Leaving England

I am sitting in Heathrow airport, waiting for our flight (we set off early just in case of traffic problems), watching the planes take off, one a minute, into the hot blue English skies.  There are a few foolish birds flying, or attempting to fly across the airspace and I've just watched one hit the ground from the back-draught!  Oops!

Behind me is one of the many televisions endlessly rabbiting on and on about the Duchess of Cambridge being in labour, ready to deliver the nation's heir, be it son or daughter.  I am utterly amazed at the endless drivel which reminds me of a French and Saunders skit about how the Queen might, or might not, or possibly would, be taking a biscuit with her mid-morning snack  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-8mESIK98Q.  There are so many life-size "skits" I have witnessed in England since being here and it makes me laugh to see how accurately comediennes like Catherine Tait have portrayed everyday life!  This endless tv reporting has been going on since 7am and it's now after 5pm and I'm quietly thinking the baby was born hours ago anyway.

England has been in the grip of a heat-wave and the weather has been intensely hot for days on end, with a short break yesterday with cloud cover and the temperature dropping to at least 23C.  It really is amazingly hot and windless with clear blue skies and the heat lasting til 9 at night.  What with the English cricket team's success, the Tour de France winner, the rugby earlier on in the year, and now the eagerly-awaited arrival of the royal baby, one would think this might be another one of England's 'finest hours'.

Cambridge is a pretty city with the river Cam flowing through, a bit like Christchurch with the river Avon.  Plenty of bikes makes it a very bike-friendly place and easy to get around.  It was a nice place to have a conference although I felt the facilities were lacking and it was a pity to have age groups separated physically by some miles apart.  Many of the topics seemed to be just the same as ever and it was difficult to know just what might be new.  The General Assembly completed the six days of meetings (4 days of conference) including two board meetings and it is with quite some relief that my 6 year term has come to its close.  The next country to host the 9th International PWS Conference is Canada, and not Israel as I had hoped it might be.  It seems it is time for the younger, more "passionate" families to take over and fly the flag and for this, I am really glad that there is still that kind of interest.

We will be glad to get home.  Earthquakes rocking Wellington have been a worry from a distance, although the kids assure us all is well, the memory of Christchurch is still way too fresh.  It's cold, they assure me, back home in New Zealand, but I'd rather be there than here, now.

The Fox is Found

Picture inside The Fox's Inn

We drove from Dorset to Essex around the M25 taking several hours to reach our destination.  England is in the middle of a heatwave with days of endless sunshine, heat haze, and temperatures in the high 20s.  The day we travelled was predicted to be the hottest day yet, so it was surprising (to us, at least) to see so many thousands of cars heading south on the motorway to the beach.  Surprising inasmuch as they were nose to tail and for much of the time, stopped dead.  There was no blaring horns, no road rage, just a patient, endless, traffic jam.  Could it be that only the English could spend the hottest day of the year sitting in their cars on a motorway?

So, with the help of our GPS (not only necessary for the navigation, but also for the sanity of the driver and sanctity of the marriage), we deviated to Camberley and Sandhurst for lunch, and arrived at our destination in good time.

Over the next two days we saw some very pretty areas of Essex including the oldest standing wooden church in Europe (in Greensted), the town of Maldon on the river Blackwater (famous for, among other things, its salt), the very pretty village of Finchingfield (which seriously looked like the setting for something like Midsummer Murders, it was so attractive) and Thaxted, another old village in the Essex county.  Essex is a lovely county, given a bad name by tv programmes like The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE) and the Essex lads and ladettes.

Maldon, on the Blackwater Estuary 

The Blue Boar, Maldon (on left)

Upstairs in The Blue Boar

Wooden bible covers

Greensted church

Finchingfield

Finchingfield

Thaxted

Gustav Holst lived in Thaxted, composing The Planets while here

Finally, and, to make a good ending to this travel blog, we found a charming pub called, appropriately enough, The Fox's Inn, where we had a proper Ploughman's lunch, served on a slate, with good cheeses, bread, and ham, and of course, good ale.

The Fox's Inn at Finchingfield

Picture inside the Fox's Inn

"..and lashings of ginger beer"

"Five go mad in Dorset", the parody of Enid Blyton's Famous Five books which I very clearly remember as a child (blah blah blah stolen plans blah blah kidnapped blah blah mad scientist blah blah).  The five, and Timmy the dog, were always cycling down country lanes, having picnics with loads of turkey and ham sandwiches, and 'lashings of ginger beer', while planning the rescue of their kidnapped uncle who was a mad scientist.  Or something similar.  So, the country lanes are still there, the beautiful rolling hills and downs, and the stunningly beautiful coastal bays and white cliffs are still all there.  It's just that there are So Many People as well!  You have to work hard at imagining the quiet coves with no shops, cafes, or tourist gimmicks, and the stealthy slap, slap, slap, of oars as smugglers move their booty around the coast.

Where we are staying - just near to Corfe Castle, in fact you can see it from the bedroom window -  is beautiful rolling countryside with hedgerows and long walking paths across hills, with views to the sea.  The coast is all part of the Jurassic coast and the geography and history is all so interesting.

To be taken around by one's lovely and generous host, who knows this land like the back of her hand and can lead you to the most charming of walled towns (and find good coffee!), and around the back country roads, is a gift indeed.  Knowing where to look and what lies behind the heavily hedged lanes, and what shortcuts to go via, does make a difference!

Dorset is full of thatched cottages, surprising little pubs, and lots of lovely cider.  I'm getting quite fond of cider.

There's lovely!

Oh to be in England, now that Summer's here...

The weather in England during the week that we've been here, is already being described as a heatwave!  It is cloudless, windless, with temperatures of around 25C.  Wonder how long it will last!

And so... Paddy met us at Ashford International railway station, dressed in the same clothes I last saw him in, in New Zealand  (Paddy sailed around the world in a very small boat named Tessa.  The journey was supposed to be nonstop, but because he was bowled in the Great Australian Bite, he had to stop in Timaru and this is when I last saw him, in 2011.  He did, by the way, complete his journey without further hitch, although God knows how he did it.  He said, "you have to be a little bit mad to know you're not crazy" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AD8fXXoja6E)  He hadn’t changed and nor had Shelagh.  Only the dogs were different, ie more of them and a couple of new ones.  It always feels like coming home as I walk into the kitchen with the Aga glowing contentedly in the corner, the table in the middle of the room covered, as ever, with piles of newspapers, a few magazines, condiments, odd books and a variety of items.  'Shelagh in the kitchen' really should be the name of a book because it is here that she effortlessly excels.   

After dinner that evening, a car pulled up at the house and in came Anthony Kelly, a man I had heard a great deal about in the past as his eccentricities were well known to the press.  This was the man who had taken various body parts from a hospital and brought them home to 'cast'.  The story hit the papers some years ago, but I see it is still available online and seems to have made Wikipedia  as well.  

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony-Noel_Kelly and http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/his-masters-vice-1096981.html

It's the Kelly family that Shelagh's daughter has married into and it is Shelagh's granddaughter's wedding that we are going to.

Saturday, the day of the wedding, was hot, but the old stone church at Smarden was cool and refreshing.  The service was both Anglican and Catholic (the Kellys come from a long line of Catholics), and very long.  Four pages with hymns that went on for verse after verse, including the great "Jerusalem".  The bride looked elfin-like, very thin, with the family tiara and necklace to match.  She could easily have been a bride in the 16^th century.  The groom been in the Scots Guards and his groomsmen were all in Scottish trews; and there was a Scots guard of honour, compete with busbees. 

Bride and groom left the church in an Invictor car, which had been designed by Noel Macklin, Shelagh’s grandfather.  The reception was held at Romden Castle http://www.romdencastle.co.uk/  which is really a kind of folly than a castle, but it has a tower and turret and is named on the map as a castle.  The interior of this rather extraordinary building is an utter shambles.  Rooms look as though they've been tacked on as afterthoughts.  It’s ramshackle, full of "stuff" and piled high with extraneous detritus of everday life.  Oh, and dogs.  Did I mention the dogs?

Bridal party in the Invicta, racing alongside the helicopter
in which the bride and groom arrived at the reception.

The church must have held at least 600 people who all came back to Romden for the reception.  After the bride and groom left in the Invicta, most of the guests left and those who were invited to the dinner (at least 200) all trooped into the huge marquee.  There were tables of 10, each with the name of a tennis player (appropriate, since Murray had just won Wimbledon).  Above each table was a massive helium balloon, held down with ribbons.

It was quite an experience.

Back to Vermenton

We left our mooring and travelled up past Vermenton where we had boarded the boat, just to look up river a little further.  It was interesting to see how quickly the scenery changed – from our narrow little canal with trees dripping over the sides, to open farmland, the quintessential flat countryside dotted with haybales. Houses look new and characterless.  It was then that I realised why we were recommended to go south rather than north.  It was charm personified compared to this open, wide countryside.

Shadows and reflections

We ended up at Vincelles, about 5 locks north, which is a nice little town with two boulangeries and a tabac where we had a beer and where we thought we would return to that evening.  However, it was shut, and they recommended another place alongside the river.  Turned out to be only inches away from where we were moored – at the time, we had thought that too, was closed. 

The meal we had there was really lovely and quite different from anything else I've eaten so far: galettes… which are a buckwheat flour, open pancakes, crispy on the edges which are turned up to form a plate which holds the filling.  Jenny had snails with sauce and mushrooms with cream and soft cheese.  I had a ‘farm' galette with slices of potato, goat cheese and ham.  Nick had cheese and ham with a sauce Chablienne or chabliesse, can’t remember which.  I'm definitely going to make these when I get home!

I decided  to slay the Chablis ghost, having had such a shocking glass of it just two nights before, and this time, it was perfect.  At this little restaurant they specialised in the local cider, served in cappuccino-sized stoneware cups.  We sat outside under wide umbrellas and next to two couples, South African and English.  We’d seen them several times at different locks, so it was very companionable to sit and chat.  People always ask where you are going where you are from etc, so I was pleasantly surprised by the woman next to me who knew what Prader-Willi syndrome was.  It’s always nice to cut through all that explanation and then sympathetic looks etc, to someone who simply expresses empathy.

At our mooring were a group of skinny children who spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening jumping off the edge of the mooring into the river Yonne.  The energy they must have expended would have powered our boat for a day, I think.  One child, with ribs sticking out and shoulder blades to cut bread with, was shivering and cold, but was not giving up.  Nick told them he would throw a 50c piece for them to dive for, and made them all get into the river.  He threw the coin, and the smartest of them leapt like a trout before it had even touched the water.  Clever kids.

The weather has been beautiful these past few days, but the clouds are gathering and there could be a storm before the night is through.  And thus it was, that I woke to drips falling on my head from the window which I'd left open above my bed and now a steady line of drops were falling onto the duvet.  

It is our last few hours on the boat; we are leaving by 9 in the morning to catch the first lock and be back at Vermenton by lunchtime.  The rain has stopped this morning, but it is the grey drizzle of our first day repeated.   We really have been lucky (why do we always think good weather equates good luck?) with the last three hot days which we have spent alternatively walking alongside the canal in the morning, and crowding into the shade from the rather small sun-umbrella atop.  

Jenny is doing the calculations for our expenses as we make our way ‘home’.  Four nights and days’ meals came to E606 which is E151 each for four days.  From the meals that we ate, the two least interesting were the ‘gourmet’ meal and the one we had at the Chateau which apparently had a good write up.  Again, and I know I’m stating the obvious, the freshly prepared meals win over the pre-prepared (but pretty) meals every time.  (Do I really talk about food all the time?  Don't answer that.)

We seem to be the only boat on the river this morning.  Five locks to go through and Jenny and Nick are taking care of that.  I’m being idle – although I have done my bit and know how to throw a rope and steady the boat – and sitting indoors.

It didn't take long to get back to Vermenton; we scrubbed down the boat, paid our dues, and had lunch in the village.  The drive to Auxerre didn't take too long, but the train we had to catch meant we didn't get a chance to look around this old town.  We caught the train with a minute to spare and fled Paris at high speed to the UK where Paddy met us at Ashford International railway station.

And here begins the chapter of our UK visit...

Clamecy sur Yonne

Saturday/Sunday 30 June: 

Shelagh (in the UK) rang at around 11pm to see where we were – expecting us to be in NZ.  Apparently Dominic has come to grief with a cyclist who bowled him when crossing the road in London.  She wanted to know where we were to be picked up from, whether it was an airport.  I think she was vastly relieved to find it was from the nearest railway station.  After that, I was wide awake, so spent some time texting family as there was reception.  Francie has learned that she is to be an aunt for the second time, and to a niece.  She is thrilled to bits!  I finally fell asleep around 2am and awoke to the church bells...

The boat’s power system let us down last night, our fault, as we weren't plugged into the onshore electricity overnight and somehow the boat's battery had become absolutely drained when we stopped.  

In the morning, we went back to the tabac/bar that we had a drink in last night.  Jenny and I decided to try the local Chablis - it was absolutely vile and we could tell it was off, just from its bouquet... but the young woman kept on and on about it being perfectly ok.  She even gave Jenny another 'fresh' glass.  Just as bad.  Smelled and tasted like kerosene.  Anyway, we went back in the morning for croissants and coffee.  The coffee was a large cup of hot milk with a faint flavour of caffine, so still the great coffee hunt is still on.  However, when we went to pay for this, the shop assistant took off a few euros because of last night's wine.  Maybe they decided we were right and their wine hadn't 'just been opened' that day.  We found the little super marché and bought Italian ground coffee as there is a plunger on board.  Thoughtful acquisition.  Also bought several excellent cheeses, some smoked ham and salami, beautiful large tomatoes and breads.  

Onwards we pressed, going through lock after lock, walking in between some of them, and stopping for lunch by a weir in the Yonne which was running alongside the Canal.  The cheeses are fabulous!  The prosciutto is delicious!  Coffee is getting better!  As we motor along the canal, we often see the river Yonne running close by.  Sometimes it's lower than we are, sometimes we actually go into the Yonne before turning off again into the canals. We even passed a little village called Lucy sur Yonne.

Our destination for Sunday evening was Clemecy which turned out to be a charming little town – quiet, of course – but with a few little shops, a large church atop the hill, and a strong history of being the central point for logging in the olden days.  Logs were milled and simply floated down the Yonne to Paris, and .. was one of the main areas dedicated to this business.  From what I could gather, the town was basically started by a couple of families who seemed to maintain the right to govern and lead.  Since it was Sunday, we were a little dubious about what might be open that evening; we found a bar and had a bier while discussing where we might eat.  Jenny and I were keen to try out an Algerian restaurant specialising in couscous and tagine.  We sat atop our boat drinking wine and eating nuts and nibbles until the restaurant opened at 7pm.  We were looking forward to the tagines..

..What we found, however, was that one had to order the tagine well in advance.  I mean, a day in advance.  Or at least phone on the day and order for that evening.  So we had instead a mammoth bowl of beautiful, light, fluffy, couscous and a platter of lamb kebabs and a couple of pieces of chicken.  Along with this came another large bowl filled with what could have been soup with large pieces of vegetables and chickpeas.  This was to flavour the couscous and provide a sauce.  To top it off was a small dish of very hot harrissa.  The restaurant had soft sofas and small curtained-off rooms, as one might expect to see in Morocco or the Eastern countries.  It was very convivial and not expensive.

The town's history is to do with logging. Log 'trains' were floated down the river to Paris and the town was built and developed really just be one family.  I was standing on the bridge looking at a statue to the loggers when an old man tapped me on the shoulder and started to talk, in French, about the statue.  It's moments like these when you wish you could speak the language fluently enough to converse.  He shook my hand, tipped his hat and walked away.

We walked back to the boat, talking to others moored nearby.  We are near to a German boat, a long yellow American boat, and across the water from us is a British couple with two dogs.  Many people cruise the locks as a way of life, or at least for all of the English winter months.  Some, like us, are just there for a few weeks or days.  I am sorry that we are having to return the same way as it would have been nice to keep on going.  But, tomorrow we start our return journey of two days, and then onto Paris.

Rain on the Nivernais

Saturday 30th June

Morning, and il pleut.  It pleut-ed and it pleut-ed.  Just soft rain, but enough to keep the skies very grey and the trees soggy.  We left our layover around 9am and have been on the go ever since.  The boat goes at walking pace, so you can easily hop off at a lock and walk to the next one.  The small villages that we go through are really devoid of life - as if they have closed down.  No sound of life, no children playing outside, no one walking in the evenings.  In a way, it is, I have to admit, slightly disappointing inasmuch as I’d expected the villages to have cafés with good coffee and croissants.  That, however, is not the case and the villages are very quiet and empty-looking.  There are no children playing, no adults out walking in the evening (other than us) and it’s so quiet that you start wondering whether you’ve been through a time warp and the villagers are in hiding.

View from cabin window!

We stopped for lunch at Mailly la Ville, looking eagerly out for a café and boulangerie, but to no avail.  There was one tiny shop that sold bread, wine, knitting wool, and an assortment of tinned foods.  Quaint.  But no coffee.  I am sure the bigger towns will have restaurants. 

The weather finally picked up in the late afternoon and the grey gave way to patchy blue.  Lock after lock and eventually we arrived to where we are this evening; Mailly le Chateau.  We passed by some stunning cliffs which Nick had to climb, naturally, and which gave him a great view of the village and town across from the canal.  We entered the village with high hopes as the documents we were given said that there was a restaurant and a bar.  We first found a small tabac which sold wine and beer, so we settled down to try the local Chablis.  Both Jenny and I turned up our noses at what we decided was an oily, slightly kerosene taste to a simple and definitely not complex, wine.  The boys had a wheaten beer each.  In my best French I asked if there was a restaurant in the village.  It’s all very well being able to ask these things en francais, but it’s understanding the response that is the difficulty.

But we found the place – L’Etape des Gourmet - and prepared ourselves, with another wine and beer, to translating the menu.  What we had was beautifully plated and looked a picture.  Much of it was pre-prepared and not freshly cooked, but it still was very nice and a pleasant surprise.  In the village was also a fresh bread shop which we will make haste to tomorrow morning.  I bet we wake up early with the church bells...

Canal Nivernais Day One

Today’s the first day of our canal trip from Vermenton to Auxerre.  We drove from Hochstetten, Germany, to Vermenton in France, taking about 4 hours.  It’s interesting insomuch as journeying by road – to get from A to B quickly – is via the motorway and of course, there are no small villages with cafes to stop and have a leisurely coffee.  Stops are made at petrol stops laybys where there are large shops that also sell coffee, but via machines.  Put your money in, choose what you think is the right type of coffee and within moments it arrives in a wax cup.  Not so good.  But efficient and certainly no time wasted.  

I thought of the Brown Sugar café in Taihape and the little cafés up and down the country where we  stop, safe in the knowledge that the coffee will be excellent.   Are we now spoiled in New Zealand that we have such good food, coffee, and wine?  Are our tastebuds so used to luxury foods from all around the world that we feel jaded?  But one must not compare, for the whole reason of travelling is surely to experience the difference rather than complain about it.

Vermenton is a cluster of yellow stone houses with narrow streets; in the center of which is a large church.  Nothing was signposted, but we found our way to the riverside where saw all the boats tied to the side.  We were introduced to Guilliame, our boat for the duration.  William, or “Sonny Bill” as we decided he might be named (isn’t it odd to have a male name for a boat?) is smallish with two cabins, each with their own shower and loo.  One fore, one aft.  To begin with, I was sure there was no room for any of our clothes (which we’d reduced to one suitcase, leaving the other in the car, safely locked for the duration), but it is interesting how you can find nooks and crannies.  You have to be incredibly tidy, of course and since I am the only untidy person in the group of 4, it will be a test of my skills.

We were given at least an hour’s tuition by a guy from, of all places, Perth.  He came with us for the first lock just to make sure we were going to be ok.  Of course, we have John, Captain in the Royal Navy as our team leader, so we weren’t unduly worried.  Nick is the ‘boy’ and so far, he and Jenny are taking care of all the tying up business and doing the locks.  They are all in their element.  I am observing carefully, just in case my skills are tested.  We are lying-to for the first night in the Canal Nevernais at Ste Pallaye.  It is quiet and peaceful.  The canal water is dirty and more so since all bilge is simply pumped into it – you would think, wouldn’t you, that that kind of thing would be in the past?

We are going south, away from Vermenton to Prégilbert, to Maille la Ville, Mailly le Chateau, Merry sur Yonne, Chatel Censoir and ending up at Clamecy.  We return the same way.  Because the boat travels at walking pace only, this is about as far as we will get.  There are many locks, all of which take time, and so the mileage covered is going to be less than I imagined.  We come back the same way, but we will skip some villages out on our way south, and stop at them on the way north.  Nick and I will end up in Auxerre, but the boat will not be going that far.

I'm really sorry that we didn't get bikes.  I suppose I wasn't forceful enough when the decision was made.  It was raining and the 'boys' went to organise the boat and came back saying that bikes weren't really that necessary.  Pity.

The beds were surprisingly comfortable, at least mine was, since  I had the wider of the two single beds up the pointy end.  Mine was supposed to be a double, apparently, although I can’t see how two people would have ever slept comfortably there.  Nick had a single bed, bless him, while I had already tucked in two extra duvets on top of my mattress.  One might say, shame on me, but first up, best dressed etc.  And there're hips and knees to be thought of.

John and Jenny had the double bed, and bigger cabin and en suite, but the bed was hard against the wall with no way of getting out, should you be on the wall side.

The galley is perfectly adequate especially as we do not propose to be spending too much time in it.  There's plenty of room in the fridge for wine and cheese.

And so ends the first day.

Dubai to Freiberg

 25 - 27 July

Desert Fox

After a good flight from Melbourne we descended into the heat of Dubai. Early in the morning, 5am, it was already 35C; like walking into a heated sauna. Our hotel, the Arabian Courtyard, is full of charm, with décor to suit its name.  The staff are extremely polite and helpful, food is good, room is spacious.  It is in the old part of Dubai directly across the road from the museum and old fort which dates back from the 1840s.  The museum is divided into an exterior look at what life in a fort might comprise, and a much cooler underground display of different styles of work and living in the old days.  Actually, when you roam around the old souks, it doesn't really look as though life has changed much at all.  It’s only when you see the new buildings and the vast malls that you begin to see the wealth of this nation.

The museum had some good little dioramas of craftsmen making pots, selling cloth, weighing and haggling out pearl prices, and one is of desert animals who come to life when the sun has set.  A hare, and a hedgehog being two, and even a red desert fox.

Dubai is a good stopover after 13 hours flying.  We had dinner with Matt who was working in Dubai for a few months - very nice Thai & Chinese restaurant in our hotel where we finished up with fortune cookies.  Among the three of us, Matt got one that said, "No go, if can't pay", I had one that said, "Friends long absent, are coming back to you."  Nick ended up with, "Time may be a great healer, but it's no beauty specialist", and there was a final one which advised, "Keep your feet on the ground, even though your friends flatter you."  Hmmm...

Next morning after a 4am wake-up with the very near-by minaret call to prayer, we departed Dubai for Zurich where we were met by John and Jenny and driven to Hochstetten, near to Freiberg where they live.  The temperature dropped by some 20 degrees and left me wondering why I'd deliberately chosen not to pack my jeans, but just keep to summer clothing.  

Today, Nick and Jenny climbed the Kohlerhoff while John and I took the car - in the rain - to the gasthaus where I, once again, ate the most beautiful, melting, goat cheese wrapped in smoked ham.  Delicious.

We shopped for supplies, packed the car, and tomorrow we set off for France...

Shortest (coldest) day

It is the shortest day and longest night, and it is quite the coldest, wettest, windiest that it has ever been here.  Snow blankets the South Island, severe gale-force winds rock Wellington city, and here, well it just rains.  Biting, cold rain whipped by the southerly wind.  The Wellington airport has been closed for most of the day, ferries are not sailing - waves are 8m apparently - and even trains have been stopped in and out of the city.  Coastal roads are swept by huge waves and this storm has been likened to Wahine Day, that fateful storm when the ferry foundered on the rocks in Wellington harbour and 51 lives were lost.  A friend who was flying to Melbourne early this morning, sent me a text at 8.30pm to say she was still waiting at the airport.

We fly out in three days' time and I hope the weather will have improved by then, surely.  It's an evening flight which allows us plenty of time to drive to Auckland if the weather is still disruptive.  We're flying with Emirates which only departs Auckland, so the connecting flights are our responsibility.

Thin summer clothes are all laid out on the spare bed; almost impossible to believe we will be sweltering in the Dubai heat.  The donkeys have winter coats on, but still they are cold.  I hope the poodle survives life in a kennel.  The house is relatively tidy; ready for daughter no.1 and tiny son who arrive the day we get home.  Passports, tickets, money, conference papers, suntan lotion, back-up USB plug. sunglasses, gifts, plug converters.  Pack, repack, clean the fridge, check the donkeys again, sweat the small stuff.  Going away is such a pain.  And still it rains.  

In the Fox's Footsteps

There is something about travelling that not only broadens the mind, but it feeds it also.  Memories give hours of happiness, contemplation and pleasure.  Photos tell stories when the memory might fail and flicking through an album brings further reminders of yet more stories.

This blog started when I was talking to friends who have travelled through many continents, countries; visited hundreds of cities and walked many miles across beautiful countryside.  We have had lots of long chats about places visited, bucket lists and wish lists and, quite often, we've found our paths have either crossed, or that we have been following in their footsteps.  During our last discussion we discovered that the upcoming canal boat trip we are about to do down the river Yonne, in Burgundy, France, was exactly the river that our friends had also been on, so out came the photo albums, maps, and even a rather dog-eared business card of a restaurant, La Salamandre, in Auxerre  .http://www.lasalamandre-auxerre.fr/

Our trip begins in a couple of weeks' time when we join John and Jenny in south Germany and drive together to Vermenton where we find the barge waiting for us.  Hopefully.

Before we do, though, we have an overnight stay in Dubai.  It's a city I really enjoy visiting simply because it's man-made, extreme, seems to have unlimited money, yet the dichotomy of life under the burqa remains a mystery.