On Our Last Legs in Barcelona

The drive down across the French border to the metropolis of Barcelona took no more than four hours and once the breaks had decided to work, was relatively easy. However, as the city rose around us, melting into the sea ahead, the van began to stutter... the radio choked... the lights started to flash... and we thought – if we stop now, we are not going to start again. So we drove up to a nice car parking place outside Barcelona FC’s Nou Camp and sure enough, the battery was dead. Instead of rushing to call the rescue service, we queued up for a tour and spent a pleasant hour strolling through the mighty football club’s home ground; gazing at the large silver trophies lined up in glass cases, snapping away at the grass mown into stripes. At about 3.30 we returned to our tired old van and made the expensive call to the European AA. They said they would send someone within one hour and a half. One hour and a half passed us by so we rang back: they needed the dimensions of the van (no idea why they had not rang us to ASK for the dimensions of the van). So another hour passed by and eventually near to 7pm a big tow truck arrived with a friendly Spaniard. He spoke more English than the last guy.

After the van had been winched up onto the trailer and we were up in the driver’s cab, the ‘rescue service’ explained that he wasn’t sure the garage would be open but he imagined we would just about get there in time. Of course, this filled us with confidence. Fortunately this time it hadn’t closed its sliding doors and we could book the van in. Unfortunately they were just about to close so there was no chance of us getting the van back within the day and we had a little trouble communicating that we could not wait three days until Friday as he, nor any of the others in the garage spoke English. He led us back into the dark workshop where he had a computer set up with google translator (the wonders of the modern technology!) and we had a strange conversation that concluded in his promise that he would look on Thursday and an unusual translation that he would text us if he could do the work. Now the only issue was where we would live for the next couple of days.

Once more luck seemed to be on our side for once and the AA phoned back to tell us that a taxi had been booked to collect us from the garage at 9.15, take us into the city, and to a hotel. The mysterious taxi arrived to find us on the grassy verge between the two sides of the roads, surrounded with a collection of miss-matched bags filled with what we could squeeze in, bearing in mind that our whole lives were in the van and we didn’t really have much of a bag between us. We were whirled away through the complicated network of streets and dropped off outside a fairly smart ‘Travellodge’ style hotel, with no fee required by the driver. Our first question as we checked in was ‘where are we?!’. The time by now was nearer to 10pm and we hadn’t had any dinner and were feeling quite frazzled. But we did not know how long we would be inside the city, more importantly, how long we would be able to walk (just about) to go out for a drink or two.

Living like the Spanish, we hit the streets for tapas and wandered along Las Ramblas at midnight. Despite wandering in the wrong direction, and having an hour’s walk in heels back to the hotel, it was perfect. A great introduction to Spain.

The Golden 'M'

MacDonald’s, engrained in every culture, promoting obesity, cheap, unethical and nasty food and ruining historic city centres. There has not been a single European country that we have visited where Ronald has not left his greasy footprints. Disguised in a street full of high class fashion or standing out on the outskirts, MacDonald’s is a sure thing.

So why do I now think that there should be a 'Golden 'M' map or a Sat Nav option for the fast food outlet? Two main facilities: internet and toilets. Usually clean, well maintained toilets too. Driving along in our big red van there isn't another place that doesn't flash a wink or raise an eyebrow when we growl into the car park. Prejudice is non-existent. Everyone is equal; the fat American boy wanting chicken nuggets for breakfast (Avignon), the backpackers sprawled out across the brown leather sipping coffee (Toulon), or the lone man drinking beer with his breakfast McMuffin. Two more ragamuffins sneaking to the loo or buying the cheapest item on the ever growing menu and staying until the laptop runs out makes no difference.

And after all, they do do a nice cappuccino.

South France

France:
beaches, busy
towns, bustling,
traffic, beeping,
castles, sweating,
streets, stinking...

Places visited:
Monaco, Cannes, St Tropez,
Aix-en-Provence, Chateauneuf-du-Pape,
Avignon, Collioure, Port-Vendres,
Montpellier, Carcassonne

Impressions gleaned:
wealthy foreigners (and the less so) will all flock here
in their super-cars
and French, German, Italian, English
lie shoulder to shoulder
sweating for their colour in the hot Mediterranean sun.
Life is casual; nakedness
rules, weeing is encouraged
and drinking is normal.

French.

There are times when, after spending the day bronzing on a beach, occasionally dipping in the clear blue sea, not really showering and forgetting to shave, when one starts to become French. I think that I have reached that stage. It is only my English roots that leave me longing for fresh water and soap, like the land of hope and glory, an oasis in the haze in front of us.

ITALY.

Italian drivers are worse than Croatian. In no other country would it be acceptable to drive down the middle of a single lane road, no matter how wide. So negotiating the drivers, the toll roads, the tourists and the long distances all together Italy has been a little hectic.

With just over a week to cover Italy (didn't fancy the mass exodus of Italian tourists on the 1st August) I think we've done our best. Verona, Garda, Bologna, Florence, Rome and Pisa: major sights, done.

So here's a summary of what stuck out for me over our time in the country:

Michaelangelo's Piazza: starkers Mike staring over the pinky-orange hue of Florence, the churches of the city peaking out like juggling balls as puffy clouds drift through the dark evergreen Tuscan hills.


Neptune in Bologna: another phallus carved in stone encircled by his female counterparts aptly squirting water from their breasts (apparently a representation of the four great rivers but I think these people just liked making naked statues).

The Trevi Fountain, Rome: like the better half of a conjoined twin spilling out of the grand grey stone house behind into an even more elaborate scene of Roman gods, sea creatures and cascading green water.

Arco di Constantino:  One of several Roman memorial arches built around the Roman city centre to celebrate one of their vast number of victories in an age of grandeur. Next to THE Colusseum, this was perhaps overshadowed for many but for me, from the shelter of a tiny umbrella, it held some of the sensationalism of the Roman Age. Each square meter was intricately carved with images of extravagance - feasting, battles and courtly rituals.

Basilica de San Pedro: on the second attempt, after wrapping my bare limbs in a floor length dress and woolly cardigan (not so nice in 32 degree heat), we managed to get inside the great church at the heart of the Vatican. For the Pope's own personal temple it was decidedly modest, there was restraint exercised in gold relics and fanciful offerings - at least where we could see. Huge ceilings curling up to meet the streams of light pouring through slits in the gilt cupola. Cool marble in rich reds and regal purple echoed the footsteps and murmurs of a million tourists passing through the great vestibule.

The Leaning Tower of Pisa: fun. It was also much more wonky than we expected! Everyone was posing in comical 'holding-up-the-tower' positions, making me feel slightly stupid when we did too. All the same Pisa was a lovely city and it was nice have only one small sight to see for once!

So a quick summary of a big destination, but it has definitely been an unforgettable experience.

Tuesday 19th July, into Italy.

We drove straight to Venice, not the city itself, but all the same the outskirts were enough to master. So we stopped at the first campsite, and couldn't start. A wire had come loose in the ignition, but we couldn't confirm this until one hour later after being towed to a packed-in garage and charged 30€.

Next day: Venice. Surprisingly it did not smell as we had been warned but it was heaving with tourists weaving their way across the piazzas like ants crawling to their nest. We alighted from the vaporetto right in Piazza San Marco, at the tourist's hub. Queues for all of the monuments stretched away around corners and past mask stalls standing on the square. We did still manage to enjoy the intricately crafted facades of the Basilica, the red and white walls of the Palazzo Ducale and the elaborate gilt clock face of the Torre dell’Orologio before sneaking through the weathered arches into the maze of small streets and canals.

I think Ed took a photo on every bridge except the Rialto, which was another people train track swaying in procession over the Grand Canal, as we made our way into quieter streets and lesser known churches with walls plastered with the lesser known of Tintoretto's celebrated canvases.

After being ripped off with service charge and obligatory tip (plus giving the ice-cream man an extra euro with wrong change) we found the artist's resting place far out on the edge of the city. By this time we had exhausted our legs and feet so headed back to the van on the campsite with no loo-roll.

Venice in a day = done.

Untiltled.

Little dots in the sky
Suspended
Cotton wool buds
Independant of their wooden rod
With no support
Hanging
On the soft white - blue
Turning to pink
Forming
In the womb of our atmosphere
But for now
They are scattered; pieces of our world
Lost to an endless horizon -

Workaway #2

Traumatised from mountain roads we arrived at Paul & Katja’s late in the afternoon. Instantly friendly and kind they welcomed us into their new house for some proper English tea, shortly followed by a tour of their gloriously renovated three storey Slovenian house and field scattered with wild-flowers. Dinner was already soaking: spicy chicken smoked later on a cherry wood fire with roasted potatoes and cucumber salad from their newly emerging vegetable patch.



During our short stay we built a path and chopped some wood (moving it to the perfect bonfire site ready for baked potatoes). We wish we could have done more for them in exchange for their generous hospitality. Even if it was just for the stunning views and for bringing us to such a secluded gem nestled South of the Triglavski national park.

Gore, the village above Paul & Katja’s mountain retreat, consists of around eight houses, most of which have at the very least a neatly attended garden and not unusually a sloping field and a few livestock. The small dairy filled with 20 beige and white cows formed the centre of the rural village. From their house, situated at the end of a 45% road, the forest encrusted mountains of three valleys stretched away, greeting the chiselled clouds with their pyramidal peaks. After rain (half of our stay) these peaks would rise out of the mist like triumphant ships wrecked in twirling currants that disappeared up in wisps. They had extended the balcony from the original house out into a piazza where we bathed in the evening sun with a carafe of chilled white wine and the delights from Katja’s kitchen, gazing at this incredible view.

On Saturday we met the neighbours. A typical Slovenian family with the three daughters living upstairs and butchery in the garage (a family will build enough floors in the house for the children they expect to have). It was a party to celebrate the new football pitch built by the residents of the next village. We all sat together enjoying the jaunty music of a traditional live band, sipping Laŝko and enviously following the young and old waltzers as they whirled around the tarmac.

When we left (after a few troubles getting the van out of the sand pit and up the hill) Katja packed us off with a loaf of freshly made bread and three packages of salamis and ham and we promised to return soon. Back on the road and thankful of the relief of a real home, we are off to discover Italy.

Workaway #1

After Ljubljana we travelled to Bled for a few nights camping before starting our first work-away.
First glimpse: a long traditional Slovenian farmhouse with enough space for all the family, opening up into a clean yard boxed in with triangular roofed barns and a stretch of overgrown field. Anẑe wasn’t at home so Spanish Lorre gave us the best of her knowledge of what we would be doing. And who knew how varied the next week would be.

We cut down 15 hectares of small apples, collected 25 litres of honey from hives in the mountain woods, unpacked 3000 crates from 2 lorries, picked 30 kilos of purple plums, unscrewed the lids from 2500 bottles, cleaned out two huge cool stores and even squeezed in a swim to the island on Lake Bled and a trip up Triglav, 2864m (or at least Ed did).

Anẑe and Lorre (Slovenian and Spanish) conveniently communicated in English and were our energetic hosts from 1^st July until the 13^th. We lived, worked and ate with them and they took us to Bled, Bohinj, Triglav and out with friends. The work was hard in 32° heat, and sometimes boring, unpacking, stacking, repacking and arranging wooden crates for 6 hours one morning or driving the tractor at 2mph up and down the tightly packed rows of apple trees while the others (including Branco, the uncle who only spoke Slovene) stood ‘throwing the apples down’ on the trailer behind. But it reaped rewards. Ed’s first mountain just happened to be the highest in Slovenia, including real climbing... We went all around the area collecting various goodies for supper – wine, fresh trout to be BBQed by a roaring gorge with some friends.



Overall it was a good workaway experience and we left a touch of sadness. I hope that we will remain friends with Anẑe and Lorre and return after their baby is born.

Several Unfortunate Events in Ljubljana.

On our second day in Slovenia we drove from their small coastline up to the capital city, the frequently mispronounced Ljubljana. (“lub-li-ana”). Instantly we loved it. The vibe was just right. After the down-turned expressions of most of the Croatian population, friendly Slovenians shone out like light in a dark place. That is until we were faced with the first major incident of our travels.

Ljubljana was a dream to drive into (albeit a Sunday afternoon) and almost a dream to park in (defiantly due to the day of the Sabbath). But all the same, we parked up near to some central flats where parking was free, then sauntered off into the city centre. The buzz of weekend life soon caught hold as we quickly found a toilet spot in a riverside cafe. The sights here are not to be compared with Vienna; the salmon pink town hall, the dragon bridge with its painted toe-nail guardians and the triple bridge being probably the extent of photographic souvenirs (the castle perched on the hill – sadly missed out of our extensive tour – another biggie). However it is a wonderful place for soaking up continental life.


Sunday afternoon wanderings lead us in search of the mysterious ‘Metalcova’, an ex-army base taken over by squatters... and now playing host to a youth hostel, a museum, and several eclectic clubs. We were intrigued. Suspicions were correct: peeking out from the modern courtyard of the ethnography museum we were unsure whether this was a back end council estate or a new style of modern art. The whole of two streets were covered in a myriad of spray-on colour. Graffiti reigned here. We ventured in and discovered some creepy models, ingenious building works and people just rising from a late night, not just from the youth hostel (an ex prison) but from the second storey of what could only be the hyped up music venues. One man almost watered me instead of his tomatoes hanging from a basket on the roof.

So how can such a hidden treasure become such an unfortunate event?? Well the first was perhaps discovered that morning: no gas. And after several fruitless searches previously we found a much obliging outdoor shop assistant who pin-pointed a spot on the map and looked up its postcode. But then more disappointment: the special station for refilling gas canisters only did propane. Not only that, they told us that it was only possible to find butane on the coast. So no more cooking in the van for a while.

Second, after a night’s stay in a campsite out of town, we drove back in for a photo trip (only two hours or so) and parked up near to where we had spent the night, on the road by a couple of bars. Returning, ready to move on again, we were greeted by police warnings attached to the van’s windows. All in Slovenian. And there was a clamp.

A young Slovene was just getting into his car on the opposite side of the road and I ran over to ask for a translation, which we got, as well as a lift all the way through the city to the parking place where one could pay for such atrocities. Once there all we could do was hand over the money and hope for the best. The man at the desk spoke little English. We were left to find our way back to the van.

At last we were on our way again, after the clamp miraculously disappearing and a sneaky van passing us in the street. There were also many more cars parked around us by then... Oh, and a couple of gentlemen having a laugh and pointing at our now free to roll wheel.

Enjoy Istria.

Most coastal hot spots here seem to be shared between Germans and Croatians. The Croatians will park anywhere and everywhere: we have driven from Rijeka to Pula in the last few days, the ‘beaches’ (sheer cliff faces ending in a shallower area of water, rocky underfoot) are usually reached by a steep, shingled descent and are sign-posted by the blocks of cars shunted up onto the embankment, in between trees, on hairpin bends.

Perhaps it was the few national holiday days that caused the mass exodus to the coastline, but now in a pretty fishing town 10 minutes from Pula, the crazy Croats are supplanted by the law abiding Germans. None of the cars at the expensive harbour parking are native, who (as do we) prefer to bumper each other into a small area behind the supermarket. The restaurants too are segregated: early diners at posh table-clothed venues are the tourist’s choice while a couple of local bars clinging to corners near to the centre are the Croatian’s favourite haunts.

In fact, as two Brits, young and not all that inconspicuous in our bright red van, it seems we are total aliens in this hidden continental paradise. 24.6.11

Free Camp.

Verb: to free camp.
Meaning: to camp anywhere without using any money

A list of places where we have free camped so far:
a sports centre car-park in a small town by Cologne
a pretty rose-lined car-park on the banks of the Rhine
a pub car park in a forest near Dresden
a lay-by outside a small Czech town (Loket)
city parking bays in Olomouc
next to some flats in Bratislava
outside the campsite (on the road) in Budapest
a residential area on Lake Balaton
a beach car park by the lake
a lay-by by a swimming spot
a lorry car park by a restaurant
by a graveyard in Zagreb
a lay-by neat to a clear, empty, lake
a beach
behind some trees, off the main road, by the sea
above a deserted cove with amazing water and a pebble beach


I suppose I should say that we have been quite lucky free camping so far - no break-ins, no disgruntled locals, no police...
the only real scare we had was in the lay-by by the lake in Hungary; someone tried the door, hurling me from deep sleep into a million new nightmares. From then on we have tried to stick to lit spots, or places not far from at least a few people.

Croatia has been a succession of free camping. Firstly with Zach - three in a bed! By the perfect spot on the edge of Split, then all along the coast, which is actually quite easy as there are plenty of laybys, the sea is near (showers not the most important thing with a source of cool water!) and even in car parks they don’t seem too bothered (you should see all the Croatian cars lined up along roads - pulled into trees, on cliff faces, on the pavement...)

So here are the things we have struggled with when trying to find a perfect free camp spot:
morning shade
SOME shade
good bush / toilet spot (no immediate road!)
water for cooling off / cleaning
noise / light pollution
free parking
not a recognised dogging spot...

Dalmatian Coast.

Little islands lying
in wait
for something...
movement? I couldn't
tear myself away
from this hilltop viewing platform
over the mysteries
of our world. They
just lie there
waiting
in the hazy heat
of late afternoon -
perhaps
they will change
with the light
as sun sinks
into sea.

Dubrovnik.

We spent three nights on a campsite, using up our valuable savings - but we had no choice, there was only one in the whole area and parking in this mountainous city was unthinkable so... they were free to monopolise prices as they chose.

It wasn't too bad though, a quiet corner spot with trees to hang our washing and a beach too! It was a 40minute walk to the historic walled part of Dubrovnik and what a wall! Up to five metres thick on the outer side, much thinner within, and the whole place criss-crossed by a network of tiny side streets, still lived in with washing dangling at window sills and women selling lace in the passageways.

My favourite part of our stay is, without doubt, the sea-kayaking tour out into the bay. We met our captain Mario and other crew mates at 5.15pm and kitted up for the sea challenge. Ed and I were the youngest by quite a long way but everyone was very pleasant. Superb views of the walls from the sea, a bit of history and a stop to try... a sea urchin!! All black and spiky and then inside orangey-pink like a mussel. And even Ed tried it! Bit salty really though.

We stopped for half an hour rest at a 'secret' bay, had some sarns and were given snorkels. I learned, to much amusement, that I am utterly crap at snorkelling as somehow I can't stop breathing out of my nose... I did find that pinching it closed with one hand whilst underwater helped. Ed looked like a dolphin diving and floating around in the peaceful water.

So after this excursion (and a few cups of wine when we landed with the others) we trekked back 'home', slept well and packed up. Let’s see what else the Dalmatian Coast has to offer.

A Familiar Face

CROATIA. Zagreb - stormy weather, lots of rain, driving on again...

There are lots of deserted houses, half-built and missing windows. Young people come to sit in their shells away from critical townsfolk. In the country too, next to barns converted and chickens running wild, are more of these dark places.

PLITVICA National Park was where we found Zach. He sent an email from Zagreb at exactly the same time we were there, saying he would be in Plitvica the next day, also the same as us - such a coincidence! So he phoned Ed and we arranged to pick him up then spend the rest of the day exploring the National, World Heritage, Park (somehow it had passed our notice that we were on the doorstep of such an outstanding area of natural beauty).

The top half consisted of, I think, six lakes joined by crystal clear water pouring though varying sized waterfalls. After a feast of a lunch: a huge circular brown loaf, butter, salami, cucumber and tomato, we felt ready to take the boat to the next walk and the aptly named "Big Waterfall".

We didn't leave until gone six so it was a long evening drive in the direction of Split (change to our plans in favour of Zach's). Stopping in a lay-by just outside a small local town the boys cooked up another Lidl special dog-food stew and we squeezed the three of us into the back of the van. A fitful night's sleep opened up into a glorious day and the surprise of another beautifully clear lake which we made the most of in the absence of a shower. Further investigation of the town led us through a few stalls to a marina and the biggest yacht I've ever seen! We made the last two hours of the journey that day as the bright sun heated up the van.

Split is an amazing town and I'm sure we will return on the way back up the coast. We didn't stop in the town that first afternoon but found a nice big car park, a stony bit of shoreline with the most delicious turquoise sea and a good breeze to whistle through the van. The next two nights were spent along from the beach by some quieter 'mermaid'-like rocks, waking up early in the heat, cooling off in the sea, burning in the sun, feasting like kings on fresh fish and vegetables from the market in town and sitting up late as the moon came out at night.

Now we have separated and left Zach to find his own path as we head down South to Dubrovnik.

Bye Bye Balaton.

All the storms, in the afternoon, evening, over-head at night, across the lake in the distance, no rain, lots of rain, light rain, loud thunder, bright forks down...

All the swims in the murky water, squishy mud, grey sand, snakes swimming, fish dancing - shiny in the evening light, swimming after dinner, in the morning, in the 28°C humid heat...

The island poking out: Volcanic formation, it's pretty village with the chilli house, the Magyar church domed by round balloons, the inner lake, the vineyards climbing up the hills...

Wine with dinner, and the Czech drivers, beer on the beach only a pound in a big, tall, handled glass; sheltering in the van from a storm...

And being woken at night by cars, and lightning flashing, and someone pulling at the door...

Now we're off again, having spent the last money at a Tesco's in Hungary, to cross the border, expect to be stopped...

Bratislava, Vienna & Budapest.

Three cities, three days!

Well... four days. Slept on a side street during a big storm in Bratislava the night before discovering the city centre: quite a small old town with panoramic views from the castle; big tower blocks surrounding the city and the Danube River stretching out to Vienna, our next destination. After a lunch of Halusky (despite Martin's father's impression that we would hate it!!) it is a classic Slovakian dish of potato dumplings/gnocchi with sheep’s cheese and bacon sprinkled on the top... we drove on to Vienna, stopping for a swim in the river before going to the city!

Vienna is very picturesque. Unfortunately it was a grey day when we were there, but the tall, clean, skilfully carved out buildings are no less impressive. We didn’t spend a lot of time in the city, just enough to test out their ice-cream, then headed on over the next border to Hungary. It didn't help that ALL the shops were shut - even supermarkets - for some religious holiday...

Budapest was stunning. Another storm as we were arriving predicted a memorable stay, red lightening lit up the dark clouds perched above the Buda hills as we closed in on the city. A fantastic campsite in the hills was our start point, with a proper Hungarian breakfast of langos, bread, cheese and ham set us up for a long, hot day in the city centre. We took a bus tour! (First ever) And the evening was even better...

Slovakia with a Guide!

We arrived at Martin's house at quarter to six on a sunny Sunday evening. He was waiting by the brightly marked in yellow house on the edge of Puchov. And already Martin was full with places to take us and things to tell us. Without him all would have just been a passing picture through the windows of the van; another factory, a big lake, some hills cut away.

The first stop was up the mountains behind his house - 1200m at its highest - slightly chilly but no snow now. We tried the border speciality, a sweet kind of dumpling/doughnut stuffed with blueberries and covered in butter, sugar and yoghurt. This was only the start of our Slovakian culinary experience. We were still to try: soup (cabbage and sausage or homemade vegetable), traditional breads with cheese and meat for breakfast, schnitzel, local sausages, not to mention countless shots to wash it all down. It has to be noted that we were very well looked after.

For our following two days Martin drove us in search of the attractions that he claimed were few and far between. Monday was a thermal water park with not just 38°C heated water but countless slides and a fantastic sauna area below. Turned out to be quite tiring! The next big trip was to Bonjnice Castle. A tour discovered the circular citadel with views in all directions across the valley, a bed chamber, a knight's dressing room and the hidden natural caves underneath it all.

After a storm we parted, us both with a sinking heart but Martin with his own adventures ahead. We have some souvenirs though... plenty of Slovakian chocolates, some hefty alcohol and even a birthday cake and earrings from his kind parents!!

Czech Republic #2.

Land for sale:
pretty blooms in pink and
yellow and white
wild amongst the farmland.
Rocks from ploughing lie
scattered still
a vast horizon stretches out
with rolling hills and clustered trees;
some branches clawing
at the sky. Perhaps they hope
someday to belong
to the land where they come from.

Ten Things To Do Cheaply In Prague.

1. Camp. We stayed at Sokol Troja camping. The showers were rubbish but we could use a kitchenette so we didn't use up our own gas.

2. Tram. Driving in the city looked a nightmare. Although our legs did get a proper work-out over the three days there. Especially as it was unusual that we knew where we were going.

3. Live Music. There were three groups of entertainers in the square at once on Thursday. One consisted of four men on stilts trying to dance and some musicians. A band on the Charles IV bridge did a super Frank Sinatra impression.

4. The Clock Tower. Better than any map.

5. The Castle. Quite a long walk but not good on the details unless you surreptitiously join a tour.

6. Avoid the Square. We found a great bar where cocktails were about £4 (half the price of a beer on the square) and we even got some free ones from the barman.

7. Ice-Cream. Seems very cheap in the Czech Republic. I tried mango and caramel flavours.

8. Siam Orchid. The Thai restaurant hidden away. Meal for two, including drinks, £20.

9. Beer. From the supermarket. Wide variety, none of which I understood, all pretty fair and less than £1 a bottle (50cl).

10. Walk. At night. Gorgeous.

Birthday!

Waking later as there wasn't the blazing sun of the previous days I flicked the curtain to reveal the gloomily predicted grey skies. But after my tea and when Ed had decided it was a reasonable hour to get up, we had a special breakfast in the van with pink champagne and Czech pastries. I had four cards too! And some more at home.

We spent the day wandering: Prague Castle, the opposite side of the river to the city, was more of a fortress than a castle, then we retraced now familiar steps to some shops for a few birthday purchases. It was 4.30 by the time we arrived back at the campsite so not much time for a nap if we were going to catch 'happy hour' at a swish cocktail bar in town.

The evening was fantastic. After a Pina Colada at the bar with its wide sofas and plump cushions we made our way down a side street to the Thai restaurant suggested by the Lonely Planet and that (fortunatley) we had dug up earlier on. Definatlty worth it. I had a cod dish with spicy vegetables and Ed had beef in a thin red curry sauce served in a bowl, we shared rice noodles with chicken and peanuts. After we continued our night exploring a few of Pragues hip and hopping bars. I had maybe a cocktail too many but it was a really fun night. Big thanks to Ed for making it special!

Czech Republic #1.

Spent the day in spa town Karlovy Vary. Yesterday's sojourn in nearby picturesque village Loket was a good welcome into the country - the small island like fortress town was buzzing with life and out waitress spoke fluent German and English. Today was much hotter - 28°C at its highest. Regular intervals of gusty wind down the Templa River kept us sane while we joined the crowds with our new traditional porcelain mug, sipping the heated mineral water. (A swim in the outdoor thermal pool got us off to a good start though.)

So now we are fully rejuvenated to continue to Prague! That is if you give ice-cream the same qualities as this hideously warm, iron-like water. It tasted like bits of the shiny porcelain were coming off into the water, and what it did to the stone basins it dribbled into isn't exactly good advertising.

Comparison of a porta-loo and weeing in a forest / hedge.

• Porta-loos can be well located in car parks & unlike public toilets they are not locked overnight.
• They are both free (unlike many public toilets).
• Sometimes peeing outside is difficult due to residential areas / busy roads / street lights.
• Porta-loos smell.
• Not too many people tend to wee outside and it is very unusual to be in the same spot. Therefore there is not a build-up of human wastage / faeces.
• Sometimes porta loos supply their own loo roll.
• Most times one has to use one's own loo roll.
• Defecation is all part of the natural process of life and should therefore not be kept inside a small plastic box.
• Behind a tree can be more discrete than in a porta-loo in a car park.
• Splash back is more often a disadvantage of peeing outside.
• Neither has its own lighting.

No. times weeing outside = 6
No. times using porta-loo = 3

Leaving Lepzig

Unfortunately I didn't have time at the internet cafe to update the blog. Leipzig is great. Modern, fun and architecturally aesthetic. We also had the added pleasure of a night in a campsite.

Three Days Down the Rhine.

We started off at Cologne then drove for maybe an hour to Koblenz where we crossed to the left bank as the road trails alongside the river. Our first stopping point was Braubach. There was a campsite but parking just outside it meant that we were chased away by a rather stern sounding German... so we parked up the road.

On closer inspection of the available parking it appeared that there was a special campervan ground which was 7Euros a night plus electricity, we learned all this from the first English people we had seen; a lovely couple also travelling down the Rhine, back to their home in Croatia. We decided to stay where we were. And had a fantastic nights sleep, disregarding the huge cargo trains landside and the loud ferries river side.

So we have been continuing our journey South (19.5.11) stopping every 10k or so to wander in the quaint German towns. Walking is the best way to get to know the place. A short hike took us to the hills, through a forest and into the castle that crests Braubach - the only original in Germany. Good views and good weather set spirits high.

The other piece of vitally excuiting news is the discovery of how brilliant the solar shower really is!! Although its probably not at its peak in such close proximity to roads...

A Rose Garden in the Centre of Cologne

The undulating noise throngs
in circles round the city. No space
to sit, to be, to breathe.

But there's a ruin: old house
overgrowth toying at its walls.
And through a gate, barred yet

open to a wandering soul
and padding feet will lead you there.
Up a brick stair and out

from the lusty bracken, higher
until you ring the city ringed by cars;
a quiet terrace. Sunny spots

and peaceful benches, their firm seat
reassuring like a hand on your shoulder.
Old couples come here. You will see

them strolling, quietly. It seems they know
how sweet earth grown scent
can rest a heart, and mind with things to say.

Celebrations in the Dam

It's a shame when it rains on your holiday. It's raining this morning. We were thinking of doing one last trip into the city centre before our 48 hour tram tickets ran out but I think we might just check out and go on our way. Fortunately we have had quite a good weekend, if not a little windy, and also fortunately we have a nice cosy campervan to hide in rather than one of the little tents blowing around on the field in the middle of the campsite.

Yesterday we woke up late, read some books and found out where we should go. A new map (now the fourth in our collection of maps of Amsterdam) pointed out an area we hadn't been - on the West side of the city, Jordan. So making the most of any tram connections we negotiated our way over to these quaint residential streets. As Ed was nearly dying of hunger (!) we focused in on a pancake restaurant, which the map had suggested. For once I dared to try maple syrup with my bacon... not actually as bad as you would think...

The restaurant itself was underground, a queue of people indicating its tiny entrance, and at every proceeding corner was a small bar with chairs spilling out alongside the cycle path. Huge decorated house boats lined the canals and with fewer tourists this place had a relaxed buzz about it. However, any place with a TV screen was packed out, we could hear the cheers from where we were, thundering out past each bend, it was incredible. And then half an hour later, when we found ourselves back near to Dam square, we turned in on thousands of Ajax supporters pouring through the streets. We had no idea where they were headed, or where they had come from - it was crazy!

And to top our chilled out Sunday off, the tram back to the campsite collided with a bus!! Luckily no-one was hurt, but we were not the only English on the tram and so none of us really knew what was going on. One of the windows in the tram had shattered but was still in its frame and the back window of the bus had a precarious jagged line around its edge.

So now on to Germany.

In Bruges

Roads Lead to Many Places.

1. Dover to Dunquerque
2. Dunquerque to Oostend
3. To a night stop by the beach and the motorway
4. Day trip through Bruges
5. Carrying on towards Amsterdam
6. Via a traffic jam
7. Park outside camp-gates
8. Check-in in the morning
9. Shower and head off
10. Get back for some grub.

Belgie

The evening cool, the breathy sea,
Something new it's telling me.
Sandy spits, studs of grass
Stretching out until it's
Dark. Humm and whirr
Off the ramp: into the queue;
No directions; only maps;
All places pass -
Spinning, spinning, past
until the morning.

West Coast

Although the roads around the village if Neuil-sur-mer are atrocious for the unsuspecting traveller, we eventually got to the sea last night and camped in a car park next to two small but popular fish restaurants. The plan had been to stop in La Rochelle (which wasn't quite as beachy as I had expected) but found ourselves heading through an industrial estate instead.

There had been a supermarket car-park on the edge of La Rochelle full with other, bigger, campervans but too late - we drove by.

All things said, and a short stroll around the little fishing harbour this morning confirmed a quiet work orientated place. The Ile de Re over the bay is obviously the place for tourists.

16.4.11 Leaving Montalbert

6.30 get up to finish any bits and bobs in the chalet.
Last night was frantic - cleaning all day: the rooms and bedrooms as each group left; the dishes from breakfast; the dishes from lunch; washing the linen; folding the linen; mopping every floor.

Ed (the boss) came at quarter to seven, early, and criticised our every effort, even the ones he couldn't see.
We just about managed to find a takeaway pizza at 10.15 when we finished and after a large beer, snuggled up in the now fully loaded van.

So... we have left!
And here begin the adventures.
Sat nav. is plugged in and I have been studying the map book dilligently - we are headed for Hossegor, via Chambery and a round about route past Limoges.

The Big Red Van's First Adventure

We have just returned back to Chalet Anniek after two nights in the campervan, one day out skiing Val Thorens and a drive to Annecy and back. And... we made it! Without any major problems or breakdowns - touch wood. Bit of a problem with the oil but we are keeping our fingers crossed.

So we started out on Monday, after I had scrubbed it up a bit, packed in a duvet and a couple of extra pillow, skis down the middle and a change of clothes. Destination: La Tania. Kaite had let us know that herself and her parents were skiing up in Val Thorens the next day and suggested we go out with the La Tania seasonaire crew that night. Meeting lots of friendly people meant we didnt get back to the comfort of the van in its car-park campsite until half one, affecting the next morning's wake-up as Kaite had to phone us at 9 to get us out of bed!

Weather today and yesterday has been perfect. VT was gorgeous, the snow was good and the lake at Annecy gave the drive back into the mountains a renewed glory. The sun is just setting in the biggest red blanket all around the hills and we are quite pleased to be back relaxing on our week off.

Untiltled.

Warm breeze through the open door
makes the room breathe.
We sit, waiting, for a moment
when the wind dies down
and it is quiet. Then we can go
out into the evening sun.

The mountains surround us, pinnacles
of the sublime. Still
some clouds move over their shrapnel fingers,
caught, like a breathing out,
and blushing at the thought;

And the fun begins.

We have a van. Red, Ford Transit. Its old and rusty but hopefully it might just get us where we want to go. Needs a bit of an airing and a clean as the couple who have moved on literally just left it with us and we dropped them at the station to continue their journey homewards to New Zealand.

The guests this week had some advice, we did check those things, but I am just a little nervous about it. It is old, and old things are generally not as healthy as new things!

Talking with the couple about their travels since December was good. Their route was different to what we are planning but the way they spoke and the stories they told were interesting, now we cant wait to get started. The first thing for me is to make the van our own. Change the bed stuff, put our things in, and try to do something about the rust!!

A House on the hill, ramshackle and left
lonely to rot
amoungst a town of faces, fresh and breezy
on their seperate route
through the turning seasons.

Walking by the little terraced square
surrounding it -
apart from us and still so much a part
of the mountain scene -
We peer through untroubled eyes
and wonder at the hole in the wall:

Word on the street is that there was a fire,
kitchen lighting up the night, not your usual
evening meal. Our own
is fretful but not lonesome. Or perhaps
the people squeezed around the table
are not looking at the same things,

and the house in its little weed-garden
is only part of the scenery
and is lost to those who do not see.