I LOVE GOOOOOLLLLLD

Before I stoop to another Goldmember quote, (the only Dutch movie character parody I’ve ever seen) I should catch you up on where we have been for the last few days. We pulled into Gent with all the best intentions to see one of Europe’s perfectly kept Cities.

Sadly our time in the otherwise quiet little hub was thrown to the wolves as we landed ourselves in town for Gentfest.Every Belgian from near and far had descended here to get down with any or every musical genre you could imagine. It was ok but not what we looking for. We split pretty quick (I am a poet and don’t even know it) and made our way to Ypres. Success and an absolutely A+ afternoon in a perfect place.

We wandered for hours until the internal clock told Alli it was time for moule’s et frites.We both opted for white wine sauce. Such a good evening at a top notch brasserie. Our waiter spoke only four languages fluently and he worked the terrace of 25 tables like a robot. Nobody had an empty glass. Nobody looked like they were wanting for anything.It makes you stop and ponder as to how 3 waitresses at the Penny Farthing Pub back home frequently allow three very well paying customers to remain as parched as a fly on a camels ass from arrival to departure.

That Belgian man was indeed a professional and I went as far to tell him so more than once. Sadly another saga nears its close and I currently sit on the 5th floor of our hotel peering towards the North runway of Schipol Airport. We have been in Amsterdam for 3 days now which has given us some time to live a little like the Dutch (sans the red light district nastiness or THC lollipop consumption).We have wandered the canals, seen Anne Frank’s home and even replaced a battery in an iPhone 6 at the Amsterdam Apple Store.

From the old to the new is all to be tried and tested here. It is a nation of giants. Seemingly all Dutch folks ride bikes or scooters like the cast of Mad Max. The first one with Mel Gibson, not that other shit. Amsterdam is a city that tolerates almost anything or anyone.To say this city is liberal in outlook would be a definite understatement. “And the sign says long haired freaky people must apply”. Almost everyone of our stops on this adventure have had a cafe culture.Amsterdam is certainly that way as well but on steroids.

You have two choices. You can tempt fait and risk your life with the cyclists and scooteratti coming at you on the sidewalk from all angles and directions or you can take one pace backwards and fear not as you fall into a chair of one of the 4000 cafes (according to trip advisor) that line the streets and canals. The public transit is top notch and almost Swiss in punctuality.

I keep wanting to speak ill of London’s Tube or Paris’s Metro in comparison but I have to put it into perspective. Amsterdam has a population of 900,000 and London and Paris are 10,657,000 and 2,241,000 in comparison. I couldn’t organize a cab journey for 5 so I better check myself before I wreck myself. Sadly its over.We are checked in online and we are bound for the airport in the morning to climb aboard our KLM flight for Seattle. Thanks to Deanna and Allistair for making this trip one never to forget.  Not too many husbands nowadays can say that they have celebrated a silver anniversary with their wonderful wife.  Love you buddy! Thanks to the guys at work for holding the fort while I gallivant.Next week I will be back with my nose to the grindstone and hoping to quickly get back in the groove. Until next time!I am truly grateful for the well over 14000 visitors to this site over the years.

Cheers...Mark

NO EMBELLISHMENT REQUIRED.

I left you last time from my lounge table at the Holiday Inn Express in Affoltern am Albis. This is a pretty little town just a little north of Lucerne. Our afternoon’s journey took us through valleys bordering the Alps and early in the evening we pulled in shattered from the drive and the heat. In Affoltern we checked in and I got the blog knocked out, finished my beer and got up to head to the elevator.

Just as I got to my feet I caught a glimpse. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Three tour buses pulling up in front of the hotel one after the other.Not only was this a bus tour Mecca, it was the same folks from Interlaken who we had dodged several hours earlier. I picked up my pace to try to get on the elevator (one only) before well over a 100 bus tourists were assigned their rooms from their yellow flag carrying cyborg leaders. Epic fail, too late.

The procession had begun. Deanna and I looked at our concierge with sad puppy dog eyes. He took pity on us and brought us into the back of house to use the staff elevator to the 6th floor. I felt like a rock star escaping a throng of rabid fans “out the back door of the theatre”. It’s good to be an IHG Spire customer as several of my brothers in arms know too well. The following morning the breakfast area was like feeding time at the zoo.

If you felt like taking your life in your hands now was the time to try and jockey for position at the trough. I could not understand the bus tour banter however I think they were enjoying shutting us out. We regrouped and waited for the surly drivers to arrive and bark loading times and other orders at the bus tourists. It did not seem to me that they liked their job by their tone and facial expressions.

What I did notice however is that these fellows were clearly not to be trifled with and they must be well known for driving off leaving tardy passengers behind on a regular basis. That all being said the breakfast room cleared out in seconds and calm was restored. Bliss! The following morning was spent in Laufenburg, Switzerland.  The place is spectacular.  The photos do not do it a quarter of the respect its owed.  

The remainder of our day was spent travelling through rural Switzerland and the black Forrest of Bavaria. We finally called it a day in Fruedenstadt, Germany. It was a treat to check in to our little Bavarian hotel and soon after we were into the middle of town and the Centrum platz. We made for the local Brau Haus and quickly got down to business with Pilsners and an unreal selection of pigs knuckle, sour kraut and schnitzel.

A wonderful meal served by typically grumpy fifty something ladies dressed in local garb (use your imagination). Dinner was fantastic but Allistair was a little put out by the amount of Kirsht in his Black Forrest Sundae. Life is hard for teenagers! Back to the hotel and soon to sleep. We woke not too long after and joined our fellow guests for a wonderful breakfast and then packed the car for our journey north. We set the GPS for Wetzlar just past Frankfurt. Wetzlar is home to Leica camera. It’s factory and world HQ. I have been a devoted fan of Leica cameras since photography became a hobby. Their history is long and colourful. Without Leica we would not have enjoyed so many of the photographs we call iconic today. Leica have provided tools for the best and brightest photographers to capture & catalogue history. We enjoyed coffee and cake at the Leica cafe’ to begin with then moved on to the exhibit centre, gallery and store. I have been lucky to own a Leica in the past but not recently and today makes me lust after one now even more.

From Wetzlar we moved onto Ghent in Belgium this afternoon. The autobahn and an average speed of 175 kmh helped with our arrival time but not my nerves. You think you are Sebastian Vettel as you rocket along, but furious Germans are on your bumper flicking their high beams incessantly so that you get out of their way. You think you’re fast, they go much much faster. Germany’s roads are scary but please go anyway, we met some lovely Syrian dial-a-dopers (economic migrants doing well, you might say) last night after dark in the platz. 

I call them as I sees them and these telephone based narcotic delivery specialists were doing quite well for themselves by the look of their bling, several burner phones and shiny new Nike Shox (prison shoes in Canada).  Anyway, we are here and resting before we spend the next couple of days wandering Ghent prior to moving on to conclude our trip in Amsterdam.

I leave you with this. Don’t bus tour. It really looks like the most miserable of times! And what do you see? You see what others tell you to see and then you wage war with your new friends (you never wanted) at the buffet every morning and night until its all gone and so is your will to live.  It sounds shit cause it is shit.

Live well!

BIG DAY, THE TOUR AND MONT BLANC.

It has been a whirlwind of a couple of days.  Yesterday with heavy hearts we bid farewell to Bonnieux and our ages old stone cottage.  Provence was phenomenal and didn’t disappoint for weather, beauty or tranquility.  We set sail for Albertville in Northeast France as the tour was  to kick off at noon.  We made good time and as a result we learned a few things being considerably early.

First, the early bird gets the worm.  By worm I mean it gets pelted with freebies from the dozens of sponsormobiles.  Each sponsor has worker-bees who are roped on to the back of their vehicles in precarious positions so that they can throw anything from tiny sausages to lanyards to hats (got one) to the thousands of totally committed fans that line the route.It took 3x longer for the sponsor peloton to go by than the actual peloton 2 hours later (spoiler alert).  

But when the real peloton comes by it is quite something I must admit.  It is another bucket list’r checked off.  I’ll say it again, quite something.  When you have seen the last rider go by you actually feel a bit of an adrenaline dump.I can’t say for sure that I even caught a glimpse of the maillot jaune but that’s ok.  It was an awesome afternoon where we were right there on the side of the road.  

For countless years every  July we have have eaten our family dinner on our laps in front of the TV watching the tour from home in Victoria. The scenery, the spectacular racing, the controversy (thanks Lance).We moved on from Albertville to Chamonix to catch a glimpse of Mont Blanc.  As a kid I was completely consumed by the extreme ski films made by Warren Miller.  Chamonix was always a location for some of Warren’s best skiers to do what they do in order to thrill every ticket paying movie goer.So it all came together.  

I got there (in the wrong season mind you) and it is beautiful.  To see Mont Blanc there in all its glory was just a bit over the top.  The glacier falls away from the summit and the ice is a beautiful bright blue.Today we drove to Interlaken in Switzerland and I was not shocked to see the dozens of tour buses near the railroad station (there wasn’t a Swiss person to be seen).  

We set the GPS for a restaurant high atop the town at quite an elevation. [wpvideo wlLTPHlB]The Eiger stands proud nearby and we were entertained by the view from table.  Like it was on cue, dozens of parasailors fell from the sky above us and disappeared below to the valley floor. Tomorrow we hope to up our game and head towards the Black Forrest in Bavaria.

Hop Suisse!

Mark…

THE WORLD’S LONGEST POSTCARD.

Before I crack on with today’s nonsense I hope that every reader understands that this word jumble is my therapy.  I am not a writer.  I wish I had the talent that my friend Daryl has.  He has more writing ability in his little finger than I do in every obtuse lump of me.  When considering today’s title I mused over several possibilities. The first was kitschy, something Provençal perhaps?Then I thought maybe something about the continued scorching hot weather. Of course there could have been some self deprecating quote to do with England loosing to the Croatians in the semi’s.

You know something like how to blow a lead and the World Cup in one simple move. When all was considered I concluded that anyone with the intestinal fortitude to take on reading this epic instalment should be forewarned that it will have a ton of photos and may go on much longer than the average self harmer might want to endure. Since the last time I collected my thoughts on paper we have done so much and seen so many places. We have wandered the ramparts and halls of the Papal Palace in Avignon.We have slowly meandered through countless hilltop villages stopping to peer inside shops, galleries and cafes.We have shopped till we dropped in Aix-en-Provence.In between shops we were able to find our way into the Cezanne and Picasso exhibition at the Aix Art Gallery.

Today we left somewhat later than we usually do from home base in Bonnieux and drove to Mennerbes and on through Lumierre to Goult.I have to jump on the sword now and retract my earlier comments stating that Cucuron is the merde’! Goult is now the front runner in the my top Provençal Village ever award.Gordes is spectacular, Lacoste is pretty and filled with Artists in training as they summer at the Savannah College of Art situated below the Chateau. Apparently Pierre Cardin is the benefactor of the village and art school and you can tell as this place drips with style and design.I could go on and on about the veritable cornucopia of little places we have rambled about but at this stage you clearly have got the point.I love France.I love the food. I love the wine.I love that you can't get food or gas or anything for that matter on national holidays and Sundays.I like the style.I like the design.I like the land and the interminable sense of slow and easy.For Christ sake, I even like the little buck o’ five Frenchmen that put out a smoke only to role another and light it immediately. Of course the biggest question of the day is who do I cheer for on Sunday when we once again walk down to our neighbourhood cafe to watch the outdoor 75” flat screen.Ok, I am saying this once and only once.I am cheering for France.Those cheating diving Croatian’s do not deserve the win.

They did not beat England the night before last.They assaulted them.I routinely starred into the eyes of the psycho looking ref on numerous occasions expecting a card.Nothing.Abominable. I have never once in 52 years of watching the soccer or Rugby ever uttered the words "Allez Les Bleu”. But here goes.This Sunday that is all gonna change for one and only one time ever.I swear on my English Rose tattoo (if I had one).Tomorrow is Bastille Day and as such we can expect all kinds of pomp and circumstance. The French are a proud nation. I tip my hat to them. I would trade every member of the Trudeau family (past and present) for one de Gaulle.

Allez Les Bleu!

38 DEGREES IN THE SHADE.

An average July Sunday in Provence is slightly warmer than I can stand. I seem to spend more time looking for respite from the nuclear sun than I do anything else. Whatcha gonna do. This is what we bargained for many months ago when we began our planning. It was always going to be Provence but the specifics came later as we scoured Airbnb for options in more than a dozen towns both in the valley and on the hillsides.

After lunch we fired up Sven, cranked the air con and set sale for Chateau Conorgue winery. CC was used as the main set for the movie and as I learned on a previous visit a couple of years ago, had a lovely vintner with lovely wine. Upon arrival we were provided several wonderful vintages to sample and then chose a few bottles to take away with us after the obligatory wander around the gardens. The following day was about venturing a little further afield to Apt which is around 12 kms away to the northeast. We had a brief look about & visited the local supermarche’. We hustled back to Bonnieux to get squared away in time to find an outdoor terrace bar in the village that would hopefully be showing the England Sweden game at 4 o’clock.Success, and a table pour 3 was in a perfect location for the 75” flatscreen hanging from the outside wall. We sat next to a Swedish couple and their young daughter. Being Swedish meant they were all beautiful people. The remainder of the crowd was made up of French locals that spread hate towards the English between cigarettes and Belgians that sat there with their best smug faces.The remainder were sunburned English twats with poncey public school accents screaming at the TV in hopes that Gareth Southgate would hear their requests to get Sterling off and Rashford on.

If those accents were Mancunian or Brummie or even Scoucers I maybe could have accepted their pleas for change. Oh yeah, the most important part is that England were up 2-0 so whats the problem Rupert. If there is a god I will someday find my way to their local polo field or fox hunt so that I may heckle the shit out of them. Today found us on a slow paced drive through countryside with stops in Cucuron and Loumerin. Both lovely and both drop dead gorgeous. We had lunch at L’etang in Cucuron and enjoyed a fabulous meal. Even Allistair had his first foray into true French cuisine with steak tartare avec raw oeuff.

Ces’t Bon!

WE HAVE ALL SEEN THINGS.

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Most mornings I wake to ponder the day ahead and think to myself nothing will happen that I have not seen at some point before. Most often that statement rings true, however a couple of days ago as I stood in line at TSA pre screening in SEATAC airport I saw something I had never ever seen in the past. There stood a man two in front of me with a form of carry-on luggage of which the likes was unique to say the very least. This man who I will refer to hence forth as Cleatus stood well over six feet and was attired in contrasting plaid and camouflage. His singular proud tooth could be seen from space as it jutted at a right angle from his slack jawed mouth.Cleatus stood shouldering an overstuffed pillow case with what a young man about his local area would need for a holiday away.

I only know this because Cleatus’s pillow case had seen better days and was quite near the point of translucence.I am quite sure that this may have also been a first for TSA as well because Officer Yolanda was a little put out by the contents of the pillow case that had fallen out as it made it's way through the x-ray machine. I had forgot to mention earlier that Cleatus did not have any string around the top of his case to keep it closed in transit. In fact, I have to think that this may have been the first time Cletus may have ever been in transit.Some minutes later Cleatus left on his way and we had gone on ours. We arrived at Gate S8 in time to board our Delta Flight to Amsterdam. I usually have no trouble finding several humorous tid bits to comment on when flying transatlantically. I am happy (or am I?) to report that this journey was without folly.

Our on board staff were crackerjack and our seats were comfortable. Our menu was fabulous and the choices were grand. This is the first time I have flown internationally with Delta and I am very happy to say I hope it is not my last. The service and attention to detail is excellent. I suppose I could natter on about the 60 something couple in front of us.  I would have happily spent time in a Turkish prison to cheerfully murder both for their in-flight antics but that is a whole other story and I want to keep this one slanted towards puppies, cotton candy and unicorns.

We landed in Holland nine and half hours later feeling good and ready to attack the day. Our first stop was at Enterprise to pick up our rental for the next month and we sat second in line for service. As luck would have it our attendant from Ghana as I would later find out was named Godwin. Godwin was happy and smiley and I liked him immediately. As we all know Godwin was about to fleece the shit out of me in the upsell game. Sure we booked with Costco Travel and as such got a smoking price on a Fiat Panda “or similar”. Now, as per usual the “or similar” was considerably smaller than a Panda and Godwin warned us about the cramped quarters and restrictive space for our luggage thank god.Just ten minutes later, under a Ghanaian voodoo spell we left Schipol Airport.  I am at the wheel of a brand new Volvo XC60 with only 1100 km on it and we were rocketing south of Amsterdam with Antwerp in our sights (what do I know about Diamonds) & Godwin saved the day.

Several hours later and we found our way to Passendale in southern Belgium. This town holds a special place in my heart. I recently watched my eldest son parade here with the contingent of Canadian soldiers paying their respects to those who fought before them. The picture above is a part of a memorial commemorating 100 years since those brave Canadian lads pushed forward from the area of that gate to the church in the distance. 16000 Canadian casualties and ten days of wading in waiste deep mud to capture the town. Canada should always remember the bravery and sheer determination of our military heroes.   Today our pathetic prime minister minimizes spending on our military and wastes those dearly needed funds on legalizing marijuana. So there you have it. A PM who wishes for Canadians to have unfettered access to hallucinogenic drugs. So god help us.  Bust out the Oreos Mr PM, you can watch our military do their duty with vintage equipment safely from 24 Sussex after an epic game of C.O.D. and a Rebagliati .

Later we went to Vimy in France. Allistair and Deanna were filled with Canadian WWI history and we were comfortably checked in to our hotel in Amiens.  Timing is everything and in this case as we flopped into bed the TV went on and there was England trying desperately to clutch defeat from the jaws of victory as Columbia netted one in injury time to tie it up 1-1. Certain things are like death and taxes and one of those is England losing games on penalty kicks. Surprise, shock, awe etc etc.

Jordan Pickford stood on his head and as the The Sun Newspaper quoted in its next days front page headline, “The hand of Jord” saved the day and England lives on to meet Sweden in the quarter final.The following morning in Amiens our breakfast was lovely and we bid farewell to our comfortable beds and our pleasant hoteliers as we boarded Sven and drove southwest to Juno Beach and the Canadian Exhibit. I have been interested in the D-Day landings since learning of them as a lad. I have had the pleasure of visiting Dunkirk but this was the first time I had been lucky enough to visit the area Canadian soldiers fought bravely to liberate on that fateful day. We wandered the museum and took in two films based on the experience to later stroll the beach itself. It is truly an ominous feeling to walk along the beach in the Canadian soldiers footsteps. 

We left Juno the richer for the experience and set our sights for Provence and our ultimate destination. We were never going to make the whole journey in one go, so around mid afternoon Allistair  started to work the Hotels.com app for places along our route that were affordable and quiet.We were not disappointed but our hosts were truly surprised as I ran from our car in a deluge that I have never experienced the likes of before. The rain hurt it was coming down so hard. I got to the door and I was met by a couple that have recently opened their 300 year old farmhouse on 4 hectares to guests. They were a young Dutch couple with two kids that we later learned over Heineken had moved to Normandy to escape the rat race in Holland. We sat at their kitchen table and chatted until midnight as we learned about the area and they learned about Vancouver Island. We slept like babies and woke to the smell of fresh baked bread and croissants with pots of apricot and lavender jam.

Thanks Hotels.com!

Thanks Le Rianon

www.gites.fr/gites_le-rianon_malleret-boussac_h907134.htm

Back in Sven around 9 and we drove 5 Kms to Boussac to fill his tank and to wander about on market day. An awesome morning and then we settled into our drive south to Bonnieux in the Luberon valley of Provence. The weather has averaged 35c since our arrival and we are happily tucked away in a beautiful French Provençal home for the next two weeks. Thanks AirBnB! We are now temporary members of the local Tennis Club and can’t  wait to make ourselves more at home.Thanks so much Godwin. You are a star. Stand by for more adventure...  

LONDON, THE GROSVENOR HOTEL, AND A SERIAL KILLER

Well once again I have some time to kill in an airport departure lounge, so I thought I would catch you up. In fact this morning I have more time than expected as our WestJet flight from Gatwick to Calgary is delayed for at least an hour and a half (or so we hope). I suppose I shouldn’t complain as it takes as long as it takes to keep these old WestJet planes in a condition that will hopefully keep us in the air longer than the Wright Brothers and home safer than Amelia Earhart.I have been told that there are new WestJet planes on the way in the new year so for those with plans to travel abroad in the future you may be in for a treat. For now we are stacked up like cordwood in the North Terminal adjacent to WHSmith bookstore trying not to be overcome by the stale cigarette stench on the folks sporting the fake tans and bedazzled track suits sitting all about us. And then as if all our prayers were answered the flight for Majorca was called and they all got to their good “foot” & gangster limped away to a gate with the promise of Thomas Cook Holidays in the Spanish Sun (ATOL Protected).

Then it was our turn. Our gate was called and we made our way to 571. Upon arrival at the gate we were lucky enough to witness a WestJet employee domestic dispute as the plane had apparently been ready for some time but there had been no ground staff to board the passengers. So while a grumpy bald WestJetter berated the first young lady in uniform to appear, she returned volley to who I would guess was her supervisor with a “who do you think you are”. That continued downward until cooler heads prevailed and another young lady arrived from her tea break to further assist. So now we endure the apologies on behalf of WestJet for the delays and their efforts to now board the passengers ASAP and in sequence.

This is where it got entertaining as this was actually my first time witnessing six British Adult benefit cheats (Social Assistance Scammers in Canadian) and the child they had clearly borrowed from the local gypsies to make their way to the front of the line when the call went out for travellers with small children. Nan as she was referred to by the middle female teenage cheat appeared to be in her early thirties and must have spawned young Vicki Pollard early in her “formative years”. The four accompanying completely tattooed adult males (at the expense of the British tax payer) followed in behind like lambs to the slaughter or benefit cheats to the kabab shop, take your pick.

Then it was time for a litany of regular guests of Disney’s theme parks who were obvious students of the how to get to the front of the line game. All of whom were clearly willing to try feigning all manner of injuries and every other trick in the book to go next.Now it’s our turn to take our seats in WestJet Plus. We are in the 2nd row and I have the pleasure of sitting within earshot of a woman who requires a lot of help from the flight attendant to fully understand what Prosecco is. When the penny dropped another 30 seconds of thought was required to answer yes please or no thank you. Aaron our flight attendant is a huge man with Michael Jackson’s voice & very small hands. Aaron’s hands look strong enough to choke the next neck of the next passenger with the next stupid question. Aaron looks displeased. I understand that look. It gives me a warm feeling to know that someone may dislike people more than I do.

One of my old buddies says without hesitation that there are 6 Billion people on this planet and he likes 3 of them. I’ll stretch to 20 (but that’s it and you know who you are). We are now up in the air and about 8 and a half hours from Calgary with fingers crossed. Now it’s time to go over the last couple of days in London. We arrived nearly three days ago from Barcelona and I must admit we were shocked to be greeted with the hot and humid 29 degree sunshiny weather. It was a British bank holiday on Monday so everyone was out and about in the royal parks enjoying a wonderful family day or just relaxing with friends.

I hope you are inspired to visit some of the places I have written about over the past few years. And if you have been one of the 18 thousand (Wordpress stats) or so readers that have stopped by since I started, thank you! As the lovely African lady working as a cleaner on our Gatwick Express train said to me a couple of days ago, “life is too short. Go places and do things”. She spent some time at our table telling us how excited she was for her next journey. If my memory serves, she is probably now on her way to Mauritius, a place she has never been before. Safe travels my new friend! Memories made are more important than stuff.

Cheers!

Mark

SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT

When it comes to planning, one should always find a location that suits the needs of the planners. On Wednesday what suited us was a local brew pub that has been well thought of for many years. We arrived at Spinnaker's with a lot to do and the need to be refreshed while doing it.Our server was prompt and the order went in without much chatter. Soon after, we were basking in the glow of the amber nectar and turning our mind to contacting more B&B's and hotels to accommodate our weary feet on our epic journey. We sent out a bunch more emails and then turned our focus to rental cars, train tickets and best of all tickets for as many matches at the Rugby World Cup as we can reasonably afford. Lots of web surfing later we were closer to the goal for the evening. The rugby tickets were going on sale again on Friday morning so I would focus on being successful on the day! This is going to be awesome. This trip cannot come soon enough.