We Go to the Theatre
23. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌬 11 °C
Sunday October 23rd
In Which we go to the Theatre
Our plan for today was simple - to explore the region near the westmost part of Cornwall. We wanted to drive along the coast as far as possible, taking our time to visit some of the tiny ocean front villages along the way.
Our first brief stop was at Zennor, before quickly getting back in the car as it was freezing outside. The wind had picked up to near gale force and the wind chill factor must have been around 2C or less. Even with our high quality $15 Aldi rain jackets on, the wind seemed to chill to the bone. We had originally planned to walk along the final section of coastline between Sennen Cove and Lands End, but the miserable weather was making that look very unlikely.
When we drove past a lovely looking coffee shop called "Heather's Cafe" in Pendeen, Maggie insisted that it was time for morning tea.
She was also excited because she has a sister called Heather and that seemed to provide some extra reason for not driving past. We pulled up, battled to open the car doors against the wind, and staggered into the lovely coffee shop.
I had to admit that it really was a perfect place for a cup of hot chocolate and their Rocky Road Cheesecake was a real treat. With our core temperatures temporarily elevated, we staggered back to the car and continued on our westerly way to Cape Cornwall. The proprietor of our B&B had advised us that this was a much nicer location than the famous Lands End and it was almost the most westerly part of England anyway.
We pulled into the little carpark, handed over a handful of pounds for the privilege of parking and gazed at the wild ocean scenery in front of us. I had to admit that this part of the world does have a unique character. With the combination of treeless, windswept mountains, wild oceans, rugged cliffs and dark, stone cottages it certainly looked like it would be an unforgiving place to live. Maggie and I looked for adjectives to describe this type of location and the most appropriate word we could come up with was "bleak". I wondered what the local children and teenagers do for fun around here, or maybe they just leave as soon as they are old enough to do so..
Although Maggie was too frozen to leave the car, I forced the driver's door open and tumbled out into the gale. Donning my woollen hat, pulling the thermal hoodie over the top of that and finally zipping up the Aldi rain jacket, I thought I was almost ready for the arctic blast that awaited me.
I then climbed down from the car park and followed the walking path to the prominent outcrop of land that constitutes Cape Cornwall.
With the narrow path and the precipitous drops to the raging ocean, combined with the pull of the the howling wind doing its best to throw me bodily into the crashing waves, it was something of a mental challenge to climb to the little stone chimney at the top of the highest point. I then took a few minutes to survey the scene before me. The sign explained how this used to be the site of a struggling tin mine before being donated to the nation in 1987 by the HJ Heinz company. It was good to see how the sales of millions of tins of beans had actually been put to a good use.
After being almost frozen, I struggled back down to the car and resumed our drive to Lands End. As we approached this famous location it did not take us long to see that we were going to be very disappointed. It had been made into a money making amusement park of the worst possible order. With its tacky collection of dodgy food sellers, arcade rides and so on, we felt cheated that we had to pay so much for the brief time we parked in the car park. After a quick look around, we could not wait to get away from the place. What a disgrace to do this to such a famous location.
While we had been having breakfast this morning another couple who were also staying at the same B&B overheard us discussing our plans for the day. "You must visit Minack's Theatre",they suggested. I had not even heard of the place, but once they started explaining what it was, it did ring a bell somewhere in the back of my mind.
After the unexpected gem we had experienced a few days earlier at Clovelly, we added it to our list of objectives for the day. We were so very glad we did as it turned out to be the outstanding highlight of the day.
The existence of this theatre itself is due to the untiring efforts of a rather eccentric lady called Rowena Cade. From a wealthy background she moved to this part of Cornwall in the 1920s and built an impressive mansion at the top of the cliffs. She then became involved in amateur theatre and decided to use part of the cliffside as the location for the staging of a production of "The Tempest" in 1932. The show was such a huge success that she made the design and construction of the Minack Theatre her life's work.
The rest of her life was spent in developing this incredible ocean front location into one of the world's most incredible outdoor theatres. In spite of the exposed situation, it is actually used for six months of the year with a new production starting every week. Apparently around 70,000 people watch these productions every year and another 100,000 come to just see the theatre itself.
I had to admit that it really was one of the most incredible places I had ever visited and I had to admire the tenacity of those who brave the elements to either participate in or watch a production here.
On the day that we visited, the wind was so strong that it was difficult to stand upright. Down below the waves were crashing ceaselessly on the rocks, sending up huge clouds of foam and spray with each massive impact.
After sitting and watching the spectacle for a short while we retreated to the sanctuary of the kiosk for lunch. Our table was right inside the front glass window and we sat mesmerised by the ferocity of the elements while we enjoyed a delightful Cornish "Cream Tea". it was another example of how the very best travel experiences are the ones that are not planned. It was certainly an experience we will never forget.Weiterlesen
A Visit to the Doctor
22. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ ⛅ 9 °C
Saturday October 22nd
In Which we Visit a Famous Doctor
In the extremely popular TV show Doc Martin, the eccentric and always grumpy Doctor Martin Ellingham operates his dysfunctional surgery from the seaside town of Portwenn in Cornwall. In reality there is no such place as Portwenn, the TV show is actually filmed in the town of Port Isaac, about 10 km from Tintagel.
Since we were already heading west from Tintagel to St Ives, we thought it might be interesting to make a small diversion and have a look at this famous location.
As you get closer to the village it is easy to see that the TV show has obviously resulted in changes to the life of the place. There are numerous posters advertising "Doc Martin Walking Tours - only 10 pounds a head". While that might be a money spinner for some local entrepreneurs, I suspect that the newfound fame has proven to be something of a poison chalice for the rest of the small town.
I wonder how the 700 permanent residents really feel about the busloads of tourists who daily descend on the village, trying to take selfies of themselves in every well known location used in the TV show. At least, while we were there, the production crews were nowhere to be seen, although there were still around 200 or more people who were wandering around the narrow streets. I could only wonder how busy it would be in the peak summer season.
There is no doubt that it is a magic location, with its cluster of stone and white washed cottages clinging tenaciously to the steep cliffsides. There is a small working harbour, protected from the worst of the seas by two large concrete breakwaters.
We spent around an hour wandering around the streets and lanes before resuming our journey to St Ives. It was a relief when we finally left the tiny, narrow (and somewhat claustrophobic) hedge lined back roads and turned into a wider motorway. This allowed me to drive without having my nose pressed against the windscreen and my fingernails embedded in the steering wheel.
We arrived at the outskirts of St Ives early in the afternoon and soon discovered that, even at this time of the year, it was a very popular holiday destination.
The narrow roads were blocked by a succession of cars, none of whom seemed to know where they were heading. This confusion was not helped by the large sign which advised all drivers to "Ignore the Directions of their GPS units".
Well that's easier said than done. How else were we going to be able to find our B&B, if we did not rely on the Tom Tom ? We did not have the local St Iveways Street Directory, so just proceeded blindly into the spaghetti tangle of clogged alleyways that constituted the St Ives CBD. While squeezing along one miniscule road, the voice from the Tom Tom clearly told me to "TURN RIGHT". I did. It was a mistake.
I soon discovered that I had turned too soon and was heading straight into a private car park, perched in a dead end on the side of a cliff. The car behind me probably had the same directions and had dutifully followed me into the abyss (as had the large Mercedes in front). We all ground to a halt, pondering what to do next.
With some expert white knuckle maneuvering, I somehow managed to get far enough to one side to allow the Merc to turn around and creep past on his way out. The car from behind then pulled alongside, wound down his window and asked "What do you suggest we do now ?"
How the hell would I know ? I am just an old man from the other side of the world. We don't have stupid roads like this Australia.
I made some sort of suggestion that sent us both into a coordinated series of synchronised driving moves that would probably have scored at least an 8 if it was an Olympic sport. After about 5 minutes, somehow I had escaped the tangle and was inching along the correct road. There was still no sign of the B&B and the road signs made so sense whatsoever. A local walker saw our predicament and kindly came to our aid. He walked around the block looking for the Blue Sky B&B and finally returned with the directions we needed. About 5 minutes later we were sandwiched into the carpark (I hoped that the other cars never wanted to get out) and knocking on the front door. It was a relief to be able to finally relax.
Later in the day we walked down to the township for dinner at the very popular Blas Burgers. The meal was superb, although things got a little complicated when we tried to find our way back home in the dark. Everything seemed quite different and all our familiar landmarks went missing. We wandered up and down a succession of alleyways, blindly looking for the church we had passed on the way down. It had obviously been moved. It took us around 30 minutes to eventually get back on the familiar track and stagger through the front door.
We will be staying in St Ives for 3 nights and will use this time to explore some of the surrounding region between here and Lands End.Weiterlesen
In Search of Camelot
21. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ ☀️ 7 °C
Friday October 21st
In Which we Search for Camelot
I think you can learn a lot about a population from the state of their shops. In our travels around the counties of Dorset, Devon and now Cornwall we had seen a huge number of shops that look like they have not changed their window displays since the 1950s. It is common to see a shop window filled with a mixture of assorted goods, all in faded boxes, covered in dust and with a few dead flies scattered around for effect.
While we were in Tintagel we were thrilled to find that the town had a laundromat as these are often very difficult to find in some countries. We bundled up our dirty washing, grabbed a pocketful of coins and went to the shop to catch up with our laundry. On entering the place, the first impression was one of perpetual neglect. The fronts of the two washing machines were covered in a greasy residue of numerous past washes and looked like it was a long, long time since they had been wiped clean.
The same was true of the soap drawer - layers of gunk that had Maggie shaking her head in disgust. I have visited laundromats in many different countries but never seen one so neglected as this dump.
To compound matters even further there were absolutely no instructions whatsoever as to how to operate the machines. We had no choice other than to keep feeding in coins until something happened. About 4 pounds later the water started to fill, so we assumed it had started. Since the display was broken it was impossible to tell how long the process was going to take.
I sat down and looked around the place. Hanging on a peg was a bulging bag labelled "lost socks". It appeared that the locals were inept at counting their socks to check to see if they still had an even number at the end of each wash.
Nearby was an even larger bag of crumpled clothing - presumably many people had trouble even remembering that they had put their clothes in the washing machine at all. On top of the dryer was a pair of old underpants, waiting to be claimed. This was getting ridiculous. It looked like the whole town was full of people who simply pooled all their clothes into some huge communal pile. Only in England I guess.
This leads me to make some generalisations about the English population we had observed and met in our travels.
Firstly, they generally are an overweight and very unfit lot. I have never seen such a concentration of people with mobility scooters, walking sticks and zimmer frames. We began to feel as if the whole population had trouble standing upright or moving from place to place. It also looks like they seldom visit the dentist, wear second hand clothing and probably have odd socks. From our experience at the laundromat, it may also be true that half of them are wearing someone else's underpants. They also seem to shuffle along the street, looking as if they are not quite sure where they are going. After what we had seen of the disciplined and conscientious work ethic of the Germans, we wondered just how the British ever managed to win the war.
In spite of that, they are no doubt generally a friendly bunch, although they share a universal dislike and distrust of the French. Maybe that is because the French just have so much more savoir faire than they do. The typical English person does not seem to have much interest in maintenance or modernisation. The principle seems to be "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", in fact, on second thought, I would say that it is more like "if it IS broke, don't fix it either".
After our experience at the laundromat we set out to explore the so called Tintagel Castle.
This is a stark collection of ruins and relics that is precariously scattered over the sheer cliffs near the township. The interest in these ruins has been increased to near fever pitch because of the claims that they may be the ruins of King Arthur's Castle. Then again they may not. In any case, they certainly are spectacular and are great fun to explore.
In order to wander the ruins you first need to hand over 7 pounds for the privilege (and NO there is no concession rate) and then navigate the vertiginous steps above the raging sea. It is not for the faint hearted and Maggie certainly had to confront her inner demons to make the crossing. I was so proud that she did manage to complete the walk and she was very pleased with herself and I am sure that it is not something she could have done even a couple of years ago.
In this part of the world there is a lot of Welsh spoken and it was intriguing to see many signs in both English and Welsh. I love the Welsh accent but I had to admit that their language sounded like someone gargling in gravel and sea water.
In the evening we went to dinner at a little Italian restaurant called the Olive Grove. It was a superb meal and the service was also great. It helped make up for the disappointment we had experienced the previous night at the King Arthur's Arms Pub.Weiterlesen
A Chance Encounter
20. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 3 °C
Thursday October 20th
In Which a Chance Encounter Yields a Rich Reward
One of the magic things about travel is that it is often the unplanned events that bring the most pleasure. An example of this occurred this morning while we were having breakfast at our B&B in Horns Cross. Another couple were also having breakfast at the same time and we started to share our travel experiences. When they heard which direction we were planning to travel they made a strong recommendation.
"You must visit the village of Clovelly", the gentlemen advised. "You will not see anything else like it in England".
They went on to describe just why they considered it to be so unique. It certainly sounded worth a small detour from our planned route, since it was only a few kilometres along the road from Horns Cross. We packed our bags, carefully reversed out into the narrow laneway and then turned on to the A39 towards Cornwall
The roads in the UK are classified into M (motorways), A and B or minor roads. M class roads are usually divided and allow for high speed touring from place to place. The next class of major roads are the so called A class roads. These would be similar to our national highways between country towns. You might therefore expect that A class roads would provide safe driving with wide carriageways and few bends. In that case you would assume wrong. In fact driving on an A class road means that you have limited visibility ahead, are likely to face right angled bends every few hundred metres and barely have enough room to safely manoeuvre past oncoming vehicles. It does mean that driving times are always significantly longer than what you had planned.
We reached the turnoff to Clovelly (pronounced Clo - Valley) and found ourselves driving along another narrow laneway with a canopy of overhanging trees. We soon reached the point where a sign announced that cars could proceed no further. We had to park and proceed on foot. The entry to the town is via a large "visitors' centre" where you have to hand over 7 pounds each for the privilege of walking the streets. This seemed a little steep, but since we had come this far, I opened the wallet and paid the money (and NO, there was no seniors’ discount)
We walked through the centre and then quickly discovered just why people would fall in love with this place. Firstly there are no cars, in fact it would be impossible for any vehicle to proceed along the 30% gradient of the main street. The tiny main street is paved with rounded cobbles which must be horrendously slippery when wet. Fortunately we had another glorious sunny day and were able to walk without sliding into oblivion.
Outside every residence is a home built sled, which is their sole way of transporting any goods into our out of the village. We witnessed numerous locals pulling all sorts of items (suitcases, tools, groceries, etc) on these sleds. I wondered how they would cope if one of the residents wanted a piano delivered.
Looking down the main street you can see the wide blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The houses of the village are all painted uniformly white and appear to be clinging to the sheer cliffside for dear life. We scrambled all the way down to the small harbour, trying not to think about how hard it was going to be climbing back up to the top again. As we sat at the water's edge, listening to the sea gulls and the gently lapping water, it truly was an incredible moment that neither of us will ever forget.
Since we were still in Devon, we decided that we MUST have a Devonshire Tea before we move on to neighbouring Cornwall. About half way back up the main street of Clovelly we found a small tea room and ordered two serves of "Cream Tea" at a cost of around 5 pounds each. We sat in the sunshine eating the scones, drinking the delicious tea and considering ourselves two of the luckiest people in the world.
We then scrambled back up the path and back to our car. It was time to start moving once again. One thing we were in desperate need of was cash. Automatic teller machines are not as common in the UK as they are in Australia and some places refuse to take payment by card. When the GPS told me that there was a bank in Bude, ,we once again turned off the A39 and drove into this small township. To my relief I found the ATM machine and filled my wallet with pounds.
By this time we were ready for lunch. Since we had now left Devon and were in Cornwall, I thought it only right that we should sample a genuine Cornish pasty. We found a little cafe, sat down and ordered two Cornish pasties. The young waitress was very polite and soon produced two plates with the pasties we had looked forward to sampling.
I have to admit that, in spite of our initial excitement, the pasties were quite disappointing. They were mostly filled with doughy pastry and seemed to have very little by way of vegetable or meat. I had enjoyed much better pasties in many places in Australia. Neither us of could finish our pasties as they were sticking to the roofs of our mouths too much. Well not all of life's experiences live up to expectations.
We climbed back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Tintagel, our home for the next two days. This town has enjoyed a King Arthur led tourist boom, since some historians have claimed that the Tintagel Castle ruins are actually the location of King Arthur, Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table. Whether that is true or not I cannot say, but the location certainly is beautiful and the towering clifftops along the ocean's edge make for exciting walking.
We walked to the entrance to the castle ruins too late in the day to do any exploring so decided we would leave that to the next day instead. We diverted our walk and followed the clifftops around to the haunting looking St Materiana's Church. This ancient building dates back to the 14th century and inside there is a list of every priest that had served there, right back to the early 1300s. The surrounding fields were covered with hundreds of ancient gravestones.
Our evening meal was at the "King Arthur's Arms" Pub, one of 5 or 6 pubs in this tiny village. Just about every business in the town has been named after some aspect of King Arthur, Avalon, Camelot, etc, I am not sure whether or not there was another pub called "King Arthur's Legs", but I would not have been surprised if there was. The dinner itself was not really up to a high standard. If we were food critics we would have given it about a 4/10.Weiterlesen
All Roads Lead to Chickerell
19. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌧 10 °C
Wednesday October 19th
In Which all Roads Lead to Chickerell
It should have been an easy drive. Our plan certainly sounded simple. We were going to leave our B & B in Chickerell and then follow the famous Jurassic Coast through Lyme Regis and Sidmouth to Exmouth, before turning north and driving up to Horns Cross (near Bideford). The total distance was estimated to be around 140 km. In Australia we would not think twice about driving that far in a couple of hours, so it shouldn't be much different in the UK. Or so we thought.
The first few km were achieved without incident, although the narrowness of the roads was quite disconcerting at times, especially when you had to face huge semi trailers, farm tractors and suicidal locals all racing towards you without slowing down and with only a few inches of clearance on each side.
We got to within a few km of Lyme Regis and looked forward to a pleasant break by the seashore.
"It will be a good stop for morning tea, or maybe we will wait and have it at Sidmouth instead", I told Maggie. It never turned out that way.
Just when Lyme Regis was almost within reach, our way was blocked by a complete barrier over the road. ROAD CLOSED. What did they mean, Road Closed ? Surely there must be a short detour around the obstruction ? We drove back a few km to the first village we encountered. Maggie went into a shop to ask directions. She came back looking confused. "I couldn't understand a word he said", she explained. We had no choice but to keep going back, and back, and back. There was just no way to get in the direction we wanted. About an hour later we found ourselves driving back past the actual place we had spent the previous night in. Yes, we were right back where we had started, and still going even further backwards ! It was a navigational nightmare of the first order.
We finally reached the end of the "DIVERSION" and estimated that it had added at least 2 hours to our journey. At least we were heading in the right direction again and we did eventually reach Lyme Regis and we did stop for something to eat, but it wasn't morning tea. It was lunch, and a late lunch at that. The town was a classic English seaside town with narrow and very steep streets
We managed to find a parking place on the outskirts and then walked (climbed) down the steep cliffside into the township itself. It was a pleasant place, but by now we were well behind schedule, so could not stop for long.
We resumed our westerly travels to the beautiful Sidmouth. This is a larger town with a delightful atmosphere. We would have liked to have spent more time but the clock was ticking and we did not know what other challenges might be lying in wait for us further on. We decided to skirt Exmouth and start our journey north to Bidewell by well of Chulmleigh and Barnstaple. Although the countryside was pleasant, it was not possible to see a lot of it due to high hedges on the sides of the narrow roads. The succession of towns we passed through were also rather drab and a little disappointing. It was also starting to get dark, so we kept pressing on trying to reach our destination before nightfall.
We also had a problem that we did not have an actual address for the B&B. The voucher we had printed off from Booking.com just described its location as somewhere called "Horns Cross, near Bideford". While we could find Bideford on the map, we could not find anything called Horns Cross, so we knew we could be in for a spot of bother. I did have the latitude and longitude of the place, so decided to feed that data into the GPS and hope for the best
Like a dog with a new scent, the GPS started spitting out instructions - TURN LEFT in 250 Metres, turn right in 500 metres, etc and so on. The only problem was that the already narrow road we had been on suddenly became a dog track. It was barely wide enough for us to squeeze through and seemed to be getting narrower. With the high hedges on both sides we could not see a thing. Every time we changed direction (which was often) we felt that we were in imminent danger of being wiped out by an approaching vehicle.
At one particularly narrow and scary part Maggie asked "What if we meet a truck now?" A second later her question was answered when a monster truck appeared out of the darkness. I slammed on the brakes with my heart palpitating wildly. He was much bigger than me so I tried to find reverse gear. Damn these manual transmissions. I struggled to reverse back and immediately went back into the nearest hedge. The amused truck driver then took pity on the couple of elderly dimwits, flashed his headlights and started to reverse back for us. A few minutes later we had edged our way past and our near death experience had been survived.
My patience was finally starting to snap.
"I hate these stupid, idiotic, ridiculous roads", I yelled at Maggie. "Why can't they build proper ones ?" She told me to calm down and keep driving. Easy for her to say, I thought, she wasn't sweating all over the steering wheel.
Somehow we finally found Horns Cross, found a small notice with the name of the B&B on it and miraculously drove into the driveway. My nerves were shot, I was tired and cranky and just wanted somewhere to rest. The friendly proprietor directed us which steep staircase to drag our suitcases up and finally we collapsed on the bed. It had been an interesting day.Weiterlesen
We Risk a Ramble
18. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌙 9 °C
Tuesday October 18th
In Which we Risk a Ramble
After leaving Portsmouth, our home for the next two days was the quaint sounding village of Chickerell, on the outskirts of Weymouth. When I made the booking I knew nothing about either Weymouth or Chickerell, but it was located in a convenient position on our westerly migration along the Southern English Coast and the Heritage B & B did have excellent reviews on Tripadvisor.
When we arrived the small hotel we were certainly very impressed with the outward appearance, and the inside of our room was even more impressive. Although the three hundred year old floors did rise and fall underfoot, the place was absolutely magical and the owners had done an amazing job in restoring and decorating the rooms.
When I asked what we should do while in Chickerell, we were advised to drive back through Weymouth and explore the rugged Portland Island and visit the lighthouse at the southern tip (the "Portland Bill").
After breakfast we climbed in our Mokka (the rental car) and drove through the narrow maze of streets, past hundreds of drab and monotonous rows of houses and headed south to Portland Island. Outside of the area, the only thing that people would know about the place is that it is home of portland rock. I had also heard of Portland cement and I had to admit that the place was just about as exciting as a rock quarry had a right to be.
The shops were dirty and dilapidated and looked like they had not received any input of maintenance or enthusiasm for a mighty long time. We passed a sad looking hairdresser with the name "Island Beauty" and could not help thinking that if anything needed a beauty makeover it was that terrible shop.
We squeezed the car through the jumble of narrow streets, admired the view from the top of the highest point on the island and then continued to the Portland Bill, to see the lighthouse. We needn't have bothered. The place was bleak, cold and deserted and the lighthouse was apparently "closed for urgent repairs". It seemed in keeping with the rest of the place. We climbed back in the car, turned up the heater and drove back to Chickerell.
The other thing we had been advised to do while in Chickerell was to do the so called "Turks Head Walk".
It was a classic English ramble, through farm paddocks, over numerous styles, through "kissing gates" and along a succession of back lanes. By the time we started, the sun had broken through and we were keen to get going.
Maggie grabbed the instructions and took on the role of chief navigator, while I followed along behind, happy to have someone else do the work. I had to admit that it really was a load of fun and the coastal views along the coastal water feature known as "The Fleet" were spectacular. The area has a fascinating and rich history and we were captivated by the small church and ancient graveyard that marked the site of Fleet village. The sign explained that the entire village had almost been wiped out by a huge storm in 1826. The waves breached the natural breakwater and severely damaged all the buildings in the town. Nowadays there is a beautiful little row of attached homes that mark the location. All are made from local stone and feature thatched roofs and are as pretty as a postcard.
We returned back to our temporary home with a much more positive opinion of the area. In the evening we returned to the Turks Head Pub for dinner. The meal was delicious and the servings were enormous. No wonder the locals love their pubs so much.
Tomorrow we move on to discover more of the Jurassic Coast before making our way north to Bideford.Weiterlesen
Stonehenge is Closed Today
17. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌙 11 °C
Monday October 17th
In Which we Visit Mary but Stonehenge is Closed
At 8.30 am in the morning I rang Europcar to explain what had happened the previous day. I said that I did not want to turn up at the rental office and find the same thing happening the second time round. "I will give them a call", the representative explained.
Nearly an hour later I was still on hold.
"I cannot understand why they are not picking up their phone", he lamely apologised.
What an incredibly inept way for a large company like Europcar to run a business.
Not only had I wasted the previous day and 20 pounds in taxi fares, I had also spent around $40 on phone charges and I still had no definite result.
When the guy seemed unable to do anything, we decided that we had no other alternative other than to return to the depot and hope that it was going to be attended.
Another 10 pounds taxi fare later we were back at the depot, with all our bags.
At least it was open this time.
I walked to the counter and explained the stuff up of the previous day.
"I don't work here", was the helpful reply. Then why was she sitting behind the desk ?
Eventually someone who apparently did work there appeared and explained why nothing could be done for me. I showed them the printed contract with the collection details on it. Finally we were offered 2 day's free rental (I will believe it when it is actually credited back to my bank account) and eventually we were sitting in a Vauxhall Mokka (what the hell is that ?) outside the depot.
The first few minutes in a new rental car are always a little stressful, especially when you cannot figure out how to get the blessed thing started. Press this, push that, what is that beeping noise ?, how did I turn the wipers on ? What gear I am in ? And so on.
Finally we were underway and making our way gingerly through the unfamiliar and very busy streets of Portsmouth.
I had decided that our time would not be wasted entirely if we could visit the Historic Naval Dockyards. They were only about 6 km away and we had the expert assistance of Tom (actually Tom Tom the resident GPS).
Tom directed us through a succession of interesting manoeuvres until we could see that we were nearing a naval precinct. "Turn Right Now", he ordered. I did what he instructed. I shouldn't have. "I don't think you should be here", Maggie helpfully suggested, adding liberally to my state of stress.
The policeman windmilling his hands furiously also added to my stress as well. I stopped and put on my best "senile old fart" expression. "Is this the way to the Mary Rose Museum ?" I asked. "NO, you are heading straight into a military base", was his tert reply. The nearby sign proclaimed that the base was in a state of "heightened terrorist alert", so I probably should have been grateful they didn't fill the rental car with bullet holes.
An embarrassed U turn later and a few more turns found us in the correct place. We were then able to spend a couple of very interesting hours exploring the HMS Warrior and the HMS Victory
I have to admit that this was really fascinating, although the five foot ceilings in the Victory added some extra bruises to my ageing head. I should have worn my bike helmet.
By 1.30 pm we decided that it was time to say goodbye to Portsmouth and head to our next port of call at Weymouth. I checked the route and noted that it was not all that far away from the famous Stonehenge. "It would only add about 70 km to our drive", I told Maggie. She didn't seem convinced, but soon we were telling Tom to take us to the famous stone circle.
At least the drive gave us our first real look at the countryside of Hampshire and Dorset. Maggie made up her mind really quickly. "All these places look old and tired", she commented, "and the shops are disgusting". Fair comment, they were.
Soon after 3 pm the road took us past the famous ring of stones. "Look Maggie, there it is".
"Where what is?" she answered.
"Stonehenge".
"I didn't see it".
Some days are like that.
I drove on to find the official car park. It was a couple of kilometres further on. We turned in and were met with a CLOSED sign. The young guy at the entrance explained that Stonehenge, for some completely unknown reason, closes at 3 pm each day. What utter rubbish. Why on earth would such a famous attraction close at 3 pm ? Apparently it just does, they don't have to have a reason.
We had no choice but to drive past a couple more times and view it from the road. It actually didn't look all that impressive anyway. I decided that it was just another "Rubbish Attraction" and that we could just as easily give it a miss after all.
We asked Tom to take us to Weymouth instead. It was only about 80 km further on, every single one of them directly into the face of the setting sun. It made for very tiring driving, but eventually we safely made it to our next B&B in the tiny hamlet of Chickerell, on the outskirts of Weymouth. Fortunately the Heritage B& B was absolutely delightful and our room was probably the best we had stayed in for the entire trip so far. At least the day ended well.
We had a fine dinner at the Turk's Head Pub which was directly next door to our B&B and retired for an early night.Weiterlesen
Our Car is Missing
16. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌧 13 °C
Sunday October 16th
In Which Our Car Goes Missing !
I suppose it was inevitable that in executing such an extended and complex trip, sooner or later something was going to go wrong. Up to now, it was remarkable that every arrangement, every booking had fallen exactly into place. We had completed the entire Odyssey Ride just how it had been planned to happen. Now Maggie and I were on our own, certainly nothing could go drastically wrong now ?
Well actually it did.
As part of our advance plans we had arranged to collect a hire car from Europcar's Portsmouth office on Sunday 16th October. I had even received a confirmation email from them just four day's earlier, confirming the collection details and informing me that they had already deducted the full rental cost from my credit card. Very efficient of them
On the morning in question we booked a taxi to take us from our hotel in Southsea to the Europcar pickup depot. The driver was helpful and chatty and was happy to accept 10 pounds for the short ride
"The place looks empty", Maggie commented.
"No you will be OK, I drop people here all the time", the driver replied replied before driving away.
We were left outside the office with our luggage. Rain had been falling most of the morning and looked about ready to start again.
I tried the door. It was locked. The internal lights were off. Rising concern. Maybe we were just a little early. Maggie checked the sign with the opening hours. Someone had hand written "CLOSED ON SUNDAYS". I rechecked my details. They clearly stated that the car was to be collected at 10 am on the 16th October.
We waited till 10 am. Still no one in sight.
I tried ringing the Europcar rental number. My call was so important to them that they put me on hold for a long time (on international mobile call rates) before hanging up on me.
OK, what do we do now ? Maggie politely reminded me of all the times that I had told her that I love the serendipity of travel. She now wanted me to practise what I preached. I was trying hard, but I was also angry that we had been let down. We had a written agreement that was apparently worth nothing. We didn't even have data access on our phones to search for other contact numbers. The only thing I could do was ring our hotel to tell them what had happened and to get them to arrange another taxi collection for us.
By 10.30 am we were back inside another taxi and heading back to our hotel. Another 10 pounds wasted and NO CAR. The only positive thing I could be grateful for was that we had allowed for a second night in the same hotel. We had not planned to start driving till Monday morning. This gave us at least some extra breathing space in Portsmouth.
Back at the hotel I tried to settle down and "look on the bright side of life". At least the weather had improved enough for us to take a walk along the beachfront to the nearby "D Day Museum".
I paid the seniors entry fee and spent some time wandering the displays. They were tired and in major need of refurbishment and updating. The food in the cafe was deplorable - sad looking toasted sandwich, cold chips and stale cake. It fitted the mood of the day.
Maggie was still recovering from the flu and walked back to the hotel while I wandered the beach, looking for a silver lining. It certainly did not come in the form of a lovely sandy beach. There was no sand in sight, just acres of rough stones. Even the impressive looking pier was closed down "for repairs". Compared to the magnificent beachfront at St Malo, our first impressions of Portsmouth left a lot to be desired.
In the evening we walked to the strangely named "Gastro Pub" for our evening meal. It had been recommended by our hotel, although naming a restaurant "Gastro" did not auger well for the quality of the food. Fortunately the food was excellent and the place was clean and quiet. I hoped that things would go better the next day.Weiterlesen
Setting Sail on the Ghost Ship
15. Oktober 2016 in England ⋅ 🌙 11 °C
Friday October 14th
In Which we Set Sail on a Ghost Ship
The 25,000 tonne MV Bretagne was launched in 1989 after a build cost of around 100 million Australian dollars. It plies the English Channel between St Malo and Portsmouth and normally carries around 2000 paying passengers. I say normally, but on this occasion in mid October, it was almost empty.
We were somewhat sad to be saying adieu to St Malo. Although we had only had
four nights there, we had very quickly fallen in love with its amazing sea views and charm. The incredible tides there mean that the entire appearance of the foreshore changes dramatically from one hour to the next. When the tide is in the sea looks like a unbroken expanse of water, but when the tide retreats it reveals dozens of small rocky islands. It must require a lot of skill to navigate such a waterway safely.
After a short taxi ride from our hotel to the ferry terminal, we were surprised to find that the place was almost empty.
We had expected long queues of passengers waiting to check in, but we were able to walk straight up to the desk without any wait. The same thing happened when it was time to go through the outward emigration control - straight up to the counter, get the passport stamped and through to security. There was no wait there either - or any security check either for that matter. When we walked our luggage to the XRay scanner, we were waved to ignore it and proceed directly to the ship instead. I guess we just don't look like terrorists.
Once on board we were given directions on how to find our cabin. Yes, although the trip to Portsmouth only takes around 9 hours, it cost almost no extra to have a double cabin with full ensuite. We didn't spend all our time there, but it was a convemient place to leave our luggage and have a lie down.
We were even more surprised to find that the ship was almost empty. Hundreds of luxurious arm chairs remained empty, the cafes and restaurants were deserted, the upper decks were devoid of passengers, it was almost eery. During the day they even had a series of floor shows in the large restaurant theatre. I felt sorry for the performers that I was the only audience member - and even I didn't stay for longer than a couple of minutes.
The voyage itself was almost dead smooth. The first part was sailed in bright sunshine and we spent considerable time enjoying the warmth and fresh air on the upper deck. Later in the day the skies clouded over and a slight drizzle started. We figured it was just setting the stage for the English weather we were to get in the weeks ahead.
We arrived at Portsmouth just a couple of minutes late at 6.10 pm, quickly passed through the deserted immigration check and jumped into a taxi to take us to our hotel. The room was a pleasant surprise and was much larger than the tiny rooms we had been getting used to on the continent. Tomorrow morning we collect our hire car and begin our exploration of the Jurassic Coast.Weiterlesen
Mental Images
13. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ ⛅ 11 °C
Thursday October 13th
In Which I fill my Mind with Images
There is absolutely no doubt that St Malo is a spectacular place. The amazing wide sandy beaches are probably the finest I have seen anywhere in the world, and the sand has a fine consistency that makes it perfect for long walks or jogs along the coast. The shoreline is liberally dotted with offshore fortifications that give an insight into the rich history of this place.
History is certainly something that St Malo has in abundance. Two thousand years ago this was the site of a significant Roman town called Reginca, and it has been a strategically important centre ever since. In the 17th and 18th century fortunes were made as the so called "privateers" (pirates sanctioned by the king, also known as Corsaires) patrolled the coastline demanding tribute from the passing English captains.
Other fortunes were made by the prosperous traders of the area who built dynasties importing silver and other goods from South America.
You can still see ample evidence of these prosperous times in the huge mansions in the old walled city.
In more recent times St Malo was severely damaged by allied bombing during the second world war. In fact many parts of the old city were almost completely flattened. What you see today has all been rebuilt or repaired over the past 70 years.
The coastline is subject to violent storms and has now been largely protected by a long line of massive stone walls along the north facing shoreline. There are some amazing photos of huge waves crashing over this wall, but so far the walls seem to have achieved their protective purpose.
After a restless night, Maggie is still suffering from the effects of a bad dose of the flu (so much for the efficacy of the flu vaccinations we both had before leaving Australia). Since she is currently too unwell to get out of bed, I spent the morning having a long solitary walk along the beach. It was an experience that I will long cherish.
Anyone who knows me, already would be aware that I love to take "mind pictures" when I am travelling.
These are not just something that can be absorbed with the click of a button, but need to be built up over a period of time. Whereas a camera picture only captures what light travels in through the lens, a "mind picture" can include information from all the senses. In fact I often find it helps to close the eyes when taking such a picture, in order to give the other senses a chance to contribute more.
As I propped myself against an old rotting post on the beach, I gazed around and tried to soak in every aspect of the scene. The smells of the ocean and the salty sand. The chill in the air of the late autumn day. The sounds of the waves lapping the shore and the distant gulls fighting over morsels of food. The cool sunshine filtering through the thin high clouds. The happy barking of two dogs chasing after a frisbee. The small grooves in the sand at my feet that had been made by some small marine creature. I really felt that I was in a special place and that I was so lucky to be here.
I also tried to bring the image into clearer focus by recalling some of the events of the preceding seven weeks of this trip. In a very real way, every day of our lives is a product of every other day that has gone before it. The thoughts that were running through my mind on that beach contained so many recollections of events that we had shared together.
I am now back at the hotel, sitting in the dining room and looking out through the window over the vast beach outside. A group of young children have unpacked kites and are watching them soar overhead. Somehow it seems to fit the mood of the day perfectly. Some days are just magic.Weiterlesen
Maggie Becomes a Victim
12. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ 12 °C
Wednesday October 12th
In Which One of Us Becomes a Victim
Maybe it was the spluttering lady on the flight from Budapest or maybe it happened on the train to St Malo. Somewhere in the past few days a single malevolent bacterium or virus had obviously found its way into Maggie's respiratory system and discovered that it was perfect place to raise a big family.
The first indication I had that all was not well was when I thought we had discovered a walrus colony on the beach at St Malo. When I turned around I could not see a mustachioed walrus anywhere in sight, but I did see Maggie doubled over in a vigorous (and quite impressive) display of coughing. This did not auger well.
"I feel really sick" she explained. "I think I caught the plague from somebody".
This was not the way that I had planned to spend our time in St Malo.
"Perhaps it will get better really quick", I tried to comfort her.
It didn't. By the next morning she was sneezing and coughing in alternating sequences of respiratory contractions. We went in search of a pharmacy in order to get some medication. We eventually found one in the old city and she came out holding a large back of pills and potions, all inscribed with directions which we could not decipher.
"You should always start by taking a BIG dose", I expertly advised. She obediently followed.
"How can I measure the amount of cough medicine to take, when we don't have a medicine cup ?"
"I can measure it with my eyes, I used to study chemistry about half a century ago".
She swallowed down a huge dose (about half the bottle), rolled her eyes and asked to go back to the hotel. It seemed a shame to waste another perfectly sunny day in such a beautiful place, but I knew she was not well. We had no other choice. Let's both hope she gets better soon and also hope that I don't catch it as well (as I am a hopeless patient).Weiterlesen
Sojourn by the Seaside
11. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ 11 °C
Tuesday October 11th
In Which we Sojourn by the Seaside
Our four days in Paris went by far too quickly, but still served to remind us of all the reasons we love this place so much. This morning we packed up our belongings from our tiny hotel room in the Sorbonne and rolled our bags about 1.5 km to Montparnasse Station. We arrived in good time and settled down to wait for our platform number to be announced. The procedure is that the platform is announced exactly 20 minutes prior to the train departure time and this invariably results in a stampede of luggage wheeling travellers all trying to charge to their carriages at the same time.
We actually would have made it easily if we had remembered to validate our tickets at the entrance to the platform, but we hadn't. By the time we remembered this important step we were already halfway along the platform and right in the middle of the stampede. I risked being trampled while looking after our luggage, while Maggie fought her way against the tide back to the validating machine.
Finally we were reunited and in our allocated carriage. The only problem was that a couple of Canadian women were sitting in our seats. "Would you like us to move ?", one of them asked, stating the bleeding obvious. "Well yes", I replied, "these are our seats after all". They shuffled to their correct seats with much huffing and puffing and relocating of bags and other paraphenalia. Eventually we were all in the correct seats and ready for the 3 hour ride to St Malo.
European trains are so far ahead of Australian trains that it almost seems unfair to class them in the same transportation class. This trip was no exception. It was serenely quiet, fast and smooth. The seats were comfortable and it was almost impossible not to fall asleep. Actually it WAS impossible and soon both of us were dozing peacefully.
We arrived at the modern St Malo station and started to walk towards our hotel at the seaside. The weather was absolutely delightful with clear skies and no wind. The sunshine was actually warm on our shoulders and we were relieved when we found our hotel about 30 minutes later. We were even more relieved when the receptionist told us that our room was ready.
I had ordered an ocean front room with balcony and we were delighted to find that we were only about 50 metres from the water's edge with an unobstructed view right out over the ocean.
We could see several small islands not far off shore and the walls of the old city were only a short walk away. We even had a very friendly and extremely curious seagull waiting to welcome us to our room.
The ocean was as smooth as the proverbial mill pond and in the near distance we could see the modern ferry departing for Portsmouth in the UK. In four day's time we will be catching that same ferry ourselves. Scattered out over the calm seas were a number of small pleasure boats and a group of sailboats conducting some sort of race. On the wide sandy beach there were a number of small dogs enjoying a frolic in the sand. It really was a picture postcard perfect scene.
The rest of the first day in St Malo was spent wandering the old city and marveling at just how pretty this location is. At this late stage of the season, most of the dreaded tourist groups have now departed the scene, and we were able to enjoy the city in relative peace and quiet. This is a town that would be extremely easy to fall in love with.Weiterlesen
Revisiting an old Favourite
10. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ ⛅ 9 °C
Monday October 10th
In Which we Revisit an Old Favourite
The first time I came to Paris I quickly fell in love with the area around Montmartre and Sacre Coeur Cathedral. I also discovered that the very best time to enjoy this place is early in the morning. If you wait till after 10 am you will quickly be swamped by the teaming hordes of tourists with their dreaded selfie sticks. It then loses all its magic and just becomes another circus.
Maggie and I decided to catch the bus from the Sorbonne to Clignancourt and then walk up to the summit of the Butte Montmartre. It is easy to find the cathedral as all you need to do is to keep walking uphill. Since Sacre Coeur is built on the top of the hill, you can be sure that you will eventually get there. You will also find yourself climbing lots and lots of stairs, but that is OK. All worthwhile things in life should be earned. Although there is a funicular railway to the summit, that should only be for the aged and infirm. . Everyone else should definitely walk to the top.
When you do reach the top of the front stairs you will be rewarded with one of the best views of Paris you can get anywhere. In fact I much prefer it to the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower as it provides a much more intimate panorama of the nearby streets and rooftops. Stretched out before you are the higgledly piggledy streets that make Paris so darn confusing for the first time visitor. Look higher and you will see hundreds of chimney pots adoring every building in sight. Look further afield and you can see the famous large buildings along the Seine - the Musee D'Orsay, the Grand Palais, the Louvre - and of course the Eiffel Tower itself.
Tucked in behind the cathedral is the artist precinct known as the Place Du Tertre. Here you can always find artists willing to sketch your portrait for a few Euros, or sell you a painting of Montmartre for a few more. It is in this area that I found a little coffee shop with a tiny verandah tucked behind a grape vine. I have made this little cafe a mandatory stop on every subsequent visit to Paris and it is has become a favourite place for Maggie as well. It is a wonderful place to enjoy a coffee and indulgent cake while quietly watching the bustling crowds just a few metres away.
After a lovely time at the cafe we began our long walk back to the left bank. Of course we could have caught the metro or bus, but we decided to walk instead. This gave us a good opportunity to revisit some other favourite places along the way. Our walk eventually brought us back to the Louvre and the magnificent Tuileries Gardens. I stopped here for a little while to watch the Gypsy thieves at work. I know it sounds a bit voyeuristic, but I do find human nature fascinating. Observing the way the Gypsies go about their scams and then magically disappear any time a policeman or security guard appears, really have to be seen to be believed. Of course the Gypsies always reappear just as quickly when the threat has passed by.
The GPS told me that I had walked just over 10 km by the time that I arrived back at my hotel in the Sorbonne. It had been a perfect way to spend my final day in Paris. Tomorrow Maggie and I will be catching an early train to St Malo, where we hope to spend a very quiet 4 days.Weiterlesen
Flaneurs for a Day
9. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C
Sunday October 9th
In Which we Become Flaneurs for a Day
The French have a word for it - "flaneur". It means one who just spends time strolling about the city. Indeed it is the very best way to explore and experience Paris, not the Paris of the tourists, but the Paris that is enjoyed by the locals. The function of the flaneur is both to see and to be seen, although we were both content to settle for the former.
The weather in Paris today was absolutely perfect and gave us the perfect opportunity to become flaneurs for a day. We first walked to Gare Montparnasse and then back to the Sorbonne (about 4 km). The next couple of hours were spent relaxing in the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens. This is a favourite recreation area for Parisians and every Sunday it is filled with joggers, exercise groups, family picnics and those just enjoying the sunshine. Sitting on a chair in the warm sunshine, I have to admit that my eyelids became very heavy and my head was soon tilting backwards at a perilous angle
A few minutes later I woke with a start, grateful that no one had used my open mouth for an ash tray.
A treasured tradition of this garden are the dozens of small sailboats that children (and adults) sail in the small lake. On this occasion there were dozens of such boats of all shapes and sizes. After our time in the gardens we walked across the Seine and along the Isle St Louis.
Three years ago Maggie stayed here in an apartment for 2 weeks and it is one of her favourite places in Paris. We enjoyed lunch in a tiny restaurant on the island that we had eaten at several times on previous visits. The food was just as good as we remembered.
The rest of the day was also spent exploring and observing. By 4.20 pm we were exhausted and returned to our room for an early dinner of coffee, baguettes and biscuits.
Neither of us will ever get tired of this beautiful city. Tomorrow will be our last full day here before we catch the train to St Malo. We plan to start at Sacre Coeur Cathedral and let the rest of the day take its own course.Weiterlesen
Suckers are Born Every Minute
8. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C
Saturday October 8th
In Which Suckers are Born Every Minute
According to the old saying, there is a sucker born every minute. That is certainly true in Paris. For many years tourists have been falling prey to the same old Gypsy scams. I spent some time today watching numerous naive suckers make themselves victims.
In the past I have tried warning people when I have seen them about to get caught, but I have found it is a waste of time - they have to learn for themselves. From time to time the police have tried to remove the Gypsies from the streets, but they appear to be back in greater numbers than ever.
Their most common scams are the "sign my petition" perpetrated by groups of young Gypsy girls, and the variations of the old 3 cup game, perpetrated by groups of older men.
The black Africans have another very profitable scam called the "friendship bracelet". In one 10 minute period I saw at least 6 people conned out of lots of cash with that one. No wonder the scammers are so hard to drive away when they are making so much money.
Maggie and I spent the day wandering the city to visit some of our favourite places. This is getting near the end of the tourist season, so the crowds are not as bad as they are in the middle of summer. We always try to keep clear of the dreaded tour groups and spend most time where the Parisians themselves go. I love the tiny quirky shops in the back streets and the big gardens. The weather was perfect for walking and I have absolutely no idea of just how far we walked, but I am certain that my feet are suffering.Weiterlesen
Off to Paris
7. Oktober 2016 in Frankreich ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Friday October 7th
In Which we Fly to Paris
Our final day in Budapest dawned bright and clear. Although we had only had two nights here, we had already grown fond of many aspects of this city. The last time I had been here was seven years ago. At that time I had been disappointed with the lack of pride that the locals had in their city. That had been at the height of the GFC and there were huge problems in many large cities all over the world.
This time my impressions were quite different and I could see that much had been done to improve the infrastructure and cleanliness of the place.
There is little doubt that the location of Budapest is spectacular. The Danube has now grown to a massive waterway and the twin cities of Buda and Pest really do make an impressive sight, especially at night.
Last evening we decided to take an evening cruise along the river
Since we had spent the last five weeks cycling along its banks, I figured that it would be an appropriate way to spend the final evening of our time together with the team. We were not disappointed. After dark the numerous buildings along the banks of the Danube are tastefully illuminated. The contrast between the hills of Buda and the flatlands of Pest is also clearly visible.
The most dramatic of all the buildings is the huge parliament building. This is the most famous building in the city and apparently it lays claim to being the largest building in Europe. Although it was only completed in 1902, it was constructed in the classic imperial style and looks much older. Unfortunately the architect of this fine building died before completion and never got to see the finished project.
This morning we bade farewell to the city and took a short taxi ride to the airport.
This was the first time I had seen the Budapest airport and I was most impressed by its modern design and efficiency. We were able to quickly check in to our flight and clear security without any delay. A short two hour flight to Paris brought us to Charles de Gaulle airport at around 6 pm.
I had booked a shared shuttle to take us to our hotel, however there was a slight mixup that saw us with an entire 10 seater minibus just for us and an Irish nun.
The driver spoke excellent English, as well as Hungarian, Rumanian and French.
He explained that the traffic in Paris was going to be diabolical due to a big soccer match taking place between France and Bulgaria. This meant that he had to take a very circuitous route to try to dodge the worst of the traffic. Even with all his best efforts it still took over 90 minutes to reach our hotel in the Sorbonne.
We had a fixed price for the ride, so it did not cost us any extra, but I did feel sorry for the driver and gave him an extra tip for his hard work.
Our hotel is actually part of the Sorbonne University and has a great location. What it gains in location, unfortunately it lacks in room size. The room was beautifully clean, but so small that I felt that I would need to keep my luggage out in the corridor. This is true of all similar hotels in this city. It is the price you pay for some of the most expensive real estate on the planet.
At least the bed was clean and comfortable and we were both thrilled to be back in the city we had grown to love so much.Weiterlesen
Exploring Budapest
6. Oktober 2016 in Ungarn ⋅ ⛅ 6 °C
Thursday October 6th
In Which we Wander Budapest
It was absolutely perfect timing. I could not have planned it any better if I had tried. When we awoke on the morning following the completion of our epic ride, we were greeted by the unfamiliar sound of teaming rain pouring down on the hotel window. A look outside confirmed that the long awaited breaking of the amazing run of dry weather, had finally taken place.
Did we care ? Not in the slightest. Our ride was over. We were safe under the refuge of a dry roof. Although we were planning on doing a little exploration of the city of Budapest, we were happy enough to do that in the wet or the dry.
A small group of us left the hotel, bundled up in the warmest clothes we could find to face the bracing 5C temperature. The rain was still falling from a grey sky
It really felt that the summer was now officially OVER and that eastern Europe was plunging headlong into another long winter.
A short tram journey took us to the centre of the city where we spent the next hour exploring the huge indoor market. It reminded me of a smaller version of the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul. By the time we had finished in the market my wallet was a lot lighter and our bags were considerably heavier. At least we had been successful in finding some gifts for the grandchildren.
Not far from the market we happened to meet an Australian woman who was now the owner of a shop in Budapest. She explained that many years ago she had met an Hungarian man and moved to Hungary to start a life with him. Now, many years later, the man had moved out of the picture, but she had stayed in the country, learnt the language and started her business. This was just another example of how we just never know how our lives are likely to turn out. All of us can just live a single day at a time and make the most of every situation that comes our way.
Since the weather was still cold and the rain drizzling down, we sheltered outside a French Patisserie for lunch before catching the Number 2 tram along the side of the Danube
This gave a cheap, warm a dry way to see most of the most famous buildings of the city.
In the evening we returned to the river for an evening cruise in a glass topped boat. Since this was the end of the tourist season it was surprisingly quiet and we were rewarded with a beautiful view of both sides of this impressive city from the river we had been following for the past six weeks. It seemed the perfect footnote to our incredible adventure.
Tomorrow will be our final day in Budapest. Our group will be scattering with some returning to Australia and other continuing in Europe on their own individual travels. It felt really sad to be bidding farewell to those whose company we had treasured so much. We had grown to know them so well and looked forward each morning to riding alongside them as we worked our way to Budapest.
Tomorrow Maggie and I will be catching the plane to Paris and another adventure in the country we love so much.Weiterlesen
The End of the Odyssey
5. Oktober 2016 in Ungarn ⋅ ⛅ 8 °C
Wednesday October 5th
In Which our Epic Odyssey is Completed
For the past few days the long unbroken run of dry weather had threatened to break. For much of yesterday we seemed to be just ahead of an advancing wet front, but somehow managed to arrive without so much as a drop of water on our helmets.
On our final day of cycling we awoke to the coldest day so far. Those hot days in Belgium and Holland now seemed a long distant memory. It was obvious that the seasons were shifting and the European winter was approaching rapidly. The final day of riding was also going to be the longest of the entire Odyssey with a distance of around 90 km to be cycled for those who wanted to ride the whole way to the finish line in Budapest.
We donned all the cold weather clothes we could muster. I knew that the thermal top I had been carrying since the start of the ride would eventually come in useful - now was its chance. Even with all the cold weather gear I had, it was still chilly. I really wish I had brought my long fingered gloves with me. But I hadn't.
It was also obvious that some were feeling the cold even more than I was. I noted that the "other Dennis" had wrapped himself up like an Egyptian mummy, with only two narrow eye slits the only parts of his body that were visible. It showed that the Queenslanders really don't cope well with chilly weather.
We had been advised by Wolfgang that this section of cycling was the prettiest of the entire section between Vienna and Budapest. "Please, please take your time and do not rush", he implored. Although I passed this advice on to the whole group, I knew that it would be wasted on the bolters. For some unknown reason they only wanted to complete each day as quickly as possible, without stopping to look at anything along the way.
I was a little apprehensive about the ride out of Esztergom as many of us had experienced numerous "near death episodes" on the way in to the place. Fortunately the outward ride was less harrowing and soon we were cycling along the beautiful riverbank that Wolfgang had promised.
The first challenge was to complete two ferry crossings during the course of the day. At this time of the year the ferries only run intermittently, and we knew if we missed one, we would have a long wait till the next one. As we cycled along past a succession of magnificent stately old homes I was trying to keep one eye on my watch. We were soon met, and passed, by the bolters who were obviously intent on arriving for the ferry at least 20 minutes early.
The final section of the route to the first ferry at Szob took us back onto the public road. We divided into several smaller groups and tried to keep up a steady pace. The only problem was that, when we arrived at the ferry, three of our riders were missing. We could not make the crossing without them and I started to worry about what had delayed them.
"Why are they taking so many pictures ? Didn't they realise we had a tight schedule for this ferry ?" The rest of the group were just as confused as I was as to what might have delayed them.
It was only when they finally appeared (with about 2 minutes to spare) that the true story emerged. Apparently Caterina had ridden straight into one of the steel bollards along the way. This was every cyclist's worst fear and the outcome could have been very serious indeed. There was no doubt that she was still dazed, but apparently she had somehow escaped major injury. That was more than I could say for her poor bike. The front brake caliper had been ripped clean off the frame and the cable was just hanging free. This left her with just one brake to complete the rest of the ride.
In spite of the delay we all managed to roll aboard the ferry on time. This was quite a surprise to those in the bolters group who were convinced that we would have no chance of catching the first ferry. This first ferry transferred us to the large Szentendre Island located in the middle of the Danube. We rode across the island and felt the brunt of the strong wind that had previously been at our backs.A short bridge brought us back onto the mainland at the far side of the island.
We then had a short section of road riding before joining another quiet bike path that meandered among the forest canopy. This really was a serenely beautiful path that we did not want to hurry along. You can imagine our surprise when, at the end of the island, we again met up with the bolters who had chosen to race straight down the centre of the island, rather than take the scenic bike path along the bank. I suspect that they were just as surprised to see us.
One thing that had not changed was the temperature - it was still freezing. We looked eagerly for somewhere to buy a hot cup of coffee and seek temporary refuge from the cold, and our endeavours were rewarded when we stumbled upon a likely looking roadside stop. We all huddled inside and ordered our coffees from the sole overworked assistant. Most of us then crowded into a tiny lounge area with a few small tables and chairs. But at least it was warm.
Carol had ordered a cup of tea and some nibbles and looked around for somewhere to offload her used tea bag and other rubbish. She found a plate with a partly eaten baguette on it and then proceeded to load her old tea bag and discarded food scraps on top of it. It was only when the owner of the plate returned from the toilet that Carol's embarrassing mistake became evident. The poor lady looked at what had happened to her lunch and quietly tried to recover what was left of it from under the pile of Carol' s castoffs. The rest of the ladies looked on, trying to do their best not to burst into laughter.
The next leg took us to the large town of Vac and another ferry crossing. Once again we somehow made the ferry just in time to roll right on board without waiting at all. Safely across the river we continued to the historic town of Szentendre. At this point a number of our riders had elected to catch the train directly into Budapest and thus save a few kilometres from the final day's ride.
The train station again proved a little difficult to locate and even more difficult to reach. When we did find it, Wolfgang was already waiting with the bike trailer. Five of our riders climbed off their bikes for the final time, collected their tickets and waited for the train.
David, Paul and I rode back into the lovely old city centre and looked for somewhere to eat. It wasn't easy, but eventually we managed to get a quick bite before assembling for the last leg of the ride into Budapest. Since the bolters had already left there was only an elite group (David, Paul, Douglas, Janna and myself) of riders who would be riding the path into Budapest.
Although the day was well advanced, the tailwind continued and the rain held off. We made good progress and were almost reluctant for the final kilometres to tick away. On the outskirts of Budapest we stopped for some hot chips and a drink before battling the suburban streets to our hotel.
We finally reached Budapest around 5 pm and made our way around the tedious detour that was necessary to reach the centre of the city. You can only imagine our amazement to find the bolters group still visible ahead of us. Although they had a huge start, they had apparently lost their way on the way into town, and this gave us yet another chance to catch up. I guess the old story about the tortoise and the hare is true after all.
By the time we reached the Danubius Flamenco Hotel the light was rapidly failing, but there was still NO RAIN. The "Miracle on the Danube" had actually taken place. We had ridden a cumulative total of over 50,000 km with only a single wet day and only two punctures.
It had been an adventure none of us will ever forget. It if not often that a group of ageing cyclists get to share such an experience together. Thanks to everyone that shared the journey with us. What had started as a dream over two and half years ago had now actually been completed safely. What a trip it had been.
Although I felt exhausted I had an overwhelming sense of relief that all the arrangements had worked, there had been no serious accidents and everyone had completed what they set out to do. For many it was certainly the hardest thing they had ever attempted, but they would now have the satisfaction of knowing that they had achieved it.
Now where can we go to next ?Weiterlesen
Tailwind into Esztergom
4. Oktober 2016 in Ungarn ⋅ 🌧 12 °C
Tuesday October 4th
In Which we Share a Tailwind to Ezstergom
We awoke to a morning with a slight drizzle. Could this finally be the day when our run of fine weather draws to a close ? With only two more days to go till we roll into Budapest, it would almost feel cruel if the weather cracked at this late stage. Fortunately it didn't, it actually fined up to give us another dry day.
Our ride began on the left bank on the Slovakian side. The previous time we rode this section it gave us the worst and roughest riding of the entire trip. In fact it was so bad that we christened the section as "Siberia". Rather than being a bike path, it was just a series of rough tractor grooves that saw us continually switching from one track to the other, just trying to make any sort of headway.
Well it is amazing what a difference seven years makes
As we rode this same section I was staggered the find that the entire rough section had now been replaced with a lovely sealed bike path. Not only did it give us a perfect surface to ride on, but we were also aided by a steady tail wind, meaning that our progress was easy and swift. For most of the first hour we were able to effortlessly ride along between 25 to 30 kph.
I was also surprised to find that the main pace setter was none other than Rosemary. She bolted to an unfamiliar position at the front of the peloton and I had to really work hard to keep her in sight. She explained her newly found stamina as being due "to the coffee she had at breakfast".
One hazard in this otherwise beautiful bike path was the large number of strategically placed bollards, right in the middle of the path, where they could inflict the most serious injury. As we hurtled along there was an, almost continuous succession of shouts of "bollard", "double bollard", "another bollard", "bollard down", "hidden bollard" and so on.
Each time I turned around I could see dark clouds billowing behind us, however we were making so excellent progress that they did not seem to be getting any closer to us
It started to become a race between us and the chasing weather. We won.
Last time we rode this section we stopped for lunch at a large restaurant boat that was moored on the riverbank. I thought that it would be n ideal spot for lunch once again. Unfortunately, when we reached the boat, it was obvious the the last seven years had not been kind to it. Not only was it all locked up, but looked like it had been left neglected for a long time. No lunch for us today !
We immediately decided to continue to Esztergom instead. The tailwind stayed with us, but the lovely bike path did not. In fact we found ourselves riding along a very busy road for the final 10 km into the city. With a succession of huge trucks apparently doing their best to drive us off the road, it made for the most unpleasant riding we had done so far. One particularly evil truckdriver seemed determined to kill me. In spite of my normally placid nature I did find myself involuntarily giving him a huge shout of abuse and the sight of the raised middle finger of my right hand. I just could not help it. Another similar driver tried to run straight over the top of Gerry !
Esztergom is best known for the huge basilica which can be seen from at least 15 km away as you ride towards the city
It is fascinating to see it gradually growing larger as you approach, till it dominates the entire skyline.Unfortunately we were too scared for our lives to spend much time admiring the basilica as we approached.
Our hotel was very near to the basilica and, thanks to our energetic riding we arrived at around 12.30 pm - far too early to get access to our rooms. We were extremely pleased that we had managed to complete yet another cycling day without getting wet. Can our incredible run of meteorological good fortune hold out for just one more day ?
We spent the afternoon exploring the basilica, before returning to the diminutive rooms of the hotel. In many respects this hotel was one of the worst of the entire trip. Not even the sheet extended all the way to the foot of the bed, finishing about 15 cm short of the end of the mattress ! Oh well, sometimes you just have to take the bad with the good.
Tomorrow our odyssey draws to a close as we ride into Budapest.Weiterlesen
Ten Pin Bowling in a Synagogue
3. Oktober 2016 in Ungarn ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C
Monday October 3rd
In Which we Play Bowls in a Slovak Synagogue
With each new day that we face we are expecting the weather to break. Surely it would not be possible for us to complete our entire Odyssey with only one wet day ? Or would it ? As we get closer and closer to Budapest, we are almost daring to believe that we might just pull off the most impossible meteorological miracle in the annals of cycling.
Although the weather looked a little threatening at the start, we somehow managed to escape the rain bullet for yet another day. The weather remained cool and dry with a growing wind from the North East. Of course that actually provided a tail wind at times, so its presence was quite welcome.
As soon as we left Gyor we found ourselves riding through more dilapidated small villages. It appeared as if all the young people had long since left for greener pastures, leaving only the old people behind
It was also impossible not to feel as if there was not much hope in these places, maybe they spent all their time reminiscing about what might have been if things had been completely different.
Each new village brought its own collection of rusty barbed wire fences and barking dogs. Some locals gave us what passed for a friendly sign of acknowledgement, while others did not seem to welcome our intrusion at all.
Through some miracle we were able to find a small shop in which we bought some food for a roadside picnic. We eventually found a likely lunch spot in the garden of some sort of public building. The "garden" was rather unkempt but it was the closest thing to a public park that we ever likely to find in this part of the world.
After lunch we encountered the first substantial climb we had had for several days. This region is predominantly flat, but this unexpected climb had us all clicking back down through our gears in search of the proverbial granny. To make matters even tougher we were confronted by a raging headwind at the same time. We were all relieved when the route took a sharp turn to the east, but we were not so happy to find that we had somehow ridden straight into a cemetery - a real dead end in every sense of the word
I was amused by the fact that many of the tombstones had already been pre prepared for the eventual occupants. All that was needed was the final year of death. One such tombstone was prominently inscribed for "POOR MARIA 1942 - ". I wondered why Maria might have suffered so much that her perpetual gravestone recorded her poverty for posterity.
We had no choice but to backtrack in search of the correct path. The closest thing I could find to a bike path was an old rut filled track alongside a railway line. It took all our concentration to avoid riding into one of the huge potholes and disappearing from sight forever. This path continued for some kilometres and we found ourselves reunited with the "bolters" group of riders. This group of course has no interest whatsoever in photographs or looking at anything else along the way, they are solely interested in arriving at the next hotel in record time. We were therefore surprised to see them at al,l as the only sight we usually have of them is their rear ends disappearing from the hotel each morning.
Later in the afternoon we rode through a magnificent forest along an undulating path strewn liberally with brightly coloured autumn leaves. This section blessed us with some of the most memorable riding of the entire trip
Although some find the technical nature of the riding a little challenging, everyone found it absolutely exhilarating.
We finally arrived at Komarno early in the afternoon and crossed the huge bridge over the Donaj (Danube) back into Slovakia. What awaited at the end of the day's ride was the biggest surprise of all. The strangely named Hotel Bow Garden was housed in what used to be a synagogue but is now surely one of the most incredible hotels I have ever seen. The modest entrance was very underwhelming, but once inside, everyone's jawa begun to drop. The place was equipped with a number of palatial rooms (suites) and even came complete with a ten pin bowling alley.
Our suite had an opulent bedroom, bathroom with roll top bath, lounge room, sitting room, conservatory, sauna, theatre room (and even a blind owl) ! What a memorable place to stay.
The evening meal was amazing and followed by laughter packed games of 10 pin bowling. The alley was not quite up to world standard. The pins seemed to be attached to the ends of long threads to lift them back upright after each hit, the whole system kept jamming up with messages of "KLUKD" coming up on the large overhead screens. But it certainly was a HUGE amount of fun and a night that we will never forget. It was also the first time I had played bowls in around 20 years.
Tomorrow is the second last day of riding and our amazing adventure is drawing to a close.Weiterlesen
Hungry in Hungary
2. Oktober 2016 in Ungarn ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C
Sunday October 2nd
In Which we Almost go Hungry in Hungary
Our ride out out of Bratislava took us through an assortment of derelict areas, large expanses of graffiti and trashed and empty buildings.It was not the most attractive way to exit the city, but at least it was a quiet Sunday morning and the place was deserted.
We soon found the bike path and spent the majority of the day riding on smooth bike paths . This made for almost effortless riding and the progress was quite rapid. The weather was still fine, although it did give the first early indications that the pattern was about to change.
During the ride we crossed the border back into Hungary and it was easy to see that the socio economic conditions were a lot further behind than even in Slovakia. As we rode through small villages we noted that the condition of the houses was run down and (in some cases) almost derelict
It seemed that any form of house maintenance was not high on the locals list of priorities.
When time came for a morning tea stop we pulled into a local pub. Inside the air was full of stale tobacco smoke and several locals were clearly settled into a drinking session at the bar. David and I tried to order a couple of coffees, however the proprietor did not seem to take much interest. It was obviously more lucrative serving alcohol than coffee. We waited for several minutes and, when there was still no progress on the coffees, we told him not to bother and walked out the door and back to our bikes.
It was only when we were ready to leave that the proprietor belatedly appeared at the doorway with the two coffees we had ordered so much earlier. By that time we did not want them. I reluctantly paid the price of the coffees but left them untouched on the outside table.
We reached the significant town of Mosonmagyarovar where we stopped for lunch before looking for the railway station. This was another instance where we could make a short train ride and thus arrive in Gyor with more time for exploring this beautiful city. For Maggie the date was also significant as it was her birthday
You might think that it would be simple to ask for directions to the railway station, however this turned out to be anything but the case, especially when you do not speak even one word of the language. The only thing we could do was make a noise like a train and then point in any direction with a confused look. It didn't work. The first person we tried this approach on was apparently the village idiot. He looked just as confused as we were and then tried to tell us that the station was "100 km" away. Not a good start.
We spent about 30 minutes zig zagging back and forth around the town, until I decided to ride in the direction that the GPS was advising. We rode along a busy road for a considerable distance before we finally found the sign indicating the station. As it was, we still had another 2 km to go before we finally discovered it.
The station itself was old and depressing. It was covered in graffiti and peeling paint and looked much like it must have looked in the old soviet days. We were pleased to find Wolfgang waiting with the bike trailer and handed our bikes over to him. It was just as well we did not have to worry about the bikes as, when we boarded the train, we found it packed with hundreds of travellers and mountains of luggage
There was no way we could even have fitted a single bike on board.
The train certainly moved along briskly at 160 kph and we were soon dismounting at Gyor. This was my favourite town from the 2009 ride and I was keen to show Maggie around this place. One of the most refreshing aspects of this place is that there are NO TOURISTS and the streets and quiet and clean. The people seemed a happy lot and almost everyone was eating an icecream.
There is a magnificent central square with an elaborate fountain display. Numerous young children were amusing themselves running in and out of the water spouts. In 2009 we had been here a couple of weeks earlier in the season and the weather was quite hot. The fountain then were proving to be a welcome haven from the heat. Maggie and I enjoyed a coffee and cake to celebrate her birthday before walking back to our hotel.
The hotel we were staying in did not have its own restaurant so arrangements were made for us to eat at a nearby restaurant. This was the only place that insisted on us ordering our meals before we left Australia. I had a list with me of what everyone had ordered as I well knew that no one would remember their selections
The dinner turned out to be a complete circus. Although I had the original list of options that the restaurant had supplied us, the waiter insisted that the numbers were all wrong and tried to just tell us what each person was going to get. There was much shouting of numbers and general confusion all round. It was so chaotic it was actually great fun. We felt like we were in the middle of our own Fawlty Towers episode. We ended up just about rolling on the floor laughing as it was such a disaster. All the while plates of food were being passed back and forth along the table looking for someone to claim them.
Since it was Maggie's birthday, someone told the waiter that it was a special occasion. Normally you might expect a small cake or something similar, so you could imagine our surprise when the waiter reappeared with an unripe peach on a plate and presented it to the birthday girl. It was completely inedible, but we thought it might be some sort of tradition in Hungary so took it in good humour.
When I returned to our own hotel I asked our concierge about the peach, however he was just as confused as we were. He assured me that it was certainly not a tradition that he had ever heard of. This was just the sort of evening it had been. In spite of the massive mix-up it had actually been good fun and the food itself was quite good.
We now have only three more riding days to go till we roll into Budapest.Weiterlesen
The Reactor Fails
1. Oktober 2016 in Slowakei ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C
Saturday October 1st
In Which the Reactor Fails and the Canons are Fired
It is amazing just how often the shortest days turn out to be the most eventful. At around 30 km the ride from Carnuntum to Bratislava should have been an absolute doddle in the park. It didn't turn out that way.
Way back home in Melbourne a ferocious battle was being played out between the Sydney Swans and the Bulldogs. The Bulldogs apparently had not won a grand final since the time of Noah, and were everyone's sentimental favourites. Even though we were on the other side of the world, due to the wonders of the Internet, we were able to follow the unfolding drama while we were having breakfast. It was quite something to see a group of Ghostriders all gathered around the tiny 2 inch screen of someone's mobile phone, all trying to glimpse a piece of the action. Every few moments the picture froze (always at a critical moment in the game) causing those watching to break out in a loud chorus of jeers and accusations that someone was secretly downloading movies on the hotel's wifi connection
When the Bulldogs finally emerged triumphant, the group seemed happy that justice had been served and the evil menace from Sydney had been defeated.
We then had a short meeting with the guy who has been looking after our luggage. The lanky guy answered to the name of "Wolfgang" (not many of them in Australia, but still a popular name in Austria) and was able to give us some valuable information about the next couple of day's riding. "Bad weather is on the way", he promised. After so many weeks of perfect sunny days, none of us believed his dire forecasts.
Soon we were all off exploring the nearby Roman ruins. When I saw the great number of aging riders climbing all over the stone walls of the old city, I could not help but think that one collection of ruins was being examined by another.
Around 10.30 am we decided it was time for morning tea and started to head for a delightful coffee shop in the town. We had not gone far before Scott started to complain. "My motor is not working", he moaned. He was not commenting on his state of health, but rather on the operation of his electric bike. It was not operating properly. In fact it was not operating at all
Nothing, Nada. Zilch. David and I pooled our combined expertise in electric bikes (exactly nothing) and decided that "something was wrong". We tried the old remedy of a few hard whacks, but even that didn't seem to achieve anything. What were we going to do ?
A couple of phone calls to Wolfgang sealed the deal. Scott would not be able to continue. It was arranged to get a lift to Bratislava and to get a new bike organised for the following day. It was a disappointment but we had no other option.
While all this was going on, three other members of our peloton somehow went missing (we never saw them for the rest of the day). Things were definitely not going according to the script. I rounded up the dregs of our group and announced that we would be heading for Bratislava before anything else went wrong.
Finally we got moving in the right direction and started to make some progress. I knew that one of the highlights of the day's ride would be the border crossing from Austria to Slovakia. In the not so distant past this border crossing marked a significant border into the soviet eastern block countries. Today the border can be crossed without even a passport or a vigorous interrogation and thrashing by one of the border guards
The only thing left to mark the location of the border crossing are the large complex of buildings and checkpoints - now all unused and falling into disrepair.
On the outskirts of Bratislava we started to encounter a throng of keen Saturday morning riders from the capital. The bike path appeared to be the equivalent of their "Beach Rd", with many serious riders on expensive machines.
Not far from the bike path we saw a huge fortified blockhouse and decided to investigate. It turned out to be one of the series of huge forts that were built by the Czechs back in the 1930's to defend their borders against attack. With walls over 2 meters thick and equipped with an array of high powered machine guns, it was home to a garrison of 27 soldiers at a time. A young volunteer offered to give us a tour of the interior and gave us a fascinating insight into how the fortification operated. The lowest levels could only be accessed by climbing down a vertical ladder into the lower storage and sleeping quarters.
Although Czechoslovakia was well prepared for invasion and was famous for the high quality of its weapons and had a huge army, due to the treaty of 1938 they signed over all control to Germany.
A very surprising act indeed. Germany thus took over control of the whole network of fortifications that had been built at such a high cost to defend the country.
After an hour exploring the fort we resumed our ride into Bratislava. This involves riding over a huge and very impressive bridge, complete with towering observation deck. When we met up with the other riders of our group they explained that they had been enjoying themselves by watching a large number of locals who were dressed in medieval military costumes and re enacting some famous battle. They even had a large number of muskets and canons which sent booming detonations out over the city. What an impressive way to welcome the famous Ghostriders to Bratislava. We were quite overwhelmed.
The first impressions of the city itself were extremely favourable. We had arrived in the midst of a vibrant weekend scene with hundreds of formally dressed locals, all apparently on their way to a wedding. It seemed that the first Saturday in October must be the most popular day for Slovaks to get married.
We then took a long (and very slow) detour through the old city. Hundreds of pictures were taken and there was much oohing and ahing over the beautiful old buildings. It is a pity that we will not have more time to experience this delightful place.Weiterlesen
Riding the Straight and Narrow
30. September 2016 in Österreich ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C
Friday September 30th
In Which we Ride the Straight and Narrow
Today marked the 25th cycling day of our European Odyssey. After 3 nights in Vienna it was time to get back on two wheels and resume our journey. I must admit that, while Vienna is indeed a lovely city, after two days of inhaling huge amounts of second hand tobacco smoke and jostling for survival among thousands of blank eyed shuffling tourists, we were all really glad to be back out in the fresh air and open spaces.
Our route out of the city took us across the river to the long island that splits the Danube into two major rivers. This gave us a quiet exit from the city and soon we were clocking up the kilometres as we cruised along a lovely series of bike paths that ran parallel to the Danube.
When I was planning this trip I estimated that we could reasonably expect at least 5 or more wet days. So far we have defied all the odds, with only 1 wet day out of 24 completed riding sections. Once again the weather was fine and mild, with a top temperature of around 25C. This weather has been almost too perfect. In some contrary fashion, I am almost hoping for a wet day, just to vary the pattern. No, on second thoughts I would be happy for this weather to follow us all the way to Budapest.
It quickly became evident that the cycling in this section was going to be different from the most famous section between Passau and Vienna. When I last rode this, back in 2009, I remember that the route was often ill defined and quite often rough. In the past seven years it was evident that much work had been done to improve the surface and signage. Even so, it is possible to ride for long distances without encountering other riders (or coffee stops).
On one such section we rode on the top of a perfectly straight levee bank over an hour. The path was smooth and completely straight, so much so that it actually became difficult to maintain concentration. I was also conscious of the fact that the seat on the new bike was causing extreme pain in my nether regions. Every couple of kilometres I had to lift up from the seat and have a few blessed seconds of relief from my anal anguish. It is not easy being a long distance rider.
In the small hamlet of Stopfenreuth we stumbled upon a lovely cafe, hidden away in the forest. It was a great find and the food was delicious.
The final challenge was to cycle across the huge suspension bridge at Bad Deutch-Altenburg. This bridge must have been close to 2 km across and the narrow bike path and extreme height gave us all a dose of vertigo. It required a lot of nerve and concentration to keep going, but we all managed to succeed in the challenge without falling over the barrier and down into the Danube.
Our stop for the evening is the Marc Aurel Hotel, situated among a cluster of Roman ruins in eastern Austria. This will be our final evening in Austria as tomorrow we enter Slovakia - the third country of our Danube ride. Already the chalets of Bavaria seem a very long way away. The architecture here is markedly different and gives a foretaste of what to expect as we enter the old eastern block countries of Slovakia and Hungary.Weiterlesen
The City of Mozart
28. September 2016 in Österreich ⋅ ☁️ 21 °C
Wednesday September 28th
In Which we Wander the City of Mozart
There is no doubt that Vienna is one of the most spectacular cities of Europe. I have been here twice before and each time I just loved the history that seems to flow from every cobblestone and rooftop. It is generally a clean city (apart from the carpet of cigarette butts underfoot everywhere) and has a very efficient mass transit system. The metro trains are much cleaner that the famous Paris Metro and run every few minutes, so you never have to wait long for the next train to come along.
Today we caught the metro back to Stephansplatz and then walked to the famous Leopold Museum. Since Maggie was more interested than I was in exploring the art works on display there, I opted to wait outside in the sunshine. I had not been sitting long before I began being approached by a series of persistent beggars asking me for money. From my observations, they did not appear to be too badly off and I decided that they were "professional beggars" on their daily round
Beautiful Gardens
.
I also had not been sitting long before the daily inflow of tourist groups began to invade the courtyard. As I looked at the shuffling mobs with their headsets clamped over their ears, I could not help but think that they looked like mindless zombies being controlled by some sort of remote mind control device. I imagined that there was a controller somewhere that was directing them along with a big joystick.
Vienna has a huge smoking problem that is clearly evident in any open space. It is , impossible to sit down at any outdoor restaurant without getting stunk out with second hand tobacco smoke. This really is such a pity for such a beautiful city.
In the evening we bought some food from the local supermarket and joined David and Carol for a picnic by bank of the Danube. While we were sitting there, eating our goodies, we would not have swapped places for the swankiest restaurant in the city. With our fruit, drinks and nibbles we were blessed with one of the best free entertainment spectacles you could imagine.
We watched the pyjama boat parade of buses collecting travellers from the huge "pyjama boats" and transporting them to one of the many "Mozart Concerts" held every night in the city. The tickets to these concerts are sold by touts all over the city,and somehow they always magically just happen to have a few tickets available for tonight's concert.Not for us , thank you.
As we were finishing our picnic dinner, the moon started to appear over the tops of the trees on the opposite side of the river. It was a wonderful way to finish a truly memorable evening.Weiterlesen
Rolling into Vienna
27. September 2016 in Österreich ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C
Tuesday September 27th
In Which we Roll into Vienna
It is becoming harder and harder to believe that, after 24 days of cycling, we have still had only one wet day. It is almost as if we have become stuck in a sort of meteorological ground hog day, with every day exactly the same as the previous one. Once again we awoke to find ourselves gifted with another absolutely perfect day for riding.
Today we had a choice to either ride all the way to Vienna (around 80 km) or take a train part of the way to Tulln and then ride from there to Vienna. If we opted for the second approach, it would cut about 40 km of somewhat monotonous riding from the day's ride and also mean that we would have a couple of extra hours to explore the wonderful capital city of Austria. Since Maggie had never been to Vienna before, I quickly decided that I would give her as much time there as possible.
We boarded the train without any trouble and made the short journey to Tulln without incident
There was a small storage area for bicycles which allowed us to take our bikes on the train, however we would have been in trouble if all 28 riders had decided to do the same thing.
Soon we were unloading our bikes at Tulln and resuming our ride into Vienna. Much of this part of the ride was along huge elevated levee banks and made for very enjoyable cycling. It is amazing just how much work the Germans and Austrians have put into flood control over the centuries. Although the Danube does still flood regularly, the resultant damage is much less than would have been done if the waters were not contained by the hundreds of kilometres of levees.
We finally rode into Vienna around 1.30 pm and, after making a small navigational error, found ourselves riding along the wrong river. A short retreat allowed us to cross the bridge to the correct side and resume our entry into the city. We found our hotel without drama, although we arrived before our luggage. This meant that we had to explore Vienna wearing our cycling gear.
When our luggage arrived we changed into less conspicuous gear and caught the nearby metro to Stephenplatz station.
This is regarded as the centre of Vienna and is very close to the impressive St Stephan's Cathedral. This is always the very best place to begin any exploration of the city. We then spent the next couple of hours wandering out past the Spanish Riding SChool to the incredible museum quarter. Dominated by the Hofburg Palace Complex, this area contains a whole collection of world class museums. If the contents of the museums are not interesting enough, you can just admire the buildings themselves as they give a glimpse back in time to the imperial grandeur of the Austro Hungarian Empire. As you wander from one palace to another, it feels as if the entire neighbourhood must have been an almost continuous succession of palaces for just about anyone who was related to the royal family.
As the day drew to a close and night began to fall over the city, we started to look for something to eat. There are hundreds of potential outdoor eateries to choose from, but we chose one close to Stephansplatz, and I ordered a Wiener Schnitzel (what else could you choose when you are in Vienna after all ?)
When the dinner was served I was confronted with a huge schnitzel, about the same size as Texas. Fortunately it was very thin and extremely tender, so that I was able to rise to the challenge and clear the plate.
Not so pleasant was the challenge of trying to enjoy a meal while being continually assaulted by clouds of foul smelling cigarette smoke from fellow diners. The Europeans have just not realised how disgusting and dangerous the smoking habit is. From the vast numbers of young smokers it would appear evident that the tobacco companies are guaranteed a good profit for at least a generation into the future.
We slowly walked back to the Metro station. It was a balmy early autumn evening and the centre of the city was still full of people just wandering and chatting. It had been a long and most eventful day.Weiterlesen
The Wachau Valley
26. September 2016 in Österreich ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C
Monday September 26th
In Which we Wide the Wachau
Although the forecast was for yet another perfect riding day, it did begin with a very chilly start. We began by riding out of Melk and back to the bridge over the Danube. We then had a short but gut busting climb up the very steep ramp in order to cross the bridge itself. This took us back to the left bank of the river as we headed into the famous Wachau Valley region, famous around the world for its production of fine wines.
As we entered the vineyards it was interesting to note that they did not just fill the floor of the valley, but continued right up the steep sides as well. It certainly would be hard work maintaining the vines on such steep slopes.
As we rode we passed through a succession of extremely pretty small villages. With their narrow cobblestoned streets and medieval appearance, it was easy to see why this region is a favourite among those who travel on the numerous "pyjama boats" going up and down the Danube.
In the mornings they were still quiet enough to be enjoyable, but as the day progressed they were progressively overrun by thousands of tourists. It was very difficult to cycle these streets once they got clogged with the masses.
I was also having my own difficulties making any headway with my group of riders. It seemed that every time I turned my head they were further and further behind. I could not understand how anyone could already be 400 metres behind, when we had only ridden half that distance. The reason of course was that they were continually stopping for photos.
One sight that particularly got my attention was of a guy busily painting the top floor of his house with the longest handled paint roller I had ever seen. The handle must have been 5 metres long and, each time it needed more paint applied to the roller, he had to direct it in through an open upstairs window for his wife to add the paint. It looked like a strange way to paint, but he was doing an immaculate job that showed he had obviously done it this way before.
In the town of St Michael's there is a wonderful ancient church with a crypt full of stacked skulls, also an impressive tower with spiral staircase and panoramic views from the summit.
I remembered this church from my previous rides along this section and we christened the skulls as the "heavenly Ghostriders".
Durnstein is the most famous town in the heart of the wine region but it is spoiled by the crowds of tourists that surge through its streets every afternoon. Pity about that !
As we rode through Stein we came across the filming of a period movie with a group of actors in historic costumes. I thought we might get a job as extras but I guess that yellow lycra clad bike riders would not be appropriate for this one.
We arrived at Krems at around 3 pm and found that it was larger city than we had expected. It has lovely parks and a delightful old city centre. It would have been nice to spend more time exploring this place, but unfortunately that was not possible.
Tomorrow we continue on to complete the final day of riding to Vienna.Weiterlesen
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