Diary - Salter's travels

Jordan

First impressions of Amman were positive. Cooler weather, a better class of car and calmer driving. I did find it a bit disconcerting to be less than 100 km from Gaza. Just a short distance away were many people starving to death while being relentlessly bombed by the Israelis. Syria is a little more stable than a few years ago and was about 40 km up the road. Jordan, at the moment, is a little haven of stability and working hard at attracting tourists.

In the morning, we were collected early and driven north to Jaresh. This city in Northern Jordan is home to one of the best-preserved Greco-Romans in the world (outside of Italy). The pair of us were handed over to a local guide. To be honest, he was a bit difficult to understand. Although we spent the best part of an hour listening to him rattle off names and dates, I don’t think any of it stuck. There was a 300 m diameter elliptical forum surrounded by pillars. Wikipedia tells me that a forum is a public square used as a marketplace and general-purpose meeting place. So, this was a big oval square.

We looked at the temple of Artemis and a nymphaeum. I just learnt this word – it is a monument consecrated to the nymphs, especially those of springs. We found an impressive theatre. Very steep seating. You would certainly get a good view but tripping over a step could really spoil your day. Diane found a millipede.

Our guide left us here. After making it truly clear that he expected a tip. Tipping continues to be a thorn in my side. First of all, you need to work out how much to pay. Too little will cause offence. Too much will buy you a new best friend but leave you out of pocket. Working in different currencies introduces great scope for slipping up in these calculations. Then you need to make sure that you actually have some suitable cash. ATMs that dish out large value notes do not help with this. I don’t think it is good etiquette to ask for change when giving tips. I have always assumed that gratuities were invented by over funded Americans showing off their wealth. Imagine my disappointment to discover that it started in Tudor England. It was taken home by Americans in the 19^th century who wanted to appear aristocratic. America only adopted it reluctantly. Gratuities were made illegal in six states. Today they appear to be enthusiastically exporting it to the rest of the world.

Tipping has been researched. Five motivations have been identified:

Showing off
To supplement the server’s income and make them happy
For improved future service
To avoid disapproval from the server
A sense of duty

Some places add a service charge to the bill. The US courts have asserted that this charge is not mandatory. Tipping is often cited as being associated with good service. Another researcher discovered that attractive waitresses get better tips than less attractive waitresses. Men’s appearance, not so important. Blondes get better tips than brunettes. Slender women get better tips. Large breasted women get better tips. Women in their 30s get better tips than either younger or older women. Tipping is massively discriminatory. The US Supreme Court has ruled that even neutral business practices that are not intended to discriminate, if they have the effect of adversely impacting a protected class, are illegal. Perhaps a class-action lawsuit on the part of ethnic minority waiters and waitresses could result with tipping being declared illegal.

In Egypt, if you were not on the ball, someone would grab your bag, move it 5 m, and then expect a tip. Jordan was less intense, but even so you needed to be careful about letting people “help” you. I sometimes felt like the locals vision of a tourist included dollar notes sticking out of every pocket. Any small favour and you can help yourself. Rather sadly, this tends to make you very wary of anyone being friendly.

By the time I had finished ruminating over the evils of gratuities, we had passed Zeus’ temple and were back at the oval square. We met up with our driver again and set off for lunch at the Dead Sea. This is the lowest lake in the world. It is an endorheic lake – the Jordan River drains into it but no rivers come out. The Dead Sea sits in the Jordan Rift Valley, a geographic feature formed by the fault on the tectonic plate boundary between the African Plate and the Arabian Plate. The relative motion of these two plates, about 2 mm a year, has caused a deep depression. The Dead Sea is 420 m below sea level.

We stopped at a hotel close to the Dead Sea from where we could look across the water to Jericho, one of the oldest cities in the world. We could also see the occupied West Bank. I noticed a cloud of black smoke rising from some buildings and wondered if something had just been blown up. After lunch we walked down to the banks of the Dead Sea. A series of steps took us past the hotel’s swimming pools and then to a beach area. The Dead Sea is dead because it is salty. Really salty. About ten times more salty than the oceans. Water drains into the lake and never leaves. Everything that gets washed into the Dead Sea stays there and gets concentrated. Not just salt but all the other residues, chemicals and whatever. The water is toxic. Nothing can live in it. The lake is the continental bottom of the barrel. Diane risked her feet and paddled for a couple of minutes. Other, more enthusiastic tourists, were covering themselves in lake mud and then washing it off in the water. It is not possible to swim normally in the water. The high concentration of salt makes it very buoyant. Famously, you can lie on your back and read a newspaper. I think an accidental mouthful of water would make you very sick.

It was too hot. In part because of the lack of altitude. The walk back up to the hotel was quite unpleasant. We were both dripping with sweat by the time we arrived. It was nice to sit around in the air-conditioned lobby and cool down for a while. Then we went to the carpet shop. I have explained before that every trip has a carpet shop. This particular one was selling salt and mud-based cosmetics from the Dead Sea. We were hit with a heavy and fast paced sales pitch. However, I was struck with the notion that if the Dead Sea was full of toxic water and mud – why on earth you want to rub on your skin? For some reason it reminded me that the Victorians considered Radium as a miraculous element with a wide variety of health-giving properties.

Next morning we were up very early for the drive to Petra. Famous for its rock-cut architecture and water conduit systems. Petra is also called the “Rose City” because of the colour of the sandstone. The city is one of the New 7 Wonders of the World and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The area has been inhabited since 7000 BC. Petra flourished in the 1^st century AD when the Nabataeans used it for temples and mausoleums. Later the Romans used it as a trade centre although it slowly fell into decline as various sea trade routes became preferred. An earthquake in 360 AD destroyed many structures after which it was abandoned and mostly forgotten. UNESCO has described Petra as “one of the most precious cultural properties of man’s cultural heritage” – so, we thought we should at least have a look.

The main site lies down a long, narrow sandstone gorge. As you walk down there are numerous tombs, temples and mausoleums. The rock formations are fascinating. Deep, water carved channels that reminded me of cave systems except that this was all sandstone. Excavations have demonstrated that it was the ability of the Nabataeans to control the water supply that led to the rise of the desert city, creating an artificial oasis. The area is visited by flash floods, but archaeological evidence shows that the Nabataeans controlled these floods by the use of dams, cisterns, and water conduits. These innovations stored water for prolonged periods of drought and enabled the city to prosper from its sale.

The whole place is interesting. The experience, for me, was greatly enhanced because it was not too hot. The gorge gives good shelter from the sun. It proved to be a very pleasant walk down to the bottom with some amazing sites. The main area, usually called The Treasury, was packed with tourists and locals. Camel rides were on offer. So was coffee and souvenirs of all types. The site was used in an Indiana Jones film which gave a solid theme for the Chinese mass-produced memorabilia. There were people just looking for an opportunity to help you with a photograph – for a tip of course.

Coming back up was a bit harder so Diane elected to use a horse for the last section. A three-hour drive back to Amman and our trip to Jordan was finished. Next stop Dubai.

Cairo

Another day, another museum. This time it was the National Museum of Egyptian Civilisation. This is another grand, spacious museum full of ancient relics. More mummies that we could not photograph. This collection included some of the most famous pharaohs. They all look a bit the same when they are black and shrivelled though. Many artifacts that started to blur together in my head. The world’s first prosthetic. A toe. Big toe with a leather strap to hold it on. And a carpet. I was really hoping this would be the carpet that Cleopatra was rolled up in. Sadly, it wasn’t, although it was a nice carpet.

On to Old Cairo. The Church of Abu Serga is where tradition says the Holy Family, including Jesus, hid during their flight into Egypt. The church was built over a cave where they are believed to have stayed, and a crypt beneath the church contains the original site of their shelter. We went down some stairs to have a look. Seemed a bit small and stuffy to hide in for three months. Perhaps if you were desperate. The rows of vendors outside were selling bibles, scripts, icons, beads, crosses and other Christian paraphernalia.

Next stop was the Salah El-Din Citadel and the grand Mohammed Ali Mosque. We were promised spectacular views over Cairo from here. The reality was far too hazy and dusty. Our guide, Mayo, took us into the mosque and explained the five pillars of Islam. This seemed appropriate. We took our shoes off and sat on the floor. The inside of the mosque was ornately decorated and the ceiling was fabulous. I did pay attention but was still a long way from any sort of religious conversion by the time he finished. After twenty minutes sitting cross legged on the floor, my great revelation was that my legs do not like doing this anymore. We both hobbled a bit leaving the mosque but had recovered by the time we were back at our hotel with a glass of wine and a lovely sunset to watch.

Next morning we went off to look at the Bent Pyramid and Red Pyramid of Dahshur. As we arrived a couple of dozen military helicopters went past. Then some other aircraft and then two wings of fighters. All in proper formation and looking very businesslike. US President Donald Trump was joining more than 20 other world leaders in Sharm El-Sheikh, Egypt that day. The aircraft were maybe connected with this. We let them get on with it and concentrated on walking round the pyramids. Both pyramids were constructed by Pharaoh Sneferu during the Old Kingdom. They represent key stages in pyramid-building evolution. The Bent pyramid was too steep. Having started at 54° they discovered cracks appearing internally. The rock could not stand the weight. So they switched to a more modest 44°. The meant the pyramid would not be so high but at least it would not collapse. The second, Red Pyramid, was done at 43°. This time they had it right. Although a modest 105 m high it was still the first true pyramid with a smooth, straight-sided design. After this one, in 2,500 BC they were ready to get cracking with the big ones at Giza.

As lunchtime approached, we headed off to a farm. We were promised this was a typical working farm. One that welcomes tourists but still a farm. Turned out to be a delightful couple of hours. To reach the farm, we sat on the back of a cart pulled by a donkey. At the farm, we began by sitting in a treehouse and drinking tea. Next was bread making. The bread dough was already made. Our job was to roll out thin round sheets before throwing them into an extremely hot clay oven. After being shown what to do, we both made acceptable attempts. This was as well because the bread ended up being part of our lunch. The oven was an interesting design with a fire pit underneath the cooking area. I may try to make one sometime.

Back in our treehouse, we were shown how to make fig biscuits. Given yet more tea. Then our lunch turned up. Flat bread with vegetables followed by fig biscuits – which had been cooked by then. All very good. After some more tea, we had a short stroll round the farm. Some of the crops and rotations were explained. I experimented with climbing a date palm using a rope. Probably best left to the youngsters. I also found a wicked looking stick insect. Then it was back on the donkey cart, back to our hotel and we were done with Egypt. Next day we would fly to Jordan. Just time for a last glass of wine and a sunset.

Aswan

Aswan is the upper limit for the river boats. There is a dam there and no way past. The original dam was built in 1900 by the British at the Nile’s first cataract. Although this was a major construction for the time it was still not enough to fully control such a vast river. It was raised, twice, and then a second dam, the High Dam, was built a short way upstream by the Egyptians in the 1950s. The High Dam also incorporated a hydro-electric power station.

We docked in Aswan late in the evening. Next morning we could get up at a sensible time for breakfast. First trip of the day was to the Unfinished Obelisk. There is a granite quarry close to Aswan where much of the granite used in ancient Egypt was obtained. The massive sarcophagi of Saqqara that we had seen a few days earlier came from here. The quarry also specialised in obelisks. Tall pillars of solid stone that are still seen quite widely. Cleopatra’s needle at Victoria Embankment in London was made here as was the Luxor Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde, Paris. The largest and most ambitious obelisk was begun around 1500 BC but unfortunately it got broken. I like to think some careless craftsman hit it off centre and a crack appeared. Oops. The more mundane reality is probably that the cracks were already there and only became apparent as they worked the rock.

We had a wander around the quarry. It is actually quite interesting, as quarries go. Then we ran the gauntlet of the ever-present vendors and headed for the Temple of Philae. Philae Island was occasionally submerged, along with its temple after the low dam was built. With the advent of the high dam it was destined to vanish underwater forever. An ambitious project was established the move the temple to the nearby Agilkia Island. This was completed in 1980.

The trip began by running a vendor gauntlet down a slipway to a waiting boat. A short trip out to the island gave us a clear view of the British, Low Dam. Reminded me of the dams around Longdendale where we used to live. These were built around the same time. The little boat brought us to the island quay, tightly packed with vendors, from which we emerged in front of the temple.

The first temple building was probably built around 500 BC. Most of the main temple structures were bult in the Ptolemaic era of 100 BC. The site remained a focus for worship through to the Christian era when five of the temples were converted into churches. The Victorians had a bit of a fixation on Egypt. The island was very popular in the 19^th century. Today, after the successful relocation it is absolutely heaving with tourists. We followed our guide round for a while but, well, some guides just can’t keep my attention. So we pottered off on our own and arrived back with the vendors at the appointed time. On our trip back to the mainland a couple of vendors hopped onto the boat. They spread their wares on a table in the centre that was so convenient it could have been made for the purpose.

We enjoyed a couple of vendor free hours back on the river boat and then went off to see a Nubian village. This was on the downstream side of the low dam so to get there we simply went in a smaller boat that docked right next to our river boat. A few young lads on old surf boards grabbed hold as we motored past them. They tried to sell us some essentials before they could hang on no longer. The twenty-minute journey was quite interesting. There were some birds and other wildlife. We stopped at a sandy area called a beach so that we could experience paddling in the Nile. At the same time some handy vendors appeared in case we needed to stock up on plastic replica necklaces or knifes made out of camel bone.

Nubians are a Nilo-Saharan speaking ethnic group indigenous to northern Sudan and southern Egypt. They originate from the early inhabitants of the central Nile valley but differ culturally and ethnically from Egyptians. Near Aswan, they maintain their own villages, culture and society. They welcome tourists as a source of income and to explain something of their culture. Our visit began at a school. I think Diane enjoyed that more than me. We walked through the market at dusk. It was very colourful and noisy. Many camels were being led or ridden down the main street. The tour culminated in a family house where Diane was handed one of the pet crocodiles. After a cup of tea we were led back to our small boat and then sailed, down the Nile, in complete darkness, to our river boat. Time for an early night.

Up long before the sun to clamber into a minibus for the drive south to the Temples of Ramses II at Abu Simbel. Four hours later we were close to the border to Sudan. The Aswan High Dam created a reservoir here, Lake Nasser, one of the largest man-made lakes in the world. Obviously, a lot of land got flooded. Tens of thousands of Nubians were displaced. Not everybody was happy about this. The benefits to the remaining land are immense. We saw hundreds of acres of farm, that would otherwise be desert, rich with crops under large, rotating irrigation systems. The temple was also due to be flooded. A multi-national cooperation headed by Unesco saw the entire building complex being moved to higher ground. The temples were originally carved out of the hillside, so the hills needed to be moved as well. I thought this was quite clever. Not only was it a terrific technical achievement paid for by international funds but it also meant that Egypt could keep charging tourists to visit it.

A short walk from the vendors bazaar brought us to the temples. They are magnificent. The twin temples were originally carved out of the mountainside in the 13th century BC for Ramesses II and his wife, Nefertari. Pictures and carvings inside celebrate their lives and achievements. A few hundred years later, the temples were no longer visited and became buried by sand. At the beginning of the 19^th century, the temples were rediscovered by some of the great explorers of the time. Even so, it was another hundred years before the sand was completely cleared away and the full scope of the monuments revealed. We took our time looking round and taking a few photographs. Guides are not allowed inside the temples. This make them rather pleasantly quiet although there were still crowds of people.

After that came a pleasant stroll back. A quick check to see if there were any Chinese mass-produced souvenirs that we had been avoiding but really wanted. A cup of coffee and the four-hour drive to Aswan. It was a long day but a rather good temple. We have seen enough temples now that we can spot a good one.

Edfu

After a 4am start, a balloon ride and three temples we were ready for a rest. Fortunately, the remainder of the day was just that. Our little river boat, the Dwa, had set sail for Edfu. We could sit on the top deck of our river boat and watch the world drift past. I really enjoyed this. There was plenty to see along the banks of the Nile. A lot of farming. Banana plantations, corn and several other crops that I did not recognise. Cows were grazing, kids were swimming, people were hanging out in the shade. We treated ourselves to a bottle of cold, white wine and settled back. We just managed to stay awake long enough to discover the buffet dinner in the evening.

We woke in Edfu. The boat had passed through the lock system at Esna during the night. A barrage bridge was built here by the British in 1906 to control the flow of water and limit flooding further downstream. A second bridge and hydroelectric scheme was built in the 1990s. Ships passing up and down the river need to use a lock system to get through the 5 m height difference. At Edfu, we had breakfast at a civilised time and then set off to visit the Temple of Horus at Edfu. To get here we needed to go by horse and carriage. We were told that this was the only allowable way. Not sure how true this is because there were plenty of other types of vehicles around. Anyway, it seemed like fun. The two of us were shown to our carriage and off we went. Only a ten-minute ride. It was fun rather than comfortable.

The temple was very impressive. Built around 200 BC, it features a massive entrance way leading into a mass of towering pillars. To each side are rooms for offering and at the end is the inner sanctum. Every surface is decorated with drawings and hieroglyphs. It fell into disuse with the growth of Christianity around 300 AD and eventually became buried by sand and silt from the river. It was rediscovered in 1860 at which time there was 12 m of sand and several houses on top of it. The architecture of the Temple Works in Leeds was inspired by the Edfu Temple. The design of the columns is a close copy. Like all the temples we have seen, it was hot and crowded. Extremely hot in this case. After an hour we were ready to head back.

First job was to find Abdul, our horse man with carriage number 54. In the event, he found us, shouting and furiously gesticulating when we wandered over to the massed waiting horses. We clambered back on and discovered that the Barney effect was strong. Keith, our friend the amazing Yorkshire dog-whisperer, has a horse called Barney. We went with Keith and Barney in a trap to a pub on the River Humber once. That is a whole other story, but on the way back we noticed that Barney went much faster – pushing hard to get back to his nice field and some food. The same thing happens to Diane when we go out for a walk. We now call this the Barney effect – an increase in speed when you know you are going home. Abdul’s horse trotted briskly out into the road, happy to be heading back. Shortly afterwards a second carriage was coming up fast behind us. Game on. To say we were racing would not really be true but there was certainly some one-upmanship happening. Made for a great trip back. A bit of gentle sportsmanship mixed with dodging coaches and tuk-tuks. Of course, when we got back to the boat, Abdul insisted that we not only pay him a tip but also one for his horse.

The rest of the day was glorious, chilled out cruising up the Nile. A whole flotilla of boats were heading the same way. A few of them under sail. The Nile flows north into the Mediterranean Sea. The prevailing wind is from the north. Without too much technology, you can reliably sail up the river and come back down with the current. This was a significant factor in the development of Egyptian civilisation along the banks of the Nile.

Luxor

Ninety minutes on a small, cramped Air Egypt turboprop brought us to Luxor. Here we were introduced to our river boat, the Dwa. Here we also discovered we could buy wine at the bar. This made me very happy. Next morning, before 4am, we were up and wandering around in the darkness in preparation for a balloon flight. A short drive took us to a quayside on the Nile where we clambered into small boats. We were served coffee and Twinkie bars. Twinkies are American junk food invented in the 1930s that famously contain enough preservatives to survive the apocalypse. We were taken across the river in a sort of Harry Potter style and then loaded into more minibuses. At the take-off site I was warned to hide my camera. Anything other than a mobile phone is considered a professional camera for which you must pay extra. We also discovered that we had to pay to use the toilets. Some of our fellow aviators were annoyed about this – by now we have come to expect it.

By the time it was light enough to see what was going on, the balloons were laid out on the ground ready to go. At some sort of signal, the great inflation began with scores of large fans all roaring into life. Then came the burners and in just a few minutes we were being urged to clamber in. The basket was divided in eight compartments with four people in each and the pilot in the centre. We rose rapidly and were soon looking down at the next wave of balloons being prepared for lunch. All those balloons rising at once made a rather magnificent sight. Shortly afterwards the sun rose and we had some spectacular views. Towards the Nile were many fields of lush, green crops and clumps of buildings. In the other direction, past the limits of irrigation, was hard desert and temples. Temples everywhere. And statues, many statues. Luxor is sometimes described as the world’s largest outdoor museum. Further away we could see the valley of the kings where many elaborate burial sites are located. We also spotted the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut. Our pilot took us low over some of the temples. So low that I wondered if they sometimes managed to get tangled up in the stonework.

After about forty-five minutes we landed. A gentle enough touch down but fraught with its own dangers. Before I had managed to get out of the basket, I had met a young lad with a falcon who wanted to photograph me with it sat on my hand. Had he actually passed me the bird I would have been very tempted to let it free. There was also a seller of plastic scarab beetles and a vendor of particularly cheap looking Chinese mass-produced replicas of the Egyptian sun god Ra. We were collected by the minibus even before we were able to check that the other balloonists had landed without being skewered on a statue of Anubis. The jackal headed God has pointy ears that would be very bad for a balloon.

Next stop was the valley of the kings. Our flight had been in the cool of the early morning. By now the sun was properly getting a grip on things and the temperature had risen way up past my comfort limit. And it was crowded. Very crowded. This necropolis was used from 1500 BC for about 500 years and contains 65 tombs ranging from the magnificent to the lowly. It was here that Howard Carter discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922. 5,000 tourists a day visit the site.

Most of the tombs are kept closed in an attempt to preserve them. We had tickets that allowed us entry to four of the royal tombs. These are all ornately decorated with hieroglyphics and pictures. The largest of the four was the joint resting place of Ramesses V and Ramesses VI. This has been open since antiquity, as can be seen by the graffiti left on its walls by Roman and Coptic visitors. Almost all tombs throughout Egypt have been robbed. It began within a few decades of them being built. The curse of the mummy is likely a matter of hygiene. When a tomb is first opened it contains a lot of bad things. Radon gas can build up but also the by-products of decay over many years can give rise to all sorts of nasties such as airborne fungus, bacteria and so on. Those in the know will wait several days for the air to clear. But, if you rush in, the curse may get you.

We finished looking at tombs but then we still had to get past the vendors. The expression “running the gauntlet” comes from the traditional military punishment of receiving blows while running between two rows of men armed with sticks. In Egypt, the entrance/exit to any tourist attraction is only reached by passing through a bazaar. Two rows of shops with very forthright vendors. During this modern running of the gauntlet, you will be accosted repeatedly. Like a good chat-up line, the opening remark from a potential trader can be decisive. The going price for a Chinese mass-produced plastic replica statue of the Egyptian sun god Ra is about a dollar. Hence the common opener “Three dollars. Very cheap, my friend. Only three dollars”. This is your starting point for the negotiation. A more subtle line is “No hassle, come inside, just looking”. One of my favourites is “You are very lucky man to have such a beautiful daughter”. Today we heard “Everything inside is free, just come look” and yesterday we got “How can I take your money”, which I found refreshingly honest.

The tombs were a bit of an ordeal. They were packed with people so opportunities for photography or to even to see some of the key features were limited. It was hot, 38° and we were tired. By the time we exited the fourth tomb I was ready to quit. My eyes were beginning to blur and I was finding it very hard to be interested.

Still, we were not done yet. Despite getting in all the steps we needed for one day, we were whisked up to the temple of Hatshepsut. This is impressive. Three massive terraces rise above the desert floor supported by statues and stone columns. We wandered around, trying to keep to the shade. Then we slipped out past the vendors as quietly as possible.

By this stage all we really wanted was a nice cup of tea and a little lie down. However, first we had to visit the carpet shop. We discovered in Morocco that every tour has a carpet shop. Go with any guide for just about any purpose and you will inevitably end up in his brother’s carpet shop. The carpet shop is a principle, an idea, a template that can be used to sell anything from chocolates to hats. There are some key characteristics of a carpet shop. First of all, they are genuine. This is where they make the original article. Hand made by artisans. Copied by factories all over the world. If you are lucky, you will see a demonstration. Secondly the ingredients, components or whatever are genuine. They are the real, all natural, all local thing. No imports, synthetics or chemicals here. Finally, the cost will be exceptional value for money. It may seem very expensive but this is genuine article, hand made to the highest standards, feel the quality, will last forever, an investment.

Today’s carpet shop was an alabaster factory. Here they made pots, plaques and little statues. We watched a demonstration. We were served tea. We were invited to look around the shop. I spotted a very familiar looking statue of the sun God Ra but said nothing. A certain demographic in our group came out with a ton of souvenirs to grace their mantlepieces and impress the folks back home. They all seemed very happy with their purchases.

Cairo

The Oxford English Dictionary defines culture shock as the “feeling of disorientation experienced by someone when they are suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes”. My princess describes culture shock as “it’s bonkers out there”. Our hotel in Cairo was in the heart of the Arabic quarter. Narrow streets surrounded by many old and magnificent buildings thronged with people and lined with many small shops and cafes. We arrived late afternoon and set off, just after dusk, to find something to eat. Immediately we were stuck by the cacophony of noise. Every other shop was blaring out music. Loud and distorted as the straining amplifiers were pushed to their limits. The narrow, cobbled roads were packed with people, dogs, motorbikes, small trucks and the odd car. There were also street artists, stilt-walkers, dervishes, musicians, beggars, people pushing carts or balancing loads on their head. Occasionally we spot some other tourists but for the most part it was local people out for the evening. Friday night in downtown Cairo is truly bonkers.

It was hot, well over 30°C, sweaty and noisy. We worked our way through the crowds past a myriad of shops, bazars, coffee houses and local artisans. After a good twenty minutes of slow progress, we found a café selling cheese and mushroom patties. These turned out to be two layers of thin bread with a filling. Very tasty but we barely got a moments peace to enjoy them. One of the essential commercial models in Egypt is to stand in front of your mark holding your goods and repeating the price many times while looking pleadingly. We had someone trying to sell henna decorations for Diane’s hand, twice. There were cigarette lighters, t-shirts, fridge magnet, scarves and several types of shawl presented to us all before our order had arrived. I was also offered a genuine Rolex watch – but I didn’t bother because I has already bought one in Morocco several years ago. Even with the patties in front of us there was no relenting. Every few seconds someone else would appear asking for a few dollars and refusing to the believe that we did not want a Chinese mass-produced replica of the sun god Ra.

There is an area of Cairo dominated by western style hotels. There are bars in this area frequented by Europeans. There are licenced liquor stores where you can pick up a bottle for your room. We were a long way from there. In the Arabic quarter they have no use for alcohol. Google assured me that the nearest place we could buy a drink was about five miles away. Given the taxi and traffic situation, this may as well have been on the moon. No Dutch comfort to help us through these challenging times then.

Back in our hotel room there was some blessed relief from the heat. The air conditioning was not great but it did work. Occasionally the fan made an alarming clattering noise as if several important components were about to fall out but then, after some stuttering, it kept going. The noise from outside, however, was showing no hint of abating. Friday night. Party night. We guessed they might turn the music down by midnight. We were wrong. It was at least 2am. Obviously, we deployed ear plugs. They helped, a bit, but with a line of shop speakers directly outside our room, all cranked up to 11, we could feel the noise through our bones.

Next day, Diane was beginning to come to terms with the environment. We had an easy day and in the evening went out for a meal and a show. The meal was at a lovely rooftop restaurant with a view of the pyramids. On the way we had caught our first views of the pyramids and could not help but be a little excited. The food was reasonable. A pot of stewed vegetables with rice. The wine was non-existent. Sparkling water was the most exciting drink they served. Many of the other diners were drinking fizzy sparkling drinks. Bottles of cola or other highly sweetened chemicals. I have always thought of these as kids drinks – although they are unbelievably bad for kids. Quite how the over-sweetened stuff goes with a savoury meal is something that I don’t think my taste buds can stretch to.

The show involved light and sound and the pyramids. Big, coloured lights, an ancient wall used as a projection screen and yet more big speakers. It was fun. The Sphinx turned out to be smaller than I expected. Undeterred by a slightly crackly speaker, it narrated the story of ancient Egypt to us in rich, expansive terms. It also explained how the pyramids were built to stand for eternity and defeat death. The three largest pyramids were illuminated in diverse hues to emphasise the point. It was fun if possibly a bit demeaning to magnificent ancient monuments. That night, Saturday night, the partying went on, again, to 2am.

Next morning we set off to properly get to grips with the pyramids. That they are big is the first and most obvious statement to make. Also, they are a massive tourist pull and locals are clearly embracing that for all it is worth. We had a guide, a young Egyptologist called Mayo, who proved to be very enlightening. Like many historical sites we have visited, you really need a guide. The whole system is set up to encourage this. Without a guide you will save some money but you will have to work out how to get around and what to see. You will also have to live without any explanations or information. Sometimes it is easier to go with the flow. On the Giza plateau are the three great pyramids of Cheops (Khufu), Chephren (Khafre), and Mykerinus (Menkaure). The smallest of these, Mykerinus, at a mere 62m was our first stop. Here we could go inside the structure. There is not a lot see. All the interesting things were stolen centuries ago. Still, it was fun. At the bottom of the tunnel we found a very friendly man who insisted on taking our photograph. Tipping is endemic in Egypt. Anyone who does anything, at all, for you expects to be tipped. Taking a photo, posing for a photo, showing you his camel, lifting or pushing anything, offering advice, helping you across the road – it all needs a tip. Frankly it is a complete pain. I think the tipping culture in general is essentially toxic. When it is ramped up to Egyptian levels it really starts get in the way of doing anything. Tourists are an important cash cow to Egypt, one that they are milking for all it is worth. We paid the man for his services and made our way back out. I had hoped the inside of a pyramid would be cool. It is not. We emerged, blinking in the sunlight, hot and sweaty.

We wandered around the other pyramids but were not allowed inside them. We declined several offers of a camel ride. We did not even buy any of the Chinese mass-produced replica statues of Ra, although there were plenty on offer. Eventually we arrived at the Sphinx. There was some fairly assertive queuing needed to get to the vantage point. I grabbed a couple of photographs and wondered where the speaker was concealed.

Later in the day we visited the Serapeum of Saqqara. This was the ancient Egyptian burial place for sacred bulls of the Apis cult at Memphis. It was believed that the bulls were incarnations of the god Ptah. They would become immortal after death. The animals were incarcerated in granite sarcophagi weighing around 40 tonnes. The lid added a further 25 tonnes. The Serapeum was abandoned at the beginning of the Roman Period. Subsequent looting and desecration left the temple in a sorry state and it later became buried in sand. It was rediscovered by Auguste Mariette in 1850. He found the head of one sphinx sticking out of the shifting desert dunes, cleared the sand and followed the avenue to the site. One of the sarcophagi was still intact so he blew it open with dynamite. This was the enthusiastic way of the Victorians. Sadly, the sarcophagus was empty.

We had a look inside a nearby temple. Nothing really visible at all from the surface but lots of interesting hieroglyphs inside. Finally, we visited the Step Pyramid of Djoser. Another massive structure, this one sits atop a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers 6 km long. We were not allowed inside them but by then we were hot, sweaty and tired. Quite happy to head back to our noisy hotel room. Even on Sunday night the street partying goes on until 2am.

Basilica Cisterns

The next day we were back at the Blue Mosque but with a different guide. Outside the Mosque is an area known as the Hippodrome of Constantinople. By way of compensation for the lack of any evidence of a hippodrome, there are three obelisks. The Obelisk of Theodosius is a massive granite monument originally from the Temple of Karnak in Egypt. It was originally erected by Pharaoh Thutmose III in the 15^th century BC. Several conquests later, it was transported to Constantinople by Emperor Theodosius I in 390 AD. This was a serious technical undertaking. They needed to build a ship especially to carry it. The other two obelisks looked far less interesting. They were smaller and did not have hieroglyphics carved into them.

We moved on to the Hagia Sofia. Possibly the most famous Mosque in the world and certainly a cultural centrepiece of Istanbul. Originally built as a church in the 6^th century it became the world’s largest interior space and among the first to employ a fully pendentive dome. Often considered the epitome of Byzantine architecture, it is said to have “changed the history of architecture”. After over a thousand years as the world’s largest cathedral, the Hagia Sophia was designated a mosque following the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The minarets were built shortly afterwards. In 1935 it became a museum and in 2020 a mosque again. Today it is a little of each. Visitors can access the first floor, for a fee. The ground floor is reserved for religious activity. Elements of the Christian history are still visible. Several mosaics remain and also a picture of the Mother Mary in the main dome. This is hidden behind a veil – no pictures of faces allowed in mosques.

The Sultans palace and museum were next and very conveniently located next door. The Ottoman sultans were revered as God-like figures and led a strangely cloistered existence. The museums started to give me brain fog although the weapons section (no photographs allowed) had some great swords.

Last visit of the day was to the Grand Bazaar. One of the largest covered bazaars on the planet boasting over 4,000 shops. Up to 400,000 visitors daily. In 2014, it was listed first among the world’s most-visited tourist attractions with 91,250,000 annual visitors. I don’t enjoy shopping and I don’t like crowds. The notion of spending a happy hour jostling with thousands of people to look at things you do not want to buy makes little sense to me. Fortunately, Diane is of a similar mindset. So, a quick look round and we escaped for a breath of fresh air.

Done with sightseeing for the day, we wandered off and found a machine for feeding cats. There are an awful lot of cats in Istanbul but, for the most part, they are well cared for. A government program neuters and vaccinates them. If you want to feed the cats you can put some cash in the machine which then deposits some kibble into a dish at the bottom. We also encountered a crowd of Liverpool football fans. They were here for a match at the main Istanbul stadium. There was a lot of drinking and singing going on. We gave this a wide berth although I was quite intrigued by the juxtaposition of the call to prayer with a rowdy rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone”.

In the evening, we went off looking for dinner. As you attempt to walk past most restaurants in Istanbul, someone with a menu will leap in front of you and attempt to entice you in. This is fine but on this occasion, we were specifically looking for some pede. Traditional fresh, flatbread stuffed with cheese and vegetables. The restaurant offered wine but no pede. No problem, they explained. Pede would be fetched for us from the pede specialist baker across the road (who did not serve wine). And so, it was. Drinks and starters directly from the restaurant, pedes, still hot, brought by our waiter running across the road.

Next day we looked at some colourful houses, small streets and churches. Then we dived into the Spice Bazaar. Small by comparison to the Grand Bazaar but still very crowded. I like spices. In fact, I’d even say, I was quite interested in them. Also, the displays of spices and herbs were colourful and artistically laid out. This made for some interesting photographic opportunities. Despite this, I had no intention of buying anything, so my attention was held for less than five minutes. I think I would prefer my spices in sealed jars rather than large containers that invite fingers, flies and anything else. Not to mention the fact that much of this stuff will lose its flavour if left out in the open too long.

A boat trip along the Bosphorus was a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours. The weather was nice and we were washed by a cool breeze while sat on the top deck. The Bosporus connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara and forms one of the continental boundaries between Asia and Europe. It also divides Turkey by separating Asia Minor from Thrace. It is the world’s narrowest strait used for international navigation. Most of the shores are heavily populated. In Greek mythology, colossal floating rocks known as the Symplegades guarded both sides of the Bosporus destroying any ship that attempted to pass. They were finally overcome by the Argonaut hero Jason who passed between them unscathed. The rocks became fixed, opening Greek access to the Black Sea. It amused me that some of the tourist buses advertised themselves as BusForUs.

We sailed along the European side up to the second bridge. The Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge built in 1988. Then we crossed to the Asian side and came back. Along the way we saw elaborate homes built for sultans and modern homes with panoramic windows built for rich businessmen. We saw a very flashy looking hotel and also a couple of cruise liners, each packing 4,000 or so guests.

Last item of the day was the Basilica Cistern. This is something I have wanted to visit for a while. It is a vast underground water tank. This does not sound very exciting. It was built in the 6^th century underneath a site where a large Roman basilica (multipurpose building) had stood. This remarkable engineering feat was completed when London was just a little village by a river. 360 columns were requisitioned from old Roman buildings and temples. 7,000 slaves were used in the construction. I have pondered how they did this. My best guess is in digging holes and sliding the columns in. Then the roof is built, the surplus soil is removed and finally you can build the walls. The cistern provided a water filtration system for the Great Palace of Constantinople and other buildings on the First Hill. After the Ottoman conquest in 1453 it was mostly forgotten about and only used by locals. They used to fish in it. In 1985 the first major restoration began but not before being used by James Bond in 1963 for the classic “From Russia with love”. He uses the cistern to paddle under the Russian embassy – spoiler, the embassy is not really there, or anywhere close. The last restoration and earthquake proofing was completed in 2022. This included safe flooring and some nice lighting. The result is quite spectacular. Give me a interesting hole in the ground over a crowded ancient mall any day.

Back at our hotel, we went up to the rooftop bar to take photographs. The bar was closed but the views were still pretty good. In the distance we could see the busy Bosphorus. Closer were masses of small flats interspersed with mosques. Apparently there are over 8,000 mosques in Istanbul. The essential story behind many of them involved a rich person attempting to guarantee a good personal outcome in the afterlife.

In the evening we looked at a tower and a tram. Then we drifted aimlessly for a short while before finding a place for dinner. Next morning we would be flying to Cairo.

Todmorden to Istanbul

We arrived back in the UK the day before David’s funeral. My sister’s husband, David, had been battling MND (Motor Neuron Disease) for several years. It is a particularly cruel disease. From being an elite mountain marathon runner, David’s body was reduced, slowly but steadily, until he literally could not lift a finger and struggled to talk. His mind however, was still clear, sharp as a knife and his sense of humour undiminished. It was sad, painful to watch. We tried to help where we could. In particular, we accompanied Dave and Helen on trips to the Swiss Alps, to Morocco, to Italy and elsewhere. Each trip, was harder and more challenging for all of us.

Over two hundred people turned up for his funeral. They could not all fit into the church. Such was the respect he had locally. He had done well. From an apprentice at the local foundry he had gone on to gain a PhD and ended up a lecturer at the university. Along the way, he had three wonderful daughters, made a big muddy splash in the world of fell running and married my sister. He beat off an aggressive cancer but then, when the recovery was not going to plan, he was diagnosed with MND and cast onto its inevitable path. That was a most difficult day. The end of his suffering was a bitter-sweet affair. We were sad to lose him. There was also a sense of relief that his suffering was over.

This is the lovely Ailsa, David’s youngest daughter, she is running in the London marathon next April. She will be running the 26.2 miles (46.2 km) in honour of her father. Also, very importantly, to raise money for the MND Association. Details are here.

While in the UK we also celebrated Diane’s seventieth birthday. She was not very keen on this. It was easy to understand that marking the progress of the unavoidable did not sit well just then. We went off to a lighthouse near Newport for a few days. The West Usk lighthouse on the entrance to the Bristol channel was abandoned by Trinity house a hundred years ago. Since then, it has been wonderfully restored. We stayed in a small keepers cottage with a view straight out onto the channel. Here we could watch the sea washing over the mud flats driven by one of the largest tides in the world. We walked along the shore edge, watched the birds, cooked ourselves some great food and drank wine saved for the occasion. It was peaceful, introspective and a touch melancholic but we left feeling much more settled. The rest of our time in the UK was spent pleasantly visiting friends and helping Helen around the house.

Off again. A night at a Manchester airport hotel then we were flying into Istanbul. First attempt to land did not go well. The pilot aborted the landing a few metres before touchdown. Strong winds were the problem. I was reminded of the old maxim that any landing you can walk away from is a good one. Ten minutes later the second attempt went much better. Istanbul is enormous. 20m people. Istanbul airport is enormous. Twenty-minute taxi in the aircraft before we reached our stand. Quickly through passport control, baggage collection and customs. Forty-minute ride to our hotel, check-in, drop bags in room and head out for some food. Just like that we were travelling again. Felt great.

One of our favourite ways to look around a new city is by motorbike and sidecar. We found a company and met up with them the next day. Our bike was a Russian Ural. Looked like an old BMW with a big, air cooled flat two engine. Sounded great but tended to overheat in traffic. Our driver, Cem, clearly enjoyed his job. We shot off into the crowded Turkish streets and straight into weaving between cars, trucks, pedestrians and the occasional dog. It is a very exciting way to get around although you need to trust your driver. He took us to mosques, churches and other historic buildings. We visited a viewpoint in a park and posed with the bike. We crossed one of the immense bridges that span the Bosphorus to the Asian side of Istanbul. Another terrific viewpoint and then some small streets, too small for cars, before popping out by the docks. A small ferry brought us back to Europe where we drove against the traffic up a one-way road. Our driver had a Eventually we arrived close to the Hagia Sophia and were served pistachio coffee – delicious.

Our driver took a break. We’d been on the go well over three hours, so the lad needed a rest. One of his colleagues offered to walk us over to the Blue Mosque and some other sights. We followed him into the courtyard and he promptly got arrested. The policeman explained that we were being protected from scammers. Back at the coffee shop, it was explained as a big misunderstanding. When our guide returned, twenty minutes later, it was to a severe ribbing from his friends. First day out in Istanbul and we already had excitement and drama.

Hornsund

In the south eastern corner of Svalbard is the multifaceted Hornsund fjord. Considered by many to one of the more spectacular fjords in the archipelago it boasts numerous bays, mountains and glacial valleys. We arrived on a glorious sunny morning. Our boat group was near the end of the list so we had plenty of time for breakfast. Everyone is organised into small groups, approximately a boat full. The groups are called down in turn to the hull opening where we actually board the RHIBs. This keeps things moderately orderly and avoids queues. The order in which groups are called rotates each excursion, so sometimes you get off early and other times you have to wait. Waiting, in this case, involved breakfast so I thought this was ideal. Meals are all served as a buffet. The food is very good. Possibly the best we have ever had on a cruise ship. As vegetarians, we feel that sometimes we get a bit of poor deal. This breakfast was lovely. The man cooked me a cheese and onion omelette which I had with a hash browns. Yogurt on the side with fresh fruit, seeds and nuts. A large cappuccino. Good start for the day.

The landing at Burgerbukta was pleasant. Terrific views of mountains and glaciers. We walked up a small slope to a viewpoint. On the way back down I spotted a seal in the water. Spent a while sneaking up on it to get a better photograph but it made sure I did not get too close. I also stood on a rock almost a meter from the edge of the shore. Much to my surprise, I did not get told off. Perhaps no-one spotted my reckless gymnastics.

In the afternoon we had a second landing, at Gnålodden. There is a large bird cliff here. Many seabirds were soaring and swooping overhead. Mostly kittiwakes and guillemots. Very noisy. We had a gentle walk and spotted a pair of young kittiwakes (I think) nesting on a ledge. Our evening excursion was into an inlet opposite the Gnålodden landing site. Here the Spitzbergen sailed in close to the calving edge of the glacier. A spectacular way to end the day.

By the following day we had left the Hornsund fjord and were heading north again ever closer to Longyearbyen. We landed at Calypsobyen, another failed coal mine. Decrepit huts and rusting metal are all that remain. These still count as historic relics though so strictly no touching.

In the afternoon we landed at Bamsebu and more relics of another way of life. There were bones here. Great piles of bleached white bones from walrus and seal but mostly beluga whales. All left over from the hunting activities of yesteryear. The beluga would come into the shallows of the bay to feed and then get harpooned from a small rowing boat. Wooden winches on the beach were used to drag the bodies ashore for flensing. Even these bones, the rubbish from a way of life that thankfully died out decades ago, are relics and must be carefully sidestepped.

Our final day exploring Svalbard began at Trygghamna and the cliffs of Alkhornethosted. Reputedly home to 10,000 nesting pairs of seabirds. I can confirm that there were certainly a lot of them. We also saw a few reindeer here. Little Svalbard reindeer with thick woolly coats. The afternoon was spent boat cruising at Ymerbukta in front of the grumbling Esmarkbreen glacier. Up close to the glacier you could see some of the incredible complexity built by hundreds of years of snow being laid down to become ice. Though the odd crack, a cross section into a crevasse or an ice cave you could spot the deep, dark intense blue colour of ancient ice. Our guide assured me that the colour comes from refraction in the ice. Actually it comes from absorption, the same effect that makes the sky blue. It did not seem worth arguing the point at the time. Whatever it is caused by, it is spectacular in a rather eerie and menacing way.

We docked at Longyearbyen late in the evening. But before we got there, we sailed up past Barentsburg. The second largest settlement in Svalbard is Russian. A mining settlement established in the 1920s by the Dutch and then sold to the Russians. Svalbard is under Norwegian sovereignty but all signatories to the Svalvard Treaty of 1920 have equal rights over the exploitation of natural resources. Russia has continued mining operations there despite a few incidents such as a major underground fire in 2006. Since the invasion of Ukraine the situation has become increasingly fractious and delicate. Although Barentsburg is only 55 km from Longyearbyen there are no connecting roads and there is only very limited contact. The Spitzbergen did not get very close to the town but we could clearly see the mine buildings, power stations and accommodation units. It all smacked of that soviet era efficiency and purposefulness. We did not see any people. No-one appeared to be walking outside at all.

Next morning, very early , we were bundled onto the plane and before lunch we were back in Oslo collecting the car on a 30°C sweltering summers day. We took a steady drive back to the ferry at Rotterdam over several days. This gave us time to call in on a few friends. The inimitable Lars and Inge are still going strong despite a few health scares. As we left they were surrounded by daughters and grandchildren in a very solid and endearing family scene. We also spent a lovely few hours with Silke and Carston who have a fantastic house on the island of Sylt. We missed Kai in a confusion of dates. Sorry – next time, Kai. At the port border control we had a slightly odd discussion with the passport man who could not understand how we had been in Norway but outside of Schengen. I showed him the stamps in my passport and wondered why I was having to explain how the Schengen border works to a Schengen border official. Eventually he just muttered something and waved us on. A border guard that does not know his borders. Eventually we were on the ferry to Hull toasting the end of another trip and preparing for the dull thud of dropping into reality.

Bråasvellbreenbook

In the night, when it did not get dark, we returned from the ice edge to the islands of Svalbard. Specifically we arrived on the southern side of Chermsideøya. A rough little island that is only visited occasionally. Diane opted to stay near the landing site. I followed the flags across some rocks and a patch of snow to look at some geoglyphs. The walk was interesting, the geoglyphs less so. To me, they looked like some kids had been laying out rocks to spell their names. However, I was assured that these were historic markings from Arctic expeditions back to the 19^th century thus making them historic artifacts. Walking back, I went the wrong way round a boulder and got told off by one of the expedition team whose job was to make sure irresponsible tourists did not stray from the marked path. Fortunately, nothing bad happened and I survived unscathed.

In the afternoon we landed at Isflakbukta on the island of of Phippsøya. I cannot remember any of these names, in fact I cannot even pronounce most of them, but I can copy them from the expedition journal. I hope you are impressed. The weather had come in a bit. A low, sullen cloud settled damply on the hills around us. Here we were shown the most northerly cabin in Svalbard although we were not allowed anywhere near it. We were also encouraged to pick up rubbish. There was a lot of debris washed up on the beach. As far as I could tell it was bits of broken fishing gear – ropes, nets, floats, plastic sacs. I suggested to one of the expedition team that maybe the fishermen should be encouraged to clean up their own rubbish but she was not impressed with this idea. In all, some 90 kg of flotsam was collected and added to the Hx environmental credentials.

Next morning, near the island of Kvitøya, we spotted polar bears. Several of them wandering along the shore. The Svalbard Environmental Protection Act prohibits unnecessary disturbance, attraction, or pursuit of polar bears. It also specifies that ships should keep a minimum distance of 500 m. Even for something as enormous as a polar bear, this is still quite a distance for photography. Pictures tend to end up being a white dot in a grey landscape. There is however, apparently, a glorious exception to the distance rule. This is when a bear swims out to look at your ship. I would guess they are attracted by the smell of food. I am also guessing that manoeuvring a vessel with a bear in close proximity potentially endangers it. So, we just sit there, bobbing around, while the bear comes and inspects us. From the safety of the gunwale I can lean over with my big, news lens and look the bear in its eye. Brilliant. I took a lot of pictures. Here are just a few of them.

We continued sailing down the east coast of Nordaustlandet until, in the evening, we encountered the Bråsvellbreen. This is a massive glacier with about 45 km of ice cliffs calving into the sea. Reminded me of Antarctica and the Brunt ice shelf. I mentioned this to one of the crew but they disagreed. I realised later that their experience of Antarctica was limited to the norther tip of the peninsular. This is as far as most tourist ships ever get. So they had never seen an ice shelf. Whatever, it was all quite spectacular and we spent a very pleasant evening taking in the views, taking and few photographs and taking the occasional glass of wine.

Next day there was another ugly of walruses. A great big blubbery pile of them on the beach. We could get a bit closer this time. We landed at Kapp Lee on the northeastern tip of Edgeøya island. There are some old trappers huts here and we had an excellent walk up a small hill to look at birds. There were a few reindeer around that were keeping their distance. There was also a fox. I did not see it but someone showed me a picture later. Arriving at the ugly of walruses, we kept a respectful distance, aided by a line of barrier flags that had been set up. Occasionally one would lift its head, snort and dribble snot. Very briefly we spotted a couple of walruses having some sort of disagreement in the water. I do like walruses but I cannot help thinking that the save the walrus campaign might be more successful if they smartened themselves up a bit.

Kinnvika

In the evening, we sailed north to the little island of Moffin. Just north of the 80^th parallel, this island hosts a large flock of walruses. Other collective noun for walruses are: herd, huddle, pod and ugly. An ugly of walruses. They can live for 30 years and weigh over 1.5 tonne. Large tusks make them formidable adversaries. They are predated by polar bears and orca but generally just the young or injured walruses. As is often the case in the Arctic, their biggest enemy is humans. Today there are around 5,000 walruses around Svalbard but in the previous two centuries they were nearly hunted into extinction. Blubber and ivory are the major products.

Commercial walrus harvesting is now outlawed, although Chukchi, Yupik and Inuit peoples are permitted to kill small numbers towards the end of each summer. I was thrilled to finally see some walrus. The Spitsbergen kept a good distance from the uglies. The word uglies here could refer to several groups of walruses or it might just hint at the ugliness of the walrus. They lack the cuteness of the polar bear or the sleekness of an orca. They dribble a lot and roll around in the muck. Distance and poor light made photography, even with the new camera, difficult. The sun never set the whole time we were up there. It did however dip towards the horizon in the evening.

Next morning we woke at Kinnvika, a former research station in the high Arctic landscape of Nordaustlandet. The station built during the International Geophysical Year (IGY) 1957-59. This was also when the first base at Halley Bay, Antarctica was built. Halley base is still going strong. I worked there in 1988/9. Kinnvike sadly, has fallen into disrepair. There are still several huts scattered around. One of them I recognised as being built for auroral observations. A rusting amphibious vehicle is parked outside. This looked like it would have been great fun in its day. The base has been used a couple of times since IGY but essentially it is just a historical relic.

Leaving Kinnvike, we spotted a fin whale. Second largest cetacean after the blue whale. Up to 80 tonnes. Like other large whales the population was devastated in the post war whaling boom and they are still only very slowly recovering. A rare privilege to spot one.

It is a common misconception that most whales were killed during the romantic age of whaling. Wooden boats and heroic sailors of the 18^th and 19^th century. This sentimentalised view comes from the literature, art, and popular culture of the age. The exoticism of faraway voyages and the epic battles with giant whales held great popular appeal. The reality is that most whales were killed, after WW2, using explosive harpoons fired from fast motorboats. They were processed in massive factory ships that could handle hundreds of whales at a time. This was a valuable contribution to the post-war economy of many countries. Whaling finally abated when petroleum products became viable alternatives. At the same time, the whaling industry, with the steep decline of global whale populations, became uneconomic.

In the afternoon we reached the bird cliffs of Alkefjellet. From a distance these look like normal cliffs but as we got closer, in the RHIBs, we could see the birds. Thousands of them. Mostly Brünnich’s guillemots with a few other types to add colour. The air was full of birds, the cliffs were covered in nesting birds and the smell was, well, distinctive. Nesting, in this case, means perching on impossibly small ledges and using any lower perching birds as a toilet. The guillemots are also known as thick-billed murres. Their chicks have a harsh start in life. Once big enough, they jump off the cliff and try to make it to the water where a parent is waiting. The dilemma, as I saw it, is that if you nest lower down, the chick has an easier route to the water but you need to put up with all the birds higher up. The rocks, in places are completely white with bird guano. Nesting higher up means the chick bounces more on the way down and so has less chance of arriving intact. Sailing close to the cliffs we found it advisable to wear a hat. The birds took very little notice of us. Even so, we were careful not to get too close. Back on the ship we settled down for the evening while the captain set a course due north.

By the morning, we were considerably further north and surrounded by mist. Lunchtime the mist began to lift as we arrived at the ice edge. At just over 82°N this was the southern limit of the Arctic ice cap. The ice was mostly brash. Loose pieces of broken pack ice that stretched to the horizon. An ice ship could have ploughed straight into this but the Spitsbergen is not built for the rough stuff so we just pottered around the edge. Even so, this was a record, the farthest north ever reached by a ship in the HX fleet.

The north pole was just 550 miles away. We spent the rest of the at the ice edge. There were a few sea birds, mostly guillemots. A few seals. And a terrific view of ice. Ice everywhere.

Gravensodden

First nature landing of the trip. We arrived at Magdalenafjorden in the morning. One of the more spectacular fjords of Svalbard, it is surrounded by rough snowy peaks and glaciers emerging from dark rocky valleys. Gravensodden is a site of significant historical interest. Whaling operations began here back in the 16^th century which is also when the first graves were dug. Since then, many people, whales and walrus have died here. The people, over a hundred of them, got buried while the animals were boiled down in large blubber ovens. The grave site is fenced off and out of bounds. In the past, tourists opened the coffins that had been pushed up to the surface by the action of permafrost. They took bones as souvenirs and even made campfires from the wooden coffin remains. This sort of thing is frowned upon now. Tales from the past talk of many animal remains strewn around although we saw little of this. We did enjoy a short wander around while taking in the scenery and in the far distance spotted a handful of walruses.

Back on board the Spitsbergen, we headed to our next landing site, Smeerenburg, but discovered a polar bear had got there first. This meant no landing. Too dangerous. Polar bears look cute from a distance but they are the apex predator. Powerful and occasionally unpredictable. We watched from a distance and from the safety of the ship. The bear was quite difficult to spot. Using a smartphone as a camera your bear would be just a couple of pixels big. A white dot in the middle of large mountainside. Fortunately, before this trip started, I had upgraded my camera equipment. Started off by selling everything. Over the years I had accumulated a varied selection of lenses and camera bodies. I only took a selection of these travelling but even so it felt like lugging around a lot of gear. So, the whole lot went on ebay and I started again. Began with a Canon EOS R5 MkII. Mirrorless cameras offer a lot of advantages over the traditional SLR. Smaller, lighter, faster. Less moving parts. Battery life is a bit of an issue but manageable if you prepare. The combination of mirrorless with latest generation of lenses is powerful and lightweight. Sensors are now more sensitive. Combined with image stabilisation this means you can use smaller aperture lenses. I went for a 200-800mm for distance work, 70-200mm for general purpose and 24-70mm for wide angles. Three lenses, one body, a handful of batteries and a monopod. So far, this is all working out extremely well. In fact, I am even considering dropping the monopod because the low light performance is so good.

Meanwhile, back at the bear, it was still in the far distance, whatever lens you used. He walked around but never came any closer. The ship is not allowed to go closer. Another, much smaller, ship had arrived with more spectators with long lenses. They also kept a good distance. We watched for the best part of an hour and then spotted that the bear had picked up some sort of large, white plastic bag. I found this a bit sad. The bear was playing with discarded rubbish. We left him to it and sailed round the corner into Fuglefjorden. Another fabulously pretty fjord with glaciers calving directly into the water. Pleasant weather meant a chance for the kayakers to get out for a paddle. Neither Diane nor I are especially interested in kayaking albeit for different reasons. I have, from time to time, kayaked in a range of places but never really found it particularly engaging. Diane is afraid that she would fall in the icy water and die. We watched the paddlers and pondered the glaciers for a while before wandering off to find a cocktail to end the day.

Next day we landed at Jotunkjeldene where there is a hot spring. This was interesting but not as exciting as it might have been because we were not allowed anywhere near it. The water is heated by a geothermal hot spot deep underground. As is seeps out, colourful minerals, carbonates, are deposited in a slowly growing dome. We had a nice walk and found a lot of flowers. Very short growing season here so all the flowers everywhere come out at the same time. I was impressed with how hardy they are. Eight months of freezing cold and snow then they pop up at the first chance to bask in the sun.

In the afternoon we were a little further down Liefdefjorden at an old trapper’s hut called Texas Bar. Nobody could offer a good explanation for the name. It is not in Texas or from Texas and it is definitely not a bar. It is however one of the few names in the area that I can confidently pronounce. Technically it is a historic relic although it could easily be mistaken for an old shed. Apparently some hardy souls still use it in the winter after travelling by snow mobile from Longyearbyen. We walked a short way up the hillside. As far as we were allowed. Then we hung around for a while enjoying the views and trying to spot Beluga whales in the shallows. Somebody claimed they saw an arctic fox – but I am not sure I believed them.

Lake Balaton

North from Novi Sad to Hungary. At the first border crossing we were denied. “This is a small border, for Europeans, you have to go to the big border”. Since we are no longer part of the EU we can only leave Serbia at major crossing points. Thank you Brexit. Leaving the pleasant, quiet country roads, we slogged up the motorway for over an hour. Spent the next hour baking in the sun while standing in line. Got into Hungary with no problems but then we were a long way off the planned route. The afternoon was four hours of motorway tedium.

We arrived by the eastern end of Lake Balaton hot, dusty, tired and in need of a drink. Lake Balaton is the largest freshwater lake in central Europe and an important tourist destination. In particular, Germans like to come here to do “wellness”. I have never completely fathomed what this is about. It involves, amongst other things, getting hot in a spa and wandering around in white bathrobes. We settled in a shady spot just outside to enjoy a glass of cold, white wine before we did anything else. Two elderly, somewhat overweight men, clad in just speedos, came and started playing table tennis right next to us. I could only guess what nationality they were. We moved round the corner.

Next day was a leisurely ride alongside the lake. Balaton is 170 km long so this is not a trivial ride but it was lovely to relax a bit after the full-on slog of the previous day. Another warm and sunny day gave the place a holiday feel. Cycling is exceedingly popular here. There are dedicated cycle trails right the way around the lake. We took it easy and stopped for several coffee breaks along the way. Our hotel at the far western end of the lake was another “wellness” establishment. It also described itself as “superior”. We have since decided to view the words “wellness” and “superior” a hotel description as a warning. There were indeed many superior people doing wellness – but this is no place for bikers.

Leaving the hordes of white towelling clad Germans in the morning we headed for Croatia. Easy, rolling countryside and slightly cooler weather made for a great ride. We only clipped the corner of Croatia before entering Slovenia. Another lovely country of picturesque rural landscapes and quaint villages. We passed north of the fabulously named capital city of Ljubljana. Not sure why but I really like this name. Was very pleased when I finally learned how to pronounce it. Our hotel was perfect. A stark contract to the night before. Unpretentious, small, friendly, cosy and familiar. A traditional wood and stone building with a sense of an old coaching Inn about it. We were served a basic meal of pasta. No overpriced sparkling water, no carefully ironed linen napkins and absolutely no genuflecting. What we did get was delicious food matched perfectly with a bottle of local wine. We could relax here comfortably without feeling we were being judged.

In the morning, we headed for the lovely town of Bled. A pretty place with views across Lake Bled and overlooked by Castle Bled. Unfortunately, it is a tourist magnet. Even this early in the season it was packed with coaches and gangs of tourist sheep being led around by their guides. We kept going. Not even stopping for a mouthful of cremeschnitte (custard slice) that the area is famous for. Past the lake and south into the mountains. Soon we were far from the madding crowds and winding our way up small, steep roads with glimpses of snow. By the evening, we had crossed two excellent mountain passes to arrive at the town of Tolmin. Here we lucked upon one of the best pizzas of the trip.

I had hoped we could ride the Transfăgărășan highway in Romania but we were thwarted. It does not open until July. No matter, we could at least do the Vršič Pass, also known as the Russian Road in Slovenia. The day dawned bright and clear. We got an early start but it was not to be. No idea why the road was closed. Checking the internet revealed nothing. But there it was. A great big red circle sign erected in the middle of the road. It was was definitely closed. We turned left and went to Italy. This proved to be quite fun. Another, less famous, pass but interesting none the less. Great views. From there we crossed into Austria and a terrific biker hotel in the foothills. Suddenly we were in a different sort of world. Everyone at this hotel was a biker. Everyone had an adventure bike. We were made to feel very welcome. Bikes all went in a secure shed. We sat outside with the others and talked about bike things while dining, Austrian style, on dumplings. Next day we would tackle Austria’s highest mountain pass – the Großglockner-Hochalpenstraße.

Danube

In the morning the cows came down to the lake. A lovely pastoral scene to contemplate over breakfast and the cows found it very refreshing. I did wonder a little about how suitable the lake was for the people swimming there the previous evening.

Back on the bike, we headed north-west towards a Greek national park. The sat nav took us on a wicked short cut through the town of Stavroupoli. It does this occasionally. Instead of the sensible route around a town, it will calculate a slightly faster route through some back roads. This particular one took us up a steep hill on pavement. Vehicles were allowed but it was very narrow. We needed to dodge people, children and dogs on the cobbled, twisty route while working quite hard just to keep the bike upright. We prevailed and emerged intact onto a lovely road that wound though the hills and forests to the city of Drama. From here we went north over some mountains towards the ski town of Volakas. Initially the route was very promising. We descended into a deep valley filled by a lake. After crossing the bridge, the road became substantially smaller and we needed to be careful of the rocks strewn across the tarmac. Eventually the road became a track and then a muddy path. We are not equipped for muddy paths. Especially in a remote area of a Greek national park with nobody around for miles. So, to avoid further drama, we headed back to Drama. Leaving Drama on the main road to Volakas, it began to rain. Heavy, cold, driving rain that covered the road in sheets of water. At least we were not on a muddy track in the mountains. We arrived at Volakas completely sodden and it continued to rain through much of the night.

The morning was bright and sunny. We had an exceptionally good breakfast and set off for Bulgaria. Now we are back in the EU the borders are a complete anti-climax. In fact, occasionally, you need to be on your toes to spot them at all. This border was marked by a “peace tunnel” that connected the two countries. We continued north and climbed into the next range of mountains. The rain caught us again and the temperature dropped. The road climbed higher and then there was snow. It did not actually snow on us but there was plenty of snow on the hills around us and, in places, on the road. All we could do was press on. Fortunately, the route began to descend and the rain eased. Eventually we arrived at the lovely Batak reservoir and parked up just as the sun came out. We had booked a particularly pleasant hotel. A good meal with lashings of Bulgarian wine made a great way to finish a hard and somewhat uncomfortable day.

Sofia next. A comfortable ride of just a few hours and then the usual fun coping with the city centre traffic. Trams and the rails they used added some further interest. Sofia is the capital of Bulgaria and home to a wealth of museums and churches. We stayed at a wonderful hotel right in the centre of the city. It was a little dated but for a very modest cost we had a massive room and got to park the bike safely inside their courtyard. In the evening, we looked at a few of the museums and churches from the outside and then found an excellent Indian restaurant for dinner.

Going north from Sofia brought us to Montana and a lovely lake. The next day was equally uneventful riding that brought us into Romania and the river Danube just north of Vidin. Late morning I got a message from the hotel we had booked to say that their restaurant was closed because it was a national holiday. We would have to sort our own dinner. Buying it was the first problem. National holiday. Everywhere was closed. Eventually, we chanced on a small village shop where we could buy a few basics. When we arrived at the hotel, we found the whole building was closed. No-one else there at all. The cooking facilities proved to be a single microwave oven. Not much use for the pasta and vegetables we had picked up. Outside was a firepit and this turned out to be our culinary saviour. With a plentiful supply of wood, we soon had a blazing fire on which to cook our food and to sit round while enjoying more Bulgarian wine. In the morning, I revived the fire. We breakfasted on toast with cheese, slightly smoked, and a large pot of coffee.

We rode along the banks of the Danube for the entire day. Past the spectacular Iron Gates. Despite the name, they are neither iron or gates but in fact a deep gorge forming the border between Romania and Serbia. The whole section is over 100 km long and, as we discovered, is quite popular with bikers. Eventually we arrived in Moldova – not the east European country, but a town in Romania. Here it was still a national holiday. Fortunately our host for the night, a remarkably friendly man called Fabio, ordered pizza and sat us down with some of his home-made wine.

Next morning we rode north across a small range of hills and crossed into Serbia. At the border, because we were leaving the EU again, we needed to present passports and vehicle documents. Otherwise, it was painless. We pressed on to Novi Sad. Here we stayed in a glorious old building. Some sort of castle converted into a hotel and perched high on a cliff overlooking the Danube and the town. In Serbia it was not a national holiday. We found a restaurant that was open just next to the hotel. Not only open but serving some terrific food involving roasted peppers, mushrooms, garlic and chilli. There was also wine of course and we got to watch the sunset over the Danube.

Black Sea

With two speeding tickets to my name, I needed to up my game if Turkey was not going to become very expensive. The obvious strategy would be to stay below the limit. However, as I had found out to my cost, it is not always easy to know what the limit is for bikes. My satnav was completely useless in this respect. Roads signs only gave limited information. Background reading was often contradictory. I read that the limit on motorways was 80 kph for bikes. With the rest of the traffic doing 130 kph this did not sound at all safe. All the speed radars that I had seen were forward facing. This is good news for bikes because they can’t capture your number plate. It only works when there is someone down the road, watching a live feed, that can flag you down. The set up for this was usually a small temporary warning sign on the hard shoulder. A couple of hundreds of metres later would be a parked police vehicle with the radar mounted on its roof and a similar distance further along the road would be coned down to one lane where the police were waiting. There were also radar and other sensors on gantries over the road. Most of these, at the entrance and exit to towns, were, I think, more to do with ANR. Keeping track of who goes where.

The road north to Hapa on the Black Sea was spectacular. It wound along a series of mountain passes and was virtually deserted. The sun was shining and the air was fresh. We had a relaxed night at a resort type hotel on the coast and then turned west. The coast road was very different but equally enjoyable. Mostly it was tight, twisty roads in and out of the small valleys running down to the sea. Occasionally we dropped into a town and here the road would be dual carriageway interrupted by multiple sets of traffic lights. There was usually a hard shoulder. Separated from the main carriageway by a solid white light. It found far more use that just being for breakdowns. It was also used for parking, for horse drawn vehicles, for filtering at lights (even for cars), for loading and unloading trucks and could also be used if you needed to drive against the main flow of traffic. Very useful.

After three days we turned inland to avoid Istanbul. Far too busy to be an enjoyable ride. We find big cities are better visited on foot. Instead, we headed towards the Dardanelles straits where we could cross to Gelibolu and mainland Europe. This area controls maritime access to the Black Sea and has been the scene of many conflicts over the ages. In WW1 over 300,000 soldiers were killed at Gallipoli in a failed invasion that lasted eight months and badly discredited Winston Churchill. The largest single span suspension bridge in the world is here. Built in 1915, the Çanakkale bridge has a central span of just over two kilometres. We chose the ferry but nearly changed our minds when we saw the queue. Sometimes, however, being on a bike is just wonderful. We were waved though. Past rows of trucks and scores of cars right up to the ship. Here we just had time to buy a ticket before being literally the last vehicle onboard.

A short ride took us the border with Greece. Here I had to pay my speeding fines. Just the two, I had successfully avoided any further trouble. No further checks, so long as the bill was paid I was free to go. So we arrived in Greece and lovely hotel in a quiet village just past Alexandroupoli.

Lake Van

Leaving Göreme we headed off into some lovely wide-open roads that curved up into the hills. Traffic was light. The air was cool. We lent into the curves and let the KTM enjoy a bit of space and freedom. Then, coming round a bend, the traffic police pulled me over and gave me a speeding fine. That smarted a bit. Suitably contrite, we resumed the road at a steadier pace. Then came a textbook example of the sympathetic use of nature. One that completed our transition from joyous freedom to serious intent. It started to rain. The rain got heavier so we took shelter at a petrol station. We didn’t need fuel. Just sat under cover drinking Turkish tea until things improved. Back on the road we got another couple of hours in before another squall hit. This time we did need petrol, so I dived into the next station. A pleasant young lad filled the bike and then invited us for tea while the rain passed. I went out to check the bike while it was parked under the station canopy. Always a good idea to periodically look over the tyres, chain and so on. While I was busy with this, the lad, barely in his mid-twenties, was declaring his love for Diane – via Google Translate. Seriously. She explained that she was nearly seventy to which he replied that she hid her age with her beauty. When the conversation turned to sex my princess decided it was time for a swift exit. Putting her helmet on as she came over to the bike, she explained that she had pulled but it was time to go.

Arriving at our hotel in Mus, which advertised private on-site parking, we were invited to park the bike right outside the hotel entrance. This involved a couple of steep ramps onto a polished marble floor. I was happy that I managed this without dropping the bike. Next day, we headed to Lake Van. This is enormous. We could not see across it. The weather improved enormously and we had a lovely drive along the south side of the lake to the city of Van. Parking arrangements here were similar to Mus. The bike ended up right outside the rotating door to the hotel. We went of to explore the city but did not get much further than a very nice bar where we enjoyed some wine. For dinner we visited a restaurant specialising in pide. A Turkish version of pizza (which came first?). Bread with melted cheese and mushrooms cooked in a wood fired oven. Served with salad and a tomato and garlic salsa.

In the morning, we went to see a sanctuary for Van cats run by the university. Van cats, originating from Lake Van in Turkey often have heterochromia (one eye of each colour) and are known as the swimming cats. They have been observed to swim in Lake Van. The ones we saw in a sanctuary had their own swimming pool but we did not see them swim – and we were not allowed to throw them in the water. They were extremely cute though and we paid extra to feed them. Leaving Lake Van we passed a big blue road sign that posted the speed limits for various vehicles. 110 kph for cars, lower speeds for different categories of truck. Ten minutes later I was pulled over for speeding again. Now I discovered that although it is not posted, anywhere, the speed limit for motorcycles, on the main roads, is 90 kph. I was flabbergasted. A key issue for motorcycling is being able to keep up with the flow of traffic. Forcing motorbikes to be slower than cars and most trucks is simply asking for trouble. And I had another speeding fine.

Pressing on, our route took us off the main road and up into the mountains. The rain arrived and then got heavier. The temperature dropped as we climbed. The road was terrific but we found it increasingly hard to enjoy as we got colder and wetter. By the top of the pass, 2,600 m, it was a mere 4°C. Leaving Van it had been a balmy 26°C. We looked and felt like a pair of drowned rats. My toes were numb. Diane was shivering. Only just higher than us was fresh snow across the mountain tops. Coming down was a dilemma. Crack on and suffer the wind chill or slow down and take longer. The route was spectacular but we were very pleased to reach our hotel in Erzurum. This is one of Turkey’s premier ski resorts. The receptionist told us there had been snow there in the morning.

The next day was one of those when I was really pleased that we were not on an organised trip. The weather forecast was awful. More rain and cold. The following day however was sunny and warm. So, we changed our plans, we stayed put. I did some more planning. We explored the city and caught up with the clothes washing. By the time we left, we were refreshed, relaxed and the weather was lovely. Aiming due north, we set off towards the Black Sea.

Cappadocia

Two days of steady riding bought us to Göreme in the region of Cappadocia. We had a night in a very local hotel on the way, where I am sure we were the only foreigners. Dinner and breakfast were served as a buffet in an enormous and mostly empty restaurant. The translation app on my phone saw heavy service as we attempted to identify the dishes. We mostly enjoyed the food. Diane was not impressed by raw chillis for breakfast, I thought they did a wonderful job of waking you up. Tea, Turkish tea, was ubiquitous. Often prepared in a heated urn with two taps. One for tea, one for hot water. We found we needed to dilute the tea considerably. Coffee was usually the instant, powdered stuff although occasionally we found genuine Turkish coffee. Made using very finely ground coffee beans so you get an espresso sized cup which is about 1/3 coffee sludge. Strong and bit gritty. I am developing a taste for it while my teeth are turning black.

The second day was wet. We arrived in Göreme in the rain. Fortunately, the hotel was lovely and, one of the benefits of visiting a tourist destination, is that we found an Indian restaurant. In stark contrast the last few days, this place was crawling with foreigners. Göreme sits at the heart of a network of valleys filled with astonishing rock formations. Fairy towers are pillars of rock that pop up everywhere. Many of these have been hollowed out inside. Once, they were hiding places for Christians escaping the Romans. Today, many of them have become boutique hotels. Göreme was little visited by tourists until the 1970s but by 2000 had become the tourist capital of Cappadocia. Tourism brought wealth and a better standard of living to the village. It also changed the local agricultural life completely. The town is now packed with shops offering balloon trips, local tours, souvenirs, ATV trips, pony treks, camel rides and photo shooting opportunities. Here you can hire a voluminous red silk dress, an open top American car and a photographer so that, early in the morning, you can pose in front of the balloons. This mostly appeals to young Asian women but I guess it would be open for anyone.

The hot air balloons. I had seen photographs of balloons at Göreme and assumed that the image was from an annual festival. No. Every single morning, weather permitting, over a hundred brightly coloured balloons take to the sky. Hot air ballooning in Cappadocia started in 1991 with a competition of professional hot air ballooners from all over the world. Since then it has blossomed. 25 balloon companies, 250 balloons and up to 165 balloons launched each morning. Cappadocia is considered one of the best places in the world for ballooning. The weather is generally well suited and the area has a unique scenery of magnificent volcanic mountains, natural fairy chimneys, oddly shaped valleys, pigeon houses and stone carved churches. It was going to mean an early start but we steeled ourselves to it and signed up.

4am in the morning we were sat outside waiting for our ride. It was dark and quite chilly. Once in the minibus we were served breakfast – small carton of juice and biscuit bar. Other people were collected and eventually we bounced off along some dirt tracks. Over an hour later we were on an area of green fields above the valleys. Balloons were everywhere. We arrived as ours was in the final stages of being inflated. Hot air comes from a powerful LPG burner mounted about the basket. Strong fans were also being used to drive air into the envelope. Around us, in the first light of dawn, we could see many other balloons inflating on the ground or already taking to the sky.

The basket was divided into eight compartments each holding four people. You jammed yourself in here quite snugly. Seemed like quite a good arrangement. Everyone could see in most directions and it was secure and comfortable. Then we just wafted into the sky. Just like that. No drama or noise, apart from the burner. In just a few minutes we felt part of the great wave of balloons drifting up in the ever-brightening sky. There is no wind when you are in a balloon. Because you drift with the air currents, at the same speed, there is no relative wind at all. Very comfortable and relaxed. Initially we gained height. The world was reduced to little ants running around. It felt very safe. The walls of the basket come up to chest level so there is no chance of falling out. In fact, as we found out later, getting out can be a bit of a challenge.

Then we descended. A wide valley full of fairy chimneys runs north from Göreme and many of the balloons drop right down into this. Crowds had gathered at the overlooking escarpment. We passed within a few metres of them as dropped into the valley. We skirted over bushes and almost touched the ground before climbing again at the far side. I noticed that balloons never collided and never seemed to get caught up on the fairy chimneys. I am guessing that something about the way air currents work helps with this. You cannot steer a balloon, just go up or down to find different airstreams. There seems to be quite a lot of skill involved and our pilot was doing just fine.

Past the valley we crossed into a more level area and then landed, very neatly and gently, in a field. The ground crew of four appeared with their Landrover and trailer within minutes. First job was to inflate the balloon just slightly so that the basket could be manhandled onto the trailer. Then then trailer, complete with basket and passengers was moved to a suitable location for deflating the balloon. Finally, with the balloon now laying across the ground, we were allowed to clamber out of the basket. We were given a glass of champagne, which was not champagne. We listened to a short speech that could have been précised as “please give us a tip”. The minibus took us back to the hotel where we enjoyed a buffet breakfast on the rooftop terrace. Then we went back to bed.

Early next morning we got a view from the hotel of the day’s balloons. Then we went on a day trip. Sometimes these are good but not necessarily. The main advantage for us is that we get round a bunch of interesting places without having to first find them out for ourselves. So, laziness really. First stop was an overlook of pigeon valley. Many small caves carved into the rock formations with the purpose of attracting pigeons. Pigeon guano was used as fertiliser. I imagine the odd bird found its way into a stew pot. The sight was embellished with the usual ways of getting money from tourists. Camel rides, small ponies, souvenir shops and so on. On to the jewellery making shop which was just an excuse to try and sell us jewellery. Fortunately, I am immune and was able to keep a close eye on Diane. Next stop was some carved caves that had been used as a cathedral. Extensive and quite magnificent. The soft stone, actually a compressed volcanic ash, lends itself to digging and carving but also erodes quickly. Preserving these sites can be quite difficult. Then came a walk down a canyon. This was very enjoyable and it made a pleasant change not to be just standing around.

Penultimate stop was an underground city. There are several of these in Cappadocia. They were started two thousand years ago for Christians to hide in and have been used and expanded ever since. Came in very handy when the Mongol hoards crossed from the steppes and many other times as well. Calling the place a city is possibly a bit of an exaggeration. The tunnels are extensive. Apparently 5,000 people could hide in here. They are all quite small and it seemed quite stuffy with just a hundred or so tourists in there. None the less, very impressive and interesting. Final stop was a sweet making shop where they were simply selling sweets and dishing out free samples. That was us done with Göreme. Next day we would go in search of swimming cats.

Ayvalik

The crossing to Türkiye was windy and choppy. It was only a small ferry and our poor bike, strapped onto the rear deck, got thoroughly drenched with sea water. Fortunately, the trip was only 90 minutes. We rode the bike off, parked by a locked gate and were directed into building to get our documentation checked. Everything went fine until the very last moment. I thought I had checked our vehicle insurance for Türkiye but in fact I had only checked the breakdown insurance. We had no insurance and the authorities were not going to let us take the bike until we could prove otherwise. Now usually, on this sort of border, getting vehicle insurance is not a problem. Often there are several insurance offices lined up by the border just desperate to sell you something. On this occasion we had arrived by a rather obscure route, just a handful of vehicles each week and to exacerbate the issue it was labour day, May 1^st, a public holiday.

We walked over to the ferry office and attempted to sort something out. They were very helpful and soon had someone on the phone for us. He explained that it was not possible to buy insurance in Türkiye for a foreign vehicle and that I needed to contact my insurers in the UK. There then followed a surreal conversation with Carol Nash, who insure my bike. First of all, they understood that I was trying to insure an additional bike called a Türkiye . This got escalated to a supervisor who realised that Türkiye was a country but explained that I was covered for the whole of Europe. Up to the next supervisor who recoiled in horror over the notion that I wanted to ride my bike outside of Europe. Why would you do that? Finally, after a long time on hold, I was told that it was quite impossible. Half an hour later, while I was busy trawling the internet for something useful, the ferry office man came back with another phone call. This one worked. Several email exchanges and a trip to an ATM later and we had the necessary document. Eventually collected the bike late afternoon but whatever, we were in, all sorted and legal. We stayed at a local hotel and then picked up the planned trip a day later.

First stop was Kuşadası, a delightful small town packed with tourist shops. We aimed to get there on the main road but got turned around by the police. Some incident had blocked the road. We took to smaller roads and picked a route out through some hills to the north. The proved to be a pleasant ride and probably much more fun. We took an extra day at Kuşadası so that we could visit the Ephesus Archaeological Site. This is the massive, excavated remains of a of a temple, theatre and library in an ancient city taken over by Romans in 129 BC. Although clearly battered by 2,000 years of neglect this place is still impressive. In particular, you can get a sense of what life might have been like for the Romans. The rich Romans obviously. The slaves and servants probably had a horrible time of it. The weather was boiling hot and the crowds fearsome but we eventually managed to get round the whole site and even read some of the noticeboards. If you are into Roman ruins then this place should be on your list. The entrance area to the site is a covered roadway lined by tourist shops. Any kind of replica watch, jewellery, handbag or other accessory at a bargain price.

Back at our hotel the very nice owner invited us to a family barbeque in the evening. I am not at all keen on either meat and children but fortunately Diane is much more polite that me and she stepped in to explain that we were vegetarian. The owner replied that surely her husband was not one. He did not look like a vegetarian. What does that mean? I think he is saying I am fat. And they would be serving salad. Oh joy, the stench of burning meat, the screams of crying children and a bit of lettuce leaf. I attempted to maintain a fixed smile on my face. One that had nothing to do with what was going on inside my head. I nodded in what I hoped was a polite way and we left.

Next day we continued along the coast road as best we could. In places there was not a road near the sea. Even so we managed enough road with bright blue ocean immediately to our right to keep Diane happy. The riding was great. Perfect weather. Sunny but not too hot. Quiet roads that twisted and looped through hidden coves and over small hills. The Rhapsody hotel at Kalkan was all but deserted. It is still early in the season. We’d had a long day. We were quite happy to eat by the pool as the sun set. Then Gillian and Reynaldo turned up. A lovely couple that had a holiday home nearby. We had a pleasant chat with them and picked up some nuggets of interesting local knowledge.

More coastal roads brought us to Antalya, popular amongst British tourists. We kept moving and ended up at a serious holiday hotel an hour or so later. This was an all-inclusive establishment in a gated compound with its own restricted beach area. I’d chosen it as being good value for money. Which it was. Drinks and half board for around £80. On arrival we were tagged with wristbands. The room was lovely. Overlooking swimming pools and the beach. Food was served buffet style with an excellent range of food to choose from. Wine was either red or white and the cocktails were rubbish. Overall, the stay was good fun although we did feel a bit out of place.

In the morning, we had a sobering start when, not five minutes after leaving the hotel, we came across two bodies. They were clearly very dead and had been laid out by the roadside. Not covered. Looked to be a couple in their early twenties. No helmets, dressed for the beach. The police were in attendance and thirty metres down the road was a flipped over ATV. A few other vehicles were parked up and a small crowd was standing well back. We did not see what happened but I am sure the gist of it would include inexperience, exuberant driving and excessive speed. Very sad. We have seen a lot of people on rented ATVs since then and I can’t help thinking how dangerous they are without a bit of training.

Our costal odyssey continued in much the same way as the previous days. The roads became quieter and we eventually arrived at the Kupala beach hotel. Tiny little village at the end of a beach where we were absolutely the only people staying at the hotel. There is something strange and a little disconcerting about staying in an otherwise empty hotel. It was being run by three blokes – none of whom seemed the hotel manager type. We sorted out the check-in and even organised food but they discussed everything amongst themselves, apparently in great detail. Like they were not sure what they were supposed to be doing. I am sure there is a story here. Definitely something a little bit weird. Nothing bad happened. We ate well. No idea where the food came from but it arrived in bags brought by runners. We turned in early ready to leave the coast and start inland.

Lesbos

As we drove off the ferry in Lesbos, I noticed the rear tyre was low. We stopped at the first safe place. This happened to still be inside the port complex and we were accosted by a very ordinary couple wielding ID cards and claiming to be customs officials. So, instead of sorting out the tyre, the first thing we had to do was produce documents and answer some odd questions. They did not like that the V5 is not proof of ownership. Finally, they told us very sternly that we could only keep the bike in Greece for six months. I tried to reply, equally firmly, that we were leaving in two days. Back to the bike. I put some air in the tyre and we wandered into town to find someone to fix it. I do carry everything I need to sort out a nail in the tyre like this, but I have never actually done it. We stumbled across a moto shop after just a few minutes and they very obligingly sorted the tyre with a plug in ever fewer minutes. How long does a plug last? It may be that I will be able to tell you shortly.

Leaving the main road, we struck for the east coast and a delightful short ride to Mythymna and the Seahorse Hotel right in the top right-hand corner of Lesbos. Scenic, winding road with almost no traffic. Hard to beat. The tyre was still full of air when we arrived. I found this very pleasing. I also found the hotel very pleasing. Nice comfy room with balcony. Very friendly host. Restaurant tables on the quayside. Mostly this was lovely, but occasionally you needed to move your table to let a car past. We dumped the heavy bike gear in our room. It is essential for protection but is horribly sweaty and cumbersome at times. Feeling much lighter, we skipped off up the hill to a castle overlooking the town. It was closed. We contented ourselves with walking right the way around it and then drank wine while overlooking the bay.

We elected to stay at the Seahorse another night. This gave us a day to explore the island. We had great fun but forgot the camera so there are no pictures. Imagine quiet, bendy roads. The odd sleepy village where the dogs come out to bark at you. Hills, olive groves, donkeys and goats. We drove to the southern shore. Admired the sea views. Had a coffee and came back over the biggest mountain on the island. Along the way we found ourselves on a dirt track. Not ideal with road tyres but fortunately it was dry and not too rough. My very mediocre off-road skills sufficed, the plug stayed in the tyre and we found a lovely place for coffee not long after regaining the asphalt. In the evening, we had great food and cheap red local wine at our quayside table. Days like this are good.

Next day was also good. We made our way back to Mitilini in preparation for the morning ferry next day. Spent a while wandering around the town and worked out exactly where to go for the ferry. It is not that simple. You need to park by a gate, walk round the other side of the building, do document checks, get your tickets, walk into a yard where, on presenting your tickets, they will open the gate and allow you to drive to the ship. This was all explained to us by a very friendly official and saved a lot of wandering around the next morning. We ended the day in a lovely restaurant. Very basic and only two dishes on the menu. I went over the road to get glasses of wine. Great food and then we got to the paying bit. The restaurant is run to support a charily for refugees. You pay as much as you feel the meal was worth. Lovely idea we thought. And the restaurant seemed to be very popular.

Next day we knew what to do. The other, less well rehearsed, motorcyclists were milling around uncertainly by the locked gate. They followed us as we marched off confidently with our documents. Not long after that we were installed on the little ferry all ready for the short crossing to Turkey.

Athens

Usually on a ferry, you are woken by a rude tannoy announcement to the effect of “get up and go have breakfast”. The first we heard on the Grimaldi ferry to Igoumenitsa was an announcement telling us to vacate the cabin in ten minutes. Sure enough, ten minutes later came a knock on the door. Fortunately, we had risen earlier and were ready for it. Even so we left the ferry without breakfast or even a coffee. It was Easter Monday. I was a bit concerned that we might struggle to find a place for an early morning break. Not a problem. There were many. So less than half an hour after disembarking we were sitting in a lovely café with sea views, coffee and wonderful slice of filo pastry with spinach. Most excellent breakfast.

We were heading for Patra. There is a motorway and there is the coast road. We chose to follow the coast. It was lovely. Quiet winding roads, sea views and plenty of coffee stops. We needed them. It had been a bit of short night’s sleep on the ferry. The weather was perfect. Warm and sunny. So, we took our time, had plenty of breaks and eventually arrived at Patra in the late afternoon. Our hotel had a rooftop bar which was just wonderful. We sat up there ordering some great food, drinking wine and watching the sunset. First day in Greece was good.

Next day was the run into Athens. Not really any alternatives to the motorway for this but should only have taken a couple of hours. Actually, took over five hours. The traffic was terrible. Long, long sections where we were filtering though nearly stationary vehicles. The trip in a car would probably have taken twice as long. Driving in Athens is a bit up close and personal but after Peru, where driving is a contact sport, this did not seem too bad. Drivers are generally quite courteous and aware when it comes to motorbikes. There are a lot of motorbikes and bigger scooters in Athens. Very few cyclists and a fair number of small scooters.

We took a city tour and started off by watching the changing of the guard outside the Parliament building. Imagine two blokes, big lads, each wearing a short skirt, white woollen tights, a tassel at each knee and shoes with large a pom-pom. They move using exaggerated arm and leg movements that could have come directly from the Ministry of Silly Walks. You might be tempted to titter but these guys are deadly serious. They are members of a special unit of the Hellenic Army known as the Evzones and could kill you with their little finger. Take a good look at their steely expressions and intense stares. These are not people to be messed with. You need to pass a rigorous selection process and difficult training to be part of this elite unit.

We moved on to check out the Olympic Stadium, home of the first modern Olympic Games. Then it was up to the Acropolis also known as the Sacred Rock. This is the location of several temples including the magnificent Parthenon. The weather was warm and sunny, in complete defiance of the forecast. We enjoyed pottering around and taking in the views across the city. Then we dropped down into an area called Plaka. This is an interesting jumble of small houses, narrow cobblestone streets, stores selling all imaginable types of souvenirs and tavernas hustling for business. We ended the day with a glass of wine at a rooftop bar with view across the rooftops to the Acropolis.

Next day we went on a trip with motorbike and sidecar. Done this in a few cities now and it is a great way to get around. Our driver, Dimitris, was clearly skilled and familiar with Athenian traffic. Many areas inaccessible to cars are open to motorbikes. We took on cobbled streets, pedestrian areas and the steep road up to Mount Lycabettus. This is the highest hill in Athens and affords some terrific views. Coming back down we passed through Kolonaki, the area where the rich people live. It oozes wealth. Flashy cars, grandiose houses and perfectly kept gardens.

Our original plan for Greece involved some island hopping which would eventually land us in Turkey. This proved to be remarkably difficult. There are plenty of islands and even more ferries but not so many that we could take the motorbike on. Actually getting to Turkey this way was very limited. Our best bet was to get an overnight ferry to Lesbos and from there it was just a short hop to Ayvalik in Turkey. Mt first attempt to book this ended up me in a shared cabin and Diane with a chair on deck. Princess was not happy about this. We eventually got sorted with a cabin to ourselves and then got told that the ferry to Turkey could not take the bike. This took a lot of persistence to resolve. I think it might have been easier to go to the ferry company directly rather than using FerryHoppers. Their website was pretty good but seemed to fail at the final delivery.

We had a ferry booked in the evening from Pieraus, the port area just outside Athens. So we rode south for a while to see the Temple of Poseidon. This is perched prominently on top of the cliffs at Cape Sounion. The temple is quite impressive and we paid €20 each for the short walk up the hill. Photos done we grabbed a coffee and then headed for the port. It took up two laps around the port area until we eventually went down a road marked “trucks only” and found our ship. By six we were comfortably installed in our cabin. The ship sailed at 8pm while we sat out on deck and watched Athens recede into the distance. I usually sleep quiet well on ships. A long time ago I used to work on smaller survey vessels and I find the rocking motion really quite soothing. So, I was a bit perplexed next morning, after a great night’s sleep, to find Diane scowling at me. Apparently, there was a bit of a storm in the night and she hardly slept a wink. According to princess logic this was now my fault. I pacified her, a little, with coffee and a croissant before we disembarked onto the island of Lesbos.

Italy

After a night and a day on the ferry we arrived at Civitavecchia in Italy. It was generally a pleasant crossing despite the best efforts of the disaffected youths running along the corridors in the early hours. Disembarking was the usual semi-organised chaos with every single vehicle trying to be first off the ship. Handling a big bike with a pillion can be a bit worrying on a ship. The painted decks often have patches of water and oil that makes the surface very slippery. With care, we managed to avoid dropping the bike or getting hit by an enthusiastic driver. From the port it was just a short hop up the road to our B&B for the night. I copied the geodetic coordinates from the booking.com app into the Garmin satnav on the bike. This usually works well and gives us an accurate destination without having to worry about the vagaries of postcodes and addresses. In this instance it took us to completely the wrong house. The man looked puzzled when Diane asked if we could stay there the night. After a bit of handwaving in lieu of understanding each other’s language, he leapt into his van and told us to follow. A mile or so down the road we arrived at the correct house. Some people are remarkably kind and helpful at times. Thank you Italian man. We never even got his name.

Next day saw us heading almost directly east an up into the mountains. We arrived, accurately this time, at a tiny B&B in a lovely old house close to L’Aquila. Evening meals are sometimes a bit of a problem. If there is no restaurant close to where we are staying then we often end up nipping out on the bike to buy bread and cheese for dinner. This time, for the first time in several days, there was a wonderful pizza restaurant some 20 minutes walk down the road. Admittedly, pizza is just bread and cheese in another form but this one was hot and very tasty.

In the morning, we headed further into the mountains and discovered snow. Quite a lot of snow. This was fun for a while until we also discovered that our road was closed. It was cold as well, just 5°C and the wind was carrying a light drizzle. On an organised motorbike tour the general rule is to fill up with fuel just before you arrive at the hotel for the night. This way, you have a full tank for the next days ride. We had neglected this and now had the prospect of wandering around the mountains trying to find a way east with only enough petrol for a limited distance. Diane had a small sense of humour failure while I attempted to work out an alternative route. Fortunately, we dropped down into the next valley system and found a small, self-service pump along with a local cheese shop where we could warm up with coffee and a sandwich. We also bought some cheese and then carried on down to the coast where it was warm and sunny again. Our accommodation for the night was a delightful wooden house overlooking the bay. The access track was badly washed out and required a few off-road skills. It all worked out and we enjoyed dinner, bread, cheese and wine, outside watching the sunset.

We followed the coast road out to Vieste. It was a delight. Perfect sunny weather and great ocean views. The road was tight and twisty. A fun challenge that left my shoulders aching. Our room in the Bikini Hotel had an interesting view. No bikinis but there was a spectacular chalk stack jutting out of the sea in front of bright white cliffs. In the evening, we wandered around the old part of town before finding a comfortable restaurant with outdoor seating. Shortly after sitting down an Easter procession came along the road. Many religious types dressed in white robes carrying a cross, a dead Jesus and a Mary. The centred around a man with a loudspeaker on a pole chanting “Ave Maria”. Later, we could hear them all singing in the church.

The road along the south side of the peninsular was equally challenging with the added interest of Easter Saturday traffic. This included a lot of motorbikes some of which were being thrown around the road in quite alarming ways. Back on the main road, we continued south down the coast to Brindisi. Our accommodation was on the far side of the bay from the old town. We walked all the way round and found a remarkably busy restaurant scene packed with Saturday night diners. On the third attempt and after waiting 20 minutes, we got a table with an excellent meal and some particularly good local wine. Puglia is famous for wines.

Next day, we discovered that we could have taken a small ferry across the bay instead of walking all the way round. We were getting a ferry to Greece in the evening so at lunchtime we wandered down to the quayside. Easter Sunday. Not a good day for touristing in Italy because everything is closed. Including the little ferry. In fact, the only place we found open was the coffee shop attached to a filling station. We lingered there for a while drinking coffee and wondering where everyone else had gone. The whole town seemed deserted.

We went down to the ferry terminal early and drank more coffee. Boarding began at 9pm. Not long afterwards we had found our cabin and were sat on deck with a bottle of wine. The ship was docked directly across from the end of the airport runway. In the dark, it was an impressive display of lights. We enjoyed the spectacle of aircraft taking off and landing right in the dark for a while before heading to bed. The ship would dock in Greece at 7:30am but it would feel like an hour earlier because of a time zone change.

Iguazu

The Iguazu falls on the border of Argentina and Brazil are the largest waterfalls in the world. The highest part, known as the Devil’s throat, is some 80 m wide and about as deep. The falls have featured in many films including Indian Jones, James Bond and Captain America. Understandably the falls are a bit of a tourist attraction. Controlled access is from both the Brazilian and Argentinian sides.

We arrived at the border city of Puerto Iguazú in the evening. The area is classified as Humid sub-tropical and surrounded by rainforest. Our hotel, the Mercure, was rather pleasingly set in a forested area outside the city. Our room on the second floor had a balcony that looked straight into the jungle. We could sit there and watch parrots, monkeys, lizards and many types of bird. Early evening a few fireflies came out. Brilliant.

Once upon a time, the Iguazu falls were deep in the jungle. Remote and difficult to access. Now they are part of a theme park. In some ways this reminded me of the remarkable Postojna cave in Slovenia. A magnificent natural phenomena that has been harnessed and tamed and turned into an item in a display case. In each case, millions of dollars have been spent to create a tourist attraction that will generate tens of millions of dollars. In each case, it feels to me, like much of the natural aspect has been lost. No doubt the owners will talk about preserving the environment and improving accessibility. They will point out that the tourists will come anyhow and there is a need for control. They will probably be less inclined to mention how much money they have made out of it.

Anyhow, we had no choice in the matter, so we queued to get into the carpark. Then queued to buy our entrance ticket, queued to get a train ticket and finally queued to board the train. Such is the joy of being a tourist. Two train rides later we started the walk along the raised footway to the Devil’s Throat. We had already passed innumerable cafes and souvenir shops. We’d also fought off people wanting to be our guide and those selling additional experiences such as boat rides. The footway was a bit of a pain because it was so crowded with people. Took us about half an hour to get to the viewing platform. Then another good ten minutes to actually get on the platform and to a position where we could see something. It was also very hot and humid. The net effect of all these factors pretty much meant I was ready to leave before we had finished arriving. But I persevered for the sake of a few photos. Fortunately, I am a bit taller than many of the people that were around us. Although I resisted the temptation to rest my telephoto lens on the head of the person pushing in front of me.

The park is arranged into a series of pathways that form loops. Each is an hour or two long. Having achieved the big ticket item, Devil’s Throat, we had a break for over priced coffee and a cheese empanada that turned out to have ham in it. You are encouraged not to feed any of the animals especially the persistent coati and monkeys. Many of the cafes have a caged area outside where you can eat in safety. Empanada in the animal proof bin, we managed to buy a soggy and tasteless mixed veg sandwich and then tackled another loop of raised walkways.

The second loop took us around some other parts of the falls. The walkways were as crowded as ever but some of the views were pretty good. The train back to the car park was especially crowded and required a queue of over half an hour. By the time we got back to the car we were both dragging our feet a bit.

Next day we had a choice. The original plan was to drive to the Brazilian side. This was starting to lose its appeal. A long drive and more queues. Staying with the Argentinian side was a shorter drive and we just had one more loop to walk around. We had started late and still felt tired from the day before, so we decided to stick with the devil we knew. This had the tiny bonus of a reduced entry fee. Not unsurprisingly, the day was much of the same. We kept it shorter and less demanding. The final, lower loop, possibly gave some of the best views of the weekend but the weather remained stubbornly hot and humid.

After our third night in the jungle hotel, we set off back to Buenos Aires. The drive was uneventful. The Argentinian company “Five Senses Travel” organised this trip for us and did an excellent job of it. Very friendly, helpful and knowledgeable. I would recommend them if you are ever out this way. Two hotels later we were at BA airport checking in our bags for the flight to Lima.

Esteros del Iberá

The hire car was a small Toyota. It was adequate and easy to drive. We headed north away from the conurbations of Buenos Aires and out into the countryside. This part of our trip had been organised by a company called “Five Senses Travel” https://fivesensestraveller.com/ . We like to be able to explore on our own a little. Sometimes organised tours are just all about an idea of what tourists want to see. Tourists want to visit tourist attractions. Well, sometimes. Often, we really enjoy seeing the ordinary towns and countryside. Seeing how people live, what they grow, how they go about their daily lives. Getting to know a country rather than just focusing on the spectacular and unusual. Driving can be a wonderful way to do this. We had a couple of weeks. We wanted to drive around Argentina a bit and we wanted to visit the Iguazu waterfalls – which are a tourist attraction. Five Senses put together an itinerary which started with Soledad, our guide in BA and ended back at the airport ready for the next leg of our journey. The first part was just a few hours driving to Concepción del Uruguay – which is not in Uruguay but is on the river that borders Uruguay. We found a nice beach by the river.

Two days later we arrived at a hotel in a swamp. El Transito Hotel Boutique is right in the middle of the National park of Esteros de Ibera. Wikipedia describes this area as a mix of swamps, bogs, stagnant lakes, lagoons, natural slough, and courses of water. We were not too sure what to expect. Getting there involved some off-road navigation. The little Toyota struggled a little but what really grabbed my attention was the large variety of birds sat on the fences and posts by the roadside. We arrived mid-afternoon at the hotel which was set in the middle of an immense and carefully mowed area of grass. Rheas were running around to one side and we also saw a fox.

After a very welcome glass of wine, we were invited to go on a trip with a boat and horse to see the sunset. Sounded fun so they equipped us with rubber boots and off we went in a land cruiser. Ten minutes away we hopped out of the car and our two guides led us past a wooden house and through some muddy bog to a small boat. Here we met a very strong and capable looking man dressed in the style of a gaucho. He got the four of us into the small boat and then pushed it for a few minutes along a water channel. He left us there for a short while and then reappeared on his horse which he tied to the front of the boat.

Off we went. Me, Diane and two guides in a small boat being pulled by a man on a horse. The water got deeper but the horse did not seem to care and plodded on with water sloshing around the saddle. It was a delightful way to travel and felt quite in tune with the surroundings. We pushed through narrow, weed choked channels and through small pond areas. Our gaucho, or at least his horse, knew exactly where to go and where was safe to walk. Half an hour or so of this brought us to a wooden hut with a table, an immense old tree and a lovely view. Our guides magicked up some coffee and cakes while we lazed around and took in the vista. The trip back was similar but with the addition of the perfectly timed and spectacular sunset. Dinner was waiting for us on our return. Excellent home cooked food and a glass of wine. It was starting to look like life in the swamp was not too bad.

9am in the morning we were breakfasted and ready to go. A short drive in a different direction took us to our waiting horses. Neither of us have any equestrian inclinations at all but we had been assured that this was not a problem. They had even brought some steps to help us mount. The horses turned out to be very placid and ideally suited to slightly nervous complete beginners. Two different guides this morning. Neither of whom spoke any English. This did not cause a problem fortunately. The essential message was clear. Get on the horse and follow them. We were in a different part of the wetlands now. Far less of the tall grass that we saw the previous night. It was still swamp though. We set of down a dry track but within a few hundreds of metres our horses were clip, clopping through water. From the higher vantage point of being on horseback we could see more birds and wildlife. Just after we set off there was a Capybara. These are large rodents. The largest of all rodents. A bit like giant, short haired Guinea Pigs but weighing in at 50 kg or more.

We plodded through the swamp for an hour or so. It was lovely. Peaceful and relaxing. At one point the water go deeper. We ended up with water at saddle height. The horses did not seem to mind and stayed gratifyingly sure foot even in a metre or more of water. Eventually, we ended up at a place way out in the middle of the swamp. Almost completely featureless. Flat and wet and swampy in all directions. There was not really any point in getting off here so instead we turned around and headed back. I enjoyed the ride but was also happy to get back. My legs were just starting to tell me I had sat on the horse for long enough.

After a very pleasant and relaxed lunch back at the hotel, I set off to photograph some of the wildlife that was running around outside. A fox was the first thing I found. Apparently, several families live close to the hotel and you need to be careful about leaving things outside. They have a liking for stealing shoes. The hotel swimming pool proved to be ideal twitching country. There were some herons here standing very still. The pool is natural spring water, so I imagine the lack of chlorine makes it more inviting for the birds. I also spotted a couple of small birds that I needed to identify later. I am far from being a proper bird nerd so anything I don’t recognise; I look up with Google Eye later. This almost certainly gets some of the birds wrong. Sorry, I tried. Final birds for the after lunch spot were some Rheas. Immense great ostrich like birds running around on the lawn.

Next trip was on a pontoon boat. Two hulls with a large, circular sofa on top and an engine. Very comfortable for cruising round a swamp. Almost as soon as we set off, we spotted a caiman. A large and rather scary looking alligator type thing. First, we spotted them lying around on the bank but then later we saw them in the water. They can sink low in the water so that just their eyes and nostrils are about the water. I was glad we had not encountered any caiman while we were on horseback. We cruised for about an hour. It was fascinating. There were so many different types of birds that I found it hard to keep up with them. We also spotted a large, male marsh deer and loads more capybara.

Eventually we arrived at a large open area close to a densely forested island. Here we stopped the motor and floated around for a while enjoying the sights and sounds. Once again, our guide brought out some food and coffee. Little cakes and cassava bread with cheese. Everything was orchestrated around the sunset. The sun played its part magnificently and we were treated to colourful orange skies as we headed homeward. We arrived back at the little quay just after the sun had dipped below the horizon. From there it was just a short drive back to the hotel and another excellent home cooked meal. On the way we spotted some very young capybara with their mother.

Next morning I spotted a great big lizard on the way to breakfast. An Argentine black and white tegu I later discovered. A good metre long. He was not particularly disturbed by me and carried on looking for his breakfast while flicking out his long, forked tongue. We did eventually leave and took a leisurely drive back along the track while I tried to photograph some of the birds by the roadside. These included a Caracara bird, an owl, several finches and an egret.Back on to tarmacked roads and we set a course for the Iguazu waterfalls.

Buenos Aires

We were bundled off the Amundsen early on a Thursday morning and by the evening we were settled into our hotel in Buenos Aires. Next day I spent a lot of time uploading files. The internet provision on the Amundsen is a bit limited. My specific problem was that I could not back up my photographs. This was a bit of a concern and I was much more comfortable later on when everything was safely copied away. That done, we went for a stroll. Buenos Aires is a big, modern bustling city. We are not connoisseurs of cities but we quite liked BA. After a bit of pottering around we ended up in a street café. Here we could drink wine while different couples danced tango on the pavement.

Next morning we met up with Soledad, our guide for the day. She took us on a six-hour walking tour of BA. It was not six hours of continuous walking. There were a couple of coffees as well. Even so, it was long and informative day.

We saw an awful lot of BA. There is a great diversity of architecture much of which is inspired by Europe. Some areas are very similar to Paris and Madrid. Elsewhere are some very modern buildings and bridges. We walked through a lot of history. The war of independence from the Spanish, numerous skirmishes with the English, Portuguese and others. More recently came various revolutionary movements, the 1976 coup, the dirty war and the silent marches of the mothers of the 30,000 desaparecidos (people kidnapped and killed by the military during the years of the junta). We steered clear of any mention of the Falklands although we saw many signs proclaiming “Las Malvinas son Argentinas”.

Soledad was remarkably informative. I paid attention as best I could but please don’t ask me questions later. The weather was perfect. Warm without being too hot. We wandered through several parks and everywhere the jacaranda trees were blooming with bright purple flowers. Coffee was taken at a fabulous old building with dark wood panelling, marble floors and gold inlaid plasterwork. We visited a tourist area. Shops selling fridge magnets and scarves, many burger stalls and more street tango. Several churches, city squares and a river later we got to the end of our walk by which time Diane and I were plenty ready for a glass of cold wine.

Next day we collected a hire car and set off for the famous Iguazu waterfalls.

Booth Island

The Lemaire Channel was blocked by icebergs, so we needed to back-track a short distance before turning into French Cove at Booth Island. Next morning I found it had been snowing through the night. The decks were closed for safety reasons. Snow and ice can be slippery. I recklessly sneaked out to get a couple of photos. It was quite nice to see the deck looking like we were actually in the southern oceans. The weather remained stubbornly dull and overcast. The scenery, however, was spectacular. Mountains, glaciers, sea ice, icebergs – I never get tired of this stuff. There was great excitement amongst the expedition team about the possibility of an ice landing. That is, a landing on the sea ice.

The RHIBs were launched and disappeared around a shallow headland. We were near the bottom of the list to go ashore. This meant waiting nearly two hours before we finally got off. Amongst the many strict regulations concerning tourist behaviour in the area is a limit to how many people can go ashore at one time. In this case it was not totally clear what ‘ashore’ meant. We arrived at the landing point and it was indeed onto sea ice. But this was sea ice literally right next to the edge of the land. I mean, you could easily have stepped from the ice onto the snow covered land. We were not allowed to do that. We were hemmed in by a cordon of cones marking and area about the size of a football pitch. This was the limit of our exploration. I have been on sea ice many times and can honestly say this was the most boring. It was nice to get off the ship, get a breath of fresh air and see some more penguins. But that was about it. Nonetheless, the expedition team were doing their best to talk up the first sea ice landing of the year. To some people I guess it was a novelty and something special. For me, it once again underlined the massive difference between living and working in Antarctica and the fleeting touch that tourists are allowed.

We explored the football pitch for an hour. Well, we wandered around, chatted and took a few pictures. That sort of exploring. Then it was back to the ship for coffee and cakes in the Explorer Lounge. Life on the rugged edge of exploration.

Kodak Gap

Back in the day, when men were real men and cameras needed film, the Lemaire Channel was known as Kodak Gap. It has been famous amongst tourists since tourists first discovered its picturesque allure and pointed their Kodak Box Brownies at it. First traversed in 1898 by the Belgiums it was named after Charles Lemaire, a great explorer of the Congo. The Congo is in Africa. Equatorial Africa where it is always hot. The coldest place Charles ever explored was probably Brussels where they have the occasional frosty morning. In the early 20^th century, Charles was accused of abuse towards the native soldiers, and found guilty of mistreatment of the civilian population. He was demoted and retired in disgrace. Sailing up his channel is maybe not such an honour.

A far more worthy geographic naming came to my attention just a few weeks ago. Mike Rose joined the British Antarctic Survey about the same time that I did in the late 80s. We worked together for a few years and wintered at Halley Base. Unlike me, he stayed with BAS and recently, coincident with his retirement, had a mountain named after him. Mount Rose is in the South Shackleton range. Horribly inaccessible but a nice looking mountain and genuine honour. Congratulations Mike.

The weather perked up as we entered the Lemaire Channel. This narrow strait is almost compulsory for Antarctic tourist ships. Not only is it extraordinarily picturesque but also nicely sheltered from the generally agitated southern oceans. The strait is 11 km long, 600 m at the narrowest point and surrounded by steep rocky cliffs and precipitously hanging glaciers. The main navigation issue is that it can become blocked by icebergs. Especially early in the season. And this is exactly what happened. This did not detract from us spending several hours exploring the channel. Nearly everyone was up on deck. Some armed with cameras and binoculars. Other just gawping at the surrounding scenery. It was quite remarkable. In at least a few places, I think, if some of the hanging ice blocks or cornices had come loose then they might have hit the superstructure. Everywhere it was steep, snowy, icy, rocky and spectacular.

Several sea birds were around including the ubiquitous Cape Petrels and Kelp Gulls. A big, fat lazy Fur Seal was spotted draped over a bergy bit. Near the narrowest part of the channel, we came across two Orcas. I always find the Killer Whales amazing to watch. Such power and grace. They seemed completely unimpressed by our presence and made their way steadily along the channel. A couple of cormorants flew past. In the water a handful of Gentoo penguins frolicked. There were a few small penguin colonies. The sides of the channel are all a bit steep, so the colonies tended to consist of a landing place and line of penguins to a flatter area.

Paradise Bay

Brown Station is an Argentine base on the peninsular in a bay known as Paradise Harbour. It is a very pretty place with surrounding peaks and glaciers into the water. The base was established in 1951. It was a permanent base until 1984 when the doctor burned it down. He had been ordered to stay another winter and was not keen on the idea. The USS Hero rescued the base staff and took them to the US Palmer Station. Since then, the base has been used in the summer. This location is very popular with visiting tourist ships as it is one of the very few places they can command a landing on mainland Antarctic.

The weather was a bit dull and snowing when we arrived. Our group got to cruise in a RHIB while the first groups went ashore. Many, many rules apply to visitors in Antarctica. One of them is that only 100 people can be ashore at any one time. So, the first one hundred people desperate to say they had genuinely stood on Antarctica got to it, while we cruised around some icebergs. A snowy sheathbill landed on the front of the boat. It did not seem nervous at all and spent the rest of the trip trying to eat various parts of the RHIB. A few giant petrels were sat on the sea ice along with some cape petrels that got quite agitated when we got close to them.

Back onboard the Amundsen we did not have much time before we were off for the shore landing. Here there were many penguins. I don’t know how much of the summer Brown base is used for but just now, early in the summer, the penguins appear to have taken it over. These w gentoo penguins. Hundreds of them. They are terrific to watch. I keep saying this because it is hard to overstate just how much fun it is watch penguins. Their antics always seem a bit comic. On land they are ungainly little things that waddle around and fall over a lot. There is also sometime about their appearance that lends itself to anthropomorphism. If you see them in the ocean however, it is a very different story. They are like little missiles. Incredibly fast and manoeuvrable. Eventually we had to go back. Not because we had got bored but because we were told we needed to go back. The expedition team had laid out a 300 m trail that we had to stay on, and I don ‘t think I could have walked around it much slower.

That night, a few people wanted to not only get the ‘stepped foot on Antarctica’ t-shirt but also the one about sleeping there. So, they went ashore, with tents, and spent the night there. Did mention rules and tourists? One of them is that you should leave nothing. Really, nothing. So, the participants were all urged to use the toilet before they left the ship and given a pee-bottle each. They were also not allowed to eat. Dinner needed to be completed early, on the ship. And breakfast would also be taken on the ship. With the rules fully understood, the small group went ashore with tents, sleeping bags and water bottles. At 4am they were woken up and taken back to the ship. Somehow this all reminded me of when I used to find it exciting to sleep in a tent in the garden when I was 12. Although I was never charged €500 per person for the privilege.

Video by kind permission of Jessica Daniels

Half Moon Island

We left Puerto Williams in the morning and headed for Cape Horn. For decades, Cape Horn was a major milestone on the clipper route, by which sailing ships carried trade around the world. The waters around Cape Horn are particularly hazardous, owing to strong winds, large waves, strong currents and icebergs. The need for boats and ships to round Cape Horn was greatly reduced by the opening of the Panama Canal in August 1914. Sailing around Cape Horn is still widely regarded as one of the major challenges in yachting. We were scheduled to do a landing here. This could have been interesting but in the event, it was far too windy. The bridge reported gusts up to 80 knots. I have experienced 60 knots – it is enough to make walking almost impossible, you are continually being knocked down. So trying to make a landing in 80 knots would have been ridiculous. This is what Cape Horn is famous for, extreme wind, so I guess it should not have been a big surprise that the shore trip was cancelled. Instead, we headed back to the Beagle Channel and dropped the Chilean pilot off. Turning south again, we passed Cape Horn much further to starboard than before embarking on a night crossing of Drake’s Passage.

The wind dropped and the seas never got too big. There was a bit of rolling but nothing to write home about. So, the next day, with very little drama, we arrived at Half Moon Island. To me, this is misnamed because it is a crescent shape. In fact, it looks just like an old caldera that has become flooded by the ocean. The expedition geologist assured me that this is indeed the case although Wikipedia states otherwise – Despite its shape, there is no evidence Half Moon Island is or ever was a volcanic crater.

Indisputably, there are penguins here. Mostly Chinstrap penguins. We did spot a few Gentoos in the water. It was lovely to reacquaint myself with these lovely creatures. I doubt they ever intend to be fun to watch but they are. Everything about their antics on land seems faintly ridiculous and amusing.

The weather was lousy. Overcast, snowing, dull and grey. We were given a small route of about 1 km to walk around. I stepped off to one side to let some people past and got told off by a small girl who had apparently been appointed “path monitor”. Although she did not have a badge to prove it. I am in Antarctica and someone is complaining that I am standing in the snow. Further along we had a view over a small bay. The slushy ice at the edge of the bay made the water look milky. I was assured by one of the expedition crew that this was because the sea was freezing. They were completely wrong. I did not argue the point but it did underline to me the difference between my serious experience of the Antarctic and spending a few weeks around the sub-Antarctic islands. The other excitement of the afternoon was a cormorant flying past. Once everyone was back on the ship we set off for the next island and the intriguingly named Paradise Bay.

Beagle Channel

Next morning, a little further down the Beagle Channel, we had another landing. The weather was still overcast and raining. Diane was still not interested in going out in it. I went ashore and walked up a short track to a vantage point. From here I could see the snout of the glacier and where it was calving off into the fjord. The ice was moving quite fast. You could not see it move, but I could hear it cracking and groaning every few minutes. There was a large block of ice which looked absolutely ripe for falling off. I found myself a good vantage point and waited for it. Never happened. The ice kept creaking and cracking. A few little bits fell off. After an hour I was getting more than a little cold and damp. Eventually, I was told we had to leave. Just another five minutes and it might have fallen.

With everyone back on the ship, we set off along the Beagle Channel. There are three ways past Cape Horn. To the north are the Magellan Straits where we had been a few days earlier. To the south is the open ocean known as Drakes Passage. This is the preferred route for commercial shipping because although it offers little shelter it is otherwise straightforward to navigate. The Beagle Channel is 240 km long and just 5 km at its most narrow. It is remarkably picturesque with five glaciers emptying directly into the waters. Named after the HMS Beagle that did the first hydrographic surveys of the area. Charles Darwin was introduced to glaciers here on the second voyage of the Beagle and noted “It is scarcely possible to imagine anything more beautiful than the beryl-like blue of these glaciers, and especially as contrasted with the dead white of the upper expanse of snow.”

Darwin probably had a nice sunny day. We were less fortunate but even so the views were spectacular. Many people came out on deck to have a look. I took a few photographs but it was difficult to do justice to the place. Heavy, thick clouds gave a dull grey featureless light to everything.

A little further down the channel we met the Fram. This is the ship we did the Northwest Passage on last year. The two sister ships engaged in some great horn blowing as they passed. The sound of the ship’s horns echoes of the walls of the fjord. On we sailed, past the glaciers to Ushuaia. Known to the Argentinians as the most southerly city in the world. This will be the eventual end of our trip. Where we leave the ship. Fortunately that is still a few days away so we carried on.

Finally, just after dusk, we arrived at Puerto Williams, population 2,800. A very small Chilean city on the south side of the Beagle Channel with the distinction of being the southernmost populated settlement in the world. Stopping here had been on our original itinerary. However, the plan, especially for the coast of Chile, was proving to be very flexible and Puerto Williams had been removed. Nonetheless, here we were. It all proved to be very frustrating. I would have loved to go ashore there if only for an hour or two. The last time I was here, I had just come from the Falklands in a small yacht, via Cape Horn. It would have been great to pop down to the yacht basin and maybe have a beer. Relive a few moments. Instead I had to content myself with scanning the shore for familiar landmarks in the distance. The Amundsen stayed there all night. Lurking a good distance from the quayside. Nobody got on or off the ship. Next day we set off for Cape Horn.

Magellan

South of Punta Arenas, south of the Magellan straits, are the Darwin Mountains and the Parque Nacional Alberto de Anostini. We had skipped Punta Arenas, yet another place I would have like to revisit, but now at least we had a chance to get off the ship. We had the opportunity to do a wet landing in the RHIBs. From the landing site there was a short walk to a viewpoint in front of a glacier.

Diane took one look at the weather and said “No”. She had a point. It was cold, overcast and raining hard. We have done three consecutive sea days to here. The Chilean fjords are interesting but not captivating. It does not help that the weather has been consistently Patagonia normal. That is, overcast and raining. Shipboard there is a general air of frustration over all the landings that have been cancelled. The bar has lost its mojo. For most of the trip there was a really good vibe in the evenings. Warm, friendly and chatty. Since Valparaiso, the introduction of the new menu, and a change of bar staff things have badly gone off the boil. People are worried about unexpected charges with the new menu. There are a bunch of ‘standard’ cocktails but they are awful. Each cocktail is made of a spirit and a pre-made syrup. Two ingredients per drink. Doesn’t work. This is why the margaritas, bloody marys and others have been tasting so strange. Quick and easy to make but pointless, to me, throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Other, more elaborate, cocktails are available but then you are off into high-cost territory – which is not in the spirit of an all-inclusive package. So, the bar staff are shouldering a lot of complaints, the customers are annoyed and the really nice comfortable atmosphere that the bar has maintained for nearly three months is gone. I needed to stop dwelling on this and get out for a bit of fresh air.

It rained and we got soaked. But it was good fun. I put my camera inside a waterproof bag. The type with a roll-down top. Then I put the bag into my rucksack which is similarly waterproof and has a roll-down top. By the time I got to shore in the RHIB the damp was starting to sneak in. My trousers used to be stretchy and waterproof. Now they are still stretchy but only shower proof at best. My jacket, a newly issued Hurtigruten jacket, is moderately waterproof. The walk up to the view point for the glacier was good fun. Here I found a bunch of very damp looking people standing around. I tried to get my camera out while keeping it dry. This is not possible when it is remaining. Best I could do was manage a few quick photographs while hoping it did not get too wet. Back at the RHIB the wind had been picking up. The ride back to the ship involved bouncing through a lot of waves. We got back, beyond soaked, looking like a boat full of little drowned rats.

Castro

Fidel Castro was a Cuban revolutionary. A champion of socialism and anti-imperialism whose revolutionary government advanced economic and social justice while securing Cuba’s independence from American hegemony. He was also a dictator who oversaw human rights abuses, the exodus of many Cubans, and the impoverishment of the country’s economy. Whatever your opinion, Fidel probably never visited the lovely city of Castro, population 41,000, on Chiloé Island in Chile. But we did.

The morning began with being ferried ashore in one of Amundsen’s tenders. Then we had a walking tour. We saw the city centre church which was opened especially for us. We saw the park where Ibis sat in the trees. We saw the palafitos, traditional and colourful wooden stilt houses by the river. It was a pleasant walk and after a couple of hours we were back at the port. We still had time to kill so we wandered off in search of queso empanadas. Fortunately, we did not have to look far. Lovely little restaurant with several types of cheese empanadas. Dale and Debbie, friends from the ship, joined us. We had a very pleasant hour with delicious empanada and wine. Chilean wine. It was lovely. Diane checked the wine with her app. This stuff was rocking a score of 4.0 at a price of around €10 per bottle. Way better than the ship wine. So good that we had a couple of bottles.

Back on the ship we began the long trek south to Puerto Natales, gateway to Patagonia. I did find this a little irksome. From my previous travels I knew we were passing some terrifically interesting places. I also thought that they could at least pick up a few cases of the local wine. The weather was dull and overcast. We were passing through the inner channel and it was all very pleasant if not spectacular enough for photographs. Instead, I amused myself by trying to photograph some of the birds flying around the ship.

We passed through several narrow channels. These were fun from my point of view. Probably a bit more stressful for the bridge crew. Then we got to a particularly tricky passage, know as the White Narrows. It is passable but very tight and needs to be tackled at just the right point on the tide. The weather was against us. The wind had picked to a small gale. The vertical, flat sides of the Amundsen catch a lot of wind. Usually this is not a problem but it can affect how accurately she can be steered. The combination of a gusty strong wind and a narrow channel is asking for trouble. It was announced that we would skip Puerto Natales and continue south. This was particularly annoying. I remember Puerto Natales as a wonderful place and we had booked a long trip round the scenic Torres Del Paine national park. Ah, well.

La Serena and Valparaíso

The first place our tour of La Serena visited was a small marketplace of shops dedicated entirely to selling tourist tat. Cute souvenirs, fridge magnets, t-shirts with amusing captions and a wide variety of impractical kitchen implements that combined the words La Serena with a red heart symbol. To me this was a tricky start to a tour. These things do happen. In Morocco, any tour will include the carpet shop of the tour guide’s brother. In Thailand you will inevitably end up in a tailors shop. Ostensibly, we were here to look at a church. But we had to walk past the market to get to the church. The church was locked up and a bit dilapidated anyhow. We were given a twenty minute break in case we wanted to look at anything in the market.

Then we walked to a park. It was Sunday so all the (non-tourist) shops were shut. Made for a somewhat dull walk. But the park was in full swing with some dancing. We watched the dancing for a while and nearly bought an ice cream. The tour ended up at a lighthouse that was not really a lighthouse, it had just been built for tourists. The lighthouse was on the beach. The beach is the main tourist attraction. There was a stall nearby selling fried queso empanadas. This was truly the highlight of the day although on the way back to ship, we did spot a pirate ship.

La Serena thoroughly explored, we sailed overnight to Valparaíso. Built upon dozens of steep hillsides overlooking the Pacific Ocean, Valparaíso has a labyrinth of streets and cobblestone alleyways, embodying a rich architectural and cultural legacy. Valparaíso was declared a World Heritage Site in 2003. We did not see any of that, except at a distance. A few of us, those doing the pole-to-pole, were sent off on a tour to keep us out of the way. Meanwhile, at the Amundsen, they were preparing for the next leg to Antarctica. This meant taking on lots of supplies and also passengers. A lot of passengers. The ship was going to be just about full. 277 people.

Meanwhile, we were taken to a very nice park and a famous outdoor theatre that was closed. Next came a very tiny museum. Upstairs was a taxidermists display of Chilean fauna and a two headed sheep. Downstairs were several very dark rooms with old things in and a long queue for the toilet. Outside, as a backdrop to the tourist tat stalls, was a stone head. It looked to have been stolen from the Easter Island people. We had a walk along the shoreline promenade and ended up in the city centre square. Late afternoon we were taken back to the ship which was now starting to feel very crowded.

Iquique

South from Arica but still in the Atacama Desert is Iquique, population 200,000. The history of the town is mostly associated with saltpetre mining. This used to be particularly important. Saltpetre, sodium nitrate, is a vital component of gunpowder and fertilisers. It is also used as a food additive. For more than a century, the world supply of the saltpetre was mined almost exclusively from the Atacama Desert. Since the first decade of the 20^th century, nitrogen can be fixed directly from the air (Haber-Bosche process). This directly led to the decline of the mines. Today, Iquique has one of the largest duty-free commercial port centres in South America and this is the main source of income.

We were taken on a bus trip to visit a museum and an old saltpetre mine. This proved to be remarkably boring. As I have mentioned many times before, we are not museum people. This museum represented an all-time low. The most interesting thing I found was a shed with lots of holes in it.

Meanwhile, back on the ship, trouble is brewing. Hx is busy rebranding itself as the expedition side of Hurtigruten. Today Hx introduced a new menu for the bar. Previously, those of us on the Pole-to-Pole trip had an inclusive drinks package that meant we did not have to explicitly pay for any of our drinks. Just about every bottle and cocktail was included. This was pleasant and felt like fair value. Now, Hx has substantiated the existing class divide between those in the more expensive cabins, called suites, and the rest of us. The affluent elite already have their own, exclusive, restaurant. I find this reinstatement of nobility strange. Norway is one of the world’s more egalitarian societies. Hx by contrast, despite being firmly Norwegian, is working hard to solidly reinvigorate the class system. The new cocktails and drinks top out at €50 a shot. Unless you have a suite. Making them essentially inaccessible to the proletariat. But it gets worse. The bar staff are desperately trying to learn and serve the new cocktails to the handful of aristocrats leaving no time to serve the plebians. A wait of up to half an hour for a glass of wine is now common. During one of these periods of class induced boredom, Diane and I started examining, more closely, the wine being served to those of us with a drinks package. Using the Vivino App we discovered that it is particularly cheap and nasty. Typically scoring 3.2 or less and costing and average of well under €5. You will only ever find this stuff on the bottom of a discount supermarket.

The day was rounded off by a short concert from the crew band. The ship’s crew, mostly Filipinos, are not allowed to drink at all and are paid a pittance. Despite this, a few of them have formed a quite reasonable sounding band and we all enjoy the occasions when they play to us.

Arica

The night before we arrived in Arica, Nicky did some songs outside. Nicky is our onboard pianist. She also plays guitar. Twice a day, she plays in the corner of the bar on the top deck. This is very pleasant. Adding an outdoor spot while the weather is still warm was a great idea.

Later that day I spotted a whale. Might have been a sperm whale. Difficult to say but I grabbed a few photographs anyhow.

Arica is in the far north of Chile. It almost never rains here. The Atacama Desert is one of the driest in the world. Back in the day, I was a carefree, solo traveller with a rucksack on my back. I visited Aric as a starting point for seeing some of the Altiplano area that lies eastward towards Bolivia. Here you can find massive, snow covered volcanoes, lakes, llamas, rhea, vicunas and pink flamingos. The tour description, “Desert man” sounded very promising. Sadly, instead of majestic landscapes of the Lauca National Park, we got dancing girls and modern art. I should have read the description more carefully. We were driven up one of the valleys that cut into the desert from Arica. These are irrigated from a subterranean aquifer and are very fertile. Citrus and olives are the main crops. Above the valley are four sculptures that were made about twenty years ago. I do not really have a gene for modern art and often struggle to differentiate meaningfulness from rubbish in contemporary designs. These sculptures were particularly challenging. The flamboyantly dressed youths dancing to loud, distorted music did nothing to improve my sense of artistic appreciation. My disappointment was however, slightly offset by the glasses of a very nice pisco.

Next stop was described in terms of geoglyphs. I would have managed expectations a tad better by mentioning a few rocks laid out on the hillside. Then came the museum. There are some ancient mummies here. Remains of the Chinchorro culture. They are some of the oldest examples of artificially mummified human remains in the world. 5,000 BCE makes them up to 2,000 years older than the Egyptian mummies. Many of them were found at the base of the Morro de Arica – a steep hill that looms above Arica. Our penultimate stop was on top of the Morro. Here we got some lovely views of the surrounding area.

Then it was back to town for a wander round. We found an excellent bar that served empanadas and pisco. Empanadas are a staple part of Chilean cuisine. A pastry turnover containing a filling. Often meat but also made with cheese, mushrooms and onions. The empanadas we found were queso empanadas – small and filled with tasty cheese. Went well with the Mango Sour pisco.

Quite soon after that, the ship was making preparations to leave. We were safely back on board and heading for the bar when we heard the band start up. A 21 piece band had turned up on the quayside and was serenading us as we left. Not just a couple of songs. They played for a good half hour or more as we sailed off into a particularly good sunset. It all felt very satisfying.

Dempster Highway

The Dempster Highway starts just south of Dawson City and runs north-east for 736 km to the Arctic Ocean at Tuktoyaktuk. It is mostly a dirt track and build on permafrost. To stop the permafrost melting there is an insulating layer of gravel up to 2.5 m deep. The first 115 km were built in the early sixties when there was a suspicion of oil to be found. The rest was built in the late seventies in response to the Americans finding oil in Prudhoe Bay. The road is quite well maintained. We saw several graders working. There is also significant traffic including large trucks.

As we set off, it was raining, again. The sky was grey and the road slippery. I was grateful we had 4WD. Muddy spray off the road coated the back of the truck and before long the lights and numberplate were quite indistinguishable. Despite the damp, the driving was quite fun. Just this one, long track winding its way through the wilderness. We passed a vehicle coming the other way every ten minutes or so. The first section is through dense forest. Then you start to climb up into some hills and the terrain becomes more open. Dropping down again we started following a series of river systems. The Blackstone River and then over to the Ogilvie River by way of Engineer Creek. The confluence was marked by the muddy waters of Engineer Creek swirling into the clear, dark waters of the larger Ogilvie River. Some of the tributaries had bright red rocks along the banks. I think this is caused by iron ore that is leaching out of the surrounding hills. We crossed the Arctic Circle as indicated by roadside sign.

The weather started to clear and while I don’t think it actually got as far as sunny, it did get a lot brighter. Drier weather brings its own problems though. First of all, there is the dust. In some ways not as unpleasant as mud spray but it has a remarkable ability to penetrate. Our plastic living unit ended up full of the stuff. We needed to shake the sheets out before we went to bed. The other problem is the mosquitoes. There are several basic campsites along the Dempster and come early evening, we stopped at one of these. Looked lovely until I opened the door and was met by a great cloud of mosquitoes rising up out of the grass. It did not need a second glance for me to shut the door and keep driving. Towards the border between Yukon and North West Territories (NWT), the road cuts through some bare mountains. We stopped on a pass where there was plenty of wind to keep the mosquitoes away and were entertained by a family of ground squirrels. They were running around being terribly busy. I think they were collecting nest material. Not really sure, but great fun to watch.

Next day we arrived at the ferry across the Peel River. By contrast to the previous day, it was sunny and warm. Mid-twenties. Probably as hot as it gets. The mosquitoes were making the best of it. Not just mosquitoes but also a large variety of that bite you in a large variety of ways. I noticed some birds had been building nests underneath the bridge of the ferry. This made sense given that, at these latitudes, there are very few trees and the insects that the birds eat seemed to really enjoy feasting on ferry passengers.

A short while later came the ferry across the Mackenzie River. Same arrangement. Free, government run ferry in the summer and an ice bridge in the winter. There then followed a very long, flat section until we arrived at the town of Inuvik. This is quite a modern, bustling place with gas stations, supermarkets and a shopping centre. We only paused briefly before pushing on to Tuktoyaktuk, a much smaller village on the edge of the Arctic Ocean that marks the northern limit of the Dempster Highway. This last section of the highway loops around numerous lakes that form the Mackenzie River Delta. As we drove into town, we noticed that many people had mosquito nets over their heads. This was a worrying sight. We found the tourist office and were directed to the campsite right at the end of the village overlooking the sea. A dozen or so other vehicles were there. It is not much of a campsite and the toilets are some of the most evil I have encountered in a while. But we were happy to have made it to the Arctic Ocean. A stiff sea breeze kept the flying insects and the smell from the toilets at bay.

Next day began with a puncture. Fortunately, it was only slow. We found a garage to get the tyre pumped up and then headed back to Inuvik in the hope of getting it repaired. Before that, we wanted to check out the Pingo we had spotted when we arrived. We saw one in Svalbard earlier in the year. Pingos are intrapermafrost ice-cored hills, 3–70 m high and 30–1,000 m in diameter. They are typically conical in shape and grow and persist only in permafrost environments. Worldwide there are only about 11,000 pingos of which over 10% are in the Tuktoyaktuk area. There are a couple of mechanisms by which they are created. Both of these involve a core of frozen water which, over time, pushes the hill upwards. The Pingo was a pleasing shape and came with a notice board explaining how it had been formed. We were looking at Ibyuk, the largest pingo in Canada and the second largest in the world.

It was a Saturday and nobody was working. After determining that there were only two possible tyre shops we resigned ourselves to staying for a bit longer. At the small shopping mall, I managed to buy a small electric tyre inflator. This would at least buy us some more time. Fortunately, the campsite at Inuvik is lovely. Probably the best toilets in NWT and hot showers as well.

Sunday afternoon seemed unlikely for tyre repairs but we tried Polar Tyres anyhow. The man was in. He emerged from behind a fishing boat on a trailer. His arms were literally covered in blood up to his shoulders. Momentarily, I wondered if we had just stumbled on some hideous criminal activity. He explained that, with his brother, they had just been out harvesting Beluga whales. Now they were cutting them up for the freezer. Just occasionally when I am travelling something gives me the feeling of being a long way from home. This was one of them. We arranged to get the tyre repaired in the morning.

After three nights at the top of the Dempster we were properly back on the road again. The return trip was a simple unwinding of the trip up. The weather got damper again as we returned to the land of trees. We eventually arrived on the Yukon Highway in just the same sort of downpour as when we had left.

Alaska

The river ferry at Dawson City operates 24 hours a day. In the winter, the river freezes and traffic drives on the ice. The ferry is paid for by the government. There is no booking, no reservations. You just turn up and wait until you can get on. It takes less than ten minutes to cross the river and this brings you to the start of the Top of the World Highway. This is mostly a dirt track and gains its name from the way the road links the top of several hills such that for most of the route you are looking down into valleys. It is 127 km long and only open in the summer.

At about the highest point of the road, 100 km in, you arrive at the USA border. Previously, we had both applied for ETAC (Electronic Travel something or other) but we still needed to be finger printed and photographed before we could be allowed in. In my experience, border guards do not have a sense of humour. Never. Not even a hint. Surgically removed or something. Trying to joke with a border guard is like trying to play tennis with a jelly fish. It just won’t work. This time however, I was standing in front of the camera with my best serious but clearly innocent face when the guard told me I could smile. I was taken aback. Passport photographs are strictly no-smile zones. But, as the guard went on to explain, this was America, land of the free, where you can do anything. He then told us that Independence Day (July 4^th) was the one day of the year that English were not allowed into USA. He then went on to regale us with stories of bear hunting, the bear steak he’d had for breakfast and what to do if a bear came in the door. I suggested running away but no, he was clear that he would stare it down. I pointed out that my apparent lack of bravery was because he was carrying an exceptionally large revolver whereas I was armed with only a smile. Never saw the final ID photograph but I suspect I mostly looked puzzled.

Just round the corner from the border post is an immense “Welcome to Alska” sign and our first view across the Alaskan scenery. A few miles further on the road descends through a valley system and comes out at the gloriously named town of Chicken. They appear enormously proud of the name and just about every signpost has a chicken theme. We also saw a moose. It stepped into the woods and disappeared long before I could get my camera out. They do that. Very frustrating animals to try and photograph. Remarkable how, despite their size, they seem able to completely vanish in just a few steps.

The weather was consistently terrible. Rain and thick grey clouds and fog, several types of mist and more rain. We seemed to spend quite a lot of time driving without seeing very much. Arriving at Fairbanks, we turned south towards Anchorage. I would have liked to go north here, to Prudoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean, but the hire company had put the Dalton Highway out of bounds. Instead, we went through the Denali National Park where we drove past the highest mountain in North America without seeing even a hint of it. At Wasilla, we began heading east back towards Canada and at last the clouds lifted a little so we could see the mountains and glaciers of Chugach National Park.

We completed our soggy circuit of Alaska at Tok quite a few days earlier than planned. We might have taken a leisurely drive back to Vancouver but instead decided to try another route to the Arctic Ocean along the Dempster Highway in Yukon. By late afternoon we were back on the Top of the World Highway and the road to Dawson City.

Dawson City

From Dawson Creek we had been following the Alaska Highway. This was built in the second world war to connect Alaska to the rest of the USA as part of a response to the Japanese threat. Back in the day it was a dirt track and considered to be a long, difficult and, in places, dangerous route. These days it is a fast, easy road supporting a lot of traffic. I reckoned that well over half the vehicles we saw were RVs. Many of these are American so that means an RV based on a full-sized coach towing a family car. The Canadians tend to favour an equally large RV that is towed by a pick-up truck using a fifth wheel bolted into the flat bed. The rest of the traffic is commercial trucks often pulling two full sized trailers.

At Watson Lake we left the Alaska Highway and headed up the far less travelled Robert Campbell Highway. This took us north, roughly following the Pelly River and deep into Yukon. A few short sections of this route are sealed but most of it is a dirt track. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, we only saw two more vehicles. We enjoyed two quiet days on quiet roads with quiet campsites. Rather disappointingly we saw very little wildlife. We had hoped there might be more on a quieter road but obviously this is not always the case. At Carmacks, we joined the Klondike Highway which would take us north to Dawson City. We also followed the Yukon River for a short while. At the height of the Klondike gold rush Dawson City had a population of over 16,000. Much of the food and supplies needed to support so many people came in on paddle steamers that navigated their way up and down the Yukon River. Today Dawson City is a tenth the size and there is a well-made road.

North from Pelly Crossing we passed through a large area of forest fires. The air still smelled smoky and we drove past several miles of blackened trees. A few days earlier the road had been closed. Canada experiences a lot of forest fires in the summer. Most of these have a natural cause and are so far away as to not cause many problems. Occasionally fires are caused by negligence. These are often much more of a problem because they are usually closer to habited areas. There is some suggestion that climate change is exacerbating the situation. In the last few years there have been some quite extreme heatwaves leaving the forests tinder dry.

Dawson City still manages to feel like a bit of a frontier town. Some of the shop fronts and wooden buildings have been deliberately left looking a little like a wild west film set. There is an old paddle steamer by the side of the road and pretty much every sign appears to reference gold. We stocked up on a few essentials and prepared ourselves for the ferry in the morning.

Serre Chevalier

Serre Chevalier is a lovely ski area in the southern part of the French Alps. We had heard rumours of snow earlier. In fact, it was looking like one of the best places in the Alps for a bit of skiing. The month in Chamonix had been a spectacular failure, ski-wise, so we were hoping for some change. Also, we both had a terrible cold over the New Year. Not covid, we tested repeatedly, but irksome all the same and stubborn to leave the chest.

Feeling much healthier and more optimistic, we arrived at Briançon in the rain. Undeterred, I went for a walk round the old part of the city while Diane telephoned some people. An hour later I was soaked and Diane was bored, so we had coffee and pizza at the bakery across the road. The chalet we had rented turned out to be compact but very cosy and well appointed. As darkness fell the rain turned to snow and we settled down with a bottle of local wine in hushed anticipation.

Next day there was snow. A good healthy dump overnight and it was still snowing. A few hardy souls were digging out their driveways and the only cars moving were sporting snow chains. Fortunately, the owner of the chalet had let us park the Jaguar in an underground car park. It is a beautiful car and a joy to drive but completely unsuitable for the Alps in winter. Low profile tyres and rear wheel drive are terrific on dry roads but quite the opposite of what you want on icy roads. We cannot even fit snow chains, there is not enough clearance. We had done what we could to prepare. Proper winter tyres are not only important but also mandatory in some areas. I had bought some snow socks, a sort of fabric equivalent of chains, but hoped we would not need to use them.

Car forgotten, I could finally get some nice skiing done. Everywhere was open. All the lifts were running. There was fresh snow. Happiness.

That was the last fresh snow we saw for the next three weeks. Mostly it was just sunshine. This is rather lovely for being out and about in the mountains. I find, as age encroaches, that I cannot ski all day, every day so I’ll often alternate rest days and go somewhere with Diane. After last year’s broken hip, she is quite adamant about not skiing again. A sentiment I am inclined to encourage. So we go for walks, explore the area and have the odd drive out. For three euros you can buy a day pass for the bus running between Briançon and Le Monêtier-les-Bains. This stops at all the ski areas, shops and the massive thermal spa at Monêtier. Great way to explore the valley an occasionally, Diane would use the bus to come and meet me for lunch.

We also went up some of the cable cars together. After a couple of weeks of sunshine the slopes were starting to get a bit thin and icy again. It was nice to travel without skis and instead take my full sized camera. The camera is a bit too big to comfortably carry while skiing. I enjoyed pottering around a little and being able to concentrate on the view while trying to capture some sense of it with the camera. I was particularly struck by one mountain, called Pelvoux, which I had climbed over forty years ago with Mark and Andy. In the ensuing time it appears to have become much steeper, higher and generally fiercer looking.

Chamonix

Chamonix has long been a focal point for alpine activities. Mountaineering, climbing, walking, running, skiing, snowboarding, cycling, paragliding, hang gliding and all the other games people have dreamt up to play in the Alps. Chamonix is also home to Mont Blanc which, at 4,808m is the highest mountain in Western Europe. This all sounds very promising for a visit and often the area is fantastic for all things alpine. However, sometimes it just rains.

We had hoped for a snowy Christmas with plenty of skiing and amazing views but mostly what we got was rain. I did ski, on my birthday, but it was hard work. A lot of work can go into keeping a ski area open because the consequences of closing can be severe. Ticket refunds, whole holiday refunds, loss of income, loss of reputation and so on. With a combination of shovelling snow around and making artificial snow, they try very hard to stay open. However, to be open, they really only need one run. This was the situation in Chamonix. Each of the four ski areas really just had one run open. Without fresh snow these soon become very icy and they were also crowded. Fewer people will be skiing than in good conditions but everyone is confined to just a single run. Icy and crowded can make for a dangerous combination and frankly, not much fun.

We found some other things to do. Walks in the valley, trips into town and a few drives to explore the area. The weather stayed unremittingly bad, even raining high up on the remains of the ski slopes. Another consequence of the damp and cloudy weather was an almost complete lack of views. We had hired a little apartment on the south side of the valley. On the odd occasion that the ski cleared we had sunshine and some fantastic views of the mountains. Not just Mont Blanc on the right but also the whole of the Midi-Plan ridge across to the Dru on the left. Every once in a while the mountains would reveal themselves to us and I enjoyed myself trying to photograph them.

One day the weather was nice. We took the cable car up to Brévent. A few braves souls were skiing the single slope there. We were happy to take in the views and watch the colourful paragliders floating around. Across the other side of the valley, the Aiguille du Midi was beckoning. The cable car up to the viewing platform, 3,842m, is one of the highest in Europe. We went up there over a decade ago when we skied 20km down the Vallée Blanche to Montenvers. It is a bit of an extreme place and well worth a visit. When the weather is good the views are quite incredible. However, if it clouds over you will not see a thing. Sadly, we did not get another clear day and so, after one of the warmest festive periods on record, we left Chamonix in search of snow elsewhere.

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.