Thursday, 31 December 2009

The Opera's not over.....





Well at last it's finished. The turkey I mean. My dog, Tessa, had the last pickings for breakfast.

I hope that Christmas was everything you wanted it to be. I certainly enjoyed it. It was great to have all three of my children around me. A rare treat.

The Airfix Spitfire I got from my sons is coming along slowly. I have only got as far as building a bit of the engine and my efforts consist of 10% of my time gluing, 10% painting and 80% trying to find the bloody parts. There are 185 of them and if they are in some logical order on their little plastic spruces then I have yet to work out what it is.

As write it is New Year's Eve and 2010 is almost upon us. I am hugely excited. Not about the new year as such, but about what it might bring. Naturally, my thoughts have turned to Australia, which is just over 3 weeks away.

I am excited about travelling to a whole new continent and about venturing further than I have before in my life. Being away for 5 weeks is also a first, although I will worry about my kids and my dog. But what is exciting me most is the thought of all the fabulous things I can do 'down under'.

When I left work my gracious friends and colleagues bought me the Lonely Planet Guide to New Zealand and also gave me a generous token to be used at Waterstones. I used part of the token to buy the similar guide to Australia.

Travel guides are odd books because unless you travel the length and breadth of a country you don't bother to read all the pages. But what you do read is invaluable. With these 2 books I have been able to plan the travel and accommodation for both countries. So well done to my kind and generous friends for such a great gift.

Well done also to the Youth Hostel Association.

Tucked up in bed last night I read about what there is to do in Sydney, the first stop on my tour. I realised then just how well situated the youth hostel I am staying at is. All the things I want to see are within walking distance and it is right next to the central station, which is great as there is a train link from the airport and that is my point of departure on the India-Pacific Railway. And it only costs about £18 a night for bed and breakfast. That's fantastic.

Based on my reading I have picked my top 3 tourist attractions in Sydney. The first is the Chinese Garden of Friendship. Described as 'an oasis of tranquillity in the otherwise hectic Darling Harbour' it is a kangaroo's jump from the hostel. Second is the Opera House. I have booked to see a play on my second evening. The play is a period piece called Optimism. It doesn't sound that great but hey, IT'S IN THE FREAKIN SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE! I'll just be so awed to be there I won't care if it's freakish clowns juggling on unicycles waiting for Godot, it'll be great.

I've saved the best for my last full day, which just happens to be the 26th January - Australia Day. The day that celebrates the arrival of the first settlers (aka convicts) in 1788. On this auspicious day I am taking the 3 hour walk up and over the Sydney Harbour Bridge. And if I survive that I'll have time for a few cold ones in the harbour before I head back to the Opera House for the guided tour. I might even squeeze in the harbour cruise.

So that's Sydney sorted. Bed time reading tonight will be Adelaide. I'm still not sure what to do about that swimming with dolphins (and bloody great sharks) trip.

Best wishes for 2010.

Live long and prosper.

Thursday, 24 December 2009

The Ghost of Christmas Past



Youngest son and I were up before dawn today in an effort to avoid the crowds in Marks and Spencer and Tesco. Our foraging was successful and there are just a couple of things on my to do list before I pour a Crabbies ginger beer with ice and lemon and brace myself for crimbo.

Generally I am a grumpy when it comes to Christmas and would fit in nicely on one of those Grumpy Old Men shows. Why do we feel compelled to waste so much money on cards? For me that is just a pointless exercise that only serves to tell you just how high the sender rates you. The crapper the card, the less they think of you. And now it's even more complex. No longer can you just bung stamps on your cards and chuck them in the nearest post box. This year I had to queue at my local post office to have all my cards tested for width, breadth and depth to see if they were in fact a 'large letter'! For goodness sake, if cards are so bloody important why not just buy a box and stick them up somewhere, saving time and effort and cutting out the middle man. Use the same ones over and over. That's before we even start on decorations, too much food, too much booze, the search for presents. Arrgghh!

As a single parent I have always found the whole thing to be a stressful nightmare. I'm a man and men are just pants at Christmas. We're only good for putting up too many lights, carving the turkey and sorting out the booze. All of which we do badly. In my experience it is always women who make Christmas special.

In recent years crimbo for me has been about having a week or two off work at a time when my last summer holiday is a distant memory and the next one is many months away. Of course all of that has changed this year. Every day is Christmas if I want it to be.

I think the hardest part of Christmas is trying to capture the elusive spirit of Christmas past. That indefinable something that once made the event magical. And the only way I can see to do this is to become a child again.

That's why I have persuaded my two sons to buy me something totally nerdy this Christmas. Something that would have thrilled the 12 year old me. A 1:24 scale Airfix Spitfire. I hope they got the one that comes complete with the small motor to make the prop spin. I can't wait to open the box and look longingly at all those parts that will transform in my brilliant model. I'll go straight for the wings so I can get an idea of just how big the finished plane is going to be. Ooo, the excitement.

I suspect I am not the only man of my age to have asked for one of yesteryear's toys for Christmas. The wonderful series of TV programmes by James May have evoked so much nostalgia and enabled a whole generation of men to come out of the closet and get in touch with their adolescent selves. I can't wait for his final programme on train sets.

I am so looking forward to spreading out my aircraft parts all over the dining table on Boxing Day and to getting lost once more in the comforting and slightly nauseating fug of polystyrene cement. All I need to make my Christmas complete is a Hai Karate or Brut 33 gift set.

Live long and prosper and have a peaceful and fulfilling holiday.

Monday, 21 December 2009

In Training







I am officially in training - for The Weakest Link.

The letter arrived a few days ago from BCC Scotland to say that my audition had been successful and I am now on the shortlist. Having been shortlisted for the show about 5 years ago I know all too well that there is no guarantee of appearing. It is down to the producers now to create what they consider to be the best mix of people for the shows. Having put my occupation as 'Middle Aged Gapper' and with Wainwright in support I am confident that I will be able to stand out from the crowd more this time.

Well, I say Wainwright is in support but it is probably the other way around. He's even started going to gigs without me. If you were watching Soccer AM on Saturday you will have seen him posing on the table in front of the presenters and guests. And he never said a word to me!

My training for the show is varied. It involves watching and taking part in as many general knowledge quizzes as possible and trying to plug the huge and obvious gaps in my knowledge. For example learning all the kings and queens of England since 1066, British Prime Ministers and a crash course on contemporary music over the past 10 years. You can ask me anything you want about Beyonce Knowles or 50 Cent.

The other part of my training is playing the game itself. I still have a 2001 video game that is a very good representation of the show. I even feel nervous playing it. I've never got into the final two yet though.

Christmas is a slow time for news and it the same for Middle Aged Gappers. With no trips recently I have had little to report. But that is all set to change. My insurers have paid up for my cancelled trip to Vietnam which provides funding for another major expedition in 2010. The favoured plan at the minute is to buy a 1 month European rail pass and visit as many places as I can sometime after the World Cup has ended in July.

Five weeks from now I should be in Sydney. All the accommodation and transport for both Australia and New Zealand is now booked and what remains are the delicious choices about what to do whilst there. High on my 'to do' list is swimming with dolphins and both Australia and New Zealand afford opportunities to do this.

I am spending 3 days in Adelaide where it is possible to take an early morning boat trip (more sickness pills required) and swim with the wild dolphins. This involves swimming in the open sea, which is not something I am really keen on generally. Even in the calm waters of the Mediterranean I keep close to shore and swim in constant fear of being bitten, stung or eaten. In Australia the problem becomes much worse as there appear to be an unlimited number of ways to die while taking a dip, including one of the most venomous creatures on the planet - the box jelly fish.

My fears are not allayed by the following piece of information on the website of the company that runs the dolphin tours:

Please note that at the end of our swimmers lines we use Shark Shields™. These are electronic shark deterrents that creates a unique protective electrical field around the swimmers.

So let's just look at what that means for a moment. Swimming with dolphins involves being trailed on a rope behind a boat in shark infested waters. But not to worry, because you're clinging for your life to a piece of electric cable that will 'deter' the playful little blighters and maybe persuade them not to take huge chunks out of you. Now I don't know about you, but the words 'Bugger that!' are what fill my mind when considering that supposedly reassuring piece of information. I love dolphins but I don't want them to be the last thing I ever see. On the bright side, getting my body back to the UK won't be too difficult. They can just put the bits that are left in a jiffy bag and post me back to the kids.

Finally, my sons and I went to see the first of the Christmas blockbusters at the cinema yesterday. The film was Avatar and it was in 3D. I was expecting to be given some of those red and green cardboard specs as I went in but instead I received what appeared to be a cheap pair of sunglasses for my 80 pence.

The result was astounding. In it's own right the film is an amazing combination of live action and CGI that breaks new ground and would be brilliant in 2D. But in 3D the colours are so vibrant and images appear to dance before your eyes. Even the adverts looked good. It was the most jaw dropping cinematic experience I have had since the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Beware though, it's about 3 hours long. Don't do what I did and drink a bucket of diet coke or you will miss some of the film. And take those glasses off before you go to the loo. Turns out I was 10 feet further away from the urinal than I thought.

Live long and prosper.

Thursday, 10 December 2009

Weakest at the Knees Link


Back in August I reported on a challenge I had set Wainwright - to have his picture taken with a celebrity. Yesterday Wainwright came a step nearer to achieving his goal.

Last week I received a phone call from Ross, a researcher for The Weakest Link. Ross wanted to chat about the application to go on the show that I made in the summer. He then invited Wainwright and me to audition in Hull.

The audition was yesterday morning, but Wainwright had a few problems on his journey. We took the train and Wainwright got knocked about a bit in my rucksack. When we arrived in Hull Wainwright had suffered a recurrence of his old knee injuries and he was in two pieces. Both knees are so badly damaged that I'm thinking of calling him Bullard instead.

Luckily, WH Smith in the station sold superglue and after several attempts I was able to get Wainwright fit enough to audition.

There were nine of us at the audition, all men. It took two hours and I found it be both nerve-wracking and enjoyable.

There were two ladies, both young and attractive, in charge and during the course of the audition one of them took on the mantle of Anne Robinson. After introductions there was a twenty question general knowledge quiz for which 3 minutes were allowed.

Then the fun began as we all stood up to play a round of the game itself. I did get one question wrong but managed to escape the attention of the others and nobody voted for me as the Weakest Link.

During all of this Wainwright stood silently at my feet. He became far more involved in the last part of the audition. This was a piece to camera where the Anne Robinson stand-in asked a series of vicious questions and made remarks about me, testing my response. The purpose of this exercise is to allow the producers of the show to see how potential contestants look in front of the camera. I was asked to hold Wainwright up for the camera to see him throughout this part.

I managed to laugh off most of what was said to me even though 'Anne' resorted to comments about my age, my hairline, my figure and my clothes. Surely the real Anne would not bother with such cheap tricks?

That was it. If Wainwright and I were successful then there will be a letter in the next couple of weeks from the BBC. Then it is a case of waiting to see if we can be 'jig-sawed' into the show.

Although he remained silent throughout, it was clear that Wainwright was the main attraction for the researchers and if we get on the show it will be because of him, not me.

I do hope the audition has been successful and if we are invited to the show then it will be yet another exciting event in a pretty amazing year. I do worry though that under pressure it might not only be Wainwright that goes weak at the knees and falls to pieces. I hope the BBC keep lots of superglue.

Live long and prosper.

Monday, 7 December 2009

You are what you read


Help! I think I'm an addict.

I just can't stop buying books. Worse than that, I can't let go of them once I have them. I'm in the midst of a big sort out at home so I have managed to get rid of some books, if only to make room for new ones. Some of the books I've parted with I've never read. I sometimes wonder if I should have all the books I order online delivered directly to a charity shop and cut out the middle man.

The above photo depicts the books I have bought in the last 10 days. 'You are what you eat' goes the saying, but it could equally say 'You are what you read.' So what do my purchases say about me?

Let's start with Tea Time for the Traditionally Built by Alexander McCall Smith. This was an impulse buy. I've read the other 9 books in the Number One Ladies' Detective Agency series and I loved them all. This one came out earlier this year but somehow got under my radar. What better way to spend a cold winter evening than to lose yourself in the warmth of Africa and McCall Smith's brilliant writing?

What would make it better though is some nice winter food. And what is more inviting at this time of year than a lovely bowl of soup and fresh bread? Hence the two cook books.

The Covent Garden Food Co. Not only make fantastic soups but kindly share their recipes through a number of books. I've had this book just over a week and already made 4 soups. Last night it was Goulash soup. I might have been a bit heavy handed with the cayenne pepper, but what a tasty soup.

As the days are at their shortest there is something really comforting about spending the afternoon in the kitchen creating mouth watering aromas whilst baking batches of cakes and pastries. My mum used to do this every week but the ready made versions are so available now and inexpensive that I have never got into the habit. Until now. Low fat blueberry muffins are on my list to be made today. Mmm.

I don't suppose the Step-by-Step Guide to Bait and Rigs is everyone's idea of bedtime reading but I thoroughly enjoyed browsing through this well illustrated and informative book whilst tucked up in bed a few nights ago. There's more to fishing than just sticking a worm on a hook. With this book as my guide it is only a matter of time before I land that whopper. I do seem to be having some trouble though forcing myself away from my cosy kitchen to stand for hours overlooking the North Sea or the River Humber whilst freezing off important bits of me. I think a flask of hot soup and a box of muffins might be need to be packed alongside the lugworm and squid.

The final book, The Man on Seat 61, by Mark Smith, is a hint of how I may end my gap year this summer. It is a guide to travelling around Europe by train.

One item on my list of objectives for my gap year is to visit 10 countries I haven't been to before. Having cancelled my trip to Hong Kong and Vietnam I find myself 2 countries short of my target. It is possible to buy a month's rail pass for Europe and having looked at the countries where it is valid I counted 19 that I have never been to. Tempting.

This is another book to be dipped into and not read cover to cover. It explains about obtaining tickets and timetables but most usefully it provides a guide to train travel in 35 countries and even beyond on the Trans-Siberian Railway. It is laden with web addresses to help the would be traveller. I think I'll need a month just to plan my journey.

Talking of planning. My friend Pete and I have finally managed to create an itinerary for getting around New Zealand. In the end we have steered clear of the most obvious choices of hiring a camper van or hiring a car. We envisaged that in order to see all the things we want to see we would spend most of our time driving with these options. We have cunningly opted for a combination of planes, trains and automobiles instead.

Finally, Wainwright and I have received a very exciting invitation which may enable us to tick off a major objective on my list. I'll tell you all about it next time.

Live long and prosper.

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

Dear me





For the last 2 days I have been engaged in on of those tasks that I truly hope is a once in a lifetime experience - sorting through my dad's home and deciding what to keep and what can go.

Having never done anything like this before I am unsure of the protocols. Dad was only buried last week. Is there a decent interval of time to be observed before I begin to file his life away into boxes and consign his many shirts to the charity shops? Or is it best just to get on with it?

Of course, there is no answer. Each person can only do what is right for them. But it's not just about time, it's also about state of mind. What might appear to be a pile of junk must have meant something to someone once and be there for a reason.

I'm glad to say that my dad was a very ordinary man and no shocking secrets have emerged as I have gone through his possessions. Although it is disturbing to find the Christmas gift of a couple of years ago still in its wrapper.

Going through the worldly goods of someone who has been around for your entire existence means not only finding bits of their life but bits of your own too.

One piece of memorabilia (junk) I am not sure what to do with is a huge picture of me when I was 20 and on holiday in Crete. I recall that my mum had taken my holiday snaps to be developed and wanted some copies made. She went back the next week and was handed a large cardboard tube.

'I ordered post card sized prints,' said Mum. ' What's this?'

'Post card?' said the assistant. 'Oh, we thought you said poster.'

Reasoning that the huge prints were no good to the shop, mum paid the post card price and carried me home.

Thus it was that a very slim, fit, tanned and almost life sized looking version of me came to adorn my parents home for many years to come. Luckily, my dad had the good sense to consign the picture to the spare room. I know it's vanity, but I just couldn't bear to take me to the tip.

Another curiosity was I letter I found. It was written by me to my parents during my first week away from home as a student. 18 year old me was a very serious chap who gives reassuring information about sticking to halves when going out to pubs with the older students. It also conveys interesting details about needing to buy another track suit as the college are very particular about the colours worn by PE students. There didn't appear to be much work done during that first week.

The letter made me think of a book that came out recently called: 'Dear Me: A letter to my 16 year old self', which is a compendium of letters from famous folk to their young selves. A brilliant idea and probably something we should all do.

If I could give just three pieces of advice to the 18 year who wrote that letter back in September 1976 they would be:

Don't worry so much. 98% of the things you worry about in the years to come are never going to happen. And of the rest you will sort out half of them and the others just couldn't be avoided anyway.

If you realise you have you have made a big mistake then pride is never a good reason for not changing your mind and putting it right. Today's dented pride is tomorrow's battle scar, but regret is a wound that never heals.

Don't waste your time fighting those curls. Enjoy them while you can, they won't be there forever.

Live long and prosper.

Friday, 20 November 2009

Fish and Lights

Plane view of the Aurora Borealis

When my mother died over 13 years ago she was laid to rest in a beautiful churchyard in the village where she was born and brought up. The village is called Stogursey and is situated in Somerset, about 10 miles from Bridgewater.

My father paid for a double plot, so when he died recently I knew that my final service to him would be to ensure that he was taken to Somerset to be buried with my mum. Thanks to the efforts of the same undertakers who dealt with my mum's funeral my dad was finally laid to rest this week. The undertakers concerned are a family business run by father, Geoff, and daughter, Sarah, and I am eternally grateful to them for their care and support at this difficult time.

Thank you also to the friends who read this blog and have kindly taken the time to send messages of condolence. They were much appreciated.

As mentioned in my last blog, I had planned to be touring Vietnam right now and not being there presents a few difficulties with achieving the list of targets for my gap year.

One item on the list is not Vietnam related and is difficult to achieve. That is 'See the Northern Lights'. Given the gap in my itinerary I have been looking into trips to Norway or Iceland to tick this one off the list. But even for a few days the trips are expensive, generally around £1400 for 4 days. That is more than I paid for the 2 week overland trip through Vietnam.

There is a way to visit Lapland by way of a day trip for around £400 though. But this involves joining one of the 'See Santa' trips that are obviously aimed at young children. I just can't bring myself to sit on Santa's knee and tell him that all I want for Christmas is to see the Northern Lights. And if I turn up on the Winter Wonderland tour with Wainwright tucked under my arm then I am almost certain to be arrested under the Mental Health Act or even as a potential kiddie fiddler. Not good.

So I have taken a gamble and gone for the cheapest option available. On March 16th I will travel to Doncaster airport to receive a short lecture on astronomy and the Northern Lights from a couple of experts. We will then fly due north towards the Arctic Circle and look out of the window in eager anticipation of seeing said lights.

The picture above is one taken from one of the flights. As you can see, it is not as good as lying in the snow and watching the lights overhead. The picture was taken with a 10 second exposure, so I will have to brush up on using my Canon 50D if I want to get any similar shots. Not easy I imagine from the seat of a plane.

The trips reckon on an 80% success rate at seeing the lights so it could yet be a failed task.

Another task on my list is 'Catch a big fish'. I am a big fan of Robson Green's Extreme Fishing, so that was the inspiration for this goal. I had hoped that I might achieve this in my final week in Vietnam when I had booked myself a quiet hut on a beach on an island called Phu Quoc.

I am turning my attention instead to the coast of East Yorkshire. I do own a beach casting rod and reel, although it has been about 30 years since I fished off the coast.

I have set aside next week to put my father's estate in order, but after that I am awarding myself a week of 'me' time. My plan is to include a visit to the coast and catch a mighty denizen of the deep.

If past experience is anything to go by then I won't catch a thing except a cold. But I will not be deterred and will persevere in my quest all winter if need be.

If all else fails I will swallow a full packet of sea sickness tablets (you know how weak my stomach is) and set sail for the depths of the North Sea in search of my leviathan. I know you're out there Moby Dick. Beware! The middle aged gapper is coming to get you.


Live long and prosper.

Monday, 16 November 2009

November

Halong Bay

According to my diary I should be in Halong Bay today, drifting around on a Vietnamese junk. Of course, owing to the death of my father, I'm not. I'm at home enduring my least favourite month of the year, November. Can anyone tell me anything good about this month? For me it a time of long, dark nights and perpetual wind and rain. Uggh! The only good things I can find about it are the grass doesn't need cutting and warm and cosy nights in by the fire become very appealing.

Not visiting Vietnam as planned not only dashes my long established desire to flee the English autumn for a warmer climate, it also makes achieving the challenges I set for myself a while back very difficult.

There are 20 challenges in all and I drew them up at the beginning of my gap year as a way of bringing structure to what I wanted to do with my time. I'm not going to list all 20 here, but I will review some of them.

6 of the 20 have already been achieved. They included taking a Turkish bath, coming face to face with mountain gorillas and going white water rafting. So far, so good. Others have a definite antipodean feel to them and I hope to tick them off in January and February. For example: Climb Sydney Harbour Bridge; see the sun rise over Uluru; and take an epic train journey.

Many of them appear to be in jeopardy now that I have cancelled my trip to Hong Kong and Vietnam. Visiting 10 countries I have not visited before should have been easy but now I will be 2 short of the target. And what about 'Fire a machine gun'? I put that in there because a good friend assured me that there are lots of munitions in Vietnam and that blasting away with an M16 would be a great experience and easy to achieve. Not so easy to achieve in East Yorkshire though.

Another of my challenges was optimistic to say the least. This is the one that reads: 'See the Northern Lights.' It sounds easy but if I want to do it I need to get something sorted in the next two months. I think I can hear Iceland calling.

I said that I have ticked off 6 challenges as being achieved, but at a push I could claim 7.

The dubious challenge is the one entitled: 'Appear on TV.' Now, when I set that challenge what I had in mind was either an appearance in something as a TV extra or on a quiz show, such as The Weakest Link.

Neither of those look like happening but I may be able to claim it on a technicality.

Just over a week a ago it was Remembrance Sunday. Some months ago, after a visit to the Lakes, I commented on here that if people could trek up Great Gable for a Remembrance service then the least I can do is walk down the road to my local cenotaph. This I duly did, along with my eldest son and we marked our 2 minutes of silence at 11 O'clock. The point here is that I take remembering the sacrifices of others very seriously.

I then dashed off to watch Hull City play Stoke. Once the players were on the field there was another 2 minutes of silence. Naturally, I stood in due solemnity once more. What happened next is a disgrace in every way.

There must have been some problem with the PA system as it began to make an awful racket, completely at odds with occasion. This annoyed me. The match was televised on Sky and unbeknown to me the camera zoomed in on me stood there looking somewhat bemused by the noise but wearing my poppy with pride. Unfortunately, this was the precise moment when I expressed my dismay at the harsh sound coming from the speakers around the ground and in all the glory of high definition I was televised during the 2 minutes of silence mouthing words to the effect of 'For flip sake!', or maybe something a bit stronger.

Oh, the shame.

Live long and prosper.

Saturday, 7 November 2009

Quick hello

Hello. I know that a few people are kind enough to follow my ramblings on here so I want to give a brief update now that the Vietnam trip has been cancelled.

Sadly, my father died on November 5th after a short illness. It all happened very fast but I am thankful for the fact that my eldest son and my daughter made it home in time say goodbye.

As anyone who has been through this knows, it is a difficult time and there is a lot to do.

I hope to be back blogging in the next few days.

Live long and prosper.

Wednesday, 4 November 2009

Taking Stock

Incredibly, it's been 4 months since I left work. That's a third of a gap year. It seems like a good point to take stock of what has been happening.

I took time out to refresh like I had planned and now my day has more structure to it. I have yet to feel bored. Indeed, the list of things waiting to be done seems as long as ever. I still haven't cleared out the garage or tackled the painting jobs I have been meaning to do.

To date the travel has worked out brilliantly. Everywhere I have gone has been special and has meant something different. The best part has been the good friends I have met along the way.

It isn't just new friends that have made this part of my life special, it's the old ones too.

As I have commented before, time is different now. For example when I walk my dog in the morning there is no urgency to get home to go to work. This allows me time to have nice conversations with other dog walkers and realise that there are good people all around.

I am also grateful to my former friends and work colleagues who go out of their way to keep me 'in the loop' and to stay in touch through emails or invitations for drinks and meals. It's ironic that I've never really liked work Christmas do's but I'm really looking forward to them this year!

On the negative side, the Extras work that so filled me with enthusiasm has not come to anything. I am beginning to doubt it ever will. There was a phone call in August but I was out with my daughter and missed it. Had I answered it I would have got a walk-on part on Emmerdale Farm. What alarmed me was the text I got afterwards telling me how I had missed out on a valuable opportunity because I didn't answer my phone. I found the text insulting and it brought home a very valid point. That in the world of Extras work I am nothing and my agent is God, or thinks he is. If that's how it works then I don't want any part of it.

What I really like about my life since leaving work is getting up the morning and being my own boss. It's great not to have to pander to the egos of others, dance around office politics or be constantly reminded of the hierarchy and where I fit into it. I can't put a value on that, but it's certainly worth more than 5 seconds as man in pub on Emmerdale.

I apologise for ending this on a low note but I have cancelled my trip to Hong Kong and Vietnam. I was due to fly to Asia next week.

My elderly father was admitted to hospital 2 weeks ago. He is not responding to treatment. I had a long discussion with the Registrar yesterday and although there are no certainties the prognosis is not good. It would be pure folly for me to embark on a journey that was scheduled to last almost a month at this time.

So, sorry, I won't be posting news of my Vietnam Adventure on here in the near future.


Live long and prosper.

Sunday, 1 November 2009

The Third Reich

Hitler Salutes the memorial to the martyrs of the Beer Hall Putsch

Arbeit Macht Frei

Sonja at the Dachau Memorial



The Munich Hofbrauhaus reminded me of my school dining hall. Rows and rows of wooden tables and benches, each big enough to accommodate 8 to 10 people. On entering the place there were no empty tables so Chris and I spotted a couple of vacant seats at the end of a bench and politely asked those already sat there if we might join them.

The chap opposite was on his own and eventually he introduced himself as Martin, a travelling salesman from Manchester whose work took him all over the world.

We chatted for a while about the usual topics - what we were doing in Munich and football. Then Martin introduced a topic I had not been expecting.

'This is where it all began' he said. 'Hitler and his cronies planned the Third Reich in this place. They drank beer at these very tables.'

Up to this point I had not given much thought to the rise of Nazism and I was totally unaware of the pivotal role that the City of Munich had played in the rise of the Third Reich.

Over the course of the weekend I realised that it was impossible to ignore the events that had taken place in Munich as my feeble knowledge of history was improved by the tour guide Sonja on the free walking tour of the city and later during our visit to the former concentration camp at Dachau.

A series of political rallies and meetings in the beer halls of Munich in 1920 led to the creation of the German Workers Party, later changed by Hitler to the National Socialist German Workers Party (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei or NSDAP), or Nazi for short. In April 1921 in Munich Hitler became the leader (Führer) of the Nazi Party.

April 1921 was also the time when the victorious nations of World War One, notably England and France, presented Germany with the bill for war reparations as agreed under The Treaty of Versailles in 1919. The cost was assessed as $33.5 billion.

The German government responded by printing more money and consequently created an unprecedented level of hyper-inflation. Before the war reparations were announced 1 US Dollar was the equivalent of 4 German Marks. By November 1923 it took an astonishing 4,000,000,000 marks to buy 1 dollar.

Hitler's first grab for power came on the evening of November 8th and the morning of November 9th, 1923 in Munich. A mesmeric speaker he brought hope and a promise of change to a country in chaos. Of course, he did not openly disclose his true intentions and manifesto.

Growing support gave him the confidence to kidnap leaders of the Bavarian government in what became known as The Beer Hall Putsch. His plan was to get these leaders to support him and become part of his new government. Threatened at gunpoint, the three kidnapped leaders feigned support for Hitler and he made the fatal error of leaving them whilst he organised his storm troopers elsewhere in Munich. The three leaders managed to slip away and next day Hitler, Göring, Himmler and a World War I military hero called Ludendorf marched with 3,000 Nazis on the centre of Munich.

The march eventually reached a police blockade and shots rang out. 16 Nazis and 3 police officers were killed (the original spin-doctor, Goebbels, later re-wrote history to say that the 3 police officers were martyrs who had died whilst trying to flee the police lines to join the Nazis). Hitler's body guard saved his life by shielding him with his body and taking 14 bullets (he lived). Hitler withdrew from the melee and ran away.

Thus ended Hitler's first attempt at seizing power. It would be 10 years before he finally achieved his ambition.

On the walking tour Sonja showed us where the fighting had taken place, near the Odeonplatz. When the Nazis came to power they erected a plaque to the 19 (including the 3 police officers) martyrs of the failed take over. Everyone who passed had to give a Nazi salute. Naturally, people sought to avoid the place and a nearby street now has golden paving to commemorate the fact that people would duck down it to avoid the Nazi memorial.

When the Nazis eventually came to power they secured only 37% of the vote. Hitler became the German Chancellor on 30th January 1933. Just 27 days later he had the excuse he needed to launch his dictatorship.

On February 27th the Reichstag Building in Berlin was the subject of an arson attack. To this day it is not clear exactly what happened but the communists were blamed. In response Hitler immediately had legislation passed that took away all civil liberties.

Hitler's storm troopers began to round up the communists. The dissidents had to be housed somewhere. In March 1933 Dachau, the concentration camp on the outskirts of Munich opened its gates for the first time.

By coincidence, luck or serendipity it was Sonja, our guide from the free tour, who was in Marienplatz on our last day in Munich to take us on the tour of Dachau.

In her early 30's, this blonde, attractive and intelligent student from Florida once more passed on her historical knowledge with a passion. Not surprising, given that her father was born in Germany in 1942 and sees himself as American, ashamed to be classed as German.

A train journey and a bus ride took us out to Dachau where Sonja explained that this was never a death camp, not like Auschwitz. Dachau was a work camp and between 1933 and 1938 it housed political prisoners.

On November 9th 1938 another event that centred on Munich took place that as to swell the numbers detained in Dachau and set the scene for one of the darkest events in history.

On this night Hitler was in Munich celebrating the anniversary of the Beer Hall Putsch. Whilst there he received news of the murder by shooting of Ernest vom Rath, a German Embassy official, by a young Jew named Herschel Grynszpan. Hitler and his cohorts seized this event as an opportunity to begin their wholesale persecution of the Jewish People and the Kristallnacht, or night of the broken glass began. This involved the mass arrests of Jews and destruction of their property and synagogues. 30,000 Jewish men were arrested, 11,911 of them being sent to Dachau.

We passed into the concentration camp through the iron gates that bear the words 'Arbeit Macht Frei' - 'Work will set you free'. Someone once asked Sonja if that was some kind of ironic joke. The answer is it wasn't. Dachau was originally built to re-educate people and turn them into useful members of the Reich. During its early years some of the political prisoners were actually released when their sentences were deemed to have been served.

From 1938 Dachau became a model for the other concentration camps, more than 1500 of them. Dachau had a sizeable training wing to allow German officers to learn how to control and break the spirit of the inmates.

Touring the camp two things became apparent to me. The first was Sonja's passion for enabling those on her tour to understand what went on here. The two most chilling areas were the cell block where prisoners were tortured and murdered and the gas chamber and crematorium. No one knows for sure how many died here. It is estimated at about 48,000 people. When the American liberators arrived they found bodies stacked up in the room adjacent to the incinerators - too numerous for the crematorium to deal with.

Sonja refused to enter either of these areas for fear of becoming de-sensitised to the horror of it all.

By contrast, what also became apparent to me was my own lack of emotion. I don't mean I didn't feel sad or was unmoved by what I saw and learned, but I wasn't moved to tears. I think that after the poverty of Africa and the horrors of the genocide memorial in Kigali maybe I have started to become slightly de-sensitised myself.

The final part of the tour was where Sonja became really passionate about her subject. This was the memorial to the dead and the epic words 'Never again'.

It is those words that so enrage Sonja. She turned to the group and said:

'This isn't just about the history of Germany, this is about the history of mankind. It's wrong to think that it stopped in 1945. Since then there have been genocides, including Cambodia in the 1970's and in 1994 in Rwanda. The United Nations introduced the term 'ethnic cleansing' to describe what happened in Bosnia so they could claim that there had been no more genocides in Europe since 1945.

'My own government detains people without trial and tortures them in Guantanamo Bay. It is wrong to believe we have learned from our mistakes, we haven't.'

By coincidence the book I am reading at the moment is Ghost Train to the Eastern Star by that inveterate traveller, Paul Theroux. Speaking about his visit to the killing fields of Cambodia he clearly shares Sonja's sentiment. I'll leave you with his words:

'The traveller's conceit is that barbarism is something singular and foreign to be encountered on some pinched and parochial backwater. The traveller journeys to this remote place and it seems to be so: he is offered the worst atrocities that can be served up by a sadistic government. And then, to his shame, he realises that they are identical to ones advocated and diligently applied by his own government. As for the sanctimony of people who seem blind to he fact that mass murder is still an annual event, look at Cambodia, Rwanda, Darfur, Tibet, Burma and elsewhere - the truer shout is not 'Never again' but 'Again and again.'




Acknowledgements:

www.thehistoryplace.com

Wikipedia

Ghost Train to the Eastern Star by Paul Theroux

New Europe Tours - Munich

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

Serendipity

Das Glockenspiel

Another good knight out

Seems like a nice boy


The trip to Munich began at Terminal 5 at Heathrow. Given all the adverse publicity when it opened last year this caused me some concerns but they were groundless. Although very soulless, the airport is an extremely modern building. All glass and chrome. It is dominated by British Airways and their check in took about a minute. All very impressive.

Emerging from baggage claim at Munich I was greeted with a bear hug from my eldest son, Chris. Airport arrivals are a great places for reunions, but whilst I have seen lots of them this was the first time I can recall being a recipient. It was a nice start to a fantastic weekend.

One of my favourite words in the rich lexicon of the English language is Serendipity - making fortunate discoveries by accident. Our first 24 hours in Munich were very serendipitous and shaped our stay.

Having found our hotel, Chris and I set off for food followed by the search for an atmospheric bar. Wandering through the clean streets with no real idea of where we were headed we found the perfect place - the Hofbrauhaus, the best known beer hall in Munich.

This was everything I expected of Bavaria. Men in lederhosen wearing felt hats, a 6 piece oompah band, ladies in tight fitting bodices and flowing dresses holding large pretzels aloft and, of course, gallons of amazing beer.

'Svei beer bitte' brought to us huge one litre glasses of foaming beer. The place was packed and there was an air of jollity and good humour that I have only found in Dublin before. Maybe it was all a bit touristy, but there were certainly a lot of Germans enjoying themselves - dancing to the band and singing drinking songs.

Next morning we gravitated towards the centre again, at Marienplatz, home of one of the world's most disappointing tourist attractions. The square is dominated by the gothic looking Neues Rathaus, or new town hall. Built in 1908 the structure houses a famous glockenspiel, which whirrs into motion 3 times a day.

As the appointed hour of 11 O'clock drew near there were hundreds of people gathered to witness the glockenspiel show. Dozens of people held cameras aloft, desperate to record every part of this fascinating event for posterity.

The minute hand reached twelve and the crowd strained with excitement. Then it moved to one minute past, two minutes past......nothing.

I know what you are thinking - 'Hang on. This is Germany, a land famed for reliability and precision'.

True. But not everything works like clockwork, not even clocks. The glockenspiel relies upon Wolfgang to set it in motion and Wolfgang is not the most precise on men. Some days, presumably after a heavy session in the Hofbrauhaus, he doesn't show up at all!

At 11.05 the mechanical chimes finally struck into action. What a bloody racket. I defy anyone to stand in that square and tell me what the tune is. There just isn't one, only the clanging of lots of out of tune chimes. Throwing the contents of your cutlery draw down the stairs would be more tuneful.

One by one the lofted cameras drooped down. Then, 6 minutes in something happens. The crowd give a collective 'Ooo' as a medieval pageant springs into life, complete with jousting knights representing Bavaria and France. Eventually the French knight falls back and the movement shifts to some celebratory dancers doing a sort of Gay Gordon affair, with the emphasis very much on the gay part.

The grand finale is a golden owl who pops out and spreads his wings. Fascinating.

This is truly the worst tourist attraction I have ever seen. There is lots of footage of it on You Tube. But beware, it lasts an excruciating 15 minutes.

Chris and I never saw the end as we had become embroiled in our second serendipitous event - discovering a free walking tour of the city.

The tour took well over three hours and was well presented by the excellent Sonja - a mature student from Florida who is studying for her masters in comparative literature at Munich University. Together we criss-crossed the city, seeing all the major sights and learning about Munich's history.

Sonja even introduced us to the best of the local beers - the Augustiener, which we drank in a quiet bar at the end of the tour.

The tours are operated by a European company and the free tour was one of several they operated, although the others are not free. One of these is a beer tour - a beer hall crawl round Munich that includes some 'free' beer and jaegermeisters (a weird, alcoholic beverage that tastes like cough medicine). It began at the central station, not far from our hotel at 6pm. Unbeknown to me, Chris arranged to meet some of those from the free tour on the beer tour.

Thus it was that I came to be standing at the railway station with a host of people much younger than me and wondering what I had let myself in for.

I needn't have worried. It was a wonderful, drunken evening where I got to meet so many friendly and interesting people from all round the world - the delightful Claire from Melbourne, Annabelle from Brazil, Varun from Auckland, Cam from Vancouver and others from Russia, Scotland and Canada.

Most of these guys were travelling around Europe and were at various points in their journeys. Varun even had business cards announcing him as a 'roving ambassador'. These enchanting young people were such a contrast to the silver surfers I encountered in Buttermere the week before.

At one beer hall, Cam returned from the loo laughing at the fact that there was a machine in there that dispensed something called the 'Travel Pussy'. Intrigued, I coughed up half of the 4 euro cost and Cam shot back to the Gents excitedly. He returned with one of those little plastic eggs that usually contain novelties at fairgrounds and the seaside. The contents of this egg were very novel indeed.

Cam broke open the egg to reveal a red plastic bag, a sachet of lubricant and some instructions. The bag turned out to be an imitation vagina, which Cam duly inflated only to find that there was no way to deflate it. Our new girlfriend accompanied us on the rest of the tour until eventually she split on us late on. To be fair, I don't think she was the faithful type and it would never have lasted.

At our last hostelry I did something I have never done before - Karaoke! In the circumstances I thought I did a passable version of Coldplay's 'The Scientist', especially the 'Aaaa Ooooo Oooo' bit towards the end, and was joined on stage by my son. Ok, Simon Cowell wouldn't have been impressed, but I was sufficiently emboldened to follow this up later with my Elvis impression - 'The Wonder of You'. Yes, I was drunk.

I had just the best night out, but by the time it got to midnight I knew that I had peaked. After much handshaking and hugs I took my leave of Chris and the other youngsters. They made me smile with their endorsement of what a cool Dad I was.

Leaving my new best friends forever I made may way to the door and encountered two problems. One, I hadn't been paying attention to where we were going, so I wasn't quite sure where we were or where our hotel was. Two, there were two of everything. I picked one of the two paths to my right and staggered off into the night.

Next morning I was headache free, which was a huge but pleasant surprise and a testament to the purity of the Bavarian beer. But best of all, I had enjoyed a brilliant time with yet more lovely people. And that, as I know by now, is what travel is really all about.

Tuesday, 27 October 2009

Guten Tag



Wainwright and I are home again after a great few days in Munich.

I will reveal what we got up to in a couple of blogs. I'm not very good at history so I hadn't realised that Munich played such a key role in the rise of the Third Reich. Also, my son and I visited Dachau on the outskirts of the city and it is appropriate to divide the blogs into the serious and light hearted aspects of the trip.

Part of being a struggling writer, or in my case, a would-be writer, is the need for self-promotion. It feels so egotistic and pushy. But unless you have a large publishing house behind you it is necessary if anyone is going to actually read your words.

The BBC has a competition at the moment for people to write their story - something that has happened to them - in 1500 words or less. It can be found on the BBC website under 'My Story'. Part of the prize is to have your story published as a paperback book. According to the website, the judges are not too concerned with grammar and syntax, just damn good stories so you might want to have a bash.

I have tapped out my own story and the BBC have accepted it for publication on their website. If you want to find out a bit more about this particular middle aged gapper then go to:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mystory/stories/survival/150149/

That ends my shameless self promotion for today.

Finally, an update on Appa, the boy I am sponsoring at the orphanage near Lake Bunyoni, Uganda. Crystal at the orphanage has written to me to say:

Appa's other name is Paol. When I went to check on him at school I found he is having no school books. I let him know that you have chosen to sponsor him and we are in the process of getting school books and a large size uniform and sweater made for him...he is truly one of our proudest and happiest students because it is his first time ever in school.

I know that a few people who were with me in Africa read this blog and they have kindly expressed an interest in Appa's progress so I'll publish a few lines about his development on here every now and again. Appa is the tall boy wearing the hat on the extreme left of the above picture (click on it to enlarge).

Live long and prosper.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009

More travels

Don't mention the war

There is very much the air of the seasoned traveller about me as I write this, my last blog of the week.

My holdall, with Wainwright waiting patiently beside it, is on my bed ready to be packed yet again. I'm flying to Munich tomorrow to meet up with my eldest son who is stationed in Germany with the Army.

I've never been to Germany before and it marks the 6th 'new' country to be visited since I left work in July. I'm well on my way to hitting my target of 10 unvisited countries within a year.

Country number 7 will be China when I fly out to Hong Kong next month for a 2 night stop-over.

The Vietnamese Embassy have kindly granted me a visa so Hong Kong will be followed by Country number 8 when I make the short trip to Hanoi and begin and extensive tour of Vietnam from north to south. The bulk of my travel, from Hanoi to Saigon (Ho Chi Min City) will be in the security of Exodus Travel once more as we travel by air, sea and rail between these two epic cities (note to self 1 - stock up on travel sickness pills for the sea bit of the journey).

Then comes the bit that both worries and excites me. Whilst the rest of the Exodus group go home I will remain in Vietnam for another 8 days and so far I haven't booked any accommodation for those days.

I could be bold and see where the wind takes me from Saigon, but in a country where English is not widely spoken this seems a bit dodgy. I did invest in a set of Teach Yourself Vietnamese cd's many months ago, but so far I haven't progressed beyond Xin Chao (Hello) and Tam Biet (Thank you).

'Excuse me, but is this the correct bus to Vung Tau?' looks like being way beyond my grasp of linguistics. Back to pointing and shouting then.

At present I fancy taking the 50 minute flight from Saigon to Phu Quoc, an idyllic tropical island off the coast of Cambodia, and being a beach bum for a few days. I've also been watching a lot of Robson Green's Extreme Fishing lately so the idea of some serious fishing and snorkelling also appeals.

Once I've posted this I'll be on the internet looking for my ideal beach hut to get away from it all and fortify myself for the horror that is Christmas.

I've already been busy on the web today and booked a very eco friendly B&B in Christchurch for the last 2 nights of my trip around New Zealand in February. I am making the 3 week jaunt with my friend Peter (if you've been reading this blog for a while you may recall that Pete and I usually have a boy's weekend away each year where I feel the need to dispel loudly any notion that we are a gay couple, even though we look very much like one. Me more than him, according to someone Pete and I met at Beverley Races recently).

Peter is not one to endure discomfort so our accommodation in NZ will have all the usual amenities, like hot water and beds. To balance this out I have gone for the opposite end of the scale when arranging my 12 day trip around Australia, which I am undertaking alone before joining Pete in Auckland.

Based upon my success at surviving the Youth Hostel at Buttermere last week, all the accommodation I have booked so far in Australia is in hostels. These are all right in the heart of the cities I am staying in and are at ridiculously low prices. Of course the downside is the need to share a room with other travellers (note to self 2 - stock up on ear plugs). I imagine that most of those I share with will be genuine surfers and not the silver variety I encountered in the Lakes.

The hostel I am staying at in Sydney is a disused railway station and I have booked myself into a 4 berth converted railway carriage for my 3 night stay. How cool is that? It also establishes a rail motif which I take up later on with overnight trips on the iconic India-Pacific and Ghan railways from Sydney to Adelaide and then from Adelaide to Alice Springs.

I've still got the last keg of my Australian adventure to arrange - from Alice Springs to Uluru to see the sun rise on this enigmatic rock that for many is a major symbol of the land down under.

So, I can't stay chatting to you all day. I've got bags to pack, Euros to obtain, beach huts to find, buses across the outback to book and youth hostels to evaluate. It's a full time job being a middle aged gapper you know. But please, try not to feel too sorry for me.

Live long and prosper.

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

African Epilogue

Fly high, fly free


That's it. The African adventure is over.

After meeting the gorillas we returned to our modest hotel and the next day we drove back to Kigali for our final night together as a group.

Kigali was an odd place. I took the opportunity to wander round but if there was a thriving city centre I never found it. There was lots of evidence of investment and outside influence but the city has a long way to go before it can rival the likes of say Cape Town.

A beautiful aspect of the city was the constant presence of yellow billed kite, which were as plentiful as seagulls are over British towns. There are various red kite populations around East Yorkshire and I always count it as a blessing to see one. Above Kigali I saw 8 circling the sky at one time. The photograph you see here was taken whilst I was enjoying a quiet drink at the hotel and two kite were circling the nearby trees.

Taking a break from meandering aimlessly around Kigali, I managed to enjoy a very pleasant lunch at the Hotel des Mille Collines, which is the hotel that the film Hotel Rwanda is based on.

The hotel was a modern one and still undergoing building work. Lunch on the terrace was leisurely and quiet, but soon there were diners everywhere. I was surrounded by people smartly dressed in collars and ties. Many had their plates piled high after helping themselves to the free buffet that was part of some corporate seminar. There was a buzz of office talk and for a few horrible moments I was transported back to the similar junkets that dotted my previous life. Managing to convince myself that I was still a lucky middle aged gapper and hadn't fallen through a worm hole into a boring and meaningless 'away day', I was comforted by what I saw and felt a sense of hope for this troubled corner of Africa.

Back on the street I hailed a pic-pic to take me to our hotel on the outskirts of the city. A pic-pic is a motorcycle taxi. Being whizzed along the busy highways and weaving in and out of traffic was both exhilarating and stupid. Wearing my usual shorts and T shirt I would have been a rare mess had my driver come to grief. I've no idea what speeds we reached along the dual carriageway as the speedo was broken. I dare say I wasn't insured either. But it was huge fun. It also gave me the sense of being an independent traveller, away from the security of the Exodus tour. Paul Theroux will be proud of me.

The last morning arrived and I reflected on my journey. Here is an extract from my journal that was written as I sat on the balcony of my hotel room:

'I take my leave of this land that I love so much, that plays havoc with my emotions.

'Tears well up as I look back upon this wonderful journey. Images of Africa's majestic animals and its fantastic landscape pour into my mind like the mighty waters of the Nile.

'But it is always the people that are so vivid in my memory: barefoot people carrying water in their yellow jerry cans; the Maasai in their bright red cloaks tending their cattle; the women of Rwanda in their bright costumes picking crops of tea and coffee; the men who whistle and jeer at us and raise their hands in salutation. And of course the children - dancing with joy at the sight of us passing by; running to keep up with us; the boys with their crayoned pictures of gorillas; and the sleepy babies warm and secure on their mother's backs; the boy in the orphanage at Bunyoni.

'As I gaze out on this land one last time a regal kite performs a fly-by, swooping under the branches of the acacia tree and then high and out of sight.

'My soul will always be with the kite as he soars over the heart of Africa.

'N'kosi sikele'i Afrika.'

We took our leave of JJ, Julius and Leo at the airport at Kigali. They were already preparing for the next group who would make our trip in reverse.

Together, we had travelled more than 2,500km over land on an adventure that I will never forget.

I hope you have enjoyed my African blogs. I certainly enjoyed writing them. Thanks especially to my good friend and fellow blogger, Rare Lesser Spotted, for his comments and encouragement.

There is one final piece of news for me to share with you.

As you may have gathered, the visit to the orphanage near Lake Bunyoni, Uganda was upsetting for me. As our journey continued my mind would often go back to the misfit child - the boy with learning difficulties, much older than the other children and in need of love and attention. I have a soft spot for misfits.

Since coming home I have been in correspondence with Crystal at the orphanage. I have learned that the boy is called Appa, as this is the only word he has ever spoken. He has been at the school for 4 months. I am in the process of making the necessary arrangements to sponsor Appa.

Someone once said to me that you can't make life better for everyone in the world, but you can make it better for one person. Maybe this is my way of dealing with my guilt over the children of Africa. I'm not sure. I do know though that I feel a lot happier about a misfit boy in a dusty playground above Lake Bunyoni.

Live long and prosper.

Monday, 19 October 2009

Volcanoes National Park

Gorillas in the mist

Unity

Gorillas in our midst



The world has many wondrous sights to offer, but there can surely be few better than walking into a sunlit glade and finding yourself in the midst of a group of mountain gorillas. It is a very humbling experience that is full of a sense of honour at being allowed to share a few moments with such beautiful, intelligent and peaceful creatures.

According to the National Geographic website there are roughly 700 mountain gorillas remaining on earth and half of these are to be found in the Virunga mountains of East Africa - a range of 5 volcanoes that spread across the borders of Uganda, The Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda.

Gorilla viewing is not cheap. A gorilla permit must be obtained at a cost of US$500 (about 350GBP). The permits are strictly controlled and allow the lucky bearer the privilege of just one hour in the company of these majestic primates.

The money goes towards the protection of the gorillas. Our approach to the gorillas was in the Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda. Despite the gorilla being an endangered species worldwide it is the only primate on the planet that is increasing in number and the news from Rwanda is all good.

In the area where we trekked there were 14 groups of gorillas. Since 1985 only one gorilla has died at the hands of poachers. In 2005, 108 gorillas were born in the national park and of these only 9 died.

In a tour that was filled with wonder, the greatest excitement of all came towards the end when we were to visit the gorillas. I awoke at 4.30am with the child-like excitement of Christmas morning. After breakfast Land Rovers arrived and ferried the 16 of us to the national park, where we divided into two groups of 8 for our trek up the volcano.

The staging post was alive with people. Mostly tourists like ourselves but also the game rangers who were being briefed on their duties for the day.

Eventually we met our guides who told us that we were to meet with a group of gorillas known as Peace. The group was led by a silverback called Unity. There were 17 gorillas in total in our group.

Another ride in the Land Rover took us to our starting point - a small village at the foot of the volcano.

The initial trekking was easy as it passed through farmland where potatoes and other crops were growing. Despite being vegetarian, the gorillas do not raid the villagers crops and the villagers have learned to respect their neighbours in return.

As I learned later from our guide, the trek began at an altitude of 2,620 metres and when we reached the gorillas we had climbed to 2,973 metres. That's almost 10,000 feet. Certainly a lot higher than anything the Lake District has to offer.

Despite the altitude it was hot and humid on the climb to meet our group. Beyond the farmland the trail began in earnest among the lush tropical vegetation on the volcano slopes. A huge inch worm lay across our path and a bit further on a chameleon steadily made its way along a branch. Tarzan would not have been out of place here.

Worst of all were the huge African stinging nettles. We warned to avoid these but it was impossible - they stung me through my shirt and trousers. Ouch!

After and hour and half of trekking we met up with the spotters who had located our group just a short way ahead in the dense undergrowth. We lay down all of our kit except our cameras and quietly crept along to our rendezvous.

Two juvenile gorillas tore down the path ahead of us, intent on playing and seemingly oblivious to our presence.

We emerged into the clearing and into the midst of the Peace group.

It was a sublime moment. To see the gorillas lying on the forest floor dozing in the soft sunlight, their young climbing playfully over them was a moment of huge emotion. Our cameras were still as we simply drank in this moment and savoured it. I don't think there was a dry eye among the 8 of us.

My expectation of visiting gorillas was for it to be exactly like this. The group would laze about and we would crouch on the edge and watch them for an hour. I was mistaken.

Within a few minutes the gorillas, led by Unity, began to wander into the undergrowth and were soon lost to sight. Under the careful control of our guides we followed. Here and there paths had to be hacked out for us with machetes.

This is how it was for the full hour. An ever changing vista that brought us near to most of the group. At one point I could see gorillas on three sides of me.

The older members of the group were intent on munching on the vegetation, whilst the younger ones were more playful and engaged in mock battles.

As the hour came to an end we were in the company of Unity himself, sat about 20 feet away with his back to us while he munched on some leaves.

'Time to go' announced the guide.

On cue, Unity climbed up into view and turned to face us, his intelligent eyes looking right though us.

'Ok then, two more minutes', said the guide kindly.

Softly we withdrew from this magical kingdom and I offered silent thanks to Unity for the unique experience of sharing a small amount of time with him and his family high up on the Rwandan volcano. Asante sana.

Saturday, 17 October 2009

In the name of sanity!

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness - Crummock Water
(click to enlarge)

Wainwright and I had a refreshing few days in the Lake District, never getting rained on once and being overwhelmed by the glorious colours of autumn.

One of the main purposes of the trip was to sample life courtesy of the Youth Hostel Association to assess whether I can cope with similar places abroad.

The hostel we stayed at was at Buttermere, towards the west of the Lake District and not as busy as Grasmere, which we visited in July. It was a grand old building that had 18 bedrooms and at £18 a night for bed and breakfast, represented brilliant value for money.

The reception area was as bright and modern as most hotels and when I was given a key to Room 1 my hopes began to rise. Could it be? A whole room to myself? No. The room housed 6 men, spread around 3 bunk beds. By the time I arrived there were just 2 bunks left.

I made my bed and there was even a couple of drawers for me to unpack into. Looking at my fellow roomies though a thought struck me immediately - where are all the Youths mentioned in the title? I was clearly the youngest person in the room. Indeed, I was one of the youngest of all the people I encountered during my 3 night stay in the hostel.

It is well over 30 years since I stayed in a youth hostel and during that time the YHA has morphed from providing cheap, basic accommodation for the scouting generations, to providing cheap hotel facilities for the baby boomers i.e. the same people, 30 years on.

My stay allowed me to enjoy 2 breathtaking walks around Ennerdale and Crummock Water. The latter was particularly good as it included some tramping on higher ground, a visit to Scale Force and a midday stop-over at the pub at Loweswater for a pint of Loweswater Gold.

The evenings afforded ample opportunity to relax, drink beer and read. And as I began a journey across Europe to Asia with Paul Theroux in his book Ghost Train to the Eastern Star I realised a significant failing in myself as a budding travel writer.

Theroux's book is jam pack full of detailed encounters with fellow travellers, locals and, being Paul Theroux, other literary luminaries. Paul must have a brilliant memory for conversations as they often ramble on for pages.

With me it's not so much a memory issue as a 'can I really be bloody bothered?' issue. Buttermere certainly seemed to bring out the reclusive, Victor Meldrew side of my character. I don't think it was all my fault.

Take for example the bloke who shared my bunk (me on top, him downstairs). I soon gathered that he had made a last minute decision to travel up from London for a few days based purely on the fact that the weather forecast was good. I learned very little else about him though, as our conversations became increasingly one sided and I began to hide whenever I heard him approaching. For example:

Me: Where did you walk today?

Him: The weather favoured a low walk so I set off along the north eastern edge of Crummock Water and then climbed up along Clint Crags. Taking a left through a moderately wet meadow I soon came to Dirty Harry's Hole which was only maybe 452 yards from Magnum Force. There was a lovely bridge that I passed on a compass bearing of 294 degrees west - north - west. I continued in a jaunty manner, despite the small stone that had worked it's way into my 15 year old Brasher boot........the final leg along Unforgiven Pass was every which way but loose.......blah, blah..... What about you?

Me: Ennerdale.

Him: Ah yes, one of the most western lakes, also a reservoir. Volumetric capacity 4.324 squillion litres, although the last time I was there it seemed t be about 3 pints less than that......

Thus it was that I discovered that I suffer from BTSD - Boring Traveller Stress Disorder. A condition brought on by an adverse reaction to people who are only interested in providing detailed accounts of their exploits and feel the need to litter them with as many points of reference as possible.

I know that London taxi drivers have to pass The Knowledge - a test of routes and London street names. There must be something similar for regular Lake District visitors. I find it strange that no one ever appeared on Mastermind with a specialist subject of Encyclopaedic Knowledge of the Lakeland Fells.

Thinking about though it would have been confusing. Imagine:

Magnus: What geological feature divides the mountains in the Honister area, south of Keswick?

Contestant: Pass

Magnus: Correct.

(Sorry, I couldn't resist a version of an old Eric and Ernie routine - put it down to my BTSD).

Ironically, having driven me to sleep during the day my fellow bunker kept me awake at night with his incessant snoring.

In the name of sanity. I do not bloody believe it! Victor screamed silently.

Luckily, the hostel sold ear plugs, so night number 2 was more peaceful than night number 1. And by night number 3 I had the whole room to myself. A simple, peaceful bliss descended on my tattered soul and my inner Victor Meldrew gradually melted away. Until next time.

Live long and prosper.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

The Genocide Memorial

The lush vegetation of Rwanda - a thriving country with a dreadful past

It was not only the language that changed when we ventured south into Rwanda. Crossing the border also meant driving on the right and not the left as we had in Kenya and Uganda. The clocks went back an hour too. The landscape became very lush and green. At regular intervals along the road there were fields full of workers picking the precious coffee beans. Often the workers would wave to me and instantly I began to sense that this was a far friendlier place than Uganda has sometimes been. But it was also a place with a very dark recent past.

Rwanda was colonised by the Germans in 1895. After World War One power was given over to the Belgians. They decided to divide the population into Tutsi and Hutu, with power being given to the minority Tutsi.

At the time there was much study of the African races and the white anthropologists concluded that having larger skulls and paler skins, the Tutsis were far closer to the Caucasian races and therefore superior. This led to decades of tension between the two tribes as the minority suppressed the majority and hatreds grew.

These tensions eventually erupted in April 1994 when the Hutus rose against the Tutsis and over the course of 3 months over 1 million Tutsis were murdered.

The full story of what led to the genocide is well documented elsewhere, in far more detail than I have painted here.

It was an atrocity on a par with the holocaust, and yet it is within the living memory of most people reading this. It is certainly an event fresh in the memory of the people of Rwanda and its legacy hangs over the country like a rain cloud.

There is a palpable sense of the need to be forgiven and nowhere is this more evident than at our first stop in Rwanda, at the Genocide Memorial in the capital Kigali.

At the heart of the memorial is a large modern building that tells the story of the genocide. Entrance is free.

The visit was harrowing throughout. It starts by providing the background to what occurred, before giving an overview of the violence itself. The story is told through artefacts, documents, pictures and text. Touch screen TVs play the dreadful accounts of the survivors. The story of these people is always the same - loved ones butchered and brutalised, often by people who had previously been friends, neighbours and work colleagues. A young woman, who lost her entire family, describes how 5% of the Hutus tried to help, 5% were indifferent and the remainder were caught up in an orgy of blood lust and violence. It serves as a gruesome reminder of just how easily the thin veneer of civilisation can be cast off.

A large, round room contained hundreds if not thousands of photographs of people who were killed. They were just the ordinary snapshots we all keep somewhere of loved ones in happy situations.

Another room contained the skulls, bones and artefacts of some of the dead. Personally, I found this area to be unnecessary. The enormity of what happened only 15 years ago was sinking in and it was as if the point was now being hammered home just to make sure. The final emotional twist came when I went upstairs.

Here there were pictures of children aged between 9 months and 10 years, who had been killed. The pictures were all of the children in life and underneath each picture was a brief biography - what they liked to eat, what they liked to do, what they were like and how they died. It was as if the details had been taken from a school report.

Most of the children had died from machete wounds to the head. Sisters aged 6 and 7 died together when a grenade was thrown into their shower.

Sorrow now became tinged with disbelief. An inability to comprehend how such violence could be wreaked upon these innocent lives.

It was proper that our journey to Rwanda should begin at the Genocide Memorial. But it coloured the remainder of our stay. The people I saw and met were just like anywhere else on our journey. At the back of my mind though there was always the question of what these people had done during those awful 100 days of killing.

My impression of Rwanda was of a thriving country. Kigali is a modern city by African standards and I much preferred it to Nairobi and Kampala. But woven into its fabric are shame and guilt that will take many generations to fade.

Lakes again

Our journey across East Africa together is nearly at an end. There is time for one more post then Wainwright and I are off again - to the Lake District for 3 days to take advantage of the mild weather and do some walking. No camping this time though. I am playing safe and putting a Youth Hostel Association roof over our heads.
When we return we will take you on the last leg of our African adventure - 10,000 feet up the steep sides of a volcano to spend a wonderful hour in the company of the brilliant mountain gorillas.
Until then........Live long and prosper.

Saturday, 10 October 2009

The Children of Africa

Lake Bunyoni

Mauled by the Tigers -Wainwright makes new friends

Some of the 67 children of the orphanage



Our 10 hour trek south finally brought us to our final destination in Uganda at Lake Bunyoni. The camp site was set on the edge of the lake and surrounded by a verdant landscape of trees and fields. It was a blessed relief after our stay on the outskirts of Kampala where the campsite had been in an urban area, had basic amenities and was guarded by government troops due to the unrest in the city.

The 2 nights at Lake Bunyoni were very relaxing as it was an excellent campsite with a bar and dining area. My tent opened out onto the Lake itself. A great way to start any day.

On the morning after our arrival the group was given the opportunity to visit the nearby orphanage. This involved an arduous trek up the steep slopes of the hillside to the nearest village. Our local guide introduced us to some of the villagers, including a very frail old lady who claimed to be 110 years old. She lived in one room in the care of her family.

Many of the homes had one or two cattle corralled in their yard. There was no electricity but there was some water thanks to a project by a foreign aid worker, supported by our tour company, Exodus Travel. Large storage tanks gathered rain water for local use.

The orphanage provided for 67 children, who were all cared for by the villagers in return for a subsidy.

The health of the children varied. Some appeared well nourished and strong, whilst others were sickly and had the swollen stomachs indicative of worm infestation. All of them were of pre-school age.

We spent at least 45 minutes in the company of these brilliant kids - playing in the open with them, dancing with them and joining them in the basic classrooms where they went about their lessons.

Wainwright was a huge hit with the children and nearly earned me a detention for disrupting the lesson.

Many of the group, including me, were emotionally affected by what we saw. I don't know why these children were orphaned or how they came to be at the orphanage. I'm not sure I wanted to know.

One boy in particular broke my heart. He was clearly older than the rest. He was poorly dressed and appeared to have learning difficulties. He went barefoot, a sign that, unlike many of the other children, he has no sponsor.

Many of the children were clearly thriving and I could sense some sort of future for them. But for this boy I could not see a future. Big and clumsy at times, he clearly craved attention. I do not think that in all my life I have seen a child so much in need of love and yet so deprived of it. Not for the first time in Africa I felt so helpless and desperate to do something that will make a difference.

I had bought packs of colouring pencils in the supermarket at home and handed them to the head teacher. Others had brought gifts too. As always with children it was he simplest of toys that made them happy as they chased around after some balloons that Jess and Josh had brought.

We all made a donation towards the running of this excellent orphanage. I hope our group made a small difference to the lives of these children.

This feeling of helplessness was clearly still troubling me when we left Lake Bunyoni and continued south into Rwanda.

We stopped for lunch at a viewpoint and as Leo prepared another great meal of meats, salad, breads, guacamole, fruit and cheese a small group of urchins gathered nearby and watched in silence.

There must have been about 8 children, and although they would be lucky to get one decent meal that day none of them asked for food. They just watched as we feasted.

When the meal was over Leo scraped the left-overs into the big yellow bin we always carried. The children said nothing.

Deeply troubled by this I took a short walk away from the truck and came across two young girls.

Being a former Belgian colony, French is the dominant language in Rwanda. Through my school boy grasp of the language I established that the girls were sisters named Marie and Desiree.

I told the girls to wait away from the truck and I strode back purposefully to Isobel and recovered the last remaining gift I had to give - a cheap 'magic' colouring book and 2 pens. Kneeling beside the sisters I divided the book between them and gave them a pen each, showing the girls how it worked.

I had deliberately done this away from the group as I knew the 'rules' by now - don't give money to children as it only encourages them to beg and to stay out of school. But the same rule being applied to wasted food was wrong to me and I was pleased to do something to right this wrong, albeit in a small way.

Was I being genuinely altruistic or did I act merely to assuage my own guilt? I can't honestly say. But I do know that as we drove away from the viewpoint we passed the sisters on the road and they waved at me enthusiastically still clutching the small gifts I had given them.


Footnote: The orphanage at Lake Bunyoni has its own blog that can be followed at http://mindfulmarket.blogspot.com/