Four Countries in one day !

It's 6am and I'm woken from my sleep by the shrill of my alarm clock. I always hate that moment, especially on a Saturday and I immediately wonder why I put myself through this. I've been setting the alarm clock all week for work and here it is making my head hurt at the weekend. However those thoughts quickly dissipate once I've stumbled, bleary eyed and blinking out of bed. I may be in the UK at this moment, but today I'm off to France.... and Monaco..... and Italy, making 4 countries in a single day. It's going to be tiring, I'm going to be spending considerable time on public transport but at least the weather will be nice and having learnt my lesson from the last trip, I've already packed my sunglasses!

I touched down in Nice on the French Riviera, the weather glorious as it generally is, blue skies and warm sun and very little cloud. Due to various logistical issues, I had agreed with Mark and Sheila that I'd meet them later in the day so I headed for the airport bus station to catch a bus (buses are becoming something of a theme aren't they?) to Nice itself. The 'airport end' of Nice is all concrete and graffiti but at the other end of the Promenade des Anglais lies the very attractive heart of Nice. The old town and the area around the port are particularly pretty. The warm aqua blue waters of the Mediterranean are always very inviting and the sweeping pebble beach attracts sunbathers in large quantities. As regular readers will know, I do tend to walk around and observe the locals, enjoy the cultures and take in the scenery whilst basking in the generally better weather. This trip was no exception. I walked The Promenade des Anglais (walk of the English) from the bus stop at Nice Ville up to the Port and back again and eventually found myself sitting on the beach itself. Despite it only being mid morning, the temperature was well into the 20s and I was still wearing my UK clothes. In my rucksack however I did have my shorts so as I was on the beach surrounded by practically naked bodies, I didn't think anybody would object to my changing out of my trousers and into my shorts. Besides the french change right there on the beach all of the time, so I thought I should do too. An hour or so later Mark phoned to say that he and Swedish family friend, Emily were at the airport having flown in from London and Stockholm respectively. I therefore boarded the bus back to the airport to meet them.




Once the three of us were all united, we boarded a bus to Monaco where we were to purchase our tickets for the Classic Monaco Grand Prix the following day. We duly arrived in Monaco, my third country of the day... and it was still only lunch time ! Monte Carlo was very busy with large areas of the town closed off for the motor racing and the population swollen heavily by tourists. Tickets were purchased and our next destination was to head further East and back into France to the seaside town of Menton where we would meet Sheila and the rinky dinks. This entailed yet another bus ride, my fourth of the day. And to think that before my weekend in Palma a couple of weeks earlier, I had only been on maybe 2 buses in the past 20 years !


Menton is a delightful town, sitting between Monaco and the Italian border. I've been here a couple of occasions before and always enjoy my visits. We weren't going to spend too long in Menton as we were merely meeting up here before travelling into Italy for the remainder of the afternoon. We did however walk along the beach before Sheila passed us in the car, the kids waving manically from the back seat.


I've made numerous attempts to get to Italy and all of them, to date, have failed due to various mechanical problems. On one occasion we broke down twice in 2 days, the second occasion being within sight of the previous days breakdown location. Passing motorists must have thought we were holidaying on the hard shoulder !






San Remo in Italy - my final country of the day - is only 60 Kilometres East of Nice and lies on the Italian Riviera. It is a typical Mediterranean seaside town but in my opinion had a different look and feel than the French resorts a few kilometres along the coast. Many of the buildings clearly dated back many years but were in the main,well preserved and freshly painted. We walked along the road that hugged the coastline and eventually found ourselves at the harbour which was populated with the ubiquitous sailing boats and motor yachts but also had many fishing vessels and industrial barges which is something that you don't really notice in the French marinas. We were heading for the restaurant where we were to later have our dinner. My nephew Matt is studying Italian at college and has subsequently been on an exchange visit with an Italian family which required him to speak entirely in Italian. I was amazed at how proficient he was. He's clearly fluent in English, his native language but is also fluent in French, his domicile language and is certainly now conversational in Italian and yet he's only 15.

Matthew managed to make a reservation for 6 of us on the terrace for 8pm that evening. Imagine the mayhem if I had tried to place the reservation in Italian? This reminds me that over recent weeks I have had to try my hand at French, German, Spanish and now Italian. For someone who can barely speak English, this is something my brain struggles to cope with and I have to really concentrate on where In Europe I am, and therefore what word I need to use. Is it, Yes, Si, Oui or Ja ? Maybe a lusty nod of the head in such circumstances would suffice?

We retired to the local street-side cafe. It was nice to just chat and have a beer in the sun whilst the residents and tourists of San Remo went about their business. As usual I just sat and watched and was interested to note how the Italians talk vigorously with their hands. Every comment is met with a gesture, often with arms outstretched and hands open wide. Many of the conversations were spoken loudly as if they were argueing with each other, maybe they were, but thankfully conversations generally ended with big smiles and that continental cheek touching these Europeans call kissing. The Italians, I also noticed, mirrored their stereotypical image of being largely well dressed, sporting expertly styled hair and wore dark uber cool sunglasses which sets them a good distance apart from the people I see back home in say, New Brighton on a sunny afternoon.

The meal on the terrace at our chosen restaurant was delicious. I, along with Becky and Matt went for Cotoletta alla Milanese, or Wiener schnitzel as it’s known in the UK... and presumably, Austria. Mark, Sheila and Emily went for the Sushi buffet. Much conversation & merryment was had as the sun went down over San Remo whilst we looked out over the Mediterranean Sea from our terrace table.

The following day most of our party were catching the train to Monaco for the Classic Grand Prix. I reported on this event 2 years ago in this post. We were located in stand K8 which was at the "swimming pool" section of the track and overlooking the giant super yachts of Monaco marina. The weather was cooler than the previous day and we were under cloud cover for the whole morning. However, the temperature was pleasant and the racing was excellent. The highlight of this meeting is always the Ferrari parade where, as you may have guessed Ferrari's F1 cars, old and new parade around the tight twisting circuit. Despite the name "parade" this is a competitive affair which was later proved when two of Michael Schumacher’s ex Championship winning cars from the early naughties, collided at the chicane as they exited the tunnel. Both cars suffered damage and one was immediately retired under a red flag and with the safety car deployed. It later looked rather forlorn as it was carried from the track by a pick up truck for some clearly expensive repairs.

In a later race featuring cars from the late 70's (think, 6 wheel Tyrell’s, John Player Specials, March and Lotus from your Scalextric's sets as a child) a couple of cars collided and one of them left the tarmac and rolled over. Luckily the roll bar and the air intake held firm preventing injury to the hapless driver inside. Mark and Emily left early in order to take their respective flights to the UK and Sweden. My flight was much later so I, and Matt, stayed until the very end of racing before catching the train to Nice Ville and then my 6th bus of the weekend, back to the airport where we met Sheila and Becky for dinner and good-byes. As always a fantastic weekend.



Until the next time....

Don't forget your sunglasses

Today's posting of Weird Weekends takes me to the holiday Isle of Majorca, somewhere I hadn't been surprisingly, since the Summer of 1987. In fact I hadn't even been to Spain since that holiday with Kev Riding and Graeme Morris. This I put down to discovering the many delights of the USA the following year, and subsequent aeroplane trips were spent going further and further afield. Spain just dropped off my radar. It's only in the recent years that I've started taking trips, once again into Europe. This has largely been due to the availability of budget airline flights which meant that eventually a trip into Spain was inevitable, and that's why I found myself squinting into brilliant sunshine and bathing in the pleasant warmth of a Spring, Balearic Saturday morning. Unfortunately I had stupidly left my sunglasses in the car at Liverpool airport so squinting, with a rather unattractive Mr Magoo face (remember him?) was to become something of a feature for the next 48 hours !

Now Palma airport for all it's good points doesn't have the best public transport links. It does appear that most people arrive on package tours, are met my chirpy, clipboard wielding holiday reps and escorted to fleets of coaches for onward transit to their chosen hotel. Independent travellers like me, have to make do with either cripplingly expensive taxis or the local bus service. I seldom travel on buses for one simple reason. I don't know what bus to catch. I also don't know what route they take or how I'm supposed to know when I've arrived at my stop. For this problem to materialise, you don't need a trip abroad, you just needs a bus ! So here I was, both abroad.....and on a bus, with no idea when to get off. However, I did get the feeling that all of my fellow passengers were in the same position as me. Each of us had hopped on at the airport and we were all waiting for someone to recognise when they'd arrived and get off. This would then be the cue for the rest of us to also get off. It became a battle of wits as to who would crack first under the pressure. The little Japanese lady opposite me was my personal choice as with each stop, she'd look around nervously to see if anybody else was getting off and on a couple of occasions would even gather her bags and attempt to get up from her seat before losing all confidence and sitting back down again. Then, almost un-noticed a small man of advancing years could take no more and displaying a sprightly turn of foot, leapt up and exited the bus at the very last moment, spreading panic amongst the rest of us as the hydraulics wheezed that familiar "shhhhhhhhh" and the doors closed firmly behind him. The next stop brought a stampede of leavers but I held firm for a further 2 stops but finally gave in and left the bus as the blue waters of the Mediterranean proved too inviting.

Palma is not only the largest city in Majorca but is also the largest in the Balearic islands. The airport in Palma is one of the busiest in Spain and handles an astonishing 19 million travellers per year. The port is a magnet for cruise ships and two enormous ships were docked whilst I was there. The marina is pretty and contains numerous vessels from the 'run of the mill' sailing boats to the tourist catamaran ferries through to the privately owned, multi million pound super yachts. All of them sparkling in April sunshine as they gently bobbed in the calm waters of the marina.


As it was only 9:30am when I exited the bus, it was too early to check into the Hotel so I went exploring for several hours. The marina and port area of Palma was lined with Palm trees, beneath which a cycle and pedestrian path hugged the marinas wall. There were numerous cafes, restaurants and bars, all of which looked very inviting and had panoramic views of the marina and the expensive toys tied up alongside. There was a definite holiday atmosphere to the area and it was hard to believe, as I wandered along the path in warm sunshine, that only 3 hours earlier I had been in a cold and windy UK, driving in the rain under night cover.



It took me over an hour to walk the length of the marina and I eventually found myself in the Old Town of Palma. This, in keeping with most European old towns, was a myriad of narrow lanes with cobbled streets and thick, stone walled houses. There was the obligatory sight of wizened old men in flat caps and pork pie hats sitting on walls and benches doing nothing in particular. The highlight of the Old Town is the Gothic Cathedral that dominates the Palma Bay skyline. Completed in 1601, having taken an astonishing 371 years to build - although the bell tower is still unfinished even today, the cathedral overlooks the Royal Almudaina Palace and the city of Palma in general. It's visible for miles around, especially at night when the building is lit and stands out like a lighthouse for both landlubbers and sailors to see.

I wandered around the Old Town for a couple of hours, squinting and sweating as I went. Progress was slow due mainly to the oppressive heat which made walking hard work, especially as I was still wearing my UK '4am start on a cold April morning' clothes. I realised that I really should have left my sheepskin coat at home, as the temperature board on the office building across the road, read 24 degrees !



After many drink stops and general sitting down to people watch, I noticed that my head was getting rather sore and realised that my fair skin was burning. As my hair has lost interest over the years and left me for good, my head has newly exposed skin with each passing summer and this turns beetroot red and burns much quicker than the rest of my body. This was clearly one of those moments. I elected therefore to head towards the hotel to check-in and then participate in one of the great Spanish traditions, the siesta.

My hotel was excellent, and at £43 per night - even at a poor Sterling to Euro exchange rate - was superb value for money. I had a balcony with a sea view, mini bar, air conditioning and Liverpool v Fulham was live on the telly albeit with a Spanish John Motson doing an overly enthusiastic commentary. This was going to be a very pleasant siesta.... and indeed it was. I woke several hours later feeling refreshed but sunburned and then just sat on the balcony drinking a beer and watching the many ships and boats in the bay as the sun went down. The view from my room is shown below.


The evening was glorious. Warm with very little breeze. I went out for dinner and to do some night photography. The cathedral looked amazing in the distance, all lit up and under a perfectly clear sky and a full moon. The boats in the marina looked warm and inviting, various groups were having dinner on their respective decks and the night was filled with the sound of clinking wine glasses, cutlery and much raucous laughter. I spent around 2-3 hours soaking up the ambiance and just watching the World go by before eventually retiring to the hotel and subsequently, bed. I'm sure that the resorts of Magaluf and Palma Nova a few kilometers up the coast, were more lively on a Saturday night but at this precise moment I was very content with life.





I'm guessing that most visitors to Palma head for the beaches in their airport coaches, under the guidance of their chirpy reps and therefore only pass through Palma itself on the way to and from the airport. However, they really are missing a pretty city, small enough to walk around but large enough to fill a weekend. If you fancy a couple of lazy days away in almost guaranteed sunshine then Palma should definitely be on your list of places to go.... Oh and don't forget your sunglasses !

Things I've learnt this week:-

1. That sheepskin coats are rather unnecessary in hot sunny climates
2. That sunglasses are very necessary in hot sunny climates and should, in no circumstances, be left at the departure airport.
3. That squinting for 2 solid days leaves white lines all around your eyes which look stupid when you get home with a suntan.

Until the next time.

Don't mention the war

I've just been urinated on by a lion ! That's right, a lion. I'm not talking about a cute and cuddly 6 week old lion cub either, you know the sort that drinks out of babies bottles and makes guest appearances on Blue Peter. No, I'm talking about a full grown adult male lion. The type of lion that snacks on freshly caught, and often still twitching, wildebeest whilst David Attenborough whispers at a camera from a safe distance. In fact I was urinated on by that very same lion you can see above ! The whole episode was a unique experience and one I never thought I'd get to experience. Worryingly, I don't have a change of clothes and I'm going home in a couple of hours. I pity the person sitting next to me this afternoon !

I had arrived a couple of days earlier into bracing Easter weekend weather. I had walked purposefully, my head bowed as the hailstones stung my face. Icy droplets of water ran down my neck. A strong, gusting, headwind slowed my progress. My hands were so cold, climate change specialists were flying in to perform experiments on me and witness the effects. Spring had clearly not yet 'sprung' on the streets of Berlin.

One of the reasons that I enjoy these city breaks is the sense of adventure. The adventure of coping with the language for example. You see German isn't one of my strongest subjects, due largely to the combined efforts of allied forces during the Second World War which meant that the Third Reich never made it as far north as Bebington, although not for the want of trying ! Another such adventure is the delight of turning a simple address on a printed email into a welcoming hotel room. As the weather was so inclement I was determined to do this as quickly as possible and thanks to a truly excellent public transport system, I was expeditiously conveyed to Kurfurstendamm in the fashionable West of the city. According to my guide book, the hotel was only a couple of minutes away from the U-Bahn (underground rail system) station that I had arrived at. Well an hour later I was still searching but then remembered that I hadn't unpacked my SatNav, so I still had it with me! Result !!! After selecting "walking routes" I punched the address into the SatNav and discovered that I was a mere 450 yards from the hotel and less than 5 minutes later I was standing cold, wet and shivering in the reception, checking into my room. I really don't think that I would have found the hotel without the delights of TomTom. As for my guide book, If I ever find the author then I swear, I will punch him repeatedly in the face..... and then kick him in the nuts for good measure because "You Sir, are a blithering idiot!" The nursery rhyme "Incey Wincey Spider" contains more factual information than your stupid book. Throughout the entire weekend, his book took me to the wrong roads, the wrong stations or heading in the wrong direction to the various landmarks that I wanted to view. At one point I thought it must be me, but then I remembered that I've been lucky enough to travel the World and despite the odd interesting moment (getting to Disneyland Paris last year for example) I've always managed to get myself around without too much confusion. The problem, I deduced, must be the stupid guide book and as soon as I dispensed with it's services, normal successful navigational service was resumed.

The following morning I woke early and was rather dismayed to see a dusting of snow on the ground and the trees bent double in a howling wind. No need for the shorts and sunglasses today. I headed off to the Brandenburg Gate. Built originally in 1795 as Berlin's answer to the Acropolis in Athens, it is the quintessential symbol of Berlin. It stands at the end of the Unter den Linden, Berlin's really impressive feature road (think of it as Berlin's, Champs de Ellesse). Bizarrely in 1806 during the French occupation, the Brandenburg Gate was dismantled block by block and taken to Paris on Napoleon's orders (we'll call that our first Berlin fact) although it was later brought back. It's return in 1814 was hailed by the Prussians as a victory over the French and It has remained a symbol of German successes ever since.

From the Brandenburg Gate I made my way to No 77 Voss Strasse. This insignificant looking office building was actually the office of Hitler himself and that of the 3rd Reich. I then proceeded to the German House of Parliament, The Reichstag. This building was constructed between 1884 and 1894 but came to real prominence in 1933 when the main hall was destroyed by fire after an alleged communist plot to destroy it. The subsequent witch hunt by Hitler and the Nazi's was largely responsible for their rise to power.

A short U-bahn trip later and I was standing at another of Berlin's most famous and thought provoking landmarks, Checkpoint Charlie. This was the 3rd (Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, get it ?) checkpoint between the American and Soviet border crossings. Between 1961 and 1989, it was the only border crossing between East and West Berlin. It's notoriety really stems from an incident in 1961 when American and Soviet tanks faced each other from their respective sides, only metres apart. The standoff lasted 2 full days before political manoeuvres orchestrated a synchronised withdrawal by both sides.

Checkpoint Charlie, a rather inauspicious hut, was a seething mass of tourists, notably Japanese who wandered in large groups blocking the roads and pavements as they queued for pictures with the guards (actors who were dressed in both US and Soviet military uniforms) holding their respective countries flags. The snow was still falling and the temperature was truly freezing, as cold as I can ever remember in my lifetime. I eventually sought sanctuary on the U-Bahn and latterly in the TV Tower observation deck. The TV Tower, or Telespargel as the locals refer to it, is Berlin's largest structure standing at 365 metres (1,197 feet) above the city streets. The tower as you might imagine is visible all over Berlin, much as the Eiffel Tower is in Paris. The view from the top was unfortunately quite poor on my visit due to the low cloud which on occasions was even below the observation deck for brief moments. It was however warm and dry and that, on a day such as this, was a welcome blessing.

I made a brief visit to the "Topographie des Terrors", a Nazi war crimes exhibit on the site of what once had been the headquarters of the SS and The Gestapo. This also meant it served as the offices of Heinrich Himmler and Joseph Goebels. The building itself had been rightly demolished after the war and despite efforts to build a proper exhibition hall in its place, the site remains a wasteland underfoot. However, during the demolition works following the end of the war, the underground torture chambers were discovered and these are today used as the mountings for the exhibition that visitors can now view. The picture below shows the exhibition mounted on the torture chamber walls with a short section of the Berlin Wall to the rear.

I then went further into East Berlin to view one of the remaining sections of the Berlin Wall. This wall was once 97 miles long (of which 27 miles separated East Berlin from West Berlin, fact fans) and stood a mere 4 metres high. I always imaged the wall to be taller and more robust than it was. It looked to me that using nothing more than a step ladder, procured from the local Berlin B und Q, the wall could be scaled without any trouble at all. However, crossing the minefield, flesh hungry Alsatians and trigger happy guards on the other side might prove a more lively problem ! Official figures are disputed but it is widely believed that 192 people were killed by border guards whilst trying to cross the wall from the East side - although the East German Government denied that such a policy existed - and it is rumoured that around 5,000 actually managed to escape between 1961 and the 9th November 1989, the date when President Gorbachev ordered the withdrawal of his border guards and the wall was effectively breached, ending separation.

The wall has largely been demolished and very little of it remains now. The sections that do are there for remembrance & museum purposes. I visited the largest remaining section, known as The East Side Galleries. This section is 1,300 Metres in length and the Scottish artist Chris MacLean arranged for 118 artists from 21 countries to decorate the wall. Regrettably much of the artists work has been vandalised by the local hoodies who have decorated the wall with their own mindless graffiti. Subsequently this has been added to by the worlds tourists who have largely written "Sharon woz 'ere June 1995" or something broadly similar on every imaginable area of concrete. However, some really good sections still remain as can be seen below.

After walking for most of the 1,300 metres of remaining wall, I headed off to the rather imposingly titled "Treptower Park". This vast park was lovely, even in the poor - but admittedly improving - weather. Situated in the East side of the City, it was a tranquil site to rest, away from the weekend commotion of Germany's capital. The park has the meandering River Spree running through it and was a haven for all manner of wildlife, especially water birds. There were numerous paths, trees a plenty, areas to play ball games, ride bikes, walk dogs, exercise and it was a truly pleasant place to spend some time. On a more sombre note it is also the resting place of an estimated 5,000 Soviet soldiers killed during the battle for Berlin in 1945.

The following day, I packed my admittedly meagre belongings - I like to travel light on these weekend trips as lugging suitcases around city centres isn't my idea of a fun trip - and checked out of the hotel. I headed for the Zoo and what would be my unexpected watery encounter with a Lion. The weather for the first time on my trip was lovely, almost spring like but still rather breezy and bitingly cold in the shadows. All of the photo's in this post showing blue skies were taken on this day. The Zoo is one of the oldest in the World having opened in 1844 and has the distinction of being the largest zoo in the World by way of species on display (around 14,000, fact fans) and also, the most visited (2.6 Million paying guests, another Berlin fact... educational this blog isn't it ??). The zoo made headlines In 2007 when a baby polar bear, named Knut was born and was hand raised by the keepers after it was rejected by it's mother. The zoo is one of only a small number in the World that has Giant Panda's, Bao Bao and Yan Yan, although Yan Yan was mysteriously absent, so I'm guessing he (or is it she? Chinese isn't one of my strong points either) was away trying to increase Giant Panda numbers elsewhere at another zoo. Bao Bao was asleep when I was at the enclosure so my photo is rather poor unfortunately so I haven't included it here.



The zoo was excellent, had some fantastic facilities and I was particularly impressed with the Gorilla's, hippos, aquarium and the lions. The lions were inside of their enclosure, the male was separated from the female and her cubs by way of a heavy iron panel and he clearly was not happy as he was roaring a deep and guttural roar. I was standing at the barrier fence that ran alongside the enclosure cage and was staring at my camera whilst setting it up for the next sequence of shots , when all of a sudden my fellow visitors screamed and dived for cover. At that very moment I felt a warm liquid running down my jeans. I looked up to see this adult male lion weeing on me from about 2 feet away. A unique experience. I managed to escape from this seemingly endless stream of fluid but the damage was already done. I didn't have a change of jeans and my flight was set to leave later that day. I rubbed off as much as I could but frankly, what can you do ??

My trip to the zoo was brilliant but unfortunately was cut short by me taking the wrong exit out of the aquarium and finding myself on the street outside the zoo rather than a walkway inside of it... My lack of German had caught me out. Maybe the Nazi's should have made that final push towards Bebington after all !

By the time I arrived at the airport mid afternoon, my jeans had dried and as far as I could tell, didn't smell too bad which was a relief. But then again, was anybody going to tell me that my jeans smelt of lion pee ?? I think not.

I had a fantastic weekend and if anybody wants to spend a weekend in a modern European City then I recommend Berlin. It's not as pretty as say, Paris and the truly awful weather was bad luck rather than the norm but try to make the trip if you can. The trains, trams and buses are all part of BVG and accept the same ticket. Go to a ticket machine - they all have an English language option - and buy yourself a 48 hour "Welcome Card" for zones A&B&C - (cost €18 - another Berlin Fact!) and you can hop on and off public transport around the city, without a second thought, all weekend long. Many of the public transport facilities were either especially built or refurbished for the 2006 World Cup and German efficiency is known throughout the World. Prices weren't noticeably expensive and if you're a fan of shopping then the areas around Alexanderplatz and Friedrichstrasse especially, would satisfy the most ardent shopaholic.

Anyway, It's washing day today and I must wash a particularly dirty pair of jeans that have a faint smell of wildebeest to them.

Until the next time.....

Sledges & Kayaks

I do seem to transport my ever expanding waistline around Europe on a large variety of vehicles, and the past couple of weeks have been no exception.

I may not have posted for several weeks but that doesn't mean that I haven't been busy. I stated in my last post my desire to change jobs in 2008, well I can already cross that off my list of "things to do". Despite not having a job to go to, I actually wrote out my resignation on 27th December following an altercation with Head Office earlier in the month which made my mind up that leaving was more preferable than staying. As Christmas & New Year is such a terrible time for job hunting, my plan was to have the resignation letter sitting on my desk until such time as the job market picked itself up. Once it had, and when I was sufficiently annoyed at work, I would walk it 3 doors down the corridor to the HR Department, a estimated 10 seconds from my desk. This plan clearly meant that I was only ever 10 seconds from resigning which was hugely comforting. I lasted less than 3 weeks as I resigned on 14th January and left the company on 14th February; although with outstanding holidays I stopped turning up for work from the 5th of February. In the meantime I had been offered a new job commencing on 6th February with an Internationally recognised company which meant that for a week and a bit I was being paid by two employers. Ker-ching !

In early February I went to France for a weekend. I flew out on a Saturday morning - as usual I found myself overlooking the wing - and discovered that I was on the same flight as Natalie, a friend of my brothers friend Anne. Anne was in France for the evening with her job and Natalie was flying out to spend the evening with her. As it was, Mark, Sheila and the children were with Anne and we all met up at the airport before retiring to Annes hotel for a round of drinks and a chat in the bar. This turned into an impromptu party at Marks house which entailed squeezing 7 of us into a 5 seater Renault Scenic. After a particularly notable trip to the local supermarket to purchase party drinks and nibbles, made eventful due to some Olympic standard skating on the frighteningly well polished supermarket floor, we arrived at the house. The evening was a great success and much wine flowed, food was eaten, songs were sung, dances were performed and all to the backdrop of a roaring log fire. By the time I got up the following morning, the girls had already left due to Annes requirement to be back at work by 6:15am ! As it was we were all up fairly early as today we were going to the mountains.

The ski resort of L'Audibergue is located in the Monts d'Azur area of the Alpes Maritimes department in the French Southern Alps. It is the most southerly resort in the French Alps being located less than a hours drive from Cannes on the Cote D'Azur. From the summit the Mediterranean and the uber-posh town of Cannes are clearly visible. It appears that neither Mark nor Sheila had been to L'Audibergue before, but Matthew had been once with his school. Now our school trips were never as exciting as that. We were generally sent to a local muddy, stony and oil filled beach to look at rock escarpments and to admire the graffiti. However my younger Brother once had a trip to Martin Mere Bird reserve which must have been one of the greatest educational school trips in Scholastic history. He returned from what must have been no more than 3 hours onsite - which most likely involved an hour to eat his packed lunch - with an encycleopedic knowldege of all things avian. Bill Oddie isn't as well informed as my Brother was after that trip. For seemingly years afterwards he would quote facts and figures about birds, their habitat, their feeding and procreation habits, migration routines and an assortment of other dubious nuggets of information, always stated with the confidence that "I know because I've been to Martin Mere". Anyway, I digress. The drive up to the resort was uneventful and thanks to the continued delights of satnav, went without any navigation disasters. On the seemingly endless uphill climb we did however pass a car that had left the road after a bend and was lying on its roof. It had only been stopped from falling the hundreds of feet into the depths of the gorge below by some sturdy shrubs and trees. We decided to stop and ensure that there wasn't anybody dead or dying in the car and in need of immediate assistance. Thankfully there wasn't but I do admit to approaching the car with a sense of dread and intrepidation.



L'Audibergue, when we got there, seemed to be very little other than the ski resort. There may have been a village somewhere but we didn't see it. There were a large number of ski runs, each serviced by drag lifts. As usual, there was an array of ski rental hire shops, cafe's, hotels and chalets. We parked the car, put on our remaining ski wear and hit the slopes. I wasn't too keen on skiing as I was starting my new job later that week and I didn't want to be lying in a French hospital with broken limbs. We therefore spent most of the day sledging as can be seen from the photos and the two audio-less videos that I've included. Click on the videos to play them. If you can't see the video's, you'll need to download the shockwave flash player from here


One point of note with the video's, in each of the movies the footage was shot by the cameraman (Sheila in the one above and my good self in the one below) sledging backwards down the slope whilst filming the action. Certainly not a ride for the faint hearted !

We stopped briefly for a packed lunch, meticulously prepared by Sheila and then we hit the slopes again. This time we headed for another slope, this one less populated and twice as steep ! Even walking up it required a break after every 100 metres. Oxygen and a defibulator at these stops would have been an added bonus. The sledging on this slope was pretty hairy at times and jaw droppingly quick. As the afternoon wore on, It started snowing and the visibilty dropped significantly. The mountain tops disappearing from view completely at times, with just the occasional tantalising view of the summit to be had as the clouds rolled in and out. We continued sledging whilst Matthew attached himself to some skis for the rest of the afternoon. As the light started to fade, we finally came down off the slopes and went for a crepe - well, we'd had a large lunch ! :o)



The following weekend my best mate Andy paid me a visit. I hadn't seen Andy for over a year, something I'm rather embarressed about. Despite this Andy, who lives in Hampshire with his wife and kids and to his eternal credit, made the effort to come up North for the weekend. It was great to see him again and it never fails to amaze me how we just get on with the conversation, the jokes and the general banter as if we've never lost touch. I just know that I may not see him for another few months and yet it'll be exactly the same again when we do meet up. That's the sign of a great friend.

The weather was absolutely tremendous, a stunning Spring day despite it being only early February. Saturday morning was bright, sunny and warm with barely a cloud in the sky and hardly a breath of wind. Our plan today was to go kayaking on the River Dee. We loaded the car, put the hardshell kayak on the roof and the inflatable in the boot and set off. The river was high and the water was running quite fast. We headed off upstream. Me, in the inflatable and Andy (above) in the hardshell. Andy soon got the hang of it and once we'd finally lowered the skeg, a small fin that hangs below the hull increasing the stability and directional control of the kayak, Andy was able to paddle pretty well. There wasn't as much wildlife to be seen as I had hoped, just the occasional duck on the water and crows and rooks flying overhead, although we did have a solitary red tailed kite fly past on our return trip. The trees and shrubs were bare and the light was soft from a low Winter sun. The upstream paddle was a great opportunity to have a good catch up and put the World to rights. The sun beating down on us to such an extent that I actually caught the sun. After around an hour we reached the bridge that carries the A55 into North Wales and we turned around for our return leg. The last 20 minutes in particular had been especially tough as the current was flowing against us with some considerable force. At times I was paddling as hard as I could but was making little, if any, progress. My inflatable is a fantastic craft but it does tend to sit 'on' the water, rather than 'in' it, which can make paddling quite difficult in these conditions. We reached the bridge and turned around.
Immediately we were picked up by the current and were literally carried back downstream to the public launching jetty where we started, in a very short time with barely a paddle stroke between us! We duly arrived back at the car park, changed and packed the gear away and then did what all blokes do after some sporting activity, we went to the pub ! The Red House is a fine establishment with an enviable position on the River Dee. The entire rear of the property is glass and on such a splendid afternoon as this, it makes for a fine view of the river and of the various crafts that navigate it. The Red House rather bizarrely is cream in colour these days having undergone a refurbishment around 18 months ago. It is now an uber trendy establishment with mood lighting and a stylish ambience which is a far cry from the olde World pub that it once was. It is however still a very agreeable place to spend an afternoon. The beer garden especially, which reaches down to the river itself and ends at a small jetty for passing thirsty sailors to use, is a haven particularly in the Summer and is well worth a visit.

We eventually dragged ourselves away from The Red House and headed back home where we unloaded the car and after a cup of tea, went to the pub (can you spot a theme here?) for a meal and another beer or two. A fabulous weekend.


Over recent weeks I've been listening to a lot of Howard Stern on my truly delightful Internet Radio. My radio is so fab I lick it clean every night ! Howard Stern is a World Famous American 'Shock Jock' from New York. He became notorious on FM radio - where his show was syndicated across America - for his honest views on all manner of subjects, mostly of an adult nature. He is the highest paid personality on American radio - so presumably the World's highest paid - and is also the Worlds most heavily fined personality in radio broadcast history ! These fines, and the censorship he had to work under, led to him leaving FM radio for the unregulated Sirius Satellite radio platform where he could wax lyrical about all manner of subjects without fear of fines or censorship restrictions. People who maybe have never even heard his show dismiss him as crude, tactless and offensive. I myself have often ignored his show when visiting the USA, preferring to listen to the more contemporary "Top 40" stations. However whilst surfing through my internet radio the other week I came across his station "Howard 101" and listened to him for a straight 4 hours (His show lasts 5 hours and apart from the occasional commercial, doesn't break at all for music, news, travel reports or any other interruption). It was 4 hours of the most incredible, interesting and honest radio I've ever heard and my feeling towards him and his show changed completely. Since then I have listened to him morning and evening (his show is repeated daily) and I have to declare that I am now a confirmed fan and that he is truly an incredible broadcaster.

Things I've learnt this week:-

1. That paying £90 at Vision Express for "frames" when the glasses are frameless, doesn't make any sense.
2. That Howard Stern is a broadcasting genius.

Things that have made me smile this week :-

1. Ricky Hatton on the Al Murray show "I hate midgets, my girlfriend left me for a midget. I couldn’t believe anybody could stoop that low."
2. Ricky Hatton still on the Al Murray show "Muhammed Ali’s daughter is a professional boxer. I’ve haven’t met her yet but I’m dying to see her box !"

And on that bombshell.....

John