We arrived back in Oxford at midnight on Saturday. Our house, which we had let in our absence, was a model of tidiness and cleanliness. This did not last long, for two reasons.
Firstly, because we had let the house in our absence, all our clothes and many belongings were packed away in cupboards. Which had to be emptied.
Secondly, the house contained a large quantity of toys that had been forgotten about for three months, all of which had to be played with in rapid succession.
And the general air of chaos was about to escalate.
Laura had resigned her job to do the trip, and there was some uncertainty around my post. That was all OK though, as the trip was funded by Laura's inherited shares.
Unfortunately, those shares were in BP.
Which left us thinking about ways to increase our household income.
" Take in some language students" a helpful neighbour, who dabbled in such areas, advised.
Our mumbled expressions of vague interest set wheels in motion rather more rapidly than we had planned. Later that evening, we were offered two Chinese students for two weeks of bed and board. They arrived in 4 hours.
So, less than 24 hours after returning, we found ourselves with 2 lodgers.
Several days later, I have concluded that the exercise is good practice for when my daughters are teenagers. Two girls, who avoid eye contact, say nothing, pick at their food and split all their time in the house between their bedroom and the bathroom.
Coming soon to a blog near you: 1 Male 5 Females 1 Bathroom
Friday 23 July 2010
Tuesday 20 July 2010
Inventory of missing, lost or destroyed items
1 Bath Towel
2 Soap dishes
1 Set Shampoo and Conditioner (separate)
1 Pint of blood (O+), distributed across mosquito populations of southern Europe
1 Cardigan, blue, size 12
1 Running Board fitted by previous owners to aid child's entry to van
1 Sense of humour, mislaid in Sardinia
1 Beach Towel
1 Magic Wand (not yet missed)
1 pair of knickers, size 3
1 pair of pyjama bottoms, size 3
1 Hairbrush (small)
1 Tiny Baby, beloved toy of Chloe
1 Perky, beloved toy of Maddie, mangled in bicycle chain and magically 'laundered' with the aid of a replacement within the hour
1 Bicycle Rack, distended
1 Pair of sandals, Size 7 child's, stolen by wildlife
1 Sandal, size 8, adult, partially consumed by wildlife
1 Tyre of small police car
2 Happy children, lost in Corsica
1 Paintjob, driverside
1 Waterbottle
2 Bicycle stabilisers, no longer required
1 Bin (recovered, slightly mauled)
1 Sun, reappeared in Sicily
1 Moulded plastic floor, melted by mosquito coils and hot pans
1 Pair sunglasses
1 Hat
2 Desires to return to any form of working life
2 Soap dishes
1 Set Shampoo and Conditioner (separate)
1 Pint of blood (O+), distributed across mosquito populations of southern Europe
1 Cardigan, blue, size 12
1 Running Board fitted by previous owners to aid child's entry to van
1 Sense of humour, mislaid in Sardinia
1 Beach Towel
1 Magic Wand (not yet missed)
1 pair of knickers, size 3
1 pair of pyjama bottoms, size 3
1 Hairbrush (small)
1 Tiny Baby, beloved toy of Chloe
1 Perky, beloved toy of Maddie, mangled in bicycle chain and magically 'laundered' with the aid of a replacement within the hour
1 Bicycle Rack, distended
1 Pair of sandals, Size 7 child's, stolen by wildlife
1 Sandal, size 8, adult, partially consumed by wildlife
1 Tyre of small police car
2 Happy children, lost in Corsica
1 Paintjob, driverside
1 Waterbottle
2 Bicycle stabilisers, no longer required
1 Bin (recovered, slightly mauled)
1 Sun, reappeared in Sicily
1 Moulded plastic floor, melted by mosquito coils and hot pans
1 Pair sunglasses
1 Hat
2 Desires to return to any form of working life
Friday 16 July Frankfurt
Officially the last day of the trip, excluding tomorrow's marathon drive back to Oxford.
Random Fact: Now we are at the end of this trip, Chloe has spent 90 of her 774 days on earth in a campervan, or 11.6 % of her life.
Unanswered Questions Of The Trip
- Where, if you are camping in a tiny tent with a smaller car, do you find room for a pair of matching dressing gowns?
- Why do Italians not wear shorts, even in stultifying heat?
- Why do the Slovenians take such architectural care with their electricity sub stations?
- Why do people wear Speedos? Really far too much anatomical clarity when squeezed onto corpulent, wurst based lifeforms.
Random Fact: Now we are at the end of this trip, Chloe has spent 90 of her 774 days on earth in a campervan, or 11.6 % of her life.
Unanswered Questions Of The Trip
- Where, if you are camping in a tiny tent with a smaller car, do you find room for a pair of matching dressing gowns?
- Why do Italians not wear shorts, even in stultifying heat?
- Why do the Slovenians take such architectural care with their electricity sub stations?
- Why do people wear Speedos? Really far too much anatomical clarity when squeezed onto corpulent, wurst based lifeforms.
Thursday 15 July Frankfurt/Heidleburg
I thought this trip would educate my children, I really did. Then we visited Frankenstein's castle. 'Look', said Maddie, 'a Roman theatre!' The object of her attention was a small series of tiered seats focused on a grassy stage.
Wrong Maddie, on two obvious counts.
Firstly, the functional nature of most mediaeval castles meant the retention of such period features as a Roman theatre was rare.
Secondly, almost without exception, the Romans used Roman concrete as their building material not wood.
That child just never listens.
Things that don't happen at home #9 Since the reduction of my functional footwear collection by 50%, my one remaining, fully enclosed, pair have acquired a strange new aroma. The end result is a dash for the bathroom every time I enter a house which by convention operates a shoe free policy. Which is all of them.
Wrong Maddie, on two obvious counts.
Firstly, the functional nature of most mediaeval castles meant the retention of such period features as a Roman theatre was rare.
Secondly, almost without exception, the Romans used Roman concrete as their building material not wood.
That child just never listens.
Things that don't happen at home #9 Since the reduction of my functional footwear collection by 50%, my one remaining, fully enclosed, pair have acquired a strange new aroma. The end result is a dash for the bathroom every time I enter a house which by convention operates a shoe free policy. Which is all of them.
Wednesday 14 July Frankfurt
A very relaxing day in Frankfurt, with bookshops, cafés, playgrounds and applewine houses filling the morning and early afternoon.
Back at the house, Chloe's dogged assistance of Dirk's gardening activities reminded me of 3 months of Chloe's second favourite phrase.*
Invariably delivered with a questioning and hopeful look that could only be answered in the positive, Chloe would ask: "Please may I help you..."
- Water the garden?
Just give me the water and the time and I will systematically drown all your plants.
- Fetch the picnic from the car?
Of course, this just means you'll have to carry a 2 year old as well as the picnic basket and blanket but I'll press the button to open the car for you.
- Put up the awning?
I'm very good at holding tent pegs and second to none at nipping my fingers on bits I shouldn't be touching. So delaying the task completion while I am comforted.
- Take Maddie to the toilet?
That way you get to carry me back after I've provided so much distraction in the toilets that you arrive back at the van not sure if Maddie has flushed, washed her hands, or passed solids.
- Put the bed away?
I can ineffectually hold the bottom section up while pushing in the wrong direction and getting in the way.
- Fold the table?
You might take three times as long to do it, but I am very good at closing the catches at the end.
- Hang up the laundry?
I will carefully transfer the wet washing from the bag to the clothes line via the dusty ground
- Wash the dishes?
I add value, not just by squirting in seven times the required amount of washing liquid, but also with my careful dish rinsing and smearing with the cloth I chew for the duration.
*Her Number 1 favourite phrase is 'NO MADDIE!'
Back at the house, Chloe's dogged assistance of Dirk's gardening activities reminded me of 3 months of Chloe's second favourite phrase.*
Invariably delivered with a questioning and hopeful look that could only be answered in the positive, Chloe would ask: "Please may I help you..."
- Water the garden?
Just give me the water and the time and I will systematically drown all your plants.
- Fetch the picnic from the car?
Of course, this just means you'll have to carry a 2 year old as well as the picnic basket and blanket but I'll press the button to open the car for you.
- Put up the awning?
I'm very good at holding tent pegs and second to none at nipping my fingers on bits I shouldn't be touching. So delaying the task completion while I am comforted.
- Take Maddie to the toilet?
That way you get to carry me back after I've provided so much distraction in the toilets that you arrive back at the van not sure if Maddie has flushed, washed her hands, or passed solids.
- Put the bed away?
I can ineffectually hold the bottom section up while pushing in the wrong direction and getting in the way.
- Fold the table?
You might take three times as long to do it, but I am very good at closing the catches at the end.
- Hang up the laundry?
I will carefully transfer the wet washing from the bag to the clothes line via the dusty ground
- Wash the dishes?
I add value, not just by squirting in seven times the required amount of washing liquid, but also with my careful dish rinsing and smearing with the cloth I chew for the duration.
*Her Number 1 favourite phrase is 'NO MADDIE!'
Tuesday 13 July Frankfurt
A bed. With sheets. In a real bedroom. A bath for the kids. A shave. The wonderful hospitality of Dirk and Andrea.
This was perhaps the first day of this trip that could be described as eminently civilised. The day dawned with the realisation that we had had our last night in the van this trip.
I was able to put this out of my mind as I breakfasted at a table I didn't have to fold away, after getting out of a bed I didn't have to fold away, on crockery I didn't have to wash up before using bathroom facilities I didn't want to throw up in.
The lovely town of Seligenstadt. A boat ride down the Maine. A barbeque. German beer. Marvellous.
This was perhaps the first day of this trip that could be described as eminently civilised. The day dawned with the realisation that we had had our last night in the van this trip.
I was able to put this out of my mind as I breakfasted at a table I didn't have to fold away, after getting out of a bed I didn't have to fold away, on crockery I didn't have to wash up before using bathroom facilities I didn't want to throw up in.
The lovely town of Seligenstadt. A boat ride down the Maine. A barbeque. German beer. Marvellous.
Wednesday 14 July 2010
Monday 12 July Upper Savinja Valley, Slovenia To Frankfurt, Germany
Do you run a Motorway Service Station? Then why not turn the adjoining land into a toilet paper strewn open sewer by the simple application of a 70c charge to use the internal, ceramic based, facilities. This is about 70c more than the average trucker, who makes up a substantial portion of your core user group, will pay for the privilege of a bowel movement.
A seven hour drive today, by some distance the longest of the holiday. I would like to formally record my thanks to Disney, Channel 5 Productions and CBeebies. I would also like to acknowledge the myriad geniuses who have revolutionised travel entertainment since 1877 when the first harassed parents bounced along in the back of a carriage with Edison's new wax phonograph disintegrating in their hands amidst the screams of their progeny.
Parenting tip #5 When choosing headphones for your in car entertainment system, spend the extra required on ones with chinstrap, vice grip and earclamps. To stop your attention seeking 2 year old from pulling the ******* things off and shouting 'I can't do it!!' as soon as she is bored.
Parenting tip #6. When driving, why not invest in a sturdy fishing net for each child. These multipurpose tools can be used to transfer or remove toys and food from distantly seated children, retrieve critical toys from the floor, and distend one's features should the need arise to engage in armed robbery. Though this would involve someone following you, holding the handle, and applying downward pressure for the duration of the crime.
A seven hour drive today, by some distance the longest of the holiday. I would like to formally record my thanks to Disney, Channel 5 Productions and CBeebies. I would also like to acknowledge the myriad geniuses who have revolutionised travel entertainment since 1877 when the first harassed parents bounced along in the back of a carriage with Edison's new wax phonograph disintegrating in their hands amidst the screams of their progeny.
Parenting tip #5 When choosing headphones for your in car entertainment system, spend the extra required on ones with chinstrap, vice grip and earclamps. To stop your attention seeking 2 year old from pulling the ******* things off and shouting 'I can't do it!!' as soon as she is bored.
Parenting tip #6. When driving, why not invest in a sturdy fishing net for each child. These multipurpose tools can be used to transfer or remove toys and food from distantly seated children, retrieve critical toys from the floor, and distend one's features should the need arise to engage in armed robbery. Though this would involve someone following you, holding the handle, and applying downward pressure for the duration of the crime.
Metaphor* Maddie
Maddie has been exploring the English language and its possibilities for articulating her thoughts and feelings in new ways. After some frankly poor efforts on this front, she recently nailed her first proper simile with "I'm as hungry as a giant who hasn't eaten any children".
Obviously thinking she was on to a winner with this one, later in the day on being asked if she had enjoyed a particular activity she replied "I'm as happy as a giant who's, er...playing."
Then: 'I'm as angry as a giant who's had no children for breakfast.'
Then: 'My hunger is as big as two giants.'
Some further work required on her comparative phrases I feel and perhaps expansion beyond Jack and the Beanstalk inspired analogies.
*Grammar pedants will note that no metaphors are contained in the above, but Simile Maddie lacked the alliterative punch I desired.
Obviously thinking she was on to a winner with this one, later in the day on being asked if she had enjoyed a particular activity she replied "I'm as happy as a giant who's, er...playing."
Then: 'I'm as angry as a giant who's had no children for breakfast.'
Then: 'My hunger is as big as two giants.'
Some further work required on her comparative phrases I feel and perhaps expansion beyond Jack and the Beanstalk inspired analogies.
*Grammar pedants will note that no metaphors are contained in the above, but Simile Maddie lacked the alliterative punch I desired.
Sunday 11 July Upper Savinja Valley, Slovenia
It's not been unusual on this holiday to leave a shower feeling dirtier than when one entered but the ballads that were piped into the block this morning truly soiled one's inner peace.
Much of the rest of the day was spent suppressing Phil Collins, Michael Jackson and Bryan Adams tunes from galloping round my brain, gnawing at my sanity like a school of pirhanas at the carcass of a floating cow.
Fortunately we had the distractions of the Logarska Dolina Valley again which, when one is not visiting lame Fairy Tale lands or being elbowed out of the way because our polite waiting distance for the picnic table was outwith the Slovenian accepted norm, is really rather beautiful.
Much of the rest of the day was spent suppressing Phil Collins, Michael Jackson and Bryan Adams tunes from galloping round my brain, gnawing at my sanity like a school of pirhanas at the carcass of a floating cow.
Fortunately we had the distractions of the Logarska Dolina Valley again which, when one is not visiting lame Fairy Tale lands or being elbowed out of the way because our polite waiting distance for the picnic table was outwith the Slovenian accepted norm, is really rather beautiful.
Saturday 10 July Upper Savinja Valley, Slovenia
It's a cliche, but when a child's talent or strength exceeds that of the parent for the first time it provokes feelings of inadequacy. The parent's life and achievements are on a downward trajectory, the child, young and optimistic, looks to the future with confidence.
Maddie, age 4 and 3 weeks, took her first proper swimming strokes today, and is fast approaching my standard. I imagine, though, that for the foreseeable future I will be able to stand in the 1.5 m end for longer than she can tread water.
Things that don't happen at home #8. Because one's usual abode is firmly attached, via foundations, to the land, one is not usually pursued by one's neighbour shouting 'Shtop, you haven't unplugged your van from the mains!' as one engages the clutch and pulls away.
Maddie, age 4 and 3 weeks, took her first proper swimming strokes today, and is fast approaching my standard. I imagine, though, that for the foreseeable future I will be able to stand in the 1.5 m end for longer than she can tread water.
Things that don't happen at home #8. Because one's usual abode is firmly attached, via foundations, to the land, one is not usually pursued by one's neighbour shouting 'Shtop, you haven't unplugged your van from the mains!' as one engages the clutch and pulls away.
Saturday 10 July 2010
Friday 9 July Upper Savinja Valley, Logarska Dolina Valley, Rinka Waterfall
Sensing we were unimpressed with the mountainbike rides featured on the maps or offered as guided tours, the campsite owner introduced us to Philip. He was the camp cook.
In the way that Seagal was 'just the cook' in Under Seige.
For the price of a beer, and a lift to near the summit of Golte, we were promised a downhill experience to remember. On the way up, we established a few facts, and indeed contrasts between respective talent and experience.
Number of rounds of one's national downhill championship won in past year:
Philip: 2
Darren/James: 0
Protective gear worn:
Philip: Spine protector, full facial protecting helmet, knee guards, gloves, armoured bike.
Darren/James: Er...helmet.
Time taken to complete the 9 km section about to be attempted:
Philip: 8 minutes when training and unencumbered by ponderous companions and gates.
Darren/James: 35 minutes. This, however, included stops to admire the view, open gates and exchange riding tips. My tip to Philip was 'Slow down you mad ******'.
We haven't really subscribed on this trip to 'must see' experiences, skipping merrily past Barcelona, Florence, leaning towers, Ljubljana. However, the Fairytale Forest, with 51 fairytales featured in a compact woodland fell straight into the 'unmissable' category.
And there was only one fairytale that mattered of course. Never in the field of dressed-up-shop-soiled-mannequins-masquerading-as-Cinderella-in-a-random-wooden-hut-with-motheaten-stuffed-birds has such enchantment sprinkled like stardust at the feet of an enraptured 4 year old.
In the way that Seagal was 'just the cook' in Under Seige.
For the price of a beer, and a lift to near the summit of Golte, we were promised a downhill experience to remember. On the way up, we established a few facts, and indeed contrasts between respective talent and experience.
Number of rounds of one's national downhill championship won in past year:
Philip: 2
Darren/James: 0
Protective gear worn:
Philip: Spine protector, full facial protecting helmet, knee guards, gloves, armoured bike.
Darren/James: Er...helmet.
Time taken to complete the 9 km section about to be attempted:
Philip: 8 minutes when training and unencumbered by ponderous companions and gates.
Darren/James: 35 minutes. This, however, included stops to admire the view, open gates and exchange riding tips. My tip to Philip was 'Slow down you mad ******'.
We haven't really subscribed on this trip to 'must see' experiences, skipping merrily past Barcelona, Florence, leaning towers, Ljubljana. However, the Fairytale Forest, with 51 fairytales featured in a compact woodland fell straight into the 'unmissable' category.
And there was only one fairytale that mattered of course. Never in the field of dressed-up-shop-soiled-mannequins-masquerading-as-Cinderella-in-a-random-wooden-hut-with-motheaten-stuffed-birds has such enchantment sprinkled like stardust at the feet of an enraptured 4 year old.
Thursday 8 July Upper Savinja Valley
Kids club. What unexpected, unplanned for, purest joy. Maddie and Chloe taken off our hands for a morning of frisbee, drawing and who cares what else. The time was used by their parents fruitfully to lounge around, read, and...er...other important matters I'm sure.
We did leave the campsite at about 4 pm to give Maddie a bike ride. This lasted for over an hour and she must have been absolutely exhausted at the end because, in addition to pedalling and concentrating, she had to keep up one hour of incessant chatter.
This will stand her in good stead in her future as an accomplished didgeridoo player as she is young to have mastered the art of circular breathing.
We did leave the campsite at about 4 pm to give Maddie a bike ride. This lasted for over an hour and she must have been absolutely exhausted at the end because, in addition to pedalling and concentrating, she had to keep up one hour of incessant chatter.
This will stand her in good stead in her future as an accomplished didgeridoo player as she is young to have mastered the art of circular breathing.
Wednesday 7 July Upper Savinja Valley
Yesterday evening the campsite bar provided, without health warnings, what amounted to home brew. I have little to record of today's activities. I have vague recollections of a bike ride, towing two children through some lovely scenary but this may be hallucinogenic.
But one positive did emerge. Meeting up with James and Louise again has reminded us that other toddlers routinely shout themselves to sleep in the roof of a campervan.
Parenting tip #4 Give your feral children a 'makeover' by showering them. Their hair will turn from brown to blonde, and that 'tan' you thought was coming along nicely is revealed as an emulsion of sunscreen and dirt.
But one positive did emerge. Meeting up with James and Louise again has reminded us that other toddlers routinely shout themselves to sleep in the roof of a campervan.
Parenting tip #4 Give your feral children a 'makeover' by showering them. Their hair will turn from brown to blonde, and that 'tan' you thought was coming along nicely is revealed as an emulsion of sunscreen and dirt.
Tuesday 6 July to Upper Sovinja Valley via the Postojnska caves.
Things that don't happen at home #7 This morning's slightly startling discovery was that under cover of darkness, an unidentified lifeform had not only sliced perfectly through two of my sandal straps without leaving teethmarks but had also made off with both of Maddie's. Applying Occam's razor, the most likely explanation is that a foot fetishist fox with a flick knife stalks the Plivka Jama valley.
One of Slovenia's biggest draws are the Postojnska caves, with over 30 million visitors in the 188 years of tourist focused activity. As far as I can make out, 29 million of those were clocked up on the midday tour today. The exploiters (sorry, that should read guardians of this unique ecosystem) herd visitors onto trains which whisk the would-be speleologists through the opening 4 km of the caves. A spectacular ride, certainly, but at the terminus you and your fellow hundreds of tourists are quickly split into English, French, Slovenian, German or Italian groups before being marched through a 45 minute trail on concrete paths cut through the labyrinth.
Fortunately for the endemic species, including spiders, beetles and the slightly obscene looking proteus salamander, their eyes have atrophied through evolutionary preference and they can't see what a great ******* over commercialised mess their more visually sophisticated homo sapien masters have made of their home
One of Slovenia's biggest draws are the Postojnska caves, with over 30 million visitors in the 188 years of tourist focused activity. As far as I can make out, 29 million of those were clocked up on the midday tour today. The exploiters (sorry, that should read guardians of this unique ecosystem) herd visitors onto trains which whisk the would-be speleologists through the opening 4 km of the caves. A spectacular ride, certainly, but at the terminus you and your fellow hundreds of tourists are quickly split into English, French, Slovenian, German or Italian groups before being marched through a 45 minute trail on concrete paths cut through the labyrinth.
Fortunately for the endemic species, including spiders, beetles and the slightly obscene looking proteus salamander, their eyes have atrophied through evolutionary preference and they can't see what a great ******* over commercialised mess their more visually sophisticated homo sapien masters have made of their home
Wednesday 7 July 2010
Monday 5 July Around Postojna
101 Uses For a Campervan #10; Portable Hydrogen Sulphide production unit. Simply leave your waste water unemptied for 10 days, then stir vigorously by driving along winding mountain roads. Initial concern that Chloe's nappy has leaked will give way to conviction that farmyard aromas are responsible, then disbelief as the smell of rotting eggs is finally traced to the kitchen unit of your wheeled abode.
Things that don't happen at home #6: Ones toiletry bag does not, as a rule, upend itself into foot washing facilities used by foreign sorts to scrub their sock and sandal clad, corn festooned, yellow nailed feet.
Two castles today, Predjama and Sneznik. The former is a pared down impregnable fortress, partially built into a cliff face with a starkly functional interior including torture chamber and an ingenious water gathering wheeze using the water dripping of stalictites to replenish supplies without external dependencies. The latter is a slightly prissy stately home and was a weekend retreat for German princes before Tito saw sense and nationalised it.
There was a contrast of styles in our children's demeanor as well. Maddie and Chloe marched stoically around the functional fortress of Predjama, but the opulence of Sneznik seemed to bring out the latent indulged princess part of their characters. Or I might be overanalysing it and the Peppa Pig play they were enacting loudly over all four floors of a guided tour was merely a distraction from a tedious non icecream based activity.
Things you wish you hadn't found out about your wife #4: She contributed one purchased unit towards the interminable stay at #1 on the Official UK Charts of Bryan Adams' power ballad dirge (Everything I Do) I Do It For You.
Things that don't happen at home #6: Ones toiletry bag does not, as a rule, upend itself into foot washing facilities used by foreign sorts to scrub their sock and sandal clad, corn festooned, yellow nailed feet.
Two castles today, Predjama and Sneznik. The former is a pared down impregnable fortress, partially built into a cliff face with a starkly functional interior including torture chamber and an ingenious water gathering wheeze using the water dripping of stalictites to replenish supplies without external dependencies. The latter is a slightly prissy stately home and was a weekend retreat for German princes before Tito saw sense and nationalised it.
There was a contrast of styles in our children's demeanor as well. Maddie and Chloe marched stoically around the functional fortress of Predjama, but the opulence of Sneznik seemed to bring out the latent indulged princess part of their characters. Or I might be overanalysing it and the Peppa Pig play they were enacting loudly over all four floors of a guided tour was merely a distraction from a tedious non icecream based activity.
Things you wish you hadn't found out about your wife #4: She contributed one purchased unit towards the interminable stay at #1 on the Official UK Charts of Bryan Adams' power ballad dirge (Everything I Do) I Do It For You.
Sunday 4 July Lake Bled to Postojna, south west Slovenia
A day of travel leaves space for me to share some accummulated wisdom in the art of child rearing.
Parenting tip #1: Get your child to walk long distances over rough terrain and climb hundreds of steps without complaint by the application of the simple moniker 'Maddie Mountain Goat.' Said moniker is easily withdrawn, or better, altered to 'Maddie Mountain Whinge' when required and only reinstated when earned.
Parenting tip #2: Get your scaredy cat child to use the part of the climbing frames over the 2 ft mark without complaint by the application of the simple moniker 'SpiderMaddie.' Said moniker is easily withdrawn, or better, altered to 'SpiderWhinge' when required and only reinstated when earned.
Parenting tip #3: Stop your child from making dreadful whinging noises that sound, as a worried neighbour explained, like a baby vomiting. Whenever the noise is heard, use the simple moniker 'Princess Baby Vomit'.
Note, above tips are only likely to work on children for whom praise is a drug and vanity a way of life. None work on the sampled 2 year old who, we suspect, considers them pretty lame. And #3 doesn't work at all. But there is something intrinsically satisfying about it.
Parenting tip #1: Get your child to walk long distances over rough terrain and climb hundreds of steps without complaint by the application of the simple moniker 'Maddie Mountain Goat.' Said moniker is easily withdrawn, or better, altered to 'Maddie Mountain Whinge' when required and only reinstated when earned.
Parenting tip #2: Get your scaredy cat child to use the part of the climbing frames over the 2 ft mark without complaint by the application of the simple moniker 'SpiderMaddie.' Said moniker is easily withdrawn, or better, altered to 'SpiderWhinge' when required and only reinstated when earned.
Parenting tip #3: Stop your child from making dreadful whinging noises that sound, as a worried neighbour explained, like a baby vomiting. Whenever the noise is heard, use the simple moniker 'Princess Baby Vomit'.
Note, above tips are only likely to work on children for whom praise is a drug and vanity a way of life. None work on the sampled 2 year old who, we suspect, considers them pretty lame. And #3 doesn't work at all. But there is something intrinsically satisfying about it.
Saturday 3 July Lake Bled
Triglav National Park is Slovenia's only national park and the eponymous mountain has a strong hold on the national psyche, with every Slovenian expected to climb it at some point in their lives.
The few farms in the Krma valley section explored this morning were interspersed with picturesque ruined ironworks, restored watermills, all set against 2000m peaks in a pine forest.
All was calm, and birdsong was the only soundtrack to the ride. Until 0854 hours. Then the shrill of a mobile phone ringtone dovetailed perfectly into the shrill tones of aggrieved wifedom. THIS IS YOUR LAST EARLY MORNING RIDE THE KIDS ARE DREADFUL LISTEN CAN YOU HEAR THEM THAT IS CHLOE SCREECHING BECAUSE I WON'T LIFT HER DOWN FROM THE TABLE AND AS FOR MADDIE AND WHICH SHOWER DID YOU LEAVE THE YELLOW TOWEL IN THAT'S THE SECOND TOWEL YOU'VE LOST...
Wife focused mollification was the only strategy left open to this veteran of 14 mountainbike rides so far this trip, and I can record that the rest of the day was a serene journey for Laura. Her lunch arrived on her lap, dinner to her table, and she was afforded a couple of hours treetop adventuring while the kids were entertained by her earthbound husband.
I'm pretty confident I've earned another 14 rides now.
The few farms in the Krma valley section explored this morning were interspersed with picturesque ruined ironworks, restored watermills, all set against 2000m peaks in a pine forest.
All was calm, and birdsong was the only soundtrack to the ride. Until 0854 hours. Then the shrill of a mobile phone ringtone dovetailed perfectly into the shrill tones of aggrieved wifedom. THIS IS YOUR LAST EARLY MORNING RIDE THE KIDS ARE DREADFUL LISTEN CAN YOU HEAR THEM THAT IS CHLOE SCREECHING BECAUSE I WON'T LIFT HER DOWN FROM THE TABLE AND AS FOR MADDIE AND WHICH SHOWER DID YOU LEAVE THE YELLOW TOWEL IN THAT'S THE SECOND TOWEL YOU'VE LOST...
Wife focused mollification was the only strategy left open to this veteran of 14 mountainbike rides so far this trip, and I can record that the rest of the day was a serene journey for Laura. Her lunch arrived on her lap, dinner to her table, and she was afforded a couple of hours treetop adventuring while the kids were entertained by her earthbound husband.
I'm pretty confident I've earned another 14 rides now.
Friday 2 July Lake Bled
We are staying one more night in Bled than we had planned. This has little to do with the beauty of our surrounds, and everything to do with the children next door who have befriended ours and the possibilities for peace that this affords.
And the toboggan run nearby is great fun. For the children. Obviously.
Questions it is difficult to answer without using the word 'sphincter' # 1: Daddy, you see that dog on the page, the one walking away from us? What is that 'X' underneath its tail?
And the toboggan run nearby is great fun. For the children. Obviously.
Questions it is difficult to answer without using the word 'sphincter' # 1: Daddy, you see that dog on the page, the one walking away from us? What is that 'X' underneath its tail?
Thursday 1 July Lake Bled, Slovenia
Some years ago we spent 5 or 6 days over New Year in the party deadland that is Klagenfurt, in southern Austria. Billed as a 'Winter Wonderland' by the Ryanair marketing department, the only Wonder was that anyone ever went there.
And the Winteriest part, we discovered yesterday, was the soul of the Klagenfurt railway ticket clerk who sold us tickets to Jesenice.
To break the monotony of Carinthia's permanently Geschlossen capital, we thought a trip over the border to glamorous Slovenia would light up our trip. Jesenice was the first Slovenian town the train stopped in, and knowing nothing of the country, it became our destination of choice. It took over an hour to get there and after twenty minutes of gazing awestruck at derelict factories, abandoned petrol stations and without a single bar or cafe open for business, we caught the train straight back, rather than wait the three hours required until the next one.
Now we discover that ten minutes down the track lies Slovenia's biggest tourist draw, Lake Bled. Overlooked by a fairytale castle, and with a picturesque island within easy rowing reach, there are any number of activities beyond just looking at the view.
One more reason to hate Klagenfurt and its black hearted railway personnel.
I should also like to use this platform to make a statement on behavioural etiquette when close to water.
Just because I have no interest in hurling myself into any body of water that happens to be nearby does not make me abnormal. Resolute landlubbing is not a crime.
Furthermore, no one emerged with any credit from the scene that unfolded on the shores of Lake Bled this afternoon.
1 There is no glory in attempting to push your clothed husband off a slippery raft. Even if you have done all the water centred childcare to date.
2 My pitiful clutching of van keys and wallet was no more than an emergency insurance policy against my involuntary entry into the body of water.
3 There was not much pride either in my convincing of the children that, given my lack of swimming prowess, I would be likely to drown. And no, Maddie did not know why Mummy was attempting such a sordid act. But their combined weight ensured my non-aquatic equanimity was maintained.
And the Winteriest part, we discovered yesterday, was the soul of the Klagenfurt railway ticket clerk who sold us tickets to Jesenice.
To break the monotony of Carinthia's permanently Geschlossen capital, we thought a trip over the border to glamorous Slovenia would light up our trip. Jesenice was the first Slovenian town the train stopped in, and knowing nothing of the country, it became our destination of choice. It took over an hour to get there and after twenty minutes of gazing awestruck at derelict factories, abandoned petrol stations and without a single bar or cafe open for business, we caught the train straight back, rather than wait the three hours required until the next one.
Now we discover that ten minutes down the track lies Slovenia's biggest tourist draw, Lake Bled. Overlooked by a fairytale castle, and with a picturesque island within easy rowing reach, there are any number of activities beyond just looking at the view.
One more reason to hate Klagenfurt and its black hearted railway personnel.
I should also like to use this platform to make a statement on behavioural etiquette when close to water.
Just because I have no interest in hurling myself into any body of water that happens to be nearby does not make me abnormal. Resolute landlubbing is not a crime.
Furthermore, no one emerged with any credit from the scene that unfolded on the shores of Lake Bled this afternoon.
1 There is no glory in attempting to push your clothed husband off a slippery raft. Even if you have done all the water centred childcare to date.
2 My pitiful clutching of van keys and wallet was no more than an emergency insurance policy against my involuntary entry into the body of water.
3 There was not much pride either in my convincing of the children that, given my lack of swimming prowess, I would be likely to drown. And no, Maddie did not know why Mummy was attempting such a sordid act. But their combined weight ensured my non-aquatic equanimity was maintained.
Wednesday 30 June to Lake Bled, Slovenia
Attractions Not to Take Your Ever-So-Slightly-Death-Obsessed-And-A-Bit-Sensitive Four Year Old To #1. The Kobarid First World War Museum.
Devices/Concepts That Are Difficult To Explain To Your Ever-So-Slightly-Death-Obsessed-And-A-Bit-Sensitive Four Year Old
#1 A mantrap.
#2 A one ton shell with a range of 13km.
#3 Grenades.
#4 Bayonets.
#5 The wider political landscape that triggered such bloodshed
Devices/Concepts That Are Difficult To Explain To Your Ever-So-Slightly-Death-Obsessed-And-A-Bit-Sensitive Four Year Old
#1 A mantrap.
#2 A one ton shell with a range of 13km.
#3 Grenades.
#4 Bayonets.
#5 The wider political landscape that triggered such bloodshed
Tuesday 29 June Kobarid, western Slovenia
Instead of a flashing neon sign stating that the campsite can organise a babysitter, we discovered this most vital of facts following a throwaway remark from the receptionist. So, how would the kids react when, for the first time in two and a half months, both parents left them to go kayaking?
Well, it turned out that the Babysitter, neice of the owner, was really quite a hit. After she left, Chloe professed her love for her, Maddie pretended to be her, and both asked if we could go kayaking again. Ungrateful little gits.
Still, it was worth the blow to the parental ego. The Soca river and valley where we kayaked appear as if they have been designed and manufactured to the specifications of a garish Las Vegan hotel owner. The valley could be a fibreglass cast of a perfect waterway, and the water that cascades through is dyed a vibrantly artificial shade of turquoise.
Since it is all, presumably, entirely natural, the effect is rather wonderful.
As is the effect of 3 hours peace from the children, in the company of one's wife.
Especially as the final score on the dumped-into-the- river-unceremoniously competition was:
Kayak Bronze Medallion holder Laura: 1 (during a fairly mild stretch of white water)
Complete Kayak Beginner Darren: 1 (while repeatedly practising an advanced manoeuvre using techniques learnt minutes before in a dangerously fluctuating eddy)
101 Uses For a Campervan #9. Mobile Library for readers of rubbish novels to come and swap their crap for something altogether more improving from our own collection of clearly superior reading material.
Well, it turned out that the Babysitter, neice of the owner, was really quite a hit. After she left, Chloe professed her love for her, Maddie pretended to be her, and both asked if we could go kayaking again. Ungrateful little gits.
Still, it was worth the blow to the parental ego. The Soca river and valley where we kayaked appear as if they have been designed and manufactured to the specifications of a garish Las Vegan hotel owner. The valley could be a fibreglass cast of a perfect waterway, and the water that cascades through is dyed a vibrantly artificial shade of turquoise.
Since it is all, presumably, entirely natural, the effect is rather wonderful.
As is the effect of 3 hours peace from the children, in the company of one's wife.
Especially as the final score on the dumped-into-the- river-unceremoniously competition was:
Kayak Bronze Medallion holder Laura: 1 (during a fairly mild stretch of white water)
Complete Kayak Beginner Darren: 1 (while repeatedly practising an advanced manoeuvre using techniques learnt minutes before in a dangerously fluctuating eddy)
101 Uses For a Campervan #9. Mobile Library for readers of rubbish novels to come and swap their crap for something altogether more improving from our own collection of clearly superior reading material.
Tuesday 29 June 2010
Monday 28 June Kobarid and Tolmin Gorges, western Slovenia
A day for exploring realms outside the behavioural norms established on this trip to date.
Today, Monday 28 June, the husband was left to look after the kids while the wife took herself off for a bicycle ride. Marooned without his Missing Item Location Finder (or MILF), initial bewilderment gave way to efficiency as bells were attached to bicycles, expresso made, and vehicle readied for cyclist pick up. Soon, two half dressed, non washed, non sunblocked children without their teeth cleaned set off to pick up Mum, finding her ensconsed in a cafe.
101 Uses For a Campervan #8 Bicycle Support Vehicle for Absent Mother
To add to the general air of self-rightousness now surrounding the primary child carer, he prepared a 2 course dinner for his family before finding the energy to dash to the supermarket, put the children to bed and do the washing up.
Note: one or more salient facts have been omitted from the above account. Was it:
(a) The husband had crowbarred in a sneaky 1.5 hr mtb ride in the morning;
(b) The wife spent 1 hr on her ride before:
(c) Going to the supermarket and making the lunches. Or...
(d) All of the above.
Meanwhile, Cinderella has been discovering the downside of Royal marriage. After a minor domestic altercation with her co-opted Prince, involving some pushing and resistance to kisses, she folded her arms and sighed "I don't know why I married this Prince."
Today, Monday 28 June, the husband was left to look after the kids while the wife took herself off for a bicycle ride. Marooned without his Missing Item Location Finder (or MILF), initial bewilderment gave way to efficiency as bells were attached to bicycles, expresso made, and vehicle readied for cyclist pick up. Soon, two half dressed, non washed, non sunblocked children without their teeth cleaned set off to pick up Mum, finding her ensconsed in a cafe.
101 Uses For a Campervan #8 Bicycle Support Vehicle for Absent Mother
To add to the general air of self-rightousness now surrounding the primary child carer, he prepared a 2 course dinner for his family before finding the energy to dash to the supermarket, put the children to bed and do the washing up.
Note: one or more salient facts have been omitted from the above account. Was it:
(a) The husband had crowbarred in a sneaky 1.5 hr mtb ride in the morning;
(b) The wife spent 1 hr on her ride before:
(c) Going to the supermarket and making the lunches. Or...
(d) All of the above.
Meanwhile, Cinderella has been discovering the downside of Royal marriage. After a minor domestic altercation with her co-opted Prince, involving some pushing and resistance to kisses, she folded her arms and sighed "I don't know why I married this Prince."
Sunday 27 June Kobarid western Slovenia
A 25 minute cycle brought us to a beautiful natural bathing area on the Nadiza river where it was possible to swim, dive, and build stone cars for children to sit in and drive to the seaside.
Such distractions led to that rarest of commodities on this trip, 5 minutes of daytime peace from the children. Laura spent the first 2 of those picking off a flap of skin from a gaping toe wound, while I threw pebbles down her top to try and stop her.
By the time retaliation had taken place and a truce called, two small people had realised their life had lost meaning as it was not being witnessed by their parents.
Such distractions led to that rarest of commodities on this trip, 5 minutes of daytime peace from the children. Laura spent the first 2 of those picking off a flap of skin from a gaping toe wound, while I threw pebbles down her top to try and stop her.
By the time retaliation had taken place and a truce called, two small people had realised their life had lost meaning as it was not being witnessed by their parents.
Saturday 26 June Kobarid, western Slovenia
See line 1, Friday 18 June.
The Kobarid area was the scene of intense fighting during WW1, with the Italians alone losing over 500,000 men. A 5 km Historical Circuit, starting from our campsite and complete with added waterfall, seemed set to provide the afternoon's diversions.
Now, what does a family of 4 need for a walk around a rugged Alpine former battlefield, featuring a rickety wooden suspension bridge and a trek to a waterfall?
- One bicycle for a 4 year old. Check.
- One bicycle for a 2 year old. Because her sister is taking hers. Check.
- One large bicycle trailer, buggy conversion mode adopted, for a 2 year old. Check.
- One rucksack to carry 2 year old in should she not feel like cycling or the terrain be too rough for a buggy. Check.
At the top of the steps leading down to the bridge, the two bicycles were crammed into the buggy, the 2 year old was strapped into the rucksack and the 2 adults carried belongings down to and over the bridge.
A kindly American carried one bicycle up the 93 steps at the other end. Maddie, convinced her praise enablement device was being stolen, and receiving no assurances to the contrary, sprang speedily up all of the steps. At the top the circuit continued on up further steps. We turned left and descended a track gently back to base, leaving 3.5 km of historical revelations for another day.
The Kobarid area was the scene of intense fighting during WW1, with the Italians alone losing over 500,000 men. A 5 km Historical Circuit, starting from our campsite and complete with added waterfall, seemed set to provide the afternoon's diversions.
Now, what does a family of 4 need for a walk around a rugged Alpine former battlefield, featuring a rickety wooden suspension bridge and a trek to a waterfall?
- One bicycle for a 4 year old. Check.
- One bicycle for a 2 year old. Because her sister is taking hers. Check.
- One large bicycle trailer, buggy conversion mode adopted, for a 2 year old. Check.
- One rucksack to carry 2 year old in should she not feel like cycling or the terrain be too rough for a buggy. Check.
At the top of the steps leading down to the bridge, the two bicycles were crammed into the buggy, the 2 year old was strapped into the rucksack and the 2 adults carried belongings down to and over the bridge.
A kindly American carried one bicycle up the 93 steps at the other end. Maddie, convinced her praise enablement device was being stolen, and receiving no assurances to the contrary, sprang speedily up all of the steps. At the top the circuit continued on up further steps. We turned left and descended a track gently back to base, leaving 3.5 km of historical revelations for another day.
Sunday 27 June 2010
More pics...
I T A L I A
One of us likes to swim and the other one likes to eat sand
Princepessa Piccolo Stella
"You're the only one that really gets me, baby."
The trail of destruction continues...
See, I can look normal in a photo
Check out those trousers behind me .... Cinderella would not be seen dead in them.
See they do sleep eventually....
One of us likes to swim and the other one likes to eat sand
Princepessa Piccolo Stella
"You're the only one that really gets me, baby."
The trail of destruction continues...
See, I can look normal in a photo
Check out those trousers behind me .... Cinderella would not be seen dead in them.
See they do sleep eventually....
Friday 25 June to Kobarid, western Slovenia
To a wonderful rustic campsite, set deep in the Julian Alps on the banks of the almost eerily aquamarine River Soca. Facilities are quite basic, but it does have running water and electricity.
And, naturally, automatic self cleaning rotating toilet seats. Which really freak out a 4 year old who fidgets so much the sensors think she has finished.
And, naturally, automatic self cleaning rotating toilet seats. Which really freak out a 4 year old who fidgets so much the sensors think she has finished.
Thursday 24 June Venice surrounds
I really didn't have time yesterday to fully take in the horror that is our campsite. Arriving late in the locale, and with the first campsite full, we had somehow ended up in a 1500 site holiday camp for northern Europeans whose idea of a break is a pre-erected tent/bungalow in close proximity to 4 bars, 3 restaurants, 4 swimming pools and 45,000 OTHER PEOPLE.
And, even where intentions were clearly benign, such as the arrangements of cubicles with shower, loo and sink in a self contained unit, they managed to cock it up. I mean, why put a nasty cheap slippery plastic clothes hook RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THE TOILET BRUSH?? IDIOTS!!
And that is to say nothing of the camp's dictatorial tendencies designed to help our European friends feel at home. Like the camp identity card, WHICH MUST BE CARRIED AT ALL TIMES. Or the enforced siesta time between 1pm and 3 pm. YOU WILL NOT MAKE ANY NOISE AND TO REMOVE THE TEMPTATION TO USE YOUR VEHICLE THE GATES ARE BARRED.
Or the fact that the 2 pages of rules you are given on entry have to be tattooed on a body part of your choosing should your stay exceeds 5 nights.
And, even where intentions were clearly benign, such as the arrangements of cubicles with shower, loo and sink in a self contained unit, they managed to cock it up. I mean, why put a nasty cheap slippery plastic clothes hook RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THE TOILET BRUSH?? IDIOTS!!
And that is to say nothing of the camp's dictatorial tendencies designed to help our European friends feel at home. Like the camp identity card, WHICH MUST BE CARRIED AT ALL TIMES. Or the enforced siesta time between 1pm and 3 pm. YOU WILL NOT MAKE ANY NOISE AND TO REMOVE THE TEMPTATION TO USE YOUR VEHICLE THE GATES ARE BARRED.
Or the fact that the 2 pages of rules you are given on entry have to be tattooed on a body part of your choosing should your stay exceeds 5 nights.
Wednesday 23 June Venice
To add to the superlatives heaped upon this aquatic tourist playground, comes the revelation that it is the location of my perfect job. On a sign nailed to a door just off the Grand Canal read seven words to gladden the soul of the encumbent every time they pass through it.
"Venetian Representative of the Principality of Monaco."
Maddie, perhaps a little overpraised for her efforts, had cycled without stabilisers 5 km to the port. She then spent most of the rest of the day wondering when she would get back to her bicycle to earn more praise. That was when she wasn't saying:
Daddy, can I have a mask?
Mummy, can I have a mask?
Daddy, can I have a mask?
Mummy, can I have a mask?
Daddy, can I have a mask?
Mummy, can I have a mask?
Daddy, can I have a mask?
Mummy, can I have a mask?
Venice, famous for its masks, has some sort of ridiculous quality policing in place for them. This means that nasty plastic versions of what are really quite heinous looking face coverings are just not available at prices that match their uselessness. So we were forced to patronise an establishment that also sold that other Venetian speciality, glass.
That is correct. A 2 year old and a 4 year old in a glass ornament shop that we had entered expressly to buy them a present. So they were hardly overexcited at all, then. Looking back at it, we were fortunate that none of the three smashed items cost more than €10 each.
Despite our insistence that we pay for the damage, our offers were dismissed with a smile. Laura, however, demonstrated our contrition by waving away the 10 cents change when proferred. As a token of our appreciation you see. 'No, no, keep it. I couldn't possibly. After all the trouble we've caused'. I'm glad I couldn't see the expression on the shopkeeper's face.
Chloe's Venice Diary
Pigeon chasing factor: high
Opportunity to play in fountain factor: high. Extra points earned for opportunity to stand in, drink, and splash sister. Mwah hah hah.
Spillages and breakages factor: high. One glass of beer (full); one box of glass jewellery (full). Mwah hah hah.
Irritating people in uniform factor: moderate. People are employed, apparently, to get irritated when I touch the barrier which has been put in place to stop people touching things. Mwah hah hah.
Interference from strangers: moderate. Hair ruffled by 4 of them. Photo taken by 1. Faces stored away for future disembowelment should we meet again. Mwah hah hah.
Irritation of parents factor: low. Only really provoked Mummy when I shouted 'I stab dogs' when one crossed my path. Daddy just laughed. A bit like this: Mwah hah hah.
Irritation of sister factor: high. Discovered that repetitively telling her she isn't 4 causes theatrical meltdown. Damn, is she easy to wind up. Mwah hah hah.
Maddie's Venice diary
Cycle cycle cycle. I was brilliant.
Got a Boccodamtella (or 'mask' for those of you who don't speak Italian).
Saturday 26 June 2010
The Flim Flam Fenomenum
Our eldest is blessed with linguistic skills. She delights in smiling at people she encounters and greeting them with a Ciao or a Buon Giorno. If she catches the words 'princepessa' or 'bella' in the reply her day is made. She wanders round singing 'Twinkle Twinkle Piccolo Stella' to herself after a local described her as one.
She chatters away to no one in particular with the four Italian words she knows interspersed with complete and utter nonsense.
It's all very sweet. For about a day. Then the torrent of nonsense from our own living spam generator begins to fray nerves. Then pluck every last one of them out using superheated tweezers tipped with acid. For your information Maddie:
Oglicanda is not Italian for jumper.
Tingola is not Italian for 'We are going to a little town'.
Bottaw is not Italian for 'Mummy'.
Buccola is not Italian for 'jacket'.
Galla is not Italian for shell.
Stingola is not Italian for 'It's raining'.
Sample conversation:
Parent: Maddie, where is your coat?
Maddie (pleasantly): La boosh galeesia flim flam chocolada bottaw?
Parent: Maddie, stop talking Italian, where is your coat?
Maddie (indignantly): Bawchawm bellisimo gala!
Parent: Maddie, stop that nonsense. Where is your coat??
Maddie (hands now on hips): Lasham flim flam debella si undera the vana laboosh!!
Parent: WILL YOU JUST SPEAK ENGLISH YOU PAIN IN THE NECK!!
She chatters away to no one in particular with the four Italian words she knows interspersed with complete and utter nonsense.
It's all very sweet. For about a day. Then the torrent of nonsense from our own living spam generator begins to fray nerves. Then pluck every last one of them out using superheated tweezers tipped with acid. For your information Maddie:
Oglicanda is not Italian for jumper.
Tingola is not Italian for 'We are going to a little town'.
Bottaw is not Italian for 'Mummy'.
Buccola is not Italian for 'jacket'.
Galla is not Italian for shell.
Stingola is not Italian for 'It's raining'.
Sample conversation:
Parent: Maddie, where is your coat?
Maddie (pleasantly): La boosh galeesia flim flam chocolada bottaw?
Parent: Maddie, stop talking Italian, where is your coat?
Maddie (indignantly): Bawchawm bellisimo gala!
Parent: Maddie, stop that nonsense. Where is your coat??
Maddie (hands now on hips): Lasham flim flam debella si undera the vana laboosh!!
Parent: WILL YOU JUST SPEAK ENGLISH YOU PAIN IN THE NECK!!
Tuesday 22 June to Venice
A day of travel notable mainly for a misunderstanding when Maddie informed me 'Daddy, did you know, Snow White ended up with twins and a divorce.'
I was moderately surprised at this. Although my knowledge of the plotline was weak, I was fairly sure the ending relied less on social reality and more on the tried and tested happily-ever-after formula. Unless Ken Loach had remade it for a Christmas special. Perhaps with the seven dwarves renamed Junkie, Boozy, Natsi, Schitzo, Prozac, Smackhead and Ned.
Sadly for fans of gritty fairy tales, this was not the case and upon probing, I had misheard 'prince and seven dwarves'.
I was moderately surprised at this. Although my knowledge of the plotline was weak, I was fairly sure the ending relied less on social reality and more on the tried and tested happily-ever-after formula. Unless Ken Loach had remade it for a Christmas special. Perhaps with the seven dwarves renamed Junkie, Boozy, Natsi, Schitzo, Prozac, Smackhead and Ned.
Sadly for fans of gritty fairy tales, this was not the case and upon probing, I had misheard 'prince and seven dwarves'.
Monday 21 June, Large Umbrian puddle
24 Hours of rain. The day was spent at the campsite and split into manageable chunks:
9 am to 10 am breakfast. Slowly.
10 am to 11 am. Jigsaws. Very slowly.
11 am to 12 pm. Shower. Very, very slowly. Not sure what Laura and the kids did during this time.
12 pm to 1.30 pm. Lunch. Kick off time of first World Cup game. Decamp to TV and games room.
1.31 pm. Panic. Electricity down. No football.
1.32 pm to 5 pm. Best forgotten.
5 pm to 6 pm. Drill. Rain has eased off sufficiently for operation exhaust children. Small 5-a-side pitch is scene of under 4s sprint training, jogging on spot, kangaroo hop, star jumps, and the piece de resistance, the Chloe charge. This is a run at the very limit of one's balance with the added complication of having to twirl a purple rag like a lassoo above one's head.
9 am to 10 am breakfast. Slowly.
10 am to 11 am. Jigsaws. Very slowly.
11 am to 12 pm. Shower. Very, very slowly. Not sure what Laura and the kids did during this time.
12 pm to 1.30 pm. Lunch. Kick off time of first World Cup game. Decamp to TV and games room.
1.31 pm. Panic. Electricity down. No football.
1.32 pm to 5 pm. Best forgotten.
5 pm to 6 pm. Drill. Rain has eased off sufficiently for operation exhaust children. Small 5-a-side pitch is scene of under 4s sprint training, jogging on spot, kangaroo hop, star jumps, and the piece de resistance, the Chloe charge. This is a run at the very limit of one's balance with the added complication of having to twirl a purple rag like a lassoo above one's head.
Monday 21 June 2010
Sunday 20 June Still in South East Umbria
Spoleto
Rain, the first for a month, so it was borne stoically and we headed for Spoleto for a dose of indoor diversions. Museums, churches, Roman houses and an old papal fortress, the Rocca Albornaziana. From Italian unification until the 1980s this fortress had been used as a maximum security prison, housing at one stage the would-be assassin of John Paul II. Given that the place is still covered in papal seals, frescoes and overt religious symbols, this would have been a bit like imprisoning Mark Chapman in a Beatles museum. Cruel and unusual punishment.
We watched Italy's second World Cup game in a cafe with the locals. With their designer labels, mopeds and passionate Latin blood they presented as typical a spectacle as a tourist could wish for. Until we noticed they were drinking Tennants Special. Which left us with the question: What do the tramps in Italy drink?
Rain, the first for a month, so it was borne stoically and we headed for Spoleto for a dose of indoor diversions. Museums, churches, Roman houses and an old papal fortress, the Rocca Albornaziana. From Italian unification until the 1980s this fortress had been used as a maximum security prison, housing at one stage the would-be assassin of John Paul II. Given that the place is still covered in papal seals, frescoes and overt religious symbols, this would have been a bit like imprisoning Mark Chapman in a Beatles museum. Cruel and unusual punishment.
We watched Italy's second World Cup game in a cafe with the locals. With their designer labels, mopeds and passionate Latin blood they presented as typical a spectacle as a tourist could wish for. Until we noticed they were drinking Tennants Special. Which left us with the question: What do the tramps in Italy drink?
Saturday 19 June, Preci, South East Umbria
Sometimes this blog writes itself...
A beautiful walk along a deserted valley. The banks of the burbling stream were carpeted with wild strawberries. The series of small waterfalls at the end were perfect for paddling. The children spent their time throwing sticks in and watching them bounce down the cascades before fishing them out of a pool downstream. Half mature tadpoles darted between little toes. An idyllic setting for a picnic.
At the bottom, I was popping the kids in the van when the lovely old lady we had passed on the way down feeding her poultry stopped and talked at Laura. After a few minutes of this, and clearly encouraged by Laura's 'gift' of appearing to understand everything that is said to her in any language, we picked up the phrases 'cafe?' and 'casa?' as she pointed at her house. Feeling anything less than an affirmitive would have caused affront, we smiled, grabbed our phrasebook and made ourselves at home in her kitchen. Plied with wine, magnificent coffee, sweet bread and orange juice, everything was going as well as could be expected in a communication vacuum, and the lady seemed delighted just to have someone to talk to.
Groping round for conversational gambits, Laura pointed at a sepia tinged photo hanging on the wall of a smiling man and two mischievious boys. It captured a beautiful moment when the lady's sons and late husband were working together to bring in the smallholding's harvest. The lady reached up, with trembling hands. Her cataract clouded eyes misted with happy memories. Time slowed down. Her brain struggled to control her emotions and her shaking hands. The picture fell from her grasp and the frame shattered on the floor.
Laura knelt, frantically picking up the glass as if they were pieces of her conscience. She knew she was to blame. Tiny fragments were everywhere but the lady waved away further attempts to help saying (we think) that she had a Hoover. Laura surreptitiously picked up some further shards and dropped them into the bin.
'You do realise,' I said after we had made a slightly shambolic exit, 'that the dogs are probably going to eat the cake crumb and glass confection on the floor?'
With a fixed smile on her face Laura replied. 'Yes, and I'm sure I've just seen her disappear back up the hill with what I thought was the bin but is clearly a bucket of scraps she keeps to feed her collection of geese and poultry.'
And so we left the lovely valley of San Lazzaro, leaving a trail of broken memories and lacerated intestines in our wake.
A beautiful walk along a deserted valley. The banks of the burbling stream were carpeted with wild strawberries. The series of small waterfalls at the end were perfect for paddling. The children spent their time throwing sticks in and watching them bounce down the cascades before fishing them out of a pool downstream. Half mature tadpoles darted between little toes. An idyllic setting for a picnic.
At the bottom, I was popping the kids in the van when the lovely old lady we had passed on the way down feeding her poultry stopped and talked at Laura. After a few minutes of this, and clearly encouraged by Laura's 'gift' of appearing to understand everything that is said to her in any language, we picked up the phrases 'cafe?' and 'casa?' as she pointed at her house. Feeling anything less than an affirmitive would have caused affront, we smiled, grabbed our phrasebook and made ourselves at home in her kitchen. Plied with wine, magnificent coffee, sweet bread and orange juice, everything was going as well as could be expected in a communication vacuum, and the lady seemed delighted just to have someone to talk to.
Groping round for conversational gambits, Laura pointed at a sepia tinged photo hanging on the wall of a smiling man and two mischievious boys. It captured a beautiful moment when the lady's sons and late husband were working together to bring in the smallholding's harvest. The lady reached up, with trembling hands. Her cataract clouded eyes misted with happy memories. Time slowed down. Her brain struggled to control her emotions and her shaking hands. The picture fell from her grasp and the frame shattered on the floor.
Laura knelt, frantically picking up the glass as if they were pieces of her conscience. She knew she was to blame. Tiny fragments were everywhere but the lady waved away further attempts to help saying (we think) that she had a Hoover. Laura surreptitiously picked up some further shards and dropped them into the bin.
'You do realise,' I said after we had made a slightly shambolic exit, 'that the dogs are probably going to eat the cake crumb and glass confection on the floor?'
With a fixed smile on her face Laura replied. 'Yes, and I'm sure I've just seen her disappear back up the hill with what I thought was the bin but is clearly a bucket of scraps she keeps to feed her collection of geese and poultry.'
And so we left the lovely valley of San Lazzaro, leaving a trail of broken memories and lacerated intestines in our wake.
Friday 18 June 2010
Friday 18 June Preci, South East Umbria
See line 2 under Monday 14 June
Vacancy: Cartographers required.
Location: The whole ******* country of Italy.
Skills required: The ability to draw lines on a bit of paper that actually reflect the geographical reality of the transport infrastructure.
Additional Note to Writers of Mountainbike Guides. Your core user group is not really interested in two pages of descriptions of churches that no one, including locals, go into. Nor pictures of orchids. They would much prefer you expanded the direction explanation section from two paragraphs to give the casual orienteer a fighting chance of not ending up in the wrong ******* valley.
Vacancy: Cartographers required.
Location: The whole ******* country of Italy.
Skills required: The ability to draw lines on a bit of paper that actually reflect the geographical reality of the transport infrastructure.
Additional Note to Writers of Mountainbike Guides. Your core user group is not really interested in two pages of descriptions of churches that no one, including locals, go into. Nor pictures of orchids. They would much prefer you expanded the direction explanation section from two paragraphs to give the casual orienteer a fighting chance of not ending up in the wrong ******* valley.
Thursday 17 June, Preci, Norcia, South East Umbria
A white water rafting experience this morning. Or, honestly, more of a pink water rafting experience. By that I don't mean that the water was churning with blood, but rather it was suitable for a 2 and 4 year old to sit in the front of the raft. And, having seen the video of me delicately 'jumping' into the rapids from the Rock of Adventure, a rather girly shade of pink at that.
Memo to self: When pompously adding up all the 'me' time afforded to one's spouse in a given day, avoid the inclusion of time spent cooking in one's final calculation.
Memo to self: When pompously adding up all the 'me' time afforded to one's spouse in a given day, avoid the inclusion of time spent cooking in one's final calculation.
Wednesday 16 June Preci, South East Umbria
0753 hours. Maddie (whispering). "Chloe! Chloe! It's my birthday! But Mummy says it doesn't start until 8 o'clock."
The day started well, with Maddie delighted with the selection of princess tat, carriages, cycling dolls, dresses and the like. From a parent's point of view, the choice of small Cinderella and Snow White dolls with removable shoes, dresses and hairbands meant much of the day's conversation was conducted through clenched teeth as precious objects were lost, found, lost again, taken into the swimming pool, left in the toilets, trampled on, broken, fixed.
And of course the important matters of physiology had to be recorded. "Daddy, can you help me get Cinderella's dress off please? I need to check if she's got nipples."
Still, lots of swimming, biscuits, party games, party bags for Maddie and the one child who came to her party, cafe (Maddie adores European cafe culture you know), birthday dinner and birthday cake meant our Piccolo Stella had a pretty good day.
The day started well, with Maddie delighted with the selection of princess tat, carriages, cycling dolls, dresses and the like. From a parent's point of view, the choice of small Cinderella and Snow White dolls with removable shoes, dresses and hairbands meant much of the day's conversation was conducted through clenched teeth as precious objects were lost, found, lost again, taken into the swimming pool, left in the toilets, trampled on, broken, fixed.
And of course the important matters of physiology had to be recorded. "Daddy, can you help me get Cinderella's dress off please? I need to check if she's got nipples."
Still, lots of swimming, biscuits, party games, party bags for Maddie and the one child who came to her party, cafe (Maddie adores European cafe culture you know), birthday dinner and birthday cake meant our Piccolo Stella had a pretty good day.
Tuesday 15 June, Preci, South East Umbria
One mission today. Identify campsite with swimming pool, playground and sun for Maddie's birthday tommorrow. Add a dash of princessification and the day should go well.
I've devised a new rating system for campsites. Now all I need is a logo...
A 1 Toilet Brush Campsite: not even typhoid will induce you to unclench. Early exit the next morning before bodily function status is raised to Urgent.
A 2 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign welcoming dogs with picture of goofy looking pooch. Western toilets looked on suspiciously by locals. One euro token required to stand under a dribble of cold water leaking out of a hole in the wall.
A 3 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign demands that all dogs are kept on lead.
Western toilets in the majority. Some even have seats. Facilities cleaned at least weekly. Catching sight of oneself in the cracked and greasy mirror there is only a slight sneer of disgust evident.
4 Toilet Brush Campsite: Dogs banned. Showers have water warmer than body temperature. You see equipment that a cleaner might use should they appear. The pool of mud you left in the shower has been largely removed within 2 days.
5 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign informs campers that dogs are summarily executed. Small Maddie and Chloe sized sink and toilet installed. Hot water showers that don't stop with the soap still in your eyes. Daily cleaning. You might even, maybe, think about using the toilet brush yourself. Should it be necessary. Which it isn't. Ever.
Anyway, mission accomplished, at a 5 Toilet Brush campsite with views across unspoiled mountains, we have the stage for Maddie's birthday:
Swimming Pool - Check
Playground - Check
Bar showing the World Cup in high definition widescreen television - Check
I've devised a new rating system for campsites. Now all I need is a logo...
A 1 Toilet Brush Campsite: not even typhoid will induce you to unclench. Early exit the next morning before bodily function status is raised to Urgent.
A 2 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign welcoming dogs with picture of goofy looking pooch. Western toilets looked on suspiciously by locals. One euro token required to stand under a dribble of cold water leaking out of a hole in the wall.
A 3 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign demands that all dogs are kept on lead.
Western toilets in the majority. Some even have seats. Facilities cleaned at least weekly. Catching sight of oneself in the cracked and greasy mirror there is only a slight sneer of disgust evident.
4 Toilet Brush Campsite: Dogs banned. Showers have water warmer than body temperature. You see equipment that a cleaner might use should they appear. The pool of mud you left in the shower has been largely removed within 2 days.
5 Toilet Brush Campsite: Sign informs campers that dogs are summarily executed. Small Maddie and Chloe sized sink and toilet installed. Hot water showers that don't stop with the soap still in your eyes. Daily cleaning. You might even, maybe, think about using the toilet brush yourself. Should it be necessary. Which it isn't. Ever.
Anyway, mission accomplished, at a 5 Toilet Brush campsite with views across unspoiled mountains, we have the stage for Maddie's birthday:
Swimming Pool - Check
Playground - Check
Bar showing the World Cup in high definition widescreen television - Check
Monday 14 June Abruzzo National Park
Around the Valle Fondillo
See para 1 under Friday 11 June.
An early morning ride through the Monti della Meta. Alone into the stronghold of the wolf. I had barely given that a second thought, too enraptured by the beech forests, mountains and gurgling streams. Until, at the 1.5 hour mark and not having seen a soul all morning I came across the largest dog turd I had ever seen. Pale, and clearly originating from the hind quarters of a wolf, it glistened freshly. Excrement that could, conceivably, contain recently processed human flesh. Maybe.
What I hadn't been told about the upper reaches of the Valle Fondillo was that it harbours an exceedingly large number of logs and rocks that strongly resemble crouching lupine forms. The path petered out into a barely visible track through boulder strewn forest. Perfect cover for a wiley predator.
Something jumped out of the undergrowth and attached itself to my rear wheel, snarling and kicking up dirt and leaves.
A stick. Probably thrown by a wolf.
Things That Don't Happen At Home #7 The local fauna at home does not, as a rule, leave freshly spilled blood splattered over one's seating arrangements. Nor make off with one's refuse container, depositing it some 20 yds away in a bush with teethmarks marring the strong nylon exterior.
See para 1 under Friday 11 June.
An early morning ride through the Monti della Meta. Alone into the stronghold of the wolf. I had barely given that a second thought, too enraptured by the beech forests, mountains and gurgling streams. Until, at the 1.5 hour mark and not having seen a soul all morning I came across the largest dog turd I had ever seen. Pale, and clearly originating from the hind quarters of a wolf, it glistened freshly. Excrement that could, conceivably, contain recently processed human flesh. Maybe.
What I hadn't been told about the upper reaches of the Valle Fondillo was that it harbours an exceedingly large number of logs and rocks that strongly resemble crouching lupine forms. The path petered out into a barely visible track through boulder strewn forest. Perfect cover for a wiley predator.
Something jumped out of the undergrowth and attached itself to my rear wheel, snarling and kicking up dirt and leaves.
A stick. Probably thrown by a wolf.
Things That Don't Happen At Home #7 The local fauna at home does not, as a rule, leave freshly spilled blood splattered over one's seating arrangements. Nor make off with one's refuse container, depositing it some 20 yds away in a bush with teethmarks marring the strong nylon exterior.
Sunday 13 June Around Abruzzo National Park
A day notable for the beauty of the scenary, and the confusion caused by describing a vet to Maddie as an 'animal doctor'. After a long and increasingly bizzare conversation that culminated in her asking if the animals wore coats the same as people doctors, her literal interpretation of the phrase was diagnosed and the description amended to 'doctor for animals'.
Wednesday 16 June 2010
Saturday 12 June Gragona to the Abruzzo National Park
A long drive to the incredible Abruzzo National Park, where wolves and bears roam a short distance from Rome.
But never mind all that, the campsite has a TV. Robert Green, on behalf of all the other home nations, thank you for lighting up the World Cup. A poem is required to mark the occasion and, as the poet laureat is female, I have stepped into the breach with this limerick.
There was a young keeper called Green,
Who let down his country and Queen.
A chap called Capello,
Abused the poor fellow:
"You're just like a fat Mr Bean"
I would also like to offer the following words of solace to the beleaguered shotstopper. Maddie often sings them softly to herself in periods of sadness. I sincerely hope they are from Cinderella. If she has made them up I shudder to think what the psychologist bills will be.
"No matter how your heart is bleeding your rainbow will come shining through"
But never mind all that, the campsite has a TV. Robert Green, on behalf of all the other home nations, thank you for lighting up the World Cup. A poem is required to mark the occasion and, as the poet laureat is female, I have stepped into the breach with this limerick.
There was a young keeper called Green,
Who let down his country and Queen.
A chap called Capello,
Abused the poor fellow:
"You're just like a fat Mr Bean"
I would also like to offer the following words of solace to the beleaguered shotstopper. Maddie often sings them softly to herself in periods of sadness. I sincerely hope they are from Cinderella. If she has made them up I shudder to think what the psychologist bills will be.
"No matter how your heart is bleeding your rainbow will come shining through"
Friday 11 June, Peschici in the Gargona National Park
Your correspondent would like to formally acknowledge the following:
- The forebearance of his spouse in looking after the children once again while the Umbra forest in the Gargona National Park was explored on mountainbike.
Released from the campsite early, with the bike on the back, the windows wound down and the open road ahead of me, the Gargona National Park reverberated to the sound of freedom. And that sound was AC/DC. Then Iron Maiden. Then Guns 'n' Roses. In fact, all the music banned by 75 % of the family in the normal course of events.
A very simple ride today. To the top of mountain, then straight down, and I mean straight down, for half an hour. Then the inevitable climb back to the top. I did stop a couple of times during the descent to drink in the quiet and solitude, but all I heard were the bells of wandering sheep. Or that could possibly have been tinnitus brought on by listening to hard rock at maximum volume.
The climb back to the van gave me ample opportunity to ponder a flaw deep in my psyche. And that flaw is this. During periods of physical activity such as a one hour climb, my brain dredges its depths for the blandest, most irritating song it can think of to play on a loop in time to the pedals. Today, that song was This Is My Moment by some ex soap actress. I doubt any of you can remember it. Until today, I didn't know I could, and indeed all I did remember was the first two lines. Continuously. For an hour.
Things That Don't Happen At Home #6 Missing the World Cup opening game. Or indeed any World Cup game. In the home of the defending champions I am aghast at the lack of coverage.
Some of the simple things in life that bring pleasure when you're in the second month of campervanning:
- A new toothbrush.
- Your daughter not pointing out a grey patch in your beard.
- A freshly laundered towel
- The citronella candle not tipping over and spilling molten wax into the gas ring.
- Stupid ******* children's play parks that advertise themselves as being 'open every day' actually being open when you drive there.
- The forebearance of his spouse in looking after the children once again while the Umbra forest in the Gargona National Park was explored on mountainbike.
Released from the campsite early, with the bike on the back, the windows wound down and the open road ahead of me, the Gargona National Park reverberated to the sound of freedom. And that sound was AC/DC. Then Iron Maiden. Then Guns 'n' Roses. In fact, all the music banned by 75 % of the family in the normal course of events.
A very simple ride today. To the top of mountain, then straight down, and I mean straight down, for half an hour. Then the inevitable climb back to the top. I did stop a couple of times during the descent to drink in the quiet and solitude, but all I heard were the bells of wandering sheep. Or that could possibly have been tinnitus brought on by listening to hard rock at maximum volume.
The climb back to the van gave me ample opportunity to ponder a flaw deep in my psyche. And that flaw is this. During periods of physical activity such as a one hour climb, my brain dredges its depths for the blandest, most irritating song it can think of to play on a loop in time to the pedals. Today, that song was This Is My Moment by some ex soap actress. I doubt any of you can remember it. Until today, I didn't know I could, and indeed all I did remember was the first two lines. Continuously. For an hour.
Things That Don't Happen At Home #6 Missing the World Cup opening game. Or indeed any World Cup game. In the home of the defending champions I am aghast at the lack of coverage.
Some of the simple things in life that bring pleasure when you're in the second month of campervanning:
- A new toothbrush.
- Your daughter not pointing out a grey patch in your beard.
- A freshly laundered towel
- The citronella candle not tipping over and spilling molten wax into the gas ring.
- Stupid ******* children's play parks that advertise themselves as being 'open every day' actually being open when you drive there.
Thursday 10 June, Peschici in the Gargona National Park
A lovely drive across the spur of Italy's boot. A beautiful campsite amongst the pine forests of this natural gem of Puglia. The children had a wonderful day at the beach, and a barbeque to end the evening.
"Daddy," said Maddie afterwards, "Our van is just like a castle."
"Really?" I smiled, awaiting her to draw parallels of adventure, unpredictablity, perhaps even a simile with the van a constant pillar of her newly itinerant life.
"Yes. It has spiders. And flies. And ants."
101 Uses for a Campervan #7 Hippy transmogrification device. Simply insert one superficially normal adult male into a campervan. Add two children and one spouse. Leave for two months. Return to find him frowning in concentration as he attempts to thread shells collected on the beach into a necklace for his offspring.
"Daddy," said Maddie afterwards, "Our van is just like a castle."
"Really?" I smiled, awaiting her to draw parallels of adventure, unpredictablity, perhaps even a simile with the van a constant pillar of her newly itinerant life.
"Yes. It has spiders. And flies. And ants."
101 Uses for a Campervan #7 Hippy transmogrification device. Simply insert one superficially normal adult male into a campervan. Add two children and one spouse. Leave for two months. Return to find him frowning in concentration as he attempts to thread shells collected on the beach into a necklace for his offspring.
Wednesday 9 June, Matera, Alberabello, some caves, Manfredonia
The 'slums' of Matera include cave dwellings, some of which were built in the twentieth century. They are just 5 metres long, have uncomfortable beds, no running water or internal lavatory, and living in them with children would have been a challenge. Er...
Alberobello is trulli picturesque (note, for full impact of lame pun, non connoisseurs of regional Italian architecture may need to google 'trulli')
Alberobello is trulli picturesque (note, for full impact of lame pun, non connoisseurs of regional Italian architecture may need to google 'trulli')
Tuesday 8 June, Taormina to Bascilicata, mainland Italy
From Sicily to Italy's instep. The lack of action today gives me the opportunity to fill the space with another pointless list.
Five Reasons Why Italy Is My Favourite Country In The World. Ever. (warning: the below contains patronising parallels with Developing Nations and excludes banalities concerning how great the food and people are)
1 The towns have that slightly third world smell of two stroke engines and the distant aroma of sewage.
2 Marvellous oversize Italian flags fly from official buildings. LOOK AT US WE ARE A COUNTRY.
3 Minor public officials and law enforcement officers have wonderful epaulettes and shiny badges that inform their subject of their importance.
4 The graffiti on ancient monuments is classier. Sharonia ti amo Kevinio just sounds so much better in Italian.
5 Italy has not succumbed to the Americanisation of the emergency vehicle horn, preferring the old fashioned, air based, system redolent of a more innocent age.
Five Reasons Why Italy Is My Favourite Country In The World. Ever. (warning: the below contains patronising parallels with Developing Nations and excludes banalities concerning how great the food and people are)
1 The towns have that slightly third world smell of two stroke engines and the distant aroma of sewage.
2 Marvellous oversize Italian flags fly from official buildings. LOOK AT US WE ARE A COUNTRY.
3 Minor public officials and law enforcement officers have wonderful epaulettes and shiny badges that inform their subject of their importance.
4 The graffiti on ancient monuments is classier. Sharonia ti amo Kevinio just sounds so much better in Italian.
5 Italy has not succumbed to the Americanisation of the emergency vehicle horn, preferring the old fashioned, air based, system redolent of a more innocent age.
Monday 7 June Etna
Eastern Sicily is currently dominated by seismic instability. No one knows when next the great forces of nature will unleash their fury, and the brooding presence of the snow capped crucible of fire is an ever present in the background, until it deems the time is right to remind the world of its presence.
But enough about Chloe. Etna is a wonderful backdrop to any mountainbike ride, with lava flow deserts interspersed with beautiful pine forests and meadows. Now, if only the damn trails were signposted properly I might have seen a bit more of it.
But enough about Chloe. Etna is a wonderful backdrop to any mountainbike ride, with lava flow deserts interspersed with beautiful pine forests and meadows. Now, if only the damn trails were signposted properly I might have seen a bit more of it.
Sunday 6 June, Panaria and Stromboli
At Vulcan's forge.
Explaining plate tectonics to a 3 year old.
Er...the earth, Maddie, is a bit like, er...an orange. Which has been dipped in...er...ketchup. And then someone has done a jigsaw on it. So if you press a jigsaw piece a bit hard, some ketchup squirts out. OK? So, we're at a bit where the ketchup is squirting out. And Oxford is at a bit in the middle of a jigsaw piece. Where ketchup can never squeeze out. Is all that clear? Good.
Which doesn't really do justice to Stromboli's fireworks which were nearly as exciting to the kids as going through tunnels on the way to the boat, with the flourescent bracelets we gave them this morning.
Things that don't happen at home #7 Huge great ******* cockroaches* the size of small dinner plates don't live in one's domestic lavatory or in establishments that one patronises.
*Or 'conklecrunches' as Maddie described them on returning, shaken and unevacuated, to the cafe table.
Explaining plate tectonics to a 3 year old.
Er...the earth, Maddie, is a bit like, er...an orange. Which has been dipped in...er...ketchup. And then someone has done a jigsaw on it. So if you press a jigsaw piece a bit hard, some ketchup squirts out. OK? So, we're at a bit where the ketchup is squirting out. And Oxford is at a bit in the middle of a jigsaw piece. Where ketchup can never squeeze out. Is all that clear? Good.
Which doesn't really do justice to Stromboli's fireworks which were nearly as exciting to the kids as going through tunnels on the way to the boat, with the flourescent bracelets we gave them this morning.
Things that don't happen at home #7 Huge great ******* cockroaches* the size of small dinner plates don't live in one's domestic lavatory or in establishments that one patronises.
*Or 'conklecrunches' as Maddie described them on returning, shaken and unevacuated, to the cafe table.
Saturday 5 June, Savoca, Gola di Alcantara
Savoca, where key scenes from The Godfather* were shot.
The hilltop town also contains a Cappuchin monastery that, in the true spirit of the Bible, will let the casual passerby gawp at the worldly, 'preserved', remains of eminent figures from the town's past. For a small donation of course. Doctors, lawyers, priests, all in period costume. You name it, you can look at the slack jawed cadavers that thought St Peter would be impressed by a smart jacket and a whiff of eau de formaldehyde.
Maddie and Chloe were fascinated by the corpses. OK, we didn't really let them in. We told them they weren't allowed in and blamed the nun at the door for refusing children entry into the church where Cinderella got married. I do hope they don't hold it against the sisterhood for ever.
*Which I file under the category of Most Overrated Film Ever Made. I'm holding out for the remake with Steven Seagal in the Brando role. Destiny, and justice, dictate this must happen.
The hilltop town also contains a Cappuchin monastery that, in the true spirit of the Bible, will let the casual passerby gawp at the worldly, 'preserved', remains of eminent figures from the town's past. For a small donation of course. Doctors, lawyers, priests, all in period costume. You name it, you can look at the slack jawed cadavers that thought St Peter would be impressed by a smart jacket and a whiff of eau de formaldehyde.
Maddie and Chloe were fascinated by the corpses. OK, we didn't really let them in. We told them they weren't allowed in and blamed the nun at the door for refusing children entry into the church where Cinderella got married. I do hope they don't hold it against the sisterhood for ever.
*Which I file under the category of Most Overrated Film Ever Made. I'm holding out for the remake with Steven Seagal in the Brando role. Destiny, and justice, dictate this must happen.
Friday 4 June, Taormina
A quiet day swimming and whiling away the hours in the upmarket resort of Taormina. Quiet, except for a short time in the late afternoon when the environs of the church of Santa Caterina resounded to the cries of Chloe shouting 'Bird Poo Maddie'.
Things that don't happen at home #6 One's neighbour does not, as a rule, sing loudly and unselfconsciously along to Bellini of an evening.
Things that don't happen at home #6 One's neighbour does not, as a rule, sing loudly and unselfconsciously along to Bellini of an evening.
Thursday 3 June, Siracusa to Etna via Pantilica
Things that don't happen at home #5 Showers don't have heavy external bolts. Therefore one's two year old, who has been given the very important job of holding one's towel, is not routinely tempted to imprison one within the confines of the cubicle until she deems the time is right to release you.
Chloe has adapted the holiday song to meet her own requirements, and rather than wishing violence upon inanimate objects, she happily chants 'We'll be chopping Maddie's head off when we come' much to the chagrin of her delicate sister.
Her delicate sister, who, to my shame given the update of 2 days ago, can now ride a bike without stabilisers!
By the way, Pantilica, a beautiful gorge with thousands of ancient tombs honeycombing the walls, is #1 on my list of Sites To Revisit Without Children. And Sites To Revisit Not At Midday. And Sites To Revisit With An Expensive And Efficient Satellite Navigation Device To Negate The Incompetent Efforts Of Italian Signage Locators.
Chloe has adapted the holiday song to meet her own requirements, and rather than wishing violence upon inanimate objects, she happily chants 'We'll be chopping Maddie's head off when we come' much to the chagrin of her delicate sister.
Her delicate sister, who, to my shame given the update of 2 days ago, can now ride a bike without stabilisers!
By the way, Pantilica, a beautiful gorge with thousands of ancient tombs honeycombing the walls, is #1 on my list of Sites To Revisit Without Children. And Sites To Revisit Not At Midday. And Sites To Revisit With An Expensive And Efficient Satellite Navigation Device To Negate The Incompetent Efforts Of Italian Signage Locators.
Wednesday 2 June, Noto
The Italians are quite happy to drive around with their small children on their laps in the front, or clambering around in the back. Or indeed perched precariously on the back of a moped dodging through traffic. What car seats there are are usually storage vessels for non toddler based items. Yet, walk around town with your toddler not wearing a hat (usually after it has been scornfully dispensed with for the twentieth time) and expect long lectures from strangers on what a bad parent you are. And how beautiful your daughter is. She doesn't deserve you, you know. Bad parent. Such bellisimo hair. Dreadful parenting. And why are her cheeks red? Teething you say? Nonsense. It's the sun. Bad parent. What age is she? Only two? But that means she has to suffer another sixteen years of your parenting.
Tuesday 1 June, Siracusa
One of the milestones in a father's life is removing the stabilisers from his child's bike. I feel this is a milestone that will keep on giving as I suspect Maddie will request their reattachment this evening. And removal tomorrow. And reattachment tomorrow evening. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Wednesday 2 June 2010
Monday 1 June Piazza Armerina to Siracusa via Caltagirone, Ragusa Ibla and Modica
Sleeping Beauty visited the ceramic centre of Caltagirone, Snow White graced the towns of Ragusa and Modica. Photos have been saved for the 18th birthday party.
Confucius say: 18th century Sicilian architecture is a load of Baroques.
Five Things that the Italians manage to make appear stylish even though everywhere else in the world they are not.
1 Mopeds
2 Tight fitting pink t-shirts on men
3 Three wheeled vehicles
4 Flat caps
5 Organised crime
Confucius say: 18th century Sicilian architecture is a load of Baroques.
Five Things that the Italians manage to make appear stylish even though everywhere else in the world they are not.
1 Mopeds
2 Tight fitting pink t-shirts on men
3 Three wheeled vehicles
4 Flat caps
5 Organised crime
Sunday 31 May, Piazza Armerina
Villa Romana de Casale and Morgantina
The mosaics at the Villa Romana are most impressive. One is about 30 yards long and even a Philistine like me can appreciate the craft and the detail. Some took 60 years to complete, or, in the new unit of extended time, 240 campervan holidays.
Our children, however, were more concerned with how much loot they could extract from the various stallholders that line the entry road. The final count was one teddy, one rose and one fridge magnet. All for the price of a hair tousle.
Maddie's cup flow'ed over in the evening when, as he was leaving, Grandad handed over an early birthday present. A REVERSIBLE Snow White / Sleeping Beauty dress. Or, as it is made of nylon and twice the thickness of a single dress, it might be more appropriate to call it a Sweating Beauty dress.
The mosaics at the Villa Romana are most impressive. One is about 30 yards long and even a Philistine like me can appreciate the craft and the detail. Some took 60 years to complete, or, in the new unit of extended time, 240 campervan holidays.
Our children, however, were more concerned with how much loot they could extract from the various stallholders that line the entry road. The final count was one teddy, one rose and one fridge magnet. All for the price of a hair tousle.
Maddie's cup flow'ed over in the evening when, as he was leaving, Grandad handed over an early birthday present. A REVERSIBLE Snow White / Sleeping Beauty dress. Or, as it is made of nylon and twice the thickness of a single dress, it might be more appropriate to call it a Sweating Beauty dress.
Saturday 30 May, Agrigento to Piazza Armerina
You visit a supermarket with your two year old. She gleefully smashes a six pack of eggs. You ponder what to do with the rest of the day. Do you:
a) Go to the beach
b) Relax by the pool or
c) Take her to the Museo Nazionale Archeologico housing its priceless collection of ancient vases?
a) Go to the beach
b) Relax by the pool or
c) Take her to the Museo Nazionale Archeologico housing its priceless collection of ancient vases?
Friday 29 May Agrigento
The Valley of the Temples.
How can we interest people in contemporary art?
Hey, I've got an idea. Let's fill an ancient masterpiece of proportion and grandeur, the 430 BC Tempio della Concordia, with a load of impenetrable modern rubbish of the sort that accumulates bird droppings in modern plazas.
It's as if Helen of Troy appeared one day sporting a spider's web tattoo on her face.
How can we interest people in contemporary art?
Hey, I've got an idea. Let's fill an ancient masterpiece of proportion and grandeur, the 430 BC Tempio della Concordia, with a load of impenetrable modern rubbish of the sort that accumulates bird droppings in modern plazas.
It's as if Helen of Troy appeared one day sporting a spider's web tattoo on her face.
Thursday 27 May Selinunte to Agrigento via Eraclea Minoa beach
Campsite showers are never great, but I do look back on this morning's with some nostalgia. It was the last period of normality for a while.
The sight that greeted me upon leaving the block was one of some disarray. Our 2 year old has fairly regular bowels, and mid morning is one of her favoured times for the egestion of waste. For reasons not established at the time of writing, Chloe was roaming naked on her scooter when she felt the urge to purge in front of the communal facilities.
Onto her shoes, the scooter, the textured concrete ground. Maddie came to investigate and stood in it. I can record that baby wipes are effective on skin, but lack the penetrative power required to work stool based material out of the rear mechanism of a scooter. They also struggle with concrete cleansing and fabric shoes.
Fortunately, traffic to use the facilities was light, although one camper did walk past us 7 times, seemingly doing laps of the site. Her eyes remained steadfastly fixed ahead each time, whether out of revulsion or sympathy we can only speculate.
The sight that greeted me upon leaving the block was one of some disarray. Our 2 year old has fairly regular bowels, and mid morning is one of her favoured times for the egestion of waste. For reasons not established at the time of writing, Chloe was roaming naked on her scooter when she felt the urge to purge in front of the communal facilities.
Onto her shoes, the scooter, the textured concrete ground. Maddie came to investigate and stood in it. I can record that baby wipes are effective on skin, but lack the penetrative power required to work stool based material out of the rear mechanism of a scooter. They also struggle with concrete cleansing and fabric shoes.
Fortunately, traffic to use the facilities was light, although one camper did walk past us 7 times, seemingly doing laps of the site. Her eyes remained steadfastly fixed ahead each time, whether out of revulsion or sympathy we can only speculate.
Wednesday 26 May Selinunte, south west Sicily
Another day, another ruined Greek settlement. I have an as yet untested theory about the Carthaginians, who had a propensity to sack the Greek outposts in Sicily. If the Greek columns weren't so damn satisfying to topple over, their cities would probably have been left alone. They fall so beautifully, however, that I'm in sympathy with the pillagers. It would have been a bit like building a giant domino run and telling your better armed and culturally backward neighbour not to touch.
Tuesday 25 May, Selinunte via Segesta/Trapani/Erice.
Erice is the perfect mediaeval hilltop town, beautifully situated for views across Trapani to the Egadi islands. Reached by a stunning 15 minute cable car ride, it is also, apparently, the ideal transmitting station for radio masts, mobile phone masts and satellite dishes.
The visual vandalism is soon forgotten in the atmospheric tumble of ancient streets. Primarily because, given the lack of space for a compact perambulator in the van, Chloe is strapped to my back and exhaustion soon takes over.
The Italian indulgence of children can sometimes lead to cultural misunderstandings. Despite the allure of the planet's finest ice cream, Chloe is insistent that all she requires for her happiness to be completed is a plain cone. Plain as in no ice cream. At all. When this is requested at the gelateria, the Italians naturally assume this is a northern European austerity measure, and the denial of a basic human right for this seemingly angelic toddler. So, with an avuncular smile they dip the end into ice cream and pass to an appalled Chloe. Meltdown ensues. Chloe is removed from the establishment, flustered explanations in pidgin Italian ensue. It's all a bit embarrassing really.
However, the arrival of Grandad, with a new Tiny Baby, has mollified her somewhat. The perfect campervan toy. Tiny. With tiny detachable shoes. And tiny removable trousers. And tiny removable jumper. I give it a week.
The visual vandalism is soon forgotten in the atmospheric tumble of ancient streets. Primarily because, given the lack of space for a compact perambulator in the van, Chloe is strapped to my back and exhaustion soon takes over.
The Italian indulgence of children can sometimes lead to cultural misunderstandings. Despite the allure of the planet's finest ice cream, Chloe is insistent that all she requires for her happiness to be completed is a plain cone. Plain as in no ice cream. At all. When this is requested at the gelateria, the Italians naturally assume this is a northern European austerity measure, and the denial of a basic human right for this seemingly angelic toddler. So, with an avuncular smile they dip the end into ice cream and pass to an appalled Chloe. Meltdown ensues. Chloe is removed from the establishment, flustered explanations in pidgin Italian ensue. It's all a bit embarrassing really.
However, the arrival of Grandad, with a new Tiny Baby, has mollified her somewhat. The perfect campervan toy. Tiny. With tiny detachable shoes. And tiny removable trousers. And tiny removable jumper. I give it a week.
Monday 24 May, Scopello, western Sicily.
Zingura Nature Reserve provides visitors with a map and list of rules upon entering, intent on preserving the pristine environment. A lovely 20 minute walk through this dog free wilderness finds a beautiful cove, white pebble beach and turquoise waters where Maddie rediscovered her love of the sea.
Rule (d) states that persons accessing the park will not remove earth, stones or other materials. The author of rule (d) had clearly not envisaged the situation that Chloe created in the mid afternoon sunshine.
Never one to suffer flies silently, her complaints had risen to the extent that parental checking of the area was undertaken. This revealed a large quantity of faecal matter on the beach, sourced from the nearby nappy, and attracting the interest of the waste management division of the local insect population. Nearby sunbathers remained oblivious as rule (d) was broken and a significant quantity of formerly white pebbles were furtively transferred to bags for removal from the park.
Things that don't happen at home #4 One's dignity is compromised by having to wash sand from one's feet in the central facilities. Said facilities contain solely pedal operated baisins. The resulting contortions can be imagined.
Rule (d) states that persons accessing the park will not remove earth, stones or other materials. The author of rule (d) had clearly not envisaged the situation that Chloe created in the mid afternoon sunshine.
Never one to suffer flies silently, her complaints had risen to the extent that parental checking of the area was undertaken. This revealed a large quantity of faecal matter on the beach, sourced from the nearby nappy, and attracting the interest of the waste management division of the local insect population. Nearby sunbathers remained oblivious as rule (d) was broken and a significant quantity of formerly white pebbles were furtively transferred to bags for removal from the park.
Things that don't happen at home #4 One's dignity is compromised by having to wash sand from one's feet in the central facilities. Said facilities contain solely pedal operated baisins. The resulting contortions can be imagined.
Sunday 23 May. Palermo to Scopello via Monreale
A morning's rockpooling. A lunchtime in Monreale where cloisters, although entailing the handing over of 6 Euros to the coffers of the Roman Catholic church, provided an oasis of calm in a hectic day. Or they should have. Instead they provided Chloe with the stage for a diverting, and compulsory, game of hide and seek. Believe me, it was quieter that way. If we didn't engage she filled her lungs and informed the entire town that it was her turn to hide.
Chloe is being subjected to the kind of attention that would raise eyebrows at home. But what is it about Italy that makes a father smile indulgently when his daughter is stopped by the old man sitting on the street corner and kissed? As opposed to snatching her away and reporting him to the authorities.
Chloe is being subjected to the kind of attention that would raise eyebrows at home. But what is it about Italy that makes a father smile indulgently when his daughter is stopped by the old man sitting on the street corner and kissed? As opposed to snatching her away and reporting him to the authorities.
Tuesday 1 June 2010
Saturday 22 May Palermo, Sicily.
Ranked by our guidebook as one of the top 20 Things Not To Miss in Sicily, is the Sicilian Puppet Museum. Despite my skepticism that such tomfoolery could hold my interest, I found myself on a spiritual journey of discovery. For centuries this important entertainment medium provided escapism for the populace of Sicily. Puppeteers took their craft seriously, and if a puppet 'died' during a performance it was dismantled as it couldn't be used again in that form. The puppets depicting Christians were detailed and individualised while those representing the Saracens were largely uniform, if not faceless. The international section contained Vietnamese water puppets and a large Balinese collection.
Actually, it was as tedious as it sounds. And how can what claims to be the world's premier puppet museum (I don't imagine the competition is stiff) make no mention of the muppets?
Things you wish you'd never found out about your spouse #3 She 'loves Punch and Judy'.
Actually, it was as tedious as it sounds. And how can what claims to be the world's premier puppet museum (I don't imagine the competition is stiff) make no mention of the muppets?
Things you wish you'd never found out about your spouse #3 She 'loves Punch and Judy'.
Friday 21 May, Costa Rei, Sardinia to Palermo, Sicily via Nora.
Every life has its punctuation marks, times when events conspire, prompting us to gaze inwards and wonder at the meaning of life. Such a moment was breakfast this morning as the last of the Weetabix, carried from the UK, was consumed. By Chloe. A father's love has no bounds, though his resentment may be tested. What will the breakfast of the future be on this Weetabix desert on the very fringes of Europe?
Nora is a beautifully situated ancient ruin, occupied continuously from the Phoenicians and Romans through to the Middle Ages. Its sometimes turbulent past was reflected verbally over lunch at the cafe.The language of violence comes easily to Chloe. Struggling to transfer her pasta from the plate to her fork, her frustration grew with each attempt to spear her favourite carbohydrate based foodstuff. 'Stab. Stab. STAB. STABBY. COME ON. COME ON.' At full volume. We can only hope our fellow diners had a limited grasp of English.
Nora is a beautifully situated ancient ruin, occupied continuously from the Phoenicians and Romans through to the Middle Ages. Its sometimes turbulent past was reflected verbally over lunch at the cafe.The language of violence comes easily to Chloe. Struggling to transfer her pasta from the plate to her fork, her frustration grew with each attempt to spear her favourite carbohydrate based foodstuff. 'Stab. Stab. STAB. STABBY. COME ON. COME ON.' At full volume. We can only hope our fellow diners had a limited grasp of English.
Tuesday 18 May to Thursday 20 May, Costa Rei
Sun. Wind. Beach. Bike ride.
Note to the people on site 43. You may have put off-road tyres on your habitable towing accessory. And raised its suspension. And put a number on the door of your vehicle. But listen carefully. You are still caravanners.
Wednesday 19 May Cagliari
Cagliari was great, but we didn't see Gianfranco Zola relaxing in a local bar, so ultimately the day must be deemed a failure.
Thursday 20 May
Mountainbike ride in Sardinia: on paper, an easy to navigate, demarcated circuit. A 2 hour trip to the top of a mountain where the path continued on the map. However,the topographical reality was an abrupt end necessitating a degree of orienteering spontaneity. The return journey took on a varied hue. The stage was a thunderstorm, the plot involved wading across a river, climbing over fences and following what looked like tractor tracks in the hope they led to civilisation.
Which they did, with no great drama.
The ferry is booked for tomorrow, taking us off this storm battered isle. We shall shake the sodden dust of Sardinia from our sandals.
Note to the people on site 43. You may have put off-road tyres on your habitable towing accessory. And raised its suspension. And put a number on the door of your vehicle. But listen carefully. You are still caravanners.
Wednesday 19 May Cagliari
Cagliari was great, but we didn't see Gianfranco Zola relaxing in a local bar, so ultimately the day must be deemed a failure.
Thursday 20 May
Mountainbike ride in Sardinia: on paper, an easy to navigate, demarcated circuit. A 2 hour trip to the top of a mountain where the path continued on the map. However,the topographical reality was an abrupt end necessitating a degree of orienteering spontaneity. The return journey took on a varied hue. The stage was a thunderstorm, the plot involved wading across a river, climbing over fences and following what looked like tractor tracks in the hope they led to civilisation.
Which they did, with no great drama.
The ferry is booked for tomorrow, taking us off this storm battered isle. We shall shake the sodden dust of Sardinia from our sandals.
Monday 17 May Costa Rei, south east Sardinia
A lovely campsite, right on the beach. Miles of golden sand lapped by clear turquoise water. Maddie, however, is devastated there is not a swimming pool.
I give up.
Monday 17 May will be recorded as the day that Tiny Baby, third in the pantheon of Chloe's favourite toys, passed from our lives. Bedtime was a long, drawn out affair.
I give up.
Monday 17 May will be recorded as the day that Tiny Baby, third in the pantheon of Chloe's favourite toys, passed from our lives. Bedtime was a long, drawn out affair.
Thursday 20 May 2010
Sunday 16 May, Cala Gonone, eastern Sardinia
The eastern coast of Sardinia is studded with isolated beaches, many reached only by boat. The forecast was for sun, so the day was set fair. Sun duely arrived, but so did a howling gale that confined all boats to harbour.
For **** sake.
To cheer up everyone sitting in the front section of the van, as we set off for yet more caves, we had a family sing song. To the tune of 'She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes', we reduced our sensitive firstborn to tears.
We'll be cutting Maddie's hair off when we come.
We'll be shredding Maddie's dresses when we come.
We'll be chopping Perky's* head off when we come.
*her favourite toy.
Note to social services - none of the above is true. And even if it were, Maddie stopped crying to laugh at all the other verses about Chloe and additional van occupants.
Maddie's poetic soul manifested itself this morning in the unlikely surrounds of the port carpark. Caught short once again, she peered between her legs as she squatted and captured the moment beautifully.
"My wee wee is like sunshine falling to the ground."
For **** sake.
To cheer up everyone sitting in the front section of the van, as we set off for yet more caves, we had a family sing song. To the tune of 'She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes', we reduced our sensitive firstborn to tears.
We'll be cutting Maddie's hair off when we come.
We'll be shredding Maddie's dresses when we come.
We'll be chopping Perky's* head off when we come.
*her favourite toy.
Note to social services - none of the above is true. And even if it were, Maddie stopped crying to laugh at all the other verses about Chloe and additional van occupants.
Maddie's poetic soul manifested itself this morning in the unlikely surrounds of the port carpark. Caught short once again, she peered between her legs as she squatted and captured the moment beautifully.
"My wee wee is like sunshine falling to the ground."
Saturday 15 May, Baunei, eastern Sardinia
Today, the sun shone on Sardinia. And on my soul. We visited a beautiful plateau with wild donkeys, isolated churches, atmospheric pools and not a sinner disturbed our peaceful solitude until we chanced upon a mountain tavern showing the FA Cup final.
Even slicing my finger in the evening earned a respite from the washing up.
Even slicing my finger in the evening earned a respite from the washing up.
Friday 14 May Tortoli, eastern Sardinia
Rain, rain. More rain. Some caves, very nice. More rain. Torrential rain.
I will end today's update with Kurtz's dying words from The Heart of Darkness. This novel can be read as a metaphor for this trip, with its subject a man who ventures into the dark interior of a continent, ending up on the edge of sanity.
The horror, the horror.
I will end today's update with Kurtz's dying words from The Heart of Darkness. This novel can be read as a metaphor for this trip, with its subject a man who ventures into the dark interior of a continent, ending up on the edge of sanity.
The horror, the horror.
Thursday 13 May Porto Vecchio to Tortoli, eastern Sardinia
We arrived at 1155 hours for the 1200 hours trans-national ferry to Sardinia. Fortunately, the bureaucracy was Italian rather than French and we had time to buy a ticket and be ushered on before the ferry left dead on time.
101 uses for a campervan #6 Magnet for disturbed children
You know the type. Previously we had been pestered by a 5 year old with a mullet, a leather jacket, drainpipe jeans and an AC\DC t-shirt. After an hour playing with our pair, his skull and crossbones emblazoned skateboard was acting as a transportation medium for 3 pink dolls and a purple pony. Today, it is the 5 year old unsmiling progeny of a nearby camper. This camper treats the adjoining beach as his own private naturist retreat despite the clothed status of all other users. His son stands beside our van staring at us with his had down the front of his shorts. They are not like other people.
101 uses for a campervan #6 Magnet for disturbed children
You know the type. Previously we had been pestered by a 5 year old with a mullet, a leather jacket, drainpipe jeans and an AC\DC t-shirt. After an hour playing with our pair, his skull and crossbones emblazoned skateboard was acting as a transportation medium for 3 pink dolls and a purple pony. Today, it is the 5 year old unsmiling progeny of a nearby camper. This camper treats the adjoining beach as his own private naturist retreat despite the clothed status of all other users. His son stands beside our van staring at us with his had down the front of his shorts. They are not like other people.
Wednesday 12 May. East of Porto Vecchio, Corsica
Another ride and an afternoon spent cooling off by waterfalls.
Now every word of Chloe's ends in 'y'. Every *&%**$ word. Uppy. Downy. Vanny. Forky. Knifey. When she hurts herself she shouts Ouchy. And Maddie is doing it too.
Out of such small irritations in such confined spaces have some dark and evil deeds been provoked.
Now every word of Chloe's ends in 'y'. Every *&%**$ word. Uppy. Downy. Vanny. Forky. Knifey. When she hurts herself she shouts Ouchy. And Maddie is doing it too.
Out of such small irritations in such confined spaces have some dark and evil deeds been provoked.
Tuesday 11 May, Bonifacio to east of Port Vecchio, Corsica
Beautiful boat ride around the southern coast of Corsica. Ask Maddie what she remembers of the day, however, and her answer would be 'the pink curtains on the coach in the car park and the giant jar of Nutella in the shop we didn't go into'.
Startling proof emerged today that, contrary to recent evidence, Maddie does listen to us.But only when we are not talking to her. I had politely enquired if today's driver was going to break with protocol and routinely check for oncoming traffic from the left upon entering a roundabout. Maddie intervened. 'Yes Mummy, it's terrible. Daddy can't even sleep when you're driving, can he?'
Startling proof emerged today that, contrary to recent evidence, Maddie does listen to us.But only when we are not talking to her. I had politely enquired if today's driver was going to break with protocol and routinely check for oncoming traffic from the left upon entering a roundabout. Maddie intervened. 'Yes Mummy, it's terrible. Daddy can't even sleep when you're driving, can he?'
Wednesday 19 May 2010
Monday 10 May, Ajaccio to Bonifacio via Filitosa
Filitosa is a Stone Age marvel set in breathtaking Corsican countryside. The visitor walks through meadows containing a riot of spring flowers, taking in this engineering and artistic wonder from a long past age. Mysterious statues and stone dwellings challenge the archaeologist's imagination, all framed by forest clad mountains. Crickets chirp, birds sing, but the French think something is missing. Piped music. What better way to evoke the Neolithic than ensure that the guest is always within earshot of a din of panpipes and lutes.
What a useless shower of aural vandals.
Bonifacio. Another beautiful Corsican town, another white tourist road train. Careful observers would have noticed the air of ironic detachment I have cultivated for just such kitsch activities.
The first newspapers of the trip were purchased today. Unfortunately, it coincided with a campsite that had not embraced such modernities as the western toilet and 15 minutes of guaranteed peace to read them was deducted from my day.
What a useless shower of aural vandals.
Bonifacio. Another beautiful Corsican town, another white tourist road train. Careful observers would have noticed the air of ironic detachment I have cultivated for just such kitsch activities.
The first newspapers of the trip were purchased today. Unfortunately, it coincided with a campsite that had not embraced such modernities as the western toilet and 15 minutes of guaranteed peace to read them was deducted from my day.
Sunday 9 May, south of Ajaccio, Corsica
Another day which the Corsican barometer tappers had got gloriously wrong. Another day's biking, cavorting in the hills, cooling feet in the Med at the end.
Saturday 8 May, south of Ajaccio, Corsica.
Once upon a time lived a man in a campervan. He lived there with his two beautiful daughters and his wicked* wife.
The man was happy, but something was missing. His fairy godmother visited him in a dream and reassured him. "Don't worry," she cooed, "tomorrow the sun will shine and you will discover true happiness"
The next day the man, seeking mountainbike trails, visited a shop. The shopkeeper touched his arm in a conspiratorial fashion and handed over a bound tome of Corsican routes, and one started just a stone's throw away. Tears of happiness clouded the man's eyes but when he blinked the shop had gone. And so had the 20 Euros in his pocket. He had been robbed, but robbed in a way that felt like a privilege.
The trail wound upwards from the sea. The man stopped for a time and took in the view. The sea was as blue as Cinderella's eyes. The beaches were as golden as her hair. The pine clad hills were as green as the envy of her step sisters when the glass slipper nestled onto her foot.
The man continued on. Emerald green lizards darted across his path. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. Colourful butterflies fanned his perspiring brow. Things couldn't get any better, could they? He rounded a corner. A comely French maiden had taken advantage of the perceived isolation and had discarded her blouse in the heat of the day.
At the top of the mountain the man paused. A thought struck him. It was transitory, but a feeling he hadn't had before had been there for a fleeting second.
He...he...he...LOVED CAMPERVANNING.
*Wicked in the sense of the modern street vernacular 'it was wicked man.' Obviously. What did you think I meant?
The man was happy, but something was missing. His fairy godmother visited him in a dream and reassured him. "Don't worry," she cooed, "tomorrow the sun will shine and you will discover true happiness"
The next day the man, seeking mountainbike trails, visited a shop. The shopkeeper touched his arm in a conspiratorial fashion and handed over a bound tome of Corsican routes, and one started just a stone's throw away. Tears of happiness clouded the man's eyes but when he blinked the shop had gone. And so had the 20 Euros in his pocket. He had been robbed, but robbed in a way that felt like a privilege.
The trail wound upwards from the sea. The man stopped for a time and took in the view. The sea was as blue as Cinderella's eyes. The beaches were as golden as her hair. The pine clad hills were as green as the envy of her step sisters when the glass slipper nestled onto her foot.
The man continued on. Emerald green lizards darted across his path. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. Colourful butterflies fanned his perspiring brow. Things couldn't get any better, could they? He rounded a corner. A comely French maiden had taken advantage of the perceived isolation and had discarded her blouse in the heat of the day.
At the top of the mountain the man paused. A thought struck him. It was transitory, but a feeling he hadn't had before had been there for a fleeting second.
He...he...he...LOVED CAMPERVANNING.
*Wicked in the sense of the modern street vernacular 'it was wicked man.' Obviously. What did you think I meant?
Monday 17 May 2010
Friday 7 May Corte to south of Ajaccio, west Corsica
We were reduced to seeking entertainment in a charitable Tortoise Refuge this morning during the admittedly stunning drive to Ajaccio. Having spent some time with them, I started to feel a kinship. They too are doomed forever to carry their home with them where'er they roam.
A rare lapse into violence from Maddie this morning prompted me to ask her if she thought Cinderella had ever hit anyone. She thought not. I may get Maddie an armband with the initials WWCD on it. What Would Cinderella Do? A philosophy for life we would all do well to pay heed to.
A rare lapse into violence from Maddie this morning prompted me to ask her if she thought Cinderella had ever hit anyone. She thought not. I may get Maddie an armband with the initials WWCD on it. What Would Cinderella Do? A philosophy for life we would all do well to pay heed to.
Thursday 6 May, Corte
A day of low level irritations of the sort non-campers don't experience. Let me take you through a not atypical 15 minute slot of this morning.
1 Awake to discover the temperature is 8 degrees and we are once again in the middle of a cloud. This is particularly annoying because...
2 The showers are solar powered.
3 Finish lukewarm shower, hop around putting trousers on in phonebox sized puddle of brown water. Bottom half of both trouser legs wet.
4 Trudge back through mud to van. Throw clothes on floor, look for tea.
5 Discover tea underneath clothes, with yesterday's underpants half submerged in the still steaming beverage.
6 Sit down on chair to drink what is left of the slightly stale tasting infusion.
7 Back falls off chair.
Such annoyances were put into some kind of perspective on our afternoon excursion to the Cascade d'Anglais, a renowned beauty spot. By the time we arrived, this sun drenched corner of the Med, this jewel in France's crown registered an air temperature of 2.5 degrees above the freezing point of water. In a cloud.
Come to Corsica in May, the guidebooks all said.
But all was well as the VW T4 California Freestyle Westfalia conversion comes with heated front seats as standard.
Learning point of the day: A beaker of water can be transferred from the receptacle to all six internal surfaces of a van uniformly in just under 3 seconds. Simply pour the liquid onto a dog.
The forecast for the next four days is rain with a brief interlude on Sunday for a period of heavy rain.
Haiku to a campervan,
The joy a veneer
This crucible of despair
May it rust in peace.
101 uses for a campervan #5 Internal cloud viewing vehicle.
Simply programme into the sat-nav the part of the world from which you would like to view the bowels of the cloud, and, in plenty of time for your arrival, a moisture laden cloak will descend.
They were beautiful, those campervans in the mist...
The top 3 Most Pointless Items Carried Hundreds of Miles Across a Continent And Associated Islands
In reverse order:
3 A train set. Used once. Limited Cinderella imaginative play potential. Back in box.
2 Boggle. Whatever possessed us to think that a game requiring 16 small cubes, an egg timer, 2 pens, mental freshness and peace and quiet could ever be located and enjoyed in a campervan with 2 small children?
1 A ukulele. Yes, really. Those warm Meditteranean evenings. The children sleeping. A glass of Chianti on the table. The van as my muse. It just hasn't worked out like that yet.
1 Awake to discover the temperature is 8 degrees and we are once again in the middle of a cloud. This is particularly annoying because...
2 The showers are solar powered.
3 Finish lukewarm shower, hop around putting trousers on in phonebox sized puddle of brown water. Bottom half of both trouser legs wet.
4 Trudge back through mud to van. Throw clothes on floor, look for tea.
5 Discover tea underneath clothes, with yesterday's underpants half submerged in the still steaming beverage.
6 Sit down on chair to drink what is left of the slightly stale tasting infusion.
7 Back falls off chair.
Such annoyances were put into some kind of perspective on our afternoon excursion to the Cascade d'Anglais, a renowned beauty spot. By the time we arrived, this sun drenched corner of the Med, this jewel in France's crown registered an air temperature of 2.5 degrees above the freezing point of water. In a cloud.
Come to Corsica in May, the guidebooks all said.
But all was well as the VW T4 California Freestyle Westfalia conversion comes with heated front seats as standard.
Learning point of the day: A beaker of water can be transferred from the receptacle to all six internal surfaces of a van uniformly in just under 3 seconds. Simply pour the liquid onto a dog.
The forecast for the next four days is rain with a brief interlude on Sunday for a period of heavy rain.
Haiku to a campervan,
The joy a veneer
This crucible of despair
May it rust in peace.
101 uses for a campervan #5 Internal cloud viewing vehicle.
Simply programme into the sat-nav the part of the world from which you would like to view the bowels of the cloud, and, in plenty of time for your arrival, a moisture laden cloak will descend.
They were beautiful, those campervans in the mist...
The top 3 Most Pointless Items Carried Hundreds of Miles Across a Continent And Associated Islands
In reverse order:
3 A train set. Used once. Limited Cinderella imaginative play potential. Back in box.
2 Boggle. Whatever possessed us to think that a game requiring 16 small cubes, an egg timer, 2 pens, mental freshness and peace and quiet could ever be located and enjoyed in a campervan with 2 small children?
1 A ukulele. Yes, really. Those warm Meditteranean evenings. The children sleeping. A glass of Chianti on the table. The van as my muse. It just hasn't worked out like that yet.
Wednesday 5 May, Corte
We had a prearranged meet with some friends on Corsica and to those of you who read the first post on this blog the following statement may come as a surprise.
I am enjoying the experience of camping with a dog.
Let me explain, for such statements are not rashly made, but after due consideration I believe a measure of credit is due to the cur. Chloe's terror of said beast has ensured that the threat of putting her in to spend the night with it is sufficient to numb her pre sleep excitement and act as an incentive at mealtimes to ensure the consumption of vegetables.
Things I learnt today:
1 It is impossible to retain gravitas whilst a passenger on a small white tourist train puffing up and down the streets of Corte.
2 At the tender age of just 3, Maddie realises her dreams will never come true. She stated this halfway through the day's formal Cinderella reading at 1600 hours. On questioning, she revealed her dream was 'to be 5 before I am 4'.
3 Corsicans have 'traditional' attitudes to women entailing dismissing them from bars to look after children while their husbands receive their second complimentary refreshment of the evening and discuss politics and sport.
4 Corsicans suppor France at rugby.
5 Corsicans support anyone but France at football.
6 Corsican nationalists are winning the guerrilla spraypaint campaign to rid the island of French roadsigns, though evidence of more concrete geopolitical progress remains elusive.
7 Corsica hangovers are commensurate with standard Corsican beer strength at 6% abv.
I am enjoying the experience of camping with a dog.
Let me explain, for such statements are not rashly made, but after due consideration I believe a measure of credit is due to the cur. Chloe's terror of said beast has ensured that the threat of putting her in to spend the night with it is sufficient to numb her pre sleep excitement and act as an incentive at mealtimes to ensure the consumption of vegetables.
Things I learnt today:
1 It is impossible to retain gravitas whilst a passenger on a small white tourist train puffing up and down the streets of Corte.
2 At the tender age of just 3, Maddie realises her dreams will never come true. She stated this halfway through the day's formal Cinderella reading at 1600 hours. On questioning, she revealed her dream was 'to be 5 before I am 4'.
3 Corsicans have 'traditional' attitudes to women entailing dismissing them from bars to look after children while their husbands receive their second complimentary refreshment of the evening and discuss politics and sport.
4 Corsicans suppor France at rugby.
5 Corsicans support anyone but France at football.
6 Corsican nationalists are winning the guerrilla spraypaint campaign to rid the island of French roadsigns, though evidence of more concrete geopolitical progress remains elusive.
7 Corsica hangovers are commensurate with standard Corsican beer strength at 6% abv.
Tuesday 4 May. Nice to Corte, Corsica
The skies of the Cote d'Azur weep for our departure and continue to mourn the whole way to Corte. The 6 hour ferry trip was shortened considerably by a play area with a crappy princess castle. In my sodden misery I have sought refuge in the arena of traditional Japanese poetry and tentatively offer the following glimpse of my soul in haiku form.
The rain keeps falling
The open road of freedom
Has become a sewer*.
*Note in Ulster vernacular 'sewer' has one syllable thus completing the five syllabic line required by the haiku. For speakers of other dialects, haiku integrity can be maintained by using the alternative last line 'Is now a sewer.'
101 Uses for a Campervan #4 Wetlands area for wildlife
Step 1: Fail to remove Camargue snails from bike trailer prior to placing in van despite finding, and counting, 34 of the one-footed slime generating organisms on Chloe's small bike during same packing activity.
Step 2: Leave the main van door open during a downpour. The seats will become an important marshland habitat drawing the snails towards the fore of the vehicle.
The rain keeps falling
The open road of freedom
Has become a sewer*.
*Note in Ulster vernacular 'sewer' has one syllable thus completing the five syllabic line required by the haiku. For speakers of other dialects, haiku integrity can be maintained by using the alternative last line 'Is now a sewer.'
101 Uses for a Campervan #4 Wetlands area for wildlife
Step 1: Fail to remove Camargue snails from bike trailer prior to placing in van despite finding, and counting, 34 of the one-footed slime generating organisms on Chloe's small bike during same packing activity.
Step 2: Leave the main van door open during a downpour. The seats will become an important marshland habitat drawing the snails towards the fore of the vehicle.
Saturday 1 May to Monday 3 May. Valbonne, near Nice
The campervan is ensconced once again in its natural habitat, a driveway. While I am ensconced once again in mine, a house. Thank you Kat and Christoph! Three days of white sheets, gastronomic and bacchanalian delights. Three days of mediaeval hilltop villages with shops declaring the proprieter within to be a pretentious tosser, sorry, I mean 'Soap Maker and Philosopher.' Three days of stimulating conversation and the distractions of the Cote d'Azur. Then back to that *&**%$* caravan with an engine.
Friday 30 April, Camargue Southern France
Incurring the wrath of local twitchers we took our 2 and 3 year olds round some of the bird hides of the Camargue. I can confirm that the slowest moving birds of the salt marshes are herons and flamingoes. As these were the only avian lifeforms we observed.
Beauty is only skin deep and it needed my eldest to remind me of this today. Or, to give her her full, self appointed title: "Princess Cinderella Mermaid Maddie". Having made a rather disparaging remark about the visual attractiveness of a mottled grey flamingo chick, Maddie gently put me in my place. 'Yes. But Daddy. The chick's mummy and daddy will love it anyway, won't they?'
It is all very well taking the children on a 3 month excursion to see a bit of the world, but for a 3 year old Cinderella obsessionist, the highlight of the Camargue wasn't the wild flamingoes, the lighthouses or even the crepes. It was the crappy plastic princess castle in teh campsite playground.
The girls' life education continues apace and Chloe's first, non-truncated 4 syllable word is...Cinderella.
Beauty is only skin deep and it needed my eldest to remind me of this today. Or, to give her her full, self appointed title: "Princess Cinderella Mermaid Maddie". Having made a rather disparaging remark about the visual attractiveness of a mottled grey flamingo chick, Maddie gently put me in my place. 'Yes. But Daddy. The chick's mummy and daddy will love it anyway, won't they?'
It is all very well taking the children on a 3 month excursion to see a bit of the world, but for a 3 year old Cinderella obsessionist, the highlight of the Camargue wasn't the wild flamingoes, the lighthouses or even the crepes. It was the crappy plastic princess castle in teh campsite playground.
The girls' life education continues apace and Chloe's first, non-truncated 4 syllable word is...Cinderella.
Monday 3 May 2010
Thursday 29 April.
Costa Brava to the Camargue in southern France.
France. Where the women either speak French, or speak English in a French accent. Marvellous.
One of joys of spending time with the children is helping them to learn, grow and blossom. Today, they would have observed as their parents demonstrated advanced conflict resolution skills by maturely reasoning their way through some navigational differences of opinion caused by 'too many purple squiggles' on the sat nav. One party ironically threw toll road tickets and the other humourously refused to have any further input to proceedings given the underappreciated nature of contributions heretowith.
Later, the children would have added to their growing knowledge of emphatic adjectives as Daddy changed two bicycle tyres, cheerfully breaking two tyre levers, taking a lump out of his finger and incurring a pinch puncture at the last.
France. Where the women either speak French, or speak English in a French accent. Marvellous.
One of joys of spending time with the children is helping them to learn, grow and blossom. Today, they would have observed as their parents demonstrated advanced conflict resolution skills by maturely reasoning their way through some navigational differences of opinion caused by 'too many purple squiggles' on the sat nav. One party ironically threw toll road tickets and the other humourously refused to have any further input to proceedings given the underappreciated nature of contributions heretowith.
Later, the children would have added to their growing knowledge of emphatic adjectives as Daddy changed two bicycle tyres, cheerfully breaking two tyre levers, taking a lump out of his finger and incurring a pinch puncture at the last.
Tuesday 27 April to Wednesday 28 April, Huesca to Llafranca, Costa Brava
Tuesday
Today Maddie had the unfortunate experience of being colocated at the point where a bird's excretion would have hit the ground and was deCinderellaified for a period of time until her hair was cleansed.
Wednesday
Sun, Beach, Bike. Children punished for sleep refusal the previous evening by denial of ice cream, delay to beach arrival and removal of juice consumption privileges. In bed and asleep by 7.30 pm, 3 hours earlier than previously.
Today Maddie had the unfortunate experience of being colocated at the point where a bird's excretion would have hit the ground and was deCinderellaified for a period of time until her hair was cleansed.
Wednesday
Sun, Beach, Bike. Children punished for sleep refusal the previous evening by denial of ice cream, delay to beach arrival and removal of juice consumption privileges. In bed and asleep by 7.30 pm, 3 hours earlier than previously.
Monday 26 April Haro to Huesca
This evening Chloe awakens at 0100 hours shouting 'HAM HAM HAM' and at 0300 hours shouting 'MORE KETCHUP MORE KETCHUP'. I offer no conclusions to draw from this, I present only the facts.
Friday 23 to Sunday 25 April Bilbao
To Bilbao, and the nation of Dali inspires some surreal jokes from our 3 year old budding comic. 'What do you call a tree eating an owl? A lamppost!'. I must check if psychiatric assessments are covered by the pan-European E-111 card.
Chloe was eventually vibrated to her afternoon sleep after the fifteenth traipse up and down an ideally textured Bilbao street. On the fourteenth circuit, my brain translated 'tienda para adultos' into English. The fifteenth passing was for information gathering purposes only.
From Bilbao to Zalla, paella and with Bea and family, a colleague I hadn't seen in ten years but whose hospitality will live long in the memory. From Zalla to Haro, and Rioja country.
101 alternative uses for a campervan # 3
Luxury living arrangements for an ant colony. Simply feed your children crusty bread for 2 days and omit to brush the crumbs out and hey presto, observe the social sophistication of ants at close quarters as they move from basement to mid quarters to penthouse in around 3 hours.
Things that wouldn't happen at home #1 Carrying one's 3 year old under one's arm at 0500 hours for 60 yards as she needs 'a poo and a wee'. Only one of which materialises and could have been done rather closer to the van without causing an entomological frenzy.
Things that wouldn't happen at home #2 Whilst seeking refuge in the communal Water Closet with some reading material, an Eco-fascist turns off the lights.
Chloe was eventually vibrated to her afternoon sleep after the fifteenth traipse up and down an ideally textured Bilbao street. On the fourteenth circuit, my brain translated 'tienda para adultos' into English. The fifteenth passing was for information gathering purposes only.
From Bilbao to Zalla, paella and with Bea and family, a colleague I hadn't seen in ten years but whose hospitality will live long in the memory. From Zalla to Haro, and Rioja country.
101 alternative uses for a campervan # 3
Luxury living arrangements for an ant colony. Simply feed your children crusty bread for 2 days and omit to brush the crumbs out and hey presto, observe the social sophistication of ants at close quarters as they move from basement to mid quarters to penthouse in around 3 hours.
Things that wouldn't happen at home #1 Carrying one's 3 year old under one's arm at 0500 hours for 60 yards as she needs 'a poo and a wee'. Only one of which materialises and could have been done rather closer to the van without causing an entomological frenzy.
Things that wouldn't happen at home #2 Whilst seeking refuge in the communal Water Closet with some reading material, an Eco-fascist turns off the lights.
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