Very Unwelcome News from Home
8 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
It is not easy travelling on an extended overseas holiday when you have pets at home. After all, they don’t seem to be able to look after themselves. Not only do they require feeding, dogs also need daily walks and cats need to have their every wish catered for. Fortunately there exists a particular kind of nomad called the “housesitter”. These people have adopted a gypsy lifestyle, whereby they exchange free accommodation and utilities in return for caring for pets that have been deserted by their globetrotting owners.
We have used the services of several different housesitters in the past and have found that the arrangement was mutually beneficial to all parties concerned. We had assumed the same thing would apply this time, after all we had driven all the way down to Geelong to meet the potential sitter, many months before we were due to leave. We even introduced her to the dog that she would be looking after. We had no reason to believe that things would not go well.
As it turned out the arrangements seemed to be going well for the two and a half weeks we have been travelling for. For the first few days we even got sent emailed “happy snaps” showing how well the cat and dog were being looked after. Even when the communications started to slow down, we assumed that all was going well. You can therefore imagine my surprise when I got a short message saying that the housesitter had decided to immediately pack up and leave. No warning, no opportunity to make other plans – she had just packed her bags and gone, leaving the pets in an empty house. Even more surprising was the way she ended her message with “have a happy holiday”.
To say that this constituted something of a curveball would be an understatement. We then spent much of the morning on the phone trying to put alternate makeshift plans into operation. We have never heard of a sitter acting in such an irresponsible way before, but there was little we could do about it when we were on the other side of the planet. When Maggie’s sister arrived at our house to see what had happened, she found that not only were the animals left unattended, but the front door had been left damaged, the airconditioner was broken, the washing machine had been moved and some towels had been taken. I suppose under such circumstances we should have been glad that she had not stayed for the full two months as I don’t think the house would have survived. I guess we have learned to be far more selective in our choice of any future potential house sitters. In the meantime we will have to somehow get by with “Plan B” for the next 6 weeks.
Since today was going to be our final full day in Aigues Mortes, I did not want the entire time there to be spoilt by the unwelcome news we had received. We had already decided that we should all visit the ramparts that surround the city. These fortified walls extend around the full 1.7 km perimeter of the old city and certainly would have posed a significant obstacle for any would be medieval invader.
If we had been aged between 18 to 25 years of age we would have been able to get access for free. For some reason the ticket seller would not believe that I fell in that age range and charged me the full price of 8 Euro. There was no concession for old Australians at all, even if our ancestors had helped rescue France from destruction in both world wars.
Once we climbed the stairs to the top of the imposing main tower I had to admit that it was worth every cent of the admission charge. The views out over the surrounding flat marshes were magnificent. In front of us we could see the long canal that our boat had followed to reach the city. I then spent the next 90 minutes walking the entire length of the ramparts. At irregular intervals the walls are punctuated by a succession of larger constructions. These were used for various functions, including chapels, prisons, forts, etc. The sheer amount of material and effort that had gone into the construction must have been incredible.
By the middle of the afternoon I was feeling tired and returned to my room at the Chez Carriere. Our room was situated next door to Gael and Gerry’s. For some reason Gerry seemed to have an inordinate amount of difficulty unlocking their door. Every 30 minutes or so we would hear a prolonged ritual of clanking, banging, key turning, often punctuated by a period of loud cursing. Just when you thought that they had finally opened the door, it would start all over again. I am sure that it would have been easier to make a hole through the 5 metres thick stone ramparts, than to turn the key in Gerry’s lock. Although I tried to instruct him on the correct technique for opening this sort of lock, it was obviously a skill that he never managed to master. To the contrary, he actually seemed to get noisier with each successive opening and closing.
Although we had no such difficulty with our lock, we did manage to almost shake the building from its foundations several times when we accidentally let the door slam shut. On such occasions I think the resultant bang would have been audible in Paris. In spite of these minor hiccups, the hotel really was a fantastic place to stay. The rooms were clean and comfortable, the air conditioners worked well, the location was perfect and the manager was delightful.
Tomorrow we will be bidding adieu to Aigues Mortes as we undertake a gruelling all day train odyssey to take us to Nevers to begin the second part of our cycling adventure. After a three day break, I am sure that all our team is very eager to get rolling again.Läs mer
A Terrible Crime is Discovered
7 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C
After 8 days on the boat, I would be lying a little if I said that we were sorry to be leaving the confines of our cabin. It is not exactly easy to live in a space about the same size as a dwarf's coffin. Although each person evolves their own survival strategies for storing their gear, washing themselves and doing their laundry, as the week progresses it is normal for each person to start fantasizing about what they are going to do when they get to a hotel room. "I can't wait to see inside my case again", "I am going to spend an entire hour under the shower", "I will wash my socks and undies for the first time in a week"," I haven't brushed my teeth since leaving Melbourne", and so on.
By 8 am our riders were dragging their cases up the winding stairs from the cabins to the main deck. With so little room to move , it was a miracle that no one was crushed under the weight of a falling suitcase. Three men helped Carol and Sam manouevre their bulging bags to the deck. It was obvious that our time on the boat had drawn to a close.
I advised everyone to do a double check of their rooms to make sure that no tiny item had been overlooked. A few minutes later Sam poked her head up the staircase to announce that she had found that Carol had left about half of her belongings in the drawer under the bed. That was the reason her case only weighed 19 kg. Some time later Carol had retrieved several kg more of her (nearly) lost luggage and we started saying our final goodbyes to our new American friends.
The strange thing is that, after a few days, we will all forget the difficult aspects of boat living, and then only recall all the laughs and fun we shared together. Next year we will back on another bike and barge along the Moselle.
It was only as we were starting to drag our cases to the shore that things took a dark turn. Arie appeared with a look of shock and anger on his face. "Three of the ebike locks are missing", he shouted. We looked at each other, wondering why anyone would want to add a 3 kg chain and lock to their already heavy suitcases. "This has never happened before", he added. It was apparently a very serious matter. In Europe wars have apparently started over less serious issues.
We all then embarked on a hue and cry to look for the missing chains. Panniers were stripped, cupboards were opened, guilty ebike riders were questioned under a bright light. Locks were counted and recounted, but the total was still three short. I thought that the brilliant Inspector Clouseau might be rushed from Paris to help crack the infamous case of the stolen locks. After all, this had all the makings of an international incident involving France, Australia, the USA and Holland. Although Donald Trump would probably downplay it as "fake news", it was becoming quite stressful for us.
After an interminable period of searching and hypothesizing about the location of the missing locks, I came to the conclusion that they were probably somewhere on the bottom of the canal. Arie had no choice other than to admit that they had truly disappeared and he reluctantly allowed us to leave the boat. It was a slightly disappointing end to a fun ride, but I am sure that they will turn up somewhere and the tarnished reputation of the Ghostriders will be rightfully restored.
We then formed a luggage peloton to drag our bags across the city to the hotel we had booked for the next two nights. In spite of a few rough cobblestoned sections, we all managed to reach the Hotel Chez Carriere without suffering a serious castor malfunction. The hotel is situated in an ideal location, right near the centre of the old walled city. It will make a lovely temporary base of operations while we explore the town.
The name Aigues Mortes means "Dead Waters" and the swampy region has been used as a place to harvest salt since Roman times. The large areas of marshland also make it an ideal breeding ground for hungry mosquitoes. The recorded history of the town dates back thousands of years and the huge fortified city wall that now stands here played a significant role in the Crusades of the 13th century.
The pilgrims and penitents that helped establish the city must have been a very colourful bunch. Over the past few days we have discovered chapels for the "White Penitents", the "Black Penitents" and even the "Grey Penitents". I am not sure exactly what a "grey penitent" is, but perhaps they were a sort of medieval fence sitter. The only thing missing was a chapel for the rainbow penitents, but I guess they came several centuries later.
Maggie and I spent most of the afternoon wandering the narrow streets of the old city. The town has an inordinate number of cafes and art galleries, obviously catering largely for tourism. In the cool of the evening these outdoor cafes are packed with diners, and the streets echo with the sounds from numerous buskers. I am sure we will all return to Australia with amazing memories of our time spent here. The name might mean dead waters, but the place ceratinly seems full of life to me.Läs mer
In the City of the Crusaders
6 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 20 °C
Now that we have arrived in Aigues Mortes, we are officially no longer in Provence, but have entered the region of the Occitanie. The long hot days in Avignon already seem like a distant memory as each day has been filled with so many experiences and activities that we are danger of sensory overload. One of the reasons I take the time to put some daily information into the blog is that, if I don't record it straight away, there is a very real danger of it quickly all becoming jumbled up into a rapidly fading kaleidoscope of impressions.
Our plan for today was quite simple - to explore the region around Aigues Mortes by undertaking a loop ride that would take us as far as the small villages of Le Cailar and Marsillargues. The common theme of this region is the bull. This animal is obviously of great impoprtance in the local culture and this is one of the few regions of France where there are regular bull fights conducted. To our relief we learnt that, on most occasions, the life of the bull is spared.
Although the terrain was mostly flat, the raging Mistral wind certainly is a fearsome adversary when it blows straight in your face. Although Arie had instructed us not to draft close behind the rider in front, I had to admit that his instructions were soon forgotten as our riders sought out every opportunity to get even a little shielding from the raging onslaught.
The only silver linings in our clouds occured when the ride took us downwind. On those rare times, the wind swept us along like a jet engine. The smiles returned and the speed of the peloton increased dramatically. Although the sun still felt quite hot at times, it was nothing like the searing heat that was a feature of the first few days of our ride.
On several occasions we encountered the group of American cyclists that were completing the same ride that we were. They certainly looked like a rabble when compared to the well disciplined Ghostrider group. With their mottley collection of clothing and erratic cycling behaviour, they looked like a huge accident was about to happen at any moment. A significant proportion of their riders apparently chose to abandon the group on the first day and thereafter just "do their own thing" for the rest of the week. They certainly did not seem to be a happy group.
We were pleased that three of the Americans had been allocated to our boat to fill up the empty cabin spaces. Although they probably felt at first that they had been sent to purgatory, I think they quickly realised that the Australians were actually more fun to be with. We were just pleased that the three Americans we had been allocated were just as anti Trump and anti gun as we all are. It turned out very well for them and us. Maybe one day there will be a Ghostrider chapter in Portland Oregon.
We arrived back at the Estello at around 3.30 pm and unloaded our bikes for the final time. The bikes had performed really well and were ideal for this type of riding, however after 6 days of riding, my backside was ready for a break. I also had another important task to complete - to catch up on the big backlog of laundry.
We had learnt from the Internet that there was a coin laundry in Aigues Mortes. Google maps clearly showed us where to go and we were just about to leave when Captain Claude asked us if we needed help. I felt like I had to tell him that we were off to the laundromat. What happened next was both touching and time wasting.
The Captain asked for the phone, looked at it intently and rotated it back and forth. You would swear that he had never seen a map before. He scratched his ponytail, zoomed the image in and out and looked confused. He looked like he was sitting a three hour exam for his captain's certificate. I could even swear that he examined the back of the phone to see if it had any information on it.
About twenty minutes later he was still fumbling around and decided that he would need to phone a friend for help. Another ten minutes were spent on the phone. The mystery deepened. We did not have the heart to tell him that we already knew the way (and we had never been to this town before). Although he came here every week, he was obviously completely and utterly lost.
The problem was it was now a matter of French honour. He could not admit that he had no idea where the laundromat was, so he insisted on coming with us. We formed a chain of laundry carrying Ghostriders, following a French sea captain to God only knows where. It reminded me of the famous Pied Piper of Hamlyn leading the rats out of the city.
Captain Claude actually led us through the city gates and into the old city. He was getting more confused by the minute. Those minutes were passing by quickly and we were worried that the laundromat would soon be closing. Our odyssey continued until finally the captain spied someone he thought he might have once known. He chatted away in French and was told what we already knew - that the laundromat was actually in the opposite direction to the one we had been walking.
Captain Claude beamed as if he had received a revelation. He waved his hands, told us to "turn right, turn left" (or something like that) and then finally set us free to go in the direction we wanted to go in at the start. It was a bit frustrating, but it gave a wonderful insight into the French way of thinking. It was another example of why I love France and the French people so much.
We finally found the laundromat, washed and dried our clothes, and returned to the boat with huge smiles. Later that evening we enjoyed another wonderful meal and said our final thank you's to the staff who had looked after us for the past week.
Tomorrow David and Joan will leave to make their own way back to Australia while the rest of us will have another two nights in a hotel in Aigues Mortes, before catching the train to Nevers.Läs mer
A Sticky Problem in Arles
5 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 20 °C
We have known Carol for long enough to know that her brain works on a completely wavelength to the rest of the human species. Somewhere in the tortured process of human evolution, it is obvious that Carol's branch of the tree went in the opposite direction to the rest of humanity. This morning we discovered that she has passed this unique way of thinking to her daughter Samantha.
Samantha apparently enjoys chewing gum. The only things that she has not yet grasped is that it has to be disposed of in a logical fashion. Unfortunately the words "logical" and "Yates" can never be combined in the same sentence. Following the ride yesterday, Samantha decided that the best place to leave her left over gum was on the handlebar of her bike. Although I have been sometimes known to bend the truth just slightly, in this case that is precisely and exactly what she did. I cannot understand what her reasoning was - maybe she planned to reintroduce it to her mouth and continue the chewing. All I know is that was were her lump of gum spent the night.
Unfortunately Arie (our cyclimg guide) was not privy to this key information. When he proceeded to unload Sam's bike onto the shore, he immediately found himself entangled in a disgusting, sticky web of stale chewing gum. Of course he was both surprised and furious in equal measures. Carol and Samantha still thought that it was an entirely sensible place to leave such a foul booby trap.
About 20 minutes later Arrie had managed to remove some of the sticky mess from his fingers and the front of his shirt, and we were ready to finally get underway. Our first stop of the day was the centre of Arles. This town is one of the best preserved Roman towns in Europe and is also well known as being the place where Van Gogh lived and produced some of his most famous masterpieces.
Although I normally hate guided tours, I did try to behave myself and follow our appointed guide as she led us through the narrow streets and pointed out the most interesting sights. It might have been even more educational if I could have understood some of what she was saying. In spite of the language problem, it did give a fascinating insight into just how extensive and advanced was the Roman constructions in this region. The central arena is very similar to the famous Colloseum in Rome and it is still used for regular bull fights and other performances.
Van Gogh was apparently mesmerised by the colours and light of Arles and this provided the inspiration for many of his remarkable artworks. Unfortunately genius and madness are often closely intertwined and his tortured soul finally found peace at the extremely young age of only 37 years . In his entire working life as a painter he only sold one painting.
After exploring the city for the morning, we climbed on the bikes for a glorious ride to Saint Gilles. The day was significantly cooler than the previous days and this made the cycling absolutely delightful. We even enjoyed a helpful tailwind for some of the way. The group were all in high spirits, demonstrating just why we had come so far to do this.
Around 3 pm we reached the boat and then settled down for an extended cruise along the canals to the town of Aigues Mortes (dead waters). That will be our final mooring as tomorrow's ride will be a loop ride starting and finishing in the same place.
The cruise also gave us our first glimpses of the famous white horses that the Camargue region is famous for. To our surprise we also discovered that there were fish in the canals that were obviously attracted by the wake of the boat and seemed happy to surf along with us. Another magic moment.
For me the time on the boat also gave me a chance to tune into the fourth test match, currentlty being played in Manchester. When Smith scored his epic 200th run, I was listening in the dining room of the Estello. That will be something I will remember for a long, long time.Läs mer
Les Carrieres de Lumieres
4 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C
We always expected that today was going to be a hard day at the office, and that is exactly how it turned out to be. Ever since we arrived in Provence about 12 days ago, we have been subjected to an unbroken run of hot weather. Considering we had arrived directly from the middle of a cold Melbourne winter, the weather has certainly been our biggest challenge.
To make matters even worse, the forecast keeps changing every day. After our hot stay in Caumont Sur Durance, we were led to believe that the hot weather would cease as soon as we begun the bike and boat section. It didn't. In fact the sequence keeps being extended every time we read a new forecast. It is now appearing that we will not get any real relief until we travel up to Nevers next Monday.
Today's ride was not only going to be the longest day so far, but it also had the toughest climb of the entire week. Our cycling guide had tried to encourage us by telling us that he once had a 92 year old complete the climb, however he failed to mention what sort of weather conditions the cycling Methuselah had completed his epic ride in. He also did not say exactly how long it took them,
Of course, before we reached the climb we stopped at the town of St Remy de Provence. To our delight, we arrived right in the middle of an enormous market. The women in particular squealed with delight at the prospect of being able to buy even more stuff that they didn't need. I bought a leather belt for 5 Euro. The vendor truthfully told me that it "was not made in France". "Ce n'est pas possible" he explained.
The market spread out over a huge area, and we never did manage to fully explore it. I managed to lose Maggie in the first 3 minutes, but I was happy to find an ice cream seller and a fruit vendor selling punnets of wonderful raspberries and blackberries. That meant that lunch was taken care of.
Although it was only shortly after noon, the sun was already beating down relentlessly and the temperature was soaring back into the 30s. I should also be honest in pointing out that I am not a climber. In fact I am not precisely sure of exactly what I am, but climbing does not come naturally for me. It may be due to the fact that I am a rolly polly sort of guy who has to work about 60% harder that the tiny fly weight riders like Russell, Vicki and Kay.
As we began the much anticipated climb I could feel the sun beating on my face. I slid the gear selector down to the lowest ratio and hoped I could find some lower ones. The sweat started flowing and my breath started huffing. I tried not to look at the road ahead and to just keep the pedals turning.
I thought I was doing all right until a tiny shadow flew past on my left. At first I thought that it might have been just a speck on my glasses or a little dragonfly, but that would not have explained where the singing was coming from. It turned out to be Russell - apparently a tiny puff of wind had collected him and blown him straight to the top of the mountain,
At the half way point the group assembled to decide whether or not to take the option of a lift to the summit. I am sure that several were sorely tempted, but the Ghostriders are built of exceptional stuff and the entire group decided to keep pedalling. The expectant van driver had to leave without a single fare. We later were told by the guide that this was the first time that had happened.
About a kilometre further on I became aware that my nose had started bleeding. This is something that I have suffered intermittently from for over 40 years, but the timing could not have been worse. I had no choice but to pull over and wait for the bleeding to stop. The rest of the group left me haemorrhaging and continued their slow grind to the top.
I won't labour over the rest of the details of the climb, suffice to say that I did finally make the top. The crest of the mountain is marked by the medieval village of Les Beaux de Provence. This has now become a huge tourist mecca, complete with a succession of tour buses and thousands of tourists. Not exactly my type of place.
The main reason we had chosen to ride to this spot was not to see the thousands of tourists cramming in the village, but to experience Les Carrieres de Lumieres. This is an amazing sound and light display that has been set up in an unused Bauxite mine. I was just glad that it was cool inside. I took a seat and pressed my back against the cold rock. It turned out to be a bad idea. The sudden change of temperature caused my back to spasm and left me in agony. It took all my resolve to hobble to the cafetaria to get a coffee (actually two). The young assistant took pity on me and filled my drink bottle with ice and water. There are some advantages to looking about 92 years of age after all.
We still had a long and hot ride of around 30 km to get to our boat at Arles. The final few km through the busy centre of the city were particularly stressful. By the time we arrived, we were all exhausted and spent the first twenty minutes rehydrating and trying to recover from the heat. Fortunately the evening meal was easily the best of the cruise so far. That was a popular end to a very tiring day.Läs mer
ResenärHello from Italy Dennis et al!! I have done that same climb to le Baux 2 yrs ago...... good on all of you!! I feel like maybe I have died and gone to heaven in the Italian alps... it is so beautiful and spectacular here in the Dolomites. great bikes... yes some climbs( modest not toooooo hard( we . Today we did a sensational20 k descent ...) .. jaw dropping scenery abounds.... temps about 25 max- starts at 15 earlier in the day ... coffee and food is sensational! . take care all.. Mary KinchXX
The World on Two WheelsHi Mary, it is wonderful that you are having a ball in Italy. You will have to tell me all about it.
Vallabregues Loop Ride
3 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C
I awoke this morning to a quite astounding sight. At first I thought that I must have been delirious, but the image persisted, even after I opened and closed my eyes several times. Over the first few days of the cruise I had been used to being the first one to climb the stairs and reach the lounge room. Over the next hour or so I am gradually joined by a sleepy assortment of other Ghostriders as they are attracted by the prospect of breakfast.
There is one person that I NEVER would have expected to be in the lounge before me. Carol has already established herself as the undisputed sleeping champion. She has perfected the art of falling asleep in seconds and at every available opportunity. And yet, here she was, the very first person awake. My reputation was in tatters.
After the hot and windy ride of the previous day, we were pleased to be looking forward to a more modest day today. After an initial sail to Vallabegues, we unloaded the bikes and then rode back along the river bank to Aramon. Our first stop of the day was at the lovely village of Barbentane. When I spied a shop selling "Delices", I just had to see what these delices actually were. A short time later I was sitting under a shady tree, drinking coffee and eating my very first vanilla slice of the trip so far. Life really can be good some times.
We then began a sustained climb up to the extensive Abbaye Saint Michel de Frigolet. The morning cool had been replaced with hot sunshine and I could feel it burning my face as I slowly worked my up to the summit. I discovered that the abbaye contained a cafe and decided to order a proper lunch instead of eating the sandwich that was squashed in my pannier. It was a wise decision and the French fries were glorious.
We then enjoyed an exhilerating descent to the medieval village of Boulbon. Maggie and I climbed up part way to the castle to look down on the town, but the heat was becoming oppressive and we decided to return and rest in the shade instead. The centre of the town was dominated by a large cafe/bar. It was an ideal place to relax while some of the others joined a guided tour of the old city.
The final section of the ride was assisted by a gentle tail wind and it was a welcome contrast to the challenging conditions of the previous day. Around 5 pm we were back at the Estello. In most respects it had been the best day so far.Läs mer
The Loop of Aramon
2 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 24 °C
Human beings are very adaptable creatures. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly we can adjust to circumstance which, even a couple of days earlier, seemed quite challenging. Coping with life on a river barge is a perfect example of this.
When we first climbed on board the L'Estello, just two days ago, the first thing that everyone noticed was just how tiny the cabins are. For many of our group they are probably the smallest rooms they have ever had to live in. In addition to the small size you have the added challenges of (almost) no windows. This can be very hard to cope with if you suffer with claustrophobia.
Of course the challenge of cabin living reaches its epitome when you enter the "en suite" bathroom. While every cabin is equipped with its own bathroom, they are not exactly of 5 star (or even 1,2 or 3 star) standard. I suspect that the bathrooms were fitted out at a time before most of us were even born, Considering the incredible age of our riders, that is really saying something.
The tiles in the bathroom are liberally covered in a layer of black mould and a sign above the toilet warns the occupant not to put any type of waste in it. I had previously thought that that was toilets were there for, but now I know better. Each bathroom is also equipped with a hand held shower and tiny basin. Of course it requires the consummate skill of a master magician to be able to shower without saturating everything else in the room. This is a skill that Maggie has not yet mastered.
The diminutive size of the cabins would not be such a problem if you were only going to be in France for a week or two. If that was the case you could probably get by with a small case or backpack. The problem is that we will be travelling in France for two months and therefore have come with "beaucoup de baggage". By the time we crammed the two suitcases into our cabin, there was virually no room for either of us to enter.
In case you are thinking that we must be crazy to embark upon such a cruise, I can assure you that we are in fact all having an absolute ball. Although the cabins are small, they are well air conditioned and the beds are actually quite comfortable, even if you have to sleep with your knees under your chin.
The other key point to mention is that the cabins are only for sleeping, bathing and using the toilet. The life on the barge centres in the lounge and dining rooms. That is where the group members spend virtually all their spare time. It is this type of shared camaraderie that is not felt on the huge modern river boats.
Today began with a 60 minute cruise out of Avignon to the village of Aramon. That os where we unloaded the bikes and started our ride. The forecast was for a much more comfortable temperature of around 26C, however we did find that this estimate was exceeded my middle afternoon. Although the extreme high temperature was missing, its place had been taken by the arrival of the Mistral - the howling wind that is a feature of the region. It is the Mistral wind that had destroyed many a peloton in the Tour de France and we felt its full force during today's ride.
The ride took the form of a loop ride, starting and finishing in Aramon. The main highlight was the towering Roman viaduct at Pont de Gard. I had seen pictures of this engineering wonder in many books, but nothing can prepare you for seeing it in the flesh. The scale is incredible and it is mind boggling to think that something that was constructed 2000 years ago can still stand so proudly and securely. It had survived the dark ages, the Renaissance, numerous wars and revolutions and untold numbers of governments. You cannot help but wonder at the brilliance of the designers and builders.
The outward ride to the Pont de Gard had been a real struggle into the head wind, but we were relieved to experience that most rare of all cycling phenomena on the return leg - a raging tail wind. Even with the assistance of the tail wind, it was still a long and tiring day in the saddle and we were all very happy when we finally reached the welcome sanctuary of our boat.Läs mer
On Our Bikes at Last
1 september 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C
Although it has been wonderful to spend a restful week recovering from our long flight from Australia, the real reason we cam to France was to cycle, not to rest. For the next 5 weeks that is what we will be doing almost every day. Of course it is neither fun (or very smart) to cycle in extremely hot weather. When I planned this trip I was counting on the fact that the start of September would herald the end of the long hot days of the Provencal summer. It almost worked.
The local weather experts had been predicting that today would be the final of the almost endless sequence of hot days. From tomorrow onwards they are promising that the temperatures will hover around the mid 20s - absolutely perfect for riding. Unfortunately our first day on the bikes would also be the final day in the mid 30s. It was going to be a challenge, but that is what the life of a cyclist is all about.
Maggie and I awoke at 6 am to the impatient sound of my phone alarm. Our first night in the confines of our cabin had been a bit of a challenge. It is not easy to sort your gear in a room the size of a small shoebox. It was one of those rooms where you had to go outside into the corridor in order to change your mind, let alone turn around to face the other way.
The secret of survival is to find a place for everything and then pack away everything you will not be using. It is also a huge test of how well you really get along with your roomate. After all, there is absolutely no place to hide. You even have to take turns in taking a deep breath. Such is life on a river barge.
After donning our cycling gear and enjoying a lovely breakfast, we each packed our lunch of baguettes, meat and salad. The bikes were unloaded unto the quai, ready for us to get them set up for each rider. Our cycling guy is a retired Dutchman called Arie. He is a 66 year old who has enjoyed a multifaceted career as a lawyer, journalist and diplomat. He now spends 10 weeks a year leading cycling groups in different parts of Europe.
Arie began with a briefing explaining how the system of pointing the directions at each road junction would work. We then assembled outside for the obligatory group photo. Finally we headed off along the Rhone - our ride had begun.
The early parts of the ride were along lovely, shaded pathways. The traffic was almost non existent and the temperature was comfortable. It was the perfect way for us to regain our cycling legs. We quickly found that the bikes were ideal for this type of riding. I was intrigued with the infinitely variable gearing. I had never ridden a bike like this before and it was absolutely amazing.
The first 15 km or so was mostly flat and then we hit the hills. Arie explained that every other cycling group avoided this section, but they had heard that the Ghostriders were no ordinary group and thought that we would enjoy the challenge. They were partly correct. The seven riders on ebikes certainly had fun, myself - not so much.
As the road headed up to the skies the ebike riders sailed past with huge smiles on their faces. The rest of us suffered in the hot sun. Soon I was off the bike and walking (and so was just about everyone else). In spite of this, we were all having huge fun. This was what we had come so far to do. Life can not get any better than this.
At Pujaut we stopped to enjoy our baguettes and have a coffee. The afternoon tea stop was at the even more delightful town of Villeneuve les Avignon. This place was the home of the cardinals when the Popes were ruling from Avignon. The narrow streets and stone buildings were breathtakingly beautiful, as were the cakes from the boulangerie. It was a shame that the iced coffee was dreadful, but maybe you can't have everything.
We completed the day's ride by about 4 pm and discovered that the group of American riders on our sister boat had only ridden about half the distance we had. That was the icing on a most delicious first day. Australians One - Americans - zero.Läs mer
Our House in Provence
31 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C
Here are a few more views of our house in Provence. I hope they might give you an idea of why we liked it so much. It even had a full size grand piano !
A Roman Sendoff from Caumont
31 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C
Our week long stay in Caumont has all too quickly drawn to a close. It only seems such a short time ago that all we crowded into the taxi for our ride from Avignon. Now our week has flown by and it is time to bid farewell to this funny little community that has been our temporary home in Provence. Unfortunately the run of scorching weather has shown no sign of abating and that has somewhat restricted what we could actually do while we were here.
On this, our final morning, we decided to forego our daily walk and just meet at the coffee shop instead. We had been aware that the village was planning to conduct its first ever Roman festival and we all wanted to see just what happened. While we enjoyed our coffees, the villagers gradually emerged from their homes dressed in a varied assortment of togas, bedsheets and improvised armour. It was a bit like a primary school pantomime, but we were really touched at the simple way they were enjoying themselves in such a harmless and unsophisticated way.
At first they seemed a little reticent to emerge. I suspect each person was waiting to see if anyone actually turned up, before they potentially made a fool of themselves. Gradually the trickle of people became a stream as the assembly was swollen by whole family groups. Some had really gone overboard with their efforts, producing elaborate costumes, swords, helmets and such. One small guy came bedecked with a red beard, sword and shield. I thought they he looked like he had stepped straight out of the Lord of the Rings as he looked more like a hobbit than a fearsome Roman soldier.
The real highlight of the morning came when a few horses were added into the mix. Two of these had been dressed in Roman type trappings and the proud riders were happy to ride back and forth. Apart from the cigarette hanging from the mouth of one of the riders, they could have almost looked genuine. It was an incredible finish to our stay in this town and we would have liked to stayed longer. Unfortunately we had to pack up and be ready for our taxi to take us back to Avignon.
When we returned to the house we found that our landlady had already arrived and was busy toting up our bill. By the time she calculated the final total it was evident that a few more “extras” must have been added. We could have been upset, but we had really had such a great time here that it was just not worth fussing about the details.
Our taxi arrived only ten minutes later than it was ordered and the driver somehow managed to crush all our luggage into the rear compartment, without resorting to crushing Gordon’s knee caps. About 30 minutes later we were back in Avignon and unloading our luggage onto the L’Estello. Although it was too early for us to board, they were happy for us to drop our luggage and return later in the afternoon. We asked the taxi driver to take us into the centre of the city so that we could have some lunch.
We found ourselves back at the same café that we had eaten at when we were in Avignon a week earlier. Since we were right outside the Hotel de Ville we were entertained by a regular succession of newly married couples emerging from their civil ceremonies. A group of African drummers and ululating women made sure that the newlyweds were met with a noisy welcome. It was another fascinating insight into the local culture.
As other team members joined us in the city the group grew steadily and by 5.30 pm we were ready to make our way to the boat. To our enormous relief we discovered that the boat was extremely well air conditioned and it was deliciously cool inside. It was the first time we had felt comfortably cool since leaving Australia. Not so welcome was the diminutive size of our cabins. Apart from Carol and Sam’s luxurious room, the rest of us were allocated rooms about the size of small dog kennels. It will be an interesting time, but that is all part of the challenge. We also found that there will be three Americans sharing the boat with 17 Ghostriders. We could only imagine how difficult that will be for them.
Tomorrow morning we finally begin our cycling. We can’t wait to get underway.Läs mer
A Fireworks Fuelled Friday Finale
30 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C
When the weather forecast promised us yet another day in the mid 30s we knew that any active pursuits would be done in the early morning. After almost a week in this region, we have learned that the stifling heat of the afternoon is only suitable for resting and/or sleeping. Carol seems to have perfected this to a point where she now spends almost the entire day fast asleep, waking only for long enough to eat a chocolate croissant or two.
We knew that this would be our final early morning walk so we looked for a route that we had not yet explored. From Gael and Gerry’s elevated terrace we had previously seen that there was a large new housing development on the outskirts of the town and we thought that this would be an interesting place to explore. Not only did we find an extensive development site with dozens of nearly completed homes, but we also discovered a brand new school as well. It is clear that there are major plans underway for this town.
Along the way we met a couple of elderly Frenchmen who were walking their little dogs along the stream. We stopped for a chat and a pat of the dogs’ heads. One of the little creatures seemed tempted to follow us, but eventually turned back and caught up with its owner.
After walking for a couple of hours we made our way back to the Tabac for our morning baguettes and chocolate croissants. This has already become a cherished tradition for us and we could see no reason why it should change. We then settled in at our favoured table outside the coffee shop for our morning coffees. We almost feel like we are well on the way to becoming locals.
By 9.30 am the heat was already beginning to build up. It was time to return to the relative sanctuary of our house. There we stayed for rest of the morning and entire afternoon. Carol led the Ghostrider sleeping team on an extended afternoon siesta and finally emerged about 6 pm. She entered the lounge room, yawned loudly and then said “I need another rest, I am tired”. If Australia ever enters the Olympic sleeping competition, Carol would certainly be the captain and coach.
By 7 pm it was time to make our way back up to Gael and Gerry’s for our final dinner in Caumont. Although it was still warm, the gentle breeze makes it a perfect place to enjoy an al fresco meal together. Later in the evening we became conscious of some explosions in the distance. To our delight we saw that they were coming from a fireworks display, far away in the south. We had no idea of what the celebration was for, but we convinced ourselves that it probably to welcome the Ghostriders to Provence. Whatever the reason for the fireworks, it was certainly a memorable ending to an incredible week that we had shared together.
Tomorrow we will pack our bags and say goodbye to the village that has been our home for the past week. It will be time to return to Avignon to join the rest of the team for the first part of our cycling adventure. It is also fitting that tomorrow morning the town will be holding a Roman festival, complete with parades, displays and Roman themed activities. It promises to be a dramatic way to end our stay.Läs mer
Feeling At Home in Provence
29 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 25 °C
It is amazing what a difference a few days can make. When we firsr arrived in Caumont, just five ago, the tangled web of narrow medieval alleyways looked close to imprenetrable. It felt like we had been dropped right into the middle of a giant maze.
Over the past few days the village has become progressively more familiar to us. Using the central elevated Church of the White Penitents as our landmark, we can now confidently wander the entire town, withoput any danger of becoming lost. Even the faces of the locals are becoming familiar. Each time we walk the alleyways, our wanderings are punctuated by numerous "Bonjours". We are even starting to feel that the locals are starting to accept us as aa non threatening addition to their way of life.
We have now established a daily routine. Each morning we set out at 7 am for our morning walk. This is well before the cauldron is turned up and the heat makes any sort of activity almost impossible. We walk for around 2 hours, before returning to the centre of the village. The first stop is the TABAC (General Store), where we buy our baguettes and pains chocolates (choclate croissants). We then walk the short distance to our favourite coffee shop (actually the only coffee shop) and settle down for at least an hour of coffee drinking and croissant eating. It would not be hard to get used to this way of life, in fact it's takern us less than a week and we are already feeling at home.
After our daily sojourn at the coffee shop, all we have to do is walk back up the hill to our house, find our favourite arm chair and settle down for a quiet sit in front of the fan. In the afternoon it is customary to rest the eyelids for an hour or two. There is a very good reason why the siesta is an integral part of life in this region of Europe.
When the sun is low in the western sky, it is time to make our way further up the hill to Gael and Gerry's penthouse. There we can enjoy the airconditioning, the high speed internet and the lovely outdoor terrace. Life does not get much simpler (or better) than this. It has proven to be a wonderful way to start our adventure and I am sure that we will all be a little sad when the time comes for us to hand back the keys and bid Au Revoir to the little town of Caumont Sur Durance.Läs mer
In Search of the Durance
28 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 24 °C
Following our previous successes with early morning starts, we decided to once again head off at 7 am. This really is the very best time of the day for any sort of physical activity, and the cooler air at that time of the day is delightful.
Our walk first took us to the cemetery that we had explored the previous day. The entire region of Provence is liberally dotted with Roman ruins, and Caumont Sur Durance is no exception. We had previously noted a couple of signs pointing to the “Jardin Romaine”, so this morning we thought they might be worthy of further exploration. As it turned out we were standing right in front of them. Even more surprising was the fact that, even at this time of the morning, the gates were unlocked.
We then spent 30 minutes or so wandering the sprawling ruins of what was obviously an impressive garden in Roman times. The main feature was a huge tiled pool, extending maybe 60 metres or more in length. Even after 2000 years you could still see the amazing handiwork of the tilers who must have laid millions of tiny tiles over the full length of the pool. It was also possible to see traces of the original frescoes that must have covered the sides of the pool.
There was one other major feature of the town that we had not yet seen – the Durance River. Although the name of the town translates to “Caumont on the Durance”, a more accurate name would have been “Caumont somewhere in the vicinity of the Durance”.
We have seen no sight of the river anywhere near the town, but knew it must be somewhere around. Since water mostly travels downhill, we decided to follow a small stream to see where it led. I confidently told the group that it must lead us unerringly to the river and so, off we went.
We found a lovely shaded Chemin (path) that followed the stream. Unfortunately the water in the stream looked quite putrid, inspiring me to suggest that maybe this was the town’s sewer. “Maybe all it will take us to is the town’s sewer treatment plant”, I added. At that time it was meant to be a joke.
Along the way we were barked at furiously by large dogs which seemed to be a feature of every home. Fortunately the fences were high and the dogs could only snarl and growl at us through the wire. After walking for about 2 km, the path started to degenerate into a bit of a bush bash. A group of French council workers were busy cutting back some of the undergrowth that had blocked the way. We bade them a friendly “Bonjour” and continued fighting our way through the brambles, stinging nettles and briars. I began to feel like Burke and Wills, trying to reach the Gulf of Carpentaria. One prominent facility that we did succeed in reaching was the local sewer works. My earlier prediction had proven uncannily accurate.
The path finally led us under a large bridge and into a dangerous pile of large rocks. This was getting quite ridiculous and there was still no sign of the Durance. Risking life and limb, some of us clambered over the rocks, but the others had already had enough and turned back to the town. The reduced group did eventually catch a glimpse of the mighty Durance, but it was on the other side of a very busy highway and there was no easy way to get across. Besides it was time for coffee ! We headed back to the town. Sometimes the explorer’s lot is not an easy one.
Soon after 9 am we were all gathered outside our new favourite coffee shop, eating chocolate croissants and drinking coffee. Thanks to the magic of modern technology and the wizardry of What’s App, we invited David to join us at the table. Of course he was still thousands of miles away in Melbourne, nursing the ailing cat and its ever growing list of severe injuries (all of these cruelly inflicted by a person or persons called David). We propped the phone in the middle of the table and showed David how much we were enjoying ourselves. I suggested that he should take the cat on a nice holiday, just to apologise for what he had done to it. My friendly suggestion was met with muted silence.
By the time we returned to the house, according to the GPS we had walked around 7 km. It was time for a rest. The remainder of the day was spent in much less active pastimes – mostly talking, doing crosswords, playing “Who Am I ?”, eating – and an afternoon siesta. It’s a tough life.
In the cool of the evening we walked to Gael and Gerry’s penthouse and had a wonderful dinner out on their terrace. It was a magical experience to be able to enjoy a meal surrounded by the rolling hillsides of Provence. As the daylight faded, the scene progressively became dominated by the gentle sepia coloured streetlights of the township. It was picture postcard perfect and none of us will ever forget the evening we dined al fresco in Caumont.Läs mer
ResenärHello all----Loving/laughing at the blog Dennis--(though I am absolutely horrified re the situation with David and the cat!!?? ) I will follow your blog/journey ---and from tomorrow----when I fly out of Tulla I will be following it from Italy as I ride from high in the Dolomites to the Adriatic sea--- 2 weeks of cycling---hoping its not too hot...Take care all ----Mary KinchXX
The World on Two WheelsHi Mary, it is always great to hear from you. It sounds like you will be having your own wonderful adventure as well. We will have some stories to share when we see you again.
Sunrise Over Caumont
27 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C
It’s amazing what a difference a few hours sleep and a few degrees lower temperature can make. Yesterday we all made the significant discovery that the best time to explore the city was in the wee small hours of the morning, well before the sun rises high in the sky and the place starts to feel like the inside of a pizza oven.
Buoyed by our early morning foray of yesterday, we made the decision to rise even earlier and head off well before dawn. At 6 am we were underway. The air was still deliciously cool and the evening stars were still twinkling overhead as we walked through the narrow stone alleyways, past the familiar Chapelle de Penitents Blancs and towards the nearby rocky mountain that we had seen the previous day.
The only problem was that, in the pre dawn gloom, we had difficulty seeing where we were going. I was just hoping that we would be able to successfully avoid planting our feet right on top of one of the many dog turds we had seen in the walkways. While I think we avoided the canine booby traps, finding the path to the top of the mountain proved a more difficult task. After a few tentative attempts, we eventually managed to find something that could have been a path. Or then again, it might not. It was hard to tell, since the entire side of the hill was covered in a type of rocky scree that would have made it very easy to slip and fall. We also had the added difficulty of having to make our way through patches of prickly briar, that scratched our legs at regular intervals.
By some miracle of navigation and good fortune, we somehow all made it to the summit without suffering a catastrophe. From the top of the mountain we could look down to the village and identify the now familiar landmarks of the large central church, the cemetery and the supermarket. Further in the distance we could see the rugged outlines of the Alpilles, the towering shadow of Mont Ventoux and the closer Vaucluse Plateau.
We gathered and waited for the sun to finally rise behind the Vaucluse. The sky lightened ever so slowly and the light from the (still obscured) sun illuminated the nearby clouds making them look like molten lava pouring forth from some huge distant volcano. It was certainly a highlight of the trip so far.
After watching the sun finally make its appearance above the horizon, we carefully made our way back down to the cemetery and to the second large church in the village. It was somewhat fascinating to see the way that the graves were covered in a plethora of small plaques and statues, many of them bearing photos of the deceased.
By 9 am we found ourselves back in the centre of the village and headed to the Boulangerie to buy some fresh baguettes. To our horror the sign informed us that the shop would be closed until September 2nd. This was yet another reminder that August is the holiday season in France. To our relief there was a “Baguette Plan B” – the local TABAC across the road was acting as a temporary baguette supplier while the regular baker was closed. I am not sure where they were coming from, but the baguettes were still warm when we bought them – and they certainly were delicious. It would have been a crime to wait till we got back to the house before we ate them, so we started to attack them straight away.
What transpired next was a very pleasant hour spent outside the nearest coffee shop, drinking coffee, eating baguettes and croissants, and happily chatting. The cooler weather had brought out the locals and the entire town was buzzing with life that we had not seen since we had arrived last Saturday. It was agreed that this was a ritual that we must repeat each day for the remainder of our stay.
After the time at the coffee shop it was time to return to the house to sit out the hottest part of the day. Most of the group decided that an afternoon siesta would be a good idea. In this sort of climate it makes eminent good sense. Gael and Gerry joined us for dinner and by 9 pm it was time to call it a day. It had easily been the most enjoyable day we had had so far, but we were conscious that our time in Provence was passing rapidly.Läs mer
An Early Start to the Day
26 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C
Planning a week long stay in Provence in August was always going to be something of a risk. Although you can plan most aspects of a trip, there is one important factor that we have absolutely no control whatsoever. I have learnt from my previous experiences in Europe that the weather can throw up a complete range of conditions – from scorching heat to freezing cold. Before this trip is over I expect that we will have the opportunity to experience them all.
According to the laws of long term averages, September is usually the best time for active activities (such as cycling). In France, as in much of Europe, August is regarded as the holiday month – the time when many shops and businesses close for their summer vacations. It is also often the hottest time of the year. Since we had already timed the start of our cycling for the beginning of September, we had no choice over the dates for any additional time in Provence. It would have to be late August.
As it turned out we happened to arrive right at the end of a prolonged extremely hot summer. In many parts of Europe new records had been set with temperatures soaring into the 40s. Although we had been hoping that the worst of the summer might have passed before we arrived, this was not to be the case. Provence in particular had suffered from an unbroken succession of hot and rainless days. Gardens were dying while the locals sought refuge inside their stone walled houses. Since we had just arrived from the depths of a very cold Melbourne winter, the shock has been enough to leave us wilting. Although we tried to do a little exploring of the village, the relentless sun soon sent us returning to the relative cool of our home. For that reason we decided that the only way we were going to be able to wander the town would be to do it in the very early morning, right on sunrise.
At 7 am the air was still pleasantly cool and fresh. It was delightful to be able to walk up and down the steeply sloping streets without breaking out in a lather of sweat. When we first arrived here, just two days ago, the place seemed to be a complete mystery of tangled alleyways, now we were able to navigate our way about with relative ease. It certainly helped that the we always had the towering steeple of the ancient church to guide us home.
During our walk we noticed that there was a nearby rocky hill that dominated the village. We decided that it would be worth climbing to the top before sunrise the following day so that we could watch the sun rise over the Vaucluse Plateau. In the distance the towering silhouette of Mont Ventoux dominated the landscape. This is the mountain that breaks the spirit of many a Tour de France rider and was also the place that the English cyclist Tom Simpson breathed his last. The combination of the thin air and a lethal cocktail of performance enhancing drugs was more than his body could take.
Our walk eventually took us to the familiar sight of the local supermarket, where we set about emptying their shelves of just about everything in sight. I thought that we might need to recruit a team of Sherpas to help transport it back to the house, but somehow we managed to do it unaided. We even managed to get the precious baguettes back home without flattening them too much.
Back in the cool of the house breakfast somehow blended into lunch. The baguettes were stuffed with cold meat and ham and washed down with a little cider. A truly French tradition. After lunch the temperature outside was probably hot enough to melt iron. We decided to stay indoors and partake in some serious talking instead. The challenge was for each person to share something that they had never told anybody else. This always makes for interesting conversation. Carol took the opportunity to reveal some incredibly dark secrets of David’s. It was just as well that David was back at home in Australia, performing medical experiments on their poor cat, and had idea of what was being revealed on the other side of the world.
While on the subject of the cat, apparently the resultant vet bills were of such incredible magnitude (and growing by the day) that David would have actually saved a huge pile of money by joining us in France and leaving the poor beast with a professional housesitter instead.
Gael and Gerry decided to invite the rest of the time to join them in their air conditioned penthouse for dinner. It gave them an opportunity to simultaneously show off their residence and Gerry’s culinary skills at the same time. I must admit that the pasta was delicious and it was a lovely way to end the day. We were even able to stand on their huge terrace and admire the views. Way below us the lights were just starting to come on and the slightest suggestion of a cool breeze made the spectacle even more beautiful. I guess that is why we made the decision to spend the week this way.Läs mer
A Cricket Catastrophe in Caumont
25 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 22 °C
Today was our first full day of our stay in Caumont. Being a Sunday it was also the day in which nothing is open. It was just as well that we had found our way to the Supermarket yesterday. That gave us a chance to stock up on supplies and to ensure that we would not starve before the shops reopened on Monday.
After a long hot night the group slowly started to stir at around 7.30 am. A glance out the window showed what we already knew was going to happen – it was going to be yet another scorching and cloudless day in Provence. After a leisurely breakfast we spent some time just chatting and making plans for the next few days. Gael and Gerry had already invited us to visit their accommodation, so that we could compare the two houses.
They arrived at our house in time for a shared lunch, before leading us up the hill to their place. As soon as we walked in the door we could see (and feel) the stark contrast between the two houses. Firstly their place was almost new and ultra modern. It was also cool, delightfully cool, due to the very efficient air conditioning.
Because it was at the top of the hill it also had panoramic views out over the surrounding rolling hills of Provence. We also discovered that the elevated position meant that Maggie could actually get a mobile phone connection for the first time since leaving Avignon. But the greatest wonder of all was that this place was also fitted out with high speed Internet and wifi. Everyone immediately produced their electronic devices and proceeded to catch up for lost time on the net.
I suppose we could have happily stayed there all day, but we had to pretend that we were keen to get back to our own place. The mid afternoons are the hottest time of the day and the burning sun seemed to be bouncing off every surface as we struggled our way back down the hill. I had already decided that I would spend the rest of the afternoon listening to the coverage of the Third Ashes Test. The game was poised at a very interesting stage, although Australia was clearly in the better position. No one seriously gave English a chance of pulling off such an unlikely win.
It was only as the afternoon wore on that it became clear that the result was not as guaranteed as we might have believed. As Stokes belted his way to a century and kept going, we could feel that the momentum had shifted away from Australia. Although the result was a shock to us, it is certain that this match will go down in history as one of the most remarkable ever played.
While the rest of the group went out to dinner at the best restaurant in time (actually the only restaurant in town), Maggie and I decided to stay at home and enjoy a bowl of cereal instead. We will have plenty of opportunity to sample the fine French cuisine over the next two months and we did not want to peak too early.Läs mer
A Hot Time in Avignon
24 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 23 °C
There is no doubt that it has been a hot summer in Provence and it is not showing any signs of ending any time soon. The forecast is for a never ending succession of temperatures in the mid 30s – not exactly ideal conditions for a group of elderly Australians who have freshly arrived from the middle of a bleak Melbourne winter.
At least our hotel room was very nicely air conditioned, allowing us to enjoy a very comfortable night’s rest. We arrived at breakfast just as a large group of lanky (and obviously very hungry) teenagers had devoured everything in sight. They had even used up all the crockery. For a while I thought I would have to eat off my breakfast tray, but managed to persuade the serving girl to bring out some extra plates. Catastrophe averted. Breakfast saved.
We had previously decided to spend the morning exploring the city before the temperature soared too high. It did not take long for us to realise that we were too late. Even by 10 am the heat was almost overwhelming. Our group staggered down the main street while the women took every available opportunity to stop and take pictures, mostly of inane things like doorknobs and cracked windows. The men found a sign promising “Roman Ruins” and slowly walked in that direction. When we got there the ruins turned out to be rather underwhelming, leaving us wondering why we had wasted the energy. We could have just sat in the shade instead.
We continued to walk past the very imposing Palais des Papes and even managed to climb to the highest point in the city. Although it gave a panoramic view down to the Rhone River and the famous Pont d’Avignon, we were all too hot and bothered to take much notice of it. We did what any intelligent person would do in similar circumstances – sat in the shade and had lunch at a lovely little restaurant by an ornamental pond.
For the next seven nights our home will be the small village of Caumont Sur Durance. Our initial plan had been to spend a week pretending we were genuine French people. After searching the internet we thought that Caumont looked like a typical village and then looked for a suitable house to rent for the week. There were five of us who would be sharing the place, so it needed to have sufficient space for us all. Maggie conducted some research and found a likely looking place (at least the pictures looked good), so we made the booking. We had arranged to be at the property by 4 pm, but had no idea how we were going to get from Avignon to Caumont.
Since we had had such a good experience with the mini bus taxi the previous day, I asked the hotel to organise a similar bus to take us all to Caumont. Although it arrived on time, we soon found that it was not really quite big enough to hold all of us AND our luggage. What followed next was a period of prolonged pushing and shoving by the driver as he tried vainly to cram all our bags into the rear. After many unsuccessful attempts to shut the rear door, we told him to pile the extra cases on top of Gordon instead. So that’s what he did.
With no less than seven of us jammed inside and with Gordon helplessly pinned under a huge suitcase, we set off on the next stage of our adventure. The map had promised that Caumont was only around 10 km from Avignon, however it really seemed like much further than that, especially for Gordon who had lost all sensation below his belly button.
We finally arrived at the small hamlet and went in search of our rented house. The entire town is a crumbling collection of old stone houses with tiled roofs. The meandering streets were only barely wide enough for a small vehicle and we initially felt like we were lost in a giant maze. At least we knew that our house was near the church, so we used that for a landmark.
We were happy to tumble out of the minibus. Gordon was the happiest of all as he worked hard to restore some circulation to his lower legs. We went in search of number 11, Rue Mademoiselle de Perverts (or something like that) and started knocking loudly on the door. A few minutes later it was opened by an elderly Frenchwoman who proceeded to talk nonstop for the next twenty minutes, telling us all the things that were forbidden in her house. Of course we could not understand more than about 4 words of what she was saying. We just wanted to find our rooms and have a rest.
The house itself is spread haphazardly over about 7 different levels, with rooms branching off in completely random order. The owner had added to this confusion by over decorating it with a profusion of mismatched odds and ends, all of which were eagerly waiting to be either broken or tripped over. She seemed very surprised that we had not brought our own sheets and towels with us from Australia. “If you want me to supply them, you will have to pay for them”, was the message. We also found that we would have to pay for everything else – soap, toilet rolls, gas, detergent, electricity, cleaning, etc, etc. Nothing was provided for free. But it would be our responsibility to water the pot plants. When the landlady finally left, we made ourselves at home by promptly breaking two glasses and almost breaking several other items. I also made an impression on myself by walking into one of the low wooden beams as I was walking down the stairs. I certainly won’t do that again.
Maggie and I found ourselves in a room on the ground floor. Although it had its own toilet, it was certainly impossible to take a seat and close the door at the same time. Even getting into the toilet required the skills of a consummate contortionist. Once inside you were kept company by a massive collection of starfish and other marine memorabilia. It was going to be an interesting seven days, but that was the aim of this part of the trip. We knew it would be challenging and interesting at the same time. The heat also added an extra degree of difficulty as there was no air-conditioning. We also found that the biggest challenge of all was that the house had no Internet connection.
I should have mentioned that Gael and Gerry had also learned that we had booked a house in Caumont and thought that it sounded like a good idea. They found another rental home nearby. For the next week there will be seven Australians wandering this place. I wondered if the town would survive.
We had been assured by several different locals (including our landlady), that there were no cafes in the town, however Google stated otherwise. It showed that there were several within easy walking distance. Can you guess which source of information was correct ? The locals or Google ? If you said the locals, you would be wrong. After the heat of the day had subsided, we went on a walk around the town and found that there were indeed several eateries, a boulangerie and a supermarket. Perhaps the locals had never explored past their own front doors. Strange but true.
We found a tiny pizza shop that was obviously doing a brisk trade and ordered three pizzas for dinner. An hour later they were ready. At 8 Euros each they were excellent value and were so big that we could only eat about half of them. They would have been even easier to eat if they had been cut into slices. We did not know if the lack of cutting was an oversight or a peculiar feature of this region.
After the frenetic pace of the past few days it will be lovely to spend tomorrow doing almost nothing.Läs mer
The City of the Popes
23 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 22 °C
After the gruelling flight from Melbourne, it was glorious to finally lie horizontal, even if it was only for a few short hours. The Ibis Budget Roissy is hardly a luxury hotel, but it certainly was a welcome refuge, albeit if only temporary.
By 6 am I was wide awake and gazing out the window at the slowly lightening sky. It looked like we would be in for another warm and cloudless day in Paris and the advance weather forecasts were promising that it would only get hotter in the week ahead.
The breakfast at the Ibis was surprisingly good for a budget hotel, but maybe that was because the price of the breakfast was almost as much as the price for the room. After savouring my first French baguettes of the trip I returned to the room to “pack” my bag. How could the contents have swollen so much since I left Melbourne ? That was a mystery I would have to solve some other time, I was happy to just cram everything back in, and then give thanks when the zipper finally closed.
Our original plan was to catch the shuttle back to the airport, then catch another complex sequence of trains to get us to Gare de Lyon station in Paris. It not only sounded very complicated, it was also going to take nearly two hours and cost over 10 Euros per person. There had to be a better way, and there was. When I asked the concierge about the price of a personal mini bus to take us direct to the station, he replied that it would cost about 60 Euros. When we divided that cost between 5 people, it actually worked out cheaper than the horrible alternative.
By 9 am we were all comfortably seated in the luxury mini bus and speeding our way towards central Paris. Not only was this the perfect means of travel, but it also meant that we arrived in plenty of time to sit outside the magnificent Gare de Lyon Station and enjoy a coffee while we watched the Parisians go about their business. We had about 90 minutes before we needed to board our train and somehow I managed to spend about half of that time looking for the toilets in the station. When I eventually found them I figured that I had walked about halfway back from Paris to the airport. The relief that I experienced at the end also cost me 90 cents.
Unfortunately Gordon and Sue had made a “small error” in their hotel bookings and had managed to find themselves in the “wrong” Ibis hotel at the airport. Considering that there are Ibis hotels on just about every street corner, it is not too hard to get them mixed up. This also meant that they could not join us in the luxury mini bus and therefore had to take the longer and much more expensive train option instead. They finally arrived at the Gare de Lyon with only a few minutes to spare. In the meantime the rest of us had enjoyed a lovely time soaking up the atmosphere and savouring our coffees.
The high speed train from Paris to Avignon takes a little over 3 hours and spends much of that time silently moving along at between 250 to 300 kph. We sat in the comfortable first class seats and watched the beautiful French countryside fly by outside the window.
The train pulled into the impressive Avignon Centre Gare at around 3.30 pm. We stepped out of the air conditioned carriage into a blazing 34C. It was quite a contrast to the Melbourne winter we had left about 48 hours earlier. Fortunately I had skilfully booked another Ibis Hotel just next door to the station, so we only had a short walk to transport our luggage.
It was only when we went to check in that we discovered that Gordon and Sue had once again somehow managed to book the “wrong” Ibis. That would not have been so bad if it had not been on the other side of the city. We last saw them forlornly dragging their bags out into the sun for the long walk to the “other Ibis”.
Later in the afternoon our group met together for a walk through the lovely historic old city centre of Avignon. The history of this place is extraordinary and between 1309 and 1376 it was actually the seat of power for the entire Catholic Church. It is still referred to as the “City of the Popes” and the huge Palace of the Popes dominates the centre of the city.
Maggie and I had briefly visited this city in an earlier trip, but had very little time to look around. We had enjoyed a delightful al fresco meal near the Hotel de Ville and looked for the same place to introduce it to the rest of the group. Once the sun had lowered in the sky, the temperature moderated and it was a perfect ending to another eventful day.
Although the few hours of sleep I had enjoyed the previous evening had rejuvenated me a little, by this time my batteries were quickly starting to run down and I was glad to be able to return to our hotel for some more sleep. Tomorrow we will have more time to explore Avignon, before we head out of town to a small nearby village called Caumont Sur Durance. That will be our home for the next 7 days.Läs mer
The Long Day's Night
22 augusti 2019, Frankrike ⋅ 🌙 18 °C
There is no getting around the fact that it is a long way from Melbourne to Europe. A really long way. There is also no way of skirting around the fact that, unless you are comfortably ensconsed up the pointy end of the plane, you are probably going to absolutely hate the interminable time spent in transit. In spite of that I have also discovered time and time again that the pain is worth the pleasure that follows when you have arrived.
We left our home in the middle of the night and also in the middle of a miserable Melbourne winter. The only advantage of having a 5 am departure is that the drive to Tullamarine can be achieved on relatively quiet roads. It is a strange and wonderful feeling being able to drive on the Monash Freeway without feeling that you are about to be tail ended by a huge speeding truck sitting about 10 cm from your rear bumper.
In spite of the terrible weather, the drive was actually surprisingly easy and we arrived at the long term parking about an hour after leaving Pakenham. We were the only ones there and were met by a rotund young fellow who seemed grateful to have something to do. He explained where to park the car and then ushered us to a large shuttle bus to take us to the airport.
About 10 minutes later we were dropped off at the Departures section and our adventure was about to begin in earnest. As our small group of travellers started to assemble, we passed the time happily chatting and drinking coffee - we will be doing a lot of that over the next few weeks.
By 2 am the checkin was open and we were soon on our way through security and immigration. In spite of Carol's persistent requests for an upgrade, none were forthcoming. Apparently such airline largesse is no longer practised. You have to pay for anything. Actually we had already paid for something - exit row seats.
If I am going to sit in a steel sarcophagus for 14 hours, I might as well at least have enough room to straighten my legs from time to time. It might not be business class, but it really does make a little difference to the level of discomfort.
The plane took off right on time and soon the combined effects of a very long day and a slightly rocking plane sent my eyelids in the downwards direction. When I awoke I was a little surpised to find that 4 hours had passed by. It was a great start and I was also pleased to find that a DVT had not formed in my leg while I had been asleep.
After a few hours of watching movies and listening to audio books it was time for the next major challenge of the flight. Eating your meal from a rickety foldout table about the size of a postage stamp is never easy. There is always the ever present danger of watching your fork disappear out of sight into that bottomless abyss between the seats or knocking your glass of juice right onto your lap.
I thought after many long haul flights I was at last getting a little more skilled at eating and staying sane. My self confidence might have been a little premature. Somehow I managed to finish the entire bowl of beef ragout (or something like that) without any major catastrophes. It was only when I stood up that someone pointed out that most of the beef and gravy had somehow deposited itself on the front of my clean shirt. What followed next was a lengthy time spent in the dwarf toilet trying to launder my shirt with water and tissues. It almost worked.
After fourteen hours we finally touched down in Dubai, to be immediately welcomed by the furnace like heat and dust haze that makes this place one of my least favourite locations on earth. Forunately we only had a 90 minute transit and we were soon ushered onto the second A380 which was to complete our journey to Paris.
Although six hours is better than fourteen hours, it is still a long time. A problem with the headphone socket meant that I had to hold the plug in the socket if I wanted to hear anything while I was watching a movie. It was a relatively minor inconvenience, but it did irritate me. I decided to watch the flight animation instead. Watching a little cartoon plane slowly crawl its way over Iraq does not make for gripping viewing so I tried to sleep a little longer.
It seems to be a requirement of modern long haul flights that the shutters are kept securely closed for the entire flight. This means that, even if you have a window seat, you cannot even amuse yourself by watching the clouds pass by. Instead you are locked inside a black prison where time seems to stand still, punctuated at regular intervals by additional food spills on various items of clothing. Flying really is fun.
Finally, after about 24 hours of travel, we touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport. It was 8 pm local time and the outside temperature was a delightful 25C. That was the rotten bit over, now we could look forward to the enjoyable bit.
It took another hour or so to clear immigration and collect our baggage. I had booked one night at the Ibis Airport hotel and they promised that a free shutle would collect us from terminal 2C. It was just a shame that we waited at the wrong pickup point and missed the first bus. After a bit of research we discovered the correct bus stop and finally crowded onto the bus for the short trip to the hotel.
Although it was supposed to be only 2 km away, the bus trip seemed to take forever. By this time we were all at the edge of exhaustion. Fortunately the hotel was expecting us and the friendly young man directed us to the phone box that was to be our room for the evening. Actually the room was smaller than most phone boxes, but it was clean and the bed worked. There are few things in life more joyous than the feeling of being able to lay your head on a pillow after such a long time of turmoil. It is like going to heaven.Läs mer
Packing in Pakenham
16 augusti 2019, Australien ⋅ ☁️ 11 °C
While I always love travel, I have never actually relished the packing process beforehand. Somehow it is always daunting to face an empty case and then try to fill it intelligently with only the things you really need. It is a known fact that half of the things you pack, you never use during the trip. The problem is that you never know which half to leave out.
At the current time it is still hot in Provence, quite hot. That could suggest that I could safely leave out all the cold weather gear and only pack a few shorts, shirts and sandals. On the other hand, anyone who has travelled in Europe would know that the seasons can change quickly. A late hot summer can quickly shift to a cool autumn and an even colder early winter.
Since we will be in France for two months, perhaps I had better include the jackets and jumpers after all. And while I'm at it, better toss the umbrella in as well. European towns offer almost no cover from rain, hence the necessity for a brolly. And how many shoes do I need ? If one pair gets soaked on the bike, what will I wear ? Those are just some of the clothing considerations, the electronics bag is much more complicated. By the time I add cameras, chargers, batteries, adapters, assorted cables, memory sticks, phones and my notebook computer, there is not much room for anything else. But of course I also need all the cycling gear - helmet, jersey, knicks, gloves, glasses, etc. I either need a bigger case or else something that I can pack like Dr Who's Tardis (bigger on the inside than the outside).
With only a few days to go before departure, I am still surrounded by an ever growing pile of gear spread out over the family room floor. But that is exactly the same way that every previous trip has started and somehow everything turns out all right in the end. At least I think I know where my passport is. Maybe the rest of the packing can wait till later this afternoon. Or maybe this evening while I am watching the cricket.Läs mer
Back Where it all Started
3 juli 2019, Australien ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C
In so many ways the worst part of any trip is the long flight home - and so it was with this one. But let me first wind the clock back a few hours, maybe about three days.
Our final day in St Petersburg once again dawned warm and clear. That means that the fine weather that greeted us on our arrival in Warsaw has now followed us for the entire trip. Not once did we get wet on the bikes. None of the wet/cold weather gear that I brought with me ever got worn. That is always the trouble with packing. Half of the stuff you pack, you find you don't need. The problem is that you never know which half to leave out. The last time I was in this part of the world at this time of the year, it was cold and drizzly virtually every day. This time it was the complete opposite.
I had no ambitious plans for the last day, especially with the trouble I was still having with my knee. I started first with a slow walk along the Neva River bank. This time I decided to turn right and head towards the large passenger ships that were already lined up along the wharf. A fleet of large buses was assembled alongside, ready to transport the masses of tourists to whatever "highlights" they had been promised. I was just glad that I was not a part of it.
The long walk also gave me a good chance to reflect on the past four weeks. Although this was a relatively short trip, compared to most of our previous cycling adventures, the planning had probably occupied more time than any of the 40 or so overseas rides we had done in the past. In particular, it seemed that everything to do with travel in Russia was complicated.
When I finally tracked down an agent that was willing to look after our arrangements, it had proven very difficult to get any information from them. It seems that, when you are travelling in this region, you just have to trust that everything will be looked after. This goes against my nature. I really like to have every detail nailed down well before departure, but that was never going to happen on this trip.
I have to admit that I was more than a little nervous when we reached Tallinn and began the second section of our adventure. As it turned out, my worries were completely unfounded. Everything went exactly according to the script. The hotel in Helsinki was excellent and the hotel in St Petersburg was positively luxurious - far in excess of our expectations. The transfers occurred according to plan and the vehicles were more than adequate for our small group. Our guides were all very professional. We all had to agree that we had actually received great value for money, even though I had probably grown even more wrinkles in the process. Now that it was almost time for me to return home, I could finally start to relax. Our Baltic States Adventure had been another undoubted success.
After walking slowly for several hours, at times stopping to just watch the events happening around me, I worked my way back towards our hotel. When we first arrived in St Petersburg three days earlier, the whole city had seemed strange and confusing. Now it all felt familiar. I knew what landmarks to look out for as I navigated around. The generally rectangular array of wide streets also helped make it easy to stay oriented. To my surprise I actually found myself liking the place. If I had arrived expecting to find a dour, Soviet style, oppressive city, that is NOT what I found. On the contrary, St Petersburg is a modern city with clean, wide streets, lovely gardens, great cafes and a lovely network of canals and rivers. In the summer time at least, it was not a bad place to be.
I found a nice, Italian style cafe for lunch. The seafood pizza was delicious, but my thoughts were already turning towards home. The part that I was not looking forward to was the long flight back.
It was time to return to the hotel to check out of my room. The problem was that our flight was not due to leave until 11:55 pm that evening. I still had quite a few hours to fill in, so I went out for my final long walk in St Petersburg. About three hours and 7 km later I was back at the Sokos Valisievsky Hotel, sitting in a comfortable leather chair in the hotel library. Gradually the remaining five other members of our group joined me.
At 7:15 pm a comfortable bus pulled up outside, driven by a jovial Russian called Rashid. We loaded our bags on board and were soon heading to the airport. The traffic was flowing smoothly, many families and young lovers were out walking in the parks. Overhead the sun was still high in the sky. It was not the stereotypical picture that most Australians would have of Russia.
The check-in process went quickly and smoothly and we settled down to wait for our flight. Well four of us did anyway. Jim had lashed out some of his vast personal fortune on business class tickets and he disappeared to enjoy some champagne and caviar in the Emirate Executive Lounge. When the time came for boarding we caught a brief glimpse of Jim being carried to the plane on a golden pallanquin, being carried aloft by four burly staff. It's amazing what money can buy.
I settled myself down in my economy seat and tried to pretend I was in a coma. For most of the next 24 hours I think that it was true. I have vague memories of watching parts of movies, short periods of troubled sleep, anxious thoughts about DVTs, visits to the fetid toilet, trying to eat airline meals without spilling most of it down the front of my shirt, hours of incessant baby cries, watching the tiny image of the plane crawl across the screen map at a glacial speed and trying to find a halfway comfortable position for my head and legs.
Long flights are never fun, but they do eventually finish. The journey that had begun late Sunday night in St Petersburg finally finished at 5 am on Tuesday morning when the plane touched down at Tullamarine. It had been the best part of 2 days since I had been in a bed. I was a mess - but I was home,
When I turned on my phone I found a message from Marg Jones. She had arrived back in Melbourne earlier that day on a different airline, only to discover that her luggage had been lost again! The same airline that had lost her luggage on the flight to Vilnius had managed to repeat the exercise on her return to Melbourne. I guess that means it is consistent at least.
Although our luggage seemed to take an inordinate time to reach the carousel, it did arrive safely. All through the trip my bag had suffered a torn seam, but somehow it had held together until the end. Outside the sun was rising and Melbourne was coming to life, but all I could think of was getting into bed and sleeping for several days.
A couple of hours later I was finally home. The memories of the flight were already fading and I was starting to think about the next European ride, beginning in just a few week's time. Travel is like that.Läs mer
Far from the Madding Crowds
29 juni 2019, Ryssland ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C
In case I have not made something clear enough in previous posts, I will say it just once more - I do not like being part of a crowd. I don't like being herded like cattle. I don't like queuing for ages, just to see something, solely because it is supposed to be a tourist highlight. I certainly don't like following some flag carrying tour guide. I have always found the real pleasure in travel comes from unexpected moments in much quieter places. Over the years I have enjoyed amazing, but entirely unplanned, conversations with complete strangers. Most commonly these have occured while walking in parks or while sitting on a bench somewhere.
After the crowds we had encountered yesterday at the Peter and Paul Fortress and the Hermitage Museum, the last thing I needed today was another crush of people. I desparately wanted somewhere quiet - and I found one.
On our initial drive from the station to our hotel we had passed the huge military museum. It had an interesting array of artillery and missiles displayed out the front and the place had looked quiet. It looked the sort of place that the tourist buses avoid, in other words, my sort of place.
I guess I could have saved time by taking either the metro or a taxi, but I have always preferred to explore a city on foot. Even though I was still in a lot of discomfort (ie pain) with my stiff left knee, I hobbled off along the left bank of the Neva, past the two sphinxes (stolen from Egypt) , past the huge tall pirate ship (actually a fake tourist attraction) and onto the museum. I paid my 300 roubles entry fee (about $8) and started wandering the cavernous halls inside. I was almost the only one there, just what I had hoped for.
The displays covered everything from the medieval ages up to modern times. Although it was interesting to see how military technology had developed, I could not help but think of what a complete and utter waste the whole nature of war really is. After the long walk from the hotel I was feeling in need of a coffee and when I saw the Cafe sign, I decided it was time for a break. Even though I have only been in Russia for three days, I am starting to recognise the Cyrillic characters already and can actually understand quite a few of the common signs.
In the cafe I was thrilled to find that I was the only customer. I settled down with my latte and started to read more about the murders of Tsar Nicholas II and his family in 1918. I have always been intrigued with the story of Anastasia and the various legends about her escape. The true story really is quite horrific and, no matter how you feel about the excesses of the imperial rulers, no one actually deserves what happened to them.
After a couple of hours at the museum, I continued my walk to the sprawling Summer Gardens. In many ways they reminded me of the famous Tuileries in Paris. Lots of young couples were taking advantage of the glorious weather to carry out their courtship rituals in the park. Some things are the same the world over and the short summer is obviously the prime time for love.
I discovered a lovely cafe in a tented marquis and ordered Chicken Kiev. It seemed appropriate to have a Ukrainian specialty while in Russia. It was delicious and modestly priced. Just near the gardens my attention was caught by the onion shaped spires on the impressive Church of the Spilt Blood. I started to walk closer, until I noticed the jam of tourist buses and hundreds of tourists all heading in the same direction. It was even worse than the Hermitage. No church was interesting enough to entice me to go through that again.
I took a couple of photos from a distance and then headed in the opposite direction. It took some time to walk back to the hotel. When I checked my GPS it registered about 14 km, and that did not include all the walking I had done inside the military museum. It was a bit short of my normal 20 to 25 km, but considering that I was walking with a handicap, I thought it was not a bad effort.
After a short nap I went out for the final walk of the day - in search of dinner. I found a famous Scottish restaurant, not too away. It was called Macdonalds.
Tomorrow we begin the long journey home.Läs mer
The Hermitage Museum
28 juni 2019, Ryssland ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C
When I was putting this trip together it seemed like a good idea to add an extension to Helsinki and St Petersburg. At the time I thought it would be a relatively simple matter, however it turned into being something of a nightmare. After starting arrangements with three different Australian Travel Agencies (all of who abandoned the task as being "too hard") I eventually found a travel agency based in Latvia who said they would make the arrangements for us. The problem was that it was difficult (ie nearly impossible) to get any information from them for months at a time. Often phone calls went unanswered and email were ignored. It was certainly a cause of stress.
About two months prior to our departure the time came to make the full payment for this part of our trip. The stress levels escalated further. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had the fear that we were being fleeced.
Fortunately it has turned out that none of my fears were warranted. The arrangements have gone almost exactly to plan. The hotel that we were given in Helsinki was great and the Sokos Vasilievsky in St Petersburg was easily the best hotel of our entire trip. It was a wonderful way to finish a memorable adventure.
This afternoon was our chance to tour the famous Hermitage Museum, one of the three largest museums in the world. Its vast collection of priceless works of art and pieces of antiquity would take a lifetime to see. We only had three hours, so we didn't manage to see quite everything. What we did see was about ten cruise liners worth of passengers all trying to force themselves through the museum at the same time as us. In many places the throng of people actually made the experience quite unpleasant, but that is the price you must pay to view such famous artworks.
Svetlana led us through the bewildering sequence of massive rooms at a breakneck pace. From time to time we stopped to examine a particular item in greater detail. The Hermitage contains two pieces by Leonardo da Vinci and these were obviously one of the major attractions for the thousands of visitors.
In 1985 a crazed young man attacked Rembrandt's Danae painting. At the time it was regarded as the most beautiful and valuable piece of art in the entire collection. At first it was thought to be so badly damaged that it could never be repaired. After thirteen years of painstaking repair and restoration, it is now back on display. It is no longer claimed to be the entire work of Rembrandt as some parts had to be completely repainted. It is still a remarkable piece of art, but it is now securely protected by armoured glass.
By 5 pm we were all absolutely exhausted. It had been a very long day and we were well and truly ready to return to our hotel for a little quietness and rest. In spite of the crush of people, we still considered ourselves fortunate to have had the opportunity to view some of the greatest artworks of all time.
Tomorrow will be our last full day here, the following day we begin the long journey home.Läs mer
Learning About Leningrad
28 juni 2019, Ryssland ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C
Over the past hundred years St Petersburg has been known by numerous different names. For a time after the revolution it was known as Stalingrad, later changed to Leningrad. It was here that the German advance was halted at the infamous Siege of Leningrad. This prolonged blockade of the city lasted for over two years from September 1941 to the start of 1944. The lifting of the siege by the Russian army marked the end of the German eastern advance and the beginning of the end of the war for Germany.
In the 1990s the citizens of the city voted to return to its original name of St Petersburg, named after Peter the Great of Russia who founded the city in 1703. Over 300 years later his name and image is everywhere in the city.
The modern city shows very few scars of the massive destruction that took place during the siege, in fact our first impressions of the place were very positive. It feels like a modern, prosperous city with a lot of vitality. It is a city of islands and hundreds of bridges, dominated by the wide Neva River. For this reason St Petersburg is often referred to as the "Venice of the North". Our task for today was to explore the place and learn more about its secrets.
At 9 am we were met in the foyer of our hotel by a young and attractive guide who introduced herself as Svetlana. She spoke excellent English, probably because she had a masters degree in Linguistics. Apparently she also conducts tours in Spanish - a very smart woman indeed.
I had been dreading that we would lumped in with about 50 other people and be following a flag lady all day, but I needn't have worried. Our group consisted of just the 6 of us, plus Svetlana and Igor the driver. Even though it turned out to be an exhausting day, it was the best way to make use of our limited time here.
The morning part was spent visiting some huge churches and museums. The size and opulence of these places give an insight into the power and wealth of the imperial rulers of the past. It is staggering to see the scale of the buildings and the inestimable number of man hours of labour that went into their construction and decoration. One common theme is gold. It is everywhere and on everything. I wondered why it had not been looted during the revolution and was told that some of it had been. This is apparently what was left. It is truly a staggering display of what unlimited money can buy.
One particularly poignant location is the small sanctuary in the Peter and Paul Fortress that has been set up in the memory of the last Tsar and his family. Nicholas and his entire family were brutally murdered and dismembered in St Petersburg in July 1918. There were several stories that one of children (Anastasia) may have survived the massacre, but these have now been disproved. At least the modern Russians appear to have some remorse for what happened on that dreadful day, just over 100 years ago.
Our major highlight for the day was the Hermitage Museum, one of the three biggest museums in the world. Since I am restricted in the number of images that can be included in each footprint, I will make a separate entry for our afternoon's activity.Läs mer
Ghostriders in Russia
27 juni 2019, Ryssland ⋅ 🌧 15 °C
This was always going to be a long and eventful day. And that is exactly how it turned out. It began when my alarm went off at 5.30 am in my hotel room in Helsinki. A quick look out the window showed that the blue skies that we had enjoyed for the past three and a half weeks had disappeared. They had been replaced with a long lying blanket of grey clouds. A steady drizzle of rain had already soaked the roads and footpaths.
That was exactly the type of weather that I had feared could have followed us for our entire time in the Baltics. I must admit that I was almost glad to see it now as it would have seemed a bit unreal for us to have spent so long in the region without getting some of their "normal" weather.
After breakfast I donned my waterproof jacket for the first time on this trip (I was wise packing it in my bag after all) and headed out for the final time. After a little aimless wandering, I found myself in the city museum. It had an incredible series of huge photographs of Helsinki that showed life in the city at various times since 1866. The detail was amazing, so much so that you could spend a lot of time at each image, just to look at what the people were doing.
I finally worked my way to the top floor, where a complicated array of data projectors were showing some sort of movie. It was quite dark and I nearly had a heart attack when a voice came from below me. "Hello Dennis", it said. I know that technology is smart, but how could it know my name when I had come from the opposite side of the planet ?
The mystery was solved when I discovered that it was Sue. She had made herself comfortable as part of the exhibit and was watching the movie. I asked her how she understood Finnish. Apparently she had already read the script and knew what it was all about.
I continued to the market near the pier. Already several new ships had docked and disgorged their human cargoes. Quite a number of them (about 500 I reckon) were animatedly shoving themselves and taking selfies around the market stalls. I decided that Helsinki is a lovely city, but I was ready for something different.
Our train for St Petersburg was due to leave at 4 pm. At the appointed pickup time of 3 pm our small group of 6 were all waiting with our luggage in the hotel foyer. When there was still no sign of a driver at 3.15 pm, I decided that it was time for us to walk. It was only a 10 minute walk and the rain had now stopped.
We found the St Petersburg train and climbed on board. It was a shame that there was no room for our luggage - only a small overhead rack for hand luggage. Fortunately I found a small storage compartment at the end of the carriage and,after a little rearrangement (throwing everyone else's luggage out into the aisle) , I was able to find a nice secure spot for my bag.
Right on schedule at 4 pm we were on our way towards Russia. The scenery consisted of trees - mile after mile of forests and very occasionally a house or two. This area really is remote and very lightly inhabited. All the time we knew we were getting closer and closer to Russia.
It was what happened over the next 90 minutes that was the really interesting part. Firstly a large guy with absolutely no neck at all, wanted to see our passports and make sure that our Russian visas were in order. A short time later a group heavily armed and very serious Finnish immigration police wanted to examine my documents.
They slowly worked their way through the carriage, until it was my turn. The serious faced official slowly turned over every page. He seemed concerned about something. I was certainly concerned. I was far too old to be sent to a Russian gulag, or even a Finnish one for that matter. He eventually told me that I must have entered Europe illegally,since I had no arrival stamp. This was my worst fear come true.
Trying to remain calm, I explained to him that I had entered through Warsaw and that he had better have another look. He went back through the pages again and finally found the stamp he was looking for. Thus satisfied he added a new stamp to my passport and handed it back. He seemed a little disappointed that he had missed the chance to make his first arrest of the day.
The border crossing itself was a little anticlimactic - just a sign, lots of barbed wire and CCTV cameras. We were now in Russia, little wonder that the weather seemed gloomier and the forests looked like they had more weeds than trees. The sides of the railway line were lined with miles of coiled barbed wire and numerous cameras. It was a delightful way to welcome foreign tourists to your country.
The carriage was then filled with a succession of uniformed Russian officials. There were so many of them that they filled all the standing room in the aisle. Some were dressed like police, while others looked like army generals. It was an impressive show of force. Sweat started to drip from my chin as they worked their way towards me. I started to wonder whether I would be offloaded to the next train to Siberia. To my relief I was eventually awarded the coveted Russian entry stamp, but not before another long and detailed examination of my passport.
Right on time we rolled into St Petersburg Central Station. Another adventure was about to begin. I wondered whether our driver would be waiting for us. Would we have a hotel to sleep in that night ? It was very reassuring to see a man holding a sign with my name on it outside the station. He even had it spelt correctly. I started to relax.
We were ushered to a waiting large mini bus and were soon heading towards our hotel. I watched the progress on my GPS, but soon noticed that we were heading in the opposite direction to our allocated hotel. Maybe the driver was a KGB agent and we were being taken to Siberia after all?
A few minutes later he stopped outside the very impressive Sokos Vasilievsky Hotel and indicated that this is where we would be staying. I was not so sure, but we unloaded our luggage and rolled into the fancy lobby. To my relief the guy at the desk spoke excellent English and was obviously expecting us.
We were directed to our rooms and discovered them to be far in excess of our expectations. In fact the rooms were enormous, the beds magnificent, the air conditioning was functioning and the bathrooms alone were as big as some of our previous rooms. I even found that my window could be opened - something that many hotels no longer allow you to do. When I looked out my window I found that I looked straight down into a yard filled with broken toilet cisterns. I am not joking, but I am not complaining either. I am very happy with the hotel and my room.
At 8.30 pm we met to have our first foray into the unfamiliar city. We immediately discovered a new challenge. It is impossible to read most signs, because the alphabet is so different. Since no one speaks English,ordering anything to eat is a complicated matter of pointing and grunting, but somehow we managed.
The next couple of days will be interesting.Läs mer
Caught up in the Invasion
26 juni 2019, Finland ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C
With only full day in Helsinki, it seemed to be a good idea to include a personal guided tour of the city for the members of our group. At the appointed hour a smiling lady appeared in the hotel foyer. Since she was wearing a prominent badge labelled "GUIDE", we made the logical assumption that she was to be our guide. It turned out to be true.
We were ushered back outside to the same luxury Mercedes that had brought us from the ferry terminal the previous day. It certainly was a comfortable way to see the city. Our first stop was at the Sibelius Monument. When you only have a tiny population of around 5 million people, I guess there are not too many candidates for the role of national hero. The composer Jean Sibelius is obviously Finland's favourite son and his presence is seen all over the city.
The monument consists of a collection of huge stainless steel pipes, all welded together. It would have been nice to take a picture of them without first having to wait for busloads of tourists,all wanting to have their own pictures taken standing right in front of the monument. The cruise liners had obviously arrived in the port and their toxic cargoes of thousands of camera carrying tourists were all over the city.
Our next stop was the new Oordi Library - a massive construction made entirely of wood. It is amazing how a brilliant piece of architecture can revitalise an entire district and this is exactly what this building had done. With its sloping floors and soaring ceilings, it certainly challenges the senses when you are inside. It is much more than just a library - it has become a vibrant meeting place and community hub.
The other major place we were going to visit was the famous Lutheran Church in the Rock. The entire church has been built into the rock in the centre of Helsinki.
I remember being very impressed by this place five years ago and was keen to spend some quiet time there again. That turned out to be impossible. The super cruise liners have changed (ie ruined) all that. You cannot even get close to the building now because of the jam of the tourist coaches. The crowds of loud people all streaming towards the building looked more like a Grand Final Football crowd than people going to a place of reflection and prayer. To make matters even worse, our guide raised a flag. I could have died of shame.
You now have to buy a ticket to enter and the queues stretched far back from the entrance. Once inside you are confronted by a souvenir shop where you can buy mementos and drinks. Is this really still a functioning Lutheran church or a type of Disneyland ? In front of me a family was having trouble with their two smartphone carrying young children. One of them was having a tantrum because he had lost his Internet connection. At that stage I lost interest and was ready to leave.
I could not help but feel sad that the place had changed so much for the worse. It reminded me of what had now happened to Macchu Picchu since it had been prostituted in the name of mass tourism. To me, the effect of these massive passenger liners has been to destroy much of what you come to Europe to experience. I could not wait to escape the masses to somewhere much quieter.
After the tour finished, I spent the remainder of the day wandering the city on my own. Thanks to a dose of Neurofen, my knee was giving me a little less trouble. By the middle of the afternoon the cruise passengers were all back on their floating cities and Helsinki was much more liveable once more.
In the evening our group (now reduced to 8) went out for our final dinner in Helsinki. Tomorrow we will lose another two, when David and Sue start their return journey to Australia. The remaining six of us will be continuing to Russia. That should be quite an experience.Läs mer
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