It's 4:30am and I'm sitting in a flat in Brixton with a motorcycle helmet on my head which is playing Beck's latest album on a Spanish iPod. Don't ask.
Let's face it, I'll tell you anyway. Eventually.
We landed in London last night, me to my new digs and the rest to a hotel. The motorhome is safely ensconsed in Rochdale near Manchester but not without looking the worse for wear. Not sure if I mentioned previously the conversation between a tree in a caravan park in France and the motorhome. There was heated debate, an argument you could say. The motorhome lost the point. And we lost £500.
It could have been worse. We knew there was a £500 excess on the insurance, it was pointed out to us a number of times. What they didn't point out was that it applied only to damage lower than six feet on the vehicle. Que?!! Oh yes, they told us. It's standard in the UK. If damage is sustained above six feet from the ground, you have to pay the lot. The lot was £900 but they were willing to do us a 'deal' and only charge us £700. Bugger that, we said. Why do you get insurance cover with this exclusion if the vehicle is about 9 feet high? A vehicle that doesn't even begin till it's more than a foot off the ground. What's the bloody point? I think even most of the windows are higher than that. Short story was bloke getting dressing down from Arna and us walking away with what we thought we'd be up for.
I last wrote from Chemille I think. We had a hard dash up to Calais but we made it in plenty of time. Another self discovery: I don't travel on water well. When we took the ferry from Dover to Calais I was pretty queasy but I put it down to the jetlag and driving, the constant motion. Willingly standing out on deck in the cold and the rain in an effort to quell the sea in my stomach, I thanked the various shipping lines for having made the six hour ferry journey we had been thinking of too expensive.
And onto the motorways in the UK. After all the driving on the right side of the road we had gotten used to over six weeks, it actually took us more time to get used to driving on the left again, of expecting cars to merge from the right and going around roundabouts the correct way. Freaky. We arrived at Dover at around 10:30pm and drove until around 3am, stopping off to spend the night beside a park in a little village called Tottenham. In France the motorways have these free spots to stay called Aires and sometimes they have facilities like showers and places to dump your waste water etc. In the UK at the services on the motorways (petrol station, restaurant, games room complex) you can park for 2 hours for free but after that you have to pay £8 to stay in the carpark. Hence we parked on the side of the road in a village that night. I drove the next day into Edinburgh, a whopping six or seven hours behind the wheel and there were some fabulous 12% hills and narrow roads. We stopped at the border to Scotland. Lady Luck smiled when I made a wrong turn and discovered the caravan park that became our home for the next three days.
As has been my habit and I know you will not expect less from me, the facilities report is very favourable. The caravan park was situated on the grounds of a working estate with a beautiful manor house (administration building or residence, not sure) a surprisingly good restaurant in the stables building and acres of well kept grass with cattle and sheep fields beyond. The bathrooms etc were very good although the sinks were ridiculous: there were push button taps and the water pressure was so great you literally had to stand back two feet so as not to get soaked, stick just the corner of your toothbrush near the flow or certainly lose your toothpaste. They're sure not worried about wasting water in a town where, as I read on the side of a bus, it rains 312 days a year. Inexplicably, the bus advertisement imparting this shocking news followed it with the word 'brilliant'.
I will share a caravan park outrage: for the first time we encountered pitch police, important people with clipboards who inspected the camp every day at 12:30pm. Upon returning late from a day in the city we found a red tag on the awning of our motorhome with the words 'message at reception'. As Alex was expecting a fax, this was nothing unusual. Until the next morning when we discovered that we needed a permit (and to pay and extra £2 a night) to put out the awning. HUH? This awning is permanently attached to the motorhome, it rolls in and it rolls out to give shelter for maybe six feet (there's that magic distance again...). I'm still struggling to understand the policy. It sounds very petty I know but it seems common practice that you pay for a site and what you put on that side eg tables and chairs or whatever, is up to you. I leave that one to the puzzle box.
On to Edinburgh itself. The town is absolutely lovely, very hilly and cobblestoned with fabulous gothic and other architecture. Throughout August it is not just the Fringe going on; there are eight separate festivals held at the same, including the Military Tattoo at Edinburgh Castle and a writers festival. The Royal Mile, which as the name suggests is the road leading to the castle, was absolutely packed with small stages and flyer distributors for the various festivals though mainly the Fringe. There is so much on. We only caught a couple of shows.
And on to my new home. It is on Brixton Road, right across from the tube station. It is loud and colourful and busy at all hours of the day. It is on the third floor above a shoe shop and the Eurostar goes past on the railway bridge right outside my bedroom window and makes the whole house shake. It's great! Exciting and new, which novelty always is.
Steven has been wonderful in providing me with a soft landing; I have my own bedroom, his old lap top to use on the wireless broadband connection, a UK mobile phone sim card and an A-Z London book so I have a tube map and road map to get around with. Today we had a full English breakfast and then he took me around on his motorbike and we shopped in Soho (well, he shopped and I tagged along) and drove through Piccadilly Circus, an apt name for that intersection! We also stopped by Stockwell tube station and looked at the memorial for Jean Charles de Menezes, the guy who was shot and killed by the police whilst running for his train. There were the Green Left equivalents on the street outside our place today with a megaphone, rustling up signatures for a petition to force the police chief to resign.
I hope to get some of Arna's pics up over the next couple of days; she's taken some real beauties over the trip.
And so endith the motorhome adventure but not the adventures of sidgirl. Stay tuned, folks.
x
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
J'adore France!!
Buggery bollocks !
I have just spent half an hour composing a superlative blog (well, I say it was superlative but really you’ll never know as recreation will be impossible) and the bloody server went down. I curse you Telecom France!
So, repeating myself only to myself (hence boring only myself, I flatter me, myself and I) my reflections on Germany, on balance, are that the north is a little cheerless, the south somewhat friendlier and on the whole Germany hasn’t quite done it for me which is a pity considering my Germanic heritage. Munich, like Cologne, was much more enjoyable and though perhaps my feelings have been dictated somewhat by the weather and the conditions of the caravan parks involved, I think it might be a better place to visit in the winter when the snow may make enchanting what the sun could not hide.
We had been keen to visit Vienna but the weather played the larger part in our decision to head for sunshine and replenishment of our fading tans. It was time to head west west west, for paradise is apparently there. And, sitting here in western France in 30 degrees, a little burnt from the 25km ride on our hired bikes, I have little to curse but French Telecom.
Our drive west headed for a short southerly detour to the Black Forest; a drive up misty and spooky hills and valleys. Hansel and Gretel got lost here, I whispered to the video camera on a little stroll. I have also captured Alex prancing about and humming "walk in the black forest". He’s a dill sometimes.
We headed for La Rochelle on the western coast of France, little anticipating the oft repeated France goes on holidays in August maxim would be so true. We were rejected from some six campgrounds "Non madam, ça c’est complet" but have found something a little inland which we flatter ourselves is even better - a municipal campground run by a cool chick. It has a man made beach on a river for swimming and very clean sanitaires (yes, I continue to report on the state of the toilets and though France has many things going for it, the cold porcelin sans toilet seat or the squats sans dry feet are not on the list).
We will be paying for this doing bugger all of nothing day tomorrow for we must drive to Calais to get the ferry back to the UK, some 500 odd kms up the road by 8pm tomorrow night. That, however, is tomorrow and in the meantime, after our ride back to camp we will swim in the river, cook something delicious and drink more beer.
Back in France I am once again struck by the siesta. I kid you not entire towns close down on the stroke of noon , or even before. In Avrille where we stayed a couple of days ago, the post office opened from 9.30 to noon, the library for one hour from 10 till 11 and the tourism office from 9 till noon. And that is their entire hours for the day, the siesta lasting till the following morning! Alex is working on his theory that no one in France actually works ; look around you at the countryside, feel the warm sun and find a bar tabac for a coffee or cool drink and you can hardly blame them. I think I want to live here, preferably in a Chalét or Château.
Jason and I had one of those moments today where, sitting outside the bar tabac with a café au lait (and they’re very shy with the lait) in the midday sun, quiet streets and waiting pushbikes; we toasted France with our coffee cups and lamented the cool weather before us in Scotland.
One of those things that I noticed about Germany is the cigarette machine; they were in most cafés and bars and restaurants and also in the middle of the street, down the most unlikely suburban streets even and the consequence is that no shop actually sells them. Compare and contrast with France where you can only buy cigarettes in a tabac. These tabacs are often combined with a bar in the smaller towns and it is these establishments that will be open in the day if any. But every town, no matter how small, manages to support one. I guess that is stout testament to the amount of smoking over here. Of course, you can still smoke in restaurants and just about any building which has been interesting to note how much our culture has changed in the last five years.
I love France.
We head for Edinburgh next to see a couple of days of the festival, return the motorhome, sorry, camping carrrr, to Manchester and spend four or five days in London before the rest of my family buggers off back to taunt you with slide show nights. The European adventure is coming to a close though we are all agreed that to live somewhere like Grenoble or Gap or any number of smaller towns in southern or western France is quite the thing.
Just a quick note on comments: thank you and keep them coming. I don’t reply to them as they are emailed to me from some kind of robot who wouldn’t care if I emailed it back at most or would rudely refuse to oblige me, which is usually the case. But I do get them and enjoy them so keep it up mon ami!
xx
I have just spent half an hour composing a superlative blog (well, I say it was superlative but really you’ll never know as recreation will be impossible) and the bloody server went down. I curse you Telecom France!
So, repeating myself only to myself (hence boring only myself, I flatter me, myself and I) my reflections on Germany, on balance, are that the north is a little cheerless, the south somewhat friendlier and on the whole Germany hasn’t quite done it for me which is a pity considering my Germanic heritage. Munich, like Cologne, was much more enjoyable and though perhaps my feelings have been dictated somewhat by the weather and the conditions of the caravan parks involved, I think it might be a better place to visit in the winter when the snow may make enchanting what the sun could not hide.
We had been keen to visit Vienna but the weather played the larger part in our decision to head for sunshine and replenishment of our fading tans. It was time to head west west west, for paradise is apparently there. And, sitting here in western France in 30 degrees, a little burnt from the 25km ride on our hired bikes, I have little to curse but French Telecom.
Our drive west headed for a short southerly detour to the Black Forest; a drive up misty and spooky hills and valleys. Hansel and Gretel got lost here, I whispered to the video camera on a little stroll. I have also captured Alex prancing about and humming "walk in the black forest". He’s a dill sometimes.
We headed for La Rochelle on the western coast of France, little anticipating the oft repeated France goes on holidays in August maxim would be so true. We were rejected from some six campgrounds "Non madam, ça c’est complet" but have found something a little inland which we flatter ourselves is even better - a municipal campground run by a cool chick. It has a man made beach on a river for swimming and very clean sanitaires (yes, I continue to report on the state of the toilets and though France has many things going for it, the cold porcelin sans toilet seat or the squats sans dry feet are not on the list).
We will be paying for this doing bugger all of nothing day tomorrow for we must drive to Calais to get the ferry back to the UK, some 500 odd kms up the road by 8pm tomorrow night. That, however, is tomorrow and in the meantime, after our ride back to camp we will swim in the river, cook something delicious and drink more beer.
Back in France I am once again struck by the siesta. I kid you not entire towns close down on the stroke of noon , or even before. In Avrille where we stayed a couple of days ago, the post office opened from 9.30 to noon, the library for one hour from 10 till 11 and the tourism office from 9 till noon. And that is their entire hours for the day, the siesta lasting till the following morning! Alex is working on his theory that no one in France actually works ; look around you at the countryside, feel the warm sun and find a bar tabac for a coffee or cool drink and you can hardly blame them. I think I want to live here, preferably in a Chalét or Château.
Jason and I had one of those moments today where, sitting outside the bar tabac with a café au lait (and they’re very shy with the lait) in the midday sun, quiet streets and waiting pushbikes; we toasted France with our coffee cups and lamented the cool weather before us in Scotland.
One of those things that I noticed about Germany is the cigarette machine; they were in most cafés and bars and restaurants and also in the middle of the street, down the most unlikely suburban streets even and the consequence is that no shop actually sells them. Compare and contrast with France where you can only buy cigarettes in a tabac. These tabacs are often combined with a bar in the smaller towns and it is these establishments that will be open in the day if any. But every town, no matter how small, manages to support one. I guess that is stout testament to the amount of smoking over here. Of course, you can still smoke in restaurants and just about any building which has been interesting to note how much our culture has changed in the last five years.
I love France.
We head for Edinburgh next to see a couple of days of the festival, return the motorhome, sorry, camping carrrr, to Manchester and spend four or five days in London before the rest of my family buggers off back to taunt you with slide show nights. The European adventure is coming to a close though we are all agreed that to live somewhere like Grenoble or Gap or any number of smaller towns in southern or western France is quite the thing.
Just a quick note on comments: thank you and keep them coming. I don’t reply to them as they are emailed to me from some kind of robot who wouldn’t care if I emailed it back at most or would rudely refuse to oblige me, which is usually the case. But I do get them and enjoy them so keep it up mon ami!
xx
Sunday, August 07, 2005
München
Okay, so I´ve since thought the better of my tasteless reference to concentration camps in my last post but I leave my folly published so that you might see an improvement in my character. Or not.
I will just say on living conditions, that I am disappointed by the caravan parks in Germany since Köln. The one we have here in München (Munich) is another piece of it: the "shower" in a shipping container is just a tap coming out of the ceiling at full bore and cost 1.20 Euro for seven minutes (that´s about 2 dollars Aus). Coming as it does on top of 24 Euro for the night, it was around 30 Euro to stay and clean, around $50 Oz which is right up there in what we have paid so far. Again the electricity box was locked and the meter read before we were plugged in - I wonder if the price of electricity in Germany is very high, they just seem to make a fuss over it. Mind you, they didn´t in Köln so... I´m heartily sick of having to pay up to 1 Euro to go to the toilet just about everywhere, all the highway roadhouses, a number of restaurants and cafes in France and Germany. Not in Amsterdam that I recall.
I turn now to more pleasant goings on; forgive my bitch but a decent shower, toilet and cup of coffee are absent today which makes Sidgirl a VERY dull girl.
After the disappointment of Osnabrück, we drove down to Linden, around 60km north of Frankfurt. Here we caught up with Anya and her kids Nicholas and Evelyn. (Anya was married to Michael Nelson and lived in Adelaide for around three or four years). It was lovely to catch up and Anya took us for a picnic to a tower on a hill up above the village. We all rode pushbikes and the kids (4 and 2 1/2) rode in the "chariot", a contraption that Anya joined to the back of her bike. There were great views and it was picturesque to the extreme and a lovely contrast with Osnabrück. There were farmlands all around and harvest was very near of the wheat, possibly barley. We started off again on the bikes for a Roman fort which used to be the line between the Roman and erm, another empire, when Jason´s bike broke down such that the back wheel was completely stuck. So Alex rode on ahead to get back to the van so we could get tools and/or be picked up and he got lost, ending up in the next village. We set him to rights and now it was almost dark. At the little fort though was a little campfire surround, so we gathered wood from the nearby trees and, using an A4 piece of paper (indeed an invitation of Nicholas´s to a birthday party!) made an extremely agreeable fire while we waited. As we had plenty of food and drink with us, there was no drama and in the end we parked the motorhome alongside and stayed the night. Apart from the interruption of a combine harvester which, had a rather large trench not been between us, we were in danger of being harvested ourselves (and this at midnight!) it was a peaceful time. Much more peaceful than the next morning when the kids awoke at 6am and played with the stereo. And came at me with a lit torch to wake me up. I will not pretend to be a morning person, indeed there are those among you who will attest heartily to the fact that I am the complete opposite, but the kids were so sweet that I was soon able to forgive them their boisterousness (is that a word?) and give them whizzies and hugs. I did learn a couple of german words from little Evelyn like Ungfung (which is begin, especially within the context of food!). Nicholas still speaks very good English as well as German.
After much cake and showers, we hit the road again and drove for around five hours, heading for München. I´ve no idea of the town where we eventually stopped down the end of a dead end street, drew up all the blinds and expected an official knock on the door at any moment to move us on from the non parking zone. This was after our unsuccesful attempt to stay in the clearing of a forest - a gameskeeper moved us on from the hunting ground. Well I guess a parking inspector is better than a 12 gauge!
No such calamity befell us however and moved on very early for München. We stopped at Dachau and walked through the former concentration camp (now do you see why I am grown humble?). It was not unusual to find people wiping their eyes as they moved through the camp and museum and unfortunately it was not usual to see people smilingly posing in front of memorials and the famous gates but I leave their feelings and actions to their own reflections. Suffice to say it was moving and mostly devoid of hysterical emotion in its presentation.
On to München, a short drive from Dachau and last night we went into town. Having armed ourselves with some lonely planet eateries, eventually found our way to the Fraunhofer, a restaurant come beer hall which was loud, pleasant and smoky. Ordering food was made a little easier by a one page dictionary they supplied with the menu and though a number of things on the menu had no definition, we were able to stay away from the ox face and unnecessary parts of swine. I ordered something that I sort of expected to be like a gnochi cabonara but was more like a spanish omlette with dumplings. It was tasty though. And Jason had the best steak we´ve seen. I say this in the light too of Köln where Arna and I´s medium rare steaks came without a trace of pink.
We are off exploring München in our own ways today, meeting back at the Marienplatz in time to hopefully see the town hall play the glökenspiel and spin around the little scene of happy dancing Germans, a bit like a giant cuckoo clock or musical box. There´s some fab gothic architecture around. Most of the shops are closed today (it being Sunday) though no one is laughing. We´re sure the shopping hours lobby said we´d be the laughing stock of the world if we didn´t allow the big shops to open on Sundays. Well they don´t open on Sundays and sometimes even Mondays in the countries we´ve been in. And still the tourists come.
We´ve not quite worked out the rest of our intinerary, though perhaps Vienna is next on the cards. We will then make our way back to the UK and probably meet up with Caroline and Nick in Scotland where the Edinburgh Fringe should give us plenty of distraction.
Till next time, folks.
x
I will just say on living conditions, that I am disappointed by the caravan parks in Germany since Köln. The one we have here in München (Munich) is another piece of it: the "shower" in a shipping container is just a tap coming out of the ceiling at full bore and cost 1.20 Euro for seven minutes (that´s about 2 dollars Aus). Coming as it does on top of 24 Euro for the night, it was around 30 Euro to stay and clean, around $50 Oz which is right up there in what we have paid so far. Again the electricity box was locked and the meter read before we were plugged in - I wonder if the price of electricity in Germany is very high, they just seem to make a fuss over it. Mind you, they didn´t in Köln so... I´m heartily sick of having to pay up to 1 Euro to go to the toilet just about everywhere, all the highway roadhouses, a number of restaurants and cafes in France and Germany. Not in Amsterdam that I recall.
I turn now to more pleasant goings on; forgive my bitch but a decent shower, toilet and cup of coffee are absent today which makes Sidgirl a VERY dull girl.
After the disappointment of Osnabrück, we drove down to Linden, around 60km north of Frankfurt. Here we caught up with Anya and her kids Nicholas and Evelyn. (Anya was married to Michael Nelson and lived in Adelaide for around three or four years). It was lovely to catch up and Anya took us for a picnic to a tower on a hill up above the village. We all rode pushbikes and the kids (4 and 2 1/2) rode in the "chariot", a contraption that Anya joined to the back of her bike. There were great views and it was picturesque to the extreme and a lovely contrast with Osnabrück. There were farmlands all around and harvest was very near of the wheat, possibly barley. We started off again on the bikes for a Roman fort which used to be the line between the Roman and erm, another empire, when Jason´s bike broke down such that the back wheel was completely stuck. So Alex rode on ahead to get back to the van so we could get tools and/or be picked up and he got lost, ending up in the next village. We set him to rights and now it was almost dark. At the little fort though was a little campfire surround, so we gathered wood from the nearby trees and, using an A4 piece of paper (indeed an invitation of Nicholas´s to a birthday party!) made an extremely agreeable fire while we waited. As we had plenty of food and drink with us, there was no drama and in the end we parked the motorhome alongside and stayed the night. Apart from the interruption of a combine harvester which, had a rather large trench not been between us, we were in danger of being harvested ourselves (and this at midnight!) it was a peaceful time. Much more peaceful than the next morning when the kids awoke at 6am and played with the stereo. And came at me with a lit torch to wake me up. I will not pretend to be a morning person, indeed there are those among you who will attest heartily to the fact that I am the complete opposite, but the kids were so sweet that I was soon able to forgive them their boisterousness (is that a word?) and give them whizzies and hugs. I did learn a couple of german words from little Evelyn like Ungfung (which is begin, especially within the context of food!). Nicholas still speaks very good English as well as German.
After much cake and showers, we hit the road again and drove for around five hours, heading for München. I´ve no idea of the town where we eventually stopped down the end of a dead end street, drew up all the blinds and expected an official knock on the door at any moment to move us on from the non parking zone. This was after our unsuccesful attempt to stay in the clearing of a forest - a gameskeeper moved us on from the hunting ground. Well I guess a parking inspector is better than a 12 gauge!
No such calamity befell us however and moved on very early for München. We stopped at Dachau and walked through the former concentration camp (now do you see why I am grown humble?). It was not unusual to find people wiping their eyes as they moved through the camp and museum and unfortunately it was not usual to see people smilingly posing in front of memorials and the famous gates but I leave their feelings and actions to their own reflections. Suffice to say it was moving and mostly devoid of hysterical emotion in its presentation.
On to München, a short drive from Dachau and last night we went into town. Having armed ourselves with some lonely planet eateries, eventually found our way to the Fraunhofer, a restaurant come beer hall which was loud, pleasant and smoky. Ordering food was made a little easier by a one page dictionary they supplied with the menu and though a number of things on the menu had no definition, we were able to stay away from the ox face and unnecessary parts of swine. I ordered something that I sort of expected to be like a gnochi cabonara but was more like a spanish omlette with dumplings. It was tasty though. And Jason had the best steak we´ve seen. I say this in the light too of Köln where Arna and I´s medium rare steaks came without a trace of pink.
We are off exploring München in our own ways today, meeting back at the Marienplatz in time to hopefully see the town hall play the glökenspiel and spin around the little scene of happy dancing Germans, a bit like a giant cuckoo clock or musical box. There´s some fab gothic architecture around. Most of the shops are closed today (it being Sunday) though no one is laughing. We´re sure the shopping hours lobby said we´d be the laughing stock of the world if we didn´t allow the big shops to open on Sundays. Well they don´t open on Sundays and sometimes even Mondays in the countries we´ve been in. And still the tourists come.
We´ve not quite worked out the rest of our intinerary, though perhaps Vienna is next on the cards. We will then make our way back to the UK and probably meet up with Caroline and Nick in Scotland where the Edinburgh Fringe should give us plenty of distraction.
Till next time, folks.
x
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Osnabrück
Having been reuinited with our companions in Liege (Belgium), we made our way to Köln (Cologne, Germany). It is a lovely town, we went to a church in the centre, I forget it's name (!) which was apparently the target for three years of allied bombing during the second world war but they missed! It was about the only thing left standing. It was the highest tower in Europe before the Eiffel was built (c1890) and you can climb to the top up an extremely narrow concrete staircase which handles two way traffic only when those climbing up cling to the centre pole to allow those coming down to pass. As it was all enclosed most of the way I was able to climb without much thought - but we got to a larger room near the top and the way up was via metal stairs and I got a few flights up before abandoning the project. But as my brother is reading "Feel the fear and do it anyway" and made the attempt again and got all the way to the top though not without a few tears. I'm hopeless, huh?
The view was fab though I stayed away from the edge, and I managed the presence of mind to film with the video camera.
The stained glass in the church was amazing, ask Arna for the photos.
We had hired bikes, much like Amsterdam, and the caravan park was around 7km from the centre. If ever you are camping in Köln, this caravan park is a must! Never had we seen such clean showers etc and the staff were most helpful and efficent. I expected nothing less from the Germans, ya?
But however, the comparison with Osnabrück, where we are now, is not favourable. We are staying in a caravan park by the lake which is lovely to look at but it is run like one of those camps they used to have hereabouts. Yeah, okay, that's in bad taste but it is run by a dragon lady and you need a key to get into the showers which then are dirty and cost 50 cents to have 8 minutes of hot water- at the end of eight minutes, the hot water shuts off and freezing cold water is left on! You must ask Jason about the washing machine incident - suffice to say it was also under lock and key when I spied it this morning in the women's shower room, though it's existence had apparently been denied.
Osnabrück is where Arna's mother is from and I own I understand perhaps why she left. We are in the zentrum (centre of town) and it has little to recommend it. It is quite industrial and I don't think it fared particularly well during the war, the tourist sites are few.
We have no current plans re destination though perhaps a visit to a concentration camp will form part of our transient itinerary, I think we are in discussion as to whether Berlin or Vienna is next.
Must go, leave comments if you would like to - I do enjoy hearing from you all.
Till I write again!
sidgirl
xx
The view was fab though I stayed away from the edge, and I managed the presence of mind to film with the video camera.
The stained glass in the church was amazing, ask Arna for the photos.
We had hired bikes, much like Amsterdam, and the caravan park was around 7km from the centre. If ever you are camping in Köln, this caravan park is a must! Never had we seen such clean showers etc and the staff were most helpful and efficent. I expected nothing less from the Germans, ya?
But however, the comparison with Osnabrück, where we are now, is not favourable. We are staying in a caravan park by the lake which is lovely to look at but it is run like one of those camps they used to have hereabouts. Yeah, okay, that's in bad taste but it is run by a dragon lady and you need a key to get into the showers which then are dirty and cost 50 cents to have 8 minutes of hot water- at the end of eight minutes, the hot water shuts off and freezing cold water is left on! You must ask Jason about the washing machine incident - suffice to say it was also under lock and key when I spied it this morning in the women's shower room, though it's existence had apparently been denied.
Osnabrück is where Arna's mother is from and I own I understand perhaps why she left. We are in the zentrum (centre of town) and it has little to recommend it. It is quite industrial and I don't think it fared particularly well during the war, the tourist sites are few.
We have no current plans re destination though perhaps a visit to a concentration camp will form part of our transient itinerary, I think we are in discussion as to whether Berlin or Vienna is next.
Must go, leave comments if you would like to - I do enjoy hearing from you all.
Till I write again!
sidgirl
xx
Friday, July 29, 2005
Still in Amsterdam
Oh the blessing of the qwerty keyboard, let me sing thy praises.
Your Q is next to your W, not on the bottom row where some would have you sit; oh no! You take your rightful place under my last two fingers of the right hand, on the top rows, in important places!
Okay, enough.
We have been in Amsterdam for a few days now and it is such a relaxing, friendly city. Again the architecture is something from a story book, a pop-up one, as if there is nothing behind the facade. Canals are everywhere, as are the bicycles and the cats (I miss my little Genki very much in this town for every cafe seems to have a resident cat who lolls about on the footpath accepting pats). It is much cheaper here than in Paris and the service is friendly and English is so widely spoken that we do not feel lacking in communicative abilities.
We are staying at the Singel Hotel, right on one of the main canals - it is staffed by lovely people, especially the breakfast manager who is delicate in his attentions to the half awake guests - an important skill indeed! Yesterday morning Jason and I rushed down to breakfast at 9.50 (it finishes at 10am) and with glazed eyes surveyed the almost full room and heard giggling as we entered - it seems the whole room had come for breakfast in the last few minutes and it had become a little joke amongst them. Check out is 12 noon, which for a city which allows you to get ripped off your tits, is courteous.
Ali, Christian and Sara left this morning - Ali & Christian to fly home and Sara to spend a few more days in the UK before heading back. It was a little teary.
Jason and I meet up with Arna and Alex in Liege tomorrow night (Belgium) and perhaps to Germany thence.
Keep tuned!
x
Your Q is next to your W, not on the bottom row where some would have you sit; oh no! You take your rightful place under my last two fingers of the right hand, on the top rows, in important places!
Okay, enough.
We have been in Amsterdam for a few days now and it is such a relaxing, friendly city. Again the architecture is something from a story book, a pop-up one, as if there is nothing behind the facade. Canals are everywhere, as are the bicycles and the cats (I miss my little Genki very much in this town for every cafe seems to have a resident cat who lolls about on the footpath accepting pats). It is much cheaper here than in Paris and the service is friendly and English is so widely spoken that we do not feel lacking in communicative abilities.
We are staying at the Singel Hotel, right on one of the main canals - it is staffed by lovely people, especially the breakfast manager who is delicate in his attentions to the half awake guests - an important skill indeed! Yesterday morning Jason and I rushed down to breakfast at 9.50 (it finishes at 10am) and with glazed eyes surveyed the almost full room and heard giggling as we entered - it seems the whole room had come for breakfast in the last few minutes and it had become a little joke amongst them. Check out is 12 noon, which for a city which allows you to get ripped off your tits, is courteous.
Ali, Christian and Sara left this morning - Ali & Christian to fly home and Sara to spend a few more days in the UK before heading back. It was a little teary.
Jason and I meet up with Arna and Alex in Liege tomorrow night (Belgium) and perhaps to Germany thence.
Keep tuned!
x
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
What to do in Amsterdam?
I love France. Paris was lovely though expensive and the service and hospitality was nothing compared to the countryside. I highly recommend getting down to the Alps - cities like Grenoble and Gap and fab and do remind one of Adelaide with some wide boulevards but also some really narrow cobblestoned streets that I can certainly recommend not to take a 'camping carrrrr' down. I plan to go back to Paris because there's so much to see and so little time. The things about France that I do not take to as well: widespread lack of toilet seats, paying to go to the toilet. It all about the toilet, really. That and two camping grounds: Camping Bois de Boulonge in Paris is absolutely, by far, the WORST CAMPING GROUND IN FRANCE. The service is abominable, the services very few (pools were standard in just about every other place in France), they wanted six euro to use a washing machine (read about 10 dollars) and the sanitaires were the most disgusting place where their version of cleaning them was to take a hose and spray cold water across the floor - and even, as Mum found, under the door when you're on the toilet. I can not say enough rude things about it. The second camping ground to avoid is the one in Briancon in the Alps. We took the trouble of booking the day before because the Tour de France was stopping and starting a stage from there. We turned up, it was raining and tremendously busy. Of course they'd put my booking in for the following day and now they had no room but they would find somewhere. They wanted to give us the side of the road at the back of the camping ground, next to a huge under road drain, and run our electricity cable over the road! And pay for the privilege! We went back to the office and said it wasn't acceptable and the man was so rude, I can hardly tell you. But clouds and silver linings, or even abrupt about turns of luck do exist. We left in very poor humour and had gone down the road a couple of hundred metres to a T junction when we saw a sign in French which we desiphered to mean - free camping for the tour de france. A farmer had opened up a field on the side of the road and there were a couple of other camping carrrs there. Gratuite!! What's more, the next morning we awoke to find we were on the Tour route so we brought the van back up to the side of the road and drank our morning coffee as the bikes sailed by. We also got a bunch of free stuff from the 45 minutes of caravan that comes before the bikes: some hats, coffee, pretzels, keychains. So we fart in the general direction of those campsites.
In Paris Jason and I went up the Eiffel Tower, up god knows how many steps, to the second viewing platform. Me and heights are not the best of friends but I conquered. The view was of course fabulous. We did have a worried moment when we walked around the western side to see two separate columns of black smoke pouring into the sky, not terribly far apart - was it the metro? Had the bombs come to Paris too?
Still don't know what it was. And the next morning (yesterday) when Jason and I left Paris we arrived at the metro just as a train left. No one was on the platform and someone had left a small backpack on the seat.
It's paranoid yes, but you can't help looking about you and being wary. You sit on the train and think, this is where this sort of stuff happens.
Must say it has given me a little to think about with living in London - one of the failed attacks last week was on the line I will be taking.
Then we also climbed the Arc de Triomphe. I do advise you don't climb them both in the same day. Unless of course you're aiming for a butt of steel. The tomb of the unknown soldier at the bottom is sobering and the art on the arc itself is stunning.
So Jason and I took a train from Paris to Amsterdam yesterday and have ended up in the same hotel, indeed two doors down the corridor, from Christian, Ali and Sara.
Last night we went out for a lovely Thai meal (yes! Green chicken curry at last!) and thence to the red light district. We dawdled down the streets filled with shop windows with red lights and women in their underwear. Some are talking on their phones, some are doing their toilette, some are gyrating and some are so young it's heartbreaking.
But what is a visit to Amsterdam without trying the local produce?
We found a coffeehouse called Free Adam. It had the obligatory reggae music, pictures of Bob Marley etc. And a large menu of grass and hash.
Feeling a little Sound of Music, we ordered the Eidel Weiss. He warned us that it was strong and we thought 'ha! we're from Adelaide!'. I think he had the last laugh. We couldn't finish a joint between four and debated for some time as to whether we were allowed to take it with us for we had barely touched the baggie. It was about Adelaide prices - a 12.50 euro bag was about equivalent to a $25 one.
So we wandered about the red light district some more with increasing paranoia. Men stand on the street and speak as you go by: "Cocaine? Ecstasy?" We were offered it all. Live sex shows "real fucking and sucking?" for 25 euro. We were kindly informed by an English man whose mate had just entered one of the shop windows to partake of a black woman that a headjob was 20 euro, 30 for the lot and 50 if you want a white girl. So there you are - cheap, no?
We slept very late indeed today and took a canal cruise for an hour. There are canals everywhere, coming out in a concentric circle from the main train station. Some of the buildings were built in the sixteenth century and they love their tall, narrow decorative ones. Almost cardboard cut outs. We will stay here another day or so and then catch up with the folks somewhere nearby. We will then probably journey to Germany. Will write again soon!
x
In Paris Jason and I went up the Eiffel Tower, up god knows how many steps, to the second viewing platform. Me and heights are not the best of friends but I conquered. The view was of course fabulous. We did have a worried moment when we walked around the western side to see two separate columns of black smoke pouring into the sky, not terribly far apart - was it the metro? Had the bombs come to Paris too?
Still don't know what it was. And the next morning (yesterday) when Jason and I left Paris we arrived at the metro just as a train left. No one was on the platform and someone had left a small backpack on the seat.
It's paranoid yes, but you can't help looking about you and being wary. You sit on the train and think, this is where this sort of stuff happens.
Must say it has given me a little to think about with living in London - one of the failed attacks last week was on the line I will be taking.
Then we also climbed the Arc de Triomphe. I do advise you don't climb them both in the same day. Unless of course you're aiming for a butt of steel. The tomb of the unknown soldier at the bottom is sobering and the art on the arc itself is stunning.
So Jason and I took a train from Paris to Amsterdam yesterday and have ended up in the same hotel, indeed two doors down the corridor, from Christian, Ali and Sara.
Last night we went out for a lovely Thai meal (yes! Green chicken curry at last!) and thence to the red light district. We dawdled down the streets filled with shop windows with red lights and women in their underwear. Some are talking on their phones, some are doing their toilette, some are gyrating and some are so young it's heartbreaking.
But what is a visit to Amsterdam without trying the local produce?
We found a coffeehouse called Free Adam. It had the obligatory reggae music, pictures of Bob Marley etc. And a large menu of grass and hash.
Feeling a little Sound of Music, we ordered the Eidel Weiss. He warned us that it was strong and we thought 'ha! we're from Adelaide!'. I think he had the last laugh. We couldn't finish a joint between four and debated for some time as to whether we were allowed to take it with us for we had barely touched the baggie. It was about Adelaide prices - a 12.50 euro bag was about equivalent to a $25 one.
So we wandered about the red light district some more with increasing paranoia. Men stand on the street and speak as you go by: "Cocaine? Ecstasy?" We were offered it all. Live sex shows "real fucking and sucking?" for 25 euro. We were kindly informed by an English man whose mate had just entered one of the shop windows to partake of a black woman that a headjob was 20 euro, 30 for the lot and 50 if you want a white girl. So there you are - cheap, no?
We slept very late indeed today and took a canal cruise for an hour. There are canals everywhere, coming out in a concentric circle from the main train station. Some of the buildings were built in the sixteenth century and they love their tall, narrow decorative ones. Almost cardboard cut outs. We will stay here another day or so and then catch up with the folks somewhere nearby. We will then probably journey to Germany. Will write again soon!
x
Saturday, July 23, 2005
In Gay Paris
Okay, so we're in Paris and have found more internet!
We arrived yesterday (Friday) in the late afternoon and oh my god - DO NOT DRIVE A MOTORHOME AROUND THE ARC DE TRIUMPH!! (pardon the spelling). It was absloutely crazy, an enormous roundabout that admits of perhaps eight lanes though none are marked - vehicles come from all directions to cross in all directions!
We have met up with Christian, Ali and Sara and Arna and Alex are at present with Nick and Caroline. The Aussi contingent is now grouped!
We have been travelling around the French countryside which is absolutely beautiful, the French Alps and Provence particularly are awesome - picture postcard villages with narrow main streets and shutters on all the windows; we stayed for a night by a lake, swimming in the 36 degree heat whilst viewing the snow topped alps.
We met up with Phil and Sue in Nice but we had not been there long before Sue's bag was stolen from under her feet - goodbye passport. Unfortunately they then had to cancel the trip to Italy we were to take and go back to Paris to get another passport.
Arna and I rode our bikes a couple of times - once through the Alps from just outside Briançon (the highest city in Europe) for around 30km of descents in the 13 and 12%!!! I screamed out loud coming down through hairpin turns with both brakes on - awesome.
We also rode from Nice to Cannes; again around 30km of coastal road. Beach wise, Nice has stones, like river stones and you have to wear your shoes right down to the water; some people weren't bothered and we lying on their towels on the rocks. But Cannes! Sand, kiosks, topless women (I put that in for the benefit of the blokes for Jason and Alex were in heaven!)and the water is so much warmer and saltier and they don't have sharks at all - best swim in the ocean I've ever had.
Jason and I went out on the town in Aix en Provence (pronounced ex, like the letter x); we drank at a pub where the bartender clocked me as Australian as he'd spent some years in New Zealand, though born in Poland, lived in other places - I think he spoke about four languages which was handy. After the pub closed we had a postcard moment when we went down the road to a club - the doors were closed over and then a small sliding at eye level came open and we were checked out by the doorman before being allowed to enter. The place was jumping; a live band (they LOVE reggae in France!) and heaps of people; it was really fun and the first time we'd gotten to really go out in a decent sized place.
Today we went to the cemetry and paid our hommages to Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde and all that - really amazing monuments and graves. There is a permanent security guard stationed at Jim's grave - they've cleaned up all the graffiti and fenced it off and the bust of his head that used to be there is long gone.
Tonight we plan to climb the Eiffel tower and tomorrow we will watch the Tour come down the Champs Elysee and somewhere in there too we will fit in the Louvre etc. There is so much to do and I hope we get through it all!
After Paris we do not have any fixed engagements so perhaps to WWI country in Northern France, thence to Amsterdam, Germany and who knows shere else - we have three weeks before heading back to the UK.
Sorry I've not had time to email - the pressure is on in these cafes and progress still somewhat impeded by the strange keyboard. I hope you are all well.
Au Revoir, mon amie!
xx
We arrived yesterday (Friday) in the late afternoon and oh my god - DO NOT DRIVE A MOTORHOME AROUND THE ARC DE TRIUMPH!! (pardon the spelling). It was absloutely crazy, an enormous roundabout that admits of perhaps eight lanes though none are marked - vehicles come from all directions to cross in all directions!
We have met up with Christian, Ali and Sara and Arna and Alex are at present with Nick and Caroline. The Aussi contingent is now grouped!
We have been travelling around the French countryside which is absolutely beautiful, the French Alps and Provence particularly are awesome - picture postcard villages with narrow main streets and shutters on all the windows; we stayed for a night by a lake, swimming in the 36 degree heat whilst viewing the snow topped alps.
We met up with Phil and Sue in Nice but we had not been there long before Sue's bag was stolen from under her feet - goodbye passport. Unfortunately they then had to cancel the trip to Italy we were to take and go back to Paris to get another passport.
Arna and I rode our bikes a couple of times - once through the Alps from just outside Briançon (the highest city in Europe) for around 30km of descents in the 13 and 12%!!! I screamed out loud coming down through hairpin turns with both brakes on - awesome.
We also rode from Nice to Cannes; again around 30km of coastal road. Beach wise, Nice has stones, like river stones and you have to wear your shoes right down to the water; some people weren't bothered and we lying on their towels on the rocks. But Cannes! Sand, kiosks, topless women (I put that in for the benefit of the blokes for Jason and Alex were in heaven!)and the water is so much warmer and saltier and they don't have sharks at all - best swim in the ocean I've ever had.
Jason and I went out on the town in Aix en Provence (pronounced ex, like the letter x); we drank at a pub where the bartender clocked me as Australian as he'd spent some years in New Zealand, though born in Poland, lived in other places - I think he spoke about four languages which was handy. After the pub closed we had a postcard moment when we went down the road to a club - the doors were closed over and then a small sliding at eye level came open and we were checked out by the doorman before being allowed to enter. The place was jumping; a live band (they LOVE reggae in France!) and heaps of people; it was really fun and the first time we'd gotten to really go out in a decent sized place.
Today we went to the cemetry and paid our hommages to Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde and all that - really amazing monuments and graves. There is a permanent security guard stationed at Jim's grave - they've cleaned up all the graffiti and fenced it off and the bust of his head that used to be there is long gone.
Tonight we plan to climb the Eiffel tower and tomorrow we will watch the Tour come down the Champs Elysee and somewhere in there too we will fit in the Louvre etc. There is so much to do and I hope we get through it all!
After Paris we do not have any fixed engagements so perhaps to WWI country in Northern France, thence to Amsterdam, Germany and who knows shere else - we have three weeks before heading back to the UK.
Sorry I've not had time to email - the pressure is on in these cafes and progress still somewhat impeded by the strange keyboard. I hope you are all well.
Au Revoir, mon amie!
xx
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Internet at last
Bonjour tout le monde!
I am typing on a french keyboard so I am perhaps not quite as expressive as I would like.
We are in Gap in the south of France and it is very hot today - this little cafe is boiling so I will not write much.
The day after we arrived in Windsor (an hour from London) the bombs went off in the tube. The landlady at the pub where we were staying spent an anxious day on the phone - her son's girlfriend was on the train that went past the one that was bombed; what a contrast in the newspaper headlines - from celebrating London having gotten the Olympics to terrorism.
We have come across the Tour de France a few times, sometimes by accident. We stayed in a farmer's field outside Biançon to find ourselves on the route agqin so we had our morning coffee in our PJs and watched it go past. We waved our Aussi and boxing kangaroo flags with pride. Yesterday we were watching the race in a bar when Aussi Robbie McEwen won - we were loud in our cheering as you can imagine.
We have travelled some hairy roads through the Alps in the motorhome (that is, camping carrrr) and geez the scenery sucked; hot days in a lake surrounded by mountains upon which you could see snow.
Tomorrow we go to Nice and thence to Italy.
Internet access has been very poor but here's hoping to be more frequent in future!
I am typing on a french keyboard so I am perhaps not quite as expressive as I would like.
We are in Gap in the south of France and it is very hot today - this little cafe is boiling so I will not write much.
The day after we arrived in Windsor (an hour from London) the bombs went off in the tube. The landlady at the pub where we were staying spent an anxious day on the phone - her son's girlfriend was on the train that went past the one that was bombed; what a contrast in the newspaper headlines - from celebrating London having gotten the Olympics to terrorism.
We have come across the Tour de France a few times, sometimes by accident. We stayed in a farmer's field outside Biançon to find ourselves on the route agqin so we had our morning coffee in our PJs and watched it go past. We waved our Aussi and boxing kangaroo flags with pride. Yesterday we were watching the race in a bar when Aussi Robbie McEwen won - we were loud in our cheering as you can imagine.
We have travelled some hairy roads through the Alps in the motorhome (that is, camping carrrr) and geez the scenery sucked; hot days in a lake surrounded by mountains upon which you could see snow.
Tomorrow we go to Nice and thence to Italy.
Internet access has been very poor but here's hoping to be more frequent in future!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Award winning pesto
Found a way to publish photos (I think!). I thought it would show on this page but it could be my browser. If you see a little square in the top left corner of this post, click on it! I thought I'd try it out with a pic of my award winning pesto. Yes, in September 2004 I submitted 175g of basil pesto to the Royal Agricultural & Horticultural Society's annual show in Adelaide, South Australia. 2004 was the year of embracing my inner grandma, you understand.
I also entered a banana cake and some friends entered some preserves and anzac biscuits (I always thought the latter might be a bit ambitious for a beginner, but he insisted). I slaved away over my banana cake, making about four of them before show day; trying out different oven times and temperatures, ratios of banana to flour, a horrid icing accident and experiments with shape.
Indeed the time and effort on the banana cake, which I was sure was going to be my stellar baking product, meant that I whipped up the pesto at 11.30pm the night before.
Needless to say, my pesto won second prize (and the money was as much as second prize in a beauty contest in Monopoly - $10!) and my poor banana cake didn't rate a mention in the top six. Whilst it never happened during my pre-show warm up, my show banana cake was not fully cooked all the way through!
It's true, friends. I don't talk about it much and I'll thank you not to mention it. Let's focus instead on the eminently edible pesto, which I served up to a couple of lucky people with grilled cherry tomatoes and potato gnocci.
Friday, June 24, 2005
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