Appropriate or Not?

Today I have compiled a list of appropriate and inappropriate things from my tiny world in Australia.

Inappropriate

Fire Exit

Since moving into this hostel, I've been plagued by the emergency exit sign in my bedroom. Harmless by day, this wired-in non-switch-off-able menace emits a bright green glow that fills every corner of the room with its erie luminations in an effort to prevent any kind of meaninful sleep. My requests to disable it fell on deaf ears: "we legally have to keep it switched on for health and safety".

The best part? It points at a wooden door that's bolted on both sides. A great bet for escaping in the event of fire. Much better than the double patio doors that lead directly outside, just on the other side of the room.


Targeted Advertising

I've been using a popular calorie-counting website to keep track of what I've been eating during my weight loss plan. Of course the website relies on selling advertising space. So what would be an appropriate targeted advert to see on this site, frequented by people trying to lose weight by only eating strictly healthy foods? Perhaps some health-related companies, body-building sites or links to exercise DVDs?

No, this is what I saw when I logged in:

Quality Street and Coca Cola. Just what I want to see.

Appropriate

Remember the Thyme

Yesterday I decided to make a potato, brie and thyme pizza according to this recipe: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/260616/potato-brie-and-thyme-pizza
I went to the local supermarket to pick up the ingredients and, after having walked up and down each aisle, thought to myself, 'I'm sure there's something I've forgotten'.

I went to queue at the tills. As I stood waiting I noticed the music being played over the the supermarket's sound system: Michael Jackson's 'Remember the Time'. I dashed back to the herb section...

That concludes today's list of appropriate and inappropriate things.

What exactly is 'Balancing Shampoo'?

I've been told off for not posting. So I'm posting. Enjoy!

Where the hell have I been?

I've been in Australia for 8 weeks now, most of it fairly uneventful. I went on a bush walk around Mount Sabine, swam in the ocean and spent a lot of time on the beach. I joined a local yoga group, started a new weightloss plan and did a lot of experimental cooking. I made new friends too - mostly backpackers and students passing through, some staying for a while and some staying in touch after they left. And I've done lots and LOTS of cleaning. Some might say a little too much.

A hearty meal with my fellow hostel cleaners Jen, Birte and Marie

What's next?

Although I'm not spending much money here, I really should be looking to earn some. I considered working on a farm, taking on the 'seasonal work' traditional to backpackers across the world. Tales of sharing a caravan with seven other workers and having to strap your valuables to your body at night to avoid theft really made the idea sound tempting. Even more so the idea of doing eight hours a day back-breaking work for fairly pitiful wages, and only having access to whatever food the employers provide. And if that weren't enough, how about the job openings for 'open-minded females' in the outback?

Despite that gloriously tempting offer, I thought I'd investigate whether Australia would actually like me to stay on under my own terms. It turns out, it would! I can apply for my old 'normal' job here and, all going well, can be sponsored for a permanent workers' visa. Hooray for careers.

So that's where I am now: two interviews done, both for jobs in Sydney, just waiting for their feedback. I've shortlisted five rooms-to-rent on Gumtree and am waiting for that positive contract offer before I start calling the advertisers!

What has any of that got to do with shampoo?

Not a lot. But this gives me the giggles:

Stepping into the shower of a morning...

...and picking up the bottle of Balancing Shampoo.

Life as a Buddhist Monk

OK, I'm not technically Buddhist. Or a monk. In fact I probably wouldn't get the job if I applied for it. But I have this week moved to another part of Australia and found myself in quite a different situation.

A few steps outside the door...

For one thing, I'm staying here. And I mean staying for about three months. Which sounds unbelievable - I've been known to get bored with a place before arriving at it - but actually there's something very calming about taking a break from travelling and settling into some sort of routine for a while. So here it is:

AM

06:00 - wake up, get up and pull on some trousers

06:15 - march down to the beach for a spot of jogging and stretches (okay so I haven't done this yet but there's clear intention!)

07:30 - breakfast at home, check emails

09:30 - start work (as a cleaner)

11:30 - finish work, have a shower and change into clean clothes

12:15 - cook a proper (vegetarian) lunch, wash up

Today's baking effort: egg custard tart

PM

13:00 - get the paints out OR
          - head to the beach for some swimming / surfing OR
          - take a hike around one of the natural beauty spots in the area OR
          - sneak off somewhere quiet and meditate

18:30 - prepare some (vegetarian) supper

19:30 - contemplate, jot in my diary or write a little update on here

21:00 - watch a film in bed, fall asleep (not necessarily chronologically)

It's certainly a departure from life in the campervan... and is it very different from the lifestyle of a Buddhist monk? I live in a hostel and share a room with a fellow backpacker. The accommodation is provided in return for cleaning work - the proprieter doesn't pay me and I don't pay him. The majority of the day is set aside for peaceful persuits in a beautiful setting, and do you know what? I really enjoy the meditation as a way to calm the world down - if you haven't already, try it and see!

Sydney: my insider tips

So, last week I arrived in the city of Sydney, New South Wales. And that doesn't really make me an expert... but I'll still share some of the budget traveller tips that I've collected in case they prove useful to you.

Accommodation

Hotels here are expensive, as you might expect. But there's a range of backpacker hostels in the heart of the city for only $25 a night. If you're in a group of 3-4, consider camping on Cockatoo Island - a quiet retreat in the middle of Sydney Harbour with a free ferry service to the mainland - for $45 split between you.

Cockatoo Island - cool place for camping or a day trip

But for travelling alone, nothing beats couchsurfing.org, especially in Australia where it's widely used. Be sensible - only go to stay with verified people who have a strong network of friends and references on the site - and you'll find that there are incredibly friendly, helpful and trustworthy people out there who can really give you an insider's viewpoint. I was lucky enough on this trip to stay with two different people who I got on really well with and who enjoyed doing the 'tourist thing' with me as well as introducing me to their friends in the area.

Two of my new couchsurfing friends, Hannah and Hassan

Food

Of course restaurants can be really expensive, especially in the top tourist destinations. Every beach has a fish and chip outlet and the city centre is packed full of options. Unfortunately, if you're on foot in the middle of town, buying your own groceries doesn't save a lot - normal supermarkets like Woolworths (not to be confused with the defunct pick-n-mix shop!) really raise their prices to scary levels.

Outside of the main centre, though, there are Aldi stores so grab one when you see it!

And if you're looking for a nice meal out, consider Chinatown - a big Asian migrant population means there are plenty of high-quality restaurants, some at surprisingly low cost. I can heartily recommend a Japanese restaurant called Ramen Kan - it has no proper front door, just a scruffy old elevator to the first floor, making it a really secret spot. Once you're inside, it's casual and comfortable with quick service and a fantastic menu.

Three hungry people, two courses with drinks: $50.35

The good thing about Sydney restaurants is that a very large proportion offers 'bring your own booze', sometimes with a corkage fee. Ramen Kan above, for example, charges $2 per person drinking wine and you can bring as much as you like.

Internet

This has been a real problem... hotels that profess to 'provide WiFi' are actually offering to charge $40 a day for the privilege, and those claiming to 'provide free WiFi' are actually offering a service so restricted that BBC iPlayer thinks you're offline and Facebook spends 17 minutes just trying to display your friend's new profile pic. Even Starbucks issues thirty-minute vouchers if you remember to request it with your drink purchase - if you want more time, you buy another drink.

Apparently broadband is just damned expensive to provide. Those who know how simply nick bandwidth from their neighbours or make use of their office supply, rather than paying extortionate rates for the convenience of having their own provision. But the 3G service has been excellent throughout the city. This means that the trusty Kindle 3G continues to do a great job of keeping in touch for free, and a Lebara visitors' mobile phone package (with no minimum contract length) provides heaps of included data. You can order a SIM before you leave or just pick one up at the airport.

Techy enough for ya? We'll move on...

Transport

There are great public transport connections across the city: ferries (to cross the harbour and visit the beaches), trains and buses. Each has its own ticketing system and I haven't managed to work out how it's priced exactly - it seems to be a fixed cost per 'zone' and there doesn't seem to be any benefit in buying a return.

Unlike London, it is possible to drive and park around Sydney. It can be fun finding a space on a Saturday night but the option is still there.

What I have worked out is that the airport train stations take an extra charge of around $12, making the trains a less cost-effective way to get into the city. You can jump onto shuttle bus services to most hotels for $6 or, if you're heading for the South side of the city or if there are more than 2 of you, just grab a taxi. I know it's counter-intuitive but it's the best option!

Things to see

Well no surprises here: walk around the Circular Quay, past the Opera House and round the bay to get a picture-perfect view. Then walk back through the Botanical Gardens, chatting to the birds on your way. Luna Park is an old 1930s theme park - you can walk around it for free but it's nearly $40 for a day pass on the rides (I skipped that). You can walk across the Harbour Bridge and tour The Rocks (an old housing area with traditional markets) and check out a free exhibition in the museum there - I was lucky enough to catch an Aboriginal demonstration. And of course, you can chill out on one of the many beaches, soaking up sunshine and watching surfers at work.

Compulsary view

The one attraction I did pay for was the Justice and Police Museum, based in an old Police Station. It tells the story of convicts first arriving on Australian shores and how a system of policing was introduced and developed over the next 200 years. I normally try to avoid museums but this one was really interesting and worth the $10 entrance fee. Tip though: go with someone. The place is full of fantastic photo opportunities, such as lying on a wooden 'bed' in an old prison cell, if only you've got a friend to hold the camera up!

Result of putting the camera on 'timer' and wedging it into a crack in the plaster...

In conclusion, I think a week is long enough assuming you're full of energy and keen to get involved. And you can do it very cheaply indeed by focusing on free destinations, staying on people's couches and buying cheap delicious Asian food. Have fun!

A Town in Three Countries

My final weekend of the European tour was spent in the City of Basel, Switzerland. With a little time spent in Basel, Germany. All with a fine view of Basel, France.

I was here to meet Jenny, an old school friend who now lives here with her German fiance Bjoern. With SatNav's help I negotiated the one way system but we still had the challenge of parking Cecil. Jenny and Bjoern hopped in outside their flat and we drove around the quarter on the lookout for any empty space marked in white (not blue) that was large enough to parallel park in. After around fifteen minutes we found an end-of-the-row. To my surprise there was a cream Late Bay with its hazard lights on across the road! But there was no time to take any pictures - we found our way neatly into the space and switched off the engine with relief.

The first evening consisted of dinner, fine wine, gossip and an early night since we'd all had long and tiring weeks to recover from.

Lots of Friends

It was difficult to miss the concentration of VW buses in this place. Having not seen another T2 in all my time in France, I saw 5 within a day here in Switzerland - four late bays and one early bay - plus countless T3s and T4s. I don't know why. But Cecil felt quite at home.

Just one of our new friends

Wave at the Animals

On yet another hot, sunny day, we took a long walk across the city (and across a country border) to a public animal park. Many of the animals, particularly those of a cat persuasion, were sensibly hidden in the shade but there were plenty of large birds including herons and storks perched on distinctive high up nests. Peacocks and peahens skipped away from small children on the paths and occasionally peered into the monkey enclosure looking charactistically grumpy.

Baby storks, not yet strong enough to leave the nest

Drowning in the Rhine

Jenny confided in me that 'Rhine swimming' was her very favourite thing to do, and that we should partake that afternoon to cool down from our sweaty hike. I agreed, imaging splashing about on a little stoney beach somewhere, and we changed into our swimming costumes.

It wasn't until I was chest deep in the river water that I understood what we were actually doing. 'Rhine swimming' consists of packing your gear into a waterproof bag, swimming out to the middle of the Rhine, and then trying to stay safely a float while the undefeatably strong current thrusts you downstream at a rate of several knots. It's important to avoid being flung into any obstacles along the way, such as moored boats or marker bouys. Then, approximately 2km later, you paddle desperately back to the side and grab a ladder in the wall with which to make an exit.

An exciting and frugal way to see the city

I took my waterproof camera again - there are still more photos to take before I can develop the film though!

Switzerland falls down

Once we'd showered, changed and eaten Jenny's fabulous home cooking, we wandered into the City centre for a tour of its sights and a beer on a busy high street that buzzed with every variety of human being. We ambled home and reentered the flat within seconds of a mighty hail and thunder storm, which we then enjoyed from the covered balcony with a cup of hot tea.

It's Art

The rain continued throughout Sunday so we hopped on a bus to the Tanguely museum to enjoy its range of 'machine art'. This local artist focused on putting together bizarre combinations of objects and then making them move in interesting ways. One particular piece included musical instruments to add an eerie sound dimension and another was large enough to enter and walk around. Frustratingly for us visitors, the machines were only allowed to be turned on infrequently so that they wouldn't wear out... there seemed to be a group of excitable children constantly ahead of us turning the sculptures on so that they were immobile by the time we arrived.

Exploring the art

The afternoon was spent back at the flat playing Carcassonne, a highly addictive board game, with a fourth friend of Bjoern's and enjoying a traditional Swiss fondue with some surprisingly drinkable English white wine.

A healthy meal

The end of the Adventure

... Or this leg of the adventure, anyway. I said a sad farewell on Monday and drove back South into France. Cecil was cleaned and aired and left in a sunny airport while I flew back to the grey and drizzly UK for work. Now my task is to get through my contract as quickly and efficiently as possible so that I can return and squeeze just a little more Europe in...

Emily sells out

Cheese, Watches and Yodelling

After a brief stop over in Grenobles, Cecil and I finally entered Switzerland this week and camped in a small village marina on Lake Geneva. We had one day of gentle rain, an opportunity to rest, recuperate and carry out house hold (or bus hold) chores. The next day the sun re-emerged and I took to the lakeside paths.

The village of Cully seems to have been set up purely as a rest stop for tourists. The marina here, which has a hard stand for campervans, is flanked by restaurants and bars, plus a grassy area with steps down into the lake for swimming. And that's it.

View of the campsite from the lake. He is there - look harder.

As I walked on past these in hope of something more (for starters I hadn't yet found a cash machine and was in dire need of Swiss Francs), I stumbled upon a train station and took the easy route to nearby city Lausanne. It was instantly noticeable how much more 'with it' this area was than anywhere I'd been in France... there were electric buses running up and down the streets using overhead contact wires, shops open right the way through the day, and the first restaurant menu I looked at included a vegetarian option with tofu!

Beetle boats with built-in water slides! How awesome is that?

I found a cheap cafe by the water for lunch and booked an afternoon cruise on a steam boat that would, in three hours, give me tour of the East side of the lake and drop me off back at my little marina. Most handy.

Betraying my mission...

It was whilst preparing to board the boat that I had a call from Cardiff. A job offer. It's only temporary! But I'm to fly back to the UK and start next Wednesday, finishing some time before the end of August. I know it's the boring thing to do and trust me I'm heartbroken to stop the adventure just as we were really making sound progress, but the money will help a lot and I'll have a chance to deal with some of the things that have slipped at home, such as finding a new lodger and selling my little car. It also sort of saves me from the 'high season' down here.

I'm still heading to North Switzerland to see my friend this weekend and then travelling back to France for the flight home (the airport parking is much cheaper there).

The boat where it all happened...

Anyway, I will continue to update the blog... I may even pop back to Europe for a long weekend... but the next big adventure will be the drive home. Then of course it will be Bestival and on to Australia! This is certainly not the end.

Whose idea was this?

I left the Antibes on Thursday, on yet another bright morning, to make my way North. I had researched some pretty campsites between there and my next fixed destination in Switzerland and plugged it into the old GPS.

A very, uh, 'interesting' route

The first hour of the journey was as easy as you might expect... we started on motorways and then took pleasant roads around pretty villages and landscapes, enjoying some shade along the way. There weren't many petrol stations to be found so we grabbed the opportunity around lunchtime, then pulled over in a leafy layby by the river for lunch.

Surrounded by waterfalls and mating beavers

As soon as we set off again I was glad we'd had the break... although much of our journey had been uphill already, the path ahead was getting steadily steeper and windier. But traffic was low and I figured it couldn't get much worse.

I figured wrong.

As the engine roared in first gear up steep hairpin bends, I thought "Holy altitude sickness, SatNav, where are you taking us?". There were insanely steep and high cliffs on the side of narrow roads, a noteable thinning of the air and snow. Real snow this time - actual frozen water precipitation snow.

On two separate occasions we stalled on a steep bend... each time I calmly applied the handbreak, restarted the engine and revved like hell to pull us up. Finally I grabbed an opportunity to pull over and take in the breathtaking views of the Alps.

How the hell did we get up here?

I returned to Cecil and stroked his dashboard gently, reassuring him that we were almost there - just 28km from our destination and as far as I could tell already at the highest point in the mountain range. Cecil quietly started but refused to rev. There was a moment of panic - we're on a mountain. No phone signal, no internet - what if we can't get down again? But it was just the weird angle we'd managed to park at - a little push in the right direction and he was back to roaring like the little trooper we know him to be.

Sure enough, the peak was just ahead and only a relatively gentle incline from where we were. The road began to slope downwards and Cecil gratefully rumbled his way down the same kinds of hairpins that had terrified us so much on the way up. We passed this sign on as we went:

2,802 metres high (that's 9,193 feet to you and me)

The highest road in Europe*. Holy. Shit. If there's one vehicle that doesn't belong on the highest road in Europe, it's a 40-yr-old campervan packed full of life posessions. But no matter - we'd done it. We cheerfully waved to smiling hikers and bikers and descended into Barcelonnette and to a campsite that was ready and waiting.

Barcelonnette

Barcelonette is an odd little town - it's set in a 'valley' that's still 1,000 metres above sea level, so it has absolutely stunning views all around with giant fir trees and towering rocky outcrops framing a frosty blue sky. For the last few hundred years, its main trade has been with Mexico and there are signs of it everywhere - from the Mexican flag on the town's welcome sign to the plethora of South American clothing and food available to buy. And is it pure coincidence that there is a higher density of moustachioed gentlemen here than I've previously witnessed elsewhere? Hmm.


I parked Cecil in the campsite and took a walk along the river into town. There was a live music event in the main square, so I pinched a seat in one of the cafes and had drinks and snacks brought to me while I enjoyed the entertainment. There was an intesting set by a young Stomp-style band, who played percussion pieces using things like suitcases and oil drums. They did insist on using a different set of instruments for each track which made for some slightly tedious pauses but I didn't mind - it was just more opportunity for ordering beer.

Teenagers banging on things

Well this is only a brief stop - we need to continue North. One thing's for sure, we ain't going back the way we came!


* I looked it up on Wikipedia - there are two roads in Europe that are slightly higher but they're both dead ends. So I guess it's the highest through road.

Voila, The Mediterranean!

On Saturday I drove to a vineyard outside Toulon, to meet a wine maker that I met in Japan. The farm is part of a national scheme of free campervan sites where you can buy local produce or artworks and stay overnight. It looks like a good way to see the country - if anyone's interested they can buy the guide book and pass from France Passion for €29 and get information on 7,000 such sites.

Seeing the Sea

After eating, drinking and catching up on Saturday night, we needed a spot of excercise. We packed bags and took a hike on cliff tops that would give an eagle vertigo, staring down into a clear navy blue sea. The sky was cloudless and the water's surface like glass so we were glad to eventually find a way down and to dive into a cove where the pool was deep and cool.

Not the English Channel

We ate an extremely fine picnic on the warm rocks and took out my waterproof camera... I had no goggles but nonetheless floated around trying to snap little silver fishes and the sea bed. I promise to share the results when the film is developed!

The climb back up was a little more difficult but we were soon sat in Thomas's car listening to Led Zeppelin as we rolled home. It was on this journey that I learned about the rule on speed bumps in South France. Apparently these sleeping policemen are always installed outside the homes of the people who requested them and it's therefore obligatory to make as much noise as possible when crossing them, both by honking the horn and by lowering gear and revving the engine.

Hungry cats vocally educating seafood diners in sharing

We finished the day by dressing up and heading to a secluded restaurant on the seafront where we provided fine dining to the local mosquitoes. The chef's special that night was my arse, served through a nylon skirt between narrow slats of a wooden chair.

Ouch!

Cecil has had a brand new battery and has had his gas cannisters filled and we've moved onto Cannes for a couple of days. From there, who knows? Maybe Italy, Switzerland... I'll be back.

A Week in Provence

With Cecil finally back on the road and in ship shape, I thought it wise this time to be a little more cautious about leaving. Abandoning my plans for Espagne we instead took a short trip to Narbonne where we kipped in an industrial zone, frequently checking for any problems of a mechanical or electrical nature.

There were none.

An old friend from England called and we arranged for him to fly into Avignon where I would collect him and we would take a three-day tour of the region, after which I would continue alone in my usual style.

Sur le Pont

We checked into a very plush campsite a short walk from the city centre.My friend entered the Palais des Papes (Popes' Palace), where Catholic popes and anti-popes resided in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries... I've done my fill of museums and abbeys and the like by now and couldn't justify the entrance fee, so I settled for a driving tour of the city.

The famous bridge of Avignon

The Sea is pink and it's snowing


This wasn't the effect of LSD but rather the effect of the natural salt marshes in the national park 'The Camargue'. As we drove into the area, we first noticed the bizarre stretch of bright pink waters. Apparently this is caused by algae who are compelled to live in very salty waters and who contain high levels of carotene. Of course its these algae who are eaten by shrimp, making them pink, and in turn eaten by flamingoes.

I was even more surprised, however, to see banks of snow along the side of the road. It was somewhere around thirty degrees celcius! The wind blew across the plains and the 'snow' flakes were thrust across our path. It was then that we realised they were salt flakes that had been blown from the surface of the sea and gathered naturally. So cool!

The salt gathers up on the rocks. The medieval city of Aigues-Mortes in the background.

I took a boat trip through the canals and saw a demonstration of 'gardians', who herd black bulls from their position atop white horses. Unfortunately there was also a gaggle of teenagers on the trip who'd clearly been forced to attend on a school trip, so I couldn't hear much of what the French cowboys had to say.

Chasing Bulls

The area is also famous for its 'Flamant Rose' (pink flamingoes) but, although I saw many from my position on the boat, they were all too distant to really photograph. Still, they were amusing to watch with their long skinny legs and stark pink wings.


Nothing like family

After dropping my friend off, I drove straight to my Aunt's house for a visit. We took a ride in her convertible to the Coustellet market and joined some friends of hers in the Poisonnerie there for oysters and wine. I'd never tried an oyster before so I had to be trained in the technique. It tasted rather like I'd imagine that pink sea tasting if you stuck your tongue into it.

My grandmother very kindly put me up at her house down the road and I went for an afternoon to visit one of my cousins and meet her baby boy for the first time. I also met her new boyfriend who was something of a VW enthusiast and a collector of spare parts. He turned up with a brand new pair of eyelids for Cecil and fitted them on the spot! You can see from his face how much he likes them.

A cheeky look for Cecil

Finally we all gathered at a fabulous outdoor venue in Gordes to watch my other cousin play guitar in his band... this was his final performance with the guys before he moves to Marseille for university so there was quite an emotional atmosphere... and a doting mother recording every second of it on her iPhone.

An astonishingly talented guy - I'm so proud of my cousin!

It's not quite over yet

Although I've taken this opportunity to update you, there's one more chapter left in Provence. Today I'm driving East to visit a winemaker who I met in Japan back in March. And then who knows? That's the beauty of being free!

At least it's not just me

Today has been quite a day for vehicles, old and new. And not just mine.

The Quad Bike Saga

My parents' village has quite a nifty scheme. Each year, they divide up an area of a forest on their nearby mountain, and each villager is allocated a plot that they can cut down for firewood. In order to collect his allocation, my Dad uses an old quad bike to tow a trailer up and down the slope.

An old second-hand jobby, but it served the purpose

A couple of months ago it was stolen from his driveway in the night. Since it wasn't registered for road use, neither was it insured and my Dad was gutted. Gut-ted. So it was straight onto some dealers to find a replacement.

To cut a very, very long story short, he eventually found one in Wales at the right price and with the right spec and ordered it for delivery to the house in France. It had been so difficult to source that we had all hopes pinned on it arriving on time and in one piece - and this morning it would be coming, between 11am and midday.

At 9am the phone rang. My Mother answered the phone to a french warehouse worker who started talking about 'problem' and 'broken' and she panicked, calling my french friend out of bed to translate. He told us that when the quad bike had been delivered to the nearby warehouse it had been missing most of its packaging and that they'd therefore struggled to take it off the lorry. The warehouse worker described a box smashing and the tyres being flat and said that:
a) he was unable to load it onto his lorry for delivery and
b) if it was him, he'd refuse to accept the item and have it sent back to its sender.

This was not the news we wanted. My father, generally a solid and reasonable man, was close to tears. We asked to visit the warehouse (only 25 miles away) to see the damage for ourselves, fearing the worst. We imagined the bike having been dropped or having had something dropped on it... we assumed that the tyres would be the least of the problems, that the vehicle could be a complete write-off.

A burst tyre... not the end of the world

Such a relief when we were introduced to the beast! It was all a misunderstanding. The bike had been dispatched on a metal palette which had collapsed, but that was all. One tyre was flat - just one - and there was no other damage. The warehouse worker had misunderstood because he usually only saw brand new bikes shipped in fibre glass boxes, so he was surprised to see this one without. We rolled it off of the broken palette and arranged for a next-day delivery.

The Citroen Graveyard

This is a field that we passed on the way back. It's not quite as sad as it looks - there's a mechanic who owns the field and, although he's probably collected too many, he does work on them and may well refurbish them one-at-a-time to order. But there must have been 80 of them parked up here, in various states of repair.

They're just so ugly, aren't they? And wouldn't they make fantastic campervans?

Back to Cecil

My final visit was to the usual mechanic to check on Cecil, expecting to take him home today. You see, after our disaster en route to Spain, the mechanic diagnosed the following:
- The gasket rocker cover that he'd replaced before I left no longer matched perfectly with the one next to it, which was very slightly distorted. He said that he'd be gluing the two together to straighten them out and that this would finally fix the oil leak.
- The voltage regulator - an easy part to source and fit - was broken by the old alternator, so he would order this for the next day.

If that 5-day-old Bosch alternator is broken, I may hurt someone.

Unfortunately, nothing's ever that simple. The boss was there when I arrived and he started by telling me something I didn't want to hear: "the new alternator is broken". Nooooooooo! After more discussion, he explained that they had fitted the new voltage regulator but that the problem was still present. He promised that tomorrow he would carry out more tests to establish for certain which part was at fault and to form a plan of action. Please, please pray to whatever Gods or spirits you have belief in that my alternator will be OK!

Sod it, whatever the news is tomorrow, I AM going to Barcelona. By plane, by train, hell by walking - I'm going to see Spain. Uuuugh.

Happy Ending Revoked

I can't quite bring myself to write this update... so I'll let the pictures tell the story.

I packed the bus and drove South from the Minervois. I was stopped by the Gendarmes for a random document check, which I passed, picked up a hitchiker who only wanted to go 500m, and was waved to by no fewer than 5 other VW buses (all of them more modern - T25s and later). Just before the Spanish border, I stopped for petrol and a sandwich.

As I was about to go again, my Generator light came on. Now, normally a bit of revving persuades the bus that it actually is charging, but this time no luck... revving would dim the light but it always returned. So I peered into the engine bay. Everything appeared to be working mechanically. And then a nearby Spaniard pointed out the growing puddle of oil underneath... 

Because I was on a motorway, I had to call 112 to get a tow from the service station (we made it 150 metres on this setup before the guy realised how stupid it was and swapped the vehicles over). I shared my lift with two chatty middle-aged sisters and their pet bird.

After the tow, once the sisters were sorted out, we lifted Cecil into the air and took a look underneath. The engine was still starting and running all right but there was a clear leak of oil coming from the gasket area - exactly the same as last time. The mechanic also did a quick test of the alternator but he didn't trust his own results.

Finally, after a lot of argument and discussion between me, the recovery mechanic and the RAC, a tow truck arrived to take me back to the Minervois and to the garage that was supposed to have repaired my bus on Friday. It was a bumpy road and an old french lady shouted at us when we arrived, but at least it was done. My heart sank when I tried to start the engine to park it and found the battery flat. Is it possible that a brand new alternator has met the same fate as the last one?

Well today (Monday) is a bank holiday in France so we just have to wait until the mechanic returns tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to get very drunk and snap at people who don't deserve it. Feel free to leave a comment to test this conviction!

A post with a happy ending

I think we're all bored with "my campervan's broken" by now... well it's not any more!

Waiting for attention

What happened this time?

You'll remember that before I went to Belgium I discovered a nasty oil leak at the back of the bus, which prompted me to take it into a local garage in France rather than drive any further. Well, after a couple of days, the mechanic came back with news:

Good - the oil leak was not a serious problem and he could fix it manually.
Bad - the oil had leaked all over the alternator and broken it, so it needed replacing (groan).

I stopped in the garage for a chat and he said he may be able to source a reconditioned alternator for around 300 Euros. Woah there! VW Heritage in the UK have a brand new unit in stock for £119. So he agreed to let me buy it.

The WiFi wasn't working that afternoon, so I did the old-fashioned thing and telephoned the supplier. We had a quick conversation in which I described my bus and the operator assured me that he had the exact part there for only £104. Bonus! I paid over the phone. The next question was regarding postage - their standard service to the South of France was £48. I declined this and instead asked them to print out a label for Parcels Please, who would collect it from their warehouse and deliver it to me for only £17.50. I'm afraid this did confuse them a bit, but they got to grips with it in the end.

Unfortunately this meant another week's wait, so I relaxed again and painted some more yoghurt pots.

My Mum can sell them at the Poppy Fayre

Did it go smoothly for once?

The next week, my parcel was delivered and I tore it open, delighted to see a real life alternator inside. My Dad got his car out and we buzzed down to the garage to present our wares. "Non", said the mechanic. My bus was already in the air with its alternator removed and it was clearly different. We were baffled... if this was the correct alternator, then was my bus in fact fitted with some bizarre non-standard engine?

The bit that was causing all the trouble

I sloped home and got online to check it out. It didn't take long to work out that the problem was simple: VW Heritage had sent me the wrong part. Again. Although I really have to give them their dues - the next day they admitted their mistake and agreed to rush a replacement alternator out by Express service within 24 hours. And so I repackaged the incorrect part, waited at home and did the swap when the courier arrived (apparently following a long lunch).

That was on Wednesday. And today, I'm delighted to share that everything is done. The bus is back with me, shiny and healthy and raring to go.

What next?

Here I come, Barcelona! Monday is a bank holiday in France (yes, again) so I'll make my escape on Sunday when they're all busy drinking wine. Barcelona should be reachable in about 6 hours and it's one of the European cities I'm most excited to visit. Vroooommmm...

Dam Tourists

Escaping Belgium

I breathed a sigh of relief as the train accelerated away from Bruges station and whisked me over the border into the Netherlands. First stop: Rotterdam.

I jumped on a tram at Rotterdam Central station and was dropped off outside a huge 1920s building, a fairly unusual sight in the city centre since most of it was flattened in the second world war. I was very impressed with the hostel which was big and solid and not too expensive. A singer / guitarist set up for the evening and I enjoyed a quiet night of live music and beer before settling into my bunk bed for the night.

Rotterdam's Weird

Sadly I only had 24 hours to spend here so I spent the little time I had walking round the city and taking photographs of the fascinating sculptures and buildings. I was told that, since so much of it had to be rebuilt following the war, the city has moved away from tradition and adopted an 'anything goes' attitude to architecture that allows for some very interesting and adventurous designs. Here's one of my favourite examples:

The Cube Houses - a self contained estate based on trees

Back to Amsterdam

I've visited the capital several times before, so there's an odd sense of 'going home' there. But this time I was going to meet a large group of friends from London, some of whom had been before and some of whom were coming for the first time. This actually made quite an odd combination - who wants to go to the Van Gogh museum again? But who'd want to miss it?

So the mission became very simple: get drunk and go clubbing. This is a dangerous way to behave in a city that's hungry for your cash and will charge for anything (50c to use the club loos!).

L-R Gurvinder, Rob and me

I had booked a campsite on the edge of the city, thinking that Cecil and I could park there and enjoy some luxury for a few days. Of course, with Cecil not feeling too well that just wouldn't work, so I attempted to cancel. The policy of the campsite was to retain 50% of the booking as a cancellation fee, and since I'd prepaid online there was no way to guarantee I'd even get the balance back. So instead I switched to one of their wooden cabins.

It actually proved to be rather a lovely retreat... the campsite was in fact a small island accessible only by bridge and therefore very peaceful. Its facilities included a tiny private beach, canoe rentals and a petting zoo. And the tram stop on the bridge was serviced very frequently, taking just 7 minutes to reach Central Station.

I was in the yellow cabin in the middle

Yesterday I flew back to the South of France and was kindly collected by my father. This morning we drove to the garage and dropped Cecil off to have his oil leak seen to, something that should be finished on Friday according to the mechanic. My new fuel gauge has arrived although we're not sure what to do with it yet.

Is the secret in the diet?

There's a long-standing theory in my family that one's mood is directly related to the food one consumes. In other words, a healthy well-balanced diet will lead to a happy, intelligent and reasonable person in a jolly old mood.

So is that were the Belgians went wrong?

It's not long since I got back from Japan, where I felt that I was surrounded by the most polite, curious, hard-working and considerate people at all times. And of course the Japanese diet is widely considered to be the most healthy in the world with its fish, tofu, rice and often nine portions of fruit and vegetables per day.

So how can the poor Belgians possibly be expected to keep up on their waffles, chocolate, chips and beer? The poor devils have no choice but to be ignorant, selfish, beaurocratic and unhelpful. They just have to scowl and bear it.

A Belgian diet?

Hints at Groezrock


Some of this culture had managed to leak into the weekend's festival, although of course it was impossible to realise it at the time - my natural assumption was that these things were symptomatic of a less-than-perfect festival organiser:

1. Signposting. On arrival, we approached the gate only to be told that we would first need to exchange our tickets for wristbands at a different location. Where was this location? Back where we had come from, at a small unmarked kiosk. Everybody at the entire festival must have followed our same exact steps. And at the unmarked kiosk, oh no, no, you're too early for the festival wristband. You'll have to take a camping wristband but retain your secondary ticket and come back in the morning.

2. Queuing - you had to queue for the cash machine, then queue to purchase drinks vouchers, then queue separately for food vouchers. Only then could you join the queue for food or drink.

3. Just 'avin' a larf - on the first day, I approached a food counter, waved my vouchers and stared at the staff on the other side for a full 8 minutes before they confessed they weren't open. And later I approached a food counter with no queue, under a sign with a picture of felafels and asked for, uh, felafels. The woman told me I had to join the half-hour queue next door and buy them from her colleague. While she stood there failing to sell any paninis.

In Brussels


Brussels seemed like a nice city, with an Art Mountain a pretty square lined with traditional buildings. We had a beer in a cafe that employed a freakishly talented waiter, able to mentally record and relay 20+ food and drink orders with perfect accuracy.

After I said goodbye to my companions, I marched off in search of a youth hostel. My plans were 1. Stumble across one (there were plenty of hotels so why not?), 2. Find a tourist information spot or similar and ask for directions, 3. Charge my phone somewhere and look them up.

Well plan 1 wasn't going so well - I marched up and down a number of streets with my rucksack and started to tire of it. Equally there had been no luck finding tourist info so I moved quickly onto Plan 3.

Walking through the gay hub, an exuberant young man tried to call me into a dingy corner bar. I stopped and peered insight for electrical sockets. The man asked if I'd like a drink and I replied "I'd love one, if I can plug my mobile phone in!". The man, named Kim, passed my request on to the surly landlady who simply shook her head without looking up from the beer glass she was polishing. I sighed and explained my quest. Kim immediately lit up and told me he knew of a great Auberge round the corner and that he would walk me there.

We chatted as we walked and Kim was immediately apologetic about "his people". He had a strong belief that his countrymen were cold and without humour, and confided that he was desperate to escape to Barcelona. I was incredibly grateful for his kindness in taking me to the hostel and tried to buy him a drink but he was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

That evening I walked into the city centre and took some photographs. I seemed to be surrounded by grumpy faces and stubborn elbows, and had to push my way through a crowd of people who took no notice of me "excuse-moi"-ing my way through. I found a supermarket with the longest queues I've ever seen - in fact before long I'd learned that the technique was to enter the store and join the queue immediately. This way you could pick up items for your basket as you followed the line up and down aisles. Certainly no-one would allow you to browse the items alongside their bit of the queue. I witnessed several people, mostly mothers with buggies, smuggling items out rather than queuing to pay... and many, many more just leaving with nothing, choosing their freedom over nutrition.

In Bruges


I resolved to move on the next day. Capital cities are often unrepresentative and anyway, Colin Farrel had filmed an amusing film in this medieval city near the coast. So I packed my rucksack and caught a train.
On arrival in Bruges I was once again baffled by the system. The train station is out of town so buses run to the centre. But there were queues, ticket machines, bus stops and LCD screens, none of which seemed to relate to one another. Eventually I just pushed my way onto a bus, a technique employed by the locals. It worked.

A pretty van selling waffles in Bruges

At the hostel I was cut off halfway through saying "I have a reservation -" by the emotionless request "passport". This turned out to be fairly typical customer service. When I asked for a launderette I was told "over the bridge", a direction so vague in a city with at least 9 bridges that it took me an hour to travel the 1.5 miles to it. On arrival, I discovered a machine that exchanged €1 coins for tokens. I abandoned my laundry and bustled into a nearby bar who explained curtly that I would have to buy something to get change, so I swallowed an overpriced orange juice. I poured my money into the machine and got the tokens but guess what? No laundry detergent. None in the machines, none for sale, none without walking 2 miles to the supermarket and buying a whole box. My clothes had to rely on whatever suds had stuck in the machine's tray.

The final straw


Two days later I packed up again to move to the Netherlands. I queued up to buy a ticket at the train station but the man in front of me was clearly having some sort of trouble, so I approached the counter next door when it became available. "Oh no, no, that's an international ticket - you have to see my colleague next door". While he sat back in his swing chair, his fingers interlaced across his ample chocolate-and-beer-filled belly, watching the clock tick.

Perhaps it really is the perfect base for the EU.

The one gadget every traveller should have

OK, there are a fair few things that are important when you're travelling alone. A map, for example, could be handy... something to cook with... but please bear with me when I tell you that my favourite gadget by far is my Amazon Kindle Keyboard 3G.

It's only once you get out here, away from your home country and into the middle of nowhere, that you realise just how isolated you can be. Mobile telephones are fine for emergencies but you can't afford to pay for phonecalls every day and the data roaming charges are outrageous. No, the phone is confined to incoming calls only - no email, no Facebook, no blogging.

And the laptop is of course fantastic! As long as you have electricity and WiFi. No WiFi hotspot? Then it's just a fancy notepad. No electricity? A mug rest. The same with any LCD screen tablet.

But the Kindle 3G is there, it works and I love it.

Books are obviously a great thing to have - I love to read (in fact I need to be careful not to do too much of it), and it's stating the obvious to say that an eReader is a good way of transporting all the books you'll ever need in one small device. So consider that point made.

It's the 3G, however, that really brings this baby into its own. No contracts, no data roaming charges, no cost whatsoever to access the internet. From anywhere. Anywhere. I picked mine up on a business trip to the US for $89 (that's about £57) and that's all that it has ever cost me. Whether I'm in the UK, Europe or friggin' Japan, I can log onto my Gmail, I can log onto Facebook and I can publish blog posts for the enjoyment of you find people.

Don't get me wrong, it's not easy! It's clunky, slow, cumbersome... the typing can be tricky, the pages unreliable to load and the general browsing experience pretty poor. But it works! When you're all alone with no access to the information highway, it's always there. And having an eInk screen, it lasts too. You can use it constantly for hours on end and of course you'll eventually run the battery down, but it'll last ten times longer than any smart phone or internet tablet. And, unlike the laptop, it'll charge from a 12v socket in no time.

I was chatting to a Japanese guy tdoday. He has THREE mobile phone contracts just to cover all the regions of Japan. And it's hardly due to ignorance either - he's a mobile phone salesman! Of course he told me all this while I sat casually typing into Blogger with no contract at all.

So that's it, posted and done! Whether you're a big book reader or not, get one of these. Charge it once a month, switch the wireless off (to save battery) and keep it in your pocket for emergencies. Whatever other gadgets you have, however sure you are, don't go without this one backup.