most dangerous city (138 homicides per 100,000 people).
With a head full of thoughts of death and destruction, we arrived at the ruins of Pompei. Here we spent an entire day looking at scenes of death and destruction. Pompei, as a town, was doing fine until AD 79 when Vesuvius erupted and buried the whole conurbation under 5m of volcanic ash. 11,000 happy Romans living in 160 acres of wealthy town with fine buildings and luxurious private houses. The first 18 hours of the eruption was a rain of pumice. Nasty, but not deadly. Most people could take the hint at this stage and run away. Then came the pyroclastic flows and they will have killed everyone that was left in a few minutes. Fast moving currents of hot gas and ash flowing down the sides of the volcano. Travelling at hundreds of kilometres an hour while reaching temperatures up to 1,000 °C. Death would be instant. A day later it was all over. More than 1,000 bodies have since been identified.
In the immediate aftermath of the eruption there would have been little to see of Pompei. The town had disappeared under a flat plain of ash and the coastline was 700m seaward of where it used to be. Over the next few years the town was raided occasionally by robbers but over time both the name and location were forgotten. 500 years later the area was further buried when Vesuvius erupted again.
Plaster casts
Pompei was “rediscovered” at the beginning of the nineteenth century and has been the target for much archaeological excavation since. Organic material, including humans, has rotted away over the intervening 2,000 years. In places this left human shaped voids in the ash. By injecting plaster into these moulds it is possible to recreate the shape of the original person.
Today much work is still in progress. As in many historic sites there is a tension between conservation, excavation, restoration and tourism. Much of the town was well preserved by the ash, which excluded air and moisture. Once building and artifacts began to be excavated they also began to deteriorate through natural and made-made erosion. Approximately two thirds of the city has been excavated but is now suffering from exposure to the elements. Some buildings have even collapsed. Many artifacts have been removed to museums elsewhere and weather protection has been added to some of the constructions. Restoration, the rebuilding of damaged features and artifacts, can be considered a form of conservation even though modern techniques and materials will sometimes be involved. Presenting parts of the site in something closer to their original condition makes it easier, especially for lay people, to understand something of life in Roman times. This in turn heightens the tourist experience and tourists, especially in Pompei, are a major source of income.
The site is quite vast and we spent a lot of time wandering around some very similar looking buildings. There is not much by way of explanations. I would have liked to be able to read the stories behind more of what we could look at. If I were feeling cynical, then I might suggest that the lack of posted information was to support the local guides, of which there were many, each herding their small flock of tourists around. There are also audio guides available with a little earpiece you can wear. However, no only do these tend to be quite soporific but they also preclude conversation and readily get out of sync with your location. We looked around for an entire day. It was, for the most part, very interesting, but, also, an awful lot to take in for one day.
The last building we visited was the amphitheatre. This is one of the oldest surviving Roman amphitheatres. Built in 70 BC, it was damaged by earthquake in 62 AD, restored and then buried in volcanic ash a mere 17 years later. In 1971, Pink Floyd made a concert film, Live in Pompei. It is a great film but there was not really a live audience for the concert. However, 45 years later, in 2016 David Gilmour came back to the amphitheatre to do a genuine live performance – now considered to be the first performance to live audience since 79 AD. We discovered a barred passage in the outside wall that looked to lead deep into the building. There was an indistinct light in the far distance and if you listened carefully, the sounds of Pink Floyd were playing.
From Pisa it was a short drive down to the Ligurian Sea. Diane likes a good coast road so we followed the beaches for a while before cutting inland to further our exploration of Tuscany by heading to Montepulciano. Round about then my Senna 10C packed up. Died completely. This is a helmet mounted accessory which lets Diane and I talk to each other. She has a similar unit with little speakers inside the helmet and a microphone. As equipment goes, this is far from being essential. However, it is really nice to be able to chat with each other while riding. We can discuss the scenery, agree a coffee stop and, occasionally, Diane can tell me to slow down. Getting the communicator fixed turned out to be easy. Google maps guided us to a bike shop. There a very nice young man not only sold me a replacement Midland unit but also fitted it into my helmet.
New favourite sandwich shop
Back on the road and happily chatting to each other we arrived at possibly the best lunch stop in the world. I realise that such judgements are subjective but this guy was making and serving the perfect cheese sandwich. Two thick slices of sourdough, a similarly thick slab of local cheese, ripe tomato, olive oil, pepper. In my opinion, very hard to improve on especially when followed by an expresso. Eventually we did arrive at Montepulciano where we forgot to take any photographs but did get to drink a very nice bottle of wine.
The Basilica di Sant’ Ubaldo stands on a hill above the town of Gubbio. It is a perfectly nice church but would not be worth a special trip but for the gondola system, the Funivia Colle Eletto, that takes you up there. Small wire baskets just big enough for two people run up and down the hillside on a steel cable. You need to jump on as the basket goes past and then hop out at the other end. It is great fun. Nice view from the top. Little cafè for a coffee. Church.
In the evening we arrived at Assisi and stayed in a wonderful hotel in the valley bottom below the basilica. The walls of the church glowed with the setting sun in a very imposing and biblical way. At the hotel we were welcomed particularly warmly. Next morning we rode up to the walled town and were somewhat surprised to be let in. Traffic is tightly controlled. Only a handful of local authorised vehicles are allowed. Most cars and the coaches full of tourists have to use the large carpark outside the walls. I was expecting to head for the carpark when I noticed a policeman waving me through the archway into what was, for most intents and purposed, a pedestrian area. This was a story we saw repeated several times; bikes are immune from traffic restrictions. Great. Diane is still having a bit of trouble with her knee so she was very happy to stay on the bike and have a tour of Assis. After a relaxed cup of coffee in the central plaza we headed for the hills.
To the east of Rome is a mountain range, the Apennines and three national parks. The area contains some of the best preserved natural forests and grasslands in Europe. It is also one of the most seismically active areas of Italy. We were forcefully remined of the earthquake of 2016 when we rode through a couple of villages that has been completely flattened. 300 people were killed in this earthquake. Further south the roads became more like tracks. We stayed in a delightful converted farmhouse and the night after in a fabulous converted bungalow on top of a hill. This was a B&B and set up to sleep a dozen or more people. We were the only ones there. The owners left us the keys so we enjoyed the solitude as the storm clouds rolled in and the rain came.
Pasta with local truffles for lunchRain is coming
Fortunately we only had a short run into Naples. No more than a couple of hours. It had rained all night and was still raining hard. We girded our loins, zipped up our jackets, pulled down our visors and went for it. Progress was slow. Standing water takes extra care on a bike. Visibility was poor. My jacket is quite waterproof but damp still seeps in around the neck and up my sleeves. We arrived earlier than normal at our B&B looking like downed rats. They took pity on us and we were let inside.
A couple of hours later we had dried off enough to start exploring Naples. Not that the dryness lasted long as the rain continued to lash down for another two days. We explored the narrow streets packed with shops and we ate a couple of pizzas. Naples is traditionally the home of pizza so this seemed appropriate. We bought a very cheap umbrella and some plastic macs – none of which actually helped very much. The rain began to ease towards the end of the second day but in the morning we wanted to leave for Pompei.
Pompei is very close to Naples. Less than 30km. We made a day of it by going up Vesuvius. This volcanoes dominates the bay and is still active. If it erupts properly then 3,000,000 people will need to be evacuated. The authorities assume that they will have over a week to do this from when the warning arrives. We could drive up past the carpark to the end of the track (official vehicles and motorcycles only). From here guided groups were being taken higher but the cloud was down so there was little to be seen. We pushed on to Pompei.
From the top of Splügen Pass we descended into warmth and sunshine. By the time we reached the shores of Lake Como it felt like summer again. Even the sky cleared and we basked in the sunshine. First night in Italy felt like a great success. The hotel was lovely. The owner was a biker of old and loved the romance of a road trip through Italy. We had a room with a view of boats across the lake. In the evening we walked a short distance to a fabulous pizza restaurant. The food was great. We could sit outside in the warmth and enjoy sunset over the water. The meal was rounded off with a small glass of grappa. It really felt like we had arrived in Italy
Bikers WelcomeFixing the clutch
Next day we headed east across the mountains. Scenic, winding mountain roads with very little traffic. There was a small hiccup when the clutch lever came loose. Fortunately the bolt did not come out so all I needed to do was tighten it back up again. Once upon a time, KTM motorcycles had a bit of a reputation when it came to reliability. I think they may have bettered this issue now. Certainly, for our new bike, on this trip, there was just the one mechanical problem in over 8,000 km.
A more common hiccup was route-finding. I was using an Internet based app to plan the routes and transferred them onto the Garmin satnav as .GPX files. Initially there were a lot of problems with the Garmin crashing or spontaneously rebooting. This was mostly solved by keeping the routes short. Just one day usually. The other problem was the occasional tendency for the routing to try and take us down a footpath. I never really got to the bottom of what caused this but since it only occurred rarely it was not too much of a problem.
After a week or so travelling we were starting to settle into a rhythm. Wake up, start packing, eat breakfast, finish packing, ride bike, stop for coffee, ride bike, stop for lunch, ride bike, stop for coffee, ride bike, arrive at hotel, get washed, walk round local area, eat dinner, drink wine, go to bed. Repeat. There were cafes everywhere. We never really had to plan for breaks – we could almost always find a convenient and friendly place for coffee and food. Sometimes they would have a sign outside that announced “Bikers Welcome”. This sort of sign is hardly ever seen in the UK. Not only did it make me smile but it was also effective in influencing where we stopped.
Footpath
Briefly we looked at Lake Garda but we had arrived on a sunny weekend and the whole are was packed with people. There may have been some big event or it might just have been the last good weekend of the summer. Whatever, there were queues of cars that literally stretched for miles. We glimpsed the water as we passed to the North and then south down the main road rather than by the lakeside.
Next day a fairly uneventful ride brought us to Reggio Emilia. In the evening we walked down to the centre of the old part of town. In particular to a large square surrounded by restaurants. The square was packed with tables and it seemed like everyone and their dog had come out to eat. We eventually found a place to sit in the bustling chaos and were treated to a fabulous meal of pasta washed down with some excellent wine. This is a wonderful place to enjoy a very Italian atmosphere and some magnificent food. If I visited again, I would probably book a table first.
South again and along some lovely winding roads through the mountains until we arrived at Pisa. This was one of the first places that Diane said she wanted to visit. I was not so sure, thinking it might just be a big tourist trap. In the event, it turned out to be lovely. Pisa, the old part, is only a small area. There are some interesting buildings, including one that famously leans. There are many restaurants serving food in the streets. There are a lot of tourists but not so many as to be overwhelming. And there is a tourist industry but it is not high-powered and your face so much as welcoming and quite gentle. We really enjoyed Pisa. I was a little concerned about leaving the bike parked in the street despite being able to see it from our room window. Fortunately it proved to be safe for two nights. We stayed in a basic but perfectly adequate B&B near the center of Pisa. From here we could explore the whole area rounding up both days with yet more great food.
Safe for the night?A small orchestra played on the first floor
Back in the UK we tried to make the best of our time while planning a trip to Italy.
I started by buying a motorbike. That actually turned out to be quite easy and fun. It helped that I had a pretty good idea about what I wanted. Then I discovered that the new KTM Super Adventure is a big improvement on the 2016 model I used to ride and that sorted out choosing a bike. Thanks to Gary for expert advice and Jake at the KTM Centre.
A mini heatwave was forecast. Possibly up to 40°C. Me and the dog are not keen on this sort of things so, with Diane, we went off to Langley Castle in Northumberland. This is a classic and well preserved 14th century castle that has been converted into a hotel. An awful lot of history has been preserved in the castle making it well worth a visit. JK Rowling, the Harry Potter author, stayed here once. It is claimed that the main staircase inspired her vision of the moving stairs at Hogwarts. The castle is high in the Pennines where I hoped it would be cool. Just in case, we picked a room with air conditioning. We actually stayed in a converted stable, which suited us perfectly. The room was not only very comfortable but also Cent could walk straight out of the door onto the lawn. His legs are getting very bad now and steps are a problem. We had a small picnic on the lawn and Cent met the resident Peacock called Alfredo.
A few days later we took David skiing. Helen arranged it. She got the idea when were in Grindlewald. David has MND and cannot ski normally but, with the help of the Sports Disability Association, Helen fixed up for him to spend an hour on a sitting ski, with a guide. We met up at the Trafford Centre and it turned out to be really good fun for all of us. David could control the ski by moving his head. Helen and I skied around. We tried to help where we could but mostly made sure we did not get in the way. Diane watched from the bottom of the slope and took photographs. After breaking her hip she is still adamant that her skiing days are over.
The following weekend David and Helen did a single-handed fund raising event. A one mile swim followed by 56 miles cycling and finally a 14 mile run. David can no longer run or swim but he did take part in the cycling stage using a recumbent fastened to the back of Helen’s bike. My new motorcycle had just arrived so Diane and I bobbed around the cycling stage take photographs. I like to think this added a small sense of “Tour de France” to the proceedings. Turned out to be one of the hottest days of the year so Helen did quite an amazing job to finish in a good time. They set out to raise three thousand pounds to support the Motor Neurone Disease Association and Empowered People but eventually brought in over seven thousand. A properly magnificent effort. I am very proud of my baby sister. More details here.
Our Italian road trip was almost ready to go. Ferries and the first few hotels booked. Approximate routed worked out. Other hotel and B&Bs to be booked along the way. Bike had its first service. Paniers were fitted. Gear mostly sorted. Cent was going to stay with Helen and David. He struggles to walk now and their house is ideal – bed, garden and food all within short reach and on one level. He has Misty their gorgeous Australian Shepherd for company. Although a lot younger and far more energetic, she loves spending time with him. And then there is Ailsa, Helen’s younger daughter, who dotes after both dogs and literally spends hours cuddling them. As retirement homes go – Cent had got it made.
Last thing for us was a zip wire. The world’s fastest zip wire is the 1.5km “Velocity 2” in Snowdonia. We had been eyeing this up for a while. Ian, a good friend of ours came along. He and I had built zip wires of an experimental nature in days past. It would be fun to see how the professionals did it. Turned out to be great fun. You are briefed, equipped and packed off to a little zip wire. This is still way longer than any of our woodland constructions and quite enough to focus your attention. The assistants strap you in and check everything while you lie on a short padded bench. Then the bench drops down and you are hanging, head first, on the zip wire. 3-2-1 and you are flying. It is really quite exhilarating. Momentarily you are swooping down a mountainside with the ground flashing past underneath. From the bottom of the short wire trucks ferry the fliers up to the real zip wire. This is when things start to feel a bit more serious. It really is a long way above the lake. The group we were with became noticeably quieter. Fortunately the people that check and re-check the harnesses all seem very competent so I found I could relax a little to enjoy the view. This time the acceleration was much more noticeable and the sensation of swooping out over the lake was terrific. There was even time to have a look around and see where the others were. The braking system at the end is quite abrupt. At the point the brakes engage the ground is close and moving very fast. Suddenly you have to come to terms with not swooping any more. Then remember to breath as you are pulled upright and detached from the wire. We all stood and grinned for a while before heading for the café.
Diane was fastest
Italy. We were finally on our way. First stage was north to Newcastle, in the rain, to catch a ferry to Amsterdam. The bike was shiny and clean. Our clothing was clean. Everything was fresh and happy. Even the rain did not dampen our spirits. We were on the road again.
The ferry was ordinary but I think it makes a great way to start a journey. We disembarked after a good night’s sleep and an excellent breakfast, ready to tackle the day. You kind of need this because the first part of the trip, down through the Netherlands and Belgium is a bit of a slog. Wind it up on the motorway and try not to fall asleep. The day was overcast and damp and a bit boring. Next day was similar. We hacked across France and stopped just short of the Swiss border. Day three and the trip began to get more interesting. We bought a vignette (road toll ticket) for the bike as we crossed into Switzerland. The Alps hove into view through the mist and the occasional glint of snow made me smile. There are good roads through the Swiss valleys and despite the clouds we could see green lakes and rocky mountains. South of Chur we left the main road network and stopped in the village of Bonaduz. Here we had rented a small studio for the night. One room with a bed, a kitchen area and a seating area. The key was in the door and we never met the host. It all worked out fine though. We found a local shop to buy breakfast things and a small restaurant for the evening. Next day we packed the bike and left the key in the door where we had found it. I suspect this sort of arrangement works better in Switzerland than some other places.
We climbed out of the valley and up to the Splügen Pass. The road is steep with numerous hairpin bends. Part way up were roadworks and we were directed onto an unmetalled section still damp from earlier rain. A heavily laden bike with pillion and road tyres is not ideal for doing muddy switchbacks. We had a few nervous moments but we prevailed. The hill start feature on the new bike was particularly helpful. With relief we arrived at the top and the border to Italy. We were there. Lake Como, the Dolomites, Rome and the whole of Italy was spread out below us. Well sort of. All we could actually see was an Italian flag flapping damply in the mist. But in our minds, the great adventure had begun.
Amsterdam is another busy capital city but completely different to Paris. Whereas Paris got to feel a bit frantic and very commercial at times, Amsterdam is altogether much more laid back and relaxed. The whole city exudes an air of tolerance and tranquillity. Apart from the cyclists – they will run you down if you get in their way. Away from the cycle lanes a heady mix of cheese, tulips, legal prostitutes and cannabis seems to keep most people cheerful and good humoured.
The city was built on a swamp. Amsterdam’s history is all about ships and commerce so Amsterdam is all about canals and dams. The whole city is criss-crossed with canals. Rather surprisingly, to me, it does not smell swampy and there are very few mosquitos. I don’t know how this is done but it is very impressive. The canals are lined with houseboats and packed with a wide variety of vessels, many of which are carrying tourists. The possibilities span a full gamut from a private tour in a smart, flashy boat with a bar to bumbling around on your own in a pedalo. We chose a middle route with a company called “Those Dam Boat Guys”. I liked their sense of humour and found their website especially irresistible when I noticed that the language options included “Swashbuckler”. We turned up to find a smallish boat with a dozen fellow tourists. Our guide did indeed have sense of humour and the whole tour turned out to be great fun and very informative. In his introduction concerning eating, drinking, smoking or whatever he explained “Do what ever you want just don’t be a dick about it”. This seemed like good guidelines and I suspect much of Amsterdam runs along similar lines.
Diane and I are vegetarian. We enjoy eating out but sometimes this can be a bit tricky. The situation is generally improving with each year but even so we occasionally get treated as if we have a disease. Once place we visited last year simply said “No”. More precisely they said “Non” and explained that this was because everyone ate meat. Another place helpfully offered to pick the pieces out meat out at no extra cost. We are regularly offered fish and once got told that it was ok for vegetarians to each chicken. I tried to explain that there are no rules, just personal preference but the notion of voluntarily not eating meat was well beyond the waiter’s experience. So a genuine vegetarian restaurant where we can relax and enjoy the food without worrying about what we are eating is like a breath of fresh air sometimes. Amsterdam has loads of vegetarian and vegan restaurants. We only had enough time to choose a handful and some of the food was terrific. Punjabi Crème Brulé – a very well executed Brulé with Indian spices, flame grilled whole aubergine with a creamy sauce, roasted cauliflower with fried polenta. Some of the street food was really good too. I particularly liked a soft tortilla filled with mixed forest mushrooms and onion.
We walked the streets, looked at the buildings, explored the red light district, meandered through street markets and sat out in the pavement cafes. We also visited a couple of coffee shops. In Amsterdam “coffee shop” is a euphemism for cannabis seller. But only when the sign outside the shop states exactly that “coffee shop”, no more or less. There are many cafes and other establishments that sell coffee so signs like “fresh coffee”, “finest coffee to go” or simply just “coffee” abound but you will not find the weed here. To confuse matters further, coffee shops often sell coffee along with the finest bud. Back in the 70s the Dutch government chose to differentiate between ‘hard’ drugs, those which were clearly harmful and ‘soft’ drugs, like cannabis that are far less of a problem. The authorities decriminalised soft drugs so that they could concentrate resources on solving the anti-social impact of hard drugs. This was, for the most part, very successful and since then over 200 coffee shops have opened in Amsterdam. A whole cannabis culture has developed around the city attracting many tourists each year. The coffee shops cannot advertise but inside you will find racks of hashish, weed, oils, ready-rolled joints and so on. Also, many people happily sitting around blowing smoke and looking comfortably relaxed. We did indulge. It was fun, like a flashback to my student days when, of course, I never inhaled. Realistically, I did not like the actual smoking part so maybe, if we ever go back, I’ll try a cookie.
After a week in Amsterdam and good dose of relaxed tolerance we headed for the UK. Time to start thinking about a new kind of life without a truck.
Then something very strange happened… we decided to sell Baloo. After four years and some great adventures, it is time to move on. We are still going to travel but without a truck. First job was to get unpacked. We brought Baloo back to the UK on the Eurotunnel. This is a cost effective way to get a truck sized motorhome across the English Channel. Eurotunnel have a simple charging scheme with just a single rate for motorhomes. Baloo was a bit of a squeeze but everything worked out. We arrived, on a typically overcast English morning, at Folkstone and set off north.
Car park near CalaisEverything we own – in storageEurotunnel
England is possibly one of the worst countries in Europe for travelling in a motorhome. Wild camping is technically illegal and in practice quite difficult. Quiet areas by the road are few and far between. Chances are that if you find somewhere then before long somebody will turn up to tell that you cannot stay. Even an overnight at a motorway service station will cost you £25 or a substantial fine. You really need to book somewhere to stay for every single night. Campsites are pretty hopeless for a truck like Baloo. The conversation generally goes fine until you mention 20 tons of 6×6 at which point the campsite owner thinks of what will happen to their nicely mown grass. Another option is “Britstops”. This is a scheme where places let you stay for free but hope that you will visit their pub, shop, café or whatever. There is a guidebook you can buy and sticker to show that you subscribe to the scheme however few locations take this too seriously. We used the “Park4Night” app (highly recommended) and after a few phone calls found a pub that was not put off by a 11.5m vehicle.
FerryTrainTrainTrainParis
Next day we arrived at my sister’s house and unloaded everything from Baloo into a storage unit. From there we drove to Hull, took the ferry to Europoort, and finally drove to the Unicat workshop in Dettenheim. Unicat are the only company that can sell Baloo. We said a few goodbyes and a couple of hours later were on the TGV from Karlsruhe to Paris.
Noisy under every bridgePole dancingBateau Mouch
We had used Airbnb to book at apartment in Paris. My main stipulation was that it should have air conditioning. Paris was going to be hot and I am a creature of the cold. We met Olivier, our host, at the address. He was clearly a man in a hurry and promptly took us to another address two doors down. “For security” he explained. Although this explained nothing to me. Diane was bundled into an extraordinarily tiny lift with our luggage and I tried to keep up with Olivier as he leapt, antelope like, up five flights of stairs. Lost him at the third and finally arrived at the apartment just after Diane. We were given a whistle-stop tour of the apartment and then he was gone. The apartment was nice enough and quite spacious. There was no air conditioning. Just windows. It was too late to do anything about this. The week was quite hot, for me, but we survived.
We took many selfies
Paris was wonderful. We kicked back, chilled out and did some very ordinary tourist things. The Bateau Mouche took us up and down the Siene river accompanied by several hundred school children. They discovered that if they screamed when the boat when under a bridge then the echoes made for a very loud noise. There was a pre-recorded sightseeing commentary but we never got to hear more than a couple of words before the next bridge would arrive. We hopped on and off the hop-on, hop-off open top bus and spent a lot of time sitting at pavement cafes sipping wine or coffee. One evening we saw the show at the Moulin Rouge. I have never seen so many bare boobs at one time. It was quite remarkable. Very expensive but worth a visit once in your lifetime. Possibly the high-light of Paris was a frantic drive with Max and his retro style sidecar. This was terrific fun and felt pretty cool as well. After a week we treated ourselves to a night in an air conditioned room near the Gare du Nord railway. It was blissfully cool. Next day we hopped on the train to Amsterdam.
North from Bordeaux brought us to Le Mans just as it was gearing up for the famous 24 hour motor race. This was no coincidence. We met up with the wonderful Lars and Inge and their magnificent Volvo 303. They had travelled directly from Denmark with some fellow Vikings to watch the race. Each year a quarter of a million people arrived from all over the world for this most famous of endurance races. A very large contingent comes from the UK. I am not sure quite why this race is so popular with Brits but they arrive in droves. For the last couple of years, Le Mans 24 has been behind closed doors and that made this year particularly busy. In fact the crowds were remarkable by comparison with any of the half dozen times I have been here before.
We had an allocated campsite and obviously Baloo took up two pitches. Everyone else got set up around us. Mostly small tents, some larger tents and a handful of motorhomes. Each person gets a pitch of just 5m by 7m. Each pitch is adjacent to the next so it gets very cosy very quickly. The Danes were right next to us and Brits on the other side. Baloo is registered with German number plates so it is often assumed that Diane and I are German. Such was the case at the campsite for a while. The Brits ignored us until someone picked up on Diane’s quite distinctive Yorkshire accent. Then they suddenly became quite friendly and asked to have a look inside the truck.
The main premise of the Le Mans 24 hour race is that winner is the car that drives furthest in 24 hours. It is the original endurance race. Most cars have three drivers, each doing stints of less than six hours. There are several classes of race car. The fastest class will do over 5,000 km at an average speed over 200 kph. The race is intense. Fast, hot, noisy, crowded. Part of the 13 km circuit is on normally public roads. These are closed and prepared for the race. On race day, it feels like the whole of the city gets involved.
A typical trip to Le Mans from the UK starts with a mad drive to France. Preferably in a fast car and preferably breaking many speed limits on the way. Once at the campsite the drinking starts. This is continuous until the race is over. Attendees are predominantly male which may account for the catering provisions – almost exclusively barbeque and beer. Sleep is optional. The return trip is often a little more sedate.
Friday was spent relaxing, drinking beer and watching the campsite blossom into a heaving and packed mass of tents, cars and people. Le Mans is all about the atmosphere. Several hundred thousand petrol-heads dedicated to fast cars and drinking beer. Although this might sound like a volatile situation there are very few incidents. Often fans show their support this or that race team or car manufacturer but it is more like a preference rather than an obsession. There is never any of the acrimonious rivalry that you might get at a football match. In the afternoon, the pits were opened up and we could look at the cars close up.
Saturday, 3pm, the race roared into life. At one time the drivers famously ran across the track to start their cars but these days a rolling start is the much safer option. The French air force flew over leaving a trail of colourful smoke. 60 colourful cars thundered down the track to the ubiquitous Dunlop bridge where we saw then at full speed for the first time. A Mexican wave of bobbing heads spread down a trackside absolutely packed with spectators. I needed to stand on tip-toes just to see the track. The noise is phenomenal. Ear defenders are essential. Then there is the smell, high performance racing fuel and burning rubber.
Things settled down a little after the first few laps but only a little bit. We wandered around the track. Had a cold but still overpriced, beer. Wandered round the track some more and generally mellowed into the race ambience. Eventually we looked at some of the commercial stands, considered eating some fries but got put off by the long queues and had a beer instead. A few hours later we reunited with Lars and Inge who we had lost somewhere near part of the track called Tertre Rouge. Overall, the track is 13.6 km long. This would be a good hike but I don’t think it is allowed to walk all the way around it.
Darkness comes late in the evening in June. We turned in around 10pm but then got up a couple of hours later, grabbed a bottle of wine and hopped on a bus to Arnage. One of the great corners of Le Mans. It might sound a bit strange to talk about a great corner but the cars come in here fast and have to negotiate a sharp right hander. At night you see a blaze of approaching headlights. The car turns in, brake discs glowing bright red with heat, tyres struggle to hold on, exhaust popping and flashing with unburnt fuel. In a flash it is past leaving that special smell of fumes and rubber. It is a great way to spend some time but I can imagine it is not for everyone.
We took second bus to Mulsanne and the end of the long straight. These days there is a chicane to slow the cars but even so they can still top 400 km along this stretch. For the brave, late brakers this can be good overtaking spot. Hitting the precise braking point at such a high speed is very difficult. Cars often end up weaving dramatically or even over shooting and crunching through the gravel before regaining the track. All fascinating to watch especially at night with the added drama of headlights, spotlights, floodlights, brake lights and flaming exhaust pipes.
A few more hours of sleep and we were into he closing acts of the race. Over a very late breakfast we tried to catch up by listening to the event radio. Fortunately, such is the size of the English presence here that there is a radio station entirely in English. The effects of 24 hours noise, sleeplessness and beer were making themselves felt. Many people were wandering around with an air of the zombie about them. Some had simply given up and gone to sleep. A few die-hards were still knocking back the beer. We made our way back to the track and watched the final few laps. The very last lap is really just a lap of honour. The cars slow down so the drivers can wave, the crowds applaud and the marshals wave their flags. A strange quietness descends.
Many spectators rush to leave as soon as the race finishes. There are long queues of traffic and many tired, irritable drivers. We chose to simply put our feet up and stay put while the crowds flowed past. Next day we were amongst the last of the stragglers to leave.
Descending a quite road on the French side of the Pyrenees, we came across a dam. There are many dams in the area but what caught my attention about this dam were the bear prints. Someone had painted bear paw prints all the way up the main dam wall. With a little bit of manoeuvring, I managed to park Baloo so that the prints on the wall lined up with the bear paw prints on the side of the truck. Many would regard this as a complete waste of time but I found it immensely satisfying.
Further down the road, the clouds and mist settled down around us. It began to lightly drizzle. I observed, as I have observed many times before, that when the cloud is low over the hills and it is raining that pretty much everywhere starts to look like Borrowdale in the English Lake District.
We parked up at Les Forges d’Abel. This is a disused railway station just on the French side of the border to Spain. It served the now defunct Pau–Canfranc railway and was the last station in France just before the Col du Somport tunnel. From here we took the motorbike over the Col du Somport to Canfranc. In particular, we wanted to have a look at the Canfranc International railway station. This rather remarkable station was opened in 1928 and is immense. It was intended to serve the border crossing and was built as a joint venture between France and Spain. Although cooperating on building a station, the two countries could not agree on a single railway gauge, so part of size of the complex comes from the need for extensive shunting, customs and goods handling area. The actual station in 240m long and has 365 windows. In 1970 the French side of the line was closed following a serious derailment that destroyed a major bridge. It was never re-opened. The station suffered years of neglect with only a couple of trains a day arriving from the Spanish side. Then, after much campaigning from various sectors, it was announced in 2020 that the EU would make funding available to restore the station and re-open the international line.
When we visited, the restoration work appeared to be well underway. There are no through trains yet but the main station building is coming back to life. Part of this will be a hotel and international conference centre. Should be a very sumptuous and interesting place to stay one day.
On the way back we explored a couple of narrow roads that turned into tracks. Eventually we came back over the Col du Somport to our disused railway station. The main road here goes through a tunnel under the col. It is long, straight, dark and boring. We saw several groups of motorcyclists heading through the tunnel. Don’t do it guys. Take the high road. Over the Col du Somport is a lovely scenic road that winds it way over the mountains. There are some great bends but nothing too serious, even a Harley Davidson could make it. Then down through the lovely village of Canfranc. Even if you do not care about railway stations there are some terrific cafes.
Finally leaving the Pyrenees, we headed to Bordeaux and stumbled across a Chateau which invited motorhomes to park for free. Of course you were expected to taste the wine and maybe buy a few bottles. This was not really a hardship. We found out about another place (thank you Davide) that also offered water and electricity. Thus began a short but fun tour of Bordeaux vineyards.
Meanwhile, I have been trying out the new oven. The oven story is very long and expensive but the endpoint was a new Gaggenau steam oven. This is turning out to be really very capable. First task was making bread. I often use this as a test of a new oven. You can tell a lot about how even the heat is. With a steam oven you can use moisture to loosen the dough initially and later to create a crispy crust. First attempts were good and then I went on to make a sour dough loaf that was possibly one of the best I even made. Really good solid crust while light and properly textured inside.
While shopping in Lidl, I came across a very cheap vacuum packing machine. The oven claimed sufficient low temperature control at high humidity to be good enough for sous vide cooking. I never tried this before. The principle is that you vacuum pack the food and then cook it at a relatively low temperature. These two conditions combine to preserve the flavour. First attempt was mushrooms. Cooked at 45°C for over an hour. They were spectacular. Simple brown mushrooms with garlic, butter and fresh coriander. Next came asparagus. Fresh asparagus, since it is that time of year, with butter and a little seasoning. 85°C for 25 minutes. Also very good. I can see why it is so popular with some chefs. Can be a bit of a fiddle getting everything arranged in the bag and sealing it but appears to be well worth the effort. More experiments will follow.
One of my many nightmares, I have quite a few, is about driving Baloo into a small village. The streets get increasingly narrow until we are stuck. Then I have to try and reverse out which is almost impossibly difficult. Cars are blocking the way. Walls are getting scraped. We are reversing over well-kept gardens. Angry villagers appear waving pitchforks and burning torches. You get the idea? Nearly happened during our first couple of days in the Pyrenees. From the map I could see the valley road led up to a col. Looked nice. No excess of hairpin bends. No weight or length restrictions. No road signs indicating it was not suitable for larger vehicles. First village was narrow but nothing too unusual. Second village was even smaller. I was starting to have doubts and began looking for a turning spot. Third village was ridiculous. Literally just a few centimetres either side. People watching out of the windows and scowling. We made it through onto the road that started to climb up the valley side. Narrow, crumbling edges, steep drops. I was losing my nerve but there was nowhere to turn. We took a sharp turn over a bridge where a dirt track joined. With a few shunts I managed to reverse into this, put the parking break on, stopped the engine and took a few deep breaths.
Would you drive a truck through here?
Carry on up? The road might widen above the valley. The map showed no more villages. Or it might become dangerously narrow and we could get impossibly stuck. One option is always to get the motorbike down and do a reconnaissance. However, we were completely blocking the track and it was getting towards evening. Eventually we chose to go back. It was tricky but we knew it was possible. In fact, knowing it was possible made it easier. Gave me the confidence that so long as I was careful everything would be fine. And it was. A few villages tutted at us but others saw the humour in the situation. Nothing got damaged. We did not get attacked. Shortly afterwards we were safe in a quiet layby. The stuff of nightmares.
The next few days we stuck to the main roads. Not so interesting but easier on my nerves. We ended up in Andorra which is a good place to buy cheap diesel. Cheap in this sense means cheaper than in the rest of Europe. The days of genuinely cheap diesel are long gone. There is a nice, truck sized, parking area right on top of the pass above the town of Pas de la Casa. We settled down here with a handful of other motorhomes. It has been quite hot lately but up at 2,000m it was deliciously cool. We enjoyed the fresh breeze with the sunset.
Next morning I took Cent for his usual short walk before breakfast and noticed a car further down the hillside. It was stuck in some mud. Looked like an attempt to dive along a boggy track that was really only suitable for a tractor. We had breakfast before checking again and he was definitely stuck. Baloo made short work of dragging the small hatchback out. The car and the owner were both very muddy but otherwise unharmed. We waved goodbye and continued west along the Pyrenees.
Diane has a clean bill of health. She has been tested and her bones are fine. The surgery has worked well and everything is knitted back together properly. Seems like breaking her hip was just really, really unlucky and no indicator of an underlying condition. Enormous thank you to Claudia at Unicat for helping us get this sorted out. Diane jokes that I kicked her crutches away when we found out all was well. This is not quite true but I did suggest that she could get on with a bit more walking. It will take many months before she has her full mobility and strength back but we are pleased that everything is going in the right direction. That sorted it was time to get back on the road.
France is mostly a relaxed and easy country to travel in with a motorhome. There are plenty of parking places, plenty of service points and wild camping is generally tolerated. The countryside is varied and rewarding, the people are friendly and the food is great. The last couple of weeks have been warm and sunny. Our French peregrination has been a relaxed and easy affair.
From Germany, we slipped up to Luxembourg to buy slightly cheaper diesel and then followed the Mosel river southwards. Avoiding main roads and taking our time, we attempted to link up several nation parks. This strategy was more or less successful and we discovered many new parts of France.
We have a new oven. The Baloo oven story is a bit of a saga and will be recounted in due course. This is the fifth oven to be installed since we set off. Hopefully it is the last one for a good while now. On the up side, it is proving to be the best oven yet and makes me very happy. Cooking is often high on our agenda. You might guess this by looking at me. Putting a tendency to podginess to one side, one of the joys in our life is preparing and eating good food. Bread is clearly an early test of any oven and this was reassuringly successful. A variety of bakes have followed and then we got to the pizza. This was good. But I think it can be better. Understanding a new oven always takes a while. Well, for me anyhow. This one has steam modes. A big step forward in capabilities but at the cost of complexity of operation.
Young visitor
There was a bit of a heatwave. By the time we were crossing the Grands Causses Natural Park it was getting hot. Properly 30°C hot. Fine while we were driving with the cab air-conditioning running but a bit much when we stopped for the night. The road took us high into some hills and appeared to offer a great opportunity. Higher up it would be cooler, fresher, more of a breeze and fewer flies. We parked up on a broad ridge overlooking several shallow valleys. Lovey views, cool air, perfect. Until the flies arrived, hundreds of them. While we were eating at one side of Baloo, a farmer had been busy unloaded tons, many tons, of freshly created organic manure. Cow shit. Mountains of it. A slight shift in wind direction put us right in the odorous path. We’d been at the wine. It was too late to move. We just had to rough it out, truly horrendous. The wind dropped, the stink rose, the flies descended and the temperature stayed resolutely high. Next morning was a quick breakfast, an early start and a promise to be more careful about where we parked.
Trying to sort the remote shutterHappy wedding anniversaryLooked to be a lovely place to camp
