Tag: Photography

Day 8 – Sunday Funday

Day 8 – Sunday Funday

I woke up all confused in a bed, my head a little foggy after my handful of beers. The sound of heavy rain hitting the bonnet of my car made me smile as I was in a motel and not a tent.  I had forgotten to eat last night, the thought of trying to order food and getting it 7 hours later made me sad. So much for eating an authentic Italian meal made by a Grandma!

Breakfast was included in the stay and so I filled up on pastries and coffee.  The two young girls looking after the breakfast room hurried around picking up and cleaning and smiling.  They were dripping in fashion labels from head to toe and looked every bit the classy and stylish Italian stereotype.

As full as a gun, I packed up and set off heading for better Alps!  I was heading for the Aosta Valley and into Switzerland and wanted to see Mont Blanc.  As the hotel was right on the motorway, I was straight off on the road and ready to rock.  The Italian motorway system had other ideas.  I spent an hour driving back and forth along toll roads trying to get the right exit to head into the mountains.  I was feeling glum.

Eventually, after many swear words and many burnt Euros, I was on the way.  Again, I was on the flat, but this time south of the Alps, and could see the mountains starting to form up on the horizon.  I was starting to get excited again. Maybe this was the day that my ‘proper’ mountain drive would happen.

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As I made my way towards Aosta we were following the River Po up the valley. It looked cold and grey but in full flow.  It looked like it was an artery coming out of the alps and was bleeding heavily; just waiting for winter to turn up to help scab it over and stop the flow with its ice.

On my left-hand side, was a small mountain and from about half way until about 90% of the way up it was covered in cloud.  It looked like the mountain was trying to hide in the clouds but failing. Like a giraffe hiding behind a tree with its big daft head sticking out.

It looked as if someone was standing on the top of the mountain throwing enormous handkerchiefs down and watching them float to the bottom of the valley but it wasn’t, it was paragliders.  Maybe about half a dozen of them floating down. The views they had must have been stunning.

I was getting close to Aosta where I would be forced to make another route call. North into Switzerland or north west into France? I realised I had still not eaten a meal in Italy, other than a hotel breakfast.  I decided that I would take a rest in Aosta and work out the next steps.

I pulled up outside of Restaurant Caesar; a busy looking pizzeria with tables outside looking out onto the wide and clean street.  All the tables were busy with families enjoying their Sunday launch and that’s always a great sign.  I picked my pizza. It was like a quattro stagioni but it was salami, red cabbage and fresh basil and it was bloody lovely.  It was so nice and the service so good that I followed up with a load of ice cream.  I was as happy as could be. I finally had my authentic Italian pizza, it was a lovely day, and I was about to attack the Alps.

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Yes, I took pictures of my meal.

It was at that table that I decided I would head into France instead of Switzerland.  Switzerland would be expensive and the roads expensive and it’s so……well….neutral.    I may not like France too much, but at least they try things rather than spend their entire existence sitting getting splinters in their backsides.

With fresh excitement, purpose and desire (and a few extra dough-based pounds hanging about my midriff) I hopped back in the car and headed for the mountains along the E25.  A few miles from the border, I stopped for a diesel top up and pottered around the gift shop inside the petrol station.  It was mainly filled with Ferrari and Italian football memorabilia but there, right in the middle of the Juve scarfs and F1 key rings, was a thing of absolute beauty.  Titchy feet loves Limoncello, I had already seen a bottle in the Duty Free on the ferry over and was planning a bottle for the way home as her gift, but she would be blown away by the splendour of this. 1

IMG_9348The fact that is was filled with glorious golden yellow liquid maybe made it stand out like a golden nugget in a wall of shit but, there it was,  a bottle of  limoncello in the shape of Italy.  Priceless. I felt like Indiana Jones and was worried that as soon as I picked this glorious gift up, it would set off booby traps the would force me to prove myself worthy of such a classy gift.

I took a turn off at Chenoz and zig zagged over the mountain passes and worked my way up to the peaks.  Words don’t even begin to do justice to the views and the scale of beauty that I witnessed. Eight hairpin bends later, I ended up following the traffic into a car park rather than up the road.  I didn’t want to admit my mistake and turn around, so I was pleased when I realised that I had accidentally arrived at a Passerella Panoramica, (panoramic footpath according to my Google translator), so I grabbed my camera and set off walking.

https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g776105-d5828050-i96416362-Sentiero_panoramico_lungo_l_Orrido_di_Pre_Saint_Didier-Pre_Saint_Didier_V.html

On the forest walk to the gantry, you could hear a rumble and roar that grew louder with every step. Eventually the path opened and you could see a drop of maybe 100 meters to a narrow V-shaped valley that was alive with white rapids.  The summer melt was clearly in effect and the noise was amazing.  I was as happy as Larry that the view was free to get down to and wasn’t too busy at all.  Happy with my lot, I continued along the path and as I turned a corner I stopped in my tracks with my mouth wide open.

IMG_9394The view point wasn’t for the rushing water in the valley below, that was just a warm up act. The main event was a suspended walkway that curved away and out from the hill side in an arc of maybe 200 meters.  Looking down, there was nothing but air between the see-through walkway and the ground 160 metres below, but you didn’t look down, you looked out at the most beautiful view of Mont Blanc.

I honestly think that I spent about an hour just taking it all in. Splitting my time between taking photos and trying to burn the sights into my mind in case my camera got stolen before I got home.  I just hope that the attached pictures do it some justice.

IMG_9383Walking back towards the car park I got chatting, in terrible French, to an old lady that must have been in her late seventies. She had been left to sit on a seat with her small dog while her daughter walked down to the gantry I had just left behind.  She was adorable. I told her (the best that I could) that she should walk down as the view was stunning. She told me(again I think she did anyway!) that she had lived in the town below all of her life and that she was too old to walk any further. Bless her. It was hard to work out if she was happy that I had taken the time to chat with her or if she was laughing at my terrible French.

IMG_9399Back at the car, I continued my way along the SS26 towards the Little St Bernard Pass.  The next stop was La Thuile. I stopped to take pictures in the lovely little alpine village. I had just missed the Bataille des Chèvres (goat fight) but the town was all dressed up in its finest still and looked lovely.  Back in the car, continuing up towards the peak, there were hairpin bends and just the most perfect views and the cleanest, crisp fresh air. I stopped every so often to walk up hills and take more pictures and, again, I just hope that they do the place justice as it was stunning.

IMG_9392I crossed the border into France with smatterings of snow all around me, then started my slow and winding drop into the valley that opened up below me.  Bourg Saint Maurice looked like a miniature town way down below, it just didn’t look real, but with each hairpin bend, it got more and more real until the Alps were just a beautiful view in my rear-view mirror.

IMG_9380I had been listening to a podcast on the way over the mountains and it came to me that the anniversary of D-Day was only two days away.  I checked the maps and realised that I could make it there if I didn’t muck about on my way through France.

I decided that I would get on and drive as much as I could. It would be around 600 miles from the Italian border to Normandy and so the more I drove in my great mood, the easier it would be tomorrow.  I ploughed on and I was sent on a massive detour as the Tunnel Du Chat was closed.  The views of the Lac Du Bourget would have been an acceptable compromise for the extra miles and time taken on any other day, but I had been spoilt by the earlier miles over the Alps.

I was frustrated and tired by now and started looking for a campsite around 7pm.  I had another 30-minute detour looking for a signposted campsite that, when I arrived, was shut for the night.  It was getting dark and I was getting tired and so I pressed on further, happy to pay for a hotel and take the extra time driving and getting well rested in a room rather than on a damp floor in my tent.

Eventually, after a fair bit of swearing and grunting at the lack of hotels or bed and breakfasts that had been plentiful all of my day until I wanted one, I ended up in a hotel in Bourg-en-Bresse.

It was too late for food and so I had a beer and bag of nuts as I caught up on the news.  I sat and watched the updates coming in from London of the terrorist attacks and found it all very upsetting.  I had experienced such a beautiful day with amazing sights and met some lovely people, yet lived in a world where hatred and anger like that could live side by side.  I went to bad happy and tired but disappointed at some of my fellow humans.

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Day 7 – Saturday, Champion!

Day 7 – Saturday, Champion!

I woke up all excited. Today was the day that I was going to drive over the Alps.  It was a bright but crisp morning and I enjoyed the red hot shower and a breakfast of nuts and coffee.  The tent was packed up in no time at all and I was back on the road, deliberately looking left all the way so that I wouldn’t realise that I was driving PAST a theme park at 9.30 on a Saturday morning.

The sun quickly burnt through the clouds and it turned into a glorious morning as I passed through little German villages, each of them looking more idyllic than the next.  It was Saturday morning and everywhere I passed through, people were heading to their local butchers, bakers and, probably, candlestick makers.  There were very few major supermarkets, it all seemed very old fashioned but beautiful to see.  Parents with kids on the back of bikes, or older kids on their little bikes peddling away like mad to keep up, but all on very safe and very well respected cycle lanes at the side of the road.

I say well respected.  I stopped at a little supermarket to pick up some bread, more nuts and some jam for lunch but as I pulled out of the car park my warning lights started flashing on the dashboard as my boot was still open.

I quickly pulled across to the side of the road as I was convinced that my tent and the rest of my gear was going to fly out across the street.   I pulled right in front of a guy on a bike that was, understandably, furious with me for pulling such a stupid manoeuvre and his mood wasn’t improved as, not realising at that point what I had done, I opened my door and nearly wiped him out a second time.

I learned a few new words in German, none of which I would like to try and repeat in polite company.  Poor fella.

I had passed through Mindenheim, Mindelweg, Kaufbeuren, Marktoberdorf and a town called Roßhaupten when I started to feel a bit peckish as it crept towards lunchtime.  I turned the corner and a beautiful scene unfolded in front of me.  Lake Forggensee looked like it was the equivalent of the Lake District as there were lots of walkers, cyclist and day trippers floating around and loads of water sports taking place on the lake. It turns out that it was manmade, formed by damming the River Lech to better control the melt water coming off the Alps, but it was a beautiful spot.

IMG_9330It looked very much as if the flat lands were now over and I was about to start my trip up into the Alps.  As the scenery panned out in front of me it looked like I was travelling from the centre of a very large plate pie and I was just coming up to the built up crust round the edges, all jagged and angry.

The backdrop was stunning and I was very excited as I ate my bread and jam and let the warm sun kiss my face.  I was surrounded by maybe 50 people sunbathing and playing around in the water and it all felt very out of place seeing this with snow and mountains in the background.

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This is not my Picture, it’s from Google, but its a good one!

I set off again, full and happy, and headed towards what I had been looking forward to for longer than I could remember.  My trip over the Alps; winding roads and stunning views.  This was it!

Maybe I was tired, maybe I was over excited, it’s hard to say, but the next few hours were really disappointing.  Rather than the tight hairpins and fantastic scenery I had in my mind’s eye, I sat on a motorway through mountains with high barriers and pretty dull views.  I made my way through Austria and stopped for petrol at a place called Fernpasse Rast.  It looked like a Bavarian hostel and all the staff were wearing traditional dress.  Again, maybe it was just my mood but it felt like hell.  There were about half a dozen trip buses, and about 250 Chinese and Indian tourists dismounted, each with a selfie stick in one hand and some seriously strong cigarettes in the other, and filled the toilets and shops with stink and excited chatter.

I pushed on to the Brenner pass and jumped over the border into Italy.  This part of the trip wasn’t what I had hoped for and I was starting to feel glum and then I remembered that it was Saturday.    Champions League final Saturday!

I quickly tried to recall who was playing and remembered that it was Juventus playing Real Madrid.  I would be able to watch an Italian team in the Champions League final in their home country.  Suddenly, my zest was back.  I parked up and had a quick review of the maps and realised that I could probably make Milan in time to get showered, booted and suited in time for the game.  Maybe wear a crisp white shirt and have some pasta made by a 95-year-old grandma that would welcome me into her kitchen to watch the game with her family?

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I felt like I had passed over an imaginary line from Northern to Southern Europe.  Suddenly, the clean perfection of Germany and Austria was replaced by scatty looking buildings, graffiti all over and a general feel of everything being half finished, or maybe half started.  Everything looked grim including the vehicles around me.

It felt like every 20 minutes I passed a pay station for the motorway.  I don’t even know how much I was charged at each station as the shame of having to get out of my car, run around to the passenger side to pay and then run back to jump in before the barrier came down was too much for me! It blows my mind that the rest of Europe still drive on the wrong side of the road 🙂

Lots of angry drivers and 4 hours later, I was near Milan.  I was tired, it was raining and I felt miserable.  I felt as if I had made the wrong choice and should have headed any other direction except Italy.  I didn’t want to fight my way into the centre of a town, never mind a city the size of Milan.  The driving was crazy and aggressive on the motorways and the city would have been a million times worse.  I felt like I wanted out of Italy and wanted to be close to the way out when I set off.

I pulled off the motorway and pulled up at a motel AS Cambiago.  I could pretty much park my car inside the bedside table and was happy to be in a bad and limitless hot shower.  I was washed and refreshed and my towel was on the bathroom drier faster than you could say ‘Forza Juve’.

I walked down to the bar, was served an ice cold Peroni and picked my seat for the match just as the teams were lining up for the anthems.  Perfect timing.  I exchanged nods and tuts with an Italian chap who was clearly a huge Juve fan and watched the first half happy that I was getting in the vibe with the locals.

Ronaldo scored on 20 minutes and it looked like it was going to be a horrible night but then Mandzukic scored an unbelievable goal to level it up and set up the second half to be a real spectacle.  I asked my new friend, let’s call him Mario, if he wanted a beer and he happily nodded his agreement.  I then spent the entire half time break and the first five minutes of the second half waiting to get served.

Let me be clear, there was just me stood at the bar.  There was no crowd and no fight to get to the front of a queue, just me, standing there with a 20 Euro note wafting it to show I intended to spend it.  The barman filled up peanut bowls, he wiped glasses clean, he moved papers around, he did anything he could find other than to serve the only customer he had.

I was starting to fall out of love with Italy.

Eventually I was served, gave Mario his beer but he was too engrossed in the football to thank me I think.  As Real Madrid slotted in a second, third and fourth goal without response in the second half I think Mario also forgot how to get the rounds in and say goodbye to me as he just got up and walked off never to be seen again.

Maybe he wasn’t a true friend after all?  That’s why I don’t feel too bad about naming him Mario.

 

 

One night in heaven (with a mosquito)

One night in heaven (with a mosquito)

In my last entry, I left you at Barragona beach, enjoying life and the paradise that I found myself in.

Over dinner one evening I was talking with one of my new work mates about his home country, Costa Rica.  He informed me that it is the safest and most developed in Central America as many of the other countries, such as Mexico, Honduras and Nicaragua  are ravaged by gang warfare, chiefly around the drugs trade.  Costa Rica on the other hand is relatively gang free.  I have to say that in the two weeks I have been in the country, I have never once felt unsafe.  When I asked why that was, he explained that the country had abolished its army in 1948 and instead, focused the funding on education.   This has resulted in a very skilled and motivated workforce and has seen huge multinationals such as P&G, HP, Intel and Oracle set up in the country?.  With an educated population and good career prospects there is not the pull of gangs for desperate kids and so it hasn’t faced the problems of the rest of the region.

They found it very hard to understand that the United Kingdom, with its overseas dependencies such as Gibraltar and The Falklands, couldn’t go without an army but the idea is an interesting one.  How much more developed would the world be without conflict I wonder?  Or, maybe the question should be, how much less developed would it be?

Our host was keen to show us a hidden beach at Samara and, after driving over a bridge that he told us had crocodiles under it, we found the dirt path down to a beach, It didn’t look too hidden to me, but then we had to follow him around the corner of the bay on the volcanic rocks.  Unfortunately the tide was already in, and coming in even further and fast, but it looked amazing.  We were told that when the tide was out, the volcanic rocks became a natural swimming pool above the sea, but a very calm and tranquil one with an infinity pool feel about it.  It was stunningly beautiful as it was, but we only had a few minutes to enjoy it for risk of being cut off by the tide.  On the way back, literally my last step before being back safe on the beach, I lost my footing and ripped a hole in the bottom of my foot on the sharp rocks.

I didn’t cry, I’m a bit tough like that, but was a bit worried that the scent of my blood would bring sharks to the bay so I made a quick exit back to the car.  On the drive back to the main beach in Samara, my driver did something that was typical of the Costa Rican way of life.  He stopped his car in the middle of the main street, wound down his window and started chatting with his friend that was working in one of the bars.  He was holding up traffic but having a good old chat then a guy in the car behind peeped his horn at him.  The look of shock on his face was priceless.  He looked at me and said with shock and surprise  “This guy must be from out of town, what the hell does he want me to do?”  I didn’t have the heart to respond “move out of the way?” it just didn’t seem like the right thing to do!

The main beach, unsurprisingly, was beautiful and I ate nachos and supped a cool beer while watching the sun gently slide below the horizon.  The surf board gangs were slowly giving up and walking home; each of them looking like underwear models and putting me to shame with their bronzed and toned bodies.  I bet they can’t handle a spreadsheet like me though, so think about that and cry yourself to sleep boys!  The whole place was relaxed with the whiff of magic smoke in the air adding to that relaxation. It really didn’t need it.

The only problem, if you can call it that, was sleeping out

in the open air.  I was going to say that the local mosquitos really enjoyed eating me, particularly around my joints, but I prefer to think of it as one very satisfied mosquito that couldn’t get enough of me.

One evening, our host had paid some of the local lads to arrange a fire on the beach for us. It was made of three tree trunks, maybe 6 feet in length, arranged into, what looked like, a funeral pyre.  The area Inside the three trunks was filled will smaller logs and branches and, the most flammable item in the world, dried palm leaves.  As a special treat the lads has also put a few coconuts in there too, just for devilment.  Once they heated up they exploded like hand grenades.  All good fun.  Someone had brought down a bluetooth speaker and there were mystical tunes being played and  a lot of mystic dancing going on around the fire.  Not by me though.

I just stood and watched and wished I had some marshmallows.

Pura Vida

Pura Vida

What do you do in Panama City Airport for two hours twenty?  Very little to be honest.    I didn’t leave Newcastle dressed in full winter wear on the assumption that it was going to be pretty warm.  My stunning intelligence and vision paid off.  It was 5pm when I landed and even at that time of day the close, humid air was a warning for what things were going to be like for the next two weeks.

As a terribly nervous traveller, I always like to walk straight to my departure gate as soon as I can so that I can get used to the area and know where I need to be.  I have a morbid fear of being late. I know it’s not healthy but I can’t change!  By the time I walked to the gate, maybe a 15 minute walk, I realised that I had walked from one end of the airport, through the busy section, and out to the other side.  The idea of walking all the way back to the heart of the airport just filled me with sadness.

I sat at the gate, well next to it at least as there was nowhere near enough seating, and abused the free Wi-Fi.  Eventually, the time came to board and the second I sat down, I was asleep.  I missed two things as a result:

1) The inflight meal
2) The chance of seeing the Panama canal (all be it in the black dark)

Maybe it was the long flight and the fact I was so tired but it really did upset me more than I thought it would.  I hate missing out on free food.

Once we landed in San Jose, after what felt like 5 minutes due to my sleep, it was time for customs.  It was all going so well, no other flight arriving and so straight to the front of the queue. Then the customs guy asked me where I was staying that night.  I had no idea!  My new boss and his wife were picking me up from the airport and I was staying with them at their home but where that home was, I had no single clue!

I sent massages to my boss, thanks to the free Wi-Fi, but he wasn’t responding as he was parking the car. Eventually, I was the last guy in the security area.  Border control guys were getting tired and they wanted to go home and so they called me back to the desk asking me what the problem was.  “Your colleague told me that I can’t get into the country until I can confirm where I am staying.  I am just waiting for him to call me back” I explained.

“Who is this guy?” they demanded.  I showed them my bosses profile picture on Facebook so that they knew that I was talking to a ‘local’ and they said, “Ah, fine, that will do”.  They didn’t need an address as in a postcode or house number, they just needed a region.  Well, by that time of night they did anyway when they wanted to go home!

My boss and his wife were waiting for me when I walked into the airport and it was great to be with friends again.  Twenty minutes later I was in the house and freshening up ready to go back out again.  A whole hour after clearing customs, there I was sat in an independent brewery in the hipster area of San Jose eating a burger and a bloody good burger at that! I had a quick beer and then we headed home, by this point it was maybe midnight local time.  As soon as I got in the car it hit me like a wet fish over the face, I was instantly the most tired man on the planet.

Once back to base, I climbed into bed and that was me out like a light, ready for my 8am wake up call for a 8.30 departure to be at the office for 9.

The next morning, I got my first understanding of the Costa Rican idea of time keeping.  The 8am wake up call never came but I was already awake due to outside noises, chiefly dogs barking.  I was all set and ready to go at 8.30 and sat, and sat and sat.  At 9.30 we left the house and got to the office at 10.30….I immediately began to panic about the time keeping for my return home flight!


The next morning, literally as I was getting into the back of the car to be driven to the office, I was told that I was going the beach for a team building day and so to make sure that I was packed.  I quickly ran back to the house to pack a bag with my shorts, t-shirt and beach towel.  As I threw it in the back of the car, my boss called me a light packer.  I asked what he meant and he said that it wasn’t much for 2 days staying over. Balls!  So I grabbed two more t-shirts and another pair of shorts and off we went to work.

The office was cool and I met more of my colleagues and, two hours after starting my day at work, off we went for lunch.  We walked over to a ’Soda’ which is what they call a greasy spoon cafe.  The food was typical, rice and beans with a sort of Caribbean hot sauce.  When we came out, we jumped straight into a little 4×4 and I left my boss behind and travelled to the beach with two of my new workmates.

I just assumed that San Jose was on the beach, just from the way that the guys had been talking.  When the lad that was driving set off his sat nav, it was four and a half hours ETA!  San Jose is, I later found out, right in the middle of Central America.  Instead of heading east to the Caribbean coast, which is where I assumed we were really close to, we were heading west to the Pacific coast.  I know that I am totally ignorant, judge away, but I never even thought of a west coast!

We were on the road for two hours when we got to a bridge in an area called Guanacaste.  The lad driving told us that it was known officially as the Taiwan Friendship Bridge but is known locally as the “Back Stab Bridge”.  It turns out that having completed the bridge in 2003, thus connecting the major west coast deep sea port and the capital city, the president of the time turned his back on Taiwan in favour of Taiwan’s hated neighbour, China.  He then went on to have the Chinese build the national sports stadium. What a bad ass!

As we got closer to our destination the sun had gone down and the roads got worse and so the car got slower.  It was hot and dusty sat in the back of a small 4×4 and I was getting tired.  Eventually, after fracturing at least half of my vertebrae by hitting pot holes at speed, we ended up at the co workers house near the beach in Nicoya.   I say house, it didn’t have walls or, in most places, a roof.  It was more like a travellers hostel with open bedrooms, a shared kitchen and a single toilet/shower that had never been cleaned.  Ever.

I sat on the balcony, just watching the moon rise from behind the mountain and listen to the sea that was clearly close, but how close I couldn’t at that point tell.  I was offered a double airbed and settled down to sleep with no blanket, no pillow and no bedtime story.  I was out like a light though, only to wake at 2 am feeling deflated.  Well, the bed was anyway.  It looked like I was the tasty filling in an airbed themed taco.  So I got up and moved onto the hammock instead and had the worst night’s sleep I had ever had.  No more than 30 minutes sleep at a time.  I gave up and instead watched the sun rise over the palm trees that only just hid the gentle waves of the Pacific onto the golden beach which couldn’t have been more than 500 meters away.

When the rest of the gang woke up, we wandered down the dusty track to the local Soda where we had, you guessed it, rice and beans.  Washed down by a cup of coffee, we were ready for the day.  We jumped into the four by fours, and set off for the beach armed with meat and a BBQ made out of an old car wheel.

We were told that the beach was on land owned by Mel Gibson.  He had tried to close it to the public but Costa Rican law states that every beach in the country belongs to the people and so he couldn’t have his way.  Nice idea I think.  The road to it was amazingly bumpy and needed 4×4’s to access it, not least for the river that had to be forded to get there.  Apparently local councils offer to make good on these dirt tracks to make access easier but the locals demand that they stay as they are, preferring to deter tourists from the quiet beach and feeling that the challenge of getting to the beach is part of the fun of being there.

Barrigona beach, the beach in question, means ‘Big Belly Beach’ which is weird as there was no one there with a big belly and not one single ice cream or fish and chip stall.  Instead, you had maybe two miles of golden sand, perfect blue skies and powerful waves breaking on the crescent bay.  I am not a good enough wordsmith to even begin to do justice to the beauty of the place. I hope that the pictures above go some way to help.

I actually fell asleep against a palm tree, I shit you not, and woke to see one of the guys excitedly waving his arms and pointing.  An animal, that I later learned was called a Pizote, was scurrying around the camp looking to pick through the bags of food. A cute little devil, looking like a raccoon but with a nose extension made out of cork, he spent maybe 4 hours probing at the camp.  In the end, he caught us all looking at the sunset and found a way in to take the coconut husk that had been holding up the BBQ.  Despite the fact that it was smoking and glowing red, he was trying to tear it apart with his little paws, burning them and his snout in quite a carefree manner.

There was an old tree trunk on the beach proudly displaying a very amateur slogan, “Pura Vida”. I asked about this and was told that it meant “Pure Life”. It is more than a phrase, more a mantra by which they live their lives and I am very thankful that they do.

No fuss, no stress, no worries (until you’re trying to catch a plane home!).

 

Familia Favourite, Barcelona 2016

Familia Favourite, Barcelona 2016

Back in October we found ourselves in a position with spare holiday, no kids to look after and a carefree and footloose mentality.  Add all that together and you end up with a long weekend in Barcelonaaaaa!

Before we get into the details, let us just tell you about the problems we faced before we picked Barcelona.  When you only have a limited, and definitive, period of time that you are able to travel and have a local airport to fly from, the number of destinations that you have for a mini break are limited.  Flying out on a Saturday and coming back on the Tuesday we were limited to Barcelona, Amsterdam or Rotterdam.

As charming as Rotterdam (no doubt) is, it didn’t have the same charms as Barcelona and Amsterdam just didn’t feel like what we were looking for.  The chance of getting a little bit of late Autumn sun was too good to turn down.

We flew with Vueling, a first for us both, and noticed that there was a lot of negative chatter on the way out and home about the service.  I have to say, we had no issues at all.  I think that anyone that complains about the service that they receive on a low cost airline needs to get a grip.  If you are paying £60 to get to Spain in an aeroplane, you have to assume that you won’t be getting champagne, foie gras, six feet of leg room and a shoulder rub.  The  flights were on time, the staff were friendly, the plane didn’t crash and we set off and landed in airports close to both city centres.  For £60 you could just about drive to London and park for a half day.  Rant over!

When we landed, we got the train to the city centre (only a few Euros each)  and then walked the half mile to our Hotel, the Hotel Ciutat Barcelona.  We felt perfectly comfortable walking the streets, despite the late hour and despite the fact that we arrived at a major train station that are often not in the best parts of town.

We arrived pretty late in the day but the staff were friendly and the reception was perfectly clean and smart looking.  The room was everything that you could ask for and the free and unlimited bottled water in the hotel was very welcome.  The WiFi was free and fast and the balcony looking out onto the street gave a lovely view onto normal life of the locals.

As I have said in earlier posts, Titchy Feet isn’t great at planning and organisation and that is where Titchy Feet excels. More than ever, we were both thankful of that when Titchy had organised tickets to see the tour of the Sagrada Familia.  When we got there, after a pleasant walk from up from the city centre, the queues were enormous and there were a lot of red faced tourists shouting at the staff as they were ‘only in Barcelona for one day and we CAN’T come back tomorrow’.  If you don’t book up, you won’t get in so be warned!

For those that don’t know, the Sagrada Familia is a church that began construction in 1882 and is still not finished.  A part of me wanted to blame Mediterranean work ethic and long siestas, but as soon as you see it, you understand why.  The architect was Antoni Gaudi who was killed by a street tram outside of the church in 1926 and, the hope is, that the work will be completed on the centennial anniversary of his passing.  It is HUGE.

It feels as if every single square inch of the vast building is considered, meaningful, relevant and beautiful.  To have visited the place without going on the guided tour, you would have missed so much,  it was the best use of €24 that we could have found.

I am not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, but this was an amazing tour, a testament to the talent of mankind and the beauty that we can create.  Many people have devoted their lives to finishing the plans Gaudi created and I would love to think that, one day, I would be able to return to see it completed.

The next day Titchy had bought us tickets to see Gaudi’s other project in Barcelona, Park Guell.  Again, we had paid for the tour and it was worth it, but this time for very different reasons.  The guide was a Catalonian gent, early 60’s I would say, and he was terrible but so terrible that he was hilarious!  We didn’t learn a huge amount about the place but it felt like were in the middle of a Fast Show sketch.

Don’t get me wrong, we had a great walk around the park in the sunshine and we really enjoyed it, but after spending the previous day walking around Sagrada Familia, I think we were both a little overfilled on Gaudi by that point.

In the morning, we had a walk around town.  We pottered down the famous Las Ramblas, although I’m not too sure what it’s famous for.  I think it’s knocked off Barcelona or Real Madrid football kits and iced drinks.  Nothing too exciting to see but one of those places that you have to visit just to say you have done!

We wandered down to the port to look at the posh boats and cruise ships in the harbour before taking a trip on the Telefericos De Barcelona.  It was a lovely trip, with great views of Barcelona, and it ended up in a lovely park looking over the city.

In between our culture trips, the meals were lovely and pretty reasonably priced and the whole vibe of the city was really nice.  Every corner that we turned there seemed to be something happening or something to see and we didn’t bump into anyone that was rude or unpleasant all the time that we were there.

A lovely city break, I will be back when its finished!

London and The Surrey Hills

 

A few weeks ago, I was all booked and ready to head to London on a business trip when the meeting was cancelled.  I had booked non-refundable tickets and had quite a few spare days holiday and so decided to take both my camera and the opportunity to travel.

I spent my first day walking around London and being a tourist for a day rather than a head-down business type.  I then set off to Woking to catch up with a really good friend.  It was a great evening, bringing him up to speed with what had been going on in my world and then taking advantage of his patience and experience.  He really is a great guy, full of experience and an uncanny ability to let me talk away for hours and then pick up on what I need to focus on, what I need to forget about and how to better myself.  It’s like he takes my words, catches them and reflects them all back to me with insightful words and searching questions.

He took me for a drive the next day, into Surrey and the stockbroker belt.  Some of the pictures below are from Leith Hill, where you can see the English Channel, London Skyline, Heathrow and Gatwick Airports all from the same place.

It really is a stunning part of the world and it was a great chance to see a part of the country that I haven’t really explored before.

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Welcome to our blog.

Welcome to our blog.

IMG_7864.JPGThank you for stopping by, and welcome to our blog.  Although we are a couple that intend to blog about our travels, our dream holidays that we will probably never have and our general adventures, the chances are that it will be me (Itchy Feet) that will do the majority of the posting and she (Titchy Feet) that does the proof reading and censoring.

In other words, if you enjoy the blog, that’s all down to me (Itchy).  If you spot any typos, then that’s all her fault!

Why are we doing this?  Part of it is to document the things that we have done and share our adventures.  Hopefully, not in a way that is deemed to be showing off as I very much doubt that our adventures will be in the sort of locations, hotels, restaurants or bars that would be classed as ‘show-ey’!  My hope is that someone that is looking to travel to places that we have been might take something from our experience and make their trips a little better.  With that in mind, if you have any questions about any of the blog posts, please just let us know and we will try to get back to you.

The other reason that we are doing this is to make sure that we get ourselves organised enough to have the proposed adventures that we can blog about.  Sometimes life gets too comfortable and a sofa and box set seem like the best option. I want to challenge myself to have adventures and go through with the plans that I have in my head.  I want to get my ideas down in a blog and make it happen, do rather than talk.

I hope that makes sense and I really hope that you enjoy the blog. If it isn’t your cup of tea, there is plenty more internet for you to explore!  Otherwise, we will be happy to share a virtual cup of tea and have a chat so come in and put your feet up!