Ruth is spending the day drawing at the Fete de Mazeres.
It is the hottest we have recorded since coming to France. 48 degrees in the garden, 118 degrees F.
Saturday, 2 June 2012
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
A Guilt Trip: Albania – Not as Scary as They Say (Part Two)
This is a guilt trip because I feel very guilty about not having completed the write-up of the Albania trip sooner. Largely this was because Ruth had the photos on her computer and I never got round to asking her to copy them to me. Anyway, here we go....
Albania was, in fact, not scary at all, as a blog commentator has pointed out.
Some preconceived ideas remain, however. Apparently in the 90’s (pedants have suggested that that ought to have been written “ ‘90s “) there was an enormous scam of Mercedes being stolen in Germany and being smuggled to Albania. When we crossed the border, the customs officials spent a lot of time checking out our paperwork to ensure that we weren’t smuggling-in a several years old Opel van/car. We noticed however, that of the first 6 cars we passed in Albania, 5 were 1990s Mercedes. This remained the pattern throughout our stay. After the first (very) few miles of dual carriageway, the road settled down to a winding lesser A-road standard and we turned off onto a many-hairpinned lane over the mountains and down to the sea. Albania has something the other countries on the east side of the Adriatic do not – sand - and the beaches, often in rocky coves, are, at least in the south, backed by mountains.
Of course, by Western European standards, Albania falls a little behind. This is true of the public transport system where passengers for Butrint can have to wait a considerable time before their bus turns up.
Luckily, when we went to Butrint, we drove our own car. How pleased we were that we did. By tradition, Butrint was founded by refugees from Troy but by evidence it has been inhabited by Hellenes, Romans, Byzantines, Venetians and Turks. Formerly an island, in its heyday it was a busy trading city with theatres markets and temples. We were shown around by a research student. This photo is of a gateway (built specially low to make it harder for invaders to get in) whose lintel is reminiscent of the lion gateway at Mycenae.
The largely unspoilt scenery is a treat. Here is a view from Ksamili at sunset with the coast of Corfu visible on the horizon.
On our drive up through Albania to catch the ferry to Italy from Dűrres we debated as to whether to take the apparently good condition inland main road or the coastal road over the Llogaraja pass which the guidebook describes as being "particularly treacherous". Albanians we asked said that in fact the inland road was worse since it was being dug up for "improvement". The view from the top of the pass (with Corfu in the distant haze) looks like this:-
Ruth normally likes to have coffee late morning. We pulled into a village square where we saw a suitable-looking cafe. When we got out of the car we heard a loud noise, sounding like industrial machinery. To our right was an incredible cafe/restaurant built under, around and above a mountain torrent. Here, to finish our brief notes on Albania, are some pictures:-
Albania was, in fact, not scary at all, as a blog commentator has pointed out.
Some preconceived ideas remain, however. Apparently in the 90’s (pedants have suggested that that ought to have been written “ ‘90s “) there was an enormous scam of Mercedes being stolen in Germany and being smuggled to Albania. When we crossed the border, the customs officials spent a lot of time checking out our paperwork to ensure that we weren’t smuggling-in a several years old Opel van/car. We noticed however, that of the first 6 cars we passed in Albania, 5 were 1990s Mercedes. This remained the pattern throughout our stay. After the first (very) few miles of dual carriageway, the road settled down to a winding lesser A-road standard and we turned off onto a many-hairpinned lane over the mountains and down to the sea. Albania has something the other countries on the east side of the Adriatic do not – sand - and the beaches, often in rocky coves, are, at least in the south, backed by mountains.
Of course, by Western European standards, Albania falls a little behind. This is true of the public transport system where passengers for Butrint can have to wait a considerable time before their bus turns up.
Luckily, when we went to Butrint, we drove our own car. How pleased we were that we did. By tradition, Butrint was founded by refugees from Troy but by evidence it has been inhabited by Hellenes, Romans, Byzantines, Venetians and Turks. Formerly an island, in its heyday it was a busy trading city with theatres markets and temples. We were shown around by a research student. This photo is of a gateway (built specially low to make it harder for invaders to get in) whose lintel is reminiscent of the lion gateway at Mycenae.
On our drive up through Albania to catch the ferry to Italy from Dűrres we debated as to whether to take the apparently good condition inland main road or the coastal road over the Llogaraja pass which the guidebook describes as being "particularly treacherous". Albanians we asked said that in fact the inland road was worse since it was being dug up for "improvement". The view from the top of the pass (with Corfu in the distant haze) looks like this:-
Ruth normally likes to have coffee late morning. We pulled into a village square where we saw a suitable-looking cafe. When we got out of the car we heard a loud noise, sounding like industrial machinery. To our right was an incredible cafe/restaurant built under, around and above a mountain torrent. Here, to finish our brief notes on Albania, are some pictures:-
A SKIING RECORD!
I just wanted to record that I enjoyed my last skiing session of the season on 19th. April.
.
Thursday, 2 February 2012
A Janus Moment
For New Year, we spent a few days in Tarragona, Spain. It was sunny and warm, or, at least warmer than it was at home in France.
The first photo was taken while we were waiting to pass through the one-way Bielsa Tunnel through the Pyrenees, looking back towards France.
The second picture was taken inside Spain, looking back at the (barely) snow-clad mountains.
Next comes a shot of one of the Roman gateways of Tarragona which had been the administrative capital of Spain under the Romans.
Finally a photo from the same gateway of the setting sun. It was all so much more impressive at the time!
The first photo was taken while we were waiting to pass through the one-way Bielsa Tunnel through the Pyrenees, looking back towards France.
The second picture was taken inside Spain, looking back at the (barely) snow-clad mountains.
Next comes a shot of one of the Roman gateways of Tarragona which had been the administrative capital of Spain under the Romans.
Finally a photo from the same gateway of the setting sun. It was all so much more impressive at the time!
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
It’s a miserable day – grey cold and rainy. The day feels dreadful because winter feels endless, the world seems in stasis, and the sky sits on my forehead obstructing my third eye.
The cement mixer is chuntering on here and the compressor gragging on next door.
Next door is a painful eyesore. The adjoining terrain à bâtir – larger than our plot was sold in three p
ieces to a kit-form housing firm. Three little boxy houses have sprung up inside 7 months, each without trees, gardens or any kindnesses right in front of us. They look especially grim now as my garden is shrunken and leafless and doesn’t offer us a screen. They must be endured because they will not go away. I tell myself they will have compensations and they are somebody else’s dreams. I don’t know if I am ashamed of my feelings or of having the houses as neighbours. The house I was born in was the same size and boxiness.
God knows what they are doing next door. There are always 3 or more men inside but no materials ever seem to be taken in with them. By now one imagines that such a small building would be fully insulated, plastered and fitted with electricity, water and kitchen. I am dying of curiosity on two counts. One, to see how the house is constructed inside, and two, to find out if they are just playing poker. They come out now and then to make a pi-pi. They discretely hide from the road and the house to the south, but pee where they are in full view of our house. Strange indeed.
Here John and Eugene are doing a fantastic job of putting down a cement floor in the chai. The area of floor that is to be pantry is nearly complete. John is mixing the cement, standing in the drizzle on the back of the remorque, wearing in my opinion, inadequate winter gear.
It took us the weekend to clear the chai out though most of the work was done by John. All his lumber and tools and junk have been rearranged in the new garden shed and my roulotte. I managed to squeeze the preserves and tinned food into odd places in the kitchen and dining room. It felt good to have the space cleared – it was badly organised because the floor is uneven mud and mould liable to flooding and it’s a dark cold damp space at any time of year. It will improve our lives enormously when it is done. All the shelving used to stagger and slouch propped up with odd bricks and planks under its legs – soon it will stand straight and presumably stored tools won’t be tumbling off it in the same way. It will be progress and progress appears tidier at first.
John has almost finished the grenier which is his study/office and once the floor in the chai is laid, he will begin to sort out the upstairs bathroom. We should be able to use it by March though it won’t be tiled for a while longer.
It is time for me to go to the Supermarché. I decided that the market was out this week. It is far too wet. Must go and make a list!
The cement mixer is chuntering on here and the compressor gragging on next door.
Next door is a painful eyesore. The adjoining terrain à bâtir – larger than our plot was sold in three p
ieces to a kit-form housing firm. Three little boxy houses have sprung up inside 7 months, each without trees, gardens or any kindnesses right in front of us. They look especially grim now as my garden is shrunken and leafless and doesn’t offer us a screen. They must be endured because they will not go away. I tell myself they will have compensations and they are somebody else’s dreams. I don’t know if I am ashamed of my feelings or of having the houses as neighbours. The house I was born in was the same size and boxiness.
God knows what they are doing next door. There are always 3 or more men inside but no materials ever seem to be taken in with them. By now one imagines that such a small building would be fully insulated, plastered and fitted with electricity, water and kitchen. I am dying of curiosity on two counts. One, to see how the house is constructed inside, and two, to find out if they are just playing poker. They come out now and then to make a pi-pi. They discretely hide from the road and the house to the south, but pee where they are in full view of our house. Strange indeed.
Here John and Eugene are doing a fantastic job of putting down a cement floor in the chai. The area of floor that is to be pantry is nearly complete. John is mixing the cement, standing in the drizzle on the back of the remorque, wearing in my opinion, inadequate winter gear.
It took us the weekend to clear the chai out though most of the work was done by John. All his lumber and tools and junk have been rearranged in the new garden shed and my roulotte. I managed to squeeze the preserves and tinned food into odd places in the kitchen and dining room. It felt good to have the space cleared – it was badly organised because the floor is uneven mud and mould liable to flooding and it’s a dark cold damp space at any time of year. It will improve our lives enormously when it is done. All the shelving used to stagger and slouch propped up with odd bricks and planks under its legs – soon it will stand straight and presumably stored tools won’t be tumbling off it in the same way. It will be progress and progress appears tidier at first.
John has almost finished the grenier which is his study/office and once the floor in the chai is laid, he will begin to sort out the upstairs bathroom. We should be able to use it by March though it won’t be tiled for a while longer.
It is time for me to go to the Supermarché. I decided that the market was out this week. It is far too wet. Must go and make a list!
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
27e Marathon des Châteaux du Médoc
The story's all in the title.
A marathon where fancy dress is compulsory, where besides the normal water and fruit stations there are wine-tasting stations and which is only two-and-a-half hours' drive from home, must be worth some consideration - that is if you've ever considered running a marathon at all.
The course (26,2 miles of course) is almost a figure-of-8 starting at the village of Pauillac on the Gironde estuary, heading south, to Beychevelle, looping back past Pauillac into St. Estephe and finishing back at Pauillac.
Of the marathons I have run/walked (7 so far) this was probably the most fun. Not necessarily the most prestigious, impressive, challenging etc, but certainly relaxed. It's true about the "oeno-sportif" wine-tasting stations - 20 of them - you do get to taste young wines from some of the most famous chateaux in France but I wasn't quite expecting that people would actually stop and chat around the bar as if they had all the time in the world. It would be very easy to forget that you were running a marathon at all. In fact perhaps some people do forget that. In most marathons there seems to be a drop-out rate of about 5-6% who don't make it to the finish. For the Medoc this figure was about 5% 12 years ago steadily rising to an average of 15% and, last year, to 21%. I guess that because of its light-hearted atmosphere participants think it must be easy and fail to train. It isn't easy and because it is run in early September, it can be hot - especially if you are one of the slower runners. Also, more than a quarter of it is run off-road, on gravel, over bumpy ground in the vineyards and on cart-tracks. There are also hills - and the occasional waits at the bars! All-in-all not a marathon for a Personal Best.
Still, it's behind me now as was a very small number of other runners.
Santé!
(By the way, I'm meant to be a butterfly.)
P.S. It's true! There are oysters and steak en route too!
--
A marathon where fancy dress is compulsory, where besides the normal water and fruit stations there are wine-tasting stations and which is only two-and-a-half hours' drive from home, must be worth some consideration - that is if you've ever considered running a marathon at all.
The course (26,2 miles of course) is almost a figure-of-8 starting at the village of Pauillac on the Gironde estuary, heading south, to Beychevelle, looping back past Pauillac into St. Estephe and finishing back at Pauillac.
Of the marathons I have run/walked (7 so far) this was probably the most fun. Not necessarily the most prestigious, impressive, challenging etc, but certainly relaxed. It's true about the "oeno-sportif" wine-tasting stations - 20 of them - you do get to taste young wines from some of the most famous chateaux in France but I wasn't quite expecting that people would actually stop and chat around the bar as if they had all the time in the world. It would be very easy to forget that you were running a marathon at all. In fact perhaps some people do forget that. In most marathons there seems to be a drop-out rate of about 5-6% who don't make it to the finish. For the Medoc this figure was about 5% 12 years ago steadily rising to an average of 15% and, last year, to 21%. I guess that because of its light-hearted atmosphere participants think it must be easy and fail to train. It isn't easy and because it is run in early September, it can be hot - especially if you are one of the slower runners. Also, more than a quarter of it is run off-road, on gravel, over bumpy ground in the vineyards and on cart-tracks. There are also hills - and the occasional waits at the bars! All-in-all not a marathon for a Personal Best.
Still, it's behind me now as was a very small number of other runners.
Santé!
(By the way, I'm meant to be a butterfly.)
P.S. It's true! There are oysters and steak en route too!
--
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Albania - Not as Scary as They Say (Part 1)
When we were doing our tour of Europe (and a little bit of Asia) three years ago, we wanted to visit Albania but the reports we received, mainly that the roads wouldn't be suitable for our mobile home, led us to drive round it instead. So, when we set out for Greece and the Special Olympics World Games, we thought we might give Albania another try on the way back, as we expected that our car would be better able to cope with bad roads.
The advice we got wasn't encouraging. The Foreign Office Advice to Travellers said that 3/4 of Albanian road users carried firearms and warned of 100.000 tonnes of ordnance being buried around the country. The Lonely Planet guide said that "only the foolhardy" would drive there and that it's "a really, really hard place to drive". As we thought we were "the foolhardy", we took that as a green light. A person in Athens told us that Albania was perfectly safe if you never let your car out of your sight. This might have made going to bed difficult, unless you slept in a garage. In Ioannina, on the Greek side of the border we were told not to worry. So we didn't, we decided to pop into southern Albania, drive over the mountains to the coast and, if that was OK, to carry on; if not we could turn round and catch a ferry to Italy from Greece.
Before crossing the border, we filled up with diesel. This was a mistake since fuel was easily available in Albania and cheaper than in Greece (or anywhere else, if it came to that). The filling station was a unique experience. The man running it had no arms. When I asked him which was the diesel pump, he pointed with his foot. To pay, since he obviously couldn't operate a credit card machine, cash was the method. I gave him a €50 note and he invited me to help myself to change from the till.
This is a lot of words. Here's a picture taken from our room at Ksamili.
Saranda, a place described in the guidebook as a fishing village, was filled with high-rise (but cheap) hotels, so we drove on 10 miles to Ksamili, a village with only a few hotels but with many collapsed buildings, e.g.:-
Our first guess (and fear) was "earthquake", but no, it was something more uniquely Albanian. After the collapse of communism a lot of speculative building had been carried out, much without official approval. Rather than embark upon expensive and time-consuming (or "chronophage", as the French say) litigation, the Albanian government went for the quick option - collapse the buildings. We saw more than 30 in a similar state around Ksamili.
TO BE CONTINUED
The advice we got wasn't encouraging. The Foreign Office Advice to Travellers said that 3/4 of Albanian road users carried firearms and warned of 100.000 tonnes of ordnance being buried around the country. The Lonely Planet guide said that "only the foolhardy" would drive there and that it's "a really, really hard place to drive". As we thought we were "the foolhardy", we took that as a green light. A person in Athens told us that Albania was perfectly safe if you never let your car out of your sight. This might have made going to bed difficult, unless you slept in a garage. In Ioannina, on the Greek side of the border we were told not to worry. So we didn't, we decided to pop into southern Albania, drive over the mountains to the coast and, if that was OK, to carry on; if not we could turn round and catch a ferry to Italy from Greece.
Before crossing the border, we filled up with diesel. This was a mistake since fuel was easily available in Albania and cheaper than in Greece (or anywhere else, if it came to that). The filling station was a unique experience. The man running it had no arms. When I asked him which was the diesel pump, he pointed with his foot. To pay, since he obviously couldn't operate a credit card machine, cash was the method. I gave him a €50 note and he invited me to help myself to change from the till.
This is a lot of words. Here's a picture taken from our room at Ksamili.
Saranda, a place described in the guidebook as a fishing village, was filled with high-rise (but cheap) hotels, so we drove on 10 miles to Ksamili, a village with only a few hotels but with many collapsed buildings, e.g.:-
Our first guess (and fear) was "earthquake", but no, it was something more uniquely Albanian. After the collapse of communism a lot of speculative building had been carried out, much without official approval. Rather than embark upon expensive and time-consuming (or "chronophage", as the French say) litigation, the Albanian government went for the quick option - collapse the buildings. We saw more than 30 in a similar state around Ksamili.
TO BE CONTINUED
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