tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-374744562024-02-20T05:40:13.065+00:00Gary and MagsNothing better to do?
Follow us on our amazing and implausible journies around the globe.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-42323672192446752392019-03-13T14:14:00.001+00:002019-03-13T14:14:27.096+00:00Mexico<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<span lang="EN-US">We’re in Mexico at the special request of the president on a mission to persuade the good people here to pay for the wall. Not an easy task, I’ll admit. We are trying to convince them that the wall works both ways. It will stop Trump getting into Mexico.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It’s my first blog for a while so please bear with me. In fact, it’s been so long that blogs are now obsolete. I should be tweeting this in digestible chunks or using snapchat, whatever that is. There’s going to be lots of temples and churches as the tour can be summarized as first peoples and Catholics. I’ll try to keep to the highlights as I’m sure the actual experience of being here is probably a lot more interesting that reading about it from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We started in Mexico City, and what a city it is – a Megaopolis covering the basin and up high into the surrounding hills until it becomes too steep to build. It almost has a science fiction feel, a future city with no boundaries. When you gain some height and can see into the distance it really doesn’t seem real. The actual numbers are staggering; 9 million people within the city boundary, but it doesn’t stop there, another 14 million in the surrounding suburbs. I say suburbs but the concrete just keeps on going relentlessly. That might sound like a nightmare but we loved Mexico City.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The Aztecs founded the city. Anthropologists believe the first people in America travelled from Asia when the two continents were joined during an ice age in the far north where the Baring Sea is now. The Aztecs wandered the continent for hundreds of years looking for the sign of the Promised Land. This was meant to be an Eagle eating a snake on top of a cactus; obviously a rare sight. Unfortunately, the long awaited vision was found on a small island in the middle of a large lake. Personally, I think that the leader of the group must have been fed up wandering around. He must of spotted something far away in the island from the shore of the lake. “Doesn’t that rock look like an Eagle, and that twig must be snake, there’s a cactus somewhere.” Anyway, they settled on the island and soon went about enlarging it by reclaiming land along its shore to plant arable crops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">On our first day we drove forty kilometers north to the ancient city of Teotihuacan. Thought to be founded by Mesoamericans in around 100 BC who built a large city incorporating numerous ‘pyramids’ to worship the various deities that they revered. They left no record of their history, as they had no written language so there is a lot of guesswork and deduction by the anthropologists. There is extensive evidence of human sacrifice. It is famous for its Sun and Moon temples / pyramids and the Avenue of the Dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">On our walk to the ‘Sun Pyramid’ an elderly American couple asked our guide directions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Which way to gate 2?” the lady asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Back the way you came,” replied Cesare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Off they tottered to the sounds of “That’s what I told you back there you idiot. You never listen” as the lady explained the situation to her husband. Ah, married bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Back to the city in the afternoon to visit Guadalupe, the second most visited Catholic site in the world after the Vatican. Here is housed the famous image of the virgin Mary of Guadalupe, who is said to have appeared to a local peasant Juan Diego three times in 1531. She asked him to build a church in her honor. Juan went directly to the Bishop to report this who, perhaps understandably, was skeptical. Juan went back to the Virgin Mary who said that she would give him a sign. She asked him to gather flowers from the top of a nearby hill. Here Juan Diego found Castilian roses, not native to Mexico. He gathered them in his cloak and went to see the Bishop. When he met the Bishop, he opened his cloak, the flowers fell, and revealed an image of the Virgin Mary imprinted on his cloak. This image is now housed in a magnificent church in the very centre of Mexico. We expected some kind of vague resemblance of Mary similar to the Turin shroud but it looks like a detailed painting (funny that). Anyway, if you’re going to claim a miracle you might as well go the full nine yards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next day was spent with a general wander around some of Mexico City’s more interesting streets and areas including the national palace and concluding with a visit to the anthropological museum. This is a great place full of native American treasures from the Aztecs, Mayans, Zapotecs etc. We took umpteen pictures so here’s just one as a taster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Day 3 in Mexico City and a visit to the Museo of Dolores Olmedo, housing a collection of works from Diego Rivera and his wife Frida Kahlo, both prominent artists of the 20th century. Diego was particularly influential in the muralist movement, and was also involved in the beginning of cubism along with Picasso. Today, his wife Frida has surpassed his fame, as she has become somewhat of a fashion icon, a kind of Mexican Monroe. Her image is everywhere. She reintroduced a lot of traditional dress into her wardrobe in the 1920s and 1930s. This has become very ‘now’ in Mexico with a lot of contemporary clothing and accessories incorporating some element of traditional patterns or design.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">There was still time for a short visit to Xochimilco, where we embarked on a colourful boat called a trajinera to float along the pre-columbian canals propelled by an enthusiastic chap with a large pole. Here Mags bought some local jewelry from one of the many vendors that jump in and amongst the boats. There are scores of boats here navigating a small space, so collisions are frequent. It’s a vibrant scene where locals go to party with lots of boats having picnics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span lang="EN-US">Puebla<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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(unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to take pictures). There was a Mass devoted to the patron saint of Animals and lots of villagers had brought their pets to be blessed. There was even a horse!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The Spanish liked to build their cities around a grid system, so navigation was relatively straightforward. We wandered around the city and had a fine lunch overlooking the main square near the Cathedral.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The highlight was our visit to the Amaro art museum that houses a fine collection including lots of pre-Hispanic pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Here is Mags on the museum terrace with Cesar, our guide who left us in Puebla.</span></div>
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<u><span lang="EN-US">Oaxaca</span></u><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next morning, we were met by Florencio, our new guide who drove us across country for five hours to our next stop, Oaxaca. The journey was quite spectacular crossing a mountain range and a huge protected ‘bioshere’ Lots of cactus including this one that was reputed to be 800 years old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Finally away from the cities, the landscape looks a lot more ‘Mexican’ and we could easily imagine bandits on horseback being pursued by John Wayne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We really enjoyed Oaxaca, a real ‘foodie’ city with lots of fine restaurants and bars all easily reached on foot from our central location. One highlight was our visit to a Mescal distiller. Mescal is a spirit made from Agave, a plant that is abundant in these parts. There are many varieties, some of which can be cultivated. The most popular variety is used to make Tequila. However, most of the Tequila is exported as it is considered inferior by the locals as it only needs to be 51% Mescal, whereas other Mescals are 100%.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We drove out of the city to a visit a crusty old Mexican on his farm where he makes umpteen varieties of Mescal. Its quite a long process; the agave root has to be baked for a few days in an earth pit, then mashed up either by hand or with some mechanical help. The mash is brewed and then finally it is distilled in clay pots. We had a quick tour followed by a tasting. Here am I sampling one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">And here is our host.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Another highlight was our trip to the food market, lively and vibrant with an astonishing array of food from chilies to worms. We ate grasshoppers before having a barbequed lunch of pork and beef in, of course, tortillas washed down with a couple of cold beers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But it wasn’t all eating and drinking in Oaxaca (although we would have been quite happy with that), we managed to squeeze in a couple of amazing temples. Mitla, a Mesoamerican site where the symmetry of the architecture is stunning, and Monte Alban, a huge Zapotec site built on top of a mountain with extensive views into the countryside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We also visited a natural phenomenon, a petrified waterfall formed from a natural spring. It’s a popular spot as you can swim in a mineral pool there. Here is Mags dipping her toes in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We did a lot more in and around Oaxaca, and had to leave with a lot we wanted to do but didn't;t have enough tine. We can’t recommend it highly enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span lang="EN-US">Merida</span></u><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We reluctantly left Oaxaca for Merida flying via Mexico City. Here, we stayed in an old Hacienda in the middle of nowhere, a quiet retreat from what had been a hectic schedule so far. There are a number of these grand colonial houses in this area built on the profits of Sisal that was extensively farmed here, made largely into rope and exported to Europe. The business was hugely profitable until synthetic fibers were invented. Our Hacienda has been converted into a palatial hotel that sits awkwardly adjacent to a tiny impoverished village.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It wasn’t all relaxation here by any means as we zoomed off to visit Celestun, a salt-water lagoon famous for its flock of pink flamingoes. We explored on a surprisingly fast boat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">And we also found time for the obligatory city tour of Merida, most memorable for a trip to a monument to Mexico’s past by the Columbian sculptor Romulu Rozo. The main problem with viewing it is that it is in the middle of a busy roundabout with no pedestrian bridge. We were pondering how we would cross the busy road when a friendly police car appeared and stopped the traffic for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We left Merida and drove three hours to Cancun via Cichen Itza, probably Mexico’s most famous temple site. It really was busy with thousands of tourists, and possibly even more vendors selling tat. Still it is an impressive site with a giant pyramid in the centre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Finally, we reached Cancun where we met up with some friends at an all inclusive resort for two weeks of relaxing by the beach with a little bit of golf on the side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Anyway, back to that wall. We weren’t very successful in our fund raising campaign so we’ve set up a crowd-funding site at<a href="http://www.madmaninthewhitehouse.dik/" style="color: purple;">www.madmaninthewhitehouse.dik</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Please give generously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-66022241236284038772014-09-17T09:59:00.001+01:002014-09-17T09:59:23.410+01:00Stockholm<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We decided to take a mini break from our
big break. This was prompted by British Airways writing to us informing us that
we’d lose our air miles if we didn’t use them soon. We checked out destinations
from City Airport and chose Stockholm. I hadn’t been this far north before and
I could feel my hair becoming blonder as we neared our destination.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Sweden has a lot of trees - and water. As
we descended towards the capital, I was expecting to see a few buildings and
some urbanization but no, pine trees everywhere; we flew into a pine forest. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This year the weather has been following
us, so of course we disembarked into bright, warm sunshine. I’m thinking of
asking tourist boards around the world to pay us to visit them. We were soon
ascending a bright functional staircase where Mags observed, “I feel like I’ve
walked into a giant Ikea”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We whizzed into the city on an efficient
express train and arrived at our Hotel just south of Gamla Stan at Slussen. We
paid a little extra at check in to be upgraded to the executive floor where
there’s a free bar from 6 to 8:30 every evening. The Swedes have taxed the
pants off alcohol so this was definitely a good deal. After a few sherbets we
headed into the historic old town for dinner. We’d uncovered a Swedish
restaurant in the guide books that looked OK and we had a fine meal. Mags went
for the reindeer so Santa may have a slightly harder job this year to deliver
the presents. I had fish stew that was delicious.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB9rg3D0o05YLJEMCu7Aboknw5N9SEWoKP8nbGopH1GFHxVA_5eL9h_c2ep1Kgfc15opq5xSMEWeIcGBirkeSq1a4pp0vBWVzRLY8q7N6aufQQNKgIQjdp45qTVLkOFMjAZU3/s1600/DSC02905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB9rg3D0o05YLJEMCu7Aboknw5N9SEWoKP8nbGopH1GFHxVA_5eL9h_c2ep1Kgfc15opq5xSMEWeIcGBirkeSq1a4pp0vBWVzRLY8q7N6aufQQNKgIQjdp45qTVLkOFMjAZU3/s1600/DSC02905.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Our primary purpose for coming was, need
you ask, to visit the Abba museum. This was reached via a short ferry ride to
Djurgarden, a large park to the east of the city. Great fun it was too, with
plenty of opportunity for karaoke and singing on stage with simulated Abba
cartoons. There’s lots of memorabilia including the original, gold, star shaped
guitar from their historic 1974 Eurovision winning performance of Waterloo in
Brighton.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N-psjlNLb6C-bDTgqE19D6WgRTRR5mMxMgSX5trNl6jyeP23mhx4u7IFLa4LXQgg6TDfYrlgE7yYBmK3x6rtSe9iTENQoIoJWuYTH0V6S1wnJYAicPr9Q6P5Hqadomzq9Ic_/s1600/DSC02916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N-psjlNLb6C-bDTgqE19D6WgRTRR5mMxMgSX5trNl6jyeP23mhx4u7IFLa4LXQgg6TDfYrlgE7yYBmK3x6rtSe9iTENQoIoJWuYTH0V6S1wnJYAicPr9Q6P5Hqadomzq9Ic_/s1600/DSC02916.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Next attraction, also on the island, is the
Vasa museum. Here an enormous 17<sup>th</sup> century wooden warship is housed.
It was built by King Gustav II Aldof as the ultimate statement of power with 64
cannons on board. Unfortunately, after years in the making, it sank after
fifteen hundred metres into its maiden voyage. I wouldn’t have wanted to be
around the King that day. Fortunately for him, the shipwright had died a year
earlier. An inquest was held to which no one turned up. I expect they thought
they’d be lynched. Modern academics think it sank due to poor design and not
enough ballast. It was raised by the Swedes in 1961 and lovingly preserved in a
purpose built, environmentally controlled building. Very impressive it is too.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQdCJ0mB63gS7XOzcTvx6izEH6j1rEGbpEIvKnhyphenhyphenpXMWw6JuKnFaTb9XW5TeLpbCmHOQC1akkvxxPhvI-2U_CGWXkfpzAbF8rKtkQig77F4_S7AeANl3WJBShybi9K3IiVinS/s1600/DSC02924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQdCJ0mB63gS7XOzcTvx6izEH6j1rEGbpEIvKnhyphenhyphenpXMWw6JuKnFaTb9XW5TeLpbCmHOQC1akkvxxPhvI-2U_CGWXkfpzAbF8rKtkQig77F4_S7AeANl3WJBShybi9K3IiVinS/s1600/DSC02924.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>We lunched at Omermalmstorg Saluhall in the
indoor food market at Lisa Elmqvist. This is a traditional Swedish seafood
restaurant. It’s now or never, I thought, and duly ordered the pickled herring
tasting plate. Six types of pickled herring came in various sauces coupled with
rye bread and cheese. It was really good. No, honestly. Mags went for the safer
Brill in lobster sauce that she said was superb.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We spent most of our remaining time wandering the
cobbled streets of the old town admiring the beautiful buildings unmolested by
modern development. Stockholm is often referred to as the Venice of the North,
and I can’t help thinking that the comparison refers to the prices as well as
the abundance of water. We couldn’t help taking to the sea so we jumped aboard
the imaginatively named “Under the Bridges Tour” and spent a relaxing couple of
hours cruising around some of the city’s fourteen islands. We strolled around
Djurgarden for a while soaking up the Sunday sun and then kicked back in
the late afternoon at “Mister French”, a chilled out restaurant / bar on the
eastern shore of Gamla Stan, sipping wine while people and boat watching. Here we
saw this lot taking a group selfie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">You may be wondering how we managed with
the language but of course everyone speaks English. Stockholm’s a great little
city for a weekend break and only two hours from City Airport. I think we’ll
have to come back when we’ve saved up.</span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-34010853602380411072014-07-09T11:49:00.001+01:002014-08-23T08:52:41.088+01:00Coast to Coast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Due to popular demand, well I had one request anyway, here is the account of our trip across England on the coast to coast walk. This is a popular hike from the Irish Sea to the North Sea first put together by that famous fell walker Alfred Wainwright. I recorded this narrative as we went along but with intermittent internet, and just feeling knackered at the end of each day, I decided to publish it in one mega blog. Yes it’s long, as is the walk. I’ve really documented it to remind us of what we did in our approaching senility. Here it is anyway for anyone that might be interested.</div>
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Stage 1 St. Bees to Ennerdale Bridge 23.5 km (14.5 miles)<br />
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First you have to get to the start, which is St, Bees on the Cumbrian coast. For us this was a fast train to Carlisle and then a two carriage country train that trundles along with the novelty of request stops. It ran into St Bees eventually after a pretty journey along the coast.<br />
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We checked into Stonehouse Farm and set out to explore. You have to like a place that has three pubs in close proximity; you could throw a blanket over them. We chose the Queens hotel where we had an interesting meal while watching England v Uruguay in the World Cup. I had pot roast beef that was sadly a little tough and both our meals came with what purported to be red wine jus that tasted spookily like watered down Bovril, although Mags’ had some mint thrown in as she had the lamb. The vegetables of the day were mash, carrots and peas. I’d opted for bubble and squeak that was actually just the vegetables mixed together; not much bubble or squeak there. Anyway, hard to grumble as it was very cheap and Mags’ lamb shank was tender. Louis Suarez, who was in a competition with Wayne Rooney for pin up of the World cup, broke English hearts with a brace and knocked us out. Still, it’s cricket season.<br />
<br />
Next day, after a hearty breakfast, we set off in our brand new walking gear including my new, four wheel drive boots. Might as well as had a label saying “city folks”. We had a short walk to the beach to get to the official start. I jumped down onto the beach to retrieve a pebble to take to Yorkshire and walked across to the water’s edge to dip my fingers into the Irish Sea. The tide was out so we we’re destined to do every last inch of the journey from coast to coast. <br />
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We’d been very lucky with the weather yet again this year, and our first day was sunny and clear, the views along the coast and across the sea to the Isle of Man crystal clear. The first part of the walk took us along the coast north across St Bees Head, close to the cliff edge, past a colony of black guillemots, a lighthouse and a coastguard look out. We were immersed in beautiful scenery but after several hours began to feel a little uneasy; we were still on the west coast and, as the objective is to walk to the other coast, we hadn’t made any progress. Eventually, the path turned inland and we made our way to Moor Row. We’d earmarked this as our lunch stop as it reportedly had a bakery. This turned out to be little more that a lady selling pies from her front room. There was nowhere to sit so, armed with pasties, we searched for somewhere to eat. Moor Row appears to be particularly unfriendly to transient visitors, as we couldn’t even find a park bench, so we ate on the hoof and marched on. Soon we were at the next village of Cleator and began the long and brutal slog up Dent Hill, our first hill climb. Three hundred and fifty metres so the equivalent of climbing up the Shard. We puffed our way up a gravel path through pine forest that lent some welcome shade, and ploughed on up to the top disturbing the odd sheep on the way. We sat down and wheezed over the view which was magnificent; 360 degrees with the coast including Sellafield, St, Bees, where we’d started from, the large town of Whitehaven and the Isle of Man still visible in the distance, then west where the Pennines rose majestically and were beckoning us. Finally recovered we began the very steep descent toward Ennerdale Bridge, our destination. This really was a sharp gradient down and my knees were soon trembling trying to defy gravity. Mags was dong really well and I asked her “Doesn’t it hurt?” “Oh, it hurts all the time, you’re just not used to it.”<br />
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We reached The Shepherd Arms at around five p.m. and headed straight for the bar. We engaged some fellow walkers over restorative ale. They’d worked out that we’d each burned around two thousand calories. We quickly did the math and calculated that it equated to ten beers – happy days.<br />
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We had a very fine meal of linguine lobster and stuffed Aubergine that we shared before retiring to bed.<br />
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Walking time 7:30hrs<br />
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Stage 2 Ennerdale Bridge to Rosthwaite 26.5 km (16.5 miles)<br />
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I breakfasted like a king on smoked haddock, and then we set off into another beautiful sunny day, A short stroll down to Ennerdale water, the western most lake in the lake district and usually bereft of tourists.<br />
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We traversed the length off it taking the southern rocky path. Here we met a couple of elderly Texans (How Y’all) who were a bit lost. We pointed them on the right path after a conference over the maps. We proceeded up the valley following the river Liza upstream, passing by some larch trees that were a stunning red colour. Unfortunately, this signified that they were diseased and dying. The forestry commission were culling and replanting. Up towards the source of the river we stopped at a small picturesque youth hostel where we munched in our pre-packed salad sandwich. Suitably refreshed we embarked on the long strenuous climb out of the valley to the top of Robin Hood’s chair. Another fantastic view with Ennerdale Water and Buttermere to the west. We continued east near a slate quarry and began our descent down a disused tram line (left over from mining). Here disaster struck as Mags jarred her knee and was in agony for the rest of the day. She bravely soldiered on though, the little Aussie battler. We passed the slate museum at the bottom that was busy with day trippers who’d motored out there. “Oh look’ Mags said “Cars, what a great idea.”<br />
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We limped on and down into Borrowdale and our destination, Nook Farm, in the pretty village of Rosthwaite. We were greeted by the farmer’s daughter who complained, “Awful hot isn’t it? I’m not good in the heat, me” It was seventeen degrees. We soon decamped to the nearby pub where we discovered that it was rammed with locals from the surrounding area who’d all just participated in a charity event for multiple sclerosis. We were a bit miffed as we couldn’t get a seat and we were out on our feet. We felt a bit foolish when we discovered that they’d all been part of ten peaks in ten hours. Eventually, we did gain a table as people left and had a pretty good burger and chips while being entertained by a young band.<br />
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We ran into the Texans (How y’all) in the pub again. They’d opted for the fried chicken which let’s face, was unlikely to be up to southern fried chicken standard. I asked them how it was and was informed “It was fast and it filled us up” Bless ‘em.<br />
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Walking time 7hrs<br />
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Stage 3 Rosthwaite to Grasmere 13.5km (8.5 miles)<br />
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Mags decided on a rest day to let her knee recover and hitched a lift with the luggage transport. This left me solo on the trek to Grasmere. A gentle uphill walk following Stonethwaite Beck soon became steeper and then a LOT steeper, finally clambering over rocks to reach Greenup Edge. </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1942qPTOaiYLuPGHyXSpAvMKvnn51treTMPYp1j3xp5atLbHBtcYtyn76w08ftCSnTBur7cKzsUstJVCzhOxV4m0WDyt15I2F1cgtaYKDokWwrN4ayCK1bi22kYDjLZsDbnz/s1600/DSC02483.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1942qPTOaiYLuPGHyXSpAvMKvnn51treTMPYp1j3xp5atLbHBtcYtyn76w08ftCSnTBur7cKzsUstJVCzhOxV4m0WDyt15I2F1cgtaYKDokWwrN4ayCK1bi22kYDjLZsDbnz/s1600/DSC02483.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>Great views back down the valley back towards Borrowdale and across
to England’s highest peak, Scafell. There are two options at this point,
a tougher, higher ridge walk or a relatively gentler descent down.
Saving myself for future days, I took the easy option and had a couple
of solitary hours wandering down alongside Easdale Beck with numerous
waterfalls trickling away amongst some inquisitive sheep. So, a shorter
day and I was in Grasmere with Mags by 14:30 where we had a quick snooze
before dinner. Grasmere was the largest town to date and a mecca for
tourists drawn by its idyllic location amongst the fells and as the
burial site of Wordsworth who lived there for nine years. Mags had
scouted the place earlier and booked us into Tweedies where I had a
couple of fine ales before a lamb rump (just had to after seeing all
those sheep) and Mags had duck breast, both superb. We stopped at a
lively local bar on the way back to our B and B and possibly had one too
many nightcaps but great fun watching Algeria beat South Korea 4-2.<br />
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Walking time 5:30<br />
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Stage 4 Grasmere to Patterdale 12km (7.5 miles)</div>
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After a quick
visit to the chemists to fix Mags up with a couple of knee braces, we
left lovely Grasmere with its perfect stone cottages and set off into
another sunny day. We climbed steadily up a long but gradual hill to
Grisdale Tarn where we lunched by the water accompanied by a lone duck.
The descent was less brutal than the previous three days and Mags
managed with the help of two walking poles that two fellow walkers had
gifted us at Grasmere. Thanks Bob and Gail. We found a hat on the path
and picked it up with the intention of dropping it at the nearest pub,
but a lady came striding down the path thirty minutes later searching
for it so we were able to restore it to her. A fairly straightforward
and level walk brought us into Grasmere with views over Ullswater, We
had to pass two pubs to reach our B and B, so we just looked in to check
out the beer. Our home for the night was Old Water View, nestled
alongside Godrill Beck. The owner Ian had walked the coast to coast when
he was twenty two and had a dream to open a place along the route, an
ambition he achieved when he was thirty nine. He has all the items that
you might need like blister treatment and maps and was full of advice.
He recommended an alternate route for us to follow on the next day that
would be a little easier on Mags’ knees.</div>
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Walking time 7:30hrs<br />
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Stage 5 Patterdale to Shap (19 miles)</div>
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We diverted from Wainright’s route to take a slightly lower path to Shap to save our knees. (Wainright seemed to be magnetically attracted to hills.) This actually made the trek longer and it was still a testing leg at 19 miles. We headed for Ullswater (Norse for bendy lake), and travelled along its Eastern shore. We picked our way up and down the path that cut through the bottom of Low Birk fell, always with the calm lake in view. We passed Howtown pier where a group of youths were orienteering. In fact we passed several school parties that day canoeing, sailing or mountain biking. As it was a school day, we assumed it must be part of the syllabus. As Mags said, “Youths today. They don’t know they’re born.” We were soon climbing (again) up Askham fell where Mags powered along leaving a trail of broken mountain bikers in her wake. Great views over the whole lake at the top, the ferries gently moving tourists along below. Being ‘off piste”, we were left with no detailed directions. We’d bought an ordnance survey map and were using that. We had a little trouble finding the path at Ketley Gate as the path evaporated near a circle of stones called a cock pit. We consulted with some friendly walkers and found the right way across Moor Divock. We located the road into Brampton and plodded on. Here, the fun had stopped and we were really starting to hurt but we had to keep going for another 5 kms. Head down, we moved through Brampton Grange where we had to force ourselves past the pub. Eventually we came to Rosgill where I spotted a more direct path into Shap. Unfortunately, this was not a well used route and not clearly marked. We had to plough through overgrown fields, hurdling stone stiles along the way, We came across a herd of cows that were in our path. Still, only cows so we approached expecting them to move aside. As we approached we moved to the left to go around them and they all started to move off too to block our way. We then moved to the right and again they moved to follow us. It was like a pasodoble. We were dancing with cows, wolves being unavailable. It was only when we got close that I noticed the bull, and then we could see that there were some calves too. A bull, cows and calves – not a great place to be. Anyway, we were too close now so just had to stare the bull out saying , “I’m too knackered to turn back. Its you or me, Bully.” Thankfully, they scattered and we quickly moved on. Eventually we rolled into New Ing farm in Shap. We met up with Bob and Anthony, a couple of scousers that we’d bumped into several times already, usually in the pub. We had a few beers with them watching England gain a magnificent point against Costa Rica. (At least that was one more point than Australia), and then lose in the cricket to Sri Lanka from the penultimate ball of the test match. Mags tested if they were real scousers by getting them to say “Chicken”.<br />
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Walling time 8:30hrs<br />
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Stage 6 Shap to Orton 12Km (7.5 miles)<br />
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A comparatively easy and welcome day which was just as well with a ‘short’ 12km hike across mostly level moorland. The peace was temporarily shattered as a fighter plane screamed past a hundred metres directly above us. We had to cross the M6 at one point and it wasn’t easy dodging the fast moving traffic carrying a backpack. We started late but still arrived in Orton by 13:30, so we had a couple of drinks in the George hotel before heading off to our lodging in The Old School, Tebay. A ramshackle place, a former hostel now turned B and B and occasional tea rooms. The owner picked us up from Orton as its several Kms away on a busy road. The only other guests were a retired Scottish couple breaking their journey to the old country. The chap was not shy in sharing his political views. He’s a staunch bagpipe playing Scottish nationalist despite spending most of his adult life in England. Of course, as a result, he doesn’t get a vote in the referendum. Anyway, all very entertaining.<br />
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Walking time 3.30hrs</div>
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Stage 7 Orton to Kirkby Stephen 21km (13miles)<br />
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We continued on in the same vein as yesterday chiefly over open moorland. The walking was relatively flat and easy going. The weather had closed in on us, the sky slate gray, but still the rain held off. We lunched at a pretty little beck with yellow flowers sprouting along its border, a disused railway hut nearby and the Smardale Gill viaduct visible in the distance. We arrived in Kirkby Stephen at around 14:20, a metropolis compared to the other villages we’d stayed in. There were several pubs, two banks, a Chinese and Indian restaurant and importantly a launderette where we put ourselves on a quick cold wash. In the pub a couple of locals asked where we heading tomorrow. “Keld” we replied. “Are you going over Nine Standards?” We hurriedly checked the guide book and nodded in the affirmative. They just laughed at us. We dined on very fine local steak in the Black Bull and retired to our comfortable room at the Old Croft House.<br />
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Walking time: 5:50 hrs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoq-683v3QfFLbYeBR_48_v1RPmylqFhcYb2xSiK3v3u2ZoAqmZD5r-ePQaxHtqGxb0zCOs3Fg_iNZ75a0dbk69rhFHhMkWey-0_Tqt8tXlckfEiINcrn3SX5NDsCH7_Sovap/s1600/DSC02592.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMoq-683v3QfFLbYeBR_48_v1RPmylqFhcYb2xSiK3v3u2ZoAqmZD5r-ePQaxHtqGxb0zCOs3Fg_iNZ75a0dbk69rhFHhMkWey-0_Tqt8tXlckfEiINcrn3SX5NDsCH7_Sovap/s1600/DSC02592.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a><br />
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Stage 8 Kirkby Stephen to Keld 24km (14.5miles)<br />
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Mags needed another day off to rest her knee so I headed off to climb Nine Standards Rigg. The ascent started immediately but was straight forward and not too steep, passing round the back of a quarry. Once on the exposed slopes, a chill wind came biting across from the west and I donned my fleece for the first time on the trip. The skies were leaden again but somehow the clouds managed to retain the water they held. The views from the top were fabulous. The ‘Nine Standards’ are nine stone pillars. No one knows who put them there or why. One local fable has it that they were erected to deter marauding Scotts who would mistake them for an English army from a distance. Somehow, that appears unlikely. We were promised boggy conditions and I duly put on my newly purchased gaiters. There were some patches but easily avoided due to the run of dry weeks. It was easy to see though that it must be horrendous at most other times. The descent was long and gradual and beautiful with spectacular views all the way. Eventually I left the hill and reached Ravenseat Farm where I met up with a couple from Perth, W Australia that we’d bumped into a few times and a chap from Yorkshire that Mags named the happy camper (not that he was particularly happy, but he was camping.) We all had cream teas that the farmer’s wife does as a side business. Scones straight from the oven, delicious. I headed on towards Keld mostly following a stream now heading to the North Sea as we’d passed a water shed on Nine Standards. Numerous restored stone barns punctuated the path. I passed Wainwath Force on the approach to Keld, not Iguasu but pretty enough, and a few signs offering parking and camping for the upcoming “Le Tour”. Soon, I was warmly embraced by Keld Lodge where Mags was waiting to greet me. We had now crossed into Yorkshire or, as the natives say, God’s own country.<br />
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Walking time: 5 Hrs.</div>
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Stage 9 Keld to Reeth 18.5km (11.5miles)<br />
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A rested Mags was back in the game. A leisurely stroll down Swaledale following the river downstream. There was a bit of a climb after Gunnerside but generally an easy day. At this point I should really mention the poo. Fell sheep are poo machines and they like to poo everywhere. The cattle join in too, although not as frequently as the sheep, they manage to create a small tarn of poo each time. Walking and staring at the scenery is asking for trouble, so its head down to watch your step or stop and look up at the hills. Many of the villages had bunting and yellow bicycles displayed to welcome the Tour de France that was due to come through next week. Everyone was clearly very excited. We were given a very warm welcome by Bob and Denise at our B and B. There was only one other guest, Katrina from Germany. We dined in the Burgoyne hotel that was purported to be the poshest place in the village. Very fine it was too, although slightly surreal as we were served by a Jane Fonda lookalike.<br />
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There were a few language issues next morning at breakfast. Bob was from the North East and poor Katrina had no idea what he was saying “Whey Aye Pet, would ya like anoofer coop a coffeee like?” Mags interpreted for her.</div>
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Stage 10 Reeth to Richmond 20km (12.5 miles)<br />
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Another easy day strolling across mostly farmland on the soft rolling hills of Swaledale. We travelled a little further than necessary when I took the wrong road out of Marske causing us to backtrack a kilometre or so. Mags was not amused. We arrived in Richmond a 14:15pm, a veritable metropolis compared to our previous overnight destinations. We found some fellow walkers already enjoying a pint in the Kings Head so joined in. It was Sunday, so we went in search of a late roast lunch with Yorkshire pud and all the trimmings. We discovered that we were too late for most establishments but one local pointed us to the Unicorn where we had a disappointingly average nosh up. The Yorkshire pudding was good though.</div>
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Stage 11 Richmond to Danbe Wiske 24km (14 miles)<br />
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We left the Dales for good and began our journey to the Yorkshire Moors. This was a fairly uninspiring, flat leg over farmland. It became more interesting as we got lost (again) shortly after leaving Richmond, and were diverted as the original route was closed due to roadworks. We then got lost on the diversion so made the 24km walk a fair bit longer. It was a nice change to travel through some arable farmland, thus avoiding the need to be on constant poo alert. On the approach to Danbe Wiske (Yes, it really is called that), we encountered two horses in a paddock. The animals had worked out that if they blocked the exit stile, they had a good chance of wheedling out some food from the coast to coasters. We had no food to pay the ferryman, so to speak, so had to do some petting and maneuvering before vaulting the stile. We arrived to find most of our fellow walkers already in the village pub,. We met a couple of Kiwis there who had already walked across England along Hadrian’s wall, had turned round, and were now walking back along Wainwright’s route. Put us all to shame.<br />
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Walking time 5 hrs</div>
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Stage 12 Danbe Wiske to Ingleby Cross 13km (9 miles)<br />
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A similar day to yesterday walking over farmland to cover the remaining distance to the next national park. You would think that by now, with all this exercise that we’d be as fit and lithe as racing snakes, but with the cooked breakfasts, ale and pub grub, I think we’re actually putting on weight. And of course we’d been drinking gallons of Yorkshire tea. I was on the lookout for the tea plantations but to no avail. I think they must all be in the rhubarb triangle. The highlight of the day was crossing the A19 where we had to sprint across a fast moving dual carriageway. No casualties reported. We'd discovered that two other walkers had the same birthday as us, Greg from Melbourne and our happy camper Mick. We had early drinks in the pub to celebrate, as we were separating the following day.</div>
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Walking time 4hrs<br />
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Stage 13 Ingleby Cross to Clay Bank Top 23km (13.5 miles)<br />
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We started climbing after two days walking on the flat and were soon at Arncliffe Wood. We’d entered the North Yorkshire Moors national park (Oh, Heathcliffe), the third and last of the national parks on the route. A lovely stroll through the heather, some of it flowering early in a pink bloom, disturbing the odd famous grouse. We had expansive views east and north with Middlesborough in the distance and our first glimpse of the North Sea. We climbed up and over a number of hills, testing the old knees out, terminating with the Wainstones, a rocky outcrop on top of our final hill. We dined with Martin and Robyn from Western Australia and a couple of Yorkshire girls in the Wainstones Hotel, a courtesy car picking us up at Clay Bank top and depositing us there the following day to resume our walk. </div>
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Walking time 6:30 hrs<br />
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Stage 14 Clay Bank Top to Blakey Ridge 11km (7.5 miles)<br />
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I started the day with walker’s porridge for breakfast that included a shot of Drambue. Well, it was my birthday, Mags’ too. A real shot in the arm and in no time we’d made the short ascent and were back on the moor. An easy but spectacular walk today peacefully striding across the moors. Famous grouse everywhere and the odd sheep. We triumphantly strode into Lion’s inn a mere 3 hours later to start the birthday celebrations. The Kiwis arrived and sang happy birthday very loudly causing Mags to blush. The Lion really is an incredible pub perched high and alone on top of the moor. It was packed with walkers, cyclists and motorists despite its remote location. They bash out enormous portions of pub grub to hungry travellers. Mags had lamb that consisted of four huge chops and eight roast potatoes.</div>
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Walking time 3 hrs<br />
<br />
Stage 15 Blakey Ridge to Egton Bridge 22.5km (14 miles)<br />
<br />
We continued on the moor (Oh, Heathcliffe) finally descending into Glaisdale and then onto our destination for the day, Egton Bridge. There were tantilising views of the coast looking deceptively near. It was very windy ont moor (notice the Yorkshire accent there) and we had to concentrate to avoid being blown off course.<br />
<br />
We heard a local tale of romance attached to Beggar's Bridge in Glaisdale. An inscription on the bridge suggests that it was built in 1619, and the initials TF refer to Thomas Ferries, the son of a moorland farmer. When he was courting he had to ford the river Esk to meet his young lady, Agnes, whose father considered Thomas too poor for his daughter. Thomas resolved to seek his fortune at sea but, with the river in flood, was unable to cross to kiss his sweetheart goodbye. Returning later, a wealthy man, Thomas married Agnes and built a handsome bridge on the very spot, so future young lovers would never be separated. </div>
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Walking time 4:30<br />
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<br />
Stage 16 Egton Bridge to Robin Hood’s Bay (25km, 15.5 miles)<br />
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I haven’t mentioned the weather for some time as it had been unbelievably completely dry and mostly sunny. On our last day however, we did wake up to a little drizzle. At least we were going to use the waterproofs I’d been carrying for fourteen days. Or so I thought, but we dawdled a little over our breakfast and by the time we put our boots on, the rain had stopped. The local news was buzzing with ‘Le Grand Depart’ of the tour de France that was leaving starting from Leeds that day. All the press were there leaving us short of journalists to witness our own grand depart. We soon came upon Egton Manor, where a donation box was positioned “Please help our Donkeys.” A tad cheeky I thought. They were the ones living in a stately home; they should have been giving us money. The last steep climb of the walk took us past the quaint Grosmont railway station and onto Sleights moor. It was misty up there and we finally had a feel for the eerie, haunting and lonely vibe of the Yorkshire moors. We descended into Little Beck Wood where the sun broke through providing dappled views of the May Beck. We continued on with a yomp through Sneaton Low and Graystone Hills moors. We were heartened to see our first sign for Robin Hood’s Bay (our final destination and nothing to do with the man in tights), a mere 3 and half miles away; but Wainwright wasn’t about to take us the direct route so there was still some way to go. Whitby and its striking abbey were constantly in view lit up by the bright sunshine. We finally hit the coast and then walked south along a coastal path, part of the Cleveland way, into Robin Hood’s bay. Our accommodation was at the top of the village so we checked in and deloused before stumbling down the steep road to the bay. We duly dipped our toes in the water, threw the pebble we picked up at St Bess in to the sea and retired to Wainright’s bar in the Bay hotel. Never before has house wine tasted so sweet.<br />
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Walking time 7:20 hrs</div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-47909200395728794532014-06-06T15:08:00.000+01:002014-08-12T15:03:22.402+01:00Home<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyhFBE0A8b2mxyPhKBvXG2W0IKapqKVvT5usPQdPZktFKhnm3l-pH2PsznFps2t-DWuB8P8emjqzNs2iqOoGzArq7dPshs7MNgN82NgteX_PzFY8LiDMEaBkhlvFQjomg-AmO/s1600/IMG_0766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyhFBE0A8b2mxyPhKBvXG2W0IKapqKVvT5usPQdPZktFKhnm3l-pH2PsznFps2t-DWuB8P8emjqzNs2iqOoGzArq7dPshs7MNgN82NgteX_PzFY8LiDMEaBkhlvFQjomg-AmO/s1600/IMG_0766.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We arrived at the impressive Suvarnabhumi
airport and started to taxi to our arrival gate. We passed the main terminal,
past the cargo terminal, kept going onwards past the maintenance depot, all
very interesting, and finally arrived at the quadrant where all the planes that
are past repair are kept. We finally stopped there. It must have been a busy
period. There was no chance of an air bridge, so we walked down the stairs, waving
like President Obama, to our waiting coaches. The heat was fierce, in contrast
to the refrigerated metal canister of our plane. My pants began to heat up and
were a serious fire risk by the time I made it to the ground. Fortunately, the
bus was on maximum aircon, and the danger was averted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We were in Bangkok, again, breaking our
trip home to blighty. There’s been a military coup since we were there in March,
but the only noticeable difference was that the trip from the airport to town
took less time than usual, and the hotel was empty. We just spent a day
sleeping and then headed back to the airport waved off by the entire hotel
staff. We’d been upgraded to first class and that was quite an experience. There’s
a special entrance at the airport. A porter took our bags and a hostess took
our passports and showed us to a comfy seating area. Next, she came back with
our boarding passes and walked us through passport control and security. It
took about a minute. It had started to rain in that way it only does in the
tropics, like someone had turned the ocean upside down on us. Mags asked if
there would be an air bridge so we wouldn’t have to walk and get soaked, I
think they may have misunderstood and assumed that we didn’t want to walk
anywhere, so a buggy came and whisked us off to the lounge. We were ushered
into our private suite for a glass of bubbles and a Thai massage. I can’t remember
much about the flight after the caviar and vodka. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re now back home where the weather is 23
and sunny, just like Sydney. I achieved a lifetime ambition earlier today due
to the jet lag, I arrived at Borough market early, and had a pint in the Market
Porter before early closing at 9a.m.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-28814948799662868292014-05-24T00:15:00.002+01:002014-05-29T01:10:10.367+01:00Sydney City<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFo0skQaMMc4TES-EuoigG3QtJPoCdKCRh_bk5O4GmvUkH-tJGWhlI-xPzYfOH0C6OaKZZ7OH7Lk5MmWadddHGbzfiaozj19Xmtj2BuAB9F2I6ntY-OT7uBuzH80N50FJpoA4/s1600/DSC02353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFo0skQaMMc4TES-EuoigG3QtJPoCdKCRh_bk5O4GmvUkH-tJGWhlI-xPzYfOH0C6OaKZZ7OH7Lk5MmWadddHGbzfiaozj19Xmtj2BuAB9F2I6ntY-OT7uBuzH80N50FJpoA4/s1600/DSC02353.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I wasn’t going to write another blog in
Australia and then I heard this conversation in a tapas bar in Sydney’s
business district.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What’s Jamon mate?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Don’t know mate, I think it might be
pronounced Hamon, so it could be Spanish for ham.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“What mate, Hamon, like ham on the bone?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“That must be it, mate.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sweet, we’ll have some of that then.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re having a few days in the city to reacquaint
ourselves with the hustle and bustle before returning to London. We started in
Manly; we took the ferry across and stayed a couple of nights in a hotel on
the ocean side. There was a minor problem when we showed up at the Novotel
where we discovered that Mags had booked us into the Novotel in the city centre
and not Manly. All I could think of is “At least it wasn’t me.” While Mags was
wondering “How can I make this Gary’s fault?” Anyway, no problem. The wonderful
woman on reception cancelled the other booking at no charge and gave us a room
with a free upgrade. We walked along the beach and over the point at
Queenscliff to Freshwater beach where we met Alan and Karen for a leisurely
lunch at the Harbord Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many beers,
wines, and spirits later we had to cab it back to Manly. This was the weekend
that just kept giving; next day, after a morning stroll, we lunched at a small
Italian restaurant near the wharf. It looked unpromising to start with, just
one table occupied during the busy Sunday lunch period. We just had a good feel
about the place so wandered in. The old guy in the kitchen was from Sicily and,
once he found out that we’d spent some time in his home town of Cefalu,
couldn’t do enough for us. Despite having run out of most things last night,
what he prepared for us was superb; Garlic prawns, snapper fish cakes, Sicilian
pasta and spatchcock chicken. He topped up our wine glasses with vino on the
casa and sent us off thoroughly replete and feeling warm and fuzzy. Later, we
partied in the four pines brewery with some live music and stumbled into a
small bar on the way back to the hotel and caught the end of a very fine set by
a young guitarist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We ferried across the harbor to circular
quay and hung out in the city centre for a few nights, centering ourselves in
Kings cross. / Potts Point. Lots of walking around the city including a trek to
Woolamalloo, into the botanic gardens and across to the Opera House. Disappointed
to discover that we couldn’t roam around the inside of the iconic Opera House
without forking out 37$ for the guided tour, so went to Watson’s bay for lunch
at Doyle’s instead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I spent a morning at the maritime museum in
Darling harbor while Mags was catching up on some sleep. Really great museum
including in interesting exhibition of aboriginal art reinterpreting Cook’s
landing and legacy; but the highlight was clambering around the replica of the
Endeavor that is docked there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In between, we had time for dinner with
Fliss and Mon in Surrey Hills / Lebanon after their evening at the theatre. BYO
and lots of falafel – What’s not to like?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We rounded things off with a martini in the
very now Tank Stream bar and Spanish in Tapa Vino where, to our fellow diners’
disappointment, the ham didn’t come on the bone.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Off for a lie down before heading back to
the Shire.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-3472798444833794742014-05-10T07:51:00.001+01:002014-05-10T07:57:48.800+01:00Hamilton Island<style>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=37474456" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span lang="EN-US">We’ve been camped out at our friends Kev
and Jane’s place in Caringbah. Kev’s even gone off on a six week bush tour
leaving Jane to look after us – lucky Jane! It’s like he planned his walkabout
while we are here - Hmm. Anyway, all this travelling is exhausting so we’ve
jetted off on a well deserved holiday to the Whitsundays in Queensland;
Hamilton Island to be precise.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_7Q5t720YuFyp3jcTcQToeG5NiFXDeADTXMKwBhHwfSAPHSTf4wqR_cq5FrecrMb6TBjradnblhdS37UKXc_mf2IddydS3Z4Ui84ZEGpj1eYngZRRR5AuPbKAkF8x9X2ZJ7j/s1600/DSC02318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_7Q5t720YuFyp3jcTcQToeG5NiFXDeADTXMKwBhHwfSAPHSTf4wqR_cq5FrecrMb6TBjradnblhdS37UKXc_mf2IddydS3Z4Ui84ZEGpj1eYngZRRR5AuPbKAkF8x9X2ZJ7j/s1600/DSC02318.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"> The island is the holiday destination in
the Whitsundays as its been extensively developed for tourists leaving the
other islands largely uninhabited. It’s approximately 900 km north of Brisbane
and a 2 hour flight from Sydney. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We were picked up by a surly chap called
Vince who, if he ever had any cheek muscles with which to smile, they have long
since withered away. He is the only grumpy person on the island as everyone
else is smiling all the time and happy, and why wouldn’t you be in this
beautiful part of the world. Everyone you meet stops to have a chat and ask you
what you’ve been doing today, and what your plans are. This might be a tad
annoying if you were in a rush, but hey, this is paradise and everyone is uber
relaxed – all there is to do is have fun and chill out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We chose Hamilton to meet up with our
friends Lyn and Rudy who unbelievably live in this paradise. They moved into
their new apartment while we were there overlooking the marina, which is the
hub of the island, and the yacht club, an extraordinary building that manages
to look like a fish, a manta ray and a helicopter depending on where you view
it from and the time of day. Despite its name it stubbornly refuses to host any
yacht club, but contains an empty gymnasium and a very fine restaurant. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOILLkH_HgtRtfhJWxgo2WPdfI91CFa9xIkjvod9GdaLUvhT41HyhAUPtGicGUMVLMC8b3KAvdbOerA2FHsg_m57368KCJBJY6ZibXWlFbkDu9NJI2SRa8yiPKksx6YWYRYHCf/s1600/IMG_0868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOILLkH_HgtRtfhJWxgo2WPdfI91CFa9xIkjvod9GdaLUvhT41HyhAUPtGicGUMVLMC8b3KAvdbOerA2FHsg_m57368KCJBJY6ZibXWlFbkDu9NJI2SRa8yiPKksx6YWYRYHCf/s1600/IMG_0868.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Happy go lucky Vince showed us into a golf
buggy that was our transport during our stay. These are everywhere on Hamilton.
Everyone zips around in these between beeches, resorts, the marina and the hill
top views. The speed limit for the island is 20km which I don’t think is
threatened by the buggies, but they are great fun and a god send as it is extremely hilly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We were soon joined by Mags’ sister Kazza
and our friends Helen and Barn who flew in from Melbourne. Next day we booked a
tour and headed off on a fast catamaran to the outer barrier reef. The trip out
was a little choppy and some of our group arrived a little shaken if not
stirred. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWRVgNCueLDtW7jvk_9oFrHI9HifN-DVFpmvsB3MnPycEnr8jB5wfdSPXYKcJHE9pYJz2pKoM4yLz_h-jc-50aVxEnA-fIgRnJZmQFShk42KmZOv4hev2MgcOsfDh8wao5voo/s1600/DSC02284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWRVgNCueLDtW7jvk_9oFrHI9HifN-DVFpmvsB3MnPycEnr8jB5wfdSPXYKcJHE9pYJz2pKoM4yLz_h-jc-50aVxEnA-fIgRnJZmQFShk42KmZOv4hev2MgcOsfDh8wao5voo/s1600/DSC02284.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
All was soon forgotten as we transferred to the permanent platoon
anchored there and donned fins, stinger suits and masks and snorkeled away.
There were thousands of fish in all colours, coral, clams large and small, and
even a turtle spotted checking out the pontoon. There was an option to scuba
dive but not necessary as the reef was only in a few feet of water so we saw
everything snorkeling. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R_CuILanNZ7qg4n2nWl1e_iezkzd0pqVAa6Yc4kJ9o6rauLrGGieXtSw8W54lO40AKDXeQc33zozuW3Qb_dUh-cbGfM-LQvj_H4gePgezF-UbBJqmisC2KLb97oG-mh66JJX/s1600/DSC02325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R_CuILanNZ7qg4n2nWl1e_iezkzd0pqVAa6Yc4kJ9o6rauLrGGieXtSw8W54lO40AKDXeQc33zozuW3Qb_dUh-cbGfM-LQvj_H4gePgezF-UbBJqmisC2KLb97oG-mh66JJX/s1600/DSC02325.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Lyn and Rudy took us out sailing to Cid
harbor at the nearby, larger Whitsunday Island that is now a national park.
(Yes, they have a boat too). Another perfect day. We whiled away a few blissful
hours with a short walk on the island through Hoop pine that is now recovering
from previous logging activity, and a quick swim in the calm turquoise waters
before lunch on board. Doing it tough again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I couldn’t resist the opportunity to play
the Hamilton Island Golf course that is actually situated on nearby Dent
Island. So I found myself on the short ferry trip over there at 8am one
glorious sunny morning (another one) and was soon installed in another buggy
heading off to the 10<sup>th</sup> tee. Well, I think the best we can say about
the experience is that the views are magnificent. Let’s just say that the pro
shop sells a lot of golf balls and I contributed my fair share. The rough is
three feet high and as thick as a cabinet minister. It borders all the fairways
and greens, so you either hit it on the fairway or it’s a lost ball; no chance
of finding it even if the snakes didn’t deter you from looking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0FoDFox9_dyLggpbtHY9ip25S68l0iAAMvQ_mn7-2SJ1QdYJ8bCG5gMTAF_EekI1tESPQ6SNBzHxGurDKV1kcMyl6wG27stePv4C-qh1zePtZc2uz9SzekutE5od2qy4KyAF/s1600/IMG_0656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0FoDFox9_dyLggpbtHY9ip25S68l0iAAMvQ_mn7-2SJ1QdYJ8bCG5gMTAF_EekI1tESPQ6SNBzHxGurDKV1kcMyl6wG27stePv4C-qh1zePtZc2uz9SzekutE5od2qy4KyAF/s1600/IMG_0656.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A popular evening activity is to head to
the local out point near us at the Pinnacle apartments to watch the sunset.
There’s even a pop up bar that opens for business at 4:30 pm. We all headed up
there and were treated to a very spectacular and rare sight, an iridescent
sunset, where water droplets of uniform size diffract sunlight to produce </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">opalescent hues. Notice the science there. Yes, I had to
look it up. It really was amazing with all the colours of the rainbow painted
across the clouds in a slightly metallic, wavy caress. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On another night, as we
approached the Bommie restaurant in the Yacht club for dinner with Lyn and
Rudy, the moon was surrounded by a thin white sphere of light, a halo. This is
another rare phenomenon caused by ice crystals deflecting moonlight. The dinner
lived up to the spectacular intro as we had great dishes of slowly poached
hen’s egg with asparagus and reef fish with sag aloo, interspersed with an
amuse bouche of cerviche with tomato consume served in a test tube and a mouth
cleanser of textures of melon. Sounds a bit pretentious but really superb.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We were wisely guided by Lyn and Rudy to
pre-order a Coles supermarket delivery from the mainland for our stay, as the
food choices on the island are limited by what is stocked in the one general
store. The delivery was there when we arrived, hurrah, or at least someone’s
delivery was. I think they just give you assorted stuff so what you actually
order is somewhat irrelevant – but still, a lot cheaper than buying locally.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Alas, after a superb week, smiley Vince
helped us transport our bags to the airport. It suddenly became clear to me
what Vince’s purpose is – to gently acclimatise us back into the real world
where we mortals live.</span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-75895028022229495452014-04-26T03:04:00.000+01:002014-07-15T11:47:16.308+01:00Sydney<style>
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<span lang="EN-US">What’s happened to Australian beer? Two
hundred of years of dedication has created the perfect Aussie beer, completely
tasteless. But now, someone has discovered hops and all these boutique beers
are appearing, pale ales, red beers and stouts. Great stuff, all we need now is
to persuade them to serve it a little warmer and we’ll be sorted.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We set off in search of Australian culture,
meaning football of course, but not the beautiful game that this great country
has only just started playing, and can’t yet be considered a serious endeavor.
I’m talking about the game played with the elongated ball with pointy ends, and
in particular NRL and AFL. Now the immediate observation I made is that both
‘codes’ have three initials but two of them differ. Also, one has two more goal
posts than the other. Other than that, it’s basically a bunch of blokes
knocking the hell out of each other on a large field watched by a passionate
crowd trying to get drunk on mid strength beer. I absolutely loved it. We went
to the NRL game between South Sydney and the Bulldogs at the Olympic stadium
with the next generation of Mags’ family, having worn out her contemporaries. A
very fine scrap was settled when someone drop kicked a decisive goal while no
one was looking. We retired to the nearby Novotel bar for a real drink and then
back to the centre of town for some more revelry. Leaving the stadium I spotted
this informative sign for the away fans.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Trots kindly took us to an AFL game between
Sydney Swans and Fremantle where I caused much mirth by shouting “It’s a one”
every time a behind was scored. The Swans’ mascot is a Cygnet called Cyggy who
completed laps of the oval on a motorized scooter which is not something you
see every day. Mags observing that it’s a surprise that they’re allowed to call
him that; I expect the anti smoking lobby will be on to it soon.</span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-67373590138012958972014-04-11T00:33:00.000+01:002014-04-11T02:47:51.199+01:00Tasmania<style>
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<span lang="EN-US">“What would you like to do tomorrow?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“How about a hike?” I suggest.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This is how I came to be traipsing round
Salamanca market on Saturday looking at clothes and jewelry with Mags and Karen,
Malcolm having wisely dropped us off and headed back home. We’re moving at
snail’s pace and I’m walking as slowly as I can, but after a few minutes I
glance around they’re stuck in another stall. Eventually, I pace up and down
doing laps of the market; at least I get a walk of sorts. Eventually, we head
off to a bar on the square behind the market to celebrate Mags’ two cute new
tops.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We’ve arrived coincidentally for the start
of the Sexpo exhibition in Hobart town centre. While sipping our drinks we watch
as a man in a pink top hat and matching codpiece, and not much else, walks into
a local café and comes out with several Devonshire cream teas. We later see him
sharing these at the side if the exhibition with some men in leathers and
beards.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next day, the other three take pity on me
and we head to Mt. Field national park.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We have a really enjoyable walk through a
beautiful emerald forest full of never ending trees and giant ferns, the
stream’s promise always nearby. We see a couple of Pademelon. No, not an exotic
Irish fruit, but a small marsupial.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeBlt1VxrgsImPtuh06IhrVTd6Yr4N4FgqkCRiuPVgSGNjoq8jBBjIxuTCYKAOdSFAuynZxZ7Df8yjwvRRvva7G_wwJmBW9u76G1APhwHbivSYiAYltX_ukrwu74we38pGXVW/s1600/DSC02079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeBlt1VxrgsImPtuh06IhrVTd6Yr4N4FgqkCRiuPVgSGNjoq8jBBjIxuTCYKAOdSFAuynZxZ7Df8yjwvRRvva7G_wwJmBW9u76G1APhwHbivSYiAYltX_ukrwu74we38pGXVW/s1600/DSC02079.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next we head on up further where the temperature
drops 8C but we’re still bathed in warming sunshine. A magical short walk
around a small lake with gum trees with trunks of swirling reds and grays,
and alpine bushes all fruiting with small berries in red, pink, black, white
and tangerine.<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US">One of the great things about Tasmania, and
there are many, is that it is one of the few places left in the world where you
can really get away from everyone else. The great South Western wilderness is
one such area, and the part we chose to explore was Hartz national park. An
alpine region above the tree line leading to magnificent views along the Huon
valley. </span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The walk is on a well maintained boardwalk that protects the delicate
flora underfoot. There’s a myriad of plants here interspersed with crystal
clear tarns and small lakes where crayfish burrows are glimpsed in the banks,
all fringed by stony hills and peaks. A fragile moss here grows slowly in the
cold climate, made up of thousands of tiny intricate plants meshed together for
survival. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">On the way back, we stopped at an apple
museum (It wasn’t a long stop), and sampled some cider. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We drove out to the Tasman peninsula, south
east of Hobart. Another scenic drive through country peppered with blow holes,
worn sandstone cliffs and tessellated pavements. Our destination Port Arthur, a
convict settlement and Tasmania’s most popular tourist destination. This is a
large site built up during the nineteenth century with several buildings still
standing and carefully restored such as the commandant’s cottage. The most
prominent building is the penitentiary used for lodging convicts, the ones
deemed the worst offenders in cells at the bottom. The settlement started
modestly as a logging operation to replenish the timber stocks in the UK
depleted from the Napoleonic wars, but soon expanded. The penitentiary started
life as a mill, build over the creek. Unfortunately, the water flow was
insufficient to drive the mill and convicts were used, like hamsters, to tread
the wheels. This was dangerous work and resulted in several casualties. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-qxNn11-x74ZqgOh8ZQHYdIFF1nZmBAziOe9t_AOjQxtjkgqkt9VVCWlL5p4_pgKAwJ576VtFwrDi6jHsBI0UYdz6gQL9yZipCOwlYInDfy2HlkxEfjKeZpx3m0YGLM8FMoa/s1600/DSC02211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-qxNn11-x74ZqgOh8ZQHYdIFF1nZmBAziOe9t_AOjQxtjkgqkt9VVCWlL5p4_pgKAwJ576VtFwrDi6jHsBI0UYdz6gQL9yZipCOwlYInDfy2HlkxEfjKeZpx3m0YGLM8FMoa/s1600/DSC02211.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We hopped aboard a ferry to ‘dead man’s
island’ or ‘Ilse de mort’. This is where all the dead from the settlement were
buried. The fist reverend of the town declared that convicts should not have
headstones, so around 900 to 1500 bodies are here in unmarked graves. It was
also used for free settlers, soldiers and their families, and later cnvicts who
did erect gravestones. Our tour was conducted by a very entertaining Canadian
chap of Scots descent who brought the place alive (no pun intended) with
stories of a selection of the departed; how they come to be in the settlement,
their ‘crimes’ life and eventual death. Needless to say, there were a few
characters who ended up there. Back at the main settlement, we mooched around
for a few hours wandering around the buildings including the ruined hospital
and a cottage that housed some Irish nationalists and English Chartists;
interesting to see that most of the Chartists’ demands have since been passed
into law.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">There was a feature in the local news about
underwater hockey while we were here. People are actually trying to move a puck
around a swimming pool floor while holding their breath. Apparently, Tasmania
is a world leader.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Tony Abbott celebrates 100 days with no
asylum seekers.” I haven’t made that up – a real headline in the papers.
Welcome to Australia (if you can get in). Now we’re here I’m tempted to apply
for asylum, but from what, warm beer? That might actually work.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We’ve rocked up in Melbourne for lunch with
our friends Barney and Spitfire, although lunch </span></div>
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appears to have lasted a week.
We’re in Werribee, a South Western suburb with insects constantly fretting
about the price of honey. We started at the excellent local winery of Shadowfax
where numerous bottles of rose were consumed, and we were actually thrown out
to make way for the evening wedding party. We moved onto superb Spanish tapas
in town, and rounded off with the colonial tram, where excellent food and wine
is served in a restored tram that gently clanks its way around the city, taking
us to St. Kilda along the coast past the Palais Theatre, and back again. In
between courses, Barney and I found time for a round of golf and an Aussie
rules football game at the state of the art, modern, impressive Etihad stadium.
Did someone pass a law that all new stadia have to be named after middle
eastern airlines?<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">Tasmania next, so jumpers packed and ready
to go.</span></div>
Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-66247464635141976982014-03-27T04:36:00.000+00:002014-03-28T21:25:04.769+00:00Cambodia<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHGATd7xqry2044v3wg9I2OpBA3YkdHmII1cgxvPN0UZyLeVLjuFp8OVug492yR1PW6pNGKg1i9t771336hYYmOHFrkBHanlFbWTMGeWF1mZ8iNhZBfe8Z4deFR01BF4CkkDC/s1600/DSC01893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHGATd7xqry2044v3wg9I2OpBA3YkdHmII1cgxvPN0UZyLeVLjuFp8OVug492yR1PW6pNGKg1i9t771336hYYmOHFrkBHanlFbWTMGeWF1mZ8iNhZBfe8Z4deFR01BF4CkkDC/s1600/DSC01893.JPG" height="140" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">English is spoken widely in the region,
although there are some interesting translations. The other day I was requested
by a sign to “Please put some things in the rubbish bin” I was mortified that I
didn’t have anything to throw away. The weather forecast on our arrival in Siem
Reap said 36 C, realfeel 38 C. I asked Mags for a realfeel later but she wasn’t
amused.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkoV6bFK6l7A4w6_CBAWTppljon8CQHbzb1khPMt_7b8lXUE41KdM_E1Ox37N19zbRWBjZKGHemEFrsyWxe8B6shIbeV_mCH2_CRRO1BlsxscRr3-n6bUxo1EWeeZK2iInTXCb/s1600/DSC01727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkoV6bFK6l7A4w6_CBAWTppljon8CQHbzb1khPMt_7b8lXUE41KdM_E1Ox37N19zbRWBjZKGHemEFrsyWxe8B6shIbeV_mCH2_CRRO1BlsxscRr3-n6bUxo1EWeeZK2iInTXCb/s1600/DSC01727.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Yes, we’re in Cambodia and, like all the
other visitors, we’re here to explore Angkor, the centre of the Cambodian
empire that ruled most of Indochina from the ninth to thirteenth century. Early
starts every day here for the dual purpose of avoiding the hottest part of the
day and the coach loads of tourists that set out a little later. First stop Ta
Prohm Temple. This is famed for being overgrown with trees with roots growing
out of, and over the walls. Angelina Jolie was filmed here in her role as Laura
Croft. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bQCKN5MFrkk49T9beZ8V_u5C55_rA_csoDAZilDHVBH6x1C6XF7AzvIGCwpJDv_0GW8QYr7CsFaTBy5ow_youlDYEVTMkWHHr5OX_GoGCJu0xqWC6WaC_-UmXdK0vZxqyEeu/s1600/DSC01758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bQCKN5MFrkk49T9beZ8V_u5C55_rA_csoDAZilDHVBH6x1C6XF7AzvIGCwpJDv_0GW8QYr7CsFaTBy5ow_youlDYEVTMkWHHr5OX_GoGCJu0xqWC6WaC_-UmXdK0vZxqyEeu/s1600/DSC01758.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Next up, Angkor Tom, or Great city, a focal
point in Angkor and home to the royal palace. This is a massive site
established in the twelfth century by King Jayavarman VII covering nine square
kilometres. We visited the Bayon temple on the site, a mind boggling sandstone
structure with thirty nine out of fifty four towers still standing, each representing
one of the Cambodian regions at the time. Each tower is adorned with giant
faces on each side. It’s a giant site and mobbed with tourists but large enough
to cope without it feeling overcrowded.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTICGGpGZDzl5xGn0Aw_A7CL3v7wWc5s8FQvfhyueSrXZZwh-IAc8oNF9fQ-51wkiBb_tB4EksRvmdi0rzeYxXZnRTrSfhe-JFB86hp-7fDsLqq6IhzCpSDJPMglZd61dAZOxo/s1600/DSC01753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTICGGpGZDzl5xGn0Aw_A7CL3v7wWc5s8FQvfhyueSrXZZwh-IAc8oNF9fQ-51wkiBb_tB4EksRvmdi0rzeYxXZnRTrSfhe-JFB86hp-7fDsLqq6IhzCpSDJPMglZd61dAZOxo/s1600/DSC01753.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7NU3syLdnvSUuYWzNoOGm5JmqF4gqxrDfOAGPeWJ_eczpg6CG4-GOHSq93yVEa2oZQGO2OLVTkrIo-3odjYrq_m_oebGeg_Pu5TRNnsWZi3DYAV3uZ_5Z2Jvei6AbJIvZRYlv/s1600/DSC01742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7NU3syLdnvSUuYWzNoOGm5JmqF4gqxrDfOAGPeWJ_eczpg6CG4-GOHSq93yVEa2oZQGO2OLVTkrIo-3odjYrq_m_oebGeg_Pu5TRNnsWZi3DYAV3uZ_5Z2Jvei6AbJIvZRYlv/s1600/DSC01742.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSfxaQVMY-oSehpHvCSBBTerdyfW98duHQDiOgAfV8LCjscL_q6I6xaEEe-cueAPoWY59WuaO-bGLJByfwSVl8wkUoSemmfaP6kyHOyPy1yD-DdgY9g3QpF-McQqb9blvduzF/s1600/DSC01792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSfxaQVMY-oSehpHvCSBBTerdyfW98duHQDiOgAfV8LCjscL_q6I6xaEEe-cueAPoWY59WuaO-bGLJByfwSVl8wkUoSemmfaP6kyHOyPy1yD-DdgY9g3QpF-McQqb9blvduzF/s1600/DSC01792.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We left the old city and headed to Tonle
Sap Lake, the largest in Indochina. We drove to a diminished river feeding the
lake where we transferred to a small boat, cruising through the fishing village
of Kampong Phluk before reaching the lake. The Tonle Sap river drains the lake
during the dry season meandering towards Phnom Penh where it merges with the
Mekong. The Mekong swells during the wet season with melt water and monsoon
rains and it actually pushes the Tonle Sap river back upwards causing the lake
to swell to five times its dry season size. So the river runs in both
directions depending on the time of year. It really is a large lake, even in
the dry season, covering 2,500 square kilometers. It supports a population of
two million people nearly all of whom live from fishing. The Cambodians told us
that around seventy percent of these are Vietnamese who remained after the war
(technically illegally).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It floods every year here, and the locals
have devised a brilliant idea – they build their houses on stilts. Radical I
know, but perhaps we can learn from this and apply it in the Thames valley. There’s
a twelve metre difference between the dry season and the flood in the village.
This makes the houses look like giant cranes in the dry season.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next day we started with a visit to Banteay
Srei temple, dedicated to Shiva and the Hindu religion built with high quality
pink sandstone. The carvings are wonderfully preserved as a result and the
detail is fantastic, even after a thousand years.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xd242wzIvwkr4rgybZOlGlbCgd-c0IND9Svd8PJcmHEswJFK_Cd6VJU5BJI3DOxwpv_CE6vBQLHww5JwXUA5JKZcH7dEQ7Au_I58crd_JOKJpZtpCqY-XZofPjn0Xi2Wnf48/s1600/DSC01830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xd242wzIvwkr4rgybZOlGlbCgd-c0IND9Svd8PJcmHEswJFK_Cd6VJU5BJI3DOxwpv_CE6vBQLHww5JwXUA5JKZcH7dEQ7Au_I58crd_JOKJpZtpCqY-XZofPjn0Xi2Wnf48/s1600/DSC01830.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We’d booked a hike up a jungle mountain
before we flew out, but on the day with the realfeel at 40C we were having
second thoughts. Well, we sweated out a few gallons of accumulated toxins, but
managed to enjoy ourselves in the beautiful countryside. We saw no animals, due
largely to deforestation as most of the forest has been cleared for farming,
and, as our guide explained, people were hungry during the Khmer Rouge period
and the subsequent civil war. If it moved, it was eaten. There were tigers and
elephants in this region but, alas, no more. We did hear but not see a gibbon
and heard cicadas a plenty, a particular species sounding like an electric saw.
The walk terminated at a sacred royal bathing site where hundreds of lingas
have been carved into a river bed. The linga being a Hindu phallic symbol.
Water flowing over these lingas is deemed to turn it into holy water. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We finished the day at Beng Mealea temple.
This site has not been restored but allowed to collapse slowly with mother
nature gradually taking over with trees sprouting up through the ruins. Its
main claim to fame is as a forerunner to Angkor Wat, built first with a similar
design but on a smaller scale – a kind of baby Angkor Wat.</span></div>
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last, the daddy of all the temples, Angkor Wat. We rose at 5a.m. to catch the
sunrise over the temple. This early start doesn’t guarantee a jump on the other
tourists as everyone is doing the same thing. Walking over the concourse approaching
the temple was like London Bridge at rush hour. Most of us gathered at the left
inner moat that still had some water after the dry season waiting for the sun
to appear, looking like paparazzi at the Oscars. The site itself is incredibly
impressive, three of the five large lotus like towers visible as you approach
providing the world famous image. There are three levels representing different
layers of Hindu heaven, the higher as you ascend. The lower level is adorned
with stone carvings on the walls depicting Hindu religious stories covering 800
metres in four galleries.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">So it’s the end of our travels in Indochina
and I think its fair to say that we are a little templed out, but we’ve enjoyed
every minute. Next stop Australia and, at the risk of offending my Aussie
friends, perhaps a little less culture but more R&R.</span></div>
Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-91660210348148943192014-03-24T02:41:00.000+00:002014-03-24T10:42:20.856+00:00Vietnam: After Hanoi<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">We drove east for four hours to Halong Bay,
home to two thousand limestone islands in the gulf of Tonkin.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUnfWuMGfGwp6spSxtYqcqkxOlNzZc3E3BxU5UiHBiYl5s_uH1TZZugkh2omd8Q3lryVjgXYEH2w81ixAbYceWflT1htX7ZExti_92Pdht5kgqML9mMsRRwRArwvPud616U59/s1600/DSC01275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUnfWuMGfGwp6spSxtYqcqkxOlNzZc3E3BxU5UiHBiYl5s_uH1TZZugkh2omd8Q3lryVjgXYEH2w81ixAbYceWflT1htX7ZExti_92Pdht5kgqML9mMsRRwRArwvPud616U59/s1600/DSC01275.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We boarded our cruise and made for a
fishing village nestled in the shelter of several islands. There are a number
of these communities dotted around the gulf that sprung up as places to service
the fisherman but gradually ended up as permanent communities. All the
dwellings are built on plastic drums lashed together with wooden beams to
provide a floating platform. On this is built a usually modest dwelling of wood
topped with corrugated iron. The one we visited had about seventy abodes, a
meeting place and a school that was built with money donated from Kambala
School, Sydney.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Mags’ new policy this trip is to say yes to
everything. This is how I came to be standing on deck at 7a.m. for a lesson in Tai
Chi. We managed remarkably well with the warm up moves but there was lots of
creaking and groaning as the stretching increased, and then we were soon tottering
and flailing all over the place as the pace increased. Must have looked
hilarious, the instructor barely able to keep a straight face. We warmed down
with a climb up one of the tiny limestone islands. Tiny, but still five hundred
steps to the top where the view from the observation tower was worth the
effort.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Another short flight to Hue in central
Vietnam, pronounced Whey with a light Geordie accent. </span></div>
Another city tour that
took in the impressive Citadel, and a three walled fortress and dwelling for the
kings of the Nguyen dynasty from 1802 to 1945. A quick stop at a monastery
after a short river cruise where a monk who burnt himself to death in Saigon as
a protest to the governments restrictions on religious freedom in 1963. They
have strangely kept and preserved the Austin car that he used to travel to
Saigon. We also stopped at the tomb of Emperor Khai Dinh where ten thousand
workers died in constructing it, many from Malaria.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQrmABIlViWS3_j6dgFOQp8nFUn_EirnZBD21AMIifa_J9HULAoBlrwQ6ueIi4NAqvLERkLj_PMPQ-GPpIqQdVz8tJSRAGHsx8UAsTj4d68nq_1_Pu9d3XXaaEIGwazefrZup/s1600/DSC01348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQrmABIlViWS3_j6dgFOQp8nFUn_EirnZBD21AMIifa_J9HULAoBlrwQ6ueIi4NAqvLERkLj_PMPQ-GPpIqQdVz8tJSRAGHsx8UAsTj4d68nq_1_Pu9d3XXaaEIGwazefrZup/s1600/DSC01348.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We spent a few bizarre hours in a Zen
Buddhist retreat. A home built recently by a wealthy businesswoman from Saigon
who retired here. She receives a few visitors now and donates the money to good
causes. It was a beautiful, immaculate house built with iron wood, a dark, incredibly
durable and beautiful material. It has four buildings forming a square around
an ornamental rectangular pond. We had a pleasant vegetarian lunch provided
mainly from their own gardens, and joined our host in some quiet meditation
slowly doing laps of the quadrant with our hands coated and massaged with a
mixture of banana honey, yogurt and herbs. I don’t know what Mags was
meditating on, but all I could think of is what a sight we must all look.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We indulged ourselves in a three day stop
at a beach resort in Hoi An, bordering a long stretch of golden sands looking
out over the South China sea. We spent a half day in the town which was a major
trading port in the seventeenth century and has a well preserved old quarter
where motor vehicles are excluded, so making it a pleasant change to stroll
around without being beeped at incessantly by motorbike riders.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I’ve observed that the further south we
travel, the country feels less and less communist. And in central Vietnam, the
natives are born capitalists. Just pause at a shop front and the proprietor or
shop assistant well pounce, maneuver you into a half nelson and not release you
until you’ve made a purchase. Consequently, there’s all sorts of tat now being
shipped back to our place.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Another short flight to Saigon, now called
Ho Chi Minh City, but still referred to by most Vietnamese by its former name.
We stopped on route from the Airport at Cu Chi tunnels. This is area famed in
Vietnam for resisting the US in what is known here as the American war. The VC
built miles and miles of tunnels underground that they used as shelters, living
quarters, armories and a means of escape from the Marines and a way of
outflanking them. It really was humbling to walk through a battle field where
so many people had lost their lives and to see the huge hollowed out craters
created from bombs dropped by B52s. We entered a short thirty metre section of
one tunnel and had to squat low to proceed along it. It was very small and
uncomfortable, my shoulders touching the sides of the walls. To spend hours and
days down there would have been tortuous. Only one night in Saigon. Shouldn’t
that be Bangkok? Anyway, enough time for a quick photo opportunity at two
impressive structures built by the French; the post office and the cathedral, a
derivative of the famous Notre Dam in Paris </span><span lang="EN-US"> - and for Mags to enter into a lively debate with a local politician in the hotel bar. Lucky to escape imprisonment there.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We continued south to the Mekong delta
where the mighty river spreads out into countless waterways, like the back of
an old man’s hand, before finally emptying into the South China Sea. Here we
visited a brick factory by boat where the clay from the river is shaped, dried
and fired in kilns for days. The kilns are heated by burning rice husks and the
resulting smoke hangs heavy over the surrounding area. On route to the next
stop we changed transport to bicycle. Mags was a little apprehensive about this
as it’s many years since we cycled; Mags reckoned it was thirty five years
since she was last on to wheels. But anyway, it’s literally like riding a bike,
and we were soon wobbling our way along the narrow lanes of the local villages
– although most of the locals we passed couldn’t help smiling or laughing. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePry5GdU_Stu5rGjd8abMYLDClERBg9wpfNVM7ClBgntvjmsq5N-AF_jFedP_CowNxlYzxUsNKa_rhNQmdzG-sBaKEmLuMri_FyppSCvKJfud2lvdKU5niFz6qx1gsH_-xcIB/s1600/DSC01585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePry5GdU_Stu5rGjd8abMYLDClERBg9wpfNVM7ClBgntvjmsq5N-AF_jFedP_CowNxlYzxUsNKa_rhNQmdzG-sBaKEmLuMri_FyppSCvKJfud2lvdKU5niFz6qx1gsH_-xcIB/s1600/DSC01585.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">After 20 minutes we came to a typical village where we chatted with a veteran
from the Cambodian war with the Khmer Rouge. He spent five years at the front
and, unlike most of his compatriots, came back alive and in one piece. The war started
in ’79 , only four years after the American war, and lasted until<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1989. We also visited a coconut factory, the
area being famous for this fruit, and known colloquially as the coconut region.
Every part of this incredible tree is used. There’s the juice, the flesh that
is used to make milk, cream and oil, the outer husk is used to make mats, the
inner shell is used as fuel, either directly or it is turned into charcoal. The
leaves and trunks are used in building, and there’s even a coconut worm that
lives inside the tree that is eaten as a delicacy. It’s very expensive, as you
have to kill the tree to harvest it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Next day, an early morning tour to the
local floating market where farmers sell their produce wholesale on the river.
Each boat ties a sample of what they are selling at the top of a large pole at
the front of the boat. They stay at the market until they sell out, usually two
or three days.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We pressed on by road further south to Chau
Doc where a respected general who lived in the eighteenth century dreamed that a
female deity told him that she was on the mountain and that if he would seek
her she would keep the region safe. Well, being a general, he didn’t climb the
mountain personally, but sent some soldiers. The boys came back with the
intelligence that they had found the lady goddess in the form of a stone but
that she was too heavy to lift. (A neat way of avoiding the issue by the men, I
thought). The general had another dream where the lady says to him that she can
only be brought down off the mountain by nine female virgins. As Mags said “We
virgins always get the hard work”. Anyway, said virgins were rounded up and made
their way upto the mountain. (No doubt escorted by the soldiers now frantically
looking for a rock resembling a women so as not to disappoint the general). The
lady was duly found and brought down to the village and installed in a temple. She
is there today looking remarkably like a painted sculpture. We arrived on a
holy day and, it being a Saturday, there were thousands of Vietnamese people
all jostling to enter the temple and pay their respects to the Goddess. This
site doesn’t attract many foreign visitors and we found ourselves quite an
attraction. There was a real carnival atmosphere with street vendors everywhere
and people clearly having a party. Inside the temple there were several signs
in Vietnamese. Mags asked our guide to translate. They were the dos and don’ts
of the temple, the “not allowed”. One stated “No superstition” Mags observed
“But its all superstition, isn’t it?” Possibly not the wisest comment
considering we were surrounded by the faithful, but thankfully only our guide
spoke English and he misunderstood. “Exactly. The people pray for good luck, fortune,
health and happiness but they are supposed to be just giving thanks to the
Goddess for peace.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Alas, our journey in Vietnam ends – and
yes, the spring roles are sensational.</span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-7696549729919715732014-03-19T04:25:00.000+00:002014-03-19T04:25:08.692+00:00Hanoi
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizMTKKx84DysgNbjkPuVMOotr3CA1N5tW2UwIqdV5pot_o7VBYhI-PV_AKtkhqOoMF-mBovflAKsFxE6Zi2FKa6Kno_jE5wX6av6BkJg8MO76li_H9-9FUTpn7vNja_a4uwdyt/s1600/DSC01181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizMTKKx84DysgNbjkPuVMOotr3CA1N5tW2UwIqdV5pot_o7VBYhI-PV_AKtkhqOoMF-mBovflAKsFxE6Zi2FKa6Kno_jE5wX6av6BkJg8MO76li_H9-9FUTpn7vNja_a4uwdyt/s1600/DSC01181.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Good morning Vietnam, the land of the
spring roll. How exciting is that!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">First stop Hanoi, a place that I think can
best be described as complete pandemonium. We absolutely love it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I really must read our itinerary though, as
shortly after arriving Mags announced that we were off to see a water puppet
show. Yes, I thought I was hearing things too, a water puppet show.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This is a traditional art form that
originated in the paddy fields of Northern Vietnam. The farmers would entertain
their children with home made puppets operating them from behind a bamboo
screen in the water logged fields, Our show was in a theatre in the centre of
town. A small rectangular pond was the stage with musicians either side playing
traditional instruments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The performance
was very skillfully done with traditional farming scenes interspersed with
dancing serpents, phoenix, turtles and ducks. Unfortunately, the target
audience is clearly children, and not aging tourists who can’t understand
what’s being said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fifty minute performance
was possible forty minutes too long.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US">First thing next day, the mandatory city
tour. All aboard to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum located in Dinh square. This is a
very impressive, very obviously Soviet inspired monument to honor the father of
the communist state. Also on site are two residences that Ho Chi Minh lived in
surrounded by beautiful parkland, and the presidential palace. The residences
are relatively modest as the great leader wanted to set a modest example to the
people. The presidential palace is a grand yellow building erected by the
French but used in Ho Chi Minh’s time for official functions and is sometimes
now used to house VIP international guests.</span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Two more temples (one Confucian and one
Taoist), a short stop for coffee, and we’re off on our street food tour with
guide Tu, dodging the traffic down the back lanes of Hanoi, sitting on very low
plastic stools along the roadside being cooked improbable meals all along the
hustle and bustle of everyday Hanoi life. This really is an assault on all the
senses. First, you have to negotiate the traffic. Hanoi used to be known as the
city of a million bicycles. Now, it’s more like the city of 10 million
motorbikes and scooters. No one stops here for pedestrians (they don’t often
stop for traffic lights). You cross the road by slowly walking into the traffic
and trusting that the motorbikes will weave around you. Keep a steady pace and
trust to luck! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_WuYXfIRXPSxJBf-d9Il3UOBF1_loN93t5Vr2pUDEyG3xRBWP8aCXmfO0sVc1wiXmEiuN1VIzrDyFnfYcdt872p1YD9KuO3nGIDstNZmUE8pBAYRynhJywCvlnkgyJyjTly0/s1600/DSC01221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_WuYXfIRXPSxJBf-d9Il3UOBF1_loN93t5Vr2pUDEyG3xRBWP8aCXmfO0sVc1wiXmEiuN1VIzrDyFnfYcdt872p1YD9KuO3nGIDstNZmUE8pBAYRynhJywCvlnkgyJyjTly0/s1600/DSC01221.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Tu knows his way around and guided us expertly to the best (and
safest) places to eat. We stopped first for a bowl of fish noodles; crispy fish
in a broth of rice noodles and a mount of fresh greens all prepared before us,
with chili sauce to add as required<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-
yum. Next an omelette with Vietnamese greens cooked by a girl on the kurb with
her portable kitchen. She spent a few minutes looking for trade after she’d
served us and then upped sticks to find another patch. Lots of other dishes
swilled down with the occasional local beer. I think my favorite was crispy
prawn pancakes that were deep fried in front of our boggling eyes and served
piping hot with a green salad and dipping sauce. Not forgetting fresh sweetcorn,
stir fried with butter, dried shrimp and fresh herbs by a girl who looked
twelve years old and, oh, what I think can best be described as a Vietnamese
hotdog; a small thin baguette filled with pork paste, cucumber, spring onion
and a peanut and chili sauce – wonderful. I’m getting hungry again just writing
this. Quick plug for Tu’s blog <a href="http://streetfoodtourshanoi.blogspot.com/">http://streetfoodtourshanoi.blogspot.com/</a></span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-16096528688167991022014-03-12T10:43:00.001+00:002014-03-12T10:43:29.807+00:00Laos
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<span lang="EN-US">We were startled to discover that our
reputation had preceded us on our first night in Laos at our hotel when we
ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. “I’m sorry sir but this is the last
bottle of this wine that we have. Do you still want to order it?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Entering Laos was very entertaining. Although
we could see Laos from our hotel, we had to drive for an hour south to cross
over the river at the new bridge. Exiting Thailand on one side of the river was
fairly straightforward, but entering Laos was a lesson in patience. First, you
have to queue to hand in your passport and forms filled in in triplicate. There
are six immigration officials behind the glass who work on the passports in
turn, presumably each performing a different function. Eventually the chap at
the end holds up a passport to the waiting throng and calls out a name. This
usually takes a few attempts as not all of the nationalities come easily to
him. The passport holder then approaches him to pay the appropriate visa fee to
reclaim his or her passport with said visa. The fee for the visa depends on
where you come from – 30 USD for Eastern Europe, 35$ USD for Western Europe and
the United States, and for some unknown reason, 42 USD if you are from Canada.
Not sure what the Canadians ever did to upset Laos but there it is. This is not
a quick process so you just have to roll with it and wait. All the officials
are laughing and smiling the whole time clearly enjoying themselves.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Anyway, certainly no stress and before too
long we were through and had been transferred to our boat for our cruise down the
Mekong river to Luang Prabang. There was about thirty of us motoring down river
in a Na Va, roughly translated as long narrow boat (or dragon boat) which I
think neatly sums it up. We were arranged around tables laterally across the
boat, eight people in wicker chairs around a table. All very comfortable. The
tourists were split roughly equally into French speakers and English speakers
and there was a guide for each group. The Mekong runs from Tibet to Vietnam
over four thousand kms. We travelled down a short 300 km stretch entirely
inside Laos although we had Thailand on the right bank and Laos on the left for
the first hour. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUf9LF6z8fNCO7LLLb_fdkLq8-YJZDlojbv7-w7CAJYepsj_VR8cdF3X-PEOiuQ0bAsu63zO4JSiKZDnh8HtKIG8vPhAOts7QORx3PBAmF1F3PQrH1FrzTipgLVfvlyLB3adV/s1600/DSC00976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUf9LF6z8fNCO7LLLb_fdkLq8-YJZDlojbv7-w7CAJYepsj_VR8cdF3X-PEOiuQ0bAsu63zO4JSiKZDnh8HtKIG8vPhAOts7QORx3PBAmF1F3PQrH1FrzTipgLVfvlyLB3adV/s1600/DSC00976.JPG" height="320" width="246" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We stopped at a couple of riverside villages along route.
People living very simple lives in self made bamboo huts farming a few crops,
rice in the wet season and peanuts and sweet potatoes in the dry. They keep chickens,
pigs and ducks that run around the village under the houses that are on stilts
– very free range. They also farm water buffalo that are regularly seen on the
riverbank. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the villages had a
thriving hand made scarf cottage industry, all made by the women of the village
on hand looms. Mags bought a few dozen.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">A couple of our fellow passengers asked the
guide if the villagers operated a cooperative for their produce. On hearing
that they didn’t asserted loudly “Oh they’re doing it all wrong. They’d get a
much better price if they formed a cooperative. We had great success in India
with it, didn’t we darling?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
villagers have been doing this for hundreds of years and they’d taken all of
five minutes before telling them how to live.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We arrived in Luang Prababg two days later
thoroughly relaxed. This ‘city’ was once the capital of Laos and is famous for
its temples, monasteries and monks. You really can’t escape Buddha in this part
of the world and Luang Prabang is Buddha central, also known as temple city with
over fifty temples serving a population of only fifty thousand.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US">We started very early to catch the ceremony
where the townsfolk offer alms to the monks at dawn. Hundreds of monks,
resplendent in the orange robes, walk in a single file down a street crammed
with temples where mostly old knotted women seated or kneeling on the pavement
give each monk a small portion of sticky rice. The monks collect the rice and share
this out as their breakfast. Some of the monks are incredibly young, just boys
really. We were informed that novices can begin from the age of nine. All male
Buddhists are expected to serve some time as monks. Here in Laos, the custom
provides a means for poor rural families to provide an education for their
older children as the trainee monks are taught English, French, Maths and the
sciences as well as Buddhism.</span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Our tour then took us from temple to temple
where we marveled at the decorative art work and craftsmanship. I found it
really interesting as I’d never been inside a Buddhist temple before and knew
very little about the religion. We also visited the ex Royal Palace where the
beautiful rooms were filled with presents from around the world. The USA had
sent Lincoln cars and rocks brought back from the moon. Australia had sent a
boomerang (and yes its still there). The UK appears to have sent nothing. The
Japanese had sent some stunning coloured glass that local craftsmen had used to
create intricate and beautiful murals on the walls.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEboGQJF38DsDkmyD1FsJPybPR-Vk3zeQSVXULi0KclwAmRmYzljf-lfRmdN2uPSdTH3YOEXBVM_PTx7w6AYVINOdvbkQNlSWX4pRq3VuNZ99IMgY-6LFePF9_uJ5GWX1Hd0r5/s1600/DSC01086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN0KuVuadsISERjNUvTZF_wv_kzCe7cpVADpjS7A4oUqqoZIP1mU8FGY-SeAaebKlHgVXuF1EkZo9kdHj6nbExL8DLq-Tfj9_hJ34pElXhOfOr0XVUn4DkkPnyE90Okn9O3vl/s1600/DSC01106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirN0KuVuadsISERjNUvTZF_wv_kzCe7cpVADpjS7A4oUqqoZIP1mU8FGY-SeAaebKlHgVXuF1EkZo9kdHj6nbExL8DLq-Tfj9_hJ34pElXhOfOr0XVUn4DkkPnyE90Okn9O3vl/s1600/DSC01106.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEboGQJF38DsDkmyD1FsJPybPR-Vk3zeQSVXULi0KclwAmRmYzljf-lfRmdN2uPSdTH3YOEXBVM_PTx7w6AYVINOdvbkQNlSWX4pRq3VuNZ99IMgY-6LFePF9_uJ5GWX1Hd0r5/s1600/DSC01086.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We made friends on the cruise with a lovely
couple from Henley who share our love of wine and a mutual dislike for
condescending tourists. Wandering the streets of Luang Prabang looking for
something to eat, we bumped into them at the Tamarind restaurant and joined
them for dinner. Well, this ended up being quite messy but I think they were to
blame. No, honestly. We did justice to a very fine Laotian meal that included
barbequed buffalo and steamed river fish before repairing to a nearby bar to put
the world to rights, again! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I’ve never been in a city before where the
road users are so polite. The primary mode of transport is by motorbike with
whole families sometimes hanging precariously on. Not many people use helmets
so, on the face of it, it looks really dangerous but everyone drives so slowly
and considerately. Well, a lot of these vehicles probably can’t go over 15 mph.
So in the end I think it’s probably very safe. I didn’t hear anyone beep his or
her horn the whole time we were there.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">A very short hop south by plane to
Vientiane, the capital. A much larger city with around seven hundred thousand
inhabitants but still relatively small and laid back and with a compact city
centre that is easily negotiated on foot. I say easily, in that you don’t have
to walk far, but the pavements are used for parking cars and motorbikes so you
have to walk on the road. We arrived in the afternoon and went exploring but it
was hot and dusty and we soon felt in need of refreshment. We found a wine bar
and had a couple of beers while the obese French proprietor fussed over his
accounts smoking Gauloises, and an English charlatan ex-pat preached to a gullible
American backpacker. Next day we had the obligatory half-day city tour with
several more temples and a visit the Putuxai, a strange copy of the arc de
triumph in Paris that somehow ended up being adorned with Hindu gods.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We’re so relaxed that our brains are
definitely in neutral now. While we were at the airport waiting for our flight
to Hanoi, Mags said </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“I can’t believe I’ve been bitten by a
mosquito here.” </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“What, in South East Asia?” I replied.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“No, you idiot, here” pointing to her wrist
,and we both burst out laughing. We’re regressing into childhood alarmingly
quickly.</span></div>
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Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-47968277974855645732014-03-05T07:23:00.004+00:002014-03-05T08:03:43.664+00:00Thailand<style>
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<span lang="EN-US">Bangkok. Yes, we’re in Thailand and there’s
flowers everywhere. Stand still for a moment and someone will throw a garland
over you. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Only a short stop in Bangkok to acclimatize
ourselves. We stayed on the banks of the Choa Prayo river, or river of Kings.
After a short power nap we drifted downstairs for a little R&R.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bar was promising some live Jazz so we
installed ourselves there after a light dinner. The four-piece house band
was doing a fair job of knocking out a few old standards. After about three
numbers a large, American lady burst in, took the stage and apologised for
being late. She was the singer. She clearly didn’t know any of the band, what
they were called, or what their individual names were. Not a lot of preparation
there then and not looking promising, but thankfully she could sing and we had
a fairly good evening’s entertainment. After a few songs, she started to sweat
profusely (she was a large unit) and said that she was tired. Mags looked her
in the eye and said “Oh no you’re not”, clearly unimpressed with our Diva’s
work ethic.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd2Oq7NQdjrsGWsJVOYR0P3NLJFa2ok3cwRV-gK8OBnEGIAiWNgwZwhL-2D0H9JymwyTKGmfMfZxpAZiP3CfIazlYEqmvBMaWORP77ERJDscYAxbBoNWRbTyTl57gWo1Cavh5/s1600/DSC00786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd2Oq7NQdjrsGWsJVOYR0P3NLJFa2ok3cwRV-gK8OBnEGIAiWNgwZwhL-2D0H9JymwyTKGmfMfZxpAZiP3CfIazlYEqmvBMaWORP77ERJDscYAxbBoNWRbTyTl57gWo1Cavh5/s1600/DSC00786.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We spent the next morning at the Grand
Palace, reached via a twenty minute ride up river in a water taxi. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5yduf_eZe-Rv9R8uhhoKqm7nFWF1oy1dB7uKzmAswT5VL-TmlMBMTeG4Xbqd9gX7LZ9VD0wf43yAG0Qy8F6Sp4uaEyI7usvgvSiJFsUnABBlBrwSf6FQGSJh2-ucv3Zjzq5J/s1600/DSC00794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5yduf_eZe-Rv9R8uhhoKqm7nFWF1oy1dB7uKzmAswT5VL-TmlMBMTeG4Xbqd9gX7LZ9VD0wf43yAG0Qy8F6Sp4uaEyI7usvgvSiJFsUnABBlBrwSf6FQGSJh2-ucv3Zjzq5J/s1600/DSC00794.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a><span lang="EN-US">This is a
very impressive site housing temples spread out over roughly 200,000 sq. metres
built by successive kings all handily named Rama (versions 1 to 9 starting in 1782).
It’s an enormous site. Each building is decorated lavishly with glass, gold
leaf and bizarrely broken Chinese pottery. There are lots of tall sculptures of
Demons, monkeys, Queens and Kings, and Buddhas of course. Demons feature
prominently here and there are stories from the Buddhist religion marvelously
and decoratively illustrated on some of the walls. The chief Demon appears to
have taken a liking to the Queen devising and executing various cunning schemes
to abduct her, obliging the King to rescue her.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">At the centre of the site is the emerald
Buddha housed in the most important temple. Not actually a large Buddha but
very sacred and brilliantly dressed in robes of jewels. He has a costume for
each season, Winter, Summer and Rainy.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We flew an hour or so north from Bangkok to
Chiang Rai in the golden Triangle, a region encompassing parts of Thailand,
Myanmar (formally known as Burma), and Laos. Another hours drive and we arrived
at our resort at the very centre of the triangle where we had views of both
Myanmar and Laos from our balcony. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBp4YF2C7O-CHD6N-9JE1bQTyX1iufwA7D9LPuoDSAlRMgRJc6Dck4vSGVn9P4vPzLLvkl5ZJje8c-_XWx1lD85_TALKMDQONwD7aXU5RBQjDCOJ-_9QrgbrN9N1W7RKnNb9Q/s1600/DSC00927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBp4YF2C7O-CHD6N-9JE1bQTyX1iufwA7D9LPuoDSAlRMgRJc6Dck4vSGVn9P4vPzLLvkl5ZJje8c-_XWx1lD85_TALKMDQONwD7aXU5RBQjDCOJ-_9QrgbrN9N1W7RKnNb9Q/s1600/DSC00927.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We stayed in an elephant retreat, and duly
took the opportunity to on our second day to learn how to be a Mahoot (elephant
rider). If you’re thinking that this sounds a little adventurous for us you’d
be right, and when we came face to face with these magnificent animals at the
elephant camp, we thought so too. After a few basic instructions in elephant
speak – go, turn and stop – we had to climb aboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d naively thought the elephant would kneel
down to make this easier but you actually have to climb up hauling yourself up
with a rope which encircles the elephant’s midriff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s at this point that Mags cleverly claimed
shoulder injury so that she’s be allocated the smaller, baby elephant that was
easier to mount. I was given the old lady – no need to say any more there.
Anyway, we both managed to embark OK largely due to the assistance of two real
local Mahoots who shoved us upwards. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We rode around for two hours upwards to the
top of a hill where we had magnificent views over the jungle encompassing the
mighty Mekong river. After just two minutes riding we both knew it was going to
hurt. You ride bareback just behind the elephant’s ears and with your hands on
her head. But even at this relatively narrow point on an elephant’s back, its
girth is considerable, so your legs are permanently forced wider than a ballerina
performing a grand jete.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Despite our ‘training’, the elephants just
do what they want really, which means veering off the path to eat. And these
animals are deforestation machines. They chew through a hundred kilograms of
vegetation a day, stripping leaves off branches with ruthless efficiency. They
happily ignore our vain shouts for them to move forward. Luckily each of us was
accompanied by a proper Mahoot who the elephant will eventually, reluctantly
obey. Anyway, quite an exhilarating experience overall (or was that relief at
just surviving). We finished with the elephants diving into a bath to wash with
us still on them. Great fun. We walked back to the resort like John Wayne after
three days in the saddle.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We spent the afternoon in the spa, having
booked a Thai massage to try to knock our bodies back into their normal, non-bow-legged
shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d not had a Thai massage before
but soon found out that it involves applying pressure at various points on the
body. We had three options, light, medium, or deep pressure. I opted for medium
whilst Mags went for deep – she’s always had a high pain threshold. Two slight
Thai girls ushered us into the massage room. They start at the bottom and work
their way up, so at halfway it was starting to get interesting. I had to
recite Shakespeare to myself backwards to keep focus. Actually, no need as I
was just trying not to shout out in pain. It was hard to believe that such
small people could apply so much pressure. I’d started to think that, once
they’d covered our eyes up, they had swapped places with a couple of Russian
discus throwers. The soft background music was in sharp contrast to the
violence meted out at the tables. No really, it was a very relaxing experience
and a great way to unwind.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCE7E_8LFgdQ6NanyjRt4txvLRhcCUfOetxvKlV7hDmvXjZH7XegXqwjJM_ssgR0rIiThytrPYdY8O7IQv3xr1pSBb0QucnRKsaR6W5LhXfzJqXYKGD3sHba-1227lLx0ZOVv/s1600/DSC00930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCE7E_8LFgdQ6NanyjRt4txvLRhcCUfOetxvKlV7hDmvXjZH7XegXqwjJM_ssgR0rIiThytrPYdY8O7IQv3xr1pSBb0QucnRKsaR6W5LhXfzJqXYKGD3sHba-1227lLx0ZOVv/s1600/DSC00930.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh849B6n_3XUpjrBq11-sdQ5u67MyjUjSQM7SqEXDXlwMI-22N2I_9U3LTtDCJ5y7iv82glyL6JfyCKFel-P1ay-zAMMv5VitEBC5jtZhxNtmr9FBfooyAL-3bOdJ6CNyG7Vyi9/s1600/DSC00929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh849B6n_3XUpjrBq11-sdQ5u67MyjUjSQM7SqEXDXlwMI-22N2I_9U3LTtDCJ5y7iv82glyL6JfyCKFel-P1ay-zAMMv5VitEBC5jtZhxNtmr9FBfooyAL-3bOdJ6CNyG7Vyi9/s1600/DSC00929.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US">The next day we awoke early to travel to
the nearest town, Chiang Saen, to visit its fresh food market. We had booked
into a Thai cookery class and the first job was to buy the ingredients. Yes, I
did say ‘we’ meaning Mags came along too. We arrived at the market about 7:45
a.m., early enough but it had been open since 3 a.m. The market was vibrant but
not too busy as most locals shop earlier. Our chef and guide, Wit, took us from
stall to stall where we tried all sorts of new and strange delights from pig’s
blood soup to Thai coffee with some barbequed catfish in between. Also
available were ants’ eggs and fried crickets, which are eaten as a snack. We
bought a fresh Tilapia and I mean fresh, as the locals like to buy their fish
live, so they are brought to market in tanks and ours was killed in front of
us. Of course there is the usual array of vegetables, fruit and spices. All
sorts of chilies and curry pastes were available and the smells were fantastic
as the produce was so fresh and fragrant.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">Back at the hotel, we were taken to the
cooking school and to our cooking stations. We felt like contestants in
masterchef. We donned on our aprons and chefs hats and cooked up a feast. We
were the only two in the class that day so we had some very personal tuition. I
found it hard to concentrate with the novelty of seeing Mags behind a stove
next to me. Actually, we didn’t have to do much as most of the ingredients were
pre-prepared, but we had a ball and learned quite a lot about how to balance
the flavors from the chef. Anyway we both managed to prepare a hot and sour
soup, a crispy sea bass with green mango salad, and a Pad Thai that we then ate
with a Thai white wine, delicious.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Off to Laos tomorrow.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaihQrjnH-N9D26FYn6qFE-0Uy_lvw7pU0Lvp_R9Jg9fQVVPxkVKvUhIKiWbL429CC6iKt7RTtKKTe66jsL-yZww72slhUotw7ayIL3LbaKOpPjq9gwDcLxAPmxe5CtriMtf0p/s1600/DSC00588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaihQrjnH-N9D26FYn6qFE-0Uy_lvw7pU0Lvp_R9Jg9fQVVPxkVKvUhIKiWbL429CC6iKt7RTtKKTe66jsL-yZww72slhUotw7ayIL3LbaKOpPjq9gwDcLxAPmxe5CtriMtf0p/s400/DSC00588.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The Cotswolds, where wealthy English people
come to spent their autumn years polishing tea sets and rambling. The age
profile is a little on the high side. The local chemist in Broadway had a
bumper special on Tena pants – you get the picture.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">More of that later, but first Le Manoir in
the outskirts of Oxford. This is Raymond Blanc’s hotel and restaurant that we’d
splashed out for a night’s stay and dinner in his 2 star eatery. It was snowing
as we arrived in our rented Zipcar. We pulled up next to the Mercs, Jags and
Bentleys and I casually tossed the keys to our Golf to the valet.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Well, this place is perfect. I couldn’t
find a single fault. We were escorted to our room by a very pleasant and
attentive chap who explained all the gizmos in our enormous room, although I
don’t think Mags took any of this in as she couldn’t stop staring at the
gigantic free standing cast iron bath tub that she duly disappeared into for
the next 2 hours while sipping Krug. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Dinner was just outstanding, we both had
wagyu beef which melted in our mouths and was washed down by a bottle of Claret
that actually cost more than the room which I thought was quite an achievement.
Next morning we strolled around the beautiful grounds including the vegetable
and herb gardens where much of the food for the restaurant is grown. Not a lot
to see there in mid February except soil, but there is an ornamental Japanese
garden where we meditated for a few seconds as you do.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally,
we had to drag ourselves away and we motored westward to Tena pants Broadway.
Billed as the prettiest village in England, Broadway certainly is picturesque.
16<sup>th</sup> and 17<sup>th</sup> century yellow limestone cottages line the
streets with manicured lawns and window boxes, those tea sets sparking through
the lead lined windows. We stayed in the Lygon Arms, an imposing 16<sup>th</sup>
century hotel located in the middle of the high street. A beautiful building
unfortunately managed and staffed by a bunch of idiots – more Faulty Towers
than Le Manoir – but still pretty amusing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to queue to check in an out, waiting
patiently for the staff to stop arguing amongst themselves. Still, it is
superbly located, the room was OK, and we really didn’t spend much time there
as we’d come to walk. The Cotswold way passes through the village and we picked
it up on our first day and walked to the Broadway Tower. The biblical rainfall
that started last April had finally abated and we had 3 days of clear blue
skies. Soon we were huffing and puffing up to the Tower where a crusty old chap
smoothly relieves you of a fiver for the pleasure of walking up the stone
staircase to the top where there’s spectacular views of the Severn vale with
South Wales just visible on the horizon. The tower was built for Lady Coventry
in 1799 and stands proudly alone at the top of Cleave hill, the second highest
point in the Cotswolds. The tower later served as a printing press and as a
retreat for artists William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. There’s a thoughtful
and interesting exhibition inside spread about its four floors.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We had a very enjoyable evening in the one
establishment on the high street that isn’t an antique shop or café, but a
bright and bustling Italian restaurant. Of course, the day after our
anniversary is Valentine’s day, so we don’t usually go out as we’re petty much
passed the glass of Pinot Grigio and a red rose stage in our relationship. We
turned up early and squeezed in thinking that we’d be in and out before we were
surrounded by love struck teenagers. No such problem as we were soon joined by
several pairs of love struck oldies. We relaxed and enjoyed some live music
courtesy of some genuine young people shipped in specially no doubt.</span></div>
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<br />Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-62417034417768003362012-03-20T11:19:00.000+00:002012-03-22T14:22:25.151+00:00Down and out in Paris<style>
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<span lang="EN-US">Wandering around the Morais, nudging Mags
past ‘cute’ boutiques, it occurred to me that Paris must have 90% of the
world’s population of wicker chairs all spread invitingly on the pavements
welcoming visitors for a leisurely vin rouge or two.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Yes, we’re in Paris for the weekend, a well
deserved break for Mags after a week or two of hard labour in Canary Wharf.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We arrived for the Eurostar after a bit of
a scrum at St. Pancras station where thousands of people descended on security
at the same time. We’d opted for a quick bon voyage drink at the champagne bar
so perhaps should have arrived at the queue a little earlier than we did.
Anyway, the company sensibly delayed the train by a few minutes so that
everyone could get on.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We stayed on Ile Saint Louis, the smaller
of the two islands on the Seine in the 4 Arrondissement, close to Notre Dam.
This is our usual haunt in Paris, so we felt relatively at home. We’d come to meet up with our friends Karen
and Malcolm from Tasmania who had rented an apartment in the same street. We
generally mooched around with them on Sunday, checking out the shops and buying
vegetables from the food market in the Latin Quarter. The market runs along Rue
Mouffetard and was buzzing with locals. There are numerous delis along the road
squeezed in between butchers, fish mongers and boulangeries. We had to queue
for our baguettes which must be good thing, the bread still warm as we bought
it. Karen was almost talked into buying some cherry tomatoes but at twenty odd
euros a kilo, possibly a tad expensive at this time of year despite the
assertion from the green grocer that they were the “Rolls Royce” of tomatoes. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We had a wonderful meal at Karen and Malcs apartment,
which is situated on the top floor in a small quadrangle of 17<sup>th</sup>
century buildings. The stairs up was a bit of a struggle but well worth
it. The view from their small balcony is
of ancient rooftops and chimney pots, the spire of Notre Damn just visible.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Despite our short stay, we’d managed to
become locals at a couple of bars on the island. After the meal, we thought
we’d have a digestif at the Les Fous de L’ile. We’d just ordered a couple of
drinks when Mags elbowed me and declared in a hushed whisper that she ‘knew’
the guy sitting next to her at the bar. I said the perhaps he was famous and that
she recognized him rather than knew him. There is previous here as Mags went up
to an ex Spurs footballer in Cape Town with a “G’day, how’s it going?” only to
be met with an incredulous look. She had a rethink on the adjacent bloke and
decided that he was an old rocker. Anyway, he was on his own and obviously
wanted to chat. Seeing that Mags was speaking English (close to anyway), he
soon engaged her in conversation. A couple of locals joined in. Bizarrely, a
Magician and his partner, who was loudly arguing some point in Franglais but I
didn’t really catch his drift. The old American rocker turned out to be Mike McCready
from Pearl Jam. He was initially impressed that we’d heard of the band but less
so when we couldn’t name any of their hits – oops. This led onto a conversation
about French music, prompted by our waitress. Unfortunately, we foreigners
could only come up with Charles Aznavore, Edith Piaf, and Plastic Bertrand
which got a laugh from the locals.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">After a few Armanagcs, there was much talk
of moving on to party the night away. Thankfully, we’re a bit wiser (older) now
and left them to it so Mike and the Magician disappeared into the Paris night.
I asked our French / Vietnamese waitress if the guy really was a Magician. “Apparently”
she said and asked the remaining throng “Has anyone seen him do a trick?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Non” was the unanimous response.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“A magician who doesn’t do tricks”, she
shook her head while polishing the beer glasses.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com10Paris, France48.856614 2.352221948.773036 2.1942934 48.940192 2.5101504tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-70268219586996703592011-10-31T22:51:00.000+00:002011-10-31T23:18:03.932+00:00Bay of Fires Walk, Tasmania<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUkE-IK4qJgTvtXRBMHN6MOmfR7_YuAUtmYPYyhMZjDOlWfX8JG9lp_1BQadHyMNxcpx5KxdjvelpbUe0_n9GO67zUNRY-YfBfWVxmZXhmItpI8cS8_HHDPFj1iduLkzLXABm/s1600/DSC00403.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJxCPKKD37Z5jKF-U8fqrNzW_oGZMsv0YLJUeT6p_u897vOyZBhn956yECOFcBCndBNo4M8kserep_QQErgTyO7Gu_WlcMuDBFKz2MUQX4hxVUJKeaP9FUIlmEZ1Zna31SUt4/s1600/DSC00379.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJxCPKKD37Z5jKF-U8fqrNzW_oGZMsv0YLJUeT6p_u897vOyZBhn956yECOFcBCndBNo4M8kserep_QQErgTyO7Gu_WlcMuDBFKz2MUQX4hxVUJKeaP9FUIlmEZ1Zna31SUt4/s320/DSC00379.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669794220518050402" border="0" /></a><br /> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} @page WordSection1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Another trip, another crazy walk.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We were picked up early on Saturday morning from our hotel in Launceston and transferred to the rendezvous point at Quamby where we packed our kit bags and met our fellow walkers and guides. Ours was a portered walk so we transferred our clothes and other stuff into a bag to be carried for us to camp, while we packed a day pack containing extra layers, raincoat, water and the all important lunch. Sheer luxury. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We drove out to Mount William National Park to start our walk watching the weather carefully. October in Tasmania was always going to be risky. We started out in fine weather but soon the sky filled in and the rain started. Just when we were all resigned to get soggy, the clouds parted, hallelujah, and we started in bright sunshine. We emerged from a small car park onto a small creek and a few paces later onto a pristine white beach on the North Eastern Tasmanian coast.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The walking was easy going, flat along the beach with a little scrabbling over some boulders. Beautiful, beautiful scenery, the sea gently sweeping in to the beach dotted occasionally with seashells of brilliant kaleidoscope colours. Sea birds busily working the shoreline with the bush providing a tranquil green border and haven for wallabies and forrester Kangaroos.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEKJmWRo49LJ7qQsUc0UdYym9UOdCLqLIHHFn0ddyw4YGMaoqOgUDxFbGk4Zrbak0XnocatGwEKzZg3QC_x09HEWvfeZrtabueM4MEWAiID9-KqBDLIVa5EaTxjXAqcHq7BoU/s1600/DSC00346.JPG"><img style="width: 473px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEKJmWRo49LJ7qQsUc0UdYym9UOdCLqLIHHFn0ddyw4YGMaoqOgUDxFbGk4Zrbak0XnocatGwEKzZg3QC_x09HEWvfeZrtabueM4MEWAiID9-KqBDLIVa5EaTxjXAqcHq7BoU/s320/DSC00346.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We ended our 1<sup>st</sup> day at a semi permanent camp where our guides prepared a hot meal washed down with some excellent Tasmanian Pinot Nior. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We awoke to another sunny day albeit a little sleepy after a night of wind and rain kept us awake. We continued south to Eddystone Point Lighthouse, the most easterly point of Tasmania. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We were in a group of 8 walkers with 2 guides. The other six were one group from Sydney who were old friends getting together for a long weekend, so we were the outsiders, but made very welcome all the same. The 6 decided to plough on after a short lunch to make the lodge in good time to start partying, while we decided to stay a while and visit the old lighthouse that still warns shipping today. Hard to believe, but there are some people in the world even more desperate than us to reach the bar for refreshment. The lighthouse, built in the 1890s and manned until the mid nineteen nineties, is a sandstone structure standing 35 metres tall on the peninsula. Its closed but we peeped through the key hole (I wonder who lives in a place like this?) and glimpsed an impressive wrought iron circular staircase. The light used to be visible from 35 kilometers but caused some difficulty for local birdlife apparently causing them to crash into the surrounding area. With all ships now using GPS as the primary navigation guide, the light has been dimmed to help the birds and this appears to have solved the problem.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfsyEgiXbWVvs_hYTlSuf6KlCvIdwflNij-B02wm4-wf4TW3UciSEXwXCynlFEPXv_vrtLleGP8qpjWY3myi20WTGmGeDK5NABXc14EFo4oFvH00b8DUiiKHYGQaeaYCwvIGq/s1600/DSC00388.JPG"><img style="width: 489px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfsyEgiXbWVvs_hYTlSuf6KlCvIdwflNij-B02wm4-wf4TW3UciSEXwXCynlFEPXv_vrtLleGP8qpjWY3myi20WTGmGeDK5NABXc14EFo4oFvH00b8DUiiKHYGQaeaYCwvIGq/s320/DSC00388.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a> </div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Back down at the beach we collected our bags and prepared for the walk into camp. The weather was really fine and quite warm so we were taking layers off and slapping on the sunscreen. But this is Tasmania, and 5 minutes later a strong headwind hit us. We quickly emptied our daypacks and put on all our layers as the rain and then hail started. The next 3km down the beach took a little while leaning 45 degrees into the wind, but great fun anyway. The approach to the lodge is gained via some scrabbling over orange boulders that capture millions of bi-valve shells as they are washed up, and finally up through some scrub for 500 metres. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The lodge is a wonderful place, all bright pinewood, a long rectangular structure containing 10 rooms and two shower / toilet blocks. There’s a long communal area where the kitchen and dining area flow into a comfortable lounge where soft sofas are arranged around an enormous log fire. The North wall is covered in glass flooding the area with light and providing a window on the bush where wallabies with joeys are regularly seen nibbling the vegetation. There is a deck at each end with deck chairs looking out towards the sea and up and down the coast. After a hot shower we joined the others for drinks and dinner. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We had quite an evening. The other guests were clearly hell bent on partying. The music was cranked up, the wine flowed and before long we had a catwalk competition and dodgy dancing. Mags even pulled out the old Abba Shovel dance. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Next day the others decided on a quiet day at the lodge which left me and Mags as the only takers for the days walking and kayaking.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We were transferred upstream on the Anson river after a short 30 minute walk through the bush. Judy was waiting for us with our 2 man kayak. Mags took the front berth leaving me to steer in the back. The river runs a channel through a steep gorge that is covered with gum trees providing a sheltered and tranquil area. We set off at a leisurely pace immediately passing a lone blue heron. We drifted calmly downstream admiring the wildlife and scenery and emerged at the mouth of Anson bay an hour or so later, past a squadron of Pelicans. There’s no sheltering hills here and the wind was whipping up white horses. This was our bail out point. Nikki, our guide, asked us if we wanted to cross the bay or be picked up here. Of course, we decided to plough on. The wind was fortunately behind us so we raced across the bay practically surfing the waves laughing all the way. We paddled for show as the wind would have propelled us across on its own. We saw what appeared to be two men walking on water near the end of the bay but turned out to be fishermen collecting pipi shells in very shallow water.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUkE-IK4qJgTvtXRBMHN6MOmfR7_YuAUtmYPYyhMZjDOlWfX8JG9lp_1BQadHyMNxcpx5KxdjvelpbUe0_n9GO67zUNRY-YfBfWVxmZXhmItpI8cS8_HHDPFj1iduLkzLXABm/s1600/DSC00403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUkE-IK4qJgTvtXRBMHN6MOmfR7_YuAUtmYPYyhMZjDOlWfX8JG9lp_1BQadHyMNxcpx5KxdjvelpbUe0_n9GO67zUNRY-YfBfWVxmZXhmItpI8cS8_HHDPFj1iduLkzLXABm/s320/DSC00403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669796170695152162" border="0" /></a><span lang="EN-US">We lunched at a pretty clearing in the bush still buzzing from our kayak and walked back to the lodge along a long beach of white sand passing some rolling sand dunes (‘orance!)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-72703450132087375302011-10-12T22:17:00.001+01:002012-02-20T08:54:32.684+00:00Great Aussie Road Trip<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNBFWKI4qESQ4WWXO1TJUuOW66q7y_wjKSF1EPGpngamEweq_SWXGwsIN31Orf9eIzBA1YJgiC1xCQchJxhJhDbjSC7JKDcE8YklI-Ub2KDej7-NUnHbjuyAATwRi4Slmog-V/s1600/DSCF0284.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662718808140333378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNBFWKI4qESQ4WWXO1TJUuOW66q7y_wjKSF1EPGpngamEweq_SWXGwsIN31Orf9eIzBA1YJgiC1xCQchJxhJhDbjSC7JKDcE8YklI-Ub2KDej7-NUnHbjuyAATwRi4Slmog-V/s320/DSCF0284.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">The famous five assembled in Waterfall to begin their epic journey.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Mrs. White - Thelma, aka Big T</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Mr. White - Judge John</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Ms. Orange - Kazza</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Mrs. Pink - Mags</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Mr. Pink - Gazza</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We headed out of Sydney, across the Great Dividing Range in our Toyota Kluger, a vehicle somewhere in between a large car and a small truck. First stop Leura in the Blue Mountains and to the Bake house on Wentworth for the first, and the best, of many Aussie meat pies. The weather was kind, clear and sunny if a little fresh. The cherry trees were in full bloom marking a riot of pink down the middle of the main street. We stopped, as everyone does, at Echo Point, where there was a magnificent, endless view of the valley, the three sisters proudly pointing to the blue sky tinged with a eucalyptus haze from the countless trees carpeting the valley.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We were heading to Newbridge, a dot of a place near Bathurst, carefully booked hours in advance by Kazza via the tourist information office. We roared into ‘town’ and found the hotel standing proudly as the only business in town. The place has been acquired by a young couple who are renovating it. We were the first guests as they had just opened the accommodation and I mean just. They were hoovering the hallway and painting the ceiling as we arrived. We had three rooms and shared the one bathroom that was basic but functional. We had a few drinks in the bar, where a small gathering of locals had made a special appearance to check out the strange tourists. John danced the night away with the owners’ 3 year old girl, Poppy. There were plenty of polite enquiries of “Why Newbridge?” and some puzzled looks.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Day 2 and we zoomed off to Griffith, a much larger country town that is a centre for fruit growing and host to some massive vineyards where a lot of the grapes for quaffable Aussie wine are grown. We drove to a nearby lookout where the huge valley floor below was covered with fruit trees and vines. We walked around some rocks and scrub to the former cave dwellings of a ‘famous’ hermit, an Italian immigrant, Valerio Ricetti who lived there from the late 1920s to 1952. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Griffith’s other major feature was a world war II Royal Naval fighter plane which is perched prominently high above a roundabout at the entrance to the main street. Why it is there is not clear. We managed a quick trip to a vineyard or a tasting where a helpful lady asked us “Why Griffith?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We trundled on towards pretty Echuca, a town built around the transport of goods to Melbourne along the mighty Murray River using steam ships. At one time, it was the third largest port in Australia behind Melbourne and Sydney. We obligingly booked a cruise along one of these preserved ships, the Pevensey, a 100 year old wooden vessel housing an impressive Victorian steam engine at its centre that still looked brand new, although the ship itself looked barely capable of staying afloat. We spent a couple of pleasant hours steaming up and down the river passing numerous ‘house boats’ that are popular as holiday homes. They look exactly like mobile homes on land, expect with an outboard motor on the back, like a floating breeze block. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Onwards from Echuca to Beechworth, a very pretty Victorian town built on the mining boom, and now enjoying a healthy tourist trade, bolstered by the story of the infamous bush ranger Ned Kelly. Kazza, Thelma and John strolled around the museum and court house while we joined a walking tour of the town guided by a Ned lookalike. We also had a quick peak at the gaol, an impressive sand stone structure that once housed Kelly and was in use until 2005. It’s now open to tourists. We stayed in a beautiful ‘Swiss’ cottage where the log fire kept the chill away, and I barbequed sausages and lamb chops in the rain under the carport.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Final stop Ballarat, another mining town, although much larger with some impressive buildings in the centre of town. Not much more to report as we spent much of our time there in the Irish pub drinking wine and being raucous. Next day Mags and I departed for Melbourne, leaving John, Kazza and Big T heading into Sovereign Hill, a tourist attraction reliving the mining era, and then onwards to the great ocean road. Not heard from them since….?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We were guided wonderfully through the country by Serena, a stern but reassuring voice I’d downloaded into the GPS. We had only one navigation blip when she suddenly instructed me to take a right down a minor road as we approached Lockhart, although our current route appeared to take us straight into town. What the hell? It might be interesting. So we soon found ourselves turning into a dirt track. We were in a 4WD so thought we’d plough on. The steady rain that we’d driven through all day suddenly became a lot harder and the wheels started to sink into the red earth. Soon, the car was sliding about and I was having to turn right to go left a la Doc Hudson. Our slippery progress was finally halted when we encountered an abandoned car across the track. Mags and John jumped out to lighten the load (Not thinking straight there as they’re the lightest) and to direct the 3-point turn. Mags positioned herself behind to ensure that I didn’t reverse into the ditch. I went hard down on the accelerator, spinning the wheels like a dragster for traction and managing to turn us around. I looked in the rear view mirror to see Mags spitting out mud. Unfortunately, she caught up before we could escape.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> </span></div>Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-63133669762323629212011-09-12T00:31:00.000+01:002011-09-13T01:04:08.359+01:00Western Australia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8wR1DbHnZijZVdOswDo8RdSmtYuoyXg7V_un_kaHUKqPA7akNmMhm_CYx9Xo38rh2oeFUZH8okUlKON_JkA0BK-6GxmvhTgF89rp-oMSUsfy_9AwPEtkRzE4W2BYn-KBhhod/s1600/DSC00090.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8wR1DbHnZijZVdOswDo8RdSmtYuoyXg7V_un_kaHUKqPA7akNmMhm_CYx9Xo38rh2oeFUZH8okUlKON_JkA0BK-6GxmvhTgF89rp-oMSUsfy_9AwPEtkRzE4W2BYn-KBhhod/s320/DSC00090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651249570657361746" border="0" /></a><br /> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:"MS 明朝"; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:128; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:fixed; mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} a:link, span.MsoHyperlink {mso-style-priority:99; color:blue; mso-themecolor:hyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; color:purple; mso-themecolor:followedhyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} @page WordSection1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We finally arrived after the endless flight. I started to fret that the Aussies might regain the Ashes before I arrived. I’d only come to rub it in.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We started in Perth, more precisely a seaside resort called Scarborough, which is actually in the neighboring city of Stirling. Those Scots get everywhere. The Indian Ocean is framed by a long sandy beach stretching North and South. A cycle and walking path runs parallel to the beach the other side of a sand dune wildlife park that is carefully preserved. A sign declaring that there are snakes in the park has the desired effect of keeping people to the designated paths.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We drove 3 hours south to Margaret River, a small town supported by the surrounding wine district. We were here 10 years ago and there are definitely a lot more wineries, although there are still plenty of rural farms. We found a charming retired air force chap called Bill to drive us around the place with Wine tasting starting at 10a.m. Bill really enhanced our day with his knowledge of the local flora and fauna. We finished up with lunch at Leuwin Estate winery, superb.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We flew on north from Perth to Broome in the Western Kinberleys. We were now in the tropics where they have only 2 seasons, wet and dry. We arrived at the back end of the dry season. No need for a weather forecast. The days are 36C and sunny – every day. We stayed near Cable Beach, so called as the first place where a communications cable was laid along the sea floor to Asia. Another long, long beach – 22Km of pristine white sand. We walked on it for an hour or so without appearing to go very far. The sunsets are famous with the beach facing west so we headed to the handily positioned bar for a sundowner. The sunset was spectacular but does happen rapidly. We ordered our well deserved G&T, but the sun dropped like a stone and was long gone by the time the drinks came. You can actually see it moving it descends so quickly. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We booked a day trip on a small plane visiting some of the local attractions. First stop Windjana Gorge in the Napier range (<a href="http://www.kimberleyaustralia.com/windjana-gorge-national-park.html">www.kimberleyaustralia.com/windjana-gorge-national-park.html</a> ) where a short walk up the Lennard River had us face to face with half a dozen crocodiles sunning themselves on the riverbank.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No need to panic, as these were fresh water crocodiles and no danger to humans unless provoked, and we certainly weren’t going to be introducing ourselves. An ancient place, the rock walls have fossils of primitive sea creatures from hundreds of millions of years ago when the area was under the sea. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">A short hop and we were at Bell Gorge for a leisurely walk through the bush and a refreshing swim in a rock pool underneath a picturesque waterfall. The rock pool floor was covered with moss making entry and exit a slippery exercise. Subsequently, I crashed into the pool in a buster Keaton comedy slide and dive.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The scenic flight back took us over countless tiny islands, some hollowed out through mining, and the famous Horizontal Falls where a small gap between two gorges has water gushing from one to the other creating the impression of a flat water fall. We had a brief stop at Cape Leveque where I had power snooze on the beach as Mags dipped her toes in the sea.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Technology really is marvelous, darlings. I downloaded the Australian road map to my phone (my phone!) so that I wouldn’t have to rely on Mags’ wonderful but eccentric navigation. The app came with a choice of voice-overs to guide me through the bush. I was tempted by Kylie and Dame Edna but opted for Rolf Harris. Good choice. As we approached our destination we had Rolf asking, “D’ya know where you are yet?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-3293886964319711642011-07-12T18:15:00.001+01:002011-07-12T18:19:08.193+01:00Vancouver Island<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO0yIORJgdjfllWVUHZ8WzNbeSuuetTvw7S1_RyGYLPyZynjq8Fya-ehZMdOSj-dsCY-A7KTXn8HhAETGXtXaGmxMr45C9FbSzU58uwPUsgAg0hHbhci7qNSG4s7L46VFVpf4/s1600/IMG_0106.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO0yIORJgdjfllWVUHZ8WzNbeSuuetTvw7S1_RyGYLPyZynjq8Fya-ehZMdOSj-dsCY-A7KTXn8HhAETGXtXaGmxMr45C9FbSzU58uwPUsgAg0hHbhci7qNSG4s7L46VFVpf4/s320/IMG_0106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628515775309173570" border="0" /></a>We’d booked our trip through the Rockies and Alaska well in advance, but waited late until we decided what to do with the last 2 weeks of our trip. We tentatively thought about a road trip through western Canada, but after so much travelling, opted instead for a tranquil 2 weeks on Vancouver Island. All this travelling is exhausting, so we needed a rest. I can feel the sympathy pouring in. This was a bit of a tactical error as the start of this period coincided with Canada Day on July 1st. We struggled to find anywhere available, and so predictably, the places left free had something wrong with them. We ended up in a self-catering ‘cottage’ in a small resort 10 miles north of Qualicum Beach about half way up the eastern coast of Vancouver Island. At least the location is fabulous, facing the ocean just a few metres away. Unfortunately, the accommodation is a little basic and needs some attention. The whole property is for sale and the owners obviously haven’t spent any money on the place since the ‘70s.<br /><br />Getting here was a mini adventure as the ferry to Nanaimo, the closest city, was full, so we had to get the ferry to Victoria which added another couple of hours to the drive, and there were plenty of traffic jams on the highway. Naively I thought the place would be deserted, but the island supports a pretty large resident population swollen with summer holidaymakers. The island has what the tourist board describes as ‘an enviable climate’, which in Canadian terms means its not snowing all the time. In fact, the weather has been fine with long sunny days around 20 Celcius.<br /><br />Not much to report as we’ve spent much of our time reading novels by the beach, occasionally meeting up with the other guests in the evening around the fire on the beach that Canadians feel compelled to make, toasting marshmallows for the kids (although the adults seem to eat most of them.) We have a blue Heron that visits frequently, perching on one of the rocks breaking through the water. It stands on its Peter Crouch legs, watching the sea surface with the patience of Job.<br />We’ve managed the odd hike in the parks, including one by Rosewall Creek that attracted Mags in deference to the legendary Aussie tennis player. This turned out to be a fairly gentle hike upstream for an hour through old forest terminating at a small waterfall.<br /><br />We’re well rested for our next stop, New York, where we expect the pace to pick up slightly.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-56011343040337149022011-07-01T16:01:00.001+01:002011-07-01T16:07:01.228+01:00Alaska<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolFI1Xen4dGsp63Pnpr7-GkCVfPhQ7AVWZdQIv-nesshzf8Cd20dbbV2o59e0SG48ny87Abzb5J8oIahvznGXbqQDMmRH8S01IsmvYcmPNsmIyddsR_HAwprHNpgb0JciXyQB/s1600/IMG_0100.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolFI1Xen4dGsp63Pnpr7-GkCVfPhQ7AVWZdQIv-nesshzf8Cd20dbbV2o59e0SG48ny87Abzb5J8oIahvznGXbqQDMmRH8S01IsmvYcmPNsmIyddsR_HAwprHNpgb0JciXyQB/s320/IMG_0100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624400570077044354" /></a><br />Beautiful Vancouver, the clouds finally parted and we had glorious sunshine. We spent much of our short stay walking around the superb sea wall that opens up most of the bay to the public. Stanley Park is situated just west of Coal Harbor, so we strolled around gawping at the display of totem poles and searching for frogs and birds in the brackish waters of Beaver Lake. We stayed on the waterfront near the cruise ship terminal, and adjacent to vibrant Gas Town. This is a ‘trendy’ enclave just east of downtown that has been gentrified from a once run down area. The hotel concierge actually crossed out a few streets in the area advising us not to visit so we wouldn’t encounter any ‘undesirables’. We did run into a fair smattering of beggars and druggies in some streets but nothing that we haven’t seen in most major cities. The place is now full of boutique shops, restaurants, and bars like a small scale Shoreditch which is close to where we live in London.<br /><br />We boarded our enormous ship the MS Volendam for our cruise north to Alaska. We soon started to feel young in comparison to the other passengers which cheered us up. Its 20 odd years since I was last on a cruise ship like this when I worked on The Black Prince for a short while. I was wondering what changes there would be. The crew was all Filipino and the captain was Dutch – so no change there then.<br /><br />First stop Juneau, although the state capital of Alaska, only the size of a small town. We had a few hours before our shore excursion so walked up to the city museum where there was a very good display of the town’s and Alaskan history that can be really summed up as: -<br /><br />First peoples (Native Indians)<br />Gold rush<br />Logging<br />Tourism<br /><br />The Klondike gold rush only lasted a few years, ending in 1899. The hastily built towns appear to have diversified into tourism rapidly and the streets still have the character of the Wild West with plenty of restored original buildings now converted to souvenir shops and crammed with tourists.<br /><br />After a short drive we set off for our first adventure which was sea kayaking in front of the Maidenhall Glacier. We set off with 6 others in our two-person kayak fortunate to have calm weather and glassy water. We had a great, peaceful hour or so paddling amongst seals, ducks and watching numerous bald eagles glide overhead.<br /><br /> Next stop Segway where we had a more leisurely walk through forest near the Dyea River before rafting back. Again, lots of eagles, a few Robins and red squirrel. The town itself is really only one street full of jewelry shops.<br /><br />Next day, was really the highlight of the tour. We cruised up to Glacier Bay, dodging the ice flows and stopping in front of the various marine glaciers. Loads of sea otters, orcas, whales and sea lions; and a lone bear wandering the shoreline. The whales were a fair way off and only caught the odd glimpse of the spout and tail but still very exciting. Margerie Glacier, which is the fastest moving around unloading 100ft of ice a year into the sea, was incredible. We watched as huge chucks of ice calved away from its 150ft face, thundering into the ocean, the sound reverberating off the mountains and causing mini tsunamis in the ocean; seals swam amongst the seabirds unperturbed. <br /><br />Each evening we’d gather in the bar to swap stories of the day with our fellow passengers. We’d talk about the shore excursions, and they’d tell us who won the bingo. The night before our snorkeling trip, the resident DJ informed us that he’d done that trip – it was very cold and the sea was full of jelly fish. Not great news thanks, jelly fish and Mags have not been the best of friends in the past and this only ratcheted up the fear factor. It took a fair bit of persuading to get Mags to agree to snorkeling in Alaska in the first place. In the event, there was no need to worry as the sky was blue, the day was warm and the water clear. We had great fun swimming around the shallows enjoying the sea life including hundreds of star fish, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, lots of small fish, and some otherworldly kelp growing several metres high from a single rope like stem, topped with narrow amber leaves, gently moving in the current like ribbons of chiffon in a cool breeze. The hardest part of the trip was getting the extra thick wetsuit on which was like wrestling with a heavy rubber blamaunge for 15 minutes, and is quite a workout in its own. <br /><br />Our snorkeling took place in Ketchikan, a very pretty tourist town located on a narrow strip of land on Revillagigedo Island. Land is so scarce here that a number of buildings have been constructed on stilts out into the harbor. Creek Alley, also built on stilts above the town’s Salmon river, was a den of vice during the brief gold rush, and the locals still ham it up for the tourists in the antique costumes of ladies of the night. We were one of four cruise ships that day which must have quadrupled the population. Luckily, we had our excursion to get away from the crowds. <br /><br />Health and safety is firmly in charge here. There are all sorts of helpful, life saving signs on board ship. We gathered on deck on the bow to watch the magnificent scenery around Glacier Bay, I was confronted with signs informing me not to climb on the railings, throw myself overboard or stab myself with a bread knife. Before commencing shore excursions we had to sign liability waivers. Perhaps understandable for the snorkeling and kayaking, but for our hike? It was only a short walk.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-65376564939209743242011-06-21T17:18:00.000+01:002011-06-21T23:34:30.665+01:00Canadian Rockies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZVdZuO62Y3RzYidSJbasNIz8QNAlXjcvs-NRgmogFDIhwCQK0xQBnNUqiaP-scNl4e2wNzpm5pNiOhrRBCkBfJ2hSvtLChEh9zqllsu2X50kIhu6wcOdzf1TmIDNDbXeBaiK/s1600/IMG_0334.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZVdZuO62Y3RzYidSJbasNIz8QNAlXjcvs-NRgmogFDIhwCQK0xQBnNUqiaP-scNl4e2wNzpm5pNiOhrRBCkBfJ2hSvtLChEh9zqllsu2X50kIhu6wcOdzf1TmIDNDbXeBaiK/s320/IMG_0334.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620708612052664786" /></a><br />We bade a fond farewell to the U S of A and flew up to the Rockies (Adrian!). We’re at Banff, after a brief orientation stop in Calgary. We’re now back to ordering two mains at restaurants instead of sharing one, as was the practice south of the border.<br /><br />We’re staying at the Banff Springs resort, which is an immense stone mansion set above the Bow River, built around 100 years ago with incredible vision and what must have been an enormous investment. It’s meant to look like a Scottish castle, but actually looks eerily like Colditz just missing the barbed wire and machine gun sentry posts. The setting is spectacular with the icy mountains framing the brooding sky as white and grey clouds shoot past. The grey blue river below rumbles along at incredible speed including a very impressive rapids section that is confusingly called Bow Falls. <br /><br />We’re on a quick fire coach tour, so after two nights in Banff, we were off again to Lake Louise. We arrived in the late afternoon and suddenly found that the rain had ceased so we rushed out to walk to the other end of this beautiful lake. After 20 minutes, the rain returned and we got thoroughly soaked but still managed to have fun. We have had all weathers since we arrived in Canada; drizzle, light rain, and heavy rain.<br /><br />The longest part of our tour took us from Lake Louise to Jasper, and included the Columbia Ice Field Experience. We’ve heard the word ‘Awesome’ a lot on our travels, and here the scenery really merits the adjective. The colossal Rocky Mountains are framed by rushing rivers, cold still lakes and endless forests. The pine trees are surprisingly scraggy, with narrow trunks and short, stubby branches. Thus is apparently due to the poor soil, altitude and short growing season. They are packed incredibly tightly, like matches in a box, huddled together against the cold. The are very hardy though and manage to exist quite a long way up the stone cliffs of the giant mountains, sometimes turning them into enormous, stony old men with dark green beards. We were fortunate to see black and grizzly bears along the side of the road, rummaging around for food so best seen when inside the coach. Although we have learned the procedure for meeting a bear that includes making yourself look big and playing dead, and don’t put honey in your hair!<br /><br />The ‘Ice Experience’ included a trip out onto the Athabasca Glacier in a purpose built snow coach with enormous tires. The permanent ice field sits on top of numerous mountains covering 325 square kilometers, which is larger than the whole of Vancouver. It is so deep in parts that the Eiffel tower could be buried in it standing up. Glaciers slide outwards into the valleys along its edges, and the melt water feeds three great rivers. The Snow Dome Mountain, standing 3,456m on the continental divide uniquely feeds its melt water into three oceans, the Pacific, Atlantic and Arctic.<br /><br />Shortly after we arrived in Canada, the Stanley Cup Final took place for Ice Hockey. Vancouver lost to Boston and this sparked riots in the streets of Vancouver. A couple of cars were turned over and set alight. In the aftermath, the there has been much hand wringing and self-flagellation here with the shame of it all. Calm down Canada, it’s just a typical Saturday night out in any British town.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-4054037130643790972011-06-12T16:56:00.000+01:002011-06-12T17:04:04.476+01:00Magical Mystery Tour - Part 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx3XKinz7ohPKyyF5khCBuGpIBrMoYnsJt4lExP2uIuAHMrZfIMQaS9YnV8EvGQ0HH6w0JeDXFeqZWOc-3SYrDyyGu39EAqx3t_ZOhLJfklMiNNQe5son-iURbTU6uVCKY9QLX/s1600/IMG_0095.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx3XKinz7ohPKyyF5khCBuGpIBrMoYnsJt4lExP2uIuAHMrZfIMQaS9YnV8EvGQ0HH6w0JeDXFeqZWOc-3SYrDyyGu39EAqx3t_ZOhLJfklMiNNQe5son-iURbTU6uVCKY9QLX/s320/IMG_0095.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617364156769658770" /></a><br />We found our way back to the coast to Cannon Beach, so named after a cannon that was found there in 1846. I’m assuming it was the military rather than the religious kind, but there was no more information. The Beach is spectacular, wide and very long, its 4 mile stretch punctuated by large rocks along the shoreline. Chief among the rocks is Giant Haystacks. Wasn’t there a wrestler in the 70’s called Giant Haystacks, along with Big (don’t call me Shirley) Daddy? This Haystacks is home to numerous seabirds including a colony of puffins from April until July. The beach is a great playground for walking, running, cycling, and flying kites which is particularly popular. The small adjoining town is entirely given over tourism with the usual array of gift shops, antiques, cafes, restaurants and motels. We arrived on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. (How can a day be a weekend?) The place was, if not exactly buzzing, then at least alive with holidaymakers. We walked over to Haystacks and sat on one of the washed up tree trunks to witness the sun dipping slowly over the horizon on its way to Australia. Refreshingly, there’s an absence of beach rules with no signs listing all the activities that are ‘not allowed’. Anything goes here, apparently, including lighting fires on the beach that illuminated our way back home.<br /><br />The town’s population plunged after the holiday, and we found ourselves wandering the coast largely unaccompanied. We found a pretty coastal trek in the nearby Ecola state park that took us upwards through a dense forest of old growth Sitka spruce and western hemlock trees to a lookout point facing the Tillamook Rock lighthouse.<br /><br />We left Cannon Beach and Oregon for Washington, entering the green state via a scenic drive North East, crossing the mighty Columbia River at Astoria over an impressive road bridge. So we’re finally in Washington, our last stop in the US before Canada. We were both looking forward to seeing Capitol Hill and the Whitehouse, but decided first to stay on the Hood Canal near the tiny town of Brinnon. The canal looks more like a mighty river at least a mile wide. In fact, its neither river or canal, but a narrow sea inlet. We splashed out and stayed at a cottage right on the water with private beach loaded with oysters and clams.<br /><br />I hired us a couple of Kayaks in a moment of madness and soon we were cruising the ‘canal’ like Steve Redgrave. The water is mostly very calm here resembling a giant sheet of cling film. Needless to say, after 5 minutes on the water, the wind picked up from nowhere creating white crested waves, and we were soon swallowing sea water and frantically bailing out water with the handily supplied ‘absorbent’ sponge.<br /><br />We were more fortunate on our next outing and had a wonderful hour among the spectacular scenery and wildlife. We had an inquisitive sea otter check us out, and watched as a pair of eagles fished the water nearby. We reluctantly headed back in when I noticed a strange burning sensation in my arms. Took me a while to realize that it was my muscles complaining – not been used in a while.<br /><br />I had a round of golf in Oregon at the Gearhart links. I took a chance on the weather and lost, rain from start to finish so I ended up cold and soaked through which meant by the next day I’d completely seized up. You know you’re getting old when to get dressed in the morning you have to lay your undies carefully on the floor, get both feet into the two holes, and then carefully pull them up without bending. Ouch!Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-65885765601545148062011-06-01T17:22:00.000+01:002011-06-01T18:23:14.152+01:00Magical Mystery Tour - Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNGtku3H33T3luweSD6kL0UiPJ7q0cuuu7zsCn7Yag2szevpdV8cDNtoTwDLmxaxI6NmgxK8sVAq44zVb50dRunsXDpWSZ4AGmuDWKD3hmsxY3sY3069k_FAA4Htbdt3zB3On/s1600/IMG_0091.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNGtku3H33T3luweSD6kL0UiPJ7q0cuuu7zsCn7Yag2szevpdV8cDNtoTwDLmxaxI6NmgxK8sVAq44zVb50dRunsXDpWSZ4AGmuDWKD3hmsxY3sY3069k_FAA4Htbdt3zB3On/s320/IMG_0091.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613288266366609666" /></a><br />We drifted north up the coast and stayed in Mendocino for 2 nights, a small town more reminiscent of New England in its buildings than California. Miss Marple was filmed here (well, Murder She Wrote actually.....). There’s a beautiful coastal walk skirting the cliffs through meadows of coastal wild flowers. <br /><br />We continued north and stayed for a night in Requa Inn. On the way, we travelled through the Avenue of the Giants, which is a 33 mile road running through numerous groves of giant redwoods, which are the tallest trees in the word, over 300 feet (100 metres). The Inn is a little gem hidden away on the bank of the serene Klamath River, with mountain and forest views. We spent a leisurely afternoon in the garden reading in the swing seat, sipping Californian Pinot. <br /><br />We finally left California for Oregon, the centre of herbs or, as the Americans like to say “urbs”. Our first stop was a small motel in Yachats which is a beautiful small town overlooking the river Yachats and the Ocean. There’s a great small fish restaurant run by a fisherman who supplies the produce from his own boat. Our motel had a panoramic view of yet another pristine beach. All the beaches we’ve seen have been beautifully preserved. There’s never any litter, or in the streets for that matter. And people actually pick up the mess from their dogs which is just as well, as there are just as many dogs as people.<br /><br />We moved on and inland to Portland, Oregon’s largest city, although not the state capital, which is Salem. We walked into Pearl, which is nearby to our apartment and the adjoining Downtown district, to get the vibe of the city, but there was something missing – the streets were largely deserted. Where have all the people gone? It turns out that half of them are in Deschutes microbrewery and the other half are perpetually jogging, cycling or walking along the riverfront walkways boarding the Willamette. The natives do love their beer, so there are several microbreweries to choose from, all offering a large selection of ale. Lots of variety and all served ice cold and gassy, so almost a blend between Aussie and English beer.<br /><br />It rained almost constantly during our stay, we may have been unlucky, but given that every store and restaurant has complimentary umbrella bags, I doubt it. <br /><br />We’ve had occasion to visit a few supermarkets staying as we are in mostly self-catering accommodation. All the staff are just so friendly, polite and helpful. Quite a change from the surly UK check out chick. If you look slightly confused wandering the aisles, a member of staff is always there with a cheerful “How are you today? Is there anything I can help you with?” I usually reply with a panicked “No, I’m fine thanks” while thinking “Can’t you see I’m English. Please leave me alone.” At the checkout, while several staff pack your groceries and polish your shoes, the person ringing up the bill engages you in some uplifting conversation before sending you off with “Have a nice day!” Yesterday, I was asked how I was enjoying my stay in Oregon. After I’d said that we could do with a little bit more sunshine, I was cheerfully told that the locals didn’t bother checking the forecast here. Just expect rain every day and, if the sun shines, then it’s a nice surprise.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37474456.post-50589194274712086762011-05-21T16:24:00.000+01:002013-03-30T12:47:34.979+00:00Sonoma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We tried to get into baseball while we were in San Francisco as we thought we might see a game as the local team was playing at home while we were there. First, we thought we would watch a game on TV to see if we liked it. The commentating is amazing, two guys pumping out a monotone endless stream of drivel: “Badowski on the plate Long Arm Lewis to pitch he’s got nine strikes versus southpaws this season Badowski on 0.28 near the all time top 10 for Badowskis batting on Wednesdays he’s going to need a 2 over 1 ball foreskin play minimum to beat that tonight” What’s it all about?<br />
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We had a few wine fuelled days in Sonoma, the slightly less famous wine district next to Napa, north of the bay. From what I can remember, we had a great time. We stayed in Sonoma town itself with has a large, pretty square in the centre surrounded by restaurants, shops and hotels. We had the best meal of our trip to date in a restaurant next door to our hotel called the Girl and Fig. Getting in was quite an adventure. We rocked up on Saturday night and the place was packed. There was no chance of a seat in the dining room but there was the option of eating in the fairly large bar area, if you could get a seat. They had no system for queuing so you had to pounce just as someone was leaving their seats. It was really quite funny to watch as everyone was trying to jockey into position close to the diners that looked ready to finish. One chap boldly moved in front of Mags eyeing up the spot Mags had been coveting for 10 mins. She had steam coming out of her ears as you can imagine. I though the guy would turn to stone with the look Mags had on her face, but fortunately for him he avoided her glare. Mags said, “I’m not having this” and proceeded to ask the diners if we could have their seats when they were finished. One was an Aussie and with a little banter the seats were ours – outstanding. Anyway, all worth waiting for. I had the pork and seafood stew and Mags went for duck breast, which were both superb.<br />
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To travel here, we picked up our convertible and, after 6 weeks of non-stop sunshine, the rain started at the very moment I was handed the keys. It hasn’t stopped yet but we didn’t let that get in the way of a good wine tour. We found a service where you get a driver to drive your car, which saves quite a bit, compared to hiring a limo and driver. We had a very knowledgeable chap called Rob who recommended some very good places and had complimentary tasting cards for most of them, so we saved there as well as most wineries charge for tastings. They do tend to give you a good glug so I think its fair enough. Most are boutique wine makers with a very small production and sell out through the cellar door so, if you want some, you have to visit and take it away as it doesn’t appear in supermarkets or wine shops. I think we did 5 wineries and bought loads of wine, which is now squeezed, into our very small boot (trunk).<br />
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Were now on the mystery part of our trip as we haven’t booked anything until we land in Canada, so were going to set off this morning heading roughly north and see what we find. Hopefully Oregon and then Washington unless things have changed recently.Gary Chadwickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220345235144639585noreply@blogger.com0