tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-238756252024-03-12T23:37:09.934+00:00Simons Red BlogWhilst on a holiday in the Baltic States and St Petersburg I found it useful to post items to the Blog so that my family and friends could "share" my holiday.
Blogs can be much more spontaneous than Web Pages because Blogs are easier and quicker to create.
I have an extensive website "Simons Red Pages" at www.redsimon.info so if you have loads of time to kill, point your browser there !redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-83009253141164242052014-06-21T22:42:00.000+01:002014-06-21T22:42:47.312+01:00BUGGY DOWN<P>Every enterprise has to have difficulties, problems, setbacks, and before every new event one can wonder when these will happen. I wasn't left wondering for very long when preparing for the visit of Juris and his mum Helena; before I had really started packing in earnest and before I had collected the wheelchair I trapped a nerve in my back. Since then everything has been very painful. Oh and I hit the same pothole on the roundabout for M42 J9 that possibly wrecked my shock absorber 2 months ago and will have caused more damage; that matter is now with HAIL.</P>
<P>Putting those negatives behind me on day one it MIGHT be that we can look forward to a more straightforward passage from here on. Fingers crossed.</P>
<P>The collection at Luton Airport was almost painless apart from having to pay £8.20 in the Mid Term car park. We were quickly winging our way into the bosom of Buckinghamshire for the National Trust gardens at Stowe. Attempting to confront the wheelchair issue at Stowe we were offered the loan of an electric buggy to navigate the vast grounds. This was a 4-seater and we ALL got to drive it, though not necessarily with the approval of the NT.</P>
<P>Anyway we made good use of it, discovering temples, rotundas and features in every corner, and in amongst all this the boys of Stowe School playing Tennis, Golf, Cricket and Badminton. Eventually when we got to the top of the biggest hill and at the furthest point from the NT my phone rang; "where is our buggy?" Managed to find our way back and still with a little electricity left in it!</P>
<P>Onwards to the Days Inn on M40 J8A for the evening and our first night. The room is okay, the sleep quite good even with pain in back, and the Thunderstorm magnificent. Now we must make our own breakfast as we don't want to pay £9.99 for a few sausages egg and tomato.</P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-77860435599561508942014-06-21T22:38:00.000+01:002014-06-21T22:38:02.373+01:00THE ROTHSCHILD ROSE<P>Our first full day in the south of England began with the traditional English Breakfast. Last night's curled up sandwiches - this is only traditional for Juris, I think. But we decided to save money on a hotel breakfast, and that's what we had. I did take the precaution of buying milk and those miniature cereals packets so at least we were able to have a bowl of Cheerios.</P>
<P>Then we hit the road and headed back into Buckinghamshire for Waddesdon Manor, the huge pile designed and built by the Rothschilds in 1857. I remember seeing a documentary about the Rothschilds and about how in spite of all their wealth and being at the core of the British establishment they were still looked down on as being 'nouveau riche' and not really aristocracy. Well Waddesdon revealed a certain 'aspirational' thinking rather than a <i>'we've already got there so we don't need to boast about it'</i>.</P>
<P>If the building date had been 1957 instead of 1857 then I would have said it was pure Disneyland and the whole edifice was stolen from 'Cinderella' or some other Walt Disney cartoon made before computers ruined the quality of the artwork. But maybe Walt stole his sets from Waddesdon instead. Its architecture is a jumble of bits probably plagiarized from a number of French Chateau and orther European buildings. The only unity is the poor taste and lack of originality. But it is impressive if only in size and grandeur.</P>
<P>However, the gardens were grand, and we enjoyed the Aviary garden, the truly fabulous Rose Garden which could be smelled almost before it could be seen, and then the Grand Parterre along the frontage of the house.</P>
<P>Helena walked some of the time, and rode in her wheelchair some of the time. Never complained, never made demands, and always seemed in complete wonder at every place she went and everything we saw.</P>
<P>After this, and somewhat later than planned, we headed into the city of Oxford. Arriving at almost 4 O'clock it was too late to do any organised visits, so we just ambled around for three hours. We found a chippery that gave us 'Posh Fish' for less than £6 a head with cheaps and beans or peas and it was really tasty.</P>
<P>Then back to Days Inn at Junction 8A to collapse. Ten hours exploring today. Tomorrow we transfer to Kent.</P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-54798194827349656562014-06-21T22:29:00.000+01:002014-06-21T22:29:54.250+01:00WISLEY WISE<P>Sunday began with a traditional Latvian version of an English Breakfast at M40 J8A Oxford. That is, no eggs, no bacon, no sausages, no fried bread, no mushrooms, no beans, no black pudding ..... Then we had to pack and vacate the rooms.</P>
<P>We decided to visit Wisley Gardens on the way to Tonbridge. Now the weather could have been kinder, but it didn't actually rain, and the grey clouds just subdued the colours and views. It only took about an hour to reach Wisley even with all our luggage.</P>
<P>On arrival we "negotiated" a place in the Disabled Car Park, even though we don't have a Blue Badge. Now I'm getting a bit pissed off with all this tyranny of Blue Badges. It seems you are NOT disabled unless you have a Blue Badge, although of course we all know now that half of all Blue Badges are actually used by the ABLE members of their family when they shouldn't be.</P>
<P>With a wheelchair member we need all the benefits of a disabled space, such as wider space and nearer the facilities. We don't need all the bureaucracy of the Blue Badge scheme, and all the paperwork, etc. I say let people with genuine ability needs use disabled spaces without application or formal processes. Those that use such spaces falsely will have their limbs severed on the spot preferably without anaesthetic.</P>
<P>To add to my annoyance at Wisley, and at some National Trust properties, and at many Supermarkets, there were 'Parent' spaces, Wider spaces for families. I have absolutely NO tolerance of such rubbish whatsoever. You are NOT disabled, and should not be given any more facilities than a single male!!! But just to put it into perspective, you don't need a Blue Badge (or any other colour badge) to park in a Parent space - people trust you to be a Parent, but not to be disabled.</P>
<P>Scrap the Blue Badge scheme, and scrap all Parent spaces.</P>
<P>The wheelchair travelled ALL around Wisley, not only through the various woods, wild meadows, and rose gardens, but also through the hot houses. The Rose gardens were extensive and spectacular, and the Poppy meadow, in commemoration of the Great War was dramatic.</P>
<P>I explained to a number of people how the Poppy came to be such a symbol of WWI (They sprang up naturally in the Spring following all the shelling and fighting across the fields of Flanders and France; Poppies like disturbed ground and can lay dormant for generations). But it seems that so many people are busy clamouring for Parent parking spaces that they do not know some basic history.</P>
<P>We stayed much longer than intended because even in fairly gloomy conditions, it was still truly wonderful. When we left it was too late to move onto another attraction. Instead we headed straight to Tonbridge and checked into the Rose and Crown right on the main street. Then we explored a rather historic and scenic little town bridging the River Medway and guarding this crossing with a Norman Motte and Bailey Castle. Our only hot meal was provided by a Two for One offer on Domino Pizza, and I rather suspects that the remnants of that will provide breakfast in the morning. Hey Ho. It's Chartwell and Hever tomorrow and maybe the Kent coast in the evening; give me some sun please.</P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-12388279529698254542014-06-21T21:39:00.000+01:002014-06-21T22:22:52.723+01:00THE KENTISH ROSE<P>My sister and I have encountered the 'Best Western' chain of hotels before, since they exist in many countries; suffice it to say "Adequate Western" better describes them. This chain appears to buy once proud establishments and does little with them except maintain them. However the <a href="http://www.bestwestern.co.uk/hotels/rose-and-crown-hotel-tonbridge-83792/hotel-info/default.aspx">Best Western Rose and Crown, Tonbridge</a> did provide us with free WiFi which worked tolerably well, as did the plumbing. I can't comment on the food because in true Latvian tradition I wasn't allowed to have any here. </P>
<P>Best Western only provided us with twin beds, but they worked well enough. One of my readers has asked, "how is your back?" Well I think the nerve is still trapped, and certainly small movements such as turning in bed, etc are the most difficult and most painful; perhaps Juris is glad of the single beds now. Once I am up and about there is too much to do to spend time thinking about my back pain. Besides I would rather complain about the Grand Issues such as The Blue Badge tyranny than complain about my own pain!</P>
<P>We arrived at Tonbridge having knocked off Waddesdon Manor where we spent too long to be able to tick off another attraction. However, there was time for Mama to have a rest whilst Juris and I explored this little town, The Waitrose of course was closed as this was late Sunday afternoon, but we ambled down the rather pretty main street with some properties, such as the Rose and Crown Hotel, dating back to Jacobean times, whilst many others were early Victorian. It perhaps looked a little tired in places, but pleasant enough. The Motte and Bailey Castle was dominant presence on the banks of the River Medway by the rather charming iron bridge across it. </P>
<P>Juris and I investigated the options for eating and returned with Mama to take advantage of Domino's Two for One deal on large Pizzas for collection on Sunday. We returned these to our rooms at the Rose and Crown and ate enthusiastically after a day of thin pickings. The church bells rang out whilst we feasted, and it turns out that my niece Catherine, who lives in Kent, was actually ringing them as Bell Captain.</P>
<P>You can believe by now that cold Dominos Pizzas formed our breakfast, before we set off for two local attractions. Our first was the home of Winston Spencer Churchill at Chartwell, where delightful Kent lanes with Oast houses and little brick villages led us.</P>
<P>It may be four decades since I last went to Chartwell, and it all seemed bigger this time around. Mama was mesmerised by it all. Having foolishly accepted a timed visit to the house 2 hours ahead, we were almost forced to spend 2 hours in the garden; but it wasn't that difficult. The gardens were blooming wonderful, and the only minus point for us is that there are steps. The NT has provided a number of wheelchair friendly ways around but you will still find some steps up or down barring your way to some feature. Mama would not stopped in this way, and abandoned the wheel chair and strode onward.</P>
<P>There was a wonderful rose garden, which in mid June was at its prime. Then there was the Golden Rose Walk, a present from the children to their Churchill parents on the occasion of their golden wedding anniversary. A lovely gift, and a delightful place to stroll, and also to sip tea from our flask. The garden studio also helped to fill out our time as Mama took a keen interest in the paintings made by WSC all over the world; politician, strategist, writer, bricklayer and painter, there was no end to the talents of Churchill.</P>
<P>Thirty mintues still remained until our timed entrance to the house, but I negotiated an advance and we entered at 13:00hrs instead of 13:30. The wheelchair was parked outside and Mama set off inside climbing without complaint any stairs that confronted her. Chartwell is a delightful house with charming rooms of good proportion, now filled with His memorabilia; what's not to like. Retrieving the wheel chair from one side of the house to re-unite with Mama on the other side was quite a feat, requiring me to be escorted the wrong way through the house, and then having to circumnavigate the gardens and lug the device up a couple of flights of steps. </P>
<P>After that effort I unanimously decided to visit the restaurant and purchase two "sandwiches". £5.50 is probably the most I have ever paid for a single sandwich, the bread surrounding the Tuna and Cucumber and also the Bacon and Egg sandwich made it very tasty. Don't tell Juris how much they cost. We availed ourselves of the facilities and ate the NT fayre before setting off for venue two.</P>
<P>More Kentish lanes and then we arrived to Hever Castle where our wheelchair status at least allowed us to park on the lawn close to the house. We explored first the gardens, once more entering into a world of Roses, I cannot believe how many Roses we have seen since leaving Luton Airport. And to cap it all, Hever Castle is the home of the Tudor Rose dynasty, the unification of the Red Rose of Lancaster with the White Rose of the House of York. This dynasty was all explained, and complicated it is, on panels within the Castle.</P>
<P>Little remains of the Boleyn (crafty, conniving, ruthlessly scheming Tudors) family as much of Hever Castle was refitted when the Astors moved in just over a century ago. But it has been tastefully done, and was pleasant enough to explore. Mama did it all, including the spiral stone staircase, but was granted remission and allowed to descend by a simpler staircase. Then back to the garden, walking to the lake through the Italian garden, then back to the car where the final portions of the Pizza and the remains of the Chartwell cucumber sandwich were eaten.</P>
<P>Cousin Trish said I must be mad to do Chartwell and Hever in one day, and we were but did it anyway. Returning to Tonbridge the question of an evening meal raised itself. After some lively discussion we ended up at a fish and chippery; where I was disgusted to find that I qualified for an OAP serving of fish and chips at £3.80. I didn't mind saving the money, and the portion was plentiful, but the suggestion that I might be "old" is intolerable. And so exhausted to bed, no time to write up this blog.</P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-45849706739602298252014-06-21T21:25:00.000+01:002014-06-21T21:25:40.704+01:00NYMAN AND OLD MAN<P>Many people would have thought that driving almost 300 miles from Kent to Cornwall was a big enough task to fill a day, but that's not the way we do things (apparently!), and the National Trust membership needed to be put to good use in spite of the transition we had to make.</P>
<P>So it was that we departed Tonbridge, after gathering a few quick photos and the makings of a picnic lunch from Waitrose. Our first port of call was due to be the gardens at Nymans, and perhaps I should have been a little concerned when Tomtom told me that the 28 mile journey would take an hour, but it took far longer. I wanted one last session with the Kentish lanes, a decision I was going to regret. The journey to Nymans via Eat Grinstead was a real grind, scarcely a stretch of road above 30 or 40mph, several sets of traffic light-controlled road works, and finally a very large tractor crawling along pulling a low loader bearing a JCB.</P>
<P>We paused at East Grinstead for relief and ambled along the pretty main street before finding a lovely cafe where we drunk refreshing tea and delicious lemon curd cake. Juris also purchased cigarettes, which tamed his tiger usefully!</P>
<P>Eventually we arrived at Nymans, once again using our cardboard box inscribed "THIS VEHICLE CARRIES A WHEELCHAIR" in place of the dreadful Blue Badge. But there was a change at Nymans; only two of us had to pay admission which because Juris and I had taken out NT membership meant that we were 'free'. These houses work on the principle that the carer of a 'less able' person is free, and that meant that Juris (or I !!) should have been free at all houses, but because we already had membership we were not given the 'carer' or 'companion' discount. At Nymans, however, they saw the absurdity of this predicament and waved us through - effectively 3 for 2 as it should have been.</P>
<P>The gardens at Nymans are set around the ruins of a manor house which suffered a number of catastrophic fires, the last in 1947. The stark burnt out shell makes a wonderful backdrop to herbaceous borders of colour and variety, with a frame of vivid green topiary at the lower edges of the light stonework. We had a long wander through the arboretum, the wild garden, and surprise surprise the Rose Garden. Having concluded that the sun NEVER shines in Kent, it touched everything with its brightest tentacles and gave us colour and sights of true beauty. I set a target of one hour to "do" Nymans, but needless to say nobody observed my limit.</P>
<P>The journey to Cornwall had to continue, and a route via Guildford and the Hogs Back was chosen in order to stay well south of London and avoid traffic gathering for the first day of Royal Ascot. Once we hit the A31 the tortuous lanes of Kent that had so impeded our earlier journey were quickly forgotten. Then onto the M3 and A303 and a chance to grapple with our huge journey with more determination; even so some cars did overtake us. My Peugeot 208 gave a lot of trouble last year, but now 3 up with a wheelchair and luggage for a week, I cannot complain. We achieved the A303 and later A30 at speeds I will not put in print, the car seeming to relish the extra weight which even improved the handling.</P>
<P>On a late afternoon just prior to the Midsummer Solstice we came across Stonehenge. We had phoned ahead to check on opening times, and having established that 17:00 was last admission the Tomtom ETA of 16:45 looked close, and hence the need to press on down the A303. Arrival at Stonehege was ahead of TomTom and we were quickly at the Ticket counter. Just as at Nymans our NT memberships were accepted and a 'companion' ticket given for free. Then onto a little Land Train driven by a rather struggling Land-Rover that took us all up to the monument.</P>
<P>Bathed in brilliant sunshine the megolithic stones made a majestic end to our sight seeing today. There isn't much you can do at Stonehenge other than amble around the circle covering about 11 hours of the clock face before turning and doing it all again in reverse. But the bright sun warming the stones also warmed our hearts, and we felt no need to rush, even with almost 200 miles still to go. We even sat outside the complex and enjoyed our (late) picnic, but don't tell sister Biddi who was waiting with a meal for us down in Cornwall ! Our picnic was brown rolls already spread with butter, to which each person could add Honey Roast Ham or Smoked Salmon pate which Waitrose had provided in Tonbridge (11 hours ago). We also had apples, fresh tomatoes, cucumber and a flask of Broccoli and Cheese soup. If that wasn't enough we also had bought in the Kentish lanes fresh Cherries and Cherry Tomatoes.</P>
<P>The clock said almost 19:00 when we regained the A303 and TomTom told us that arrival at sister's would be 22:15. It wasn't as simple as that, however, because the petrol meter told me that we would run dry 40 miles from home. I expected to join the M5 prior to Exeter Services, and thereby to resolve the fuel situation, but it wasn't to be because we joined at J29 and then were on the A30 from J30; no fuel. I phoned little brother from the car as he lives at Exminster. "Where is the next fuel on the A30?" He tried to advise us, and then a sign suddenly said "Services". Saved! Moretonhampstead provided us fuel and a little pause for my passengers who were informed that there would be NO MORE STOPS as we were already well behind schedule.</P>
<P>From here on in I could drive the journey wearing a blind fold. I know every inch of it, know when to overtake, when to cut the corners, when to be wary of the white car parked in a lay-by brandishing a speed gun. The only hiccup was just after the sign proclaiming "Welcome to Cornwall". Our welcome consisted of sitting stationary at traffic lights for 5 minutes, and then doing the next 3 miles at 10 mph behind a 'FOLLOW ME' tractor. Pressing on again, I quit the A30 at Boxheater, heading to the coast via Goonhavern and Perranporth through proper Cornish lanes - my favourite way. </P>
<P>22:25 arrival, and if you are exhausted by the account of our passage, consider how these three travellers felt after 12 hours doing it. Enjoyed the frantic drive though on a clear summer evening with little traffic. So to bed and the first sleep on ASDA's finest air mattress on my sister's lounge floor.</P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-86831989974660904142014-06-21T21:19:00.001+01:002014-06-21T21:19:33.240+01:00CORNISH COAST<P>Our first day in Cornwall began with BREAKFAST, now there's a novelty on this trip! My sister's extensive larder provided ANYTHING that anyone wanted, in my case fresh Olive bread, cereal with fresh strawberries. Mama and
Juris made their own fresh salad and enjoyed sliced ham on good bread.</P>
<P>Then we set off to show the beauty of Cornwall and there is no finer showcase than the North Cornwall coast. Driving passed the 4 miles of golden sands at Perranporth, then Porth, Watergate Bay, Mawgan Porth and beyond on the coast road that skirts Newquay and reaches the National Trust lands at Carnewas, commonly referred to as 'Bedruthan Steps'. Here we parked up, guided to a disabled parking space where everyone was decanted.</P>
<P>We set off on the clifftop path the wheelchair passing within a foot or so of sheer drops down to still azure blue Atlantic beneath. The colour was vivid, but the surface was too calm, stilled by the high pressure sitting overhead; that same weather system did, however, deliver us the intense sunlight to make everything glow.</P>
<P>My cousin had messaged me: "I trust it is sunny in Cornwall too and that you don’t intend to take Mama on a cliff walk – with or without the wheelchair!" but by the time I read this it was already too late. Mama had been on a cliff walk in and out of the wheelchair. Though we didn't press Mama into going too far, the views were just so vivid that nobody wanted to be short changed of them. We took freshly made Watercress soup in a truly homemade NT cafe served with chunky saffron bread, and I can thoroughly recommend this enterprise.</P>
<P>A short drive across country took us to the 16th century manor house of Trerice, a place that has fond memories for me as both my mother and father would go here at the drop of a hat. Father would march in through the front door and ask to be allowed to cross to the Barn Cafe without having to pay admission; he was always allowed. And so it was with us, Biddi and I negotiated our own free passage to the Barn Cafe, and agreed admission to the house for Juris (as member) and his mum (free as less able). Biddi and I sat at table in the Barn garden supping lovely tea and eating home made Blueberry Victoria sponge cake, whilst the Latvians used up another chunk of the NT membership; that £100 quid has already saved us money.</P>
<P>After that I set the TomTom to take us back to Biddi's house by the shortest route, fully realising just how exciting this might be! True to TomTom's best traditions he found us a long lost ford and then took us down a very narrow lane near St Newlyn East. Now I am used to driving down Cornish lanes so narrow that the wing mirrors get ripped off and all the paint gets scratched from the sides of the car, but this was something else. There was only 3 feet between the foliage on each side of the lane and we needed to proceed slowly and keep the windows shut. Clearly no vehicles had passed down here for a long time, although the cow poo down the centre of this lane told us of bovine traffic. <P>
<P>You can stick your motorways, this is better driving. We cut across to Cubert and then by the back lanes to St Piran's Oratory where St Piran first set up shop in about AD 600 bringing Christianity to Cornwall from Ireland. The remains of the ancient Oratory are still sunk into the Perranporth sand dunes, kept buried because that preserves them better than other means in the shifting dunes.</P>
<P>Thus ended our first Cornish excursion. We will eat a proper meal tonight, the one denied by our non-arrival last night. But tonight we will have Champagne to toast Juris' study success and the imminent start of his research project back in Latvia. Cheers.<P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-8625604526230236642014-06-21T21:10:00.000+01:002014-06-21T21:10:29.943+01:00PENWITH PASSAGE<P>Thursday began again with BREAKFAST; that's two days running. Biddi opened her larder and I ate delicious sour dough bread toasted with butter and Marmite that dripped through my fingers, and after cereals with fresh strawberries and piled high with a dollop of clotted Cornish cream. Mmmm. Mama and Juris made salad and had this with fried leftovers from last night. Everybody had whatever they wanted.</P>
<P>For our final day in Cornwall I chose to go to West Penwith, the very toe of Cornwall. We called in at the Truro Sainsburys arriving there almost on fresh air as the few litres of fuel I had added at Moretonhampstead were running dry; I wanted to be sure to get my double points at Sainsburys on a full tank, and incidentally saved 3pence a litre from what was offered on the A30.</P>
<P>Then via the A394 and Helston to the outskirts of Marazion where we sat in the beach side car park with St Michaels Mount towering above us. A perfect spot for morning tea, and we sat on the beach with our flask and our lemon cake. Mounts Bay showed us its bluest sea and its bluest sky and it was a joy to pause with our tea and cake amidst such marine beauty. Juris and I went for a paddle in the sea, but the shingle beach was uncomfortable on the feet and daunted Mama who had been game to try it.</P>
<P>Then back to the A30, around the back of Penzance, through Sheffield and Leedstown before reaching Lamorna Cove. We parked precipitately above the boulder strewn shore before ambling around the little harbour wall which was thoroughly wrecked by the winter storms. It wasn't as pretty as I might have hoped, but we still had the blue sky and sea, and few other people to spoil our enjoyment of it. A flask of soup with sandwiches provided an excellent picnic at this little cove and we relaxed in the hot sun.</P>
<P>After that I headed to St Just and my favourite road from St Just to St Ives. However my passage was spoiled by German tourists driving cars that were twelve feet wide and they stopped at the approach of anything, even a cyclist. Of course their vehicles were no wider than mine, and whilst it is true that this road is scarcely much more than 12 feet wide and sometimes rather less, it is mostly capable of letting two vehicles drive past each other. The Germans were over cautious and it would be better if they stayed in areas that have bigger roads.</P>
<P>So I quit my favourite road earlier than usual and cut to St Agnes where we could chill out before our evening meal.</P>
<P>Last evening, after our evening meal, Juris and I took a walk from Wheal Coates Mine above Chapel Porth and down to the famous cliffside engine house of Towanroath. This is one of my favourite walks, and only in June can you see the western end of the engine house lit by the sun. Tonight after our meal we took Mama to Wheal Coates Mine for a walk in the evening sun, though NOT down to Towanroath. After that we drove to Chapel Porth beach arriving just moments before the sun crashed into the sea and it was snuffed out. Day ended. </P>
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<P><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157645122605516/" title ="Click here for FLICKR photo Album ">Click here for FLICKR photo Album </a></P>
redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-24118462446514971442013-12-29T14:32:00.000+00:002013-12-29T14:32:25.685+00:00COMO: LAKE RAIN<P>Yesterday in spite of dire warnings from the BBC promising the close down of Britain, I achieved my flight from Manchester to Heathrow on time, and from Heathrow to Milano Linate on time. we were coached to Cadenabbia on Lake Como in good time and by 15:00hrs I was enjoying a delicious thick hot chocolate in a bar near the hotel.</P>
<P>Today is Christmas eve, and unfortunately it has been very very wet and grey and dark all day - not good for photos, be warned.</P>
<P>We coached to the town of Como, about 40 minutes, and then had a brief guided tour and 2 hours free time. After that we took the Jet boat to Bellagio passing George Clooney's Villa.</P>
<P>Bellagio was wetter so we dived into a lakeside restuarant for lunch. After that I wandered up the steep steps to the main town, then back down and then back up and down. Very picturesque, but would have been even better with some sun.</P>
<P>The hotel may well have been the Grand Britannia Excelsior at one time, the Grand is somewhat faded in a rather charming way, the Excelsior has quietly diminished along with the plumbing, and all that remains is the 'Britannia' which is true - we have parties from Just You, Shearings, Leger and another British coach lot. My shower has not worked since I arrived but they promise to have fixed it now.</P>
<P>Just You has a small party on this tour of about 20, but I know three of them from previous hols. We are getting along fine.</P>
<P>This Blog on Como continues after a few photos</P>
<P>Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:<BR />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157638990051655/" title="Go to Simon's FLICKR album of COMO CHRISTMAS">COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR</a></P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-84830964802642888882013-12-29T14:20:00.000+00:002013-12-29T14:20:00.053+00:00COMO: MERRY WET CHRISTMAS<P>I know (from the BBC News), that the South of England (as if anywhere else actually existed in the British Isles) has had the worst rain since the time of the Dinosaurs - or so they would have us believe. But it has rained over our Lake too, all night long and very heavily. Our plans to walk around the Lake before lunch are washed away. Not sure what we will do this morning as no activities are organised.</P>
<P>Last night in the rain some of us went to the local Midnight Mass. although it was only just around the corner, the climb up and the continuous rain found one of the cute waiters doubling up as Transit driver and shuttling people up the hill to the Chiesa di Griante in lots of 8.</P>
<P>The service itself was held in a small domed Basilica where all were deafened by the sound of two industrial heat units hung from the balcony whose fans were clearly designed to pump hot air into a large industrial unit.</P>
<P>In front of the altar a motley collection of local children gathered clad in winter coats, their ages ranging from about 10 years to 18. They were shepherded by two female teachers who kept yanking the odd child into a new position, or separating one from another because of misbehaviour. It was clear that they were reluctant participants in the proceedings. A microphone was passed around them, sometimes working and sometimes not, and various recitations made. Then they started to sing, Adeste Fideles, at a pace much slower than I am used to, and at a different pace to that of the organ. Eventually some kind of order was obtained and both young singers and the organ more or less got on the same note at the same time; well they did when they remembered the words. Clearly no rehearsal had ever been made.</P>
<P>The children marched out and there was a pause for several minutes filled only with heating units giving voice to their task. Then the back doors opened and in filed the same children now garbed in surpluses and looking much more professional as they processed down the church ahead of the clergy. On the gallery above them the professional choir managed to cover the sound of the air con, although somebody did find a lower setting for it which was helpful.</P>
<P>With probably more than one third of the church filled with English from my hotel, the Priest COULD have made a little effort to include us; a hymn sheet in Italian would have helped us to join in. Anyway the service proceeded, the Organ often anticipating the its cue and those on the altar having to re-start or catch up.</P>
<P>A huge number of people on the altar ebbed and flowed, disappearing behind the altar before reappearing later. And at the least opportunity the 18 year old let rip with the incense and those on the altar gradually disappeared from view behind the sweet-smelling cloud of incense which started to irritate the congregation and cause coughing. With all this meaningless palaver it is no wonder that churches are empty. Nobody wants it, it is irrelevant, and time the Church embraced short punchy services for this millennium and not a bygone era.</P>
<P>I gave up after 40 minutes and walked down the steep and barely lit track to the lakeside with the rain largely in remission. And so to bed.</P>
<P>There are a few Christmas photos below. We have Christmas lunch at noon today, but nothing else is planned. However tomorrow is an early start as we go into Switzerland come back by train.</P>
<P>This Blog on Como continues after a few photos</P>
<P>Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:<BR />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157638990051655/" title="Go to Simon's FLICKR album of COMO CHRISTMAS">COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR</a></P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-2936658588095043862013-12-29T13:48:00.000+00:002013-12-29T13:48:54.906+00:00COMO: THE EIGHT COURSES OF CHRISTMAS<P>Christmas Day. No activities planned, but on the Eve a group of us optimistically planned to take a walk along the lakeside on Christmas morn.</P>
<P>True to our word we gathered around ten and set off in the pouring rain. Immediately some confusion broke out and after 3 of us had dropped in on the little Mini Market, we found ourselves abandoned by the rest of the walking party, so I led our trio towards Turezzo(*). We walked along the side of the lake trying not to get splashed by the lake road traffic, and for a lot of the route we succeeded because the path was wide enough. The lake water immediately beneath the little guardrail was a dark slate blue, and its tormented surface was frequently pricked by solid shafts of the incessant rain. The town of Bellagio on the opposite bank was 'hatted' by small fluffy belts of clouds grasped by the towering hills above the town whose grip was irresistible.</P>
<P>The continuous rain, however, formed a veil in front of the far shore making everything indistinct. We weren't especially cold, and having expected nothing less than the weather that now happened, we continued our trudge towards Turrezo. This little habitation is pressed again towering hills on its back and drops into the 400 metre deep lake along its front edge. It is famous for being the source of that swearing disease which is almost fashionable now in Britain, at least on 'reality TV shows'. It was therefore no surprise when on entering a small bar/cafe that the greeting to us was "<i>What the effing hell do you want?</i>" Of course, to be understood properly by a sufferer from Tourette syndrome I must answer in like manner, "<i>I want an effing hot chocolate you bag, and these two want some effing coffee, and merry bloody Christmas to you too.</i>"</P>
<P>The coffee was duly consumed and we paid, wishing each other a '<i>Fecking happy New Year</i>' and then we trudged back to the hotel. On arriving, everything we wore had to be discarded and given up to the room heating to dry. Then we changed for Christmas lunch and at noon we queued past the massed ranks of the hotel staff who in full Christmas gear formed a guard of honour at the entrance to the dining hall. The meal itself was EIGHT courses - there might be a copy of the menu attached. It was stuffing. Other meals in the hotel had been self-service buffets, but Christmas dinner was waitered and the young band of helpers got out 400 covers for 8 courses, attended to drinks requests, and brought us all a present from Santa, in my case a nice tie. Well done.</P>
<P>The meal finished at 16:00hrs, and we reconvene at 19:00hrs for more food, oh dear. The photos below include a 'selfie' (well if Cameron can do it so can Simon), some Just Youers, and the presentation of the Turkeys.</P>
<P>(* We didn't really go to Turezzo, our coffee was politely taken in Tremezzo.)</P>
<P>This Blog on Como continues after a few photos</P>
<P>Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:<BR />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157638990051655/" title="Go to Simon's FLICKR album of COMO CHRISTMAS">COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR</a></P>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEbnm5lNUWJQtIE-kkK_vm2n-Cu61jHHwKFYnZKsQprab6zt7DrhdYq10OWrHc3hF5ISfQKy_uQw2rzti42v9F_EzIxhgqekr0SD4Vgr1OBEeO2jXvQKgXWPvUnm8uAy3QJF5uQ/s1600/xmasmeal+083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEbnm5lNUWJQtIE-kkK_vm2n-Cu61jHHwKFYnZKsQprab6zt7DrhdYq10OWrHc3hF5ISfQKy_uQw2rzti42v9F_EzIxhgqekr0SD4Vgr1OBEeO2jXvQKgXWPvUnm8uAy3QJF5uQ/s320/xmasmeal+083.jpg" /></a></div>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-81343142778168398932013-12-29T13:34:00.000+00:002013-12-29T13:34:29.005+00:00COMO: BORMIO BOXING DAY<P>All the coaches from our hotel were scheduled to cross the border and visit the Swiss resort of St Moritz today, which would involve a trip on the Bernina Express train on one leg of the journey. For some reason we left at 07:00 whereas Shearings and Leger set their departure for 08:30.</P>
<P>So the alarm raised me at 05:30 and after a hasty cold breakfast at 06:30 we were all onboard the coach and travelling North by 07:00. At 08:30 Marius our Romanian guide work us from our slumber. The Bernina Express would not be running when we reached Tirano. The rain that had fallen continuously since we arrived and had been particularly heavy through the last 24 hours had fallen in the mountains as deep snow. Consequently all the road passes were closed and even if we reached St Moritz our planned return by road was out of the question. However, our plans to board the first Bernina Express of the day would fail because that line was also closed by deep snow AND power failure owing to snow on the power lines.</P>
<P>We paused at Tirano, but too early for the railway information office. Marius was told that all the other coaches had decided to o cancel this trip and head instead to Milano even though this had already been on their itinerary. Milano was only an option for them because they had not yet left the hotel, but we had travelled 90 minutes north away from Milano.</P>
<P>Marius decided that St Moritz might be possible later although it did seem unlikely; he decided to drive out of Tirano to Bormio whilst we wait for news. As we closed in on Bormio the incessant rain turned WHITE; Bormio is a World Cup Ski resort. Suddenly the idea came to take the cable cars to Bormio 2000 and we eagerly accepted this.</P>
<P>Very quickly we are in the cafe at 1952 metres amongst all the Boxing Day skiers and snow boarders. Impressive. 3 of our number opted to take an hour on the nursery slopes whilst the rest of us cafe'ed or photographed snow. The snow fell heavily, rescue skidoos went out to retrieve casualties (none of us) and we all enjoyed respite from the rain.</P>
<P>We were asked to return down to the town by 12:00 and then the coach retreated us to Tirano. We didn't need lunch because the hotel had provided us each with a packed meal. By the time we arrived Marius had engaged a road train to tour us around Tirano. But this was a much longer circuit than the standard route and we had stops to take photos, visit attractions and visit a bar. A tailored tour. Even in the rain Tirano showed itself to be very scenic and the centre storico was very interesting.</P>
<P>We left Tirano around 15:45 hours but making an unscheduled stop at an emporium to purchase local wines, meats and cheeses. No really, this was not a stop contrived by our Guide in return for a a back-hander; we asked for this stop. Marius informed us that he never visited Bormio and had never toured the sites in Tirano. Every thing had been arranged on the fly and for the first time. Well done.</P>
<P>Not the day that was intended but very enjoyable and no complaints from anyone. I got snow on my boots and got to chat up several ski boys (see final photo). Great Day.</P>
<P>On returning to the hotel we had our delayed 'welcome drink' with good Prosecco, and then after the meal we were Transited up to the local pub. Good Company. Tomorrow return to UK.</P>
<P>This Blog on Como continues after a few photos</P>
<P>Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:<BR />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157638990051655/" title="Go to Simon's FLICKR album of COMO CHRISTMAS">COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR</a></P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-37657647970441873792013-12-29T13:21:00.000+00:002013-12-29T19:43:09.703+00:00COMO CONSIDERATIONS, THE FINAL DAY<P>In my last Blog I cut short details of our final evening and I feel the need to expand on those hours before closing this account of Christmas on Lake Como.</P>
<P>The Grand Hotel Britannia Excelsior had free WiFi, but this was limited to one rather small salon outside the lift shafts. Here people shouted into their Ipads to exchange Christmas Greetings. “<i>Hello dear, Granny and Granpa here in Como, did you have a good Christmas?</i>” At the other end a reluctant child utters the well rehearsed, “<i>Yes, thank you Granny, and are you enjoying Italy?</i>” The child is quickly gone, returned to her bedroom to watch some X-rated film that her parents neither know nor care about. Granny is left to shout into her screen at the girl's parents, “<i>Did Brook like the little Donkey we sent her? We thought it would be good to keep her jewellery on.</i>” Little did they realise that little Brook is now 15, and has so many bangles, earrings and other bits that they just get piled up in a mess anywhere in her bedroom. Furthermore, brother Jayden enjoyed feeding the stuffed donkey to 'Teddy' the Staffordshire Bull Terrier cross, who chewed on all the polyester stuffing before barfing it up on the fluffy rug in the conservatory.</P>
<P>I couldn't compete with all that distraction and so sat quietly sending written communications on my phone or laptop. That is until a family opposite me interrupted my tranquil typing with their son uttering the immortal greeting, “<i>You look like someone from Mrs Brown's Boys.</i>” I looked up to see a blonde-haired lad some 40 or 50 years younger than anyone else in the hotel; he was smiling at me and obviously looking for some reaction. “<i>Which one?</i>” I asked, <i>“The one who dresses up as a Chicken or a Banana, or maybe the Priest?</i>” Unhesitating J replied, “<i>The <b>Gay </b>One!</i>” Hmmmm. I didn't know whether to make some reply expressing shock, or simply ask for his phone number.</P>
<P>Anyway, with the ice well and truly broken, or more accurately vapourised, there began a series of contacts with this family from Windsor, the mother and the son working at a well known school of that parish. Very entertaining. They too were ipadding, but weren't shouting into their devices, and we met a few times within this electronic sanctuary over several days.</P>
<P>J is employed as a sports coach, with practice in almost every sport you could think of, so I knew on Boxing Day evening that he would be quite jealous of our skiing experience after his lot had endured a wet day in Milano. I quickly showed him all the pictures, assured him that I had been given the phone numbers of the good looking skiers, and illustrated clearly the ideal wintry conditions we had enjoyed at almost 2000 metres. His family were shocked that they had suffered a soggy city sortie when they could have had a brilliant Boxing Day at Bormio.</P>
<P>When I joined my party for the Boxing Day evening meal, a rather dapper guy walked past my table and he was one of the Shearing guides. I felt a duty to inform him about our brilliant day in Bormio, and was only doing this in a matter-of-fact informative way. Unbeknown to me, from the far end of the table our guide Marius was watching, and when I finished he applauded my efforts and my colleagues said I should be awarded the order of the Wooden Spoon for stirring.</P>
<P>Things escalated the next day when J's family accosted one of the Shearings' drivers about the winter wonderland they could have enjoyed like us. He was quite defensive, Health and Safety this, regulation that. I merely countered by saying that our guide Marius had been thinking on his feet all day, conjuring up several different things and keeping us more than amused; our unscheduled skiing was almost better than the St. Moritz might have been. He called me a 'shit stirrer', but J's family were not taken in by his 'company line'. I told Marius later that one of the Shearings' guides wanted an application form to join Just You; though I doubted that he would have quite the required creativity and imagination.</P>
<P>Friday morning was a brilliant sunny day, and at last we could enjoy some views across the lake, and even promenade along its shores to Menaggio a little place just north of us. Before long we were on-board our coach bound for Milano Linate, and thence to London Heathrow. Hazel asked me to join her in the Executive Lounge as her guest, and I enjoyed the tranquillity and the free food of this refuge from the hub bub of the airport seating; thank you. At Heathrow there was no such escape from the proletarian parlours, but I did enjoy a colossal Vegetarian breakfast at Huxleys which at £8.25 took me away from the masses for nearly an hour. In spite of dire weather warnings, the flight to Manchester took off and landed on time, and my drive across the Pennines was uneventful.</P>
<P>Best Wishes for 2014.</P>
<P>Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:<BR />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/redsimonuk/sets/72157638990051655/" title="Go to Simon's FLICKR album of COMO CHRISTMAS">COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR</a></P>
If you want to read about Christmas 2010, click on this link: <a href="http://simonsred.blogspot.co.uk/2010_12_01_archive.html">the Coach Trip from Hell 2010</a>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_DgNooQcBv3feuI_LEUo6bRrfBi4ks2XAmWcYN3Cg2XuBwX_g7l7LJgRh_8lQBzSMdk5HaDO6-rfyBB8CRO-WZR_Fih4QJinc1Td96pBfex_L9qbrevetWegNs-6efsipMQw3w/s1600/comolastday+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_DgNooQcBv3feuI_LEUo6bRrfBi4ks2XAmWcYN3Cg2XuBwX_g7l7LJgRh_8lQBzSMdk5HaDO6-rfyBB8CRO-WZR_Fih4QJinc1Td96pBfex_L9qbrevetWegNs-6efsipMQw3w/s320/comolastday+008.jpg" /></a></div>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-79270802032790469952010-12-29T19:22:00.000+00:002013-12-29T19:26:41.844+00:00ANNECY: BEGIN THE COACH TRIP FROM HELL<P>Bonjour mes Amis.</P>
<P>Already I am planning NOT to take another coach holiday, and definitely NOT to take a Ferry crossing.</P>
<P>I only had a short walk with my luggage to meet the bus in Bradford at 01:45 outside the Hilton. A 30-seater mini coach collected about a dozen of us, the last pickup being Barnsley and we all haD room to spread out. But then we stopped at Doncaster and were asked to transfer to a larger coach that was already full of folk from Newcastle. Result - no room to spread out, and only having an aisle seat I knew there was no chance I could get any sleep as I didn't have a window to rest my head against.</P>
<P>We set off and were scheduled to take a 45minute break at Grantham Services, but this was changed because the driver's tacho hours were awry so instead we stopped at Blyth Services. There was b*gg*r all open at Blyth at 3am, so I just bought a packet of crisps, and our halt was limited to 30minutes. We headed south seemingly not using any motorway until we hit the M25, Dartford Crossing, with a quick 'comfort stop' at the A20 Services for a driver change. Pity, coz our driver was the double of 'Brendon' from the TV programme 'Coach Trip'.</P>
<P>So to Dover, where we sat for 6hours. First of all we had to wait for more than a dozen coaches from all over Britain to gather so that all the luggage and people could be swapped around. I was on Coach 1 which had started at Newcastle and would end up at Lake Garda, and now I had to transfer to Coach 35 which had started at Blackpool and would end up at Annecy. A couple of the coaches were late arriving which meant that the whole 'interchange' could not take place until they did. Maybe get some breakfast; no, no, not a Dover, there was just a WH Smith and a Burger King. I joined an enormously long queue for BK and after more than ten minutes waiting for the single spotty 16year old Burger King to serve people I realised that BK don't actually do anything for vegetarians, so I saved myself 30minutes and joined the queue at WH Smith to buy yet another packet of crisps.</P>
<P>Look, there are 3 million people out of work in Britain, why aren't more students dragged off their Playstations and forced to serve fast food or take the cash for copies of the Daily Mail etc? This is a business model that is WRONG; there should be maximum staff when there is maximum demand.</P>
<P>Anyway, even when we had 'interchanged' we still couldn't go anyway because our boat was now the victim of something that had happened several hours earlier. "<i>Yesterday 287 coaches, 6,000 lorries and 36,000 people embarked at Dover</i>" said the sign. Well at looked as though there would be as many people right now on just our boat.</P>
<P>Eventually we are loaded, more than 2hours late. Having been warned that there would be a severe queue for any hot food on the boat, I hotfooted it from the Coach Deck to what turned out to be the Langham Restuarant. There was no queue and I saw something I liked, so fearing there wouldn't be another chance for hot food I sat down and took nine quids worth of Cheese and tomato Ravioli. Actually I'd finished my meal very soon after we had sailed through the gates of Dover. I was given a double table to myself, and I offered then the chance to use the spare place but they told me that "<i>it wasn't allowed</i>". So whilst people queued outside the door several singletons occupied double tables, and even some pairs occupied foursomes. Crazy.</P>
<P>As we hit France the winter night began, and I realised that I had spent the daylight hours either waiting at Dover or sailing to Calais. Phillip drove us to a Campanile Hotel just east of Rheims, pausing en route for us to discover how continental service stations outclass those of Britain. The Campanile Hotel is quite comfortable, and even at 21:30hours managed to give us an optional hot meal; Salmon with wild rice and two puddings; 14 Euros but well needed after 24hours on Crisps!.</P>
<P>There are some right Old F*rts on this bus, and I shall need to quickly discover the more entertaining folk or it's going to be a dull holiday. The 2 men behind me on the bus talked incessantly about previous trips; one guy seems to do about 4 Battlefield tours every year, WHY? Another guy seemed to have a weird interest in mass murders and the macabre, and I suspect he might be the next "Crossbow Cannibal". There are several women who are incapable of even getting up the steps onto the coach, and one has already lost her "medications". Already I wish a week with Juris without any hot food, ha ha.</P>
<P> This Blog continues after the Photo</P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-29876136968811770622010-12-29T17:59:00.000+00:002013-12-29T18:00:22.339+00:00ANNECY: BEAU BEAUNE<P>I suppose today, Thursday 23rd is the FIRST day of our holiday, though it feels much longer.</P>
<P>Slept well at the Campanile and enjoyed a good breakfast. A 9 O'clock departure was not unreasonable, especially given the kilometrage to Annecy, but it still proved impossible for some of the old crones, and Paul the driver was distinctly irritated (worse was to follow). One old lady who seems to have misheard everything said to her so far and then engaged in conversations about matters that were nothing to do with the launching remark simply because she got a word wrong. Anyway, conveniently she had not heard the driver's explicit instructions about bringing your own suitcase to the bus in the morning for 08:45hours. Of course, somebody went and fetched it for her - I've met this type many times before.</P>
<P>So we set off late in awful gloom with deeply grey skies depositing deluges of water upon us as we departed Autoroute de l'est and picked up Autoroute de l'Anglaise heading south to skirt Troyes. We paused at a small 'Aire' (Motorway Service Station or MSA) where a lovely young man with perfect French gave me a delicous Chocolat Chaud, merci. I managed to photograph a Goddess here, by which I mean the car not the young man.</P>
<P>Then to Beaune for lunch and sight seeing. Very much a forgotten little town, it has a very old Hospice with ornately tiled roof, but was closed for lunch. Many of the party headed into bars and restaurants whilst I mananged to take a few shots in the pretty streets instead. 90minutes is scarcely enough to have lunch in France, let alone sight see, as discovered three of our ladies who did not appear 40 minutes after the scheduled departure time. I volunteered to go and find them, as did a couple of colleagues, and they were eventually retrieved after they had phoned Travelsphere in the UK who phoned the courier to tell her which restaurant they were in. We left Beaune one hour late.</P>
<P>The rain stopped for our foray into lovely Beaune and the sun almost shone; ah things are looking up. Now we're heading hard for Les Alpes in a blueing dusk that is DRY!</P>
<P>As a postscript, we arrived at Annecy in reasonable time and enjoyed a lovely meal of 3 cheese tart, Salmon in Filo pastry, and Tarte au Myrtille - suited me fine. Then I went a walk into the old town and snapped a couple of Christmassy shots - Enjoy!</P>
<P> This Blog continues after the Photos</P>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcAp3vOcSeD9omRLqmNQUIHvk7D9CWi5MMMMK681E2oY13r0SIM5EMXvcn23bAifjPYWmYoxVnV1-2aBeuBTl2TPJTCZh5Xq8HJtPQ0iuU51f5fBT8BkMKx-5SmALMEFebV-YOg/s1600/Goddess+(DS20)+Safari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcAp3vOcSeD9omRLqmNQUIHvk7D9CWi5MMMMK681E2oY13r0SIM5EMXvcn23bAifjPYWmYoxVnV1-2aBeuBTl2TPJTCZh5Xq8HJtPQ0iuU51f5fBT8BkMKx-5SmALMEFebV-YOg/s320/Goddess+(DS20)+Safari.jpg" /></a></div>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-61302757931058914242010-12-29T17:30:00.000+00:002013-12-29T17:40:50.810+00:00ANNECY: THE BORING, THE DIVORCED, AND THE WELSH<P>Christmas Eve was a quick trip down to le Vieux Ville de Annecy in the coach, which took longer than walking but I suppose the old crones needed the ride. There we met a local guide - when she bothered to turn up - and walked in the falling snow around the Old Town and into the Château d'Annecy.</P>
<P>Sometimes called the Castle, the Chateau dates back to the 12th century, although most of what you see dates only to the 1950s restoration. The Chateau suffered years of desecration and finally a fire in the 1940s when refugees from the Second World War who were living in it let their cooking fires out of control in the Grand Salon. Disappointing, but it looks nice.</P>
<P>Then back down to the town with its pretty narrow streets and ancient arcades. Finally to the Palais de l'Isle which is the Flat Iron shaped building you will see on EVERY picture of Annecy. It was built as a Prison and a Courthouse, and served the Nazis well in World War Two, and served the Nazis somewhat less well once Annecy was liberated and the Resistance were able to settle a few scores. The pointed building its actually the Prison Chapel.</P>
<P>Then free time, and I latched onto Meredith (of more later) and we headed straight into a tiny restaurant in an arcade for un repas A Savoyyard. Meredith recommended Tartiflett, a true dish of the Savoy region, and this was duly ordered including a vegetarian version (sans Lardons). Basically sliced potatoes baked in a cheese sauce, and of course in this part of the Savoy it was Reblochon cheese. Very tasty, but it was only later I realised that I had paid fifteen pounds for it; don't tell Juris he'll never forgive me spending that on a small lunch. But the company was good and I will describe Mildred and Samuel later.</P>
<P>After lunch, brief time to buy gifts for 'Secret Santa', and then back to the coach. We then made a rather pointless circuit of Lac d'Annecy, about 40 Km, but the falling snow ensured no views across the water, and the driver didn't pause anywhere to give us photo opportunities. Back to the hotel for a rather long afternoon in the hotel.</P>
<P>Biddi has asked me about the hotel, and I will say I don't have any complaints, but there aren't any cute waiters. "Best Western", as we have discovered on previous trips, operate hotels after they have become some other chain's WORST western hotels; they are a little out of date and a little tired looking, but the room is warm and my toilet at least works.</P>
<P>Christmas Eve dinner was the main meal, and I found it rather disappointing, certainly so after several gorgeous and engorging Italian Christmas dinners, Pate Foie Gras (Salmon Pate for me), Venison (local fish for me), local cheeses then Christmas Log and Coffee. There was no razamatazz or performance at all. This hotel probably deals mainly with business men from companies that pay small expense accounts.</P>
<P>After a pause I walked a few colleagues back through the snow to the old town for midnight Mass. Roberta is a Firemen, but is otherwise fairly feminine if you don't look too closely. We reached the Cathedrale in good time and so I lit a candle to my father at the shrine to St Francois de Sale. Earlier in the day I had lit a similar candle in St Mary's which I illustrated in the Xmas light sequence. The midnight service was fairly jolly in a half filled church, and I enjoyed the small choir even though they were mostly teenage girls. However when they sang 'Silent Night' (in French), I knew Christmas had come. Magical. I left the service soon after and walked slowly through several streets of the old town to soak up CHRISTMAS in capital letters. Ahh, I so love Christmas. It was a further hour before the religious ones were released from the service and I was in bed by then.</P>
<P>However, before I went to my seventh floor room, I joined the bar folk in time to see Samuel make an exit. Samuel is the traveller who I told about his interest in the macabre; but he also has a great knowledge - not necessarily accurate - about a great number of quasi scientific or technological subjects. In other words he is a bore. When he had joined us for lunch there was some disquiet about his presence, and whilst I was at church he had attempted to hold court with many of the travellers. They had tried to sideline him or shut him up, but even being directly rude to him didn't knock him off track. However he had now left for bed, and reappeared at breakfast rather less chatty.</P>
<P>Mildred is a large Welsh lady who had amused one of the Christmas Market stallholders by responding to his French Christmas greeting with the same in Welsh. The stall-holder then asked her to recite the name of the longest Welsh town name, and she barked out "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch" without any hesitation - and I never thought I would find myself writing that in a email (thanks Google). I spent Christmas Day with Mildred because she was quite amusing, and she wanted to tell me about having half her face removed due to skin cancer, and how she sometimes dribbles because she doesn't have the right muscles anymore. She has a large fur coat which leaves me convinced that either there is a naked Womble somewhere in Wimbledon, or else a dead skinned one!</P>
<P>Meredith is a farmer aged about 70 who has told several people in my hearing about his 'messy divorce' five years ago which cost him one point five million pounds. Apparently he had a farm in France for about 15 years milking 2000 cows, 3000 sheep and 4000 goats every day - probably by Meredith himself I have no doubt. Anyway the wife did a line with the accountant and siphoned off the funds and had to be divorced. There is another side to this story, but I don't think we'll ever hear it. A clue is given by a relationship with a woman he 'helped' on returning to the UK and then proposed to; she suddenly disappeared and when he tracked her down she had fled the country and married someone else. Meredith had returned to UK with 50 quid in his pocket, he's now salted away 250,000 and crows about the fact that he is the first Englishman to have ever got his French cheese accepted by the French!</P>
<P>Christmas Day was cancelled, or at least the planned excursion to La Clusaz was because the French Police were not going to allow coaches up there in the snowy conditions. We headed instead to Evian (where they make the bottled water), pausing at delightful Yvoire en route. When we got to Evian you couldn't stand up because of ice (not snow) everywhere. So we parked on the shore of Lac Leman whilst Catherine ran a relay into the only cafe found to be open and brought back dozens of Croque Monsieur for 5 Euros each.</P>
<P>Evian done, we drove back to Annecy stopping for 15 minutes in Thones ! Pointless. But nothing was open, however the Col d'Aravis was quite spectacular, and the ice covered trees on the flanks of the steep rocky chasms a fairy vista. All too quickly the coach was returning to Annecy. I walked back to the Old Town determined not to waste daylight hours sitting in a hotel room.</P>
<P>Boxing Day dinner was an attempt at a 'traditional English Turkey dinner', which my vegetarianism spared me. The chef did produce three "Christmas Cakes" thickly coated in PINK (!!!) icing. Inside was a pale 'sponge' with many brightly coloured candied fruits; quite strange but tasty.</P>
<P>This Blog continues after the photos</P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-37214162587117742622010-12-29T17:17:00.000+00:002013-12-29T17:18:30.174+00:00ANNECY: JOYEUX NOEL<P>Happy Christmas</P>
<P>It snowed in Annecy today, nasty wet stuff, but it is still snow on Christmas Eve.</P>
<P>We took a walking tour of the Vieux Annecy, very interesting in daylight, of course I had already seen it in darkness last night.</P>
<P>I captured this little Santa and thought it might amuse you. The other rather chilly shot includes the famous old Annecy Jail (just beyond the bridge) which has is shaped like a ship, and the prow (towards the camera) is actually the prison chapel. No comment is made on the final shot which is a POrk Butcher's way of celebrating Christmas.</P>
<P>Overheard at breakfast: "I had an upset stomach all night long and my toilet didn't work - it's a right mess." I heard this 4 times in ten minutes. Then next I overheard people talking about their pills and potion: "I have to take 8 tablets a day." "Oh that's nothing, I have to take 14." I gave up listening when someone claimed 26 was their dosage, and I suggested everyone should put their tablets on the table and swap them.</P>
<P>Tomorrow is cancelled. The Police won't allow coaches up to the 2 ski resorts we planned to visit because of the snow, so they've got to find a substitute.</P>
<P>Tonight, Christmas Eve is the main Feast, which is a secret, although someone has leaked that a Deer has been killed and is hanging in readiness.</P>
<P>Happy Christmas</P>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-Vz57xxRQ_NC4XMqwlDk4M8C7mUUyrmSlmEOonSiQMFvCUYE72JIrLkik01So-aESoPI8l36tZEqYons-7upPTkh1Os7ceUUWiEzwV8ezdIm6cXu7Ccp2edpunwhDuORvxBjNA/s1600/annecy+jail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-Vz57xxRQ_NC4XMqwlDk4M8C7mUUyrmSlmEOonSiQMFvCUYE72JIrLkik01So-aESoPI8l36tZEqYons-7upPTkh1Os7ceUUWiEzwV8ezdIm6cXu7Ccp2edpunwhDuORvxBjNA/s320/annecy+jail.jpg" /></a></div>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-84633551940177733882010-12-29T16:54:00.000+00:002013-12-29T16:58:09.715+00:00ANNECY: HAUT, PLUS HAUT, PLUS PLUS HAUT<P>(High, Higher, Highest)</P>
<P>Today we woke to find clouds evaporating and blue sky revealing. We drove to Chamonix, and the plan was to park in Chamonix at the Gare de Montenvers and catch the Funicular (train) Mer De Glace to Montenvers.</P>
<P>I say "that was the plan" because I had decided in October that I was going to go way higher than the meagre 1900metres that my party were going. I almost ran off the bus as it halted in cruelly crisp Chamonix where even the finest twig or line was white coated and clearly frozen.</P>
<P>My memory almost took me directly to la Station Telepherique l'Aiguille du Midi, which I had been to at least 8 times in my life. 42.50 Euros saw me ticketed Aller-Retour (return ticket) to the very top of the small pinnacle that faces the Giant White Mountain (Mont Blanc). As we rose towards our heavenly destination I knew nothing was going to get in the way of the finest views anywhere in Europe. I resisted the temptation to unbuckle my camera; you can't get good views through the dirty scratched perspex of the Telecabine and I knew my camera would be unobstructed at the top.</P>
<P>Change Telecabines at Plan du Midi, and then arrive at l'Aiguille du Midi ('The needle in the Middle') at about 3800metres. But I'm not done yet, and now there is the Piton which is climbed using l'ascenseur (lift) to attain 3842metres (or 12600feet). There's not much higher than us around this spot, although Mont Blanc does top us by almost a full thousand metres. You cannot get higher than this in Europe when using publicly accessible transport systems.</P>
<P>The camera clicked and my eyes nearly popped out of my head because I didn't know what to look at, or to photograph, next. Of course I've been here many times before, and I just add to the hundreds of previous images, but I CANNOT get enough of this place. I was able to see Le Cervin (Matterhorn) which is 60Km distant, so clear was the view.</P>
<P>However, the air temperature was below -10degrees and the air was so thin that I was getting light headed. So after an hour I decided to retrace my cable car links down to the valley. Overwhelmed by all this, I was reminded of the French word "Incroyable" to describe such beauty, made even more perfect by all the snow and the frosty air. I became emotional, and as I descended and thought how could such beauty exist, I came to remember a photograph my mother took of my father by the very same height sign (12,602ft), and suddenly both my parents were with me at the highest place in Europe.</P>
<P>I took a Pizza in the valley and rejoined the train goers for our return to Annecy, where again I explored this lovely town before our Boxing day meal.</P>
<P>As to our fellow passengers, I haven't told you about Shirley, a girl unlikely to have close male friends and certainly not me. On seeing my first photos she declared that I should do this and that and then that to a certain image, and I looked into her pale grey eyes beneath her freakish maroon hair and thought to myself: "<i>what the feck do you know?</i>" Then she declared she was head of photography at some school or other, but she didn't actually do photography. Exactly!</P>
<P>You'll remember Samuel the Macabre; well he turned up at Christmas Eve dinner wearing a daft Santa hat with flashing lights. On Christmas Day his need to get attention saw him drape multicoloured Christmas lights that flashed on and off over his jacket beneath his flashing hat, Oh Dear!.</P>
<P>Meredith the farmer confessed tonight that he had "helped out" a long held man friend. This friend has been castrated due to testicular cancer and called Meredith to "service his wife" due to his inability. Meredith obliged for 4months until the man's wife turned up one day with her clothes and Meredith decided to end the arrangement.</P>
<P>That's about it really. we've ended on a high - an even bigger high for me. Tomorrow we return with a stop over on the outskirts of Paris. Not sure whether i will be able to do any pictures or report from Paris. Then we make our way back via Calais, Dover and reach Bradford 01:15 on Wednesday.</P>
<P> This Blog continues after the photos.</P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-5570796171778217822010-12-29T16:45:00.000+00:002013-12-29T17:09:50.210+00:00ANNECY: ITS A CHAM<P>I just found an excuse to send you a few more photos of lovely Chamonix.</P>
<P>As you know I went on my excursion separate from the rest of my group, but I was not alone. I talked to people from China, Brazil, Dublin and many other countries. A girl from China took my photo against the sign and I took photos for many others. In the cable car I insisted that people moved in front of me so that they could get a better view for themselves. Goodwill to all Men - especially the lovely man with pale blue eyes from Dublin !!!<P>
<P>Last night we had Secret Santa, where we anonymously donated small gifts onto a table and then randomly collected one in return. I put in a metal 'Annecy' key ring and a small jar of Conserve de Myrtilles, and found a delightful little glass Angel.</P>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyuwH-mmlDMuXpyA4ZuM01zBi-aixWMqpr-RBqarOyoks4LOiGEnoVE1buutBqmrJxMbsOFblRKr2KmVqrHFV1A7sWwwLDxGODodFiZGNyPpYafaH9Jr6fqUdrWxTXGJv-sPOAQ/s1600/went+to+top+of+this.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyuwH-mmlDMuXpyA4ZuM01zBi-aixWMqpr-RBqarOyoks4LOiGEnoVE1buutBqmrJxMbsOFblRKr2KmVqrHFV1A7sWwwLDxGODodFiZGNyPpYafaH9Jr6fqUdrWxTXGJv-sPOAQ/s320/went+to+top+of+this.jpg" /></a></div>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-46613668723213623962010-12-29T16:12:00.000+00:002013-12-29T16:18:51.602+00:00ANNECY: COACH TRIP END<P>On Tuesday we transferred to a Campanile Hotel (like Travel Lodge but a bit better) near Paris after leaving Annecy at 09:00 reaching there 17:30. Only a couple of stops at Motorway service stations - no visits to attractions etc. My room was cold and I did mention it to the staff; "be patient the heat will come." But it didn't. </P>
<P>We were served a meal which was basically chicken cooked in a sauce with chips preceded by an extensive buffet salad, and followed by 3 small sweets. Very Good. They automatically gave me Salmon instead of chicken which was nice, but curiously served me green beans instead of chips - amusing but lovely.</P>
<P>At 22:30 I adjourned to my room, and in spite of having left the thermostat on 32degrees for 5hours the only air emitting from the heater unit was cold air. I returned to reception to tell my story, and I thought my luck was in when the lovely Sebastien escorted me to room 403. But he went into a sulk when he saw that I had removed the grille from my heater (it wasn't really attached anyway) and I proved to him that that was no warm water anywhere in the radiator system and therefore no heat could come out. Sebastien suggested I use both the duvets, and he admitted he was powerless to change the situation. I retired to a cold sleep, interrupted after 15minutes by loud knocking on my door; no, not Sebastien to try and warm me up, but his female boss bringing and electric fan heater. I found at breakfast that heating for the entire hotel had failed before we had arrived, and it was dishonest of the Campanile Hotel to pretend that anyone would have a heated room.</P>
<P>Our Campanile Hotel was at Argenteuil on the banks of the Seine, and it was from here that we set off for our final transit across France. Starting with a whistle-stop tour of Paris, we paused to consider the Eiffel Tour, turn around l'Arc de Triomphe enough times to make us dizzy, saw where Napolean was buried, and where Moaning Lisa lives, and the Opera House. Stops were limited to seconds, and it wasn't light yet. Enough to whet my appetite and want me to return. About an hour from Calais we took lunch at a Service Station, where I enjoyed a Toastie avec trois fromages which was nice but expensive at 7euros (including bottle of pop).</P>
<P>We arrived to Calais in such good time that we dived into a Pidou Supermarket which sells cheap wine and beer. What a ghastly place, solely designed to sell cheap plonk to British Plonkers, yuk! Then we queued for the boat, and were admitted the FIRST of all our 20 or so coaches. People from Germany, Switzerland and Lake Garda have much longer transits than us. People from the Harz mountains have had to be rescued as the snow got to the top of the coach wheels on Christmas Day and they have been stranded until another coach could be sent from UK to rescue them. As soon as the coach wheels stopped on deck (right on the prow of the boat) we dashed upstairs to get food before the other 5000 travellers. Fish, Chips and baked beans for £7.99, which was fresh cooked and very tasty. Within ten minutes the shelves had been stripped of sandwiches, drinks and other packeted food - and we hadn't even untied from the dock.</P>
<P>The "interchange" then had to be re-done, so that everyone would swap over to the coaches that would return them north, and south and east and west. We had been recommended to split into pairs, with one person heading straight for their coach and bagging the seats, whilst their partner would bring the large luggage. I found one lady on my tour who was returning to Newcastle on my coach and she suggested we pair up together with me being Sherpa Tensing and she being the runner to bag the seats - it worked !</P>
<P>There was little delay, and even the announcement that the M2 was closed by an accident didn't slow us (we took the A2 instead). At services on the A2 we swapped drivers and the new guy wore a smart but ill-fitting uniform that he'd probably worn for 50years. It was well past his bedtime and this pensioner really didn't have any ideas about the bus he was driving. Our bus was scorching and various people approached him to get the heating reduced. In the end he headed into another service station and then phoned for advice. The heating had been set to '99' when it should have been set to '10'.
Wheels rolled and we headed north again with the insistent and ignored ring tone of a mobile phone. After a brief pause the ring tone sounded again and some old bag from Barnsley behind me said to her husband "<i>Some silly bugger's alarm clock is going off, why don't they turn that alarm off</i>" I corrected her: "<i>Excuse me, that's the driver's mobile phone and he can't answer it because he's driving.</i>" That shut her up, and the phone was shut up by the driver passing the phone to a front seat passenger so that a shouted 3-way conversation could take place. The Feeder Coach driver was trying to arrange the meeting time at Doncaster.</P>
<P>Eventually we hit the Morrisons car park in Doncaster, almost ten minutes early, where a huge number of cases were decanted onto the pavement. I grabbed mine and headed over to a small coach, the old fuddy duddy driver gave us no instructions. I checked with the new coach about 'Bradford' and he confirmed this. There were 2 Bradford-bound passengers on this 17seater coach, which was a little strange because there had been 7 on the outward. After starting towards Barnsley the driver's phone rang and he certainly wasn't shy about answering it. The Bradford passengers were wrong, and it seems there were 5 Bradford folk now heading to Ferrybridge on another bus. Our driver tried to head us up to that one, but gave in and took us to Bradford himself, after Barnsley and Woolley Edge. He wasn't a happy bunny and tried to suggest that we two were wrongly on his bus; no sir, I had not been given instructions and I had checked with him before boarding!</P>
<P>Our fellow passengers included a 78year old woman and her 50something son - nobody will every marry him, and he's too boring to be gay. I don't know his name, and I don't think anybody else will. There are 4 large ladies from Rotherham who are quite course and entertaining.</P>
<P>Daniel has joined us for meals and seems to have had a nasty accident when very young. He talked of having gone to a school for the disabled, and walks awkwardly. But he's doing everything, doesn't moan or cause trouble, and is obviously living an independent life, working as a Civil Servant in London. All credit to him really for getting on this trip.</P>
<P>There is a 60year old man whose main claim to fame is that he is a scout leader, but he's bored the pants off one of our number with his scouting tales. An 80year old woman from Austria has managed to mishear everything said to her, and I am suspicious of her war record. 33 people were on this bus, and those I haven't described I simply haven't noticed.</P>
<P>Our Courier was Catherine a 40year old woman from Calais. She's very French with a strong accent, and a little scatty, but quite nice enough. I liked her idea for Secret Santa, and also she got the singing of a few Carols, though not around the town centre Christmas Tree - which is my preference. She also gave us a numbered card with her phone details on, the numbers were then drawn in a lottery and 4 people won prizes, Quite switched on.</P>
<P>Phillip was the driver from t'North. Very northern and easily gets 'a Cob on' if things don't go the way he wants. But the way he cut away through Paris was truly impressive, and he was almost the fastest vehicle on the Peripherique.</P>
<P>France has disappointed me, although my experience is partly due to the poor weather and perhaps the boring hotel we had in Annecy. Italy is the place to go for Christmas, although Austria and Switzerland might run close.</P>
<P>Probably you want to know how this all ends. Well Samuel the Macabre ended up sitting on his own at the evening meal, which was rather a shame. In spite of his many personal faults he at least was genuine, and the only harm he did to anyone else was to bore them.</P>
<P>Meredith the Farmer had insisted that he would make the driver/courier collection and do the presentation and yet on the final evening I saw him make his own personal gift to them both. Apparently his attitude had grated on a lot of passengers at the rear of the coach and a verbal altercation had taken place. So he took his bat and ball home, and didn't even tell anyone else. I stepped into the breach, but managed to get a rather large jolly lady from Rotherham to do the actual presentation. Meredith's parting shot was that he was PAID to do a report on the tour, and that he'd travelled on Concorde 4 times, and he'd joined the 'mile high club' ..... I don't believe you Meredith!</P>
<P>Mildred had become increasing inseparable from Meredith, and it was a rather strange pairing. Certainly Meredith would not have any sexual interest in Mildred, but perhaps they both had common interest in telling tall tales. In the Pidou supermarket one of our less switched on old biddies asked Mildred if she knew where the Sambuca was, whereupon Mildred spotted a solitary bottle just there on the shelf and immediately bagged it for herself and then bragged to me about her prize.</P>
</P>Will Mildred and Meredith have a future together? Don't be daft, they must both realise that they had a temporary and convenient alliance for the duration and that no useful purpose would be served by continuing beyond the final wave as coaches split for Wales and for the Midlands. In the cold light of day Mildred and Meredith would dislike each other almost as much as they disliked all the other passengers.</P>
<P>If this had been the TV "Coach Trip" then Samuel would probably have been red carded on day one, for being odd, and a few others given les Cartes Rouge for moaning or being miserable. Mildred and Meredith would have survived rather too long, but in the end they would have been replaced. Would I have survived to tell this tale? It's up to you to decide.</P>
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redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-84536897951388762402009-09-15T19:46:00.006+01:002009-09-15T20:36:48.923+01:00RUSSIA'S GOLDEN RING<h3 class="post-title"> <br />(ЗОЛОТОЕ КОЛЬЦО РОССИ) <br /> </h3> <br /><br /><br />In the following texts there is a series of Blogs about a truly extraordinary tour of Russia's Golden Ring organised by a <a href="http://rigatur.com/russia/goldring/">Latvian Tour Company</A>.<br /><br />These Blogs were written each day and emailed back to colleagues, family and friend. They are therefore spontaneous, written in the moment at the places and amongst the people where the experience took place. No sanitised or considered prose, just straight from the heart. <br /><br />I have tried to express what I felt at the time I felt it. It is too easy to write accounts when you've returned home, and to do this is to lose the emotions and the context that they occurred within.<br /><br />The accounts below are true, but I hope they are also readable and amusing – that was my intention. If you want to read more, then go to: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Ring">Wikipedia</A> <br /><br /> <h3 class="post-title"> <br />RIDING RUSSIAN <br /> </h3> <br /><br /><br />"<i>How was your 24hours in the Bus</i>?"<br /><br />Well it wasn't quite 24hours, but it was quite a lot. We left the centre of Riga at 21:00hrs on a 17seater Mercedes Sprinter Bus (pictured), all but 2 seats being occupied; quite a tight fit. We were crewed by 2 drivers who changed over about every three hours, and by our courier. The whole coach, excepting myself and the guy from Portugal spoke Russian for the entire journey; probably for the entire holiday. Latvian could not be heard.<br /><br />The coach sped out of Riga on Freedom Street vying with trams, potholes, atrocious cobbles and traffic that could be 5 wide in places. Oh and watch out for trams; their track is a dreadful cobbled band down the middle of this thoroughfare, and when they stop for passengers the other lines of traffic must also stop for the passengers.<br /><br />As we continued on the road out, the street lamps finished and our Courier warned us that this journey was the worst of the week; 1200Kilometres (Lands End to John O'Groats). Every two to three hours the Sprinter stopped sprinting and we paused at a garage for toilets and coffees and for driver change over. We were warned that the road condition would deteriorate before the border, and particularly so afterwards (see pictures of the main road into Moscow).<br /><br />For some reason we were navigated through part of Estonia to get through to Russia and we took the Estonian customs around midnight. Not a lot of bother here, except for the miles and miles of heavies parked up on this country lane. Russia is playing games with Estonia and any LGVs can be held for about a week before border formalities are completed.<br /><br />We didn't have to wait a week, but the Russian Customs kept us stationery until 3am. The final act was to order us to evacuate the minibus and bring all our luggage inside for scanning. Everybody's passport was inspected at length and in detail with some feigned surprise about some aspect of each one just to put fear of rejection into each passenger. <br /><br />Meanwhile the luggage stood in front of the non-operating scanner with no operator around. After about 15minutes of this game we were told to go as "the scanner operator cannot be found". We set off into the night and the road got more potholed and the joins between the concrete sections got more apparent. At 7am we paused at a Russian motel for breakfast, and I made the mistake of putting the toilet paper down the WC instead of into the tin bin; oh and I forgot to pay the attendant her 5roubles.<br /><br />Onwards we rolled with still hundreds of kilometres to 'MOCKBA' on the signs. At about 100Kms to go the road became Motorway (more of a dual carriageway in reality) and there was only a little improvement in surface quality. Then we hit the outskirts of the Russian capital and ground to a halt in gridlock.<br /><br /><br />But our drivers were not afraid of a challenge and we found our way around Moscow and parked up at Sergiyev Posad (Се́ргиев Поса́д) at 16:30hrs. Unfortunately the kind weather that had accompanied most of our 19hour transit let go and the onions domes pierced a gloomy grey and caused it to weep. I got a few photos of the <a href="http://www.stsl.ru/languages/en/index.php">The Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius</A> (Тро́ице-Се́ргиева Ла́вра) before the rain drowned everything. <br /><br />We are now camped in a hotel at Alexandrov - 1hour past Sergiyev Posad, AND we have persuaded the <A href="http://www.turostrov.ru/">Ostrov Hotel</A> into giving us access to their Wifi.<br /><br />Enjoy the photos, hopefully more tomorrow.<br /><br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/bp_8EDEDixYI1mnnZ7mjVw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rWxFuZNI/AAAAAAAANpQ/2pwyXwgmXp8/s400/a%20russian%20dawn.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>a russian dawn: ten hours on a minibus from Latvia into Russia, only ten more to go.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/crVXxO9j5WbD091SvyQIbQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sQhPrwvI/AAAAAAAANso/GbYmodqTqpc/s400/moscow%20main%20road.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Bumpy Road: This is the main road in Russia from the Western border direct to Moscow</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VcEdSciJGwAYrp9vmb62pw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rZXypf1I/AAAAAAAANpY/Cs24rUpggxU/s400/Sergiyev%20Assumption%20Cathedral.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>The Dormition Cathedral (Church of the Assumption) within the St. Sergius Lavra at Sergiyev Posad</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/h5icEwCOyqkzovUOKYetCg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8raKRrQdI/AAAAAAAANpc/22D69D5UIz4/s400/Cathedral%20of%20the%20Trinity.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Cathedral of the Trinity; Тро́ице-Се́ргиева Ла́вра (The Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius) at Sergiyev Posad</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/EQ-CNuisfIOSpYJjK6nxnQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rdwCMXoI/AAAAAAAANpo/drxhdqg1D1M/s400/Church%20of%20the%20Holy%20Spirit.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Church of the Holy Spirit. Built in 1476 within the St. Sergius Lavra at Sergiyev Posad (Се́ргиев Поса́д)</B><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a><br />[a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></table>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-64980468874440863932009-09-15T19:07:00.006+01:002009-09-15T20:36:28.310+01:00ONIONS WITH EVERYTHINGFood was always going to be "interesting" for me on this trip. With my vegetarianism and general food fussiness and Juris' unwillingness to sit down for a meal, Russia was always going to be a culinary challenge.<br /><br />The first Russian meal was taken at 7am in some motel on the road after only 10hours of our journey. Faced with a menu that appeared only to contain the names of Russian cars from the 1950s I asked Juris if there were any scrambled eggs. His request was returned with the reply "three fried eggs". <br /><br />I grabbed that option and then attempted to get something to go with it, and ended up with fried potato chips. I don't mean long straight "French Fries" style chips, I mean literally small odd shaped chunks of potato fried. A slightly strange choice but tasty and welcome after a night spent on homemade cheese sandwiches that were becoming a little jaded. Juris opted for a soup which looked very much like a Moscow Minestrone.<br /><br />I can't remember eating much else for the day, but did manage tea and chocolate on arrival at the hotel. Breakfast was at 07:30 and was pre-chosen to be fried eggs. I suppose we were a little late to the breakfast room, and that might explain that my fried eggs were cold, but extremely yellow and very tasty. There was cheese sandwiches, Yoghurts and teas and coffees to share for the table. I should correct my last blog on location; our hotel is in Alexandrov and not Vladimir.<br /><br />After breakfast we headed off on a marathon that lasted 13hours (Vladimir and Suzdal) and I believe covered almost 300Km. Lunch was taken at a very large supermarket in Vladimir. I got baked Salmon, boiled potatoes with mushroom sauce, vegetables and an Angel Delight with a drink of Pineapple juice for less than £5.00.<br /><br />And what about the ONIONS. Well those of course are the Onion domes (or cupolas) and we saw several dozen of those. Suzdal (Су́здаль) is quite extraordinary with countless walled monasteries each containing several onioned places of worship. It was explained to us that churches were generally built as pairs; a large grand one for summer use and a much smaller heated one for winter use. <br /><br />Our guide took us around The <A href="http://www.museum.vladimir.ru/eng/towns/suzdal/spas_monastery_e?menu=arch_compl">Saviour Monastery of St. Euthymius</A> and right on cue a small choir appeared to give us a song, and by sheer coincidence this was available on CD if we were interested. Mmmmm five young Russian men in Black Dresses; they've got to be haven't they! The sounds of these five were quite exquisite, ranging from the pretty one who had clearly had some kind of an accident around puberty, to the deepest bass who clearly had NOT had any kind of pubertical problem. It filled the vaults and rose up into the cupolas and was truly moving.<br /><br />At the same location we were treated to a display of bell ringing for midday. 18 bells were rung and all by just one man using ropes and foot pedals. <br />Suzdal also has (<A href="http://www.museum.vladimir.ru/eng/towns/suzdal/mdz_e?menu=mdz">The Museum of Wooden Architecture and Peasant Life</A> which was quite remarkable and even the churches within it had onion domes fabricated from layers of moulded bark. Wooden structures only last about a century in Russia because of the humidity.<br /><br />A steaming day ended in the steamer; the Russian Sauna or Banya. Only a few of us opted for this, but did include the courier and one driver and about 4 of us including Juris and I. No clothes were to be worn at all, and the driver appeared with a large carrier bag that contained much alcohol and some Russian Suchi (yuk!). <br /><br />Anyway we sweated in an extremely hot sauna room within a large specially built complex in the hotel garden (<A href="http://www.turostrov.ru/">Ostrov Hotel</A>). This includes showers, cold tub, dining room, lounge, beds and a changing room. All very relaxing. Soaking in cold water were the birch twigs which you beat the skin to stimulate the blood. Most of the others beat themselves, but Juris and I chose to beat each other instead. I did use the cold shower but not the cold tub. The green tea was very refreshing, but after an hour I felt faint and left Juris probably to return far too late and far too Vodka'd.<br /><br />We have a 7am breakfast tomorrow so I suspect the Mercedes will be Sprinting over hundred more of these horrid holey kilometres. But if today's collection of shots is to be believed then it will be worth it.<br /><br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/kBSzKgsWvVwWeuEm_A5RfQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rnXmiPAI/AAAAAAAANqI/Fj_rkgi4dIA/s400/Transfiguration%20Cathedral.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>The Transfiguration Cathedral at the Saviour Monastery of St. Euthymius, Suzdal</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/GPFqS5FG_977Zv1vCvOV0A?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rsXtRsYI/AAAAAAAANqY/O3vCZLXs-i4/s400/Wooden%20Church.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Church of the Transfiguration from Kozlyatievo (1756) within the Museum of Wooden Architecture and Peasant Life, Suzdal</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/phoF6NyeahKSckOiUMEKJA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rvHFftNI/AAAAAAAANqk/Q1BN_9HNMZc/s400/Cathedral%20of%20Nativity.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Cathedral of the Nativity of the Virgin, Suzdal</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/VXYrVDIXRTGJDfsOi9Qb1g?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8ryIZMn1I/AAAAAAAANqw/AtUySxYf5pQ/s400/Intercession%20on%20the%20Nerl.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>The Church of the Intercession on the Nerl in Bogolyubovo</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/MfeKxcZ9oj4-19fUMCdk2w?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r1GLztrI/AAAAAAAANq8/YElfpe2ab98/s400/Bogolyubovo%20Cathedral.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Bogolyubovo convent, near Suzdal</B></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a> [a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></table>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-80193681933822061222009-09-15T18:30:00.005+01:002009-09-15T20:35:45.610+01:00RUSSIAN BELLSI love Bells, any sort of Bells.<br /><br />In many of the sites on our tour of the Golden Ring we found bell towers where a single person could ring up to 36bells via series of ropes, chains, pedals..<br /><br />There are a few photos below which give a flavour of this.<br /><br />The final photo is a short video showing a demonstration rig of bells and the technique used to ring them.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tbody><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/N2-oNNOBWTYo3V-8mA0NPg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq_QO_PIpWI/AAAAAAAAN2U/G22yJAYmXyM/s400/Zvonnitsa%20belltower.jpg"></a><br><br /><b>Zvonnitsa belltower, A 16th-17th century tower at the Spaso-Evfimiev Monastery</b><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/UulYrLXsHzp1Xk6fUco-Fg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rjSnHpjI/AAAAAAAANp8/wNk9d4sWe4Y/s400/Ringing%20Bells%20Spaso-Evfimievsky%20Convent.jpg"></a><br><br /><b>Ringing Bells Spaso-Evfimievsky Convent. One man can ring 36 bells with ropes and pedals</b><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Ip1XZoqGtiMx9m0FAfVRow?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r3yRE02I/AAAAAAAANrI/VsW3LEX7KyY/s400/Bell%20Tower%20of%20the%20Rostov%20Citadel.jpg"></a><br><br /><b>Bell Tower of the Rostov Citadel. The bells of the Rostov Ouspenie Cathedral number 15, were all cast in the 1680s, and the largest (Sysoy) weighs 32tonnes</b><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Q-Af-FFPwEmlsVTpMermaA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r4mNG3BI/AAAAAAAANrM/p7GZ0oSk37o/s400/Zvonnitsa%20belltower.jpg"></a><br><br /><b>Zvonnitsa belltower</b><br /></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a> [a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><object id="BLOG_video-FAILED" class="BLOG_video_class" width="320" height="266" contentid="FAILED"></object>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-26210274855633156842009-09-15T17:43:00.007+01:002009-09-15T18:24:35.370+01:00RED ALL OVER<B>Q:</B> <I>What is Black and White and read all over.</I><br /><B>A:</B> <I>A <B>newspaper</B>. But Russia is <B></I>RED</B><I> all over, even if no longer in the Soviet or Communist way</I>.<br /><br />Today I wanted to share with you a few thoughts on two days in Russia.<br /><br />When I visited Saint Petersburg (Санкт-Петербу́рг) 3years ago I was aware that this was not really 'Russian' in the same way that Paris is not really French, Berlin is not really German ... All are cosmopolitan operating to a culture that is partly based on multinational forms and partly on a dynamic that grows from the compression of so much into that metropolis.<br /><br />Our present location very much is REAL Russia in the same way that Barnsley is real Britain (well maybe NOT in this case!!!).<br /><br />To me Russia seems stern and cheerless, at least as manifested by the people we have met so far. There is a common thread of petit bureaucracy, or is it just some personal games that Russian people like play.<br /><br />The Russian border guards that held us for 3hours in the middle of the night and yet achieved less in the way of security than a security man who watches you go into your local supermarket. Piss off Putin (or at least the Prime Minister whose limbs are at the end of the strings that you pull. Every country NEEDS tourism, and Russia probably needs it more than most. WELCOME tourists with pleasant and gentle border procedures and let your guests feel that they should be in your country.<br /><br />In <A href="http://www.stsl.ru/">Sergiyev Posad</A> (Се́ргиев Поса́д) we entered an almost empty car park and were told that our mini coach could not be parked there, and yet there was no obvious alternative place from which to access the attraction. The way to deal with such barriers is on a sliding scale from "<i>Please nice Mister Security, will you let me in</i>", to the much more tempting "<i><B>F..k Off</B> you commie b....r, Lenin is dead and whatever nasty Mafia man you are working for, mine is even bigger and nastier</i>!" You just need to judge which one will work for you at the time.<br /><br />I got told off in Sergiyev Posad for photographing the Iconostasis (altar screen comprising dozens of gilded icon portraits). This was in spite of having paid 100rubbles for the privilege of taking photographs at this attraction. When a man in a black dress whispered in my ear I didn't know whether to get excited or afraid. When I spotted the long beard I judged that fear was more appropriate, and even the worst cross-dressers in Leeds don't do excessive facial hair AND wear a frock!<br /><br />He achieved very little, because I had already got the shots I wanted and I share these with you here. The iconostasis is my shot, and the lovely candle lit icon is by Juris.<br /><br />On our first night in <A href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Alexandrov">Alexandrov</A> (Алекса́ндров) Juris and I went into a mini supermarket. There was no bread left (come back Lenin, all is forgiven), but Juris assured me that there was a very good selection of Beers and Cigarettes and all at dirt cheap prices. The people in the shop all looked cheerless, but maybe this was only a pre-Vodka state!<br /><br />They were all simply dressed in ill-fitting clothes, and their complexions were dull and colourless, their eyes dark and without any twinkle. I concluded there were as grey and as thin as the very concrete apartment blocks that the Soviets provided for the Comrades from Poland and Czechoslovakia right through to Vladivostok.<br /><br /><B>Q:</B> <i>What is Black and White and read all over</i>.<br /><B>A:</B> <i>Russia is <B></i>grey<i></B> (and therefore black and white all over)</i>.<br /><br /> I told Juris that when I talked to Russian people they always seemed hostile to me, and that what I had asked for was too much trouble. "<i>You want Lemon with you're tea! Why should I give you Lemon? Lenin never gave me Lemon, Stalin never gave me Lemon, Kruschev never gave me, even Gorbachev never gave me Lemon, and it is certain that Putrid Putin will never give me Lemon. Here Englishman, take your tea and I hope the effing Lemon will poison you</i>". Juris assured me that this was not the case.<br /><br />However, I am left with an overriding impression that foreign visitors are 'difficult' for Russians to deal with. Perhaps it is the many years of the Cold War which meant hardly anyone visited. Maybe it is the years of Secret Police which made it good practice to suspect every unknown face in case anything said or done might get reported back and result in a spell in a Gulag. Russians I think have too many reasons not to be over friendly to any outsiders. But perhaps Russians (and maybe ALL Russia) and outsiders are the poorer if this mutual suspicion is true.<br /><br />I've got a couple more photos here to put two fingers up to this Russian petit bureaucracy. The first is taken in Rostov inside one of the many delightful churches. It shows one of the 'impromptu' choirs which miraculously appear when tourists gather in groups and when there are CDs to sell. Don't tell me NOT to take your photographs, if you are into marketing yourselves in this way, then a consequence is that you get photographed, so there!<br /><br />The second is a picture of a Police car. You DO NOT photograph Policemen or their cars; so I did. After this I stopped buying the 100Rubbles Photo ticket at each site; they were never checked and if you get income from admitting tourists you MUST expect them to use cameras.<br /><br />I even cheated the Nuns at <A href="http://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM364T_Tolga_Monastery_Yaroslavl_Russia">Tolga Monastery</A>, <A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaroslavl">Yaroslavl</A> out of their 200Rubbles photo ticket. But if you've seen the indecent amount of brand new gold on their cupolas and all over their iconostasis then it would have been quite improper of me to have contributed for more. Very beautiful, however, and we heard the Nun's choir singing for themselves (not for CDs). <br /><br />They also rang a full chime of their bells lasting several minutes to announce the start of a service. Quite fabulous, one of travellers was moved to rejoin the Catholic faith solely from his time spent here. I lit a candle here to my father; he died on August 31st 5years ago. <br /><br />After Rostov, Yaroslavl. Our day, which started with departure from the hotel at 07:30 and it is now 19:55 hours and we are only just starting back with possibly 180Km till Alexandrov .<br /><br />PS: We arrive at about 22:20hrs.<br />PPS: The weather so far has been very warm, often bright and sometimes sunny. My new H&M shower proof can be returned unworn.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/n_mTBi_EQbbzSjycTBpwcg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rbbYtVdI/AAAAAAAANpg/aQRz2k1RuDM/s400/candlelit%20icon.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Candle lit Icon in Church of the Holy Spirit, at Sergiyev Posad</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0MzM4ikyGXj7wMzIQQsUYA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rcnZtSMI/AAAAAAAANpk/OalwzcHjeqU/s400/iconastastis.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Iconostasis in Church of the Holy Spirit, Sergiyev Posad</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/-pE278me2CuQWVVIImXJ8A?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r66g-UmI/AAAAAAAANrU/ZmDlaCUWcBY/s400/rostov%20choir.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Rostov, a delightful Russian Choir gives a recital just before announcing their CD is available</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/tJjmraDeIidnYo7woeFblQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8re-bokHI/AAAAAAAANps/mocVon4F5N4/s400/suzdal%20228.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Illegal Photo: Russian Police Car (Lada Samara) at Vladimir</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/c2lTPBa3Tz6zsti4nBOGhg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r-XaIj_I/AAAAAAAANrk/mmyg-tTYGdU/s400/Yaroslavl%20nunnery.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Tolga Monastery on the Volga River at Yaroslavl was founded in the early 14th century</B><br /></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a> [a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></table>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-53842526786856349602009-09-15T16:52:00.007+01:002009-09-15T17:37:19.518+01:00RUSSIAN FOOD FACTSOur journey yesterday (Thursday) was again very long, and once again we had to eat on the road. In fact we called in at a large Supermarket at 18:30hrs and were given one hour to eat and shop.<br /><br />Juris found a place in the Food Court which did meals by the weight. Take a small plate and pile it up with half a kilo of food for 90 Rubbles, or take a larger plate and fill this with a whole kilo of food for 140 Rubbles. I took the larger plate and helped myself to fish baked with vegetables and cheese on top, and then piled on sauted whole new potatoes, broccoli and a cheese/carrot salad. Juris saw that my plate was not full enough, so having filled his he piled on mine a chicken leg and others. <br /><br />I wanted a piece of Apple Strudel and Juris told me this also had to be piled on the same plate - it all came under the same weight. In fact our plates were only weighed by eye, and if you kept your pile quite short you were spared the weighing scales. 260Rubbles for 2 meals and a soft drink, hardly a fiver!<br /><br />Eating eventually leads you to the toilets. I've been spared any really horrible toilets, but I do think that putting your used toilet paper in a bucket is totally inhuman. Almost as bad is the quality of the toilet paper. It is a ghastly beige colour and very thin. <br /><br />I feel sure that the paper from the bucket is 'recycled' by washing and joining back together! At one place, having paid the attendant to enter the toilets she then offered me about 4sheets of toilet paper rolled together; there was none in the cubicle!<br /><br />Thursday had started by visiting <A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rostov">Rostov</A> (Ростов), a really ancient walled monistical community, and totally gorgeous. Several magnificent cathedrals are contained within this citadel and onion domes of every hue thrust into the sky. Such communities were always solidly constructed for defence, and needed to stand up against possible Mongol hordes as well as neighbouring 'Russian' kingdoms seeking expansion. <br /><br />But it didn't always work, and in <A href="http://www.vladimir-city.ru/welcome/sights/?arch">Vladimir</A> (Влади́мир) it was explained that when the population sheltered in the Dormition Cathedral in Vladimir (see photo) against attack, the aggressors lit fires around the church and caused the death of many inside from the heat and smoke; the church survived and was redecorated later (in gaudy baroque).<br /><br />This part of Russia benefitted from having rich fertile black soil, unlike much of Russia to the north and west which has the much less good sandy soil so typical of the Baltic. With such soil, a rich agricultural thrived and on its back the monasteries built good businesses and very comfortable gilded communities for themselves. Take a look at Fountains Abbey, it was the same there as well.<br /><br />In <A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaroslavl">Yaroslavl</A> (Яросла́вль) about 50 churches were built in only some 70years. Even now the street plan of Yaroslavl is like a wheel with roads going from the hub to the 'tyre' and each road ends with a church. It was impossible to visit all of Yaroslavl, or to take in all of its features. <br /><br />Yaroslavl (Яросла́вль) celebrates a 1000years of history in 2010 and many domes were being freshened, interiors cleaned, and resoration work was all around. UNESCO is granting Yaroslavl the status of World Heritage site, with a certain amount of controversy and disapproval of some works currently ongoing. <br /><br />This town lies on the River Volga (and Rostov is connected by River/canal too), some millions were spent on new facilities to encourage the river steamers to bring new visitors into Yaroslavl, but it hadn't worked. Unfortunately, between the lovely churches and historic aspects of Yaroslavl is a modern reality of a large city with Chemical works and heavy industry, and the thoughtlessness of Lenin and Stalin of how to combine history and industry; it is quite nasty in parts.<br /><br />Enjoy !!!<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CkiyGdSMsp0TmKdhRa0gWA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r5kzKjkI/AAAAAAAANrQ/slI-QflPJCo/s400/Inside%20the%20Rostov%20Citadel.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>The Church of St. Gregory of Nazianzus. 1670–1680s, Rostov Veliky (Ростов Великий)</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CpZvm5RoVs-tOPdgER_trA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r2nl_9TI/AAAAAAAANrE/PQwBD8H4IiQ/s400/Church%20of%20Resurrection.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Rostov Kremlin. Church of Resurrection of Christ (1670), Rostov Veliky (Ростов Великий)</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fs6UhIFQOrX4UmwHQqU6-A?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rxYw_3nI/AAAAAAAANqs/8UsD7uYzzHQ/s400/Golden%20Gates.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Golden Gates of Vladimir (Zolotye Vorota). Supposedly the earliest stone structure still standing in Russia, originally constructed in 1164. Originally it sat in the middle of an immense defensive city wall instead of a traffic island.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/owPBaUr12_JNmOpdSg6CdQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8rwgtMecI/AAAAAAAANqo/k-hSkMv9moo/s400/Dormition%20Cathedral.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Dormition Cathedral in Vladimir (Успенского собора во Владимире). Built 1158-60 and 1185-89, the building survived being set alight by the Mongols in 1239 even though the people sheltering inside it did not.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/QAme39krdPzW9I41xbEHSw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8r9Oy8BkI/AAAAAAAANrg/kj2Py92sE_8/s400/Yaroslavl%20Domes.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Yaroslavl Churches: [Left] Church of Archangel Michael in Yaroslavl (Церковь Михаила Архангела. Западный фасад), [centre] Redemeer Church of the Transfiguration On-the-town, [right] New Cathedral on the site of the Dormition Cathedral</B><br /></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a> [a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></table>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23875625.post-70955998980696834612009-09-15T16:02:00.006+01:002009-09-15T17:40:46.779+01:00TO KILL A MOCKBAMoscow<br /><br />Something of a lightning tour of Russia's capital.<br /><br />After an overlong lecture of how Russia created Quartz crystals for radio sets in the 1950s at the Museum of Stone (Музей рукотворного камня) in Alexandrov, we then had a 2hour visit to the <A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexandrov_Kremlin">Kremlin </A> (Alexandrovskaya sloboda) in this town. <br /><br />Now a rather tired Nunnery, the Assumption convent (Успенский монастырь) was rather a pleasant time ambling on a guided tour of the many buildings within this walled fortress. Tsar Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV Grozny) thought it rather pleasant too, and after conquering the lands all around he decided to take over the place for his residence for 17years. We visited the very building that he used for himself.<br /><br />And all the time we were treated to lovely musical bells - which I have recorded. There may have been a wedding in progress, or other function that caused the bells to be rung; delightful whatever the reason. Also at this place we were treated to "Tea with Carrot". This turned out to be a lovely light tea made from tea bag and water from a Samovar. A small iced cake was served with it, and this may have had some carrot in it, though it was quite like a Rock Cake. I managed to tip my cup into my lap and spent the next hour looking as though I was incontinent.<br /><br />Moscow came next as was a dash around. We landed up at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour (Храм Христа Спасителя) and walked around it. We made to walk across a large open square and were halted by a young uniform who informed us that we could not go that way. We paused to consider this, and whilst we did this lots of individuals walked exactly the way we wanted to go and were not confronted. So we pressed on with our original route, and came to closed barrier with just enough room to squeeze through - which many people were doing. we started to go through until the arrival of the young uniform who told us again that something was happening and that we could not go this way. <br /><br />We started to return, only then to be told by another young uniform that we could not go that way. Clearly in Russia the 'Lenin hand' does not know what the 'Stalin hand' is doing. We left these too toy soldiers (or toy police - I don't know which) to look extremely stupid all by themselves and just carried on as though we had never met them! What point is there in such regulation?<br /><br />Anyway we then headed to the Metro and made for Red Square, but this was a very nervous underground trip for me and I really couldn't take in the special nature of Moscow’s Metro system. On arrival at Red Square Juris and I managed to lose the rest of the party which I found quite exasperating. But Juris did manage to phone our guide and as they were still by the Eternal Flame we regrouped quickly.<br /><br /><br />Red Square was something of a disappointment, particularly so because they had erected some giant metallic stadium within in for a public event and this ruined all views. Public spaces such as this should NEVER be filled with anything except tourists with cameras.<br /><br />We beat a retreat to some square with a giant monument in Victory Park that commemorated the 1382days of the second World War, and took some refreshment. I also used a plastic portaloo at the extortionate price of 20Rubbles (about 40pence). There was no seat, and no way of washing hands, and I know EXACTLY what Russian poo looks like.<br /><br />We have been stuck in one of Moscow's infamous gridlocks for about an hour whilst I typed this. The schedule for the rest of this day is make for the border and Novgorod and home. I am ready to leave Russia now, but I can definitely say that this has been quite an extraordinary journey in so many many different ways. <br /><br />02:20hrs we are forced to park up on the gravel verge as a passenger side rear wheel is punctured and totally destroyed. Given the state of these roads it is surprising that tyres last more than a week or so. Some of us remain inside the vehicle, some meander around on the verge watching the relentless convoy of ill-disciplined trucks heading hard for St Petersburg in the black night. The road is a vile 3-lane section, sometimes giving the extra lane to our side and sometimes to the other side.<br /><br />04:45 we pause at a Hypermarket on the edge of Novgorod. We will stay here until 07:00 and sleep until public transport awakens and can take us to visit Novgorod. No WiFi in this car park, so I cannot transmit from here.<br /><br />07:00 we begin a tour of <A href=”http://www.novgorod.ru/english/”>Novgorod Kremlin</A> lately being spruced up for its 1150 Anniversary. Russia started in Novgorod.<br /><br />At 13:30 we head home, a long drive on not very good roads, but we are promised a meal break just before the Russian border. But it doesn't happen (the meal I mean, not the border) and our starving souls are given a rebate instead of hot food. <br /><br />Then the border, and only one hour to clear it this time, but once again we had to march off the bus with our luggage and it was so well inspected that when the guy checked our passports in his kiosk he could not know how many bags we carried or what colour it was. And the stupid fact is that we left as much stuff in the minibus as we carried into the building. Hundreds of carrier bags with shopping, clothes, gifts, food .... all completely unchecked.<br /><br />22:30 reach Flat in Riga. Phew !<br /><br />I am left with lots of positive feelings about this holiday, even though a lot of what I have written here may seem critical. The British LIKE to criticise, rather than to praise. This trip was very very arduous, but it never pretended to be otherwise. It was also full of interest and excitement. I am glad to have had the privilege.<br /><br />I don't know whether I will stay under the Red Flag (actually it's now Red White and Blue) again, but I would encourage others to consider coming to this giant country, though consider it most carefully first.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;text-align:center"><tr><td><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/lxs1bUZqgeWVf6etv7GGSg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sGtmTi3I/AAAAAAAANsA/bAZlZJRRC6c/s400/Museum%20of%20Stone.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Museum of Stone (Музей рукотворного камня) at Alexandrov (Александров). Attached to the institute of synthetic crystals, where Quartz, Diamonds and other precious stones were industrially created. The shabbiness of the buildings and potholed and puddled roads and paths is typical of Russia today.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PcnCMuwiPRYobhxNjpP_8w?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sKPNhwJI/AAAAAAAANsM/sHp6g65zz9M/s400/Terrible%20Residence.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Terrible Residence. Tsar Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV Grozny) lived here from 1564-1581 within the walls of Assumption convent (Успенский монастырь) at Alexandrov (Александров)</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/84kFPENAgrdT0ciq8HwtLQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sLXQXbII/AAAAAAAANsQ/PfEVL7_nPHE/s400/Ivan%20Infanticide.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Ivan Infanticide. Il'ya Repin's historical portrait (1885) Ivan IV killed his son. Photographed in Alexandrovskaya sloboda </B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Alz8iKBX8JGAw9XpO_y0wA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sMBBWFiI/AAAAAAAANsU/f2ArLshwQQQ/s400/Red%20Square%20Mockba.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Red Square, Moscow. The stepped square building in front with the black band is Lenin's Tomb, MacCartney's Tomb has not yet been built.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/qdekHdybBHCfpDuN6FrmSQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_PFjMi5EIaeM/Sq8sNLw_XjI/AAAAAAAANsY/t53RIfmulDU/s400/Red%20Square%20Moscow.jpg" /></a><BR><br /><B>Red Square, Moscow</B><br /></td></tr><tr><td>From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/RedSimon/Russia?feat=embedwebsite">Russia</a> [a PICASA album by RedSimon]</td></tr></table>redsimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15065052822547202131noreply@blogger.com0