COMO: MERRY WET CHRISTMAS

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This Blog on Como continues after a few photos

Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:
COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR

COMO: THE EIGHT COURSES OF CHRISTMAS

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.

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.

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 "What the effing hell do you want?" Of course, to be understood properly by a sufferer from Tourette syndrome I must answer in like manner, "I want an effing hot chocolate you bag, and these two want some effing coffee, and merry bloody Christmas to you too."

The coffee was duly consumed and we paid, wishing each other a 'Fecking happy New Year' 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.

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.

(* We didn't really go to Turezzo, our coffee was politely taken in Tremezzo.)

This Blog on Como continues after a few photos

Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:
COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR

COMO: BORMIO BOXING DAY

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This Blog on Como continues after a few photos

Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:
COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR

COMO CONSIDERATIONS, THE FINAL DAY

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.

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. “Hello dear, Granny and Granpa here in Como, did you have a good Christmas?” At the other end a reluctant child utters the well rehearsed, “Yes, thank you Granny, and are you enjoying Italy?” 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, “Did Brook like the little Donkey we sent her? We thought it would be good to keep her jewellery on.” 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.

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, “You look like someone from Mrs Brown's Boys.” 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. “Which one?” I asked, “The one who dresses up as a Chicken or a Banana, or maybe the Priest?” Unhesitating J replied, “The Gay One!” Hmmmm. I didn't know whether to make some reply expressing shock, or simply ask for his phone number.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Best Wishes for 2014.

Some photos are given below, but the link given next takes you to the FULL album:
COMO CHRISTMAS an album on FLICKR

If you want to read about Christmas 2010, click on this link: the Coach Trip from Hell 2010

ANNECY: BEGIN THE COACH TRIP FROM HELL

Bonjour mes Amis.

Already I am planning NOT to take another coach holiday, and definitely NOT to take a Ferry crossing.

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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. "Yesterday 287 coaches, 6,000 lorries and 36,000 people embarked at Dover" said the sign. Well at looked as though there would be as many people right now on just our boat.

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 "it wasn't allowed". So whilst people queued outside the door several singletons occupied double tables, and even some pairs occupied foursomes. Crazy.

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!.

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.

This Blog continues after the Photo

ANNECY: THE BORING, THE DIVORCED, AND THE WELSH

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

This Blog continues after the photos

ANNECY: JOYEUX NOEL

Happy Christmas

It snowed in Annecy today, nasty wet stuff, but it is still snow on Christmas Eve.

We took a walking tour of the Vieux Annecy, very interesting in daylight, of course I had already seen it in darkness last night.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Happy Christmas

ANNECY: HAUT, PLUS HAUT, PLUS PLUS HAUT

(High, Higher, Highest)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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: "what the feck do you know?" Then she declared she was head of photography at some school or other, but she didn't actually do photography. Exactly!

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!.

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.

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.

This Blog continues after the photos.

ANNECY: ITS A CHAM

I just found an excuse to send you a few more photos of lovely Chamonix.

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 !!!

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.

ANNECY: COACH TRIP END

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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 !

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 "Some silly bugger's alarm clock is going off, why don't they turn that alarm off" I corrected her: "Excuse me, that's the driver's mobile phone and he can't answer it because he's driving." 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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

FROWEINACHTEN: CHRISTMAS IN BERLIN

Here are a few images portraying Berlin at Christmas


Gendarmenmarkt for Christmas, Berlin, December 2007


Arkaden Shopping Centre, Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Christmas 2007


Christmas Tree made of Lego in the Beisheim Centre, Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Christmas 2007


Santa Claus and Reindeer made of Lego in the Beisheim Centre, Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Christmas 2007

PRESEPIO: PERFECTO NATALE ITALIANA

This post celebrates a FANTASTIC Christmas spent on Lake Garda at Bardolino. Thanks to the boys and girls who joined the "Just You" tour to the Park Hotel Gritti in Bardolino for Christmas 2006.

PRESEPIO: A nativity scene, also called a crib or crèche (meaning "crib" or "manger" in French) generally refers to any depiction of the birth or birthplace of Jesus. In Italy is known as presepe; It has been introduced by Saint Francis of Assisi.



This first picture shows the Presepio for Bardolino which was mounted on a yacht in the little harbour, and here it is lit at night. The shot below shows some detail of this presepio as the sun sets behind the yacht.



The little lakeside town of Garda had a much bigger Presepio; about a dozen scenes on the lakeside using lifesize mannequins.



In Venice I came across this Presepio of the much more conventional kind displayed in Piazza San Marco next door to Basilica di San Marco in Venezia. For a whole album of Venice shots click here.



And finally, one of the grandest Presepios I came across was this star of Bethlehem bursting out of Verona's Arena; sheer Opera !



Click here >> For more pictures of Verona

PRESEPIO: Christian Nativity scenes, in two dimensions (drawings, paintings, icons, etc.) or three (sculpture or other three-dimensional crafts), usually show Jesus in a manger, Joseph and Mary in a barn (or cave) intended to accommodate farm animals. A donkey and an ox accompany them; besides the necessity of animals for a manger, this is an allusion to Isaiah: "the ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib; but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider" (Is. 1:3). The scene sometimes includes the Magi or Three Wise Men, shepherds, angels and the Star of Bethlehem. The traditional scenes that show the shepherds and Magi together are of course not true to the Bible story, since the Magi arrived much later (Matthew 2:1-12) than the shepherds(Luke 2:7-16).

Although St Francis of Assisi is credited with the invention of three-dimensional Nativity Scenes, drawings and paintings existed earlier. The tradition was brought into Spain from Naples during the reign of Charles III of Spain. (see Wikipedia )

For some more beautiful views of Venice and Verona, click below:

Venice	Verona