Monday, July 31, 2000
Elton John in Hyde Park
On the 27th of July, we went to see Elton John playing in Hyde Park. I went thinking it was going to be dreadful (some old has-been croaking out rubbish) and Mike thought it would be OK. However, Elton sang all his golden oldies, and I really enjoyed hearing them. And Mike thought it was a boring old has-been going through the motions. So there you go. Talk to me if you want to hear a reasonable review, talk to our friend Grant if you want to hear that it was the best concert in the world, and talk to Mike if you want to hear that Elton should retire before he damages people's ears. Hyde Park was an outside venue, and we had the best evening for it.
Saturday, July 29, 2000
Buying our Lindsay Crooks painting
On 29th July, Shona and Sharon's birthday, I had planned to chat with Shona on Yahoo Chat. Unfortunately, although I now know she was logged on when I got there, it wasn't for another half an hour that I found her. I said one sentence (along the lines of 'Have you been logged on long?') and she replied (roughly 'What do you mean?') and disappeared. I later found out she had an appointment elsewhere. But I was cross I hadn't figured out how to find her sooner. Still, we will find a better way to chat and catch up again. I then tried ringing them both to wish them a happy birthday, but had no luck in that department either.
So, Mike and I pottered around until early afternoon, then headed up the A40 to Balsall Common near Birmingham. I had seen an article in NZ News UK that said this art gallery was displaying pictures from a Dunedin artist until the end of July. As this was our only free weekend, I snapped it up and said we had to visit the exhibition. Well, it had finished by the time we got there, but the pictures were still in the gallery (just not all on display anymore). So the owner fished them out and placed them around.
We had a good old chat with the owner. He had a friend bring back a picture from Dunedin by Lindsay Crooks and had decied to see if Lindsay Crooks would have an exhibition in his gallery. He must have agreed, as the pictures we were seeing was the result of that exchange. The exhibition was all on one theme - beach culture. And we ended up buying a pastel of Lawyers Head, and an oil of the hot salt water pool. In a years time, we have to get the oil varnished (this process probably has a technical term, but I don't know it. When the art gallery owner was saying we needed to do this, he said we could varnish it ourselves. I was pleased to see Mike cringe at the thought too. I had visions of the Mr Bean movie - where, if you've seen it, Mr Bean accidentally wipes the face off Whistler's Mother (a famous American painting) and he paints it back on with a paint-by-numbers set of something. There was no way I was going to wipe anything over any artwork.
So, we have made a note in our diaries to take the painting back at the end of July 2001 to get done professionally. And we will also get a new frame at the same time. The current frame was a freebie for the exhibition. Mike has seen a blue-ish frame he wants to get for it as the most striking thing about the picture is the brilliant blues of a Dunedin summer day (just as I remember the bright days down at the hot salt water pool when I was younger. I especially remember the blue sea in the old pool, over the wall. The kelp would move when the waves broke over the old crumbling concrete walls, the wavetops brilliant white against the deep blue pool. I remember seeing little octopuses in there once. This is where I learned how to snorkel - Moana pool didn't allow snorkelling, but the Salt Water Pool did. Much better place to learn than St Clair surf beach! Snorkelling and surf did not go well together.). The pastel of Lawyers Head is very nice, and hanging in our hallway now. It has brilliant greens in it and a different feel.
So, Mike and I pottered around until early afternoon, then headed up the A40 to Balsall Common near Birmingham. I had seen an article in NZ News UK that said this art gallery was displaying pictures from a Dunedin artist until the end of July. As this was our only free weekend, I snapped it up and said we had to visit the exhibition. Well, it had finished by the time we got there, but the pictures were still in the gallery (just not all on display anymore). So the owner fished them out and placed them around.
We had a good old chat with the owner. He had a friend bring back a picture from Dunedin by Lindsay Crooks and had decied to see if Lindsay Crooks would have an exhibition in his gallery. He must have agreed, as the pictures we were seeing was the result of that exchange. The exhibition was all on one theme - beach culture. And we ended up buying a pastel of Lawyers Head, and an oil of the hot salt water pool. In a years time, we have to get the oil varnished (this process probably has a technical term, but I don't know it. When the art gallery owner was saying we needed to do this, he said we could varnish it ourselves. I was pleased to see Mike cringe at the thought too. I had visions of the Mr Bean movie - where, if you've seen it, Mr Bean accidentally wipes the face off Whistler's Mother (a famous American painting) and he paints it back on with a paint-by-numbers set of something. There was no way I was going to wipe anything over any artwork.
So, we have made a note in our diaries to take the painting back at the end of July 2001 to get done professionally. And we will also get a new frame at the same time. The current frame was a freebie for the exhibition. Mike has seen a blue-ish frame he wants to get for it as the most striking thing about the picture is the brilliant blues of a Dunedin summer day (just as I remember the bright days down at the hot salt water pool when I was younger. I especially remember the blue sea in the old pool, over the wall. The kelp would move when the waves broke over the old crumbling concrete walls, the wavetops brilliant white against the deep blue pool. I remember seeing little octopuses in there once. This is where I learned how to snorkel - Moana pool didn't allow snorkelling, but the Salt Water Pool did. Much better place to learn than St Clair surf beach! Snorkelling and surf did not go well together.). The pastel of Lawyers Head is very nice, and hanging in our hallway now. It has brilliant greens in it and a different feel.
Sunday, July 16, 2000
Sachsenring MotoGP
Here is the tale of our German GP holiday....
Considering our early departure from the German 500cc GP at Sachsenring 2 years previously, we decided to give ourselves ample time to not only see the end of the race on Sunday (yes! we had to leave that early to catch our flight in Berlin that we missed the end of the race - and a good thing too, as we only met our flight with ten minutes to spare.), but enjoy the driving and meet up with Anja in Leipzig. So, I had my last day at BUPA on Thursday, and I left early (5pm) to catch the bus to Heathrow.
I stood waiting on one side of the street for half an hour before the bus arrived and promptly realised I was on the wrong side of the street. Fortunately I had half an hour contingency which I ended up using. I crossed the road and waited another five minutes before the bus came. I then meandered through the suburbs of outer London until I arrived at Heathrow Terminal 1. I was only about ten minutes later than Mike. And he had to carry both our packs from Hammersmith. Fortunately BA allowed him to check both packs and reserve my seat. So I had an express check-in.
We sat around in the departure lounge for a while, before boarding our pleasant 90 minute flight to Berlin. Berlin Tegel airport seems quite small so I'm not sure how much air traffic it services. But our bags were quick to arrive after our stamp in our passports, and we were heading to the Hertz counter quickly.
My brain had not switched into German as yet, so we got our car (a BMW 520i) in English. Within half an hour we were packed and edging out of the multi story carpark following the 'Ausgang' sign (German for exit). Mike's first attempt at clutch manoeuvres sent the car hurtling forward - it not having a gearbox like a 1983 VW Transporter van. But he was soon making smooth transitions (and in fact had difficulty with der Bus's clutch next time he drove it as it was nothing like a BMW's gearbox!!), and after switching the GPS navigation system into English, we were off down a motorway heading south.
The car was not quite as filled with electronic gadgets as the Mercedes 230 E class we had two years ago, but nevertheless it had:
GPS (Global Positioning System - can tell you where exactly you are, and advise on how you should get to where you want to be) TV (yes, but it would only work when you were stationary) Heated seats Sonar for reversing (it would beep slowly and increase in frequency the closer you got to an obstacle)
But horror or horrors it had no CD player. So our clutch of CDs were relegated to the boot (and that was cavernous! - it could swallow two packs in a single gulp and still have room to chew!).
We quickly drove down the autobahns of the former East German and entered Leipzig's outer suburbs around midnight. We had half an idea to find a hotel of some description for tonight, as the next few days were going to be in a tent. It seemed a good idea to have some trappings of civilisation in the form of a shower most especially. But, as it was so late, and we had no idea where any hotels were, our search ended up fruitless. So, after travelling through quite a lot of suburban Leipzig and fooling the GPS when we encountered temporarily blocked off roads that she (the GPS had a lovely calm English accent and would issue commands like 'Right Turn Ahead' and the dreaded 'Please make a U turn' which meant we were able to confuse her) knew nothing about, we decided to head out of Leipzig and find a pleasant field to kip in.
In the end we thoroughly explored all of Leipzig (not entirely voluntary) and whenever we visited it during the next few days, Mike & I were usually filled with a sense of deja vu. By the time we had found a corn field 20 minutes south of Leipzig, it was around 3am! So, we pulled into a dirt track just off the road, and fell into coma-like sleep.
We didn't wake until around 8am due to sleep deprivation; and that was in spite of daylight entering the car from around 5am! The plan for the day was to wander around Leipzig at our leisure, checking out the tourist sites/sights and then leave for Sachsenring in the late afternoon (still another 120kms away) pitch the tent and enjoy the meet.
We got into Leipzig and parked the car. We had fun and games with the ticket vending machines on the road, so we abandoned that idea (although I noticed locals having no problems with getting their tickets - I was sure I could understand the machine and it seemed straightforward, but obviously some quirk evaded my German comprehension) and parked in a Parkhaus (a multi-storey carpark). We had breakfast in a bakery where I tried my first German for the weekend and told the woman serving that Germany had the best bread in Europe. I failed to get much beyond that level unfortunately - English was still trying to creep in. She didn't speak any English, so Mike and I didn't converse much beyond that. Mike asked for a bread roll called an 'Angebot' and learned that that was the German word for 'Special'. But he liked it anyway. And they do coffee how I like it. Not too strong.
Our first stop after taking care of the hunger pangs was the Leipzig ADAC centre( this is the equivalent of the AA, or the RACV, and it's who we have our road coverage with - cheaper than British AA rates) to replace Mike's ADAC membership card. The man serving us was very keen to speak English, so I abandoned my German again.
The rest of the day we wandered around seeing how Leipzig was trying to catch up with West German cities. We aren't really in a position to comment on how well it's doing for the locals. But Mike's observation was that all the shops were western shops, with western prices, and obviously the cheap state-run department stores were long gone. As east Germany still gets paid less on average, it seems that there must be a gap between people that can afford to shop in the big stores, and others that must find it difficult to find goods within their price bracket. Apparently some people think they were better off under the old regime, with cheaper prices and strong community spirit (this from Anja's friend who has lived in Leipzig for two years).
I bought Karen's birthday present for her 30th in a shop here. It was a huge wooden pepper mill, and it was gift wrapped for us. So we carried that around in our backpack. I wish I had got one for myself. Nothing else was bought, but we found various places of interest from our Lonely Planet guidebook.
We visited the Stasi museum. The Stasi being the secret police during the East German regime. They had procedures for reading everyone's mail, and bugs for listening and all sorts of propaganda. It was a shame it was all in German, as Mike & I found it hard to get specifics. There was a huge mound of papier-mâché that was the remainder of documents shredded with the collapse of the wall. You could souvenir some if you wished.
Around 3pm we left for the rest of the journey down to the GP campsite. A glitch in following the GPS woman's instructions (there were road works she knew nothing about on the autobahn) meant we had come off the autobahn, and were wandering around roads trying to get back on. We stopped to get maps out of the boot of the campsite area (still a good 80 kms away), and figure things out, when I looked up and saw a Formula 1 hotel. Now, Mike & I have used these quite a lot in our travels, and we knew what to expect. So, we abandoned the idea of a night in a tent and booked ourselves in the Formula 1 for Friday night. A TV meant we could watch some German television, and I watched The Simpsons in German. This is when my brain finally switched to German. After a nice shower, Mike & I went to track down some dinner. There was a local restaurant called 'The Hut' as it was a small wooden building with a bar and takeaway attached. We ate in - Mike had a steak, and I had a gulash with noodles.
It was a real local hangout. Some people were playing cards in the back table, and were joined at times by others they knew. And the rest were tourists like us.
Afterwards we walked through the village we were in, and found a cute wee cat (Mike played with him and he followed us for a bit), and an awesome cemetery with cryptic German messages on the gate and some headstones. We still have no idea what they were about - fees we now suspect. The churchyard had recently been maintained and still looked like there was work in progress. We walked back to the F1 and had an enjoyable sleep.
Next morning, after another shower (to last us till Sunday evening), we were off. We ended up in a 'Stau' - the German word for a traffic jam. It was huge. It took us ages to negotiate about 10 kms (it must have been a good 1.5 hours). But, we arrived safely in Sachsenring, paid DM80 to get a campsite (outrageous price), pitched the tent away from the hustle and bustle, and wandered in to the circuit around 11am.
We found our grandstand seats - it was the same place as two years ago. We were very happy given the difficulty of getting tickets. We met a nice man called Alex who sat close by. I started talking German to him but he said we could switch to English (my German isn't that great obviously). But I was chuffed when he asked if I was Dutch or French. It seems to me that because I was trying to speak German, he assumed I was anything but English. We always get mistaken for English in Europe (and Australian in the UK, English in the States (and at Christmas, English in Australia!!)), so it was nice to be asked something else. Mind you, in saying that, we have been asked on several occasions if we were German when we tried out our French in France! And depending on our level of stupidity at the time (did we cut someone off while driving, have we complained about something etc), we might just say 'Yes'. So, it means that New Zealanders never get blamed for anything wherever they go. Cool, eh?
Around lunchtime, Mike set off to get food. He does this quite well in Germany. He came back with a gulash for me, and a meat sandwich for himself. I had two spoonfuls of gulash and found a dead fly swimming in it. All I can say is, I'm glad I saw it. I showed Mike, and he flicked it out, after showing the Germans sitting behind us. He understood their 'Fliege in dem Gulash' comment well enough. I lost my appetite for it after that, but Mike counted the fly's remaining legs, and safe in the knowledge all six were present, he ate the rest. His meat sandwich was pretty bad too. I chose my own food for the rest of the weekend, so I could inspect the premises.
We watched qualifying, and then wandered around the circuit. I decided a fish sandwich place looked good - and it was! We ate it next to a display of old bikes behind a fence. We met up with this man who spoke next to no English, as he had spoken to us about 30 minutes before when we were wandering around. He was from the local Sachsenring area. He had access to a private area, and got us invited in. Mike got a book from a South African motorcycle rider from the early 70s who was present signing and selling his book. We also got a closer look at some older racing bikes from about 1964 to 1974.
This German fellow was a bit of a laugh, and my German was pushed quite a lot. He said that in a hundred years everyone will be speaking English. He also said that Russian was not a language, but it was a sore throat. I was pleased with myself for understanding that. He also said that the East Germans never had any money under the Russians, and that they all wanted what the English had (I'm wasn't 100% sure exactly what they wanted - whether it was just money or the language or what?).
After leaving there, we hopped on the Ferris wheel. It was virtually empty, but they put another older couple in with us, and I was a bit disappointed (looking forward to a romantic Ferris wheel ride with Mike - nice weather, great view, lots of cuddles). However, I started talking to them in German, and they spoke a little English. So we had a conversation mixing the two languages. They too were locals, and just coming in for the evening to see the festivities. They said they had no problem with the event being held there, which was encouraging (the other man had also said the same thing). When we got off the ride, we chatted a bit more, and they invited us to come and stay with them in two years time for the GP there (they were going to be away next year). We exchanged addresses, and we will write to them (perhaps I should practise my German a bit more).
We slowly wandered back to the tent and I was quite pleased we were snuggling down by 11pm. Mike would have preferred staying up and socialising, but I had just the right amount of time out and about. It would just start to get messy after that. Our site was actually in the carpark(others had camped here too), but that meant it was really quiet there. We could hardly hear the stereos of the main campsite, and we fell asleep very quickly.
As we were in the carpark, people began arriving early for Sunday's racing. 6:30am, and it was filling up around our tent. I got up around 7am, and slowly convinced Mike to get up. He was so cute with his tousled hair. Being in the carpark meant we had no facilities (and we still had to pay the full amount!) so I was keen for Mike to get a move on so I could avail myself of the flushing toilets at the circuit rather than the dodgey Portaloos in the main campsite.
Breakfast was the next priority, and we bought a couple of cheese pretzels and a cup of coffee. Unfortunately when a wasp came within 2 metres of me, I spilled most of my coffee all over the table we were at, and some dribbled onto someone's leathers. I wiped it off with my tissues and fled. How embarrassing. Mike wants to lock me in a room with a whole bunch of wasps to try and cure my fear of them. I'm not sure if that would work. Anyhow, I just think it's a healthy respect. They can't sting me if they're not allowed within a certain exclusion zone. It's just that my exclusion zone is bigger than most people's.
Anyhow, it was time to take our seat and watch the warm-up rounds. The weather was gorgeous and I was pleased I had put my shorts on, as the clouds had burned off. We even got a bit of sunburn during the day. Out came my Otago cap. A good day of racing was had by all. I was pleased as one of my favourite riders came second in the 500cc race. We spied the grandstand we want to try and sit in next year (tickets are available from November).
Racing finished, we wandered back to the tent, and packed up. Next stop - Leipzig to meet up with Anja. We hadn't seen her since she left London at the end of April. She has a friend called Katja living in Leipzig, so thought to kill two birds with one stone so to speak. See us and Katja in one trip. To avoid the Stau on the way back (it was due to roadworks, so we knew it would still be a problem), we hurtled off the autobahn into German countryside and had a very pleasant drive back to Leipzig. We could enter the exact address and the GPS took us to Katja's door.
We caught up with Anja, and met her friend Katja. We even got to stay in our own flat with Anja, as one of Katja's friends was away and had left the keys with Katja to hand out to people dropping in. All Katja's friends (and Katja) were studying theology and the bookshelves were filled with impressive Bibles in Hebrew and Greek. First up, we had a shower. Then we ate in a great pub/restaurant in the beer garden. The food was really nice.
Back to the borrowed flat for a long-awaited Becks taste test. Becks is a beer brewed in Bremen (Anja's home town) and she insisted it tasted different in London. Scrutiny of the bottle showed both were brewed in Bremen, so Mike didn't believe there would be a different taste. So, Mike brought 6 stubbies with him from London, and Anja brought 6 from Bremen. And in a Leipzig flat, the taste test took place. I poured two glasses of German Becks, and two of English Becks and presented them to Mike & Anja. After much smacking of lips and discussion, they were spot on with their decision. Apparently the English Becks was a good bit sweeter than its Bremen counterpart. Anja won a bottle of champagne for her discerning tastebuds.
Next morning (Monday) we all wandered around Leipzig. We had an awesome breakfast in a cafe that also doubled (or should that be dabbled?) as a laundrette. Then we took a look at various bits and pieces. One urn was cool - from the Chinese dynasty of Ming (well, one fo them anyway). It was filled with water, and had bronze handles that you rubbed with wet hands. It would set up a standing wave in the water and the water would come alive in a multitude of droplets. A local took great pleasure in demonstrating it for us after finding us looking perplexed.
We left for our flight back to London from Berlin. It was about 4 hours drive, and after the close call two years back, we didn't want to risk missing it. It was sad to say goodbye to Anja, but she will be in London briefly in a few weeks and then we will see her next at Theresa and Richards wedding in Dunedin in November.
At Berlin, we talked to a guy from the KR Modenas bike team. He had designed the engine on the new bike and talked about the ups and downs. He invited us to visit up near Banbury so we will take him up on that.
Arrived in London, sad to see another German GP gone, but we hope to be back next year.
Considering our early departure from the German 500cc GP at Sachsenring 2 years previously, we decided to give ourselves ample time to not only see the end of the race on Sunday (yes! we had to leave that early to catch our flight in Berlin that we missed the end of the race - and a good thing too, as we only met our flight with ten minutes to spare.), but enjoy the driving and meet up with Anja in Leipzig. So, I had my last day at BUPA on Thursday, and I left early (5pm) to catch the bus to Heathrow.
I stood waiting on one side of the street for half an hour before the bus arrived and promptly realised I was on the wrong side of the street. Fortunately I had half an hour contingency which I ended up using. I crossed the road and waited another five minutes before the bus came. I then meandered through the suburbs of outer London until I arrived at Heathrow Terminal 1. I was only about ten minutes later than Mike. And he had to carry both our packs from Hammersmith. Fortunately BA allowed him to check both packs and reserve my seat. So I had an express check-in.
We sat around in the departure lounge for a while, before boarding our pleasant 90 minute flight to Berlin. Berlin Tegel airport seems quite small so I'm not sure how much air traffic it services. But our bags were quick to arrive after our stamp in our passports, and we were heading to the Hertz counter quickly.
My brain had not switched into German as yet, so we got our car (a BMW 520i) in English. Within half an hour we were packed and edging out of the multi story carpark following the 'Ausgang' sign (German for exit). Mike's first attempt at clutch manoeuvres sent the car hurtling forward - it not having a gearbox like a 1983 VW Transporter van. But he was soon making smooth transitions (and in fact had difficulty with der Bus's clutch next time he drove it as it was nothing like a BMW's gearbox!!), and after switching the GPS navigation system into English, we were off down a motorway heading south.
The car was not quite as filled with electronic gadgets as the Mercedes 230 E class we had two years ago, but nevertheless it had:
GPS (Global Positioning System - can tell you where exactly you are, and advise on how you should get to where you want to be) TV (yes, but it would only work when you were stationary) Heated seats Sonar for reversing (it would beep slowly and increase in frequency the closer you got to an obstacle)
But horror or horrors it had no CD player. So our clutch of CDs were relegated to the boot (and that was cavernous! - it could swallow two packs in a single gulp and still have room to chew!).
We quickly drove down the autobahns of the former East German and entered Leipzig's outer suburbs around midnight. We had half an idea to find a hotel of some description for tonight, as the next few days were going to be in a tent. It seemed a good idea to have some trappings of civilisation in the form of a shower most especially. But, as it was so late, and we had no idea where any hotels were, our search ended up fruitless. So, after travelling through quite a lot of suburban Leipzig and fooling the GPS when we encountered temporarily blocked off roads that she (the GPS had a lovely calm English accent and would issue commands like 'Right Turn Ahead' and the dreaded 'Please make a U turn' which meant we were able to confuse her) knew nothing about, we decided to head out of Leipzig and find a pleasant field to kip in.
In the end we thoroughly explored all of Leipzig (not entirely voluntary) and whenever we visited it during the next few days, Mike & I were usually filled with a sense of deja vu. By the time we had found a corn field 20 minutes south of Leipzig, it was around 3am! So, we pulled into a dirt track just off the road, and fell into coma-like sleep.
We didn't wake until around 8am due to sleep deprivation; and that was in spite of daylight entering the car from around 5am! The plan for the day was to wander around Leipzig at our leisure, checking out the tourist sites/sights and then leave for Sachsenring in the late afternoon (still another 120kms away) pitch the tent and enjoy the meet.
We got into Leipzig and parked the car. We had fun and games with the ticket vending machines on the road, so we abandoned that idea (although I noticed locals having no problems with getting their tickets - I was sure I could understand the machine and it seemed straightforward, but obviously some quirk evaded my German comprehension) and parked in a Parkhaus (a multi-storey carpark). We had breakfast in a bakery where I tried my first German for the weekend and told the woman serving that Germany had the best bread in Europe. I failed to get much beyond that level unfortunately - English was still trying to creep in. She didn't speak any English, so Mike and I didn't converse much beyond that. Mike asked for a bread roll called an 'Angebot' and learned that that was the German word for 'Special'. But he liked it anyway. And they do coffee how I like it. Not too strong.
Our first stop after taking care of the hunger pangs was the Leipzig ADAC centre( this is the equivalent of the AA, or the RACV, and it's who we have our road coverage with - cheaper than British AA rates) to replace Mike's ADAC membership card. The man serving us was very keen to speak English, so I abandoned my German again.
The rest of the day we wandered around seeing how Leipzig was trying to catch up with West German cities. We aren't really in a position to comment on how well it's doing for the locals. But Mike's observation was that all the shops were western shops, with western prices, and obviously the cheap state-run department stores were long gone. As east Germany still gets paid less on average, it seems that there must be a gap between people that can afford to shop in the big stores, and others that must find it difficult to find goods within their price bracket. Apparently some people think they were better off under the old regime, with cheaper prices and strong community spirit (this from Anja's friend who has lived in Leipzig for two years).
I bought Karen's birthday present for her 30th in a shop here. It was a huge wooden pepper mill, and it was gift wrapped for us. So we carried that around in our backpack. I wish I had got one for myself. Nothing else was bought, but we found various places of interest from our Lonely Planet guidebook.
We visited the Stasi museum. The Stasi being the secret police during the East German regime. They had procedures for reading everyone's mail, and bugs for listening and all sorts of propaganda. It was a shame it was all in German, as Mike & I found it hard to get specifics. There was a huge mound of papier-mâché that was the remainder of documents shredded with the collapse of the wall. You could souvenir some if you wished.
Around 3pm we left for the rest of the journey down to the GP campsite. A glitch in following the GPS woman's instructions (there were road works she knew nothing about on the autobahn) meant we had come off the autobahn, and were wandering around roads trying to get back on. We stopped to get maps out of the boot of the campsite area (still a good 80 kms away), and figure things out, when I looked up and saw a Formula 1 hotel. Now, Mike & I have used these quite a lot in our travels, and we knew what to expect. So, we abandoned the idea of a night in a tent and booked ourselves in the Formula 1 for Friday night. A TV meant we could watch some German television, and I watched The Simpsons in German. This is when my brain finally switched to German. After a nice shower, Mike & I went to track down some dinner. There was a local restaurant called 'The Hut' as it was a small wooden building with a bar and takeaway attached. We ate in - Mike had a steak, and I had a gulash with noodles.
It was a real local hangout. Some people were playing cards in the back table, and were joined at times by others they knew. And the rest were tourists like us.
Afterwards we walked through the village we were in, and found a cute wee cat (Mike played with him and he followed us for a bit), and an awesome cemetery with cryptic German messages on the gate and some headstones. We still have no idea what they were about - fees we now suspect. The churchyard had recently been maintained and still looked like there was work in progress. We walked back to the F1 and had an enjoyable sleep.
 |
| Mike pitching the tent at Sachsenring |
We found our grandstand seats - it was the same place as two years ago. We were very happy given the difficulty of getting tickets. We met a nice man called Alex who sat close by. I started talking German to him but he said we could switch to English (my German isn't that great obviously). But I was chuffed when he asked if I was Dutch or French. It seems to me that because I was trying to speak German, he assumed I was anything but English. We always get mistaken for English in Europe (and Australian in the UK, English in the States (and at Christmas, English in Australia!!)), so it was nice to be asked something else. Mind you, in saying that, we have been asked on several occasions if we were German when we tried out our French in France! And depending on our level of stupidity at the time (did we cut someone off while driving, have we complained about something etc), we might just say 'Yes'. So, it means that New Zealanders never get blamed for anything wherever they go. Cool, eh?
Around lunchtime, Mike set off to get food. He does this quite well in Germany. He came back with a gulash for me, and a meat sandwich for himself. I had two spoonfuls of gulash and found a dead fly swimming in it. All I can say is, I'm glad I saw it. I showed Mike, and he flicked it out, after showing the Germans sitting behind us. He understood their 'Fliege in dem Gulash' comment well enough. I lost my appetite for it after that, but Mike counted the fly's remaining legs, and safe in the knowledge all six were present, he ate the rest. His meat sandwich was pretty bad too. I chose my own food for the rest of the weekend, so I could inspect the premises.
We watched qualifying, and then wandered around the circuit. I decided a fish sandwich place looked good - and it was! We ate it next to a display of old bikes behind a fence. We met up with this man who spoke next to no English, as he had spoken to us about 30 minutes before when we were wandering around. He was from the local Sachsenring area. He had access to a private area, and got us invited in. Mike got a book from a South African motorcycle rider from the early 70s who was present signing and selling his book. We also got a closer look at some older racing bikes from about 1964 to 1974.
This German fellow was a bit of a laugh, and my German was pushed quite a lot. He said that in a hundred years everyone will be speaking English. He also said that Russian was not a language, but it was a sore throat. I was pleased with myself for understanding that. He also said that the East Germans never had any money under the Russians, and that they all wanted what the English had (I'm wasn't 100% sure exactly what they wanted - whether it was just money or the language or what?).
After leaving there, we hopped on the Ferris wheel. It was virtually empty, but they put another older couple in with us, and I was a bit disappointed (looking forward to a romantic Ferris wheel ride with Mike - nice weather, great view, lots of cuddles). However, I started talking to them in German, and they spoke a little English. So we had a conversation mixing the two languages. They too were locals, and just coming in for the evening to see the festivities. They said they had no problem with the event being held there, which was encouraging (the other man had also said the same thing). When we got off the ride, we chatted a bit more, and they invited us to come and stay with them in two years time for the GP there (they were going to be away next year). We exchanged addresses, and we will write to them (perhaps I should practise my German a bit more).
We slowly wandered back to the tent and I was quite pleased we were snuggling down by 11pm. Mike would have preferred staying up and socialising, but I had just the right amount of time out and about. It would just start to get messy after that. Our site was actually in the carpark(others had camped here too), but that meant it was really quiet there. We could hardly hear the stereos of the main campsite, and we fell asleep very quickly.
As we were in the carpark, people began arriving early for Sunday's racing. 6:30am, and it was filling up around our tent. I got up around 7am, and slowly convinced Mike to get up. He was so cute with his tousled hair. Being in the carpark meant we had no facilities (and we still had to pay the full amount!) so I was keen for Mike to get a move on so I could avail myself of the flushing toilets at the circuit rather than the dodgey Portaloos in the main campsite.
Breakfast was the next priority, and we bought a couple of cheese pretzels and a cup of coffee. Unfortunately when a wasp came within 2 metres of me, I spilled most of my coffee all over the table we were at, and some dribbled onto someone's leathers. I wiped it off with my tissues and fled. How embarrassing. Mike wants to lock me in a room with a whole bunch of wasps to try and cure my fear of them. I'm not sure if that would work. Anyhow, I just think it's a healthy respect. They can't sting me if they're not allowed within a certain exclusion zone. It's just that my exclusion zone is bigger than most people's.
Anyhow, it was time to take our seat and watch the warm-up rounds. The weather was gorgeous and I was pleased I had put my shorts on, as the clouds had burned off. We even got a bit of sunburn during the day. Out came my Otago cap. A good day of racing was had by all. I was pleased as one of my favourite riders came second in the 500cc race. We spied the grandstand we want to try and sit in next year (tickets are available from November).
Racing finished, we wandered back to the tent, and packed up. Next stop - Leipzig to meet up with Anja. We hadn't seen her since she left London at the end of April. She has a friend called Katja living in Leipzig, so thought to kill two birds with one stone so to speak. See us and Katja in one trip. To avoid the Stau on the way back (it was due to roadworks, so we knew it would still be a problem), we hurtled off the autobahn into German countryside and had a very pleasant drive back to Leipzig. We could enter the exact address and the GPS took us to Katja's door.
We caught up with Anja, and met her friend Katja. We even got to stay in our own flat with Anja, as one of Katja's friends was away and had left the keys with Katja to hand out to people dropping in. All Katja's friends (and Katja) were studying theology and the bookshelves were filled with impressive Bibles in Hebrew and Greek. First up, we had a shower. Then we ate in a great pub/restaurant in the beer garden. The food was really nice.
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| The taste test |
Next morning (Monday) we all wandered around Leipzig. We had an awesome breakfast in a cafe that also doubled (or should that be dabbled?) as a laundrette. Then we took a look at various bits and pieces. One urn was cool - from the Chinese dynasty of Ming (well, one fo them anyway). It was filled with water, and had bronze handles that you rubbed with wet hands. It would set up a standing wave in the water and the water would come alive in a multitude of droplets. A local took great pleasure in demonstrating it for us after finding us looking perplexed.
We left for our flight back to London from Berlin. It was about 4 hours drive, and after the close call two years back, we didn't want to risk missing it. It was sad to say goodbye to Anja, but she will be in London briefly in a few weeks and then we will see her next at Theresa and Richards wedding in Dunedin in November.
At Berlin, we talked to a guy from the KR Modenas bike team. He had designed the engine on the new bike and talked about the ups and downs. He invited us to visit up near Banbury so we will take him up on that.
Arrived in London, sad to see another German GP gone, but we hope to be back next year.
Friday, June 30, 2000
Ireland with Sally and Andrew
Mike and I packed for Ireland on Wednesday night. Mike was going to carry the checked luggage, and I had my backpack with essentials for the days work, and things I didn't want any airline to lose or send to Guatemala. I got to work and excitedly waited for the end of the day. I had booked a taxi to take me from Ashford to Gatwick at 5:30pm, at a cost of around 35 pounds.
It all worked out well. In fact, it only took me 45 minutes to get to Gatwick. I was so early the check-in wasn't open, so I did Mike proud and ate some Maccas for dinner. Unlike Mike, I only eat burgers at MacDonalds every six months or so (although I do eat chicken nuggets there more often - but still not anywhere near Mike's average). I sat there and munched on a cheeseburger while reading my book until the check-in opened.
We had tickets with the low budget airline Ryanair. My plane was a Sun special (The Sun being a British newspaper), so it was a 'flying billboard' - to quote Mike. Turns out he was on the same plane three hours earlier. It's an open seating system, where you get any seat as you get on. It creates a sort of 'cattle class' feel as people tend to rush to get a decent seat. I ended up with a seat on the window towards the back, but I got a pretty good view through the breaks in the cloud cover. I read my book (on Elizabeth I) and thought all flights should be 50 minutes duration, as it is very civilised.
I got into Dublin around 9:30 pm, and got a call from Mike after various text messages saying how to meet him and Sally and Andrew in Dublin city centre. Unfortunately I did not hear him right, and thought I needed to get to the Connelly train station. When the helpful bus driver let me off as close as possible to there at the bus station, I missed Mike. I rang him to no avail and promptly set off in the direction of the train station where I thought he was waiting. Clumping around with dodgey shoes did not help my mood, when I wondered what sort of area the train station was, and was it likely I would meet any nutters.
We met up soon enough, and ended up on a train to the B&B. Sally, Andrew and Mike had spent a completely unproductive evening chasing telephone conference calls to New Zealand for Sally's unexpected job interview. This was a saga of biblical proportions, for no reason other than a lack of competence from what I could see. Sally's schedule was known to her colleagues well before she left, and yet they managed to schedule her interview for the start of her conference in Geneva. Due to technical difficulties (not able to contact people as their cell phone was not switched on), the saga dragged on, as sagas are liable to do. Trouble is, sagas are supposed to be epic tales of heroism, courage and other (brings tall, blond Vikings to mind) inspiring traits, and a saga created through lack of organisation, skills and forethought just doesn't cut the mustard.
We got to our B&B around 10:45pm or so. Pretty nice place. It was in Glenegeary, about half an hour out of Dublin, and featured an en-suite and a lovely firm bed - but no towels. I think due to our late arrival, the stunned B&B man forgot. I hope they don't think we stole them, as we used our own towel for our shower the next morning.
Our arrival called for a nice cup of tea, and Mike prepared his cellphone to use Sally's new SIM card so she could call New Zealand the next morning. It worked fine, but cost her a pretty penny (about 150 pounds). Hopefully she can claim the cost back.
The next morning, we breakfasted with scrambled eggs and salmon, tea and toast. Very pleasant - looking out over the garden. Sally had to rush off to her room for her interview at 8am, and Andrew and I set off to pick up the hire car in Dublin. we caught the train in and walked through a park across the road from Oscar Wilde's house. There was a ceramic statue of Wilde sitting back on a huge rock. It looked really good.
We picked up the car from hertz in record time - about 15 minutes. Just as it started to spit a bit. But that was the only rain we saw the whole break. Andrew drove out of the street, wondering why people behind us were tooting like mad, only to find a barrage of traffic from a set of lights bearing down on us. Yep, we had headed up a one way street the wrong way. We then hurtled into a side street that was also one way, but managed to join traffic flowing correctly before anyone tried to move down past us. Quite exciting. We did a short stint around the block before we ended up on the same street, but in the right direction!
A bit of navigation by the seat of my pants, and realising that Cul de Sac really does mean a dead end regardless of how it looks, we fell into the road where the B&B was. Sally had finished her interview by then, so we packed up and set off. We aimed to wander down the coast for a bit, stopping at almost immediately at the next town to visit the ruined church there. Well, Sally and I did, while Mike and Andrew muttered something about checking out the hardware stores. They did good though, coming back with munchies for the road.
The tower Sally & I climbed gave a great view over the bay and into Dublin. We also spied Mike and Andrew wandering down the main street looking for power tools. We read about the history of the area in displays within original rooms, and thought it was IR2 pounds well spent. There was a great graveyard too, with headstones dating back to the 1820s (I'm sure some were older, but the inscriptions were difficult to read). Sally took a few photos, so I can't wait to see them.
Driving to our next stop, we came across a truck stopped in the middle of a roundabout. It was transporting some furniature, but when it had hooned around the roundabout, its door had opened and spewed a desk, a set of drawers, some chairs and other bits and bobs in a circular arc through the roundabout. Very clever! We went inland briefly to look at the highest waterfall in Ireland. You had to pay to get in, so Andrew called it the 20 dollar waterfall.
Very lovely it was too. We took more photos, and lazed in the sun for a while before travelling through the town where Ballykissangel was filmed (nobody has seen this show, so we couldn't tell what it looked like), and the Avoca Handweavers shop where Mike & I bought a mortar and pestle for IR18.95. I've been looking for one for a while, so when I saw this bigger one for cheaper than I had seen them in London, I thought it would make a lovely momento of Ireland. Not that it's covered in shamrocks or anything. Just plain white. I must crush up some herbs in it for tonight's meal. Use it in anger.
Then we headed out to the coast again, and had lunch in a pub there frequented by golfers I believe. There were golf courses all the way down that part of the coast. The pub was a huge barn-like place, but it served good pub food. I munched my way through buffalo wings (from chickens!) and a baked potato that was really yummy. Mike had a Guinness and Andrew, who was driving, wished he could have a Guinness. While we were there, we heard a news item on the radio that just seems to typify how the world perceives the Irish. IR100,000 pounds fell off the back of a security truck in Dublin, and went missing. All wrapped in plastic. A few days later we heard that the money turned up in a church, minus a finders fee of about IR20,000.
We wandered through roads almost at random, dawdling our way down to Wexford. Unfortunately, the Irish have a haphazard approach to road signs, and they either inundate the intersections with a multitude of signs, or have none. And sometimes they will use different colour signs, depending on mood. They also have speed limit signs in miles per hour, and distances in
a) kilometres
b) miles
c) Irish miles
and you can only tell which is which by judging the age of the signs (although the metric (and probably EU funded) signs have the unit added). Not as easy task to navigate. I say this, as it was my job on this first day to navigate, being in the passenger's seat. And at one point I had us going 20 kms in the opposite direction to where I thought we were. But the scenery was pleasant and I actually enjoy going down roads that are off the track. Although at one point, after getting hopelessly lost in Wexford (Mum and Robert - remember when we did that looking for a laundry there? We went past those streets again this time! It was so deja vu, such narrow streets with no signs at all.), we ended up on a road leading to a quarry. We took some photos (honest - it was a photogenic little quarry) and after Mike scouted out the road ahead, we decided to retrace our steps and climb an inviting little crag of rock. From there we had a spectacular view over a plain, and we could see the road beckoning that I was trying to navigate onto from the depths of Wexford.
We followed the road with the view mapped in our minds (it was much better than the pathetic Collins Map of Ireland), and joined up with the major road to New Ross - our next B&B destination. This B&B was lovely (Riverview?), although the miniature windmill complete with whirling vanes and several garden gnomes were met with different levels of approval. Still, the back yard was pretty, with a lovely conservatory for the guests to use.
We ate dinner at a local pub. The chips were incredibly fatty (it reminded me of a childhood trip to Hamilton where we had a disastrous visit to a chippie - the chips were so awful I seem to recall my father disposing of them in a most 'Untidy Kiwi' way - out the window with disgust! From then on, Hamilton has been synonymous with awful chips - although that memory was tempered more recently by an excellent Hunters & Collectors concert that we went to see in a pub near the university.) and I couldn't eat any. But the rest of my meal was OK.
We wandered back the long way to the B&B and went to bed quite early that night. South Park was on TV and Mike watched it for a bit.
Next morning we set of for Hook Head. A fascinating piece of trivia. The saying 'By Hook or by Crook' comes from Oliver Cromwell when he was planning to invade this neck of the woods. There is a town called Crook nearby that could provide a safe landing for an invasion, or at Hook Head itself. So he would invade from one of the places, or the other. Hook Head peninsula has a wonderful history. We stopped off and looked at ruins, bought a cake from a country market, and ate it overlooking a wonderful cliff. This was on the way to Hook Head lighthouse where we got a tour of the lighthouse all to ourselves. It is mostly in its original twelfth century condition (although the passionate tour guide seemed to be slightly cross that 'lay lighthousekeepers' did things like enlarge windows to let in more light), but a beacon has been at this point since about 400AD (I think that's the right date).
Leaving this gorgeous peninsula, we stopped off at Tintern Abbey - in ruins like its namesake on the Welsh border. We wandered around the outside, but did not pay the IR2 pound cost to enter. The grounds had a cute wee stone bridge over the head of the estuary where a small river ran into it. There was an old round keep that Andrew poked his head out of, and Sally took photos of that!
We took a vehicular ferry across to Passage East munching on strawberries from a roadside seller. It was a short journey, but meant we got to Waterford quickly. We decided to wander around the Waterford Crystal showroom, but not do a tour. I rather fancied buying a little vase as a souvenir, but Mike didn't seem that keen. It was a bit overpowering to see so much crystal in one place. The American tourists were going ballistic - I overheard one woman with a salesperson in tow saying 'I'll have one of them, and one of them, and two of them' before I moved out of hearing range. Although we didn't buy anything this time, I think next time I will get a vase or maybe some glasses. Particularly as Mike saw them in Cork airport and liked some glasses there.
After a short stop in Waterford, we travelled across to Cork via a walk in Dungarven. When travelling this way with Mike and my parents we stopped off for lunch at this wee town on our first day. I think Sally & Andrew also thought it was cute. Ireland have taken to painting their houses lovely bright colours and I really like it. I've decided bright yellow is the colour to have. This town has brightly coloured buildings along the waterfront and it looks very attractive. We also saw a loud wedding party in cars - they were tooting their horns constantly and driving in circles around the town. Probably as lost as we tend to be in the towns.
We drove through Cork and found the Edelweiss B&B run by mad Irish Germans. There was a very steep road running up from the B&B that looked too inviting soon wee hooned up there for a look around, and nearly got lost. It was the oldest of the B&Bs we stayed in, but our room in the attic was pleasant. It was about 2 miles (are they Irish miles?) from Blarney. We had dinner there as the owner is a master chef. It was a little disappointing, although my poached salmon was very nice. Mike was told off by Mrs Hempel for saying cheers as a thanks. She was a little mad. Mike and Andrew went off to have a Guinness in the local pub, while Sally & I went to our respective bedrooms. Sally woke me at 11:45 wondering where Andrew was. I said they had not come back yet, but told her to go to sleep and not worry. It can't have been much later when Mike finally arrived. He wanted to tell me all about this bloke they had talked to in the pub, but I was asleep before I had heard anything.
Next morning we heard about it at breakfast. As the Irish are famous for the blarney, the local man had chatted to them for ages. He even had a connection to New Zealand. I can't remember all the details, but I'm sure Mike could enlighten you. We had the best pancakes for breakfast. They were little, but thick, and we had plenty.
We visited Blarney Castle after breakfast. It was a lovely day, and the castle gardens looked very nice. I can't believe how many people were there. We had a small wait at the top of the castle (no one wanted to kiss the stone so we were free agents to enjoy the view from the top).
One the way out of Blarney Castle we watched people crossing the bridge over a wee stream. There were many coins in the stream and we were curious as to how many people throw coins in, and what type of person does it. However, our attempts at analysing the statistics were thwarted by flaws in our counting technique and we certainly didn't want to stay there until all visitors had left to complete our statistical analysis. We also came to the conclusion that Heisenburg's Principle was at work, as our act of observing this (rather obviously as we were camped on the grass in the sun directly opposite the bridge) meant that people's behaviour was modified (people were very shy about throwing coins when others are watching. And people's techniques differed too. Women sort of surreptitiously dropped them in from a lowered hand, and men did some fancy coin flick into the air. Most odd.).
We left and headed towards our next B&B close to Mizen Head on another peninsula. This was in Goleen, but we were taking the long way there. Navigation had passed to Mike now, and we were armed with a new map from Hook Head lighthouse that just seemed to be laid out better. Kinsale was our first stop, but to this day we still don't know how the locals pronounce the name. We varied between Kin'sa'le, and Kin'sale.
Any which way you pronounce it, the Lonely Planet called it Ireland's gastronomic capital. Enough to warrant a lunch stop we thought. After parking, we wandered through brightly coloured buildings in the picturesque wee village (just as LP had said). Having a huge range of choice for eating establishments, we settled on a new one called Pisces. I had a fabulous couple of crab and salmon fishcakes (which reminds me - Mum, I need a copy of Margaret Thatcher's salmon fishcake recipe again - the ones Dennis likes so much. Oh, and while you're there, the scalloped potato one and the tuna slice one.) and everyone else seemed to enjoy their choices too.
We looked into an awesome antique shop. It had a fabulous wooden desk for a mere 2500 pounds. I dropped a hint to Mike that it would look great in our library one day. I think he noticed. They also had some antique brass telescopes which rather take my fancy too. But we left after that, to travel further down the peninsula. At one stage we took a wrong turn (don't know how that could have happened) and ended up going up a farm track. Another time, (whilst looking for the stone circle) we followed a sign that said 'Fireplaces for sale'. We drove into a driveway, turned around and drove out. There was a woman at the letterbox checking what we were doing, and when I looked at the lounge room window, a man was there with binoculars checking us out in minute detail. Don't know what he made of a laughing bunch of tourists like us. We waved politely, and hopefully apologetically, as we passed.
Next on the list was a standing stone circle. Cool! But we got lost and ended up at a fantastic primitive farming community. I can't rememebr how old it was, but they lived in mud houses in groups of about 20 - 25. There was a food pit - a solutrean. So we scrambled through that in the pitch black. A man came to tell us all about it. He was fascinating and had obviously worked on the project for some time. I think he had a hankering to live back then. I think it'd be Ok for about two days, then I'd be dying for a shower.
After that experience we could pick out ancient farm circles in the countryside like old experts (OK, I admit, the man had told us where to look. If he hadn't have done so, we would have missed it.). Now for the stone circle, with the detour to the fireplace selling house first of course, as mentioned before. It was most excellent - I thought it was cute. It would have been around 5 metres in diameter, and the largest stone would have been around 1 metre tall. It had a lovely view out to sea. Some girl was there communing with some spiritual mother earth, and she drew patterns in the gravel in the centre of the circle. Whatever makes her happy - and she certainly seemed happy. The site also contained a natural spring. What they had done in days gone by (long gone!) was line a pit with stones, let it fill with water from the spring, then throw in hot stones to bring it to boil. Very effective and they would cook meat like that. The man at the ancient farm house told us they would then bathe in the water. I reckon that would be worse!
We drove through gorgeous countryside towards Goleen (the map hindered things by covering the roads we were on with a tourist blurb so Mike navigated us to an interesting town that happened to be a dead end) and when we got to Goleen, we found we were staying in a very nice B&B with a restaurant. It was called Harbour View, and overlooked Heron Cove. The tide was out, so mud flats were all we could see. We had a view of gorse bushes from our room. It was more like a hotel rather than a B&B, but it was clean and tidy. We ate in the restaurant and I had a great seafood platter with crab toes as the highlight. A heron came down to fish while we watched the sun disappear. We tried to go for a walk, but the road we took was blocked in the first instance, and the next road wound away from where I wanted to go. So, back to the rooms for a spot of Gaelic Football on the TV.
Now, when I first switched it on, I thought it was Aussie Rules. But, the differences are obvious enough. I watched it and quite enjoyed it. Breakfast was great. I had poached eggs and bacon. Mike just had sausages but no tomato sauce. He chased the woman for quite a while tracking down the sauce. I made a comment later in the day about how impersonal this B&B was, and how it was more like a hotel. Somehow it was mentioned that the lady this morning was nicer than the one from last night. Sally & Mike thought it was the same woman each time, and were dumbfounded that it was a different woman. Andrew & I thought it was obvious. Knowing Mike, I blame the lack of coffee on the trip - this was the first place with real coffee.
A scenic driving day followed. We started by looking at the point of Mizen Head itself. The most south-westerly part of Ireland. I loved the rugged cliffs here and we even spotted some seals playing in the water near a fishing boat. We didn't pay the IR2 pound entry fee to the extreme point, but it was marvellous where we were. Further inland we climbed over a pass and had a wonderful view back over the bays and hills. Down the other side were tunnels carved out of the rock that just matched the size and shape of a tourist bus. Coincidence? I think not.
A road sign beckoned Mike to a motor museum. A couple had obviously ploughed their savings into buying cars and restoring them. There were two old motorbikes too. A real enthusiasts place. Well worth the look we gave it. We headed back to Cork over a marvellous pass which I can't comment on as I fell asleep in the back seat on Mike's shoulder. It was decided, as I dozed lightly, to have dinner in Kinsale again as it is on the road to the airport where Mike & I were flying out of that evening. We were there early, around 5:15pm, and nothing much opened until 6pm which would be too late for our flight. So, we found a pub and we ate perfectly good bar food. Quite a good menu really. Must be the gastronomic capital indeed.
We were nice and early for the flight. It was sad to say goodbye to Sally & Andrew and leave them in that wonderful country in holiday mode. We had to steel ourselves to work the next day. It took us 50 minutes to get from Cork to Stansted airport, and three hours to travel the 26 miles from Stansted to Hammersmith! Train travel! Don't talk to me about it. I'm buying a motorbike the first opportunity I get. Not that it would have helped us here.
So, there you go. A summary of Ireland in four days. Mind you, that's twice as long as Mike's last holiday there. He's seeing Ireland in small slices.
It all worked out well. In fact, it only took me 45 minutes to get to Gatwick. I was so early the check-in wasn't open, so I did Mike proud and ate some Maccas for dinner. Unlike Mike, I only eat burgers at MacDonalds every six months or so (although I do eat chicken nuggets there more often - but still not anywhere near Mike's average). I sat there and munched on a cheeseburger while reading my book until the check-in opened.
We had tickets with the low budget airline Ryanair. My plane was a Sun special (The Sun being a British newspaper), so it was a 'flying billboard' - to quote Mike. Turns out he was on the same plane three hours earlier. It's an open seating system, where you get any seat as you get on. It creates a sort of 'cattle class' feel as people tend to rush to get a decent seat. I ended up with a seat on the window towards the back, but I got a pretty good view through the breaks in the cloud cover. I read my book (on Elizabeth I) and thought all flights should be 50 minutes duration, as it is very civilised.
I got into Dublin around 9:30 pm, and got a call from Mike after various text messages saying how to meet him and Sally and Andrew in Dublin city centre. Unfortunately I did not hear him right, and thought I needed to get to the Connelly train station. When the helpful bus driver let me off as close as possible to there at the bus station, I missed Mike. I rang him to no avail and promptly set off in the direction of the train station where I thought he was waiting. Clumping around with dodgey shoes did not help my mood, when I wondered what sort of area the train station was, and was it likely I would meet any nutters.
We met up soon enough, and ended up on a train to the B&B. Sally, Andrew and Mike had spent a completely unproductive evening chasing telephone conference calls to New Zealand for Sally's unexpected job interview. This was a saga of biblical proportions, for no reason other than a lack of competence from what I could see. Sally's schedule was known to her colleagues well before she left, and yet they managed to schedule her interview for the start of her conference in Geneva. Due to technical difficulties (not able to contact people as their cell phone was not switched on), the saga dragged on, as sagas are liable to do. Trouble is, sagas are supposed to be epic tales of heroism, courage and other (brings tall, blond Vikings to mind) inspiring traits, and a saga created through lack of organisation, skills and forethought just doesn't cut the mustard.
We got to our B&B around 10:45pm or so. Pretty nice place. It was in Glenegeary, about half an hour out of Dublin, and featured an en-suite and a lovely firm bed - but no towels. I think due to our late arrival, the stunned B&B man forgot. I hope they don't think we stole them, as we used our own towel for our shower the next morning.
Our arrival called for a nice cup of tea, and Mike prepared his cellphone to use Sally's new SIM card so she could call New Zealand the next morning. It worked fine, but cost her a pretty penny (about 150 pounds). Hopefully she can claim the cost back.
The next morning, we breakfasted with scrambled eggs and salmon, tea and toast. Very pleasant - looking out over the garden. Sally had to rush off to her room for her interview at 8am, and Andrew and I set off to pick up the hire car in Dublin. we caught the train in and walked through a park across the road from Oscar Wilde's house. There was a ceramic statue of Wilde sitting back on a huge rock. It looked really good.
We picked up the car from hertz in record time - about 15 minutes. Just as it started to spit a bit. But that was the only rain we saw the whole break. Andrew drove out of the street, wondering why people behind us were tooting like mad, only to find a barrage of traffic from a set of lights bearing down on us. Yep, we had headed up a one way street the wrong way. We then hurtled into a side street that was also one way, but managed to join traffic flowing correctly before anyone tried to move down past us. Quite exciting. We did a short stint around the block before we ended up on the same street, but in the right direction!
A bit of navigation by the seat of my pants, and realising that Cul de Sac really does mean a dead end regardless of how it looks, we fell into the road where the B&B was. Sally had finished her interview by then, so we packed up and set off. We aimed to wander down the coast for a bit, stopping at almost immediately at the next town to visit the ruined church there. Well, Sally and I did, while Mike and Andrew muttered something about checking out the hardware stores. They did good though, coming back with munchies for the road.
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The tower Sally & I climbed gave a great view over the bay and into Dublin. We also spied Mike and Andrew wandering down the main street looking for power tools. We read about the history of the area in displays within original rooms, and thought it was IR2 pounds well spent. There was a great graveyard too, with headstones dating back to the 1820s (I'm sure some were older, but the inscriptions were difficult to read). Sally took a few photos, so I can't wait to see them.
Driving to our next stop, we came across a truck stopped in the middle of a roundabout. It was transporting some furniature, but when it had hooned around the roundabout, its door had opened and spewed a desk, a set of drawers, some chairs and other bits and bobs in a circular arc through the roundabout. Very clever! We went inland briefly to look at the highest waterfall in Ireland. You had to pay to get in, so Andrew called it the 20 dollar waterfall.
Very lovely it was too. We took more photos, and lazed in the sun for a while before travelling through the town where Ballykissangel was filmed (nobody has seen this show, so we couldn't tell what it looked like), and the Avoca Handweavers shop where Mike & I bought a mortar and pestle for IR18.95. I've been looking for one for a while, so when I saw this bigger one for cheaper than I had seen them in London, I thought it would make a lovely momento of Ireland. Not that it's covered in shamrocks or anything. Just plain white. I must crush up some herbs in it for tonight's meal. Use it in anger.
Then we headed out to the coast again, and had lunch in a pub there frequented by golfers I believe. There were golf courses all the way down that part of the coast. The pub was a huge barn-like place, but it served good pub food. I munched my way through buffalo wings (from chickens!) and a baked potato that was really yummy. Mike had a Guinness and Andrew, who was driving, wished he could have a Guinness. While we were there, we heard a news item on the radio that just seems to typify how the world perceives the Irish. IR100,000 pounds fell off the back of a security truck in Dublin, and went missing. All wrapped in plastic. A few days later we heard that the money turned up in a church, minus a finders fee of about IR20,000.
We wandered through roads almost at random, dawdling our way down to Wexford. Unfortunately, the Irish have a haphazard approach to road signs, and they either inundate the intersections with a multitude of signs, or have none. And sometimes they will use different colour signs, depending on mood. They also have speed limit signs in miles per hour, and distances in
a) kilometres
b) miles
c) Irish miles
and you can only tell which is which by judging the age of the signs (although the metric (and probably EU funded) signs have the unit added). Not as easy task to navigate. I say this, as it was my job on this first day to navigate, being in the passenger's seat. And at one point I had us going 20 kms in the opposite direction to where I thought we were. But the scenery was pleasant and I actually enjoy going down roads that are off the track. Although at one point, after getting hopelessly lost in Wexford (Mum and Robert - remember when we did that looking for a laundry there? We went past those streets again this time! It was so deja vu, such narrow streets with no signs at all.), we ended up on a road leading to a quarry. We took some photos (honest - it was a photogenic little quarry) and after Mike scouted out the road ahead, we decided to retrace our steps and climb an inviting little crag of rock. From there we had a spectacular view over a plain, and we could see the road beckoning that I was trying to navigate onto from the depths of Wexford.
We followed the road with the view mapped in our minds (it was much better than the pathetic Collins Map of Ireland), and joined up with the major road to New Ross - our next B&B destination. This B&B was lovely (Riverview?), although the miniature windmill complete with whirling vanes and several garden gnomes were met with different levels of approval. Still, the back yard was pretty, with a lovely conservatory for the guests to use.
We ate dinner at a local pub. The chips were incredibly fatty (it reminded me of a childhood trip to Hamilton where we had a disastrous visit to a chippie - the chips were so awful I seem to recall my father disposing of them in a most 'Untidy Kiwi' way - out the window with disgust! From then on, Hamilton has been synonymous with awful chips - although that memory was tempered more recently by an excellent Hunters & Collectors concert that we went to see in a pub near the university.) and I couldn't eat any. But the rest of my meal was OK.
We wandered back the long way to the B&B and went to bed quite early that night. South Park was on TV and Mike watched it for a bit.
Next morning we set of for Hook Head. A fascinating piece of trivia. The saying 'By Hook or by Crook' comes from Oliver Cromwell when he was planning to invade this neck of the woods. There is a town called Crook nearby that could provide a safe landing for an invasion, or at Hook Head itself. So he would invade from one of the places, or the other. Hook Head peninsula has a wonderful history. We stopped off and looked at ruins, bought a cake from a country market, and ate it overlooking a wonderful cliff. This was on the way to Hook Head lighthouse where we got a tour of the lighthouse all to ourselves. It is mostly in its original twelfth century condition (although the passionate tour guide seemed to be slightly cross that 'lay lighthousekeepers' did things like enlarge windows to let in more light), but a beacon has been at this point since about 400AD (I think that's the right date).
Leaving this gorgeous peninsula, we stopped off at Tintern Abbey - in ruins like its namesake on the Welsh border. We wandered around the outside, but did not pay the IR2 pound cost to enter. The grounds had a cute wee stone bridge over the head of the estuary where a small river ran into it. There was an old round keep that Andrew poked his head out of, and Sally took photos of that!
We took a vehicular ferry across to Passage East munching on strawberries from a roadside seller. It was a short journey, but meant we got to Waterford quickly. We decided to wander around the Waterford Crystal showroom, but not do a tour. I rather fancied buying a little vase as a souvenir, but Mike didn't seem that keen. It was a bit overpowering to see so much crystal in one place. The American tourists were going ballistic - I overheard one woman with a salesperson in tow saying 'I'll have one of them, and one of them, and two of them' before I moved out of hearing range. Although we didn't buy anything this time, I think next time I will get a vase or maybe some glasses. Particularly as Mike saw them in Cork airport and liked some glasses there.
After a short stop in Waterford, we travelled across to Cork via a walk in Dungarven. When travelling this way with Mike and my parents we stopped off for lunch at this wee town on our first day. I think Sally & Andrew also thought it was cute. Ireland have taken to painting their houses lovely bright colours and I really like it. I've decided bright yellow is the colour to have. This town has brightly coloured buildings along the waterfront and it looks very attractive. We also saw a loud wedding party in cars - they were tooting their horns constantly and driving in circles around the town. Probably as lost as we tend to be in the towns.
We drove through Cork and found the Edelweiss B&B run by mad Irish Germans. There was a very steep road running up from the B&B that looked too inviting soon wee hooned up there for a look around, and nearly got lost. It was the oldest of the B&Bs we stayed in, but our room in the attic was pleasant. It was about 2 miles (are they Irish miles?) from Blarney. We had dinner there as the owner is a master chef. It was a little disappointing, although my poached salmon was very nice. Mike was told off by Mrs Hempel for saying cheers as a thanks. She was a little mad. Mike and Andrew went off to have a Guinness in the local pub, while Sally & I went to our respective bedrooms. Sally woke me at 11:45 wondering where Andrew was. I said they had not come back yet, but told her to go to sleep and not worry. It can't have been much later when Mike finally arrived. He wanted to tell me all about this bloke they had talked to in the pub, but I was asleep before I had heard anything.
Next morning we heard about it at breakfast. As the Irish are famous for the blarney, the local man had chatted to them for ages. He even had a connection to New Zealand. I can't remember all the details, but I'm sure Mike could enlighten you. We had the best pancakes for breakfast. They were little, but thick, and we had plenty.
We visited Blarney Castle after breakfast. It was a lovely day, and the castle gardens looked very nice. I can't believe how many people were there. We had a small wait at the top of the castle (no one wanted to kiss the stone so we were free agents to enjoy the view from the top).
One the way out of Blarney Castle we watched people crossing the bridge over a wee stream. There were many coins in the stream and we were curious as to how many people throw coins in, and what type of person does it. However, our attempts at analysing the statistics were thwarted by flaws in our counting technique and we certainly didn't want to stay there until all visitors had left to complete our statistical analysis. We also came to the conclusion that Heisenburg's Principle was at work, as our act of observing this (rather obviously as we were camped on the grass in the sun directly opposite the bridge) meant that people's behaviour was modified (people were very shy about throwing coins when others are watching. And people's techniques differed too. Women sort of surreptitiously dropped them in from a lowered hand, and men did some fancy coin flick into the air. Most odd.).
We left and headed towards our next B&B close to Mizen Head on another peninsula. This was in Goleen, but we were taking the long way there. Navigation had passed to Mike now, and we were armed with a new map from Hook Head lighthouse that just seemed to be laid out better. Kinsale was our first stop, but to this day we still don't know how the locals pronounce the name. We varied between Kin'sa'le, and Kin'sale.
Any which way you pronounce it, the Lonely Planet called it Ireland's gastronomic capital. Enough to warrant a lunch stop we thought. After parking, we wandered through brightly coloured buildings in the picturesque wee village (just as LP had said). Having a huge range of choice for eating establishments, we settled on a new one called Pisces. I had a fabulous couple of crab and salmon fishcakes (which reminds me - Mum, I need a copy of Margaret Thatcher's salmon fishcake recipe again - the ones Dennis likes so much. Oh, and while you're there, the scalloped potato one and the tuna slice one.) and everyone else seemed to enjoy their choices too.
We looked into an awesome antique shop. It had a fabulous wooden desk for a mere 2500 pounds. I dropped a hint to Mike that it would look great in our library one day. I think he noticed. They also had some antique brass telescopes which rather take my fancy too. But we left after that, to travel further down the peninsula. At one stage we took a wrong turn (don't know how that could have happened) and ended up going up a farm track. Another time, (whilst looking for the stone circle) we followed a sign that said 'Fireplaces for sale'. We drove into a driveway, turned around and drove out. There was a woman at the letterbox checking what we were doing, and when I looked at the lounge room window, a man was there with binoculars checking us out in minute detail. Don't know what he made of a laughing bunch of tourists like us. We waved politely, and hopefully apologetically, as we passed.
Next on the list was a standing stone circle. Cool! But we got lost and ended up at a fantastic primitive farming community. I can't rememebr how old it was, but they lived in mud houses in groups of about 20 - 25. There was a food pit - a solutrean. So we scrambled through that in the pitch black. A man came to tell us all about it. He was fascinating and had obviously worked on the project for some time. I think he had a hankering to live back then. I think it'd be Ok for about two days, then I'd be dying for a shower.
After that experience we could pick out ancient farm circles in the countryside like old experts (OK, I admit, the man had told us where to look. If he hadn't have done so, we would have missed it.). Now for the stone circle, with the detour to the fireplace selling house first of course, as mentioned before. It was most excellent - I thought it was cute. It would have been around 5 metres in diameter, and the largest stone would have been around 1 metre tall. It had a lovely view out to sea. Some girl was there communing with some spiritual mother earth, and she drew patterns in the gravel in the centre of the circle. Whatever makes her happy - and she certainly seemed happy. The site also contained a natural spring. What they had done in days gone by (long gone!) was line a pit with stones, let it fill with water from the spring, then throw in hot stones to bring it to boil. Very effective and they would cook meat like that. The man at the ancient farm house told us they would then bathe in the water. I reckon that would be worse!
We drove through gorgeous countryside towards Goleen (the map hindered things by covering the roads we were on with a tourist blurb so Mike navigated us to an interesting town that happened to be a dead end) and when we got to Goleen, we found we were staying in a very nice B&B with a restaurant. It was called Harbour View, and overlooked Heron Cove. The tide was out, so mud flats were all we could see. We had a view of gorse bushes from our room. It was more like a hotel rather than a B&B, but it was clean and tidy. We ate in the restaurant and I had a great seafood platter with crab toes as the highlight. A heron came down to fish while we watched the sun disappear. We tried to go for a walk, but the road we took was blocked in the first instance, and the next road wound away from where I wanted to go. So, back to the rooms for a spot of Gaelic Football on the TV.
Now, when I first switched it on, I thought it was Aussie Rules. But, the differences are obvious enough. I watched it and quite enjoyed it. Breakfast was great. I had poached eggs and bacon. Mike just had sausages but no tomato sauce. He chased the woman for quite a while tracking down the sauce. I made a comment later in the day about how impersonal this B&B was, and how it was more like a hotel. Somehow it was mentioned that the lady this morning was nicer than the one from last night. Sally & Mike thought it was the same woman each time, and were dumbfounded that it was a different woman. Andrew & I thought it was obvious. Knowing Mike, I blame the lack of coffee on the trip - this was the first place with real coffee.
A scenic driving day followed. We started by looking at the point of Mizen Head itself. The most south-westerly part of Ireland. I loved the rugged cliffs here and we even spotted some seals playing in the water near a fishing boat. We didn't pay the IR2 pound entry fee to the extreme point, but it was marvellous where we were. Further inland we climbed over a pass and had a wonderful view back over the bays and hills. Down the other side were tunnels carved out of the rock that just matched the size and shape of a tourist bus. Coincidence? I think not.
A road sign beckoned Mike to a motor museum. A couple had obviously ploughed their savings into buying cars and restoring them. There were two old motorbikes too. A real enthusiasts place. Well worth the look we gave it. We headed back to Cork over a marvellous pass which I can't comment on as I fell asleep in the back seat on Mike's shoulder. It was decided, as I dozed lightly, to have dinner in Kinsale again as it is on the road to the airport where Mike & I were flying out of that evening. We were there early, around 5:15pm, and nothing much opened until 6pm which would be too late for our flight. So, we found a pub and we ate perfectly good bar food. Quite a good menu really. Must be the gastronomic capital indeed.
We were nice and early for the flight. It was sad to say goodbye to Sally & Andrew and leave them in that wonderful country in holiday mode. We had to steel ourselves to work the next day. It took us 50 minutes to get from Cork to Stansted airport, and three hours to travel the 26 miles from Stansted to Hammersmith! Train travel! Don't talk to me about it. I'm buying a motorbike the first opportunity I get. Not that it would have helped us here.
So, there you go. A summary of Ireland in four days. Mind you, that's twice as long as Mike's last holiday there. He's seeing Ireland in small slices.
Friday, February 5, 1999
Our first trip to Iceland
Mike & I had booked a cheap weekend deal to Iceland a few weeks ago. It has always been a dream of mine to visit Iceland since I was thirteen years old. I happened to watch an old movie called 'Journey to the Centre of the Earth' by Jules Verne (have read the book since too, and enjoyed that!). This story is about an underground journey to the centre of the earth and one of the originals of the sci fi genre. The thing that excited me most was the entrance to this underground world was located in a volcano crater on a mountain called Snaefellnes in a country I had never heard of - Iceland. A mysterious land, full of volcanoes and tall silent blond men (I think one of the characters was Hans; an Icelandic eider duck farmer).
As a consequence, for quite a few years I read as much on Iceland as I could. I exhausted the local library's references quite quickly, but discovered National Geographic's multitude of articles that kept me going. I tracked down quite a few old issues in second hand bookshops.
I was very excited to be finally travelling to Iceland. Although I was wary that after all this time it might not be as good as I had always imagined. My fears were completely unfounded.
Mike and I arrived at Heathrow separately after work. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 8:50pm, and get in at 11:55pm. We had bought a package weekend deal for £199 each, which included transfers, hotel, and breakfast. We found a disorganised queue at 7pm and discovered our plane hadn't left Reykjavik at that stage (due to 'technical difficulties' but we were never enlightened about that). Fortunately, we found ourselves talking to a 24 year old Icelander called Jakob Oskar Olafsson, and we practised Icelandic with him, and quizzed him generally about his country. He had been in Hull for nearly a month at a missionary place for a Pentecostal church. He was returning to work for a month or so in a fish factory, or possibly spend three weeks on a fishing boat (as long as he wasn't too seasick), to save money to go back abroad. He failed to get into the cutoff for the medicine course he wants to do at University, and will try again this year. (By the way, Jakob's mother said the technical difficulties made the news on Icelandic TV. Whether that's a reflection on the lack of newsworthy material in Iceland or whether the engines had all seized on takeoff - I don't know). We finally checked our luggage and made our way through to the departure lounge. It must have been 9:30 by this stage.
There was a 1pm flight that day that had been cancelled and they were all joining our flight. So, it was packed to the gunwales and Mike & I didn't sit together. We boarded at about 11pm, and left about 11:20. We were a bit tired by the time we arrived (2:40am or so). We got the transfer bus to Reykjavik (all international flights to Iceland land at Keflavik - about 50kms away from Reykjavik). We caught up again with Jakob and chatted away till he got off. Then we discovered he had left all his duty free goods on the bus. Our stop was next, and as we sorted out with the driver what to do with the presents we had been left accidentally, Jakob turned up with his parents driving after the bus.
By this time it was 4:30, and I asked for a 7:30 wake up call, as we had booked a tour starting at 9am that day. The hotel was great (Grand Hotel Reykjavik), and the staff friendly. Breakfast was a buffet, and they make excellent scrambled eggs there.
A girl called Inge in her new Land Rover ran the tour. There were snowboards and inner tube on top, and four others inside. The other people were two Australians (Fiona and Mark), and two English (Laurel and Peter). The Land Rover had a problem with its heating, so Inge was fiddling with the engine and fuses for a bit in the hotel car park. Then, we were off (where Inge discovered the heating had magically fixed itself). As we drove, the condensation on the windows slowly froze. There was a scraper tool for the purpose of removing it from the inside of the windows.
The sky had been lightening since about 8:30, but the sun didn't pop over the horizon until about 10:30. We had a quick photo stop as the sun started to hit some of the higher peaks around us. It was a glorious morning. No wind, blue skies, and snow everywhere. The temperature was cold - about -8 or -9. But we are proponents of the layering system, and we were toasty pie warm.
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| Sunrise in Iceland |
Mike made it look far too easy, but we all found out the hard way just how difficult it is to turn those things. There wasn't much of a learning curve with the tube gliding, and people were racing each other down this slope at a great rate of knots. There was a line of jagged looking lava near the bottom, which wouldn't be favourable to an inner tube or snowboard, but miraculously enough everyone managed to avoid shredding equipment and bodies. My body is very sore now, and I think it has something to do with a spectacular wipeout on the board on my last try. I dug the front in, and cartwheeled over to dig the back in. Mike said it looked good. I have a few bruises to show for it too.As we were playing there, the sun peeped over the hills.
I hope my photos come out OK. We have video footage too. We all packed back into the Land Rover and wandered over to a dairy farm. A calf had just been born at 5am that morning, and lay there struggling to its feet from time to time. An experience not to be missed here was the sampling of true Viking food. I wish I had the video camera for this part, as Mike's face was so funny. The Icelanders had no method of refrigeration in the past, and relied on pickling methods of preservation. One method was to preserve meat in whey. One of the particular cuts of meat Icelander's relish happens to be ram's testicles. These are pickled in whey, then pressed into slabs. Mike took an entire slab with gusto, and then tried to keep a poker face as he chewed his way through it. And chewed and chewed. Took quite a while to consume a slice of meat. I tried the pickled lamb, and a little piece of ram's testicle. They had an awful milk drink with whisky and other foul spirits. I think that's what got Mike through the meat. Funny thing, Mike wouldn't buy any at the airport as we were leaving.
After the farm, we went to the coast, and had wonderful lobster soup at a restaurant there. Mike had the lamb - but was careful to ask what part of the lamb would be served. Very nice food, and at a time when Mike was probably dreading eating for the rest of the weekend.
We walked along a sandy beach next. The sand in Iceland is black from the lava rocks, and with snow on top it made a striking contrast. It was weird enough to have snow at sea level but with the beautiful stripes of black sand and white snow along the sand ripples, it was extraordinary. We saw a dead puffin, frozen, which is as close to these cute wee birds as we got. They don't come in till May according to Inge, and this one had frozen from the cold. There was ice lapping at the shoreline of the beach.
After that, we all got back into the Land Rover and headed into Reykjavik. It was about 4pm by this stage, and although it hadn't been a strenuous day by any means, I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. But, as I looked around at my companions, they all nodded off in turn. I caught Inge's eyes as she looked around the sleeping clients and had a wee laugh. I wonder if that's how she measures the success of her trips.
We were dropped off first at a museum on the outskirts of Reykjavik that has built examples of housing in Iceland through the ages. I thought it sounded quite good, but it was shut when we got there. The English couple got out for a look around, but I needed to go to the toilet, and didn't look forward to the hour walk back to the hotel from there in that condition. So we were dropped off at the hotel, where I promptly fell asleep in a light doze.
Mike woke me at sunset, and we decided to go into Reykjavik to find dinner. After our usual circuitous route, which involved doing the three sides of a rectangle as opposed to the straightforward route, we found ourselves in Reykjavik itself. Mike had scoffed at the northern weather, with his usual statement about being a southern man, and didn't have any gloves and only wore jeans - without thermals. I had my hat and gloves, and was very warm.
We reached the point after trying to find a restaurant where Mike's stomach took precedence over deciding what type of food we wanted (we were also lost trying to find a certain restaurant mentioned in the LP guidebook - needless to say, we never found it.), and we ended up at a mainly takeaway Thai restaurant. It was superb. It tasted just like the Thai food we used to eat at lunchtime in the BNZ centre in Wellington. There was a steady stream of Icelanders getting their Saturday night takeaways.
Mike & I couldn't believe the skimpily dressed Icelandic girls on their way to nightclubs. Mike especially, as he was freezing with as many layers as he had on. They would have short skirts and a top, and that would be about it. No thermals in sight - and I'm sure we could have seen them if they were there. And the men only wore shirts as well. True northern men and women to rival anything the 'Southern Man' marketeers can dream up.
The winter months are the time to see the Aurora borealis in the north. We read up about it, and found that still, clear nights offer the best conditions for the Northern Lights. We also asked people on our tour about it. Seems that the best option was to travel out of Reykjavik, away from the bright city lights. There were tours available, but they ran to about £100 each. Including dinner! Bit steep. So, I guess the Scots in me won out, and we figured we would get onto the roof of our hotel for a while when we returned, and try our luck there.
So, Mike and I wandered back to our hotel, via the easiest and straightest route (unlike our walk into town). It was tricky negotiating the streets, as there was a fair bit of ice around. I clung on to Mike's arm quite a lot. Mind you, he seemed to always be the one to lose his footing. But, he would catch himself easily, and praise his cat-like reflexes (??).
As we came up to the intersection above our hotel, Mike looked up and saw the aurora above our hotel. It hadn't been there one moment, then just appeared like magic. It was about 8:30pm by this time, and we watched for a few minutes, as the green light moved across more of the sky. It waxed and waned and after about 10 minutes, we thought we'd move into the hotel, and find our way to the roof for a better view. The roof exit was through a conference centre room, and all was quiet as we sneaked in and unlocked the roof door. It was icy underfoot, but the night was still. We watched from a corner of the roof for another twenty minutes before the aurora disappeared. It moved around quite a bit, but remained in one area in the sky. It was like a band, a swathe across the sky. It sort of formed a u shape towards the end, with the next part of the u getting stronger as the original u side faded. Then, the new part just faded away and it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
After it disappeared, we went to bed. The next morning we woke to see snow falling and very heavy skies. We decided that today was to be a 'Discover Reykjavik' day, and we had a good portion of the day to do just that as our flight wasn't until 4pm. We checked out of our room, and left our luggage in storage in the hotel. Then we wandered down to the harbour and walked around to the centre of town. There was a fascinating sculpture of a Viking boat on the harbour. It was made of stainless steel and had flowing lines that conveyed the sense of sailing motion. The city centre was very quiet, as not much was open. The bookshop was open and we spent about 30 minutes checking out Icelandic literature. Iceland is renown for its love of reading, and there was a huge selection of English language books available. It being the only shop open also spoke volumes in itself (pun!).
Up on the hill was a huge church. It was very windswept there, and we couldn't stay long unsheltered. With the dark clouds, swirling snow and grey harbour for a backdrop, the huge church looked imposing and formidable.
After this, we found ourselves heading back towards the hotel, and as there was a hard Rock Café up the road about 20 minutes away, we decided to go get ourselves a souvenir. The HRC was located in a shopping centre but nothing else was open. By this stage it was too late for us to have anything to eat there, so we wandered back to the hotel.
Fortunately, the man serving us coffee also found us some biscuits and chocolates. So we munched them up as we waited for the bus to take us back to the airport. I got our luggage out of storage towards the time the bus was due, but didn't notice that it had turned up. I had to call out to Mike, who was writing postcards frantically, and carry our luggage out to the bus. We got on, and the bus did the rounds of hotels before heading out to the airport.
At the duty free shops in the departure lounge we bumped into the people on our tour yesterday. I bought an Icelandic jersey and a T-shirt. Mike passed on the packaged ram's testicles. Funny that.
Tuesday, May 5, 1998
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.
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.
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