Snowboarding in Chamonix and Canal Boating in Northamptonshire

Mike and I had tickets to Paris on the Eurostar for 8:20am Saturday morning (14 March). The Eurostar is a high-speed train, which uses the Channel Tunnel and takes three hours from central London, to central Paris. The train is 400m long, and travels at 120 km/h in England, and a blistering 300k km/h in France. The quality of the British lines is too bad to allow fast trains to travel safely, hence the 'dawdle' in England. There is talk of a high-speed link to Kings Cross instead of the current 'slow' link to Waterloo. Apparently Waterloo was built as a temporary measure.

We had arranged to meet Kara and Duncan (Kara's brother) in Paris for dinner at 7pm. Our overnight sleeper train left Paris for Chamonix at 10:30pm, so we had plenty of time for a nice dinner.

So, we intrepid skiers set off from home Saturday morning by 7:30am. We didn't have to carry any ski equipment as the ski week supplied all that. But, nevertheless, we had two big packs, and two day packs between us. Fortunately at that hour on a Saturday, the trains are spacious enough. We bought a copy of The Times to read on the train. Pretty much the size of the Age newspaper. Bear this in mind for later in the week.

Although we booked the seats on the Eurostar a week ago, we couldn't get seats in the same carriage, let alone next to each other. For the first part of the trip until just before the Chunnel, we sat together, but then more passengers arrived, and we had to return to our allotted seats. I often saw Mike trotting back and forth down the carriages, peering out windows, poking around in the buffet carriage and generally being bored. But, as I said, the journey is quite quick, and we were in Gare de Nord (North Station) by 12:30pm.

So, having arrived, we decided to go to the station our evening train left from, and leave our luggage there for the day while we had a wander around Paris. So, we bought Metro tickets, and hopped on the train to Gare de Lyon (Lyon Station).

But, to our disappointment, there is no left luggage place at Gare de Lyon anymore. The French authorities have stopped it since the Algerians began a bombing terrorist campaign. So, we were in Paris, with too much gear to lug around successfully for very long. What to do? Well, we decided to get outside and then reassess our options.

As we had left our house in the usual mad panic (speaking of which, Mike decided to hide our spare set of keys at home, and now he can't remember where he hid them - similar to Mum's toothpaste story), we had shoved some food into our bags. So, we sat down in the square outside the train station, watched the boys on their skateboards, and I ate some of our mandarins. Mike took a photo of me doing just that.

So, after about 40 minutes or so, we thought we'd go for a walk along the Seine and just see how far we could get with our gear in tow. My pack needed a bit of kiwi ingenuity from Mike because my hip strap had disappeared since the last time we had used it (which reminds me, I should try and replace it). So, we used the piece of rope that usually goes around the end of my torch, and we had decided would keep Mike's hat on while he was skiing, and tied my pack on so some of the weight was distributed correctly. It made it useable, but only for short distances.

So, we got as far as Notre Dame before we were tuckered out. We sat in the park behind the cathedral for a while. Mike went to get me a drink, and I watched the local police arrest some hawker to provide a bit of entertainment.

Then we wandered back to Gare de Lyon, at about 5pm, and sat in a café until 7pm. Then we went to the main ticket hall, where we were scheduled to meet Kara and Duncan. Well, by 7:30 we were worried that something had gone wrong. Perhaps I had misunderstood the name of the station? Maybe we weren't even in the right place? Well, I was concerned enough to approach a girl shop assistant at the Newsagent we had be outside for about 30mins. I mustered up my rudimentary high school French and asked if this station was the one that trains for Chamonix left from. Unfortunately I didn't know that the people from Chamonix pronounce their town with a silent 'x', as I thought all French words did, but that Parisians pronounced it with the 'x' on the end. Consequently, when I asked if the trains went to Chamonix, she thought I had asked if they went to Germany (being Allemagne in French, but she thought I was saying 'Germany' and with her French accent I thought she was saying Chamonix). OK, granted that they don't look very similar sounding on paper, but I thought I was doing well.

Imagine my concern when she said 'No, I think that's from gare du Nord'. I thought, 'How did I confuse Gare du Nord with Gare de Lyon'? But, hey, my French isn't very good, and by this late stage, I was sure we were in the wrong place. Fortunately, she wasn't sure and asked her colleague, in French! Well, Mike and I both picked up 'Allemagne' straight off, and jumped in with 'No, not Germany, Chamonix!'. And all was well. She assured us that the trains to there did indeed leave from here. So we thought at the very least we'll get on the train and take it from there. See, Duncan had our tickets!

At about 8pm Kara and Duncan turned up. It was great to see them both, and the tale of woe that Duncan had to tell made me forgive him quickly for being late. Kara, on the other hand, said he's always disorganised and he didn't have to be late if he'd had his act together. It took her about a day to stop complaining about him. His excuse was that his car had been impounded last night (at about 3am!) and he had spent the day retrieving it.

Still, Duncan managed to convince the local Avis rental office to store all our luggage while we four went off for dinner at a local restaurant. Duncan had asked the office girls while we were waiting outside, and they agreed so long as there wasn't too much luggage. Well, it ended up being a mountain behind the counter - but we got away with it.

Dinner was nice - just a local restaurant - nothing flash. I had meat of some description. Not a great cut of meat - a bit gristly, but Duncan reckons the French don't have wonderful cuts of meat. Tasted OK though.

After the dinner we wandered back to the train station and boarded our sleeper train to Chamonix. Turns out we had to make a connection in a place called St. Gervais les Bains, but that wasn't until 7am! The French sleeper trains provide you with a blanket and a sheet similar to a sleeping bag liner (like a giant pillowcase for people). The cabins sleep six, three bunks on one side, and three on the other. There is a gap of about a metre between the two sides. A bit squashy, but we were fortunate to get a cabin to the four of us. The train was set out just like the trains in the movies. There is a long corridor down one side of the carriage, and sliding doors into each compartment. As the train pulled away, all the French people peered out of the windows down the corridor. I now think this has to do with the cramped compartments as only one person can make their bed at a time.

I hate sleeping in the same clothes you are expected to wear the next day, so I fished my pyjamas out and had a pleasant sleep. Kara just tumbled into bed, with her head on her pack and in all her clothes. The journey wasn't too bad. The rocking motion of the train is rarely violent enough to wake you from your sleep, and there is a blind to shut out the station lights. So, apart from waking every now and then, I had a good sleep. I felt fine in the morning.

Arriving at St Gervais les Bains, we wondered if we had time to have breakfast before our connection. Kara and I scouted out platforms and times for the next train, then returned to tell them we had better hurry as the train left soon from another platform, to find that Mike and Duncan had bought hot chocolates and coffees. I had a few sips, then Mike sculled my hot chocolate and we ran off for the train.

By this time we were safely on the train to Chamonix and the sun was up and we could see that we were already well into the Alps. It was gorgeous scenery. We arrived at Chamonix and caught a bus to Aiguilles (the name of the hostel where we were staying for the week). We dumped our packs in the reception room, and filled in registration cards. Breakfast was provided too (breakfast consisted of baguettes by the score and a funny cereal that looked like bits of cardboard, bowls for your coffee or hot chocolate and more baguette). We managed to get a room that slept four and we moved all our gear in. Then we got ready for skiing that afternoon.

Come 12pm that Sunday, we were skiing in the French Alps at a ski resort called Brevent. The snow was soft - it was spring skiing conditions. My nose looked like Rudolph by the end of the day.

The biggest shame was that Kara's ski boots had crippled her right foot. So much so that this four hour ski day was all she managed to get. By Tuesday she had decided to head back home to London and stay with her parents and catch up with friends. Due to this, we have all decided to meet up again next year at Chamonix and do the ski trip all over again. What a sacrifice!!

Monday morning I met my ski group that I would ski with for the next five days. I was lucky to get into an English speaking lesson, as my entire ski group was Swedish. The first morning everyone tried to talk to me in Swedish. By the end of the week I could speak the crucial bits of Swedish necessary to get by when you're skiing. 'I am tired, I am hungry, I am thirsty' and 'I am not Swedish' (however this last one backfired a bit because one lady in the hostel (not from my ski group) started speaking to me in Swedish - I said my 'I am not Swedish' in perfect Swedish, so she assumed I spoke Swedish and started waffling away at a great rate of knots).

At first we thought the Swedish contingent were a bit reserved and it might be difficult to get to know them (they were a sizeable number - about 60 out of the 140 people on the ski week were Swedish). But, my ski group were very friendly and we have swapped addresses with a couple of girls from Stockholm and hopefully they will visit us this summer. All the Swedes spoke excellent English. So much so that I think they might be in danger of losing their own language in the fullness of time. It was great to get to know another culture - although I had expected to learn a bit more about the French this trip - not the Swedes.

Remember the huge edition of the Times I mentioned above? Well, when we got back from the skiing, Mike emptied his backpack (we all need a wee backpack to carry up to the skifields and keep our lunch and ski gear in it) and discovered why his backpack was so heavy. It wasn't due to his bread rolls, but the Saturday Times he had been carrying up and down the skifield! Thinking back, I wish I had got a picture of him reading The Times on a chairlift - what a laugh.

We decided to try a fondue on Tuesday evening as Kara was going back home at 8pm that night. All dinners were provided by the hostel, but a traditional fondue in the Alps sounded too good to miss. So, the four of us gave it a go. The cheese fondue was ok, but they spoiled it by shoving white wine in it. Still, the others liked it. My fondue was dipping bits of meat into oil then dipping it into various sauces. Yummy too.

Very close to the departure time for Kara's train we made a mad dash for the train. We left Mike and Duncan to pay the bill, and I carried Kara's pack to the station. Fortunately about halfway we met Duncan and Mike and I passed the pack to Mike and we all ran to the station. We made it with a minute to spare (that the train didn't leave on time wasn't the point). We said our goodbyes to Kara and watched as she blew kisses to us from the train window. All rather sad. Duncan was disappointed. It isn't easy for them to remain in close contact with each other these days and they had been looking forward to spending time with each other. Och well, nothing for it but to do it all again next year. What a hardship.

Duncan then informed us on the way back to Aiguilles, that until now he had been on his best behaviour otherwise Kara would inform his mum. So now he was going to chat up all the girls he could. I told him if he took Mike out, that Mike can look but he isn't allowed to touch. As the first soiree was that evening, I decided on an early night (dancing still doesn't do much for me). This soiree is called (in French) 'The first temptation' and Duncan had chatted up my ski instructor and learned she danced rock and roll. Duncan is passionate about rock and roll dancing. It consumes all his free time in a typical week. So he had a promise of a dance from Kathy (pronounced Kat-ee with a long 'a' sound - the French version) and he was excited. Mike went out with Philippe ( a native from somewhere near Paris whose profession is 'A rocket scientist' - and,yes, he does know about the English usage of rocket scientist) to a bar and presumably met up with Duncan at some stage. I was dead to the world - but ready for the skiing the next day.

I discovered from Duncan the next day that Kathy hadn't turned up. He was sad. But determined to pursue Kathy.

We had a great ski day today. We had a different instructor for the day as Kathy had an exam. Alban took us through pine trees (but I was very careful Mum!) and over lots of wee jumps. Had a great day. The weather was fantastic for the entire week. All blue skies, no wind and slightly wet snow.

And after skiing you can wander around the town of Chamonix. The shops are great, and the food excellent. All in the shadow of Mont Blanc - the highest in Europe and about 1000m higher than Mt Cook. As you get dropped off in the town centre by the ski bus, you have to walk passed lots of cafes and bars to get back to Aiguilles. Needless to say, many people are slow in returning. I was partial to a crepes with lemon and sugar myself (I can order it in French too).

Well, having a coffee after dinner that evening at Aiguilles with Mike, Duncan, Philippe and two Swedish girls (Catherina and Cristina) we saw Duncan crash and burn with Kathy (well, that was how the boys expressed it). She told him she wasn't interested in making it up to him (the fact that she missed dancing with him). Still, that hardly made a dent in Duncan's technique because by Friday night, and the second soiree (called, in French, 'The last chance') he had four girls lined up to meet him at some stage during the night with a possible fifth outside chance. Mike and Philippe had bets with Duncan about turnout numbers and all sorts of things. Duncan was trying to convince Philippe to help him with entertaining all these girls.

Turns out four girls showed up, and Duncan didn't lose any bets.

 Saturday, and the last day for the ski week. Just a half day today as the ski gear had to be returned to Aiguilles in time to be prepared for the next ski week. So, we wandered around Chamonix and looked at the shops.

I really moved up a level in my skiing this week. It was great fun and I skied faster and wasn't sore at all. Mike is always the one to say 'Let's have one last run' before leaving the ski mountain for the day, but it was me this week - and on more than one occasion. I could have easily stayed on for another week, which isn't usually the case either. Mind you, the ski field we go to in NZ is notoriously difficult. By the end of ten days at Broken River I'm in need of a holiday to recover.

27 April 1998 Well, I've been distracted. This letter will never be finished as events just keep happening and I can't keep up.

Ok, I was describing the final day in Chamonix. Here we go - memory is a bit fuzzy now though. Should have got around to this sooner. So, we did the shopping thing but I never found anything I really needed to have (although their prices were surprisingly good considering the tourist trap it is). And, a fondue was on the cards again.

So, Mike, me, Duncan and Cristina all went out to a fondue restaurant. Our train was due to leave at 8:15pm and we had to catch a connecting train further down the line for our sleeper to Paris. The connection was for 9:05pm and the intervening journey takes about 40 minutes. So, it was a reasonably tight schedule as it stood. Comes around to about 8:00pm and Mike has stuffed his food down in a huge hurry (even more than usual) and declares he is leaving to collect his luggage and get to the train. This is a great shock to me, as Mike is late for everything, and if he is declaring that he had better get moving, then it must be nigh on impossible for us to make the train. So, I jump up, stuffing cheese and baguette into my mouth, say my goodbyes to Cristina and ask her to ensure Duncan leaves with enough time to make the train.

After grabbing my gear and making my wee legs walk flat out to the train station, I got on the train with about five minutes to spare. Then I kept an anxious look out for Duncan. Fortunately Kara had pre-warned me of Duncan's propensity for being late and she insisted I keep the tickets with me (they were all on one ticket stub - that is, my ticket and Duncan's; Mike had his own as he was staying on in France).

With a minute to spare Duncan comes bounding onto the platform and flings all his gear onto the train. And, surprise, surprise, the train is delayed for about 15 mins due to 'technical difficulties'. However, we suspect the only difficulty involved was the guards inability to get out of bed as he wandered up looking bleary eyed and we promptly departed.

The driver must have hooned down to the connecting station as we really shouldn't have made the connection due to the delay in Chamonix, but it looks like they kept the Paris train waiting there. Duncan and I hopped on and I said my goodbyes to Mike as he was staying the night in this wee town (ST. Gervais des Bains).

Duncan found the wee compartment we were allocated, but there were two men already there (the compartments sleep six altogether). As Duncan talked to them and I tried my feeble French out, Duncan and I both discovered something. We did not want to sleep in the same cooped up compartment as these two men. Wanna know why? Halitosis! Whew! It was bad. The compartment next door was empty and I told Duncan - so we moved in.

Unfortunately as we moved all our gear in, the train stopped at the last station before the long haul to Paris. And, it turns out this compartment was booked (although it did say unreserved on the door). So, here I was, stuck in the back of this wee compartment when this French family with two young kids and an American au pair moved in. I couldn't get out, Duncan had gone to sort out beds with the controller and I couldn't communicate, with my lack of French, my desire to extricate myself from their sleeping preparations. Kids clothes came off, pyjamas came out, and all this right under my nose -I was a bit embarrassed. Fortunately there was a momentary lull in proceedings and I stepped over the mountain of luggage blocking me in, skirted passed one kid still half in-half out of the bed, to the relative safety of the corridor to await Duncan's return. I chatted briefly to the au pair as I immediately recognised a fellow English-as-a-first-language speaker until Duncan arrived.

The controller had found us two bunks in another compartment (even though I was beginning to wish we had just taken our original beds in the stale atmosphere of compartment 52), but when we opened the door and turned the light on (and, yes, woke everyone) we found someone sleeping in one of our beds. So, Duncan called the controller back, and he checked people's tickets in the compartment and kicked one guy out as his ticket was for the day before. So, then we began to move our gear into this compartment. It was already filled with luggage and Duncan was trying to rearrange people's gear to squash ours in somewhere. Then there was an exchange of French with a girl in the bottom bunk and Duncan turned to me and muttered something about crockery. I asked him to explain, and he said a girl said not to put stuff on top of her bag as she had crockery in there. And Duncan was loudly complaining about people going on holiday and taking their crockery with them. Duncan was a bit cross at this stage. Understandable as it was now about 11pm and we'd been without a bed for about 11/2 hours. Eventually we had our gear shoved into any available space at all and we were ready to get into bed.

Duncan wanted a new sleeping sheet so I went and asked the French family next door(they had a spare bed in their compartment). I knew the French word for sheets, as we had to clean up our room at Aiguilles and dump the sheets in a basket labelled 'les draps'. I nonchalantly asked for a sheet in French, trying to show them that I wasn't a complete English twit with no idea about any other language than my mother tongue. At least it made me feel a bit better.

I slept well enough on the train and woke at 6:30am in Paris. Duncan and I had breakfast, then I left to catch the Eurostar back to London. I had a ticket for the early evening, but I exchanged it for a seat on an early morning train (and I asked for the exchange in French; even understood the joking reply about not wanting to stay very long in Paris).

So, I was back to work. And waiting to hear from Mike on his wee trip around the south of France. He had a ball. I asked him to take lots of photos so I could see what he'd been up to. He was nearly stranded in Italy at one point as the French had a train strike while he had gone across the border for the day. Turns out he didn't have much choice about where he went on the train as there was only one leaving- but that turned out ok as Bordeaux was his eventual stop and he really liked that region.

Mike arrived back in London a full day (Tuesday) before his parents were due to arrive (Thursday). The Monday before, I went to a play with Kara and her mum. It was called Brief Lives and starred Michael Williams (the husband of Judi Dench). It was excellent. A one man show, and thoroughly entertaining.

Mike kept his parents busy pottering around London for a few days, then they rented a car and headed down to Cornwall so Mike's dad could see where his ancestors came from. They left on Tuesday (just before Easter) and I caught a bus down to Plymouth to meet them on Thursday night (for the Easter weekend). Unfortunately there was widespread flooding just north of London and my bus was delayed getting to the bus station for one and a half-hours. I ended up arriving in Plymouth at 3am.

Mike's parents stayed in Cornwall for the night, and Mike drove to Plymouth (about an hour's drive) and got a B&B there. I called him when I got to Plymouth and he came and picked me up.

We went back to Truro the next morning and wandered around Cornwall for the rest of the Easter break. We visited Trepenty again, and the good news is that the woman that showed us around is still well. She is living on borrowed time, but has done so for about a year now. They were delighted to see us again. The house still looks the same and the garden was lovely.

So, back to London for a week or so. We caught a play in London starring Judi Dench. The first act was marvellous; I laughed quite a bit. But the rest of the play was very emotional and not as enjoyable, but very good nonetheless. (We are booked to see another one early May - Naked starring Juliette Binoche - it has received excellent reviews).

Then we left on our canal boating trip. We found that the cheapest alternative to getting to the canal boat yard and then, once the boating was finished, going up to York to meet with Vivienne, John and wee Benjamin, was to hire a rental car on Friday night, drive to Weedon (near Northampton - up the M1 for about an hour) and leave it parked in the boat yard for the week. Pick it up upon our return Saturday and drive to York, returning to London Sunday evening.

I picked the rental car up at 5pm on Friday night. The rental company picked me up from work and took me to their offices. On the way there, the man from their office turned the window wipers on while turning the corner and I immediately picked this up. 'Oh', I said, 'does this car have the indicators on the right hand side?'. You see, British and European cars have the wiper controls on the right of the steering column, and indicators on the left - completely opposite to us. 'Grrr', he said, 'yes - I don't like that'. So, he turned the wipers on going around corners instead of indicating. Fair enough, because Mike & I turn the wipers on in the British cars going around corners too. I said, 'I'll have this one, then'. Smugly. Pleased with myself. At least, I thought to myself, when I drive back home through London traffic for the first time I won't be wrestling with window wipers while frantically trying to convey my attempt at crossing three lanes of traffic because I'm in the wrong lane.

And I was pleased with my choice, even though the wee Daihatsu was only 850cc and a bit cramped with four people, plus luggage for a week. The Weeta-Bix had to stay at home - no room for breakfast. The car had plenty of zip.

So, next morning we left for Northampton and there we looked up a man that has a restored version of the motorbike Mike's dad has bought in a dilapidated state as a retirement project. We took lots of photos and admired their house (a cute wee thatched roof, wattle and daub type house).

When we arrived at the boat yard and glimpsed the size of the boat we had to manoeuvre around the narrow canals, I was a bit apprehensive. The dimensions are approximately 72ft long, six feet wide with about 6.5 feet headroom. Quite comfy. After a briefing by the boat yard people and a quick trip up to the corner and back (just like a test drive in a car) we were on our own. By this stage it was about 2pm and we only got about 3 hours of boating in on the first day.

Early next morning and we had to tackle the first obstacle to our adventure down the Grand Union South canal system. This was last a commercial canal system in the 1960s, but was a dying trade even then. Fortunately the tourist boom kicked in, and the canals never deteriorated to the point of no return.

The first obstacle was the Blisworth Tunnel (note the name for a later connecting story). This is the longest navigable tunnel in the canal system in Britain. It is about 3 kms long - very hard to see the light at the end of it! There is enough room for two narrow boats to pass by each other (so it must be about 14 feet wide). I have tried to ride a bicycle through a disused tunnel north of Wellington, and the effect is disorientating. You feel like you are constantly out of balance and you (on a bike this is!) compensate by frantically moving the front wheel from side to side. The effect on the boat was similar (I was driving) and I often got the 'speed wobbles' up at the start until I got used to the idea.

After reaching the safety of the other end, we approached our first flight of locks. All up, we covered 99 miles and 64 locks (one tunnel and one aqueduct). This first flight comprised seven locks with lots of tourists watching for good measure. We ended up with a pretty good system - Mike's dad drove, Mike's mum stopped wildly swinging sideways motion whilst in the lock, and Mike & I operated the locks.

Lock operation was pretty straightforward. If the lock was in our favour, we would open the gates and the boat would drive in. We then close those gates, go to the other end of the lock and open the paddles to let the water in. Once the level of the lock was the same as the canal on the side we wanted to enter, we would open the gates and drive out. Then we would close the paddles and gates and move on to the next one. The only difference if the water level in the lock wasn't in our favour, was that we would have to empty the lock first, so it reached our current water level before entering the lock. This meant this took a bit longer.

This was a very relaxing way to travel through English countryside. Good fun. On our return, after dropping Mike's mum off at Milton Keynes to return to London for her European journey, we got to the Blisworth Tunnel again. This time, as we entered, I noticed the engine oil light come on. We couldn't do anything in the tunnel apart from keep going (we couldn't see to fix anything, and we couldn't turn a 70 ft boat in a 14 foot tunnel, and reverse has no steering control). We pulled over at the other end and checked the dipstick - dry as a piece of toast! And noticed all the oil in the bilges too. Yep, the engine had dropped all its oil.

So, Mike called the boat yard and they sent a mechanic. Mike said they'd be about an hour away. We sat and had lunch. About 30 mins later I said, 'Well, at least we're easy to find, just being at the mouth of the Blisworth Tunnel'. Mike looked horrified and asked if this was the Braunston Tunnel we were at. No, it wasn't - but that was what he had told the mechanic! Ooops. (Braunston Tunnel exists, but is upstream from the boat yard whereas we went downstream - Mike was reading other trips on the canal system and got confused). So, he went to call them again - fortunately they contacted the mechanic at the crossroads of the turnoff to Braunston or Blisworth, so no problems there.

In all, we spent about fours hours waiting for the engine to be fixed. After a spare part was pirated from another engine at the boat yard we hooned off at a top speed of 4 miles per hour (the fastest these canal boats go!). By this time it was 4:30, so we went up the canal for about two hours and moored for the night.

Next morning (Saturday) we reached the boat yard again. We were away by 10am in the wee rental car. Now there were three!

It took us two hours to get to York from Northampton. We arrived well before Vivienne, John and wee Ben. So, we three went for a walk. Mike's dad took in Evensong at the York Minster and Mike & I met up with John and Vivienne back at the self-contained flat.

So, we tootled around York for the rest of Saturday, and I managed to get most of Sunday in before I had to leave to get the car (and myself) back to London. Come 5pm, I packed myself into the wee car, said goodbye and set off back to London. And then there was one!

I enjoyed the drive back. It took four hours all up. At one stage I was driving into brilliant sunshine in the rain and later I was in brilliant sunshine, driving into a storm. Varied driving conditions to keep me on my toes.

Next morning I drove out to Watford and dropped the car off. Hah! I scoff at London peak hour traffic! Well... perhaps not quite yet.

If we jump up to present day (5/5/1998) Mike rejoined me last Friday and we spent the long weekend in London. Monday we ventured into Epping Forest for a walk. It was lovely and easily accessible from the tube network. It was hard to believe we were still within Greater London as we pottered around the forest. We saw the remains of earth fortifications from the Iron Age in the middle of the forest.

We are booking our NY flights tomorrow after shopping around for prices. We'll probably go with Virgin Atlantic. As I'm working for Hilton International at the moment, I'm hoping to wangle a cheap night in the NY Hilton. We'll see how we go.

Bath and Greenwich

Well, we haven't been doing too much since the last letter I sent. I have been assimilated into English culture though - I drink tea in preference to anything vaguely coffee-like. I mean, you can always drink a cup of tea, no matter how awful it is (weak, lukewarm etc), but coffee varies wildly. Coffee always smells great, but it can be anything from brownish water to tar, and anything inbetween. I've decided it is infinitely better to stick to something that takes a lot to make it undrinkable. So, should anyone ask me now, it's 'Tea, with milk please'. I think most people understand that, although the other morning at McDonald's I got a carton of milk instead. I actually didn't know you could get milk instead of coffee or tea with their McMuffin meal, so I might try the milk carton thing again. Speaking of which, the jug has just boiled for a nice cup of tea. Hold on a mo'.

Ah. 

Mike has finally rebelled against my trip planning. I may have become the monster I discovered Mum to be one trip to Canberra when Karen & I were younger. It must have been about 1982 (can't really remember), and Mum made us run from bus trip to boat trip, to visitor's centre - all in 40 degree temperatures. Perhaps the cycle has repeated itself and I now try to get Mike and myself to all these places. But Mike has finally asked if we can have a weekend at home, completely unplanned. I tried, but I think I may have planned something. Oops.

It's my birthday soon. Woo hoo! We might meet Vivienne and John the weekend following my birthday in York, as it is John's birthday the day before mine. Sounds like a plan. York is supposed to be lovely.

Well, we did go to Bath the weekend following our Cambridge trip. You have probably received postcards confirming the fact. Bath was great. We arrived by train early Saturday afternoon and walked up the street towards town. We found a great wee B&B a couple of blocks from the station and dumped our stuff there. It cost £16 each, so we thought that was pretty reasonable - especially as it was the same price in our guidebook (which is two years old now).

We then headed into town and stopped at Sally Lunn's house. Now, there is a story behind this caper. The bread item we all call Boston Bun in our household is amazingly referred to by others as a 'Sally Lunn'. I was first enlightened to this fact in Wellington by work colleagues. Most called it Boston Bun, but there were some that insisted on calling it a Sally Lunn. Of course, nobody could figure out what it actually meant. Well, why is it called Boston Bun too? But, anyway, we found Sally Lunn's wee house. It is the oldest house still standing in Bath (built some time in the 1400's) and Sally Lunn was a woman that baked in this house in the 1600's. They still make Sally Lunn buns there and Mike & I tried one. Yummy it was too. Nothing like a Boston Bun mind you. The bread itself was very similar, but there was nothing resembling icing with coconut. That was that.

Feeling replete, we went to the Roman Baths in the centre of town. When the Romans occupied England, they were delighted to find a natural spring pumping out water at about 46 C in this region. They promptly built a town around it and plonked a bathing complex over the top of the spring. It was the height of fashion to come and immerse yourself in the spring at Bath. Then the Romans left and the English returned to their notorious state of great unwashness (as non-English people would have you believe).

The spring went neglected until early 1800's when it experienced a huge revival. Eventually the Victorians built a pump room and excavated the roman ruins around the spring. They actually did a good job, and managed to keep with the roman theme for what they did rebuild. They didn't destroy what remained of the roman ruins, but built around them so you could see the original structure.

The spring water was regarded as medicinal during Victorian times, and some people were told to drink 10 gallons of it per day (although most illnesses required only a glass or two a day). Mike & I tried a glass - bluuuggghhh! Horrible stuff. Tasted like warm, flat mineral water. Even London tap water is better then that.

Then we went for a wander around the township. There are some lovely Georgian houses still in Bath (although many were demolished in the 1960's to make way for modern houses - they are all protected now), and some of the finest architecture in Britain. There are streets called The Circle and The Crescent, and they both contain beautiful looking houses (needless to say, in a circle and a crescent).

After grabbing some dinner, we wandered back to the B&B and slept well. Next morning I made Mike ask for a cooked breakfast thinking I'll get his bacon and eggs. Trouble was, it came with baked beans too. Mike nearly made me eat them. He said he'd get WeetaBix next time, regardless of what I say. Fair enough - but I can't help feeling we're not getting our money's worth when he only eats Cornflakes and toast.

Today it was raining quite heavily, so we thought we'd do the indoor things today. Nothing touristy opened until 1pm, so we went for a walk around the river (Bath is on the Avon) and admired some lovely bridges and Super 12 rugby jerseys (Bath is a rugby town - none of this football stuff). At 1pm we wandered through Bath Abbey. It is a C of E abbey built on the site of a catholic church that was demolished during Henry VIII's conversion to Protestantism. That he had ulterior motives is neither here nor there - it certainly changed the course of English history.

There were many memorial stones in the abbey and we read quite a few. Arthur Phillip (the dude Port Phillip bay is named after) is there somewhere. There are a few famous residents there (can't remember any more though).

After that we went to see William Herschel's house. Herschel was a German that came to England as a band member and stayed - mid to late 1700's). He set up home here in Bath and set out to teach music to supplement his income as a bandleader. And, in order to be recognised as a gentleman and move in the right circles, he took up a hobby. Astronomy. And he was quite good. He built his own instruments (self-taught from journals of the time) and was the first person to discover a new planet (Uranus) with the aid of a telescope. All other planets had been found with the naked eye. You can actually see Uranus without a telescope, but it is very faint.

Canny wee German that he was, he sought to gain favour from the king, and named his new planet 'Georgious'. Published his find in a journal and, sure enough, caught the king's attention. The king was so impressed he asked Herschel to become his personal astronomer. There was already an Astronomer Royal, but this was a new position. So, Herschel upped and moved to Slough - nearer the king's residence, but out of London's smog. In Slough he built the biggest telescope to date. Unfortunately it didn't really work. It was 40 feet long and about two feet in diameter and rested on a platform constructed out of wood and rope. Trouble was that the rope would stretch and contract in the warmth and damp, and distort the images. But, Herschel was well regarded and many of his instruments were of high quality compared to others on the market.

Please bear Herschel in mind for later in the letter.

We spent quite a while at Herschel's house before catching the train back to London at 4:30pm Sunday evening.

We have also found a climbing gym ten minutes from our house and Mike has finally bought some rock boots. It is huge and there is plenty to keep you occupied. Mike is doing well with his unusually long reach. We're off there again tonight.

When the weekend rolled around, I pulled Mike out of bed and dragged him off to Greenwich. The Royal Observatory is located at Greenwich, and was the objective of my trip. Saw the Cutty Sark on the way and the Gipsy Moth (a yacht sailed solo around the world in the late 1960's). At the Royal Observatory I straddled the east west meridian. One foot in the Western Hemisphere, and one in the Eastern Hemisphere. Zero longitude. There was a museum there dedicated to the astronomers that occupied the position of Astronomer Royal (not the one Herschel had). But, coming back to Herschel and his 40-foot telescope, the only remnants are located here outside the planetarium. There is a ten-foot section still visible under a perspex cover.

But wait, don't forget Herschel just yet. He crops up again later.

3/2/1998

That was the extent of our trip to Greenwich. Quite touristy, but OK to have a wander around. There is a ball on the top of one of the Royal Observatory buildings that marks one o'clock in the afternoon and you can set your watch by it. It climbs to the top of a mast and drops at 1pm. From everyone's anticipation I thought this was going to be a great affair. Talk about anti-climatic. The ball just slithered to the bottom of the mast at 1pm, and everyone just sort of looked around as if to say 'Was that it?'. Well, that was it. No bells or whistles. This is England. In the States it would probably set off cannon fire or something.

So, the following week I was at Spargo's office in Slough for a few days. This was their technical office, but it is mostly comprised of mainframe computer nerds. They are just starting to get into Windows programming there - hence my visit as I'm a Windows programmer. So, while I was having lunch there with a colleague, I noticed the street across from the café was called Herschel Street. Yep, same bloke. Slough was where he built that huge, non-functional telescope for the king. So, there was his name plastered over the street sign. After I explained its significance to my colleague, he thought that perhaps Herschel was following me around. Quite possible, if he hadn't been dead for three centuries.

I'm finished with Herschel now.

Now, let's see. Yes, the following weekend was the one just gone. We went to an Otago University reunion at a pub in Islington on Saturday afternoon, and then we went to see a NZ band play. They are called The Muttonbirds and this was the fourth time I'd seen them in concert. Good value. Judith's sister (Judith is John Holloway's wife), Sue, came with us. She's very nice and we had dinner with her during the week. She goes sailing too, so we might have found a potential sailing partner.

Judith has had an operation on her knee to try and find the cause of her pain. Turns out they couldn't fix it, but they have found the cause. Apparently it's nerve damage and there is nothing wrong with the knee itself. Judith has been in hospital for about two or three weeks on self-administered morphine and is now at her parent's place. We spoke to her last night and she says the knee has flared up again. She says she's missing John - I think she's been away from him for about a month now. That's a long time for having only been together for a month over Christmas as a married couple. She was hoping to return to Southampton with John this weekend, but if the knee has flared up again, it will probably postpone that idea. There is a flight of stairs to get up in their wee Southampton flat in order to get to the bathroom. Not convenient at all.

Sunday we tried to go and visit Charles Darwin's house out in Kent. The guidebooks never mentioned the fact that the English Heritage houses shut down over winter. We got all the way out there and it was shut. I have a work colleague that lives out that way, so we went for a drive to another big estate house and just walked around the garden. It was shut too, but you could circumnavigate the walled house. We had dinner at my friends house - lamb chops.

7/2/1998

Well, it's the day after Waitangi Day, and the cue for me to remember Stephanie's birthday. Unfortunately, it was the 7th in Melbourne by the time I called her - and she wasn't even awake. Spoke to Sharon for a wee while and had a chat about their wee dog and the kids. As I was saying goodbye, Stephanie woke up, but I think I confused her when I told her it was still her birthday where I live. She handed the phone back to her mum pretty quick. Sharon said I have to demonstrate the time difference next time I'm in Melbourne. I'll need a couple of balls to simulate the Earth's movement around the Sun - and maybe a lamp to show the darkness aspect.

Mike and I are going to head off to Oxford St now. I want to pick up a few things if I can. I also have to give Mike a shopping opportunity as my birthday approaches. As for plans in the near future... Well, we're going skiing in Chamonix from March 15 for a week. We will be with Kara and her brother Duncan. Should be a lot of fun - I'll have to brush up on my high school French. It is sadly lacking. Mike speaks it well as he spent the last 18 months in Wellington going to the Alliance Française while I went to the Goethe Institut. He actually was told by a French woman in Paris that his French was very good. Any praise from a French citizen has to be fully appreciated as they aren't high on compliments to foreigners. Mike tries very hard and I think they appreciate that. The American tourists on the other hand just speak English very loudly without any effort to speak French at all. At least they could learn the numbers - that would be something.

After the skiing, Mike has ten days in France wandering around while I head back to work in London. He plans to visit Provence and the Pyrenees region. He will be back in London for the 2nd of April, as that is the date his parents arrive here. They will be in Britain for about three months and Mike plans to tour around with them a bit. I'll try and join them for a week canal boating - John and Vivienne have expressed an interest to tag along with this too. That'd be good fun.

Scotland for Hogmanay

Hiya. Well, another letter to fill you in on what we've been up to since just before Christmas. We spent our Christmas up in Edinburgh with Mike's sister Vivienne, her husband John, and their wee boy, Benjamin (and their cat, Nuisance). We arrived in Edinburgh about 11:15pm Christmas Eve after catching the train from Kings Cross station at 6pm. Mike went straight from his work carrying our suitcase (which we found easier to transport presents in, as opposed to a pack which operates on the crushing technique to transport goods - which doesn't usually matter if you're backpacking - the disheveled look being all the rage with backpackers) and I went from home as my work had finished at 1pm after nibbles with the Managing Director.

We were both early for the train; I arrived at about 4:30pm, and Mike arrived about 4:35pm (this is for a 6pm train remember). We had heard rumours about the stations on Christmas Eve being really busy, so we wanted to avoid a huge rush. Six o'clock came along fast enough. The journey was good; people were in high spirits, and we had a few conversations with fellow passengers. I kept my eye out the window, looking for Christmas tree lights in people's windows. I wasn't disappointed either. Prodded Mike in the ribs each time I saw one too. Christmas is a great time of year. We weren't allowed a Christmas tree this year, as Mike argued we weren't going to be there.

We caught a taxi from Edinburgh station to John & Vivienne's house. I had only been there for about 10 minutes when Karen rang to say hello. We chatted for a brief few minutes until her pay phone ran out of money. Then about 5 minutes later Mum rang, and talked for so long that it was Christmas Day by the time she had stopped.

Mike & I went to bed soon after that. I made Mike wear his Christmas boxer shorts (they used to play Jingle Bells, but the battery went flat and for some reason Mike never wanted to replace it) and Santa hat to bed. I now have a photo of this giant pixie or elf in his bed! Bashful looking pixie too. But cute!

We got up fairly late by my Christmas Day standards - about 8:30am. The day itself was good; Benjamin had a ball opening fifty million presents. Vivienne cooked a fantastic Christmas dinner (she actually prepares a menu on her PC and prints it out - Christmas Day 1997 .... With starters, mains, desserts etc) and basically spent a major portion of the day in the kitchen.

The day after Boxing Day (Saturday) we caught up with our friends Mike & Karen and took them to see Edinburgh Castle. I found Charlie Robertson's name in the book again. The Stone of Destiny has now been returned to Edinburgh Castle, and that wasn't there the last time we visited. It is something that is greater in legend that in real life. But, what a legend. That is, if it is the real stone at all. We had a good day for wandering around the castle, but it was pretty cool nevertheless. Gusty up there.

On Sunday evening I went back on the train to London, but Mike stayed up in Edinburgh. He was so wonderful at the station. As the train started to move off, he kept up with it outside my window. Then he had to jog as the train sped up. Then he broke into a run, and was running down the platform next to my window. When the train started to pull away, he stopped and blew me a kiss. He made me feel quite special. An American woman behind me was going 'Oh, look at that. Isn't he sweet'. And he was. A wee cutie.

I was home by 11:30 that night and off to work in the morning. Work was a bit slow that week, being the festive season and all.

My work finished up at midday on Wednesday (New Years Eve) so I went home to tidy up before my train left at 5pm. I called home at 1:20pm our time, and it had just gone midnight in Melbourne. So, I talked briefly to Mum, Robert & Pat & Johnny.

The train journey was uneventful (and I was getting a bit bored by this time - especially as it was in the dark every time and you couldn't see any scenery at all) and I got into Waverley Station (Edinburgh's main station) at 9:15pm. The first person I saw was Blue (he's Kelly's boyfriend and they've just moved over to the UK - Blue is Irish but they'll look for work here in London). He tried to get me behind the police cordon (they had issued tickets for Princes Street this year to prevent crush injuries, so all the streets were blocked off and patrolled) but they wouldn't let me (none of us had managed to get tickets). So I told them I'd meet them near the exit.

As I toddled around looking for the exit (they only had one exit from the station to try and prevent gatecrashers) I asked a policeman the direction. Then, I crossed the road and bumped into Mike. He was very merry! He had been drinking since 4pm and as the pub they were in (him, Kelly and Blue) was closing at 8:30, they thought they had better drink enough to keep them going to midnight. Oh dear. Mike promptly fell on the ground, with his head in the gutter, looking up at me and giggling (this is still in the station and undercover). The policeman I had just asked directions from came over and told Mike to move along. Mike leapt to his feet and started spouting rubbish 'Yes, I was just coming to visit my wonderful girlfriend here at the station. Came over the cordon just to see her'. See, Mike didn't have a ticket, but he had been drinking in a pub within the cordon since before the cordon went up. So he had to come through the cordon to see me at the station, and now we couldn't get back in. Well, Mike promptly fell on the ground again (I was trying to pack my bag with his stuff that he said he wanted me to bring up from London but said he didn't need there and then), and the policeman came over again. I dragged Mike to his feet and we shuffled off to the exit.

At the exit we met up with Kelly and Blue. They were still on the Princes St side of the cordon, and we were talking to them over the barricade. We were chatting to a security guard for a while, trying to cajole him into letting us over the barrier, but he wouldn't. He was very nice - Mike took a photo of him with the rubber chicken.

Then we walked around to the cordon entrance, and Kelly was leaning over the security guard's shoulder from her side, and we were asking to be let in from our side. And then, wonders of wonders, the other security guard gave us all tickets to get in. Mike was so pleased he kissed her (but got the wrong woman - but she didn't mind). So, we all went in.

Then Mike and Kelly thought they'd do the haka for me & Blue. Very embarrassing, especially as Mike kept missing his knees when he struck them. Then we mingled with the crowd on Princes St. It wasn't too crowded and there was plenty happening. There were quite a few tents set up all over the place, and these had bands and the like. Texas was the big band that was playing. Mike wanted to stay after midnight, but I wanted to go home (we were looking at a one hour walk to get home and I didn't fancy staying out too late), although I wish we had stayed and listened a bit now.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way we lost Blue. We never found him either. So Kelly saw the New Year in without him. Bit of a shame. The crowd started the countdown at about 25 seconds to go, and then Mike & I had time for a quick kiss, then they let off the fireworks from the castle. It was great. Huge fireworks, and such a lovely backdrop. It was a clear night too. The fireworks started a wee fire under the castle walls.

Then Mike & I wandered home. After about 25 minutes of walking through the crowd, we dropped out the end of Princes St and started the walk home. Fortunately, after 15 mins, Mike flagged down a cab and we got home by about 1:15am. Pretty good night too. John & Vivienne were still up, but Mike wouldn't drink anymore. So we chatted for about an hour and crawled off to bed.

We went out on Friday to a park between Edinburgh and Glasgow with John, Vivienne and Benjamin. It was supposed to be to catch a glimpse of the native red squirrel, which has been dominated in most parts of the UK by the grey squirrel from North America. But, we only saw some ducks and pigs (hairy wee pigs too - must be highland pigs, related to the highland koo) and miniature Schnauzers (and Mike has decided I'm allowed to get this type of dog, if and when we get a dog).

It was freezing at the start of this walk. It was sleeting, and I scared Benjamin by being wrapped up like a wee bundle with only my eyes poking out. I had my gloves on, jeans and Docs, jersey, scarf, hat and parka with the hood done up too. The scarf was up around my nose. Hardly any skin showing at all. Benjamin wouldn't come near me till I pulled the scarf down.

After we got back to Edinburgh, Mike & I went out with Blue and Kelly for dinner and a drink. It was supposed to be an early night, but Mike was keen on drinking these Steinlagers he found at a pub, and Blue and Kelly were keen too. I had a good time too. There was an Aussie guy from Brisbane playing with a guitar on this stage where you had to climb on top of the juke box to haul yourself up onto the stage. Anyhow, we asked for a couple of requests (he didn't play any Bruce, but we got a Hunters song out of him) and we were a very noisy wee bunch in the back corner of this pub. I enjoyed myself, singing my head off to these oldies, but goodies, tunes. Especially Mull of Kintyre. I knew all the words to that one.

Well, I don't know why people drink. I mean, I had a great time at this pub, and I wasn't as sick as a wee puppy the next morning. But, someone was. He said it was because he smelled the cigarette smoke on his clothes the next morning, but, hey, I smelled it too, and I didn't go shouting at the toilet. No need in the world for alcohol; you only need a good atmosphere, good friends and good food.

We hired a cheap rental car on Saturday, and needless to say, I had to drive everywhere. We left Edinburgh at about 10:15am and got to Glasgow about 45mins later. The weather was awful. A huge storm was blowing in - hitting the west coast of Scotland. Of course, that was where we were heading. Apparently I was supposed to remember the way to Frankie's house, but I distinctly remember asking some people directions when we did that, so I had no idea of the way there. And, Mike & I had copied down Frankie's address wrong from one of his letters (have a look at his writing and you'll understand how we got that wrong) so we couldn't find it on our map of Glasgow (now we know why Frankie hadn't replied to our postcards and letters - he never received them). So, we wandered around Glasgow for about an hour (we wandered so far that at one stage, after we did a U-turn, we saw a sign welcoming us to Glasgow), until we ended up in the right suburb. Then we called Frankie, and found we were only two blocks away.

So, we picked up Frankie (said hello to Nellie and another daughter (not Patsy)) and hooned up to Lochgoilhead. Andrew was there visiting his grandmother so it was good to catch up with him. Actually, when I rang to make sure we could visit, he answered the phone. That threw me because I wasn't expecting a man to answer. I asked to speak to my Aunt Nancy, and he had no idea what I had said. I said 'Is Nancy Dickinson there?' and that did the trick. Quite funny.

As we sat there and chatted, a huge thunder storm blew in, and the lights flickered quite a bit. Obviously it hit a sub station further down the coast, as the lights went out completely. We were going to visit Margaret and Roy, but they were being flooded. And, as we left Aunt Nancy's place to go and eat at a local pub/restaurant/curling rink, we could see evidence of the storm, as there was seaweed all up over the road. It must have been swimming!

The restaurant was fun. They were having a big curling competition, and many outsiders had come in for the big match. But they couldn't get going, because every time they started up, the lights would go. Fortunately we got our meals ordered and cooked between bouts of darkness. We ate by candlelight. Very atmospheric.

We left Aunt Nancy's at about 8:30pm and dropped Frankie back off in Glasgow. Then we hurtled back to Edinburgh, driving through the sleet.

Next morning there was only time to clean up, then we were back on the train to London. We made this trip during daylight hours so we could see something of the scenery. Lovely coastline between Edinburgh and Berwick-on-Tweed. We left Edinburgh in the grip of a mini ice age (well, it felt like that) and apparently the snow lay around for a few days. Shame I missed it. I wanted to build a snowman.

Due to high winds (and a faulty freight train at Durham) we were delayed by nearly an hour getting into Kings Cross. We leapt on the tube to Liverpool St and caught a train to Bishop's Stortford to meet up with Kara and her family. She had flown over for Christmas with her family, and her Mum cooked us a great meal. We also found out that Kara was going skiing at Chamonix in March, so we booked a ski trip then too. So, we're off skiing in France from March 15-23.

We got home at about 1:30am. Tuckered out wee things. Work got us back into the swing of things.

Dave Holloway (John's younger brother) has been dossing with us since that Monday. He wants to work here in London for a while and is sorting out his life. He came over for the wedding, and stayed. He studied law and economics and has been out of varsity for a year or two. He should do well here in London.

We went to Cambridge at the weekend and visited a friend called Liz Hale. She was in Cambridge over the Christmas/New Year period visiting her father. Her father is a professor at Otago, but is on sabbatical here in Cambridge. We went into the Cambridge University Press and we found her father's book there. Liz is studying her PhD in English Lit at a Boston University. Mike flatted with her in Wellington for a while.

We had gorgeous weather in Cambridge. Unseasonal warm weather. Apparently it's confusing the hedgehogs. They think their hibernation is over. They're going to be cross in a few days when the bad weather kicks in. Cross, and stiff with the cold. The blossoms are out too. We'll send you a few photos of Cambridge when I get around to sending a snail mail to you all.

That's just about up-to-date now. The last few days I've been working from home and trying to get some administrative tasks done (like getting a National Insurance number, getting registered with a GP etc). These sorts of things take forever in this country. Getting a hair cut is a lot easier than getting a doctor's appointment. You can only go to a GP in your residential zone, and only if they are accepting new patients. And appointments? Well, I wouldn't want to be dying. I've been trying since Monday to get one, and I finally found a doctor that said they'd see me, and that's for Friday evening. I could have dies by then. I'm a bit worried about getting a referral to a specialist for my last melanoma checkup. I'll probably be on the waiting list for 5 years. We want to go to Bath this weekend. I intend to see parts of Britain before the tourist hordes descend on the country in May/June. I'd like to go to Lyme Regis, on the coast near Weymouth, as that is a huge fossil region of England. I want to see Liverpool too. And the Newcastle area. And York. And Stratford-on-Avon. Not to mention Ireland and Scotland. Then there's the weekend trips to The Netherlands, Belgium, Denmark and Sweden. All viable weekend options.