2022 - Salter's travels

Cruising

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.

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 15^th 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 15^th 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.

Scotland

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Vikkas Cent 2010 – 2022

Florence

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 16^th 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.

Rome

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.

Etna

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 20^th 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.

Amalfi Coast

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.

Pompei

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.

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.

Naples

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.

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.

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.

Pisa

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

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.

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.

To Italy

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 14^th 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.

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

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.

Paris

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Le Mans 24

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.

Then something very strange happened…

Pyrenees (West)

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.

Pyrenees (East)

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.

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.

France

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.

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.

Maritime Alps

We left La Plagne but were still feeling the after-effects of Covid. Nothing serious, just a cough and a general feeling of tiredness. The plan was to do a couple of weeks of easy travelling before heading back to Germany to get Diane’s hip checked out. North through Chamonix and over the magnificent Col des Montets into Switzerland. Starting the 1,000m descent there are several sweeping bends with wide open views down vertiginous slopes. Far below, the town of Martigny nestles in the valley. In 1981, my first experience of this pass was in a clapped out VW combi van. To this day, I still recall gripping the wheel more tightly and hoping the brakes, which failed periodically, would hold out until bottom. Baloo is quite another matter. As well as the service brake (foot pedal) it also has an exhaust brake, a system which changes the valve timing to increase retardation. The engine becomes a compressor slowing the truck and blowing out hot air. It works in conjunction with the semi-automatic gearbox. Often I can simply set the speed using the service brake at the start of a descent and then keep my feet on the floor while the truck systems maintain a safe and steady pace. The exhaust brake does make a rather satisfying noise. We stopped by a roundabout in the valley and the brake drums were barely warm.

South through the Grand St Bernard tunnel to Italy. In 1964 this was the longest road tunnel in the world. Now it seems a bit old and dusty. We emerged into the rather awesome Aosta valley. This runs south-east from Mont Blanc out into the plains of Northern Italy. It cuts past some of the great mountains of Europe including Monte Rosa, Gran Paradiso and the Matterhorn. There is a motorway along the length of the Aosta valley but also numerous castles and fortified houses. To the north are permanently snowy peaks while further south the valley broadens into cultivated fields and vineyards. We detoured northwards to drive up to Breuil-Cervinia. There is a dedicated motorhome area here with terrific views of the Matterhorn.

Next day we resumed our trek south and emerged on the flatlands north of Turin. Not wanting to have anything to do with either flat lands or Turin we turned back towards the Alps and a road into the Parco Nazionale Gran Paradiso. We were trying to get to the Lago di Ceresole but got thwarted by the narrow roads. Usually, at this stage we would have a motorbike day to explore further but we thought this probably unwise with Diane’s delicate hip. So we turned Baloo around while we could still find a turning place, back-tracked for a while and then joined the much more substantial road from Turin to the ski areas around Sauze d’Oulx. Skiing is long finished here and like much of the Alps the area is sort of catching its breath. Nearly everything is closed, for a few weeks, between the end of the winter season and the start of summer. The patchy and muddy remains of ski slopes are still visible. At the same time the grass is turning green and flowers are coming out.

We found a lovely secluded spot in a forest near Sestriere. So nice that we spent two nights there. It was calm and quiet and sunny. Ideal for a bit of recuperation and also to get some washing done. Further south and we were into the heart of the Maritime Alps and not far from the Mediterranean. We attempted to cross via the Col de Tende tunnel but discovered that heavy traffic is barred from this road at weekends. Another U-turn and we set off over the Col du Larche. This is a long and spectacular pass very popular with motorcyclists. We stretched it out over two days. By Monday, everyone had gone home and we had the place to ourselves.

Working our way back north we passed through Briançon and camped right at the top of the Col du Lautaret. Further west and we followed a lovely loop of road around the south of the Vercors Massif. By now we had thoroughly shaken off the Covid so we set a course for Germany.

La Plagne

A consultant checked Diane’s hip before pronouncing that all was well. She is still not allowed to walk on it but the healing process appears to be going in the right direction. I figured that since she could not get out and about wherever we were, that we might as well go to a ski area. One of the many joys of travelling with Baloo is that we can follow the resorts with good snow conditions. At the end of this season the situation was very mixed. Some areas even had to close early. The best conditions appeared to be at La Plagne in the Savoie area of the French Alps. We have not been there for over ten years and so, two days later, we arrived.

The snow was not great. South facing slopes were bare and the lower runs were slush and mud. I don’t think there had been any fresh snow for a couple of weeks. Still, any skiing is better than no skiing and I enjoyed myself. Diane could sit out in the sun during the day. The parking area for motor homes is right next to one of the runs. You can watch skiers and snowboarders going past with varying degrees of competence. You can watch ski instructors patiently coaxing the aspirants following like a line of ducks. There are people walking or plodding in snow shoes. People on sledges, mostly younger people. Paragliders dot the air with their colourful canopies. On a pleasant sunny day it can all get very busy.

La Plagne is very popular with the British. You can spot groups of Brits at the lift queues. Everyone else converges on chairs in a rather haphazard fashion. Brits, however, have a great cultural background in orderly queues. They like to stand in well organised lines. Queue jumping is considered a moral sin up there with adultery and taking the last biscuit in the packet. On a six person lift, the Brits will organise themselves into neat rows of acquaintances to discuss the weather while they wait. Rows of five people, four, three, even just two at times. This is great for me. I can slip down the side to the front of the queue and grab one of the unoccupied spaces. This is not queue jumping, I am in a seat that was otherwise going to be empty. But still, I am often regarded as a queue jumper. I have intruded into their group and their carefully reserved place in the queue. There are glaring scowls and muttered tutting sounds. I pretend to be foreign and either ignore them or give my best impression of a French “boof” while shrugging my shoulders. Occasionally, I will move up to the gate of a six seat lift and the four Brits will just stand still. The gate opens, I sit down on my own, they take the next chair. Preferring to wait, to queue a bit longer, rather than share a chair with someone outside of their group.

Colin, from Scotland, was camped in a motorhome just opposite us. He was on his own and we ended up skiing together. Colin is a much better skier than me. This was fine for me. I had to really improve my game to keep up. He was good company as well. We skied on several days and then the snow came. The area really needed some new snow. Two days later everything was looking much whiter and less muddy. A big improvement. The morning was dull and overcast. Snow was in the air and visibility was poor but we thought we would have a look anyhow. Great decision. At the top of the main lift we popped out above the cloud. Brilliant sunshine and fresh snow. Big vistas and cloud filled valleys. We had a terrific day bouncing around in the soft snow and were both pretty shattered by the end.

This time of year the fresh snow never lasts for long and within a few days it was thinning. Bare patches starting to show through again. Colin went off to the airport to collect his daughter and I caught Covid. I had been avoiding travelling in gondolas preferring the chairlifts where you can sit in the fresh air. However, there are a couple of areas that can only be accessed by gondola. One, called “Le Glacier”, is served by tiny little bubbles that six people can squeeze into. Covid capsules as I came to think of them. No windows to open, not even any air vents. I only used them four times, but that was enough.

Obviously Diane developed symptoms a day later and so we isolated ourselves for a few days. Each of us had a mild temperature and a day when we preferred to lie on the bed. Fortunately, neither of us got very poorly. Colin came back, skied with his daughter for a few days and then left to go home. We waved through the window. Eventually we tested negative by which time the snow was all but hopeless for skiing so we gave up on La Plagne and set off for a short tour of the Maritime Alps.

First and last

Helen and David’s last day in Grindelwald was fast approaching, so we went to First. Grindelwald First is a place, at the top of a gondola, on the other side of the valley to Kleine Scheidegg. The gondola is a few years old, small and completely inaccessible to wheelchairs. Fortunately, it was a warm sunny day so we left David and Diane at a restaurant. Again.

At the top of the gondola, at the First restaurant, is a cliff walkway. Helen tried suggesting that, because she had already done one of these, that there was not need to do another. We did it anyhow. You should do something scary at least once a day. Then we got on with some skiing. Late season ski conditions can often be a bit uncertain. Today, despite being overcast, the weather was warm. The snow was soft and sticky. The visibility was poor. We made the best of it. A long, meandering run took us back to David and Diane. It was fun but hard work.

Later, we all went out for our first and last evening meal in Grindelwald. The pizza was good. Helen and Diane shared a particularly large vanilla ice cream drizzled with hot chocolate sauce.

Next day dawned overcast, grey and miserable. Helen and Dave set off for home. P&O Ferries had just incited industrial action cancelling all their ferries and this did cause Helen and David to have a mini adventure. After a day and a night in the Black Forest they drove north to spend an extra night in a comfortable hotel on the banks of the northern Rhine. Finally, via a DFDS ferry from Amsterdam to Newcastle, they made it home.

We set off to Germany to find a consultant that could check out Diane’s hip.

Interlaken & Jungfraujoch

Switzerland turned orange. Not just Switzerland, much of Europe was tinted for a while as dust from the Sahara filled the air. This is not unusual. It happens every year or two. However, it does look very strange. Left a layer of orange snow on the mountains and orange dust on Helen’s car. We drove down to Interlaken. As the name suggests, this is the town between two lakes – Brienz to the east and Thun to the west. We pottered around for a while. Interlaken is a tourist town but on this particular day nothing very much appeared to be happening. We had a pleasant time and then headed back via the car wash so as to remove the thick layer of Sahara from the car. A few days earlier, David had mentioned that he was missing one of his favourite dishes – sausage, mash and beans. So when I spotted some Heinz baked beans in an Interlaken shop I thought I would attempt a fusion of Yorkshire, Swiss and vegan cuisine. With the baked beans we had rösti and tofu bratwurst. Rösti is a traditional Swiss way of roasting grated potatoes. Bratwurst is a type of sausage popular in Germany and Switzerland. I have no doubt that many would argue that something made from tofu could not be a proper sausage – it did however all turn out to be very tasty.

Next day we tackled the Jungfraujoch. This is a railway station on the saddle between the Jungfrau and Mönch mountains at 3,454m. Tunnels connect to the Top of Europe building, an ice palace dug into the glacier and, via an elevator, the Sphinx astronomical observatory. First part of the journey was the now familiar train up to Kleine Scheidegg. From there we travelled on the Jungfrau Railway, the highest railway in Europe. The track climbs 1,393m in just over 9km through a steep tunnel inside the Eiger and Mönch mountains. The tunnel was dug just over a hundred years ago, took 16 years and remains an engineering masterpiece. On the way up, the train stops at some observations windows where you can look out from the north face of the Eiger.

From the underground train station we made our way to the Top of Europe building where an elevator took us to a small café. After ascending some 2,400m we were ready for a coffee. Refreshed, we managed to avoid the souvenir shop and headed for the observation platform just underneath the Sphinx Observatory.

The mountain scenery here is awesome and we were not disappointed. There was still a little Saharan dust from the day before in the air. This reduced visibility but also gave a slightly surreal and very atmospheric tinge to the views. We felt like we were in a very unusual and vaguely other-worldly place. We could see down several deep, distant valleys and also across the Aletsch Glacier which, at 23km, is the largest glacier in the Alps. As if to emphasise the height of our viewpoint, a helicopter flew past underneath us.

After the best part of an hour, the cold was eventually starting to penetrate. We retreated inside and installed ourselves in the restaurant for lunch. Service was a bit slow but with incredible views through the windows we did not really care. We drank champagne. It seemed appropriate. There was also salad and pasta. By the time coffee was done we were warm again. We were also quite relaxed and so did not think twice about heading off to the ice palace with both wheelchairs.

The palace is a series of tunnels carved into the glacier. The floor is ice. Flat, smooth ice that we could skate along while pushing the wheelchairs. Along the way are alcoves with assorted ice sculptures. At the end of the ice tunnels we emerged on a short snowy ramp leading to another view point. David surprised everyone by walking up here. We did not linger though. The weather was coming in cold and windy. Also, we were running out of time for the last train down.

The last down train was a bit chaotic. Not only were there some dawdling tourists, like us, but also quite a few staff and a fair bit of luggage. It took quite an effort to pack everyone in. Helen and I found seats for Diane and David then had to fold the wheelchairs up and get them out of the way. Eventually, we found ourselves squashed into a corner by the doors and behind crates. The ticket inspector was the last person in through the doors. She looked at how cramped things were and then asked us if we wanted to sit next to the driver at the very front of the train. Oh yes. We rode down the Eiger looking out of the front of the train chatting with the driver about his job. Very cool end to the day.

Skiing & Thunersee

This time we left Diane and David on the balcony of the hotel room. It is a magnificent balcony that looks out across the Grindelwald valley and up to the north face of the Eiger. You can keep an eye on three ski slopes and the sledging run. We made sure there was an adequate supply of red wine, beer and snacks. They also had the binoculars and the camera. Helen and I took the new, high speed, Eiger Express gondola and in just twenty minutes or so we were high in the mountains up on the ski slopes. Another trip to Wengen was followed by skiing all the way back to Grindelwald. We stopped at the top of the final run to wave to David and Diane. With unaided eyes we could just about make out the hotel but had no idea if they could see us. We just stood there for a few minutes waving like idiots. But they did see us. Diane even took some photos.

Next day we all went for a drive around Lake Thun (Thunersee). Down in the valley the weather was warm and sunny if a bit hazy. We stopped at several places along the far shore. Helen and David were particularly taken by the pollarded plane trees dotted along the shore. Here and in France, roadside trees are commonly heavily pruned to control how they grow. In particular they tend to develop knobbly lumps at the branch ends. Because of this they bore a striking resemblance to the Whomping Willow of Harry Potter fame. Cent was also quite interested but possibly for other reasons. For lunch we found a perfect hotel balcony. Here we were served beer and snacks while looking out over the lake and a small arboretum of Whomping Willows.

Back to the skiing. Using the Eiger Express we could get to Eiger Gletcher railway station. Above the station is an excellent small restaurant with seating on the balcony. From here, at 2,320m, you can look up at the slowly shrinking Eiger Glacier and down at the ski slopes. Once again, Diane and David had a full-service arrangement while Helen and I went to ski. At this altitude the sun can be intense. By the time we got back, Diane and David were possibly a little sun-bronzed but had managed to keep themselves hydrated by drinking beer judiciously.

Here are a couple of videos of Helen skiing. I took one of Helen skiing on her own. The other, filmed by Diane, shows Helen following me off the start of the run down from Eiger Gletcher.

Meringen & Piz Gloria

This part of the Bernese Oberland has strong cultural connections to Britain. After visiting Wengen, where the Brits invented skiing and Lauterbrunnen that lent inspiration to ‘The Lord of the Rings’, we set off to visit another cultural reference near the town of Meiringen. All of us piled into Helen’s car, four adults, two wheelchairs and a large German Shepherd. We drove out to the Reichenbach Falls, famous for something that never actually happened. In Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s book, “The Final Problem”, his legendary detective, Sherlock Holmes falls to his death after an altercation with his greatest foe, the criminal Professor Moriarty. Of course this is just a novel and never happened. Furthermore, in a subsequent novel we discover Sherlock did not die but actually used the incident as an excuse to skulk off to Tibet and Japan. So, even in the Holmes fantasy world, he never died there. None the less, the notoriety has rubbed off and made the Reichenbach Falls world famous.

Unfortunately, when we arrived, the falls were closed for the winter. There is small mountain railway that takes visitors up from the valley. But only in the summer. We looked at a small plaque and the wall. This was a bit of an anti-climax so by way of compensation we wandered into town in search of lunch. What we actually found was the man himself. Or at least, a bronze statue of him. Created by John Doubleday in 1988, this is the world’s first statue of Sherlock Holmes. The same year a statue appeared in Karuizawa (Japan). In 1991 the first statue in Britain was erected at Conan-Doyle’s birthplace in Edinburgh and in 1999, another Doubleday statue was installed outside Baker Street tube station – they failed to find a site actually on Baker Street. In 2007, a statue of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson was erected in Moscow near the British embassy. What would the great detective make of current events there? Meanwhile, back in Meiringen, we examined the statue very carefully. Purportedly there are clues to all of the Holmes novels embedded in the statue. We failed to find any but Helen did seem to enjoy sitting on his knee.

After an excellent lunch we drove round the far side of the Brienzersee lake just as the sun set.

Another day and another British cultural reference. This time we headed back in to the mountains and up to the summit of the Schilthorn, 2,970m. From Lauterbrunnen, we rode up a cable car and then a small mountain railway to the isolated Alpine village of Mürren. From the train station it was a short taxi ride in a 4×4 pickup with wheel chains to another cable car that took us up to Birg at 2,677m. Here we found a nice sunny platform where David and Diane had coffee. Meanwhile, Helen and I explored the “Thrill Walk” – a thin walkway clinging perilously to the cliffs high. This features a glass floor and a kind of crawling net that hangs out over an immense drop. Helen was very brave.

Finally, from Birg, we took another cable car and arrived at the top of the Schilthorn. The views up here are truly spectacular. It is one of the highest places around and over 200 peaks are visible. The view is so good that in 1969 the world’s first revolving restaurant, called Piz Gloria, was built here. Part of the funding came from the James Bond movie production team who were working on the film of “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”. The name Piz Gloria came from Flemmings novel and it features prominently in the film as the villainous Blofeld’s mountain top hide-away.

George Lazenby played Bond in this film. He was rubbish and fortunately this was the only time he played Bond. All that business with kilts just makes me cringe. Despite this, the restaurant proudly broadcasts its Bond connection. There are life sized Lazenby cut-outs, little “007” notices everywhere and a Bond inspired menu. Double 0 pasta anyone? In the Bond themed toilet a sound track of movie clips occasionally declares “Oh James!” while you are trying to concentrate.

Despite all the Bond nonsense, this is one of the genuinely amazingly places to be in the world. The scenery is breath-taking and constantly changing. Especially if you sit in the rotating restaurant. It is wonderful – you can enjoy a bite to eat in warmth and comfort while the whole of the Swiss Alps rotates for your pleasure and convenience. We had lunch but first we had champagne. We invested in a bottle of Bollinger – “the champagne of James Bond”. It was delicious and completely appropriate but note that I pointedly used the word ‘invested’. This is not wine for casually quaffing. The food was very good despite being called “Bond… this” and “James… that”. After some 007 coffee (I kid you not), we wandered around outside absorbing the views and breathing the pure alpine air. Helen found a stuffed Ibex that she took quite a liking to. We almost missed the last cable car down. Not sure what would happen then – would they let us stay?

Grindelwald & Kleine Scheidegg

Diane had just broken her hip and we were supposed to be meeting Helen, my baby sister, and her husband, David, for a skiing trip. This excursion had been difficult to arrange. Very nearly happened in January but was scuppered by the Covid outbreak. Now it was in doubt again but we decided to press on anyhow. At Brixen hospital, Diane’s hip had been pinned back together. Hopefully she will recover without any lasting problems but for the next few weeks she cannot put any weight on her leg. Climbing into the cab of Baloo is quite impossible and using the crawl-though would require far more agility than is possible just now. So Diane had to stay in the living compartment, using the bench seat and facing backwards.

We agreed to meet Helen and David at the Unicat workshop. Arriving a couple of days early we had time to install a seatbelt in the rear so that Diane would be safe (thank you Daniel). We also collected a wheelchair to help her get around (thank you Claudia and Rainer). It was great to meet Helen and David although it was clear that David’s condition was progressing. He has Motor Neurone Disease. This is a rare, degenerative condition that affects the brain and nerves. He is gradually losing the use of his muscles, can no longer lift his arms and needs a wheelchair.

After a gentle, two day drive we arrived at the pretty Swiss village of Grindelwald. Here we had booked Baloo onto a campsite and also found a nearby hotel for Helen and David. Next day we all went out in Helen’s car – four people and two wheelchairs. It all worked quite well. We found a nice place to sit in the sun for lunch and looked at some glaciers. We were encouraged by this and so set our sights to the mountains for the following day.

The Swiss trains turned out to be very accommodating when it came to wheelchairs. On our first venture, we went up to the Kleine Scheidegg mountain pass at 2,061m. Nestled under the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau peaks this celebrated alpine pass is a focal point for the mountain railway and chairlift systems. The railway people were very helpful. So much so that we felt empowered to continue down to the mountain village of Wengen on the far side of the pass. One story has it that alpine skiing was invented here, by the British. Winter holiday makers requested use of the train system effectively turning them into the first ski lifts. The British downhill championships of 1921 featured a “straight down” race and the worlds first slalom, where skiers had to negotiate trees as they raced.

While we were waiting at Wengen train station to head back, there were a few tantalising views of the Lauterbrunnen valley. JRR Tolkien drew inspiration from this valley in his depiction of Rivendell. The Wengernalp Railway, from Lauterbrunnen to Grindelwald via Wengen and Kleine Scheidegg, is the world’s longest continuous rack and pinion railway. Trains going downhill take longer than those going up. This is because it is a single track system. The downhill train arrives at the mid-point passing place slightly before the uphill train so that the uphill train never has to stop.

Next day Helen had her first ski lesson. We all went back up to Kleine Scheidegg. David and Diane had to help up with carrying the skis. It would have been handy if the wheelchairs could be fitted with a ski rack. We then abandoned the pair of them at the train station for a couple of hours. This was not all bad. They had a table outside the restaurant , in the sunshine, with waiter service and a spectacular view of the north face of the Eiger. Helen’s first lesson, with a professional instructor, went well and she arrived back beaming from ear to ear. Her background as a long time fell runner probably helps – she has good balance, strong legs and no fear at all about going downhill very fast. By the time Helen and I returned to the others they had not only taken coffee but also lunch and several beers. We mutually agreed the day had been a success and headed back down to Grindelwald.

Valles

Passo Pordoi has 33 hairpin bends and climbs to 2,950 m. It was fun but very slow going. Several corners required shunts to get round. The views, however, were spectacular and the towering cliffs of the Dolomites add drama with a hint of danger. Fortunately there was very little traffic otherwise we might have caused a few queues. We arrived in Arabba late in the afternoon and found a great motorhome parking site ideally suited to Baloo – big grate for emptying the tanks, fast fresh water tap and plenty of space – perfect.

The next day, the forecast promised “light snow”. As it turned out there was about 50cm of light snow. We dug the snow shoes out and took Cent for a walk in the woods.

The next couple of days, I went skiing. Diane was not so keen. There was quite a long walk up to the ticket office and lifts. Tricky in ski boots. The conditions for skiing were not so great and the slopes were very crowded. The fresh snow had been chewed into moguls and icy patches within hours. After a 50 minute queue for the cable car, I made it up to the top of Marmolade – the highest peak in the area. Very cold and windy. Also very crowded. Getting down on hard, icy snow and very busy slopes proved to be quite difficult and not much fun.

Time to move on. We drove north and up an easy valley to the little village of Valles. By now the weather was overcast and drizzling. We walked around the village. Next day we walked up the valley and discovered Llamas and wooden sheep with strings on. Finally, the weather came good and we went skiing. The snow was not brilliant, a bit slushy and heavy for turning. However, the sun was shining and the slopes were not too busy. We had a pleasant day. Come late afternoon we set off home. Disaster, in the shape of a young lad skiing backwards, struck. He caught Diane’s skis and flipped her down the slope. She landed with a bit of thump but, initially, thought that she had just acquired another bruise. Five minutes later she was back on her feet but very shortly after that she realized that she could not really stand up at all. The lad and his parents had long since gone. I called the ski rescue who, quite remarkably, turned up less than five minutes later. By the time we had loaded Diane into a sledge behind a snow-mobile, she was getting very uncomfortable. Painful waves of cramp all the way down her thigh.

At Brixen hospital they discovered that Diane had broken her femur. Snapped it clean through so that the ball of her hip joint was detached. The same evening, surgeons operated to pin the joint back together. They are very experienced with ski injuries here and very good at fixing them. I moved Baloo down the valley closer to the hospital. Me and the dog sat down and waited. Because of Covid, I was not allowed into the hospital so I next saw Diane when she was discharged three days later.

Carezza

We finally made it to Italy. But we went to Austria first. From Samnaun there are only two roads. Staying in Switzerland involves driving through some very small tunnels. A larger vehicle, like Baloo, needs to drive down the other side of the valley in Austria. At the bottom of the valley you can immediately turn west and go back into Switzerland. Or you can continue south on a well-made, modern main road some ten kilometers to Italy. The only problem with the route Italy are the ubiquitous Austrian 7.5t weight limit signs. We risked it and a short while later arrived at the border to Italy where, somewhat to my surprise, we got stopped by the police. Not the Austrian police, who were nowhere to be seen, these guys were Italian. They checked the vehicle documents, my driving license and our passports. Fortunately everything was in order and a few minutes later we were on our way. We finally made it to Italy.

A day later we were in the Dolomites. This is a fantastic area. 18 steep, rocky peaks rising to over 3,000m, crisscrossed by deep, narrow picturesque valleys. Vertical walls, bare rock, narrow winding roads and postcard villages. It is also home to one of the largest ski areas in the world. A network of lifts and pistes collectively referred to as Dolomiti Superski.

Last year, while we were parked in Samnaun, we made friends with Carston and Silke, who were parked next to us in their remarkable motorhome with a Porche in the back. They gave us some really good pointers for parking and skiing in the Dolomites. Thank you! Our first stop was Carezza. Small village, small ski area, very pretty. Ideal for us to hang out for a few days. The skiing was good in that the pistes were well prepared and there were some interesting places to visit. However, in general there is not a lot of snow here. Not as much as you would hope for mid-February. So off-piste there is not really any skiing at all. None the less, we had a few excellent days, saw the sights and enjoyed the location.

Our final task was to look out some Legrein wine. Thanks for the suggestion Max. Legrein is a red wine grape variety local to this area. Apparently the wine is rarely exported so you will seldom find it elsewhere. Wikipedia tells me that it is becoming increasingly popular in Australia. It also tells me that Legrein produces wines with high acidity that are congenial and straightforward. Deliciously plummy, earthy and chewy, dark and full-bodied but not heavy, with a pronounced minerally edge. I agree – although I might have struggled over the description. We have been trying wine from several producers. It is reasonably priced and really nice. Think I may go and try another glass just now. Cheers.

Samnaun

We crossed the Julier pass. Drove round St Moritz. Nearly went to Italy but then realized that were not far from Samnaun. This is the little duty free enclave where we spent two months last year. Back then, Switzerland was one of the few European countries where campsites were open. Now, travelling is a bit easier and more ski resorts are open. One reason to visit Samnaun was to see what it was like in full swing with the links to Ischgl in Austria open. Another reason was cheap diesel.

Arriving in Samnaun we not only went to the familiar campsite but also the same pitch we had last year. Other than that, things were very different. Far more people for a start and a steady stream of skiers coming down the valley from Austria, drinking beer and then carrying on down to the cable car. Last year, the morning cable car catered for about ten people. My first trip up it was packed. Best part of a hundred people on two decks. Ischgl almost caused me culture shock. The pristine, quiet and peaceful mountains were now packed with people and ski slopes. The pistes were wide, steep and dense with high speed skiers. The lifts are big, brash and fast. Restaurants and bars were heaving. There is an intensity and frenetic pace to this sort of ski resort that actually makes me a bit uncomfortable. Somehow I think the mountains should be a bit more peaceful and relaxing. The rather apt catch phrase that Ischgl has adopted is “Relax. If you can…”.

Two days of cross border skiing was ample to satisfy my curiosity and we were about to leave. Then the snow came. The forecast showed a big dump of snow in this area of the Alps and not so much elsewhere. Exciting news especially since, after almost becoming a local the previous year, I now knew many of the good places to ski in fresh snow. We sat it out. Three days of continuous snow. Well over half a meter. Finally the clouds passed and the morning arrived, clear and fresh. Along with many others, I headed for the hills and had a fantastic few hours making fresh tracks in the soft, virgin snow. The local knowledge really helped. A couple of times I skied a new line and then, within a handful of minutes, it had been repeated by a score of others. Such was the density of skiers, that by lunchtime, pretty much all the good areas had been skied out. Once the all the fresh snow has been churned up into uneven mush, it becomes much harder and far less pleasant to ski. The next day I explored the Ischgl side. There is clearly much off-piste skiing there but it was all skied out. A strong wind during the night had blown much of the fresh snow of exposed ridges so they were looking bare already.

The next day we actually, really, definitely set off for Italy.

Bivio

It took half a day at the Unicat workshop to find the problem with the generator. Then about two minutes to fix the loose wire that was the cause of all the trouble. With that sorted we set off for Northern Italy.

Two days later we were crossing the Julier pass. Heading south towards St Moritz. We stopped at the little village of Bivio at 1800m. There are a couple of drag lifts here and a small camping area for motorhomes. We had passed the place several times previously. Many of the mountain roads in Switzerland are closed in the winter so the total number of routes though the country is quite limited. The road on the Julier pass is often snow covered and requires care but a gang of people with a range of snow clearing machines manage to keep it open most of the time.

The drag lift opposite the camp area is only open at the weekend. It was Friday afternoon. Every time we had passed here, I thought it would be a great place to ski for a couple of days. This seemed like too much of a good opportunity so, despite the slightly dodgy looking weather, we parked up.

Next day the weather was truly terrible. Misty, cold, snowing and windy. We took a walk down to the village and found some goats in a shed.

Sunday dawned very cold but clear. The entire ski area consists of just three drag lifts. They are very long. Each one takes about ten minutes. At the top of the highest lift you are way above the valley with wide open vistas of the surrounding mountains. This area is very popular for ski mountaineering. Small groups of people were working their way up the slopes in every direction I looked. A sunny Sunday and fresh snow was an irresistible lure. The skiers fit self-adhesive climbing skins to their skis, walk up a mountain, remove the skins and then ski down making elegant patterns in the virgin snow. By the evening, just about every slope and couloir I could see was covered in wiggly ski tracks. I confined myself to areas accessible from the ski lifts but still had a great day. Lots of space, not many people and some fantastic views. Diane has never liked drag lifts so she was happy to walk with Cent and take a few photographs.

Next day we carried on towards Italy.

Les Saisies

East from La Clusaz, a little bit closer to Mont Blanc, is the village of Les Saisies. We were here a few years ago and thought it worth another look. There is a large motor home parking area that you can ski into. The main part of the village is not far away. Not much après ski here but there are numerous artisan shops selling food, drink and odd souvenirs. Many restaurants, a few bars, some small hotels and a lot of small chalets. Like La Clusaz, this is a very French kind of ski area. Totally different from the clubbing orientated resorts that cater to package holidays.

In the evening was a lovely colourful sunset and then it started snowing. Serious snowing. Snowed all the next day as well. And the next night.
Early in the morning we were woken to the sound of snow ploughs clearing the parking area. Large 4×4 loaders fitted with snow chains and hydraulically controlled snow ploughs. Twelve tonnes of engine and wheels. They clunk and scrape and roar as they push snow around. Ripping up the compacted snow and driving terrifyingly close to the fragile motorhomes. I am lying in bed waiting to feel and hear the sickening crunching, tearing sound as they misjudge Baloo and rip a side panel off. Cautiously I risk a look out of the window. The loader shoots past fast enough to make Baloo shudder and close enough that I can see the driver’s teeth. It appears to be guided by a disaffected teenager complete with hoody. He is chatting away on his mobile phone while waving to his co-worker in the other loader. Clearly he does not notice my aghast expression peering through a crack in the curtains. I close the blinds firmly and retreat under the quilt. Half and hour later it is all over. Dressed and fortified by coffee, I check for damage. There is none. There are tracks right next to Baloo. The snow has been scraped within inches or the tyres and right underneath the tail lift. But not a scratch. I guess the youth is a pretty good driver.

I find skiing in the fresh snow a complete delight. Diane does not. So for the first couple of days I skied on my own. Poking around some of the less visited areas of the mountain where I could make fresh tracks in the powder snow. Later Diane came out and we pottered around under the shadow of Mont Blanc. After a week or so it looked like the weather was turning bad again so we packed up and headed back to the Unicat workshop. We were having a few problems with the generator overheating. Parked up for days at a time in the winter is the one time we really need the generator so since expert help was not far away we decided to head back.