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.
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.
