EXPERIMENTING WITH A TELEPHOTO ZOOM.
Like many other landscape and travel photographers I have long relied upon my wide angle zoom lenses for the majority, if not all my efforts to produce evocative images. But as time marches on I have taken onboard the advice of many of my Youtube heroes and moved to try and get closer to the landscape and architecture.Compressing the subject from its background can change the look and feel of the final composition into something more interesting and most often perhaps even more pleasurable to the viewer. I bounce around from system to system. I am not a professional and that is easy to see. What I am is someone that is always looking for a change.
The change has to be for the better. Now that does not mean that the change will provide me with newer or better equipment. Sometimes for me a change of system might provide inspiration. EVF's have become a tool I prefer and enjoy to use. My sight is failing and I feel that an optical viewfinder does not help me where I need help.In the last 10 years I have used Nikon, Olympus, Leica, Sony, Fuji, back to Nikon and at the moment I am back again with Sony. It appears that I am not what you would refer to as brand loyal. I have had a camera in my hands or near by for the last 40 years and as such I have seen very big advancements in every aspect of the hobby.I am currently using a Sony A7II (because my III has been backordered for 2 months) and several Sony lenses.
I can only hope that the A7III is as good as its hype. I am of the opinion that it must be getting all the accolades and winning over the photographic community for good reason. My last camera was a Nikon D850 that I would have been still using today if I did not drop it onto concrete from a hight 3 months ago. It is a magnificent camera capable of exceptional things.As you have read in other posts I can be prone to the odd ramble and as such I am gonna get back to the reason for this post. I have fallen in love with the Sony FE 70-200mm F4. I find that it renders beautiful images and is light and relatively compact enough to take very little space in a bag.
I have used it in several locations both on and off tripod and I feel it is a gem.The colours it produces are accurate and I feel it is just as sharp as other more expensive offerings from both Sony and it's competitors. I can't speak to the Sony 70-200mm F4 from a technical perspective as I'm not interested. All I can tell you is that I love it. I would not rely upon it indoors with the A7II but if the hype is real with III then maybe with enough ambient light and A7S II like high ISO, then maybe it may be ok then too. What is important to know is that the image quality and sharpness is certainly good enough for me. The lens is constructed very well and to a high standard in my humble opinion.So what I have left is to provide a gallery of images taken over the last month with the Sony combo. Please leave your thoughts in the comments below.
Mont Blanc.
Ypres.
Ypres
Ypres
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…
FRANCE WINS!
I’m not upset nor am I excited.The 2018 World Cup is in the books and France won 4-2 in impressive fashion. The streets of every city, town and village are absolutely crazy. Tens of millions have left their homes and cafe’s and taken to open spaces to wave flags, let off blue smoke and do donuts with cars, trucks and scooters. Life for a Frenchman ce’ coir is a thing of beauty. There are screams, smiles and tears (of joy).We are blessed to be here today of all days. If things work out this wont be the only sporting spectacle that we experience on this trip. In several days we will be at the base of alpe d’huez for a stage of the Tour de France and a couple days later in Monaco for a Diamond League Track meet. Yesterday took us to a neighbouring town nicknamed the Venice of France.
What other than two person gondola racing was on the cards.Yes there were chills, thrills and spills.There were those who tripped and fell as they forged the man made rock waterfalls.There were also those who took so much water on board they spent more time trying to right their boats than race them. This was such a pretty place and so well attended by locals. It was cool to see racers cheered on by family and friends alike.After the festivities we wandered for hours through the narrow streets and over the bridges of the many canals.
We ate at home last night.A meal comprised of Toulouse sausages and Provençal potatoes.It was a wonderful night accompanied by several glasses of Luberon Rose’. This morning took Alli and I back to the tennis club for another hour or so of rallying in the early sun. As per the norm these days we finish at the club then relocate to the local boulangerie for pain au chocolate and some strong coffee. Deanna joined us and we took our time enjoying the atmosphere while reading the paper.
Once we readied ourself for the day ahead, I flashed up the car and we drove off to the east via a route we have never taken before.Sometimes fortune favours the brave and this morning it took quite some nerve to venture down these one lane roads dotted with oncoming traffic. There were moments when cars, buses and tractors approached when my heart stopped and then once we crossed each other’s path unscathed it began to beat again.Success, we lived to tell the story (literally) and my heart got several opportunities to jump start itself.
I hope that this becomes its strong suit if I continue to mainline Rochefort cheese.So there we were in Saignon.Another wonderful hill town completely surrounded by lavender fields and honey farms.This hilltop village was a pleasure to experience. We peered in real estate agent’s windows all the while dreaming of the lotto 649 win we don’t deserve but would graciously accept regardless. I leave you as I continue well into the third straight hour of TV reporters being mobbed by French fans as they venture through the crowded streets of Paris. The Arch de Triumph has never looked better.
Fortis Fortuna adiuvat & Vive la France!
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
SICILY GOES GREEK.
I am currently gazing 200 meters to the south from my table at the Hotel Del Athena. This remarkable terrace sits in the shadow of the worlds best kept Greek Temples. Being in Agrigentro is just a bit more than surreal. For a mere mortal to get so close to such ancient and awesome architecture built solely for the gods to enjoy is quite an experience. Most of us would tend to think that if you want to visit stunning Greek temples you should probably get yourself to Greece.This place is incredible and should not be missed if visiting Sicily or anywhere near for that matter. Of course, with every description of ancient ruins should come a short history lesson laying out the important facts and figures. I will spare you that but encourage you to spend a minute or two searching Wikipedia for the significant details.
As you can imagine a seat at a five star hotel surrounded by greatness is a recipe for spending euros, and in fact you would be right. Two double Bombay (Mumbai) gin and Schweppes tonic accompanied by olives & almonds and the bill came to 56 big ones. Oh well, the waiters were dressed in white tuxedo jackets and the manager moved about like a cat with an eagle eye for anything that could constitute less than impeccable service.Dale mentioned that during a short period when he stepped away from our table he overheard several American sixty something tourists lambasting their poor tour guide. The tour company was apparently significantly lacking for booking a hotel that has guest room televisions that are not even as big as the ones in their kitchens back home.I personally can’t think why you would give a shit when you are paying mega bucks for a five star hotel next to several unspoilt Greek Temples, but each to his own and praise be to Jeebus that I don’t one day become one of those old pricks.
How we got to the Valley of the Temple of the Gods is in someways just as interesting. Yesterday we arrived in Sicily via Venice and Volotea Airlines. We landed on the east coast in the city of Catania. We wisked our way through the airport to Budget Rentals and soon after were motoring through the hills to the south of the city near Mt. Etna. The destination was our Airbnb in Ragusa Ibla owned and operated by Gianni and his daughter Chiara. As the photographs attached will indicate Chiara’s home is perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the rest of the hilltown to the south.
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The home is a modern, recently renovated cliffside beauty that is absolutely gorgeous. It is clean both in condition and interior design and the balcony is unlike any other I have stood on before. This town is used regularly as a set for an Italian crime drama that is subtitled in many languages and aired all around the world. For those interested, the program is Inspector Montalbano and I recommend a watch.
Upon arrival yesterday we were met by Gianni and checked in with speed and accuracy. It’s not often that you are met at the door with an assortment of delicate Sicilian baked goods.
It was nice to meet Gianni and he was quick to give us the local 411 that could help us enjoy our next 48 hours here. Soon after we jumped in the car and headed down the hill into the bustling village. The churches are magnificent and the accompanying businesses and homes fell suit. We wandered for quite some time only to stop for a pew at a local church and an espresso at the appropriate time to recharge the batteries.
Later we headed into Ragusa proper for a SPAR grocery store to shop for some fresh pasta for dinner. Both Pomodoro and Pesto on tonight’s menu. The plate would not be complete without sun-dried tomatoes and anchovies to accompany the local pane’. Given we are in the slow food capital of the world we took advantage and spent a couple hours enjoying our meal. The very cheap yet delicious tetra pack table wine that costs less than 2 dollars Canadian a litre is so good. Dishes washed and a little TV capped off the night as well as could be expected. Let me tell you now, by no fault of our own our expectations are now quite high.
Lastly but not least we stopped in Punta Secca on the Sicilian coast this morning. It is a beautiful seaside town that has a wonderful beach and wonderful coffee. We stayed for a while and enjoyed all its graces. Go there, do that, don’t be a Goomba!Tomorrow we leave from Catania bound for Barcelona and two days of sights, sounds, smells, tapas and wine. Perhaps after a stroll on Las Ramblas we can slump into a Paella induced coma. Until Tomorrow!Mark
PEOPLE SAY THE DARNEDEST THINGS AND AUSTRIA
The time has come to place my new carryon size wheelie bag in the car and kindly ask Deanna to drive me out to the airport so that I can meet Dale and our journey can begin in earnest. The weather at Victoria International Airport was best described as “meh” and as such I didn’t feel that we were going to be missing much while we are away for the next 10 days.Today’s journey will be of epic length and will include three planes, one train and at least a couple of automobiles. For those keeping score at home, I have indeed just mentioned that our journey could be considered very similar to a movie from the 80’s where two fellows decide through necessity to travel together from New York to Chicago. Our journey neither starts nor ends in the Windy City, however it does begin on Vancouver Island and will hopefully finish some 27 hours later in Austria.
I suppose many of the keen movie buffs amongst you are wondering who of us most resembles the character played by the late great John Candy on this adventure. Suffice to say that I just had to remind Dale that those aren’t pillows he is jamming his hands into.After we organized boarding passes and said our goodbyes we made our way to CATSA screening and stepped into the abyss. It wasn’t too busy but unfortunately it was also understaffed and therefore slow going.The slow moving cue eventually split and along with several American ladies I was directed towards the furthest X-ray station. As there were only five travellers in our group, I soon began to wonder why it was taking so long to get to the point I could remove my IPad, small liquids and gels and place them gently into the neatly stacked white plastic bins as you do at every airport I have ever been to around the world.I stepped back a little to see if I could figure it out the delay.
It was no surprise I suppose that each of these ladies had believed it was a great idea to place each souvenir purchased, each piece of clothing worn and each copy of People Magazine read into their open top shopping bags. Just to further complicate things, the lovely and patient shepherd herding sheep today for CATSA had to ask that most of these items be separated and placed in additional bins.Upon completion of this seemingly arduous task I clearly overheard the shepherd ask if they had any electronic devices that they had not yet removed from their bags. The reply he got was quite unequivocal. “No” and with that the first bin was pushed along the rollers and into the X-ray.It disappeared for a moment and then soon returned back at breakneck speed. The shepherd asked if the owner of the bags in that particular bin if she was traveling with an IPad? The reply was “yes”. That was countered with “I thought you just told me you had no electronics in your bag?” A simple question I thought. But not so simple as it turned out. The lady in question replied that “in the states they have a different definition of electronics”.An IPad does not meet that definition apparently. Clearly the Kindle and IPhone subsequently appearing from the same bag moments later further pointed to the flawed Canadian broader definition of electronics.
We as Canadians need to stop causing real hardships for confused cross boarder shoppers. Perhaps Trudeau can publicly apologize (with tears) for that as well. He seems to be good at apologizing to everyone for everything.We got through eventually and we soon found a couple of stools to sit on at Spinnakers in the downstairs departure lounge. We sat there for an hour and then moved towards our gate.With typical WestJet banter the flight was called and we made our way aboard with high hopes of clear skies to Calgary. Our row was shy one passenger so we had tons of room. An hour or so later and we were on the ground in Calgary. A smooth transition to the international side and there we grabbed some dinner.After dinner we moved next door to a nicely appointed lounge called VIN. This place was a little upmarket but this is a vacation so a little treat can’t hurt.I soon spotted a sixty something man sitting on his own against the back wall attired from head to toe in Saskatchewan Roughriders apparel. For those who don’t know much about the Canadian Football League, this means he was dressed completely in green complimented with white logos.Initially I thought this guy must be a super fan who is getting in the spirit several months before the season kicks off. He must be just killing time in international until he meanders back to the domestic side to catch a flight home to Regina.
We sat down next to the super fan in question and I was just about to chat him up when his extremely forlorn looking wife appeared and slumped in the chair adjacent.Our perceptive waiter was soon to inquire if everything was ok. The rest is comedy gold and I will confidently state now that nothing will make me “LOL” harder on this trip than her well considered response. She took a deep breath as if she was about to weep and then explained she had just returned from checking the departure board and to her dismay their flight had been really delayed.The waiter asked where they were flying. Her response was to my surprise London. Before you judge me I just thought there aren’t many destinations on this planet that you would wander about dressed like a leprechaun with footballs silkscreened on your chest, London included. She went on to explain to the waiter that they were supposed to leave at 6:50 pm. The departure board now says the flight has been delayed to 18:50. That’s a really long time and the price of the waiters rum was very expensive.The waiter replied compassionately that he was sorry about the prices but the bastard never even thought about explaining the 24 hour clock to the misguided Rider faithful. With that she acquiesced and ordered another expensive rum and a half carafe of Diet Coke “on the side”.It wasn’t long before we were aboard WS1 bound for Gatwick and seated one row behind the privileged once again. Story of my life.
Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. WestJet operates transatlantic flights with a no frills service. You may purchase a meal if you wish. Don’t expect a blanket but the crew are cheerful and seem to really care about their customers.So much so that 4 hours into the journey our flight attendant came on the PA to request us to pull down our window blinds. She went on to advise that soon we would be “flying near the sun” and some passengers may prefer to sleep. Now I’m no historian but as I recall flying near the sun was not such a great idea for Icarus.I rejoin you today from Platform 2 at Salzburg railway station. We are resting after an 05:30 alarm and subsequent walking tour (self guided) through old Salzburg. Last night after a picturesque train journey from Munich we quickly stored our luggage in our room at the very hip Villa Carleton Hotel and then boarded a cab for a local beer garden. This place had several floors of beer halls and numerous food vendors that all had their own version of roast chicken and wurst. We drank a customary litre of the house brau and scoffed a couple curry wurst. A little bit of carnivore nirvana.
I BRUSHED MY TEETH WITH BUM RASH CREAM.
It has been nearly 72 hours since I decided that the tube of hydrocortisone in my shaving kit was a travel size tube of Crest toothpaste. I must admit that it took about 6 seconds of vigorous brushing before the shock kicked in.The taste was not as I recalled and the immediate sensation of being sick to my stomach was not as per usual either. I looked down to the bathroom counter and to my horror it all became clear. The label says for external use only, so thats a problem right off the bat.When in Britain one must keep a stiff upper lip and “Never Surrender”. I am just hopeful to have an upper lip when I wake up tomorrow, stiff or otherwise. So as I sit knocking out today’s blog I can say that no matter what I eat or what I drink tastes like hydrocortisone. OK, moving on. Today is Saturday but not just any Saturday in Oxford’s calendar. This afternoon is the annual Boat Race as Oxford Universty rows against Cambridge on the Thames for the 163rd consecutive year. This sporting event is rumoured to bring out sometimes close to a million fans along the banks of London’s famous murky river.
After lunch we decided that we should try to find some of the most quaint villages we could, so we drove on to Chipping Norton. I met a fella on the street there who put us on to (as he described) the most picturesque village of them all. He said you have to go and see Lower Slaughter. Not a better name for a crime novel but as we drove into the tiny village your breath is taken away by the picture postcard setting. I suggest that if you are at all interested please search google images for this village. I do not have the vocabulary to do it justice.After a few more hours in the country we eventually wound our way back to the hotel and the drive was spectacular. We stopped in the hotel bar on the way to our room for a couple of local pints. Job done and to bed for an early morning set aside for souvenir shopping.I could go on and on but I am drawn to the television now. The women’s race is on and Cambridge is several boat lengths ahead. I do not want to miss the rest of the afternoon’s excitement so I bid you farewell. Tomorrow is for home and to reconnect with family.Cheers!Markp.s. Cambridge was victorious in all 4 races this afternoon.
The Last Bus (Actually Hyundai) to Woodstock.
Excitement Turns to Lower Back Pain.
Saturday was supposed to be about making sure we get up by 7, have some breakfast and head south from Skye to make it to Dunfermline by 2. Most reading this blog will not understand my obsession with watching England’s men’s rugby team play but today is supposed to be a chance to end the 6 Nations Tournament on a high with a victory over the Irish.I thought if we get to Dunfermline in good time we could find a great pub there. If all goes well we would find a quiet snug to watch the game. Two reasons that a quiet snug out of the way was in order. The first was I wanted to hear the TV announcers call the game, and second, if any Scotsman noticed I was cheering for England, there may have been an angry scene from Braveheart improvised at our table.The Scots get along with the English in so many ways except Rugby or Soccer or any other sport for that matter. To recap, we had 5 hours to make the journey in the glorious sunshine and then an hour to unwind before kickoff.Well sunshine and beautiful mountian scapes gave way to a significant loss of visibility and blowing snow. Two weeks ago the so named “beast from the east” hit the UK with a bout of bad weather that has not been seen in years. Today and two weeks hence we have plunged back into the belly of that beast. Simply put we could not see a hand in front of our faces and that happened in just a matter of seconds.So driving on already challenging roads went from bad to worse. When you see drivers do stupid things in these conditions your blood pressure spikes and explatiffs may sneak out at speed. As we rounded the next blind corner I see a van full of tourists from Asia that have decided to stop dead in the oncoming lane to scout potential photo opportunities near the adjacent river. If perhaps their choice would have included a safer location or at minimum pulling off the road, I suppose I would have understood. When you park in such a fashion other drivers following behind are provided only one choice, and that is to pull into oncoming traffic to get around.I swerved to miss the 5 Series BMW and luckily no damage was caused. This did however cause my temper to rage a tad. As such I was not paying attention to the pot hole that soon swallowed up our front passenger wheel. That in turn set off the tire pressure alarm almost immediately. So that’s cool. Flat tire in the Scottish Highlands. No cell coverage, no handbook in the glove compartment and only a few of the tools in the boot required for a simple tire change.
Regardless cooler heads prevailed (Deanna) and we got down to the business of jacking up the Focus and putting on the donut. Twenty minutes later and we were on our way with filthy hands and strained lower backs. 50 ain’t easy! Eventually we got phone service and we began the process of enquiring what to do to have the tire and clearly bent rim looked at or the car replaced. As you can imagine the more laborious of options is what they (Enterprise) start with. I was hoping for, “We will bring the car to you in Dunfermline sir and we will swap you.” Instead we got, “You better find a National Tyre outlet Sir and have the damage repaired.”
Things you may have already guessed. Number one, the guys at National Tyre couldn’t be bothered. As timing and luck would have it both were otherwise focussed on their local drug dealer who had recently stopped by to drop off a couple of very small plastic bags. There were two “service specialists” at this location. One couldn’t stop doing whatever he was doing (not working) to focus on us. The second one I have appropriately named Ruprect, was clearly wearing safety glasses to prevent him from plunging his own fork into his bastard eyes. We sat in the car for almost an hour before our inattentive customer service rep even gazed at the wheel and then he decided that a rubber mallet would save the day. Well to my surprise customer service representative number one, who by the way resembled Rent Boy of Train Spotting fame did good. I could almost here him grumble:“Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers... Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, sticking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?”― Irvine Welsh, TrainspottingOur damaged wheel and tyre went back on and away we went in under two hours (for a 5 minute job). We left Perth and motored on to Dunfermline to the welcome face of Lizzy at the desk of the Holiday Inn Express. “Thank you for being a Spire Elite Customer Sir!” Thank you Lizzy for having everything ready. We shoved our gear into our room and checked the score. I should have known & I guess I shouldn’t complain as it is St. Paddy’s Day. The Irish faces were smiling. They had beaten the English at their own game on their own field.One thing I know for sure is that when you are depressed, beer is the best remedy. Down the road was the Elizabethan and its draft taps o’plenty. No Irish here but lots of Scotsman drinking lots of Tennants. We decided to join them as we know we can’t beat them. To add to the little mercies came a decision to order the Haggis Balls with whiskey cream sauce.
Nice one!SlàinteMark
The Children of the Corn and Lawrence
Leaving Victoria we were just a little stunned to be waved off by what appeared to be blue skies and sunshine. Regardless of this minor miracle we couldn’t stick around because we had to get to Seattle to change planes for London Heathrow and beyond.As most who fly regularly into SEATAC already know, landing there means dealing with the TSA. It begins with the instructions of a slack jawed troglodyte to recheck your already checked baggage and then subject yourself to a full cavity search. If they like what they see or touch you may proceed to the next stage in the process.Next comes the train that takes you on a magical mystery tour from terminal to terminal that actually turns out to be a waste of time and way faster to walk. We made it to the area of our connecting gate in terminal S and found a comfortable chair in a quiet nook of the departure lounge.For the first couple of hours it was joyous.
Then arrived a family of seven that appeared to be supervised by parents (and I use that word loosely) who couldn’t care less how much noise their children made, damage they caused or mayhem they created.All 5 kids appeared to be under 6 years old and were left to do as they thought fit while mom applied layer after layer of makeup and dad looked away in silence and what appeared to be regret. I will never know if they were from a flyover state, but I can almost guarantee you that somewhere in Iowa, there is an evil farmer’s corn field missing it’s horror movie children.At 6:30 we boarded British Airways flight 48 and took our seats in the 26th row. This does not sound like choice seating however for those frequent flyers that know the Boeing 777 it is.
As it turns out we were in the first row at an exit that provided more leg room than we could have used if we wanted. Our flight attendant was an example of the grooming standard set by British Airways. Lawrence was a man of mid to late 20’s and not only was his uniform impeccable but his recent hair cut, perfectly trimmed beard and manicured eyebrows spoke volumes. I knew several things about Lawrence just by taking time to listen to his softly spoken banter with other members of his team and the odd traveller. Foremost, at no time should I refer to Lawrence as Larry or Lar. Lawrence would not stand for it and was easily the most passive aggressive, surly slightly built man I would encounter for the next 9 ½ hours. I could sense that on most transatlantic flights Lawrence would have not been providing his standard of service to any passengers seated so far back as row 26.
Lawrence flew amongst those in rows 1-8 and as such was uncomfortable trying to make small talk with the plebs back here. I thought to myself at some point that I would try and take the chance to break the ice, however I was met with “do you want the butter chicken or the spinach ravioli? There isn’t much chicken left you should know.” “I’ll have the Chicken Lawrence”. That didn’t make Larry happy but c’est la vie.
We arrived a little before schedule and made our way through passport control in no time flat. Grabbing our bags we were whisked out of terminal 5 and into the Enterprise shuttle. We grabbed our Ford Focus diesel (side note it goes almost 700 miles on a tank.) and made our way for the M40 and north to the Lake District in the north west of England. Once past Lancaster we looked for the first opportunity to get off the motorway and into the lakes. We drove through slate roofed village after village that stunningly lined the southern lake shores. The sun was setting on our left over the water and the pub goers were starting to fill the sidewalks peeking in windows to investigate which one looked the best for dinner and a pint.
Many families and couples with their dogs all looking for the perfect Cumberland sausage with mashed potatoes and onion gravy. Windermere and Ullswater are absolutely jaw dropping and it’s clear to see why so many writers, painters and poets have made their way here over the years. We soon after arrived at the Dale Head Inn on Lake Thirlmere. The Inn is 300 hundred or so years in age but in great condition. We were welcomed by the manager/owner and not unlike my favourite episode of Fawlty Towers he advised us that the kitchen was closed and he couldn’t offer any food. I thought about the offer of cash for a Waldorf salad but I think that may have been rude.
But from every negative there is a positive and in this case we were directed back down the ¼ mile driveway to cross the dark road that brought us here. From there turn north for a hundred yards and we should find the King’s Head. This was an epic recommendation and we stepped inside to a roaring fire and the happy faces of the young bar staff who took our orders. Two pints of bitter and dinner was to be roast lamb and an outstanding gourmet burger. We relished the ambiance and made friends with those on either side of us and their dogs. After dinner and the short walk back to the Dales Head where we’re out like lights. The following morning found us early to rise (03:45 hrs, stupid jet lag) and we got our gear on. A flask of tea prepared in our room and back packs packed for our jaunt to Lake Buttermere. We left just before 6 and it took us around 45 minutes by car to arrive in the little village of Buttermere itself. We parked up in a National Trust parking lot and got our hiking boots on.
A 15 minute walk from the parking lot got us to the trail that goes around the lake. Dawn was breaking and we were the only ones there except for one landscape photographer clearly “catching the worm”. We stopped for a bit so I could set up my tripod and get my gear out for a few shots from this iconic location. I packed this gear all this way and after all that I forgot the bracket that attaches my camera to the tripod and my camera battery was on its last legs. Nice one genius. But as one does when one is faced with a challenge, they adapt and overcome. And just like Clint Eastwood in one of his lessor box office successes (Heartbreak Ridge), I did just that while Deanna paced the lake shore in a hypothermic state.
We soon rambled on for real and just shy of 9 kilometres later we were untying our boots back at the car park. We discussed the Ayrshire cattle that made little effort to get out of way on the trail and the spectacular scenery that surrounded us. Once put back together again we walked into the village to find a pub for a full English breakfast and a coffee to further our great start to the day. Job done! Half an hour later, after a superb meal and some lovely conversation with the publican. She told us that she and her husband had recently returned to the area after living 20 years abroad in South Carolina. Apparently Trump has this effect on people.
Having had the opportunity to travel to South Carolina a few years ago I know it is a very nice state, however if I had the choice of either there or where I spent my early morning I would choose Buttermere a hundred times over. We drove off to the west and our next stop was Ennerdale. I first had the good fortune to walk in to this town with Dale at the end of Day 1 of the Coast to Coast walk in 2015. Since then I have visited on three other separate occasions. I love this village as well. The community spirit is high and the area is breathtaking. We stopped in for tea and piece of Victoria sponge cake that I must admit may be near the top of the many reasons that keeps bringing me back. We had a great chat with the staff and left with a very wide smile on our faces.North to our next stop at the Ennerdale Brewery. A cheeky ½ pint of their finest each and back on the road to Keswick for a wander around the streets of this walker’s and climber’s nirvana. We parked, paid for parking and then I reached into the back of the car for my coat. I thought to myself, I hope the brewery is still open when we get back in 45 minutes to collect my coat from the chair I hung it on when we arrived their 2 hours ago. Being old is an affliction and as far as my memory goes I can’t remember when it went south (hahaha). So back in the car to collect the jacket just before the brewery office staff call it a day.
Mission accomplished and back to Keswick and the intended walk was next on the cards. The streets of Keswick are lovely. It is an outdoorsy village reminding me of Banff or Jasper on a smaller scale. We bought a few bits and pieces and then made our way back to the Dale Head to drop off our things before dinner back at the King’s. One more beautiful meal with great ambiance that set us on another crash course for sleep at all costs.Today we rose at a normal time and went down to the breakfast room for an awesome meal at a seat overlooking
Thirlmere Lake. We soon after packed up the car and set off for Perth in Scotland. About a 4 hour drive and kind of out of the way considering we are heading towards the Isle of Skye on the West coast of Scotland. Perth is not far north of Edinburgh and is not known for too much other than being a nice small city of 50,000 with a fantastic military museum and a lot of new car sales dealerships. Our reason for coming to Perth has nothing to do with loitering around new cars as you can imagine. No, in fact we are hear because Deanna knows how much I like a British comedian known as Stewart Lee. He is currently in the tail end of an 18 month tour of the UK and this gig just dovetailed perfectly into our trip. The tickets were a lovely Christmas present and tonight we grabbed a cab from our luxurious Perth Holiday Inn Express to the Perth Concert Hall for a 7:30 start. I can tell you that it is now 12:18 a.m. and my stomach is still sore from the incessant laughter of nearly three hours of Stew’s stand up routine. Stew can be found on YouTube, but I warn you to say if your sense of humour is not very dry and you don’t go in for hyper sarcasm just give him a miss. Tomorrow we head for Skye with several distilleries and castles in between.
JUST A COUPLE OF THINGS TO PLAN FOR.
PLAN #1Over the past several months it has become abundantly clear that moss can only gather on a stone that rarely rolls. When I say moss I really mean fat, and when I say stone I really mean me. Work has consumed most of my time over the last couple of years, however mine is not a total tale of woe. If you have been keeping score at home you will recall I have broken free of the shackles occasionally. I have been lucky to sneak away on one or two little adventures here and there.
If you have found your way to this site in the past, you already know that the ramblings of this mad old traveller are all that is on offer. As a man with little in the way of a prowess for anything literary, I hardly fancy myself as being the next big thing in social influence pedaling. When I make superfluous statements that may not be in any way profound, just remember the following. “Life is hard, then you die”. Having spent just over a half-century on this planet I have seen a few things. Some good, some bad. I have met some wonderful people and sadly I have met some horrible ones as well. What is the most important thing to me is that wonderful people exist in much greater numbers. It is that knowledge that pushes me to see more of this planet in order meet more of the same.
Mainstream media did a great job throughout my formative years convincing me that things possessed are ninety-five percent of a good life lived. Over the last 10 years, I have come to realize (much later than I would have liked in retrospect) that in actuality their math was all wrong. People, places & experiences are really the only important part of life’s equation. “Things” are in fact and in deed not important to me anymore.I hate myself for writing that last paragraph already. I am never going to be that utopian hippy who makes it their life’s work renouncing the west, hard work and upholding the law. Especially if the alternative involves pedaling my “Fixie” to the thrift store wherein I forage for loose-fitting Thai pants and a Mexican blanket hoodie bedazzled with Tibetan prayer flags.
I don’t know which is more aggravating. Those who return to Canada adorned with the clothing of the 3rd world people they just have spent their gap year “posting to the gram” or those who I trip over at nearly every decent coffee shop planning their next adventure solely by tripadvisor scores.Many of the above-noted people and things shouldn’t bother me, but I am weak & they really do. As you can tell, I have not yet found that inner peace or zen my yoga practicing friends enjoy on the daily. I try to remember all the time I will soon have retirement to become enlightened and tolerant.As I alluded at the beginning of this instalment I have again slipped the shackles of work and as such I am in the throws of putting together two separate and splendid journeys that will take up a nice portion of the spring. The first is a trip to the UK with Deanna|. We have enjoyed short trips to the northwest of England in the past but this time we intend to get our hiking boots muddy in the Lake District. The plan is to climb from Dale Head Hotel to the top of Hellvelyn. It is a stunning peak in a stunning place. We have a few other ideas for additional hikes but as we knock them off I will write about them in more detail.
We need to keep that Lake District mojo going as we continue our journey all the way up to the Isle of Skye and various other outer Hebridean Islands. All the classic YouTube traveler spots are on the list. As a bit of an amateur landscape photography buff, I have to see the Old Man of Storr. If we tick that box early then we should have a few hours to tour several peat smoked barn conversions and enjoy a wee dram or two.
From there we intend to head south to the unspoiled beaches and parkland of Northumberland. Several nights in Newcastle as our home base will provide us with unfettered access to the countryside and the coast. Our time in the Northeast will transition by way of a relatively long car journey to Oxfordshire and the City of Dreaming Spires.It is there that we hope to explore the Chilterns by foot in order to get our first sense of the countryside that surrounds Oxford. With the wholesome outdoorsy piece attended to, we have several pubs on the Inspector Morse crawl yet to sample. It is my intention to get back to the Ashmolean Museum, the Bodleian library and sit on the banks of the Isis to take in the 8’s row past at the very least.My next instalment will document the initial planning phases of travel plan #2. Set for late April and early May, this one has more of a continental vibe.Cheers!Mark
EVERYONE ASKED IF I HAD SEEN THE ICEBERGS YET.
It is just under 4 hours from Anna’s garage to the Glacier lake known as Jokulsarlon. I left before sun-up around 8:30 this morning and I drove and I drove. I made a quick stop back in Vik to catch some different light down at the black beach. I think it was worth it.
By the time arrived at Jokulsarlon the sun was on its way back down. I have never chased light like this before for my photography. Seconds mean missing the perfect look or at least what I had Imagined.
I met a father around my age and his adult son. He asked where I was from and I told him expecting him to ask where is that. But no, he knew exactly where I was talking about. He and his family had traveled there by ferry twice in the last ten years. His son was wearing a Seattle Seahawks hat so I assumed that they were from the Pacific Northwest.
Wrong again. I asked where they were from and he responded Atlanta. He didn’t expect me to tell him I had been there twice for Baseball Showcase Tournaments. I then said we actually spent 90% of the time in Marietta just north of the ATL. He said that’s funny, that’s where we live. We stood about for thirty minutes in sub zero temperatures discussing our favorite Marietta restaurants and just occasionally icebergs and Iceland.Its a small world, remember that!Cheers,Mark
THE ROAD TO VIK
Today was nothing less than an epic journey along the south coast of Iceland. The highway from Selfoss to Vik is baron, wind swept and unbelievably beautiful. Waterfalls (Foss) draw your attention and you find yourself pulling off the road regularly to get a better look.
There are very few little places to stop for gas or refreshments but to be fair it is the middle of nowhere. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about that. In fact, I love it. Lunch in Vik was exceptional today. Not only for taste, presentation and location but also in price. I don’t know how locals afford it here. Seventy five Canadian dollars later for a 12” pizza and a beer (yikes).
I am staying in a very modern guest house just 500m from the beach looking south to the Heimaey Islands which stand several kilometres off shore. They rise from the black seas proudly with a unique boldness. Really picturesque to be sure. My Guesthouse is called the Garage. My host is Anna. What you see as you approach is for all intents and purposes a bunkhouse at the base of a mountain range.
When you step inside that all changes. This room is very cool and very modern. Anna has great taste.
I am here for two days then back tracking to Reykjavik for the last couple before returning home. I have an abandoned DC-3 wreck to find tomorrow along with a lake that has brilliant blue ice bergs floating up on to its beaches.
So far so very good!Cheers.Mark
YOU HAVE TO BE RESILIENT TO LIVE HERE!
For those who remember the 90’s Scandic Pop diva Bjork, you will be able to picture in your mind my first two hours at Iceland’s Keflavik Airport. There has not been too many times I can say that using Hotwire to book a hotel or rental car has gone bad. Last night in Paris I made one of my biggest travel mistakes ever by using Hotwire to book with Budget.A few steps into the arrivals lounge in Iceland and things became a lot clearer. There was 2 customers at Hertz. There were no customers at Europacar and there was approximately 45 people ahead of me in the Budget line. We all know that no matter how much time you take to be prepared for the rental agent with your licence and credit card at the ready, they are always going to try to up sell you and grind you as much as they can.It took just shy of two hours in line to make it to the desk and then this happened. BJORK’S evil twin stood before me. Perhaps the face of an Icelandic Angel but the savvy of the worst used car salesman imaginable crossed with the most accomplished serial killer you would never want to meet. It was hard to stand there knowing I was being defrauded of an extra $600.00, but pshyco Bjork continued unphased and clearly without remorse.Of course I purchased a comprehensive insurance package when I booked on line all the while thinking I was doing the right thing. Bad Bjork advised me that if I did not want to pay thousands of Icelandic Crowns for window chips or god forbid a paint chip as a result of one of those big “F*** OFF” 4-wheel drive trucks passing me, I needed to buy Budget insurance on top of what I already bought.Now normally I would have said no thanks, but you should have seen the expression on her face. I am not sure where she hid the hatchet under the counter but I am sure I saw her reaching for it before I caved. I said to evil Bjork I feel as though I am being held hostage by your sales pressure tactics. Crazy Bjork just shook her head in silence.
I left the airport with the keys for a VW Polo. We in North America don’t get the Polo at VW dealerships. If you picture a Golf and then slice off a third you have a Polo.
Upon eventually getting behind the wheel I was pleasantly surprised. Good in the snow and comfortable seats. The issues came at the time I wished to sit in it or get out of it. The process was akin to how a Lemans Driver enters his race car during the 24 hour championship. A shoe horn and wedges are useful.
Ok lets move on to Selfoss and the Icelandic countryside. It took me just over an hour to get to my hotel and upon arrival I was greeted by an Estonian girl who was on a work abroad vacation. She checked me in in no time flat. I dumped my bags and walked across the street to grab some water and a couple of snacks. It was about -7 degrees, which I know isn’t that bad but I am not that recently well practiced in dealing with anything resembling northern climes.
I hustled back to my room and was asleep in no time flat. Up with my alarm because if you waited for the sun to rise at 10 a.m. you wouldn’t get much done. I had breakfast at the hotel and packed the car for the Golden Circle Drive. I took some advice from the staff but my intention was to drive where I fancied and at my own pace. I stopped when I felt like it.
I met some lovely Icelandic Ponies. I visited several Geysirs and ended my day at Gullfoss waterfalls. A ton of things to do and see in Vik tomorrow.Cheers!Mark
DUNKIRK for just 20 minutes
I had a chance to drive west quickly the night before last to see as much of Dunkirk as I could. I set the GPS for the Allied Memorial and let google maps do the rest. An hour or so from Lille I was there. The wind was very strong and it was cold. No complaints though as many allied soldiers hit the beaches here and overcame a lot more than poor weather.I only had a short time to spend so I took a couple of photos and got back in the car to travel to Paris and check into my hotel near CDG for next the next phase of my journey to London with a connector to KEF airport in Iceland. Join you again from the Icelandic town of Selfoss..M.
