I have possibly spoken before of my love of walking. I'm not talking walking as a means of transport - I much prefer a fast car for that, or at a pinch a motorcycle, moped or even a cycle. As a means of getting from A to B in a hurry walking sucks. And walking around town, shopping and such, is a chore rather than a pleasure. To quote (badly, as ever) I think it was Nicholas Rhea (author of the Heartbeat books) or possible James Herriot (author of the equally popular Vets books) - I've read both many times and must admit I've probably confused myself, but anyway the quote refers to one of the farmers visiting a city and complaining that he couldn't walk properly as it was "all big steps and little steps" - in the city you just can't get going because someone else is in the way. Usually a little harmless old lady armed with a lethal weapon otherwise known as an umbrella.
No, the walking I enjoy, as a hobby, a harmless and cheap hobby which doesn't cause any one else any problem is walking or possibly hiking if you prefer, in the country. Isolated areas where you can walk for hours without seeing another sole are brilliant, it's just you against the elements, with just a map and compass, a rucksack, and a pack of sandwiches, surviving on your wits.
In my youth, which is now increasingly further away, I would walk simply with a back pack containing a kagoul and some sandwiches. In those days if I got lost I simply walked further and stayed out longer until I found the car again. I was a walking fool. I didn't think of the consequences of an accident, or a sudden change in the weather. I was young, and seemingly immortal.
These days when I walk I take with me a mobile phone, a SatNav/GPS, maps, compass, sleeping bag, groundsheet and cover sheet to make an emergency shelter, enough food for two days minimum, enough water to sink the Belgrano, a stove, pans, kettle, torches, matches, first aid kit, bug spray, sun screen, frost bite preventer....... the list goes on. I also rarely walk alone now, in case of accident. Whereas I would think nothing of solo walks in my foolish youth I now worry about what happens if I break an ankle. So I take along friends, work colleagues and family just in case.
Which brings me to my point. There is already a website entitled "The walking Englishman" and another called "the Yorkshire walker" so I was struggling for a name by which I could be known on my blog as a walker of Yorkshire parts without infringing someone else's nickname. There are of course many kinds of fool too. Mr T has copyrighted the "Crazy Fool" there is the Money Fool, Car Fool and Financial Fool. Tom Hanks made the Running Fool famous in the film "Forest Gump." So I guess that leaves me as "The Walking Fool." - because despite being all grown up and sensible, yesterday I walked nine miles across barren moorland without seeing another sole, on my own, without anyone knowing where I was or when exactly I would be back. And I enjoyed it immensely.
Saturday, 24 September 2011
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Animal Lovers? Total indifference.
Britain is, by all accounts a Nation of Shopkeepers foremost, but also a Nation of animal lovers. Presumably we all run pet shops.
I on the other hand see animals as essential elements in the food chain. Not all animals, obviously. I draw the line at eating dogs, but our Korean friends don't have that distinction. Besides, dogs are useful animals, loyal, trustworthy, hardworking, and have multiple roles in guarding other animals, herding, search and rescue, drugs and law enforcement etc. So it would be rather unfair to eat them when they retire.
Cats on the other hand I would happily eat. They are smug, arrogant little gits, with no useful purpose in life. What's more, they bury their shit like landmines, so that when you are doing the gardening you suddenly grab a handful. At least dogs leave it where it can be seen - on the pavement, for joggers to tread in. Cats are however smarmy creatures, which come over all playful and cuddly when they want a feed - just before they disappear for the night, probably out getting fed somewhere else. But foolish people love them it would seem.
It came as something of a surprise then to learn that I was not the only one with the same indifference towards cats. Someone, and he shall remain nameless to protect his identity, sent me a U Tube clip of a cat, accidentally coming into contact with an electric fence. He rightly thought I would be amused by this. At the time of writing over 1.1 million people have viewed this clip. 2,049 of them liked it. 2506 disliked it. In other words, just 0.4% had any opinion whatsoever. Either the others are undecided or are totally indifferent. Perhaps those that like it watched it more than once, so that might skew the figures a little. What I find most bizarre though is that the sort of people who are obviously cat lovers and disliked the video clip, took the time out to search for it on U Tube, then watched it. Hmmm, I'm at a lose end, I know, I'll search for a video of a cat walking into an electric fence, I might enjoy that. Oh no, that was awful. I wonder if there are any others that I might enjoy more? No, well, having watched several I'm outraged. I didn't enjoy those at all.
I own neither a cat, nor an electric fence, hence it was a rare treat for me to see an innocent creature struck by miniature lightening. I can only assume that over a million people see this so often that it becomes common place and unworthy of further thought or comment.
Any way, i must go now. I've just had a thought. I wonder if U tube has any clips of dogs pissing up electric fences?
I on the other hand see animals as essential elements in the food chain. Not all animals, obviously. I draw the line at eating dogs, but our Korean friends don't have that distinction. Besides, dogs are useful animals, loyal, trustworthy, hardworking, and have multiple roles in guarding other animals, herding, search and rescue, drugs and law enforcement etc. So it would be rather unfair to eat them when they retire.
Cats on the other hand I would happily eat. They are smug, arrogant little gits, with no useful purpose in life. What's more, they bury their shit like landmines, so that when you are doing the gardening you suddenly grab a handful. At least dogs leave it where it can be seen - on the pavement, for joggers to tread in. Cats are however smarmy creatures, which come over all playful and cuddly when they want a feed - just before they disappear for the night, probably out getting fed somewhere else. But foolish people love them it would seem.
It came as something of a surprise then to learn that I was not the only one with the same indifference towards cats. Someone, and he shall remain nameless to protect his identity, sent me a U Tube clip of a cat, accidentally coming into contact with an electric fence. He rightly thought I would be amused by this. At the time of writing over 1.1 million people have viewed this clip. 2,049 of them liked it. 2506 disliked it. In other words, just 0.4% had any opinion whatsoever. Either the others are undecided or are totally indifferent. Perhaps those that like it watched it more than once, so that might skew the figures a little. What I find most bizarre though is that the sort of people who are obviously cat lovers and disliked the video clip, took the time out to search for it on U Tube, then watched it. Hmmm, I'm at a lose end, I know, I'll search for a video of a cat walking into an electric fence, I might enjoy that. Oh no, that was awful. I wonder if there are any others that I might enjoy more? No, well, having watched several I'm outraged. I didn't enjoy those at all.
I own neither a cat, nor an electric fence, hence it was a rare treat for me to see an innocent creature struck by miniature lightening. I can only assume that over a million people see this so often that it becomes common place and unworthy of further thought or comment.
Any way, i must go now. I've just had a thought. I wonder if U tube has any clips of dogs pissing up electric fences?
Monday, 12 September 2011
The Big Getaway - Part four - Venice, Verona, & Lake Garda
Not being that well travelled my expectations of Venice were based entirely on what I'd read and the odd Cornetto advert. I expected the streets to have narrow footpaths with lots of flooded roads in between. Well, canals I suppose, but shallow ones. I expected to have to pay an Italian man to punt me around in a flat bottomed gondola. Hence it came a a bit of a surprise to find Venice was no different from any other city really. The architecture was spectacular, and yes there were canals but not so many as you might expect, and you could walk a long way without seeing one. Other than that it wasn't so very different from say Copenhagen, or Brugges.
Venice is reached by water bus. This is basically a boat which operates like a bus. Not an ordinary bus, granted, but an Italian Bus, so naturally there are no stablest, and it has no health and safety regulations.
Some years back I had a very pleasant evening cruise on a boat on the River Ouse at York, with a bar on board and a meal at a riverside restaurant. Immediately we left the dockside there were safety announcements, with advice giving the location of life jackets, fire extinguishers and evacuation procedures. All this on a river you could probably stand up in.
In Venice there were no such safety procedures. In fact on a river bus which held probably 200 passengers, the only staff I saw was the guy who controlled the gangplank. Logically there must have been a captain in charge of the engine and steering, but he remain anonymous. You simply got on and off like a bus, although no one ever checked you ticket.
Italian buses run largely on trust, with the threat that if an inspector gets on board you will get a hefty fine. We never saw an inspector. The system works on a cashless basis, were by you have to walk probably further than your intended journey to a "tobbachi" which is a newsagent cum tobacconist which is closed for Siesta. When they eventually re-open they sell you a bus ticket, which in our case was a day rover ticket allowing us to travel on the water buses as well. You then walk back to the bus stop and wait for a bus on which you stand all the way to your intended destination. No one else, it seems, buys a ticket, which explains why you, as the only fare paying passenger pay 23 Euros. You validate your overpriced ticket by stamping it in the ticket machine on board the bus or boat. The bus or boat is driven by a frustrated wannabe racing driver, and in both cases neither have any mechanical sympathy or indeed any knowledge of what a clutch is, or what it dos. At one point on the river taxi I swear I saw the gearbox floating alongside us, such was the ferocity of the gear change.
Verona was a beautiful city, and a place I would rather like to revisit when they have got rid of all the tourists. It is built up on the ruins and remains of the old town, such that cellars of modern buildings are the old buildings beneath, so there is living archeology going on. We visited Juliet's house (of Romeo and Juliet fame) and were only slightly disappointed to fin d the whole thing was fake. Shakespeare never visited Italy, effectively making up the whole story loosely based on some facts he had heard, presumably in the pub. The Italians, keen to cash in on the tourist pound, found a house owned by a family with a similar name, added a balcony and shoved in a statue of Juliet based on what we thought she ought to have looked like and have been reeling in the Euros ever since. Yes, it's s cynical as that - there was never a balcony for Juliet to hang about on waiting for Romeo, so they bolted one on just to satisfy Shakespeare's whim.
Lake Garda has to be this area of Italy's jewel in the crown. Lido de Jesolo is nice, but artificiality so. Lake Garda is what the English Lake District would be if we had control of the weather. It has a beautiful lake, surrounded by stunning mountain ranges and clear blue cloudless skies with unrelenting sunshine. It peaked at 44 degrees the day we visited, meaning ice creams even at 3 Euros a pop were essential. A small ice cream for 3 Euros seemed extravagant, however the small ice cream seemed to be about a litre, balanced on a cone. I did see one guy trying to eat a large cone, but I presume he was there for a week rather than just a day trip.
We took a boat trip on the lake in which an Italian man spoke English in a Manwell Fawlty Towers unrecognisable manner pointing out the sights, one of which was hot water springs which heated the lake, making it a very popular holiday destination both with the locals and foreigners alike.
Whilst I didn't have the chance I would imagine Lake Garda to be a very nice place to watch the sun go down whilst sampling the local wines and food, although you'd need a thick wallet to stay there any length of time.
Venice is reached by water bus. This is basically a boat which operates like a bus. Not an ordinary bus, granted, but an Italian Bus, so naturally there are no stablest, and it has no health and safety regulations.
Some years back I had a very pleasant evening cruise on a boat on the River Ouse at York, with a bar on board and a meal at a riverside restaurant. Immediately we left the dockside there were safety announcements, with advice giving the location of life jackets, fire extinguishers and evacuation procedures. All this on a river you could probably stand up in.
In Venice there were no such safety procedures. In fact on a river bus which held probably 200 passengers, the only staff I saw was the guy who controlled the gangplank. Logically there must have been a captain in charge of the engine and steering, but he remain anonymous. You simply got on and off like a bus, although no one ever checked you ticket.
Italian buses run largely on trust, with the threat that if an inspector gets on board you will get a hefty fine. We never saw an inspector. The system works on a cashless basis, were by you have to walk probably further than your intended journey to a "tobbachi" which is a newsagent cum tobacconist which is closed for Siesta. When they eventually re-open they sell you a bus ticket, which in our case was a day rover ticket allowing us to travel on the water buses as well. You then walk back to the bus stop and wait for a bus on which you stand all the way to your intended destination. No one else, it seems, buys a ticket, which explains why you, as the only fare paying passenger pay 23 Euros. You validate your overpriced ticket by stamping it in the ticket machine on board the bus or boat. The bus or boat is driven by a frustrated wannabe racing driver, and in both cases neither have any mechanical sympathy or indeed any knowledge of what a clutch is, or what it dos. At one point on the river taxi I swear I saw the gearbox floating alongside us, such was the ferocity of the gear change.
Verona was a beautiful city, and a place I would rather like to revisit when they have got rid of all the tourists. It is built up on the ruins and remains of the old town, such that cellars of modern buildings are the old buildings beneath, so there is living archeology going on. We visited Juliet's house (of Romeo and Juliet fame) and were only slightly disappointed to fin d the whole thing was fake. Shakespeare never visited Italy, effectively making up the whole story loosely based on some facts he had heard, presumably in the pub. The Italians, keen to cash in on the tourist pound, found a house owned by a family with a similar name, added a balcony and shoved in a statue of Juliet based on what we thought she ought to have looked like and have been reeling in the Euros ever since. Yes, it's s cynical as that - there was never a balcony for Juliet to hang about on waiting for Romeo, so they bolted one on just to satisfy Shakespeare's whim.
Lake Garda has to be this area of Italy's jewel in the crown. Lido de Jesolo is nice, but artificiality so. Lake Garda is what the English Lake District would be if we had control of the weather. It has a beautiful lake, surrounded by stunning mountain ranges and clear blue cloudless skies with unrelenting sunshine. It peaked at 44 degrees the day we visited, meaning ice creams even at 3 Euros a pop were essential. A small ice cream for 3 Euros seemed extravagant, however the small ice cream seemed to be about a litre, balanced on a cone. I did see one guy trying to eat a large cone, but I presume he was there for a week rather than just a day trip.
We took a boat trip on the lake in which an Italian man spoke English in a Manwell Fawlty Towers unrecognisable manner pointing out the sights, one of which was hot water springs which heated the lake, making it a very popular holiday destination both with the locals and foreigners alike.
Whilst I didn't have the chance I would imagine Lake Garda to be a very nice place to watch the sun go down whilst sampling the local wines and food, although you'd need a thick wallet to stay there any length of time.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
The Big Getaway - Part four - The resort
Lido de Jesolo is a big place. It stretches, I am told for 18 km along the coast of Italy, but I only saw perhpas three or four miles of it. For a country that is in a recession I would have to say it is fairing well, at least along this part of the coast. The resort has three parallel streets, running the length, the foremost being the beach front, running parallel to that is the main street with all the shops, hotels, bars and businesses, and behind that the working part of the street with housing and a bus route, and where the bin men come and go. The shopping street is apparently thriving, and in contrast to the stark and boarded up shops here in the UK every single shop seemed to be let and doing good business. The street works like this - it is one way for cars etc, but the other side of the street operates as a two way cycle track, on which you can ride a bike, golf cart, electric scooter, motor scooter skateboard, four wheel bike - anything it would seem that is not a car. At 9 p.m cars are forbidden and the whole street becomes a free for all for pedestrians and anything other than a car. This state of organised anarchy remains allegedly until 0600 when cars are allowed back again. Police tow away cars parked illegally after 8 pm. But ignore noisy delivery trucks which breach the no cars bar from 0200 onwards.
All this however is fine. What is much more of an affront to the British holidaymaker is the dress code. I appreciate it is hot. I appreciate it is foreign, so the usual rules don't apply. But it is somewhat of a shock to the system to see people walking about in the Italian equivalent of Woolworths wearing just a bikini or a pair of speedos. The Germans were most guilty of this. The sheer impracticality of this amazes me. With nothing more than a pair of speedos, exactly where do you keep your money for an Ice cream? Okay the can check in their room key at the hotel, but personally I don't feel that comfortable without a few quid or Euros, a wallet, keys, mobile phone etc on me, and to be honest it's just not the British way to be out in public without a T shirt at the very least, and if you are in company, well it's a proper shirt with a collar really. I'm prepared to relax and fore go a tie, but there are limits of decency, dontcha know. Not that I'm a prude. I was quite happy for the young ladies to parade their lithe young bodies in skimpy bikinis and one pieces, not quite so happy to see the athletic young German men in their speedos and to be honest I was quite upset to see some of the British women following suit. I'd have to say I was downright offended by the middle aged women parading their cellulite and their pudgy white fat legs and the fat German men somehow squeezed into tiny speedos. I felt quite overdressed in my knee length swim shorts. But my distaste turned to horror when I saw "Fat German Woman" and "Oversize Italian Mamma" in their swimsuits. Just how many Lycra had to be killed to make those outfits? I swear the tide would have had to ask permission to come in when they were on the beach. These must be women with no friends - anyone with an ounce of compassion would have told them - "Don't, just don't wear that! Wear the big baggy bin liner dress. it suits you better." Yet these women walked around without a care, whilst I walked around feeling self conscious in my T shirt and baggy shorts, holding my stomach in.
The fashion accessory to be had appeared to be a small dog. you may only be wearing a bikini, but you had to also have a dog and a handbag to carry it in. This applied equally in Verona and Venice. The smaller the dog, the better it seemed; if it fit in a handbag you'd got it right. In 10 days I didn't see a single proper dog, they were all pedigree handbag dogs. And not a single one was capable of unassisted walking - they were all carried, and despite the heat, many were clothed. yet there was no dog shit anywhere.
This would be on account of the highly efficient beach cleansing team. During the night, a team of guys would arrive with machines that sifted the sand, removing any litter, stones, debris, dog shit, used condoms etc and left a smooth and clean layer of white sand bereft of footprints or sign of human contamination, ready to be sullied again the next day. At the same time the street cleaners would be out emptying bins and sweeping the shopping street, leaving that spotless for the new dawn. I didn't observe a single piece of litter whilst I was there, it was amazing to see every one using the bins provided. Had this been Scarborough you couldn't have moved for greasy chip papers after nine o'clock. In Lido de Jesolo you could probably have eaten you're dinner off the street. Well to be fair, in Scarborough you could probably eat your dinner off the streets, but the context is different. I can only assume that the local taxes are so high because they are paying for all this, and that is why you are paying 2 euros for a coke.
Either that or there is a tax on sunshine. The sun shone incessantly for the entire holiday, only the Friday spoiling it with the appearance of a small white cloud. My son, Thomas pointed this out as we got off the coach after a day trip out, and the sighting caused much consternation amongst the locals. I almost expected the National Guard would be called out. In the end it did not rain, it did not get cold and it was not at all like Britain.
I'd have to conclude by saying the resort was rather nice - it was just too full of fat Italians and Germans.
All this however is fine. What is much more of an affront to the British holidaymaker is the dress code. I appreciate it is hot. I appreciate it is foreign, so the usual rules don't apply. But it is somewhat of a shock to the system to see people walking about in the Italian equivalent of Woolworths wearing just a bikini or a pair of speedos. The Germans were most guilty of this. The sheer impracticality of this amazes me. With nothing more than a pair of speedos, exactly where do you keep your money for an Ice cream? Okay the can check in their room key at the hotel, but personally I don't feel that comfortable without a few quid or Euros, a wallet, keys, mobile phone etc on me, and to be honest it's just not the British way to be out in public without a T shirt at the very least, and if you are in company, well it's a proper shirt with a collar really. I'm prepared to relax and fore go a tie, but there are limits of decency, dontcha know. Not that I'm a prude. I was quite happy for the young ladies to parade their lithe young bodies in skimpy bikinis and one pieces, not quite so happy to see the athletic young German men in their speedos and to be honest I was quite upset to see some of the British women following suit. I'd have to say I was downright offended by the middle aged women parading their cellulite and their pudgy white fat legs and the fat German men somehow squeezed into tiny speedos. I felt quite overdressed in my knee length swim shorts. But my distaste turned to horror when I saw "Fat German Woman" and "Oversize Italian Mamma" in their swimsuits. Just how many Lycra had to be killed to make those outfits? I swear the tide would have had to ask permission to come in when they were on the beach. These must be women with no friends - anyone with an ounce of compassion would have told them - "Don't, just don't wear that! Wear the big baggy bin liner dress. it suits you better." Yet these women walked around without a care, whilst I walked around feeling self conscious in my T shirt and baggy shorts, holding my stomach in.
The fashion accessory to be had appeared to be a small dog. you may only be wearing a bikini, but you had to also have a dog and a handbag to carry it in. This applied equally in Verona and Venice. The smaller the dog, the better it seemed; if it fit in a handbag you'd got it right. In 10 days I didn't see a single proper dog, they were all pedigree handbag dogs. And not a single one was capable of unassisted walking - they were all carried, and despite the heat, many were clothed. yet there was no dog shit anywhere.
This would be on account of the highly efficient beach cleansing team. During the night, a team of guys would arrive with machines that sifted the sand, removing any litter, stones, debris, dog shit, used condoms etc and left a smooth and clean layer of white sand bereft of footprints or sign of human contamination, ready to be sullied again the next day. At the same time the street cleaners would be out emptying bins and sweeping the shopping street, leaving that spotless for the new dawn. I didn't observe a single piece of litter whilst I was there, it was amazing to see every one using the bins provided. Had this been Scarborough you couldn't have moved for greasy chip papers after nine o'clock. In Lido de Jesolo you could probably have eaten you're dinner off the street. Well to be fair, in Scarborough you could probably eat your dinner off the streets, but the context is different. I can only assume that the local taxes are so high because they are paying for all this, and that is why you are paying 2 euros for a coke.
Either that or there is a tax on sunshine. The sun shone incessantly for the entire holiday, only the Friday spoiling it with the appearance of a small white cloud. My son, Thomas pointed this out as we got off the coach after a day trip out, and the sighting caused much consternation amongst the locals. I almost expected the National Guard would be called out. In the end it did not rain, it did not get cold and it was not at all like Britain.
I'd have to conclude by saying the resort was rather nice - it was just too full of fat Italians and Germans.
Saturday, 3 September 2011
The Big Getaway - Part 3 - The Hotel
Having arrived in Italy at the confusingly named Venice Airport, which is not in Venice, and is not so far as I could tell even on the same Island, we were bused by a coach to the hotel. The coach, despite appearing relatively new, had no seat belts. This, I discovered was typically Italian. They are part of the EU and are therefore subject to EU laws. It's just that they ignore them, and the Police don't enforce them as I found later, where it was commonplace in the resort to sit two ladies on the back deck of your two seater sports car so that you and your friend could sit up front. Health and Safety has yet to arrive in Italy it seems. Or maybe it did, but was having a siesta.
The coach brought us to our hotel, a modern looking and rather nice place called the Hotel D' something or other. I know it had A's D's and a Z in it, but god knows what it said or meant. More important was the sign in English which Identified it as the Friends Bar. Friends - where everybody knows your name. This might not be quite so sinister if it were not immediately described by the holiday rep as a homely family run hotel. In no other country in the world would this cause consternation. Did she mean family run, or "Family" run? If I upset the waitress, would I wake up with a horses head?
Fortunately the situation became clear when the owner, his wife and the waitress who was obviously their daughter had a full on "Fawlty Towers" style row whilst they served dinner on the first night. Sadly there was no waiter from Barcelona to complete the ensemble. Yes, this was definitely family run, and the homely aspect also became clear. Homely, meaning "like home." Hence none of the crockery matched, the cutlery was dirty and you got served vegetables whether you wanted them or not. Just like at home.
The next problem to arise was that of the air conditioned room we had booked. The room itself was exactly as described, with a bathroom (with a shower, not a bath) two toilets, although my more travelled wife explained that one of these was a bidet, and a sink. There were beds for four, a TV and a spacious balcony cum terrace. I mention this because my in laws who travelled with us had a balcony which wasn't so much a balcony as a French window with a wide ledge. Ours was as big as our room, and gave a great view of the street outside, wonderful for people watching. And the room as promised was air conditioned. Sadly there was a previously undisclosed charge of 60 euros to turn this on. This is the problem with booking a package holiday 10 months in advance. We had no idea that the Italian economy would go into free fall, and that in order to recoup some losses they would be a little economical with the truth about certain additional charges. With a wide patio door onto the balcony I decline the extortionate air con levy and figured it would be much cooler at night, and if the worse came to the worse I would sleep with the patio open. We did, and the worse did come tot he worse, the temperature kept on soaring, with a daytime high of 44 and overnight temperatures in the 30's. Even the locals were complaining about the heat. The Hotel did however have one great bonus - an outdoor pool! In the UK this would have been pointless - it would have been too cold even on the sunniest of days. Out there it was a god send. Actually it had another great bonus- ice creams at 1 Euro a pop in a choice of probably 20 flavours - I don't think I got through them all, but I certainly had a damn good try. A small beer (400 cl - too big to be a half and not big enough to be a pint) cost 3 Euros, which ensured not too much was drunk. You could of course opt for the house special of the week, which was Guinness at 5 euros for a "large beer" which I think was a litre. Or you could pop over the road to a mini market where red wine could be bought at 1 and a half Euros a litre, which made it cheaper than petrol - mind you, it tasted like petrol too, so that might explain why. Better wines were of course available at a higher price, this region of Italy being famous for it's wines, grapes, lemons and although it was news to me kiwi fruit. Apparently they grow more Kiwis than the Kiwis.
Anyway, I digress from the main point, probably because I've forgotten what t was and descended into a ramble. Ah, yes the pool. The pool was a welcome oasis from the relentless mid-day sun, which of course only the English and an occasional mad dog were out in, the locals all being in Siesta land by then. Actually, the Germans were out too, but only to place their towels on the best sun beds. The record of the week was for the Germans to have "reserved" their sunbeds two and a half hours before they actually used them. They might have beaten that record if some plucky Brits (identity protected) hadn't gotten fed up and thrown the German towels in the pool towards the end of the week having consumed possibly one too many overpriced beers. Sunbed £100, towel £12, the look on Jerry's face - priceless. One of them actually put his fists up in the "Duke of Queensbury" stance and demanded retribution - we tactfully reminded him that the last couple of times Jerry picked a fight with the Brits we gave him a bloody nose. And then the American had to come in to try and smooth things over ......... and of course claimed a victory when everyone shook hands and forgot the whole thing. The Yank bought a round of drinks, and before long we were all ganging up on the French - which was nice.
The pool was a bit of a surprise in itself, having no shallow end as such, starting at 1.5 metres descending gradually to 1.8, metres before suddenly dropping off to 2.5 metres and levelling out at 2.8. Hardly child friendly, but fortunately both my children can swim well. Other families with none swimming children taught them to swim rather quickly, or bought floatation devices, air beds or snorkels. I didn't see anyone actually drown, but couldn't help but notice there were several empty seats on the flight home. Draw you own conclusion.
The coach brought us to our hotel, a modern looking and rather nice place called the Hotel D' something or other. I know it had A's D's and a Z in it, but god knows what it said or meant. More important was the sign in English which Identified it as the Friends Bar. Friends - where everybody knows your name. This might not be quite so sinister if it were not immediately described by the holiday rep as a homely family run hotel. In no other country in the world would this cause consternation. Did she mean family run, or "Family" run? If I upset the waitress, would I wake up with a horses head?
Fortunately the situation became clear when the owner, his wife and the waitress who was obviously their daughter had a full on "Fawlty Towers" style row whilst they served dinner on the first night. Sadly there was no waiter from Barcelona to complete the ensemble. Yes, this was definitely family run, and the homely aspect also became clear. Homely, meaning "like home." Hence none of the crockery matched, the cutlery was dirty and you got served vegetables whether you wanted them or not. Just like at home.
The next problem to arise was that of the air conditioned room we had booked. The room itself was exactly as described, with a bathroom (with a shower, not a bath) two toilets, although my more travelled wife explained that one of these was a bidet, and a sink. There were beds for four, a TV and a spacious balcony cum terrace. I mention this because my in laws who travelled with us had a balcony which wasn't so much a balcony as a French window with a wide ledge. Ours was as big as our room, and gave a great view of the street outside, wonderful for people watching. And the room as promised was air conditioned. Sadly there was a previously undisclosed charge of 60 euros to turn this on. This is the problem with booking a package holiday 10 months in advance. We had no idea that the Italian economy would go into free fall, and that in order to recoup some losses they would be a little economical with the truth about certain additional charges. With a wide patio door onto the balcony I decline the extortionate air con levy and figured it would be much cooler at night, and if the worse came to the worse I would sleep with the patio open. We did, and the worse did come tot he worse, the temperature kept on soaring, with a daytime high of 44 and overnight temperatures in the 30's. Even the locals were complaining about the heat. The Hotel did however have one great bonus - an outdoor pool! In the UK this would have been pointless - it would have been too cold even on the sunniest of days. Out there it was a god send. Actually it had another great bonus- ice creams at 1 Euro a pop in a choice of probably 20 flavours - I don't think I got through them all, but I certainly had a damn good try. A small beer (400 cl - too big to be a half and not big enough to be a pint) cost 3 Euros, which ensured not too much was drunk. You could of course opt for the house special of the week, which was Guinness at 5 euros for a "large beer" which I think was a litre. Or you could pop over the road to a mini market where red wine could be bought at 1 and a half Euros a litre, which made it cheaper than petrol - mind you, it tasted like petrol too, so that might explain why. Better wines were of course available at a higher price, this region of Italy being famous for it's wines, grapes, lemons and although it was news to me kiwi fruit. Apparently they grow more Kiwis than the Kiwis.
Anyway, I digress from the main point, probably because I've forgotten what t was and descended into a ramble. Ah, yes the pool. The pool was a welcome oasis from the relentless mid-day sun, which of course only the English and an occasional mad dog were out in, the locals all being in Siesta land by then. Actually, the Germans were out too, but only to place their towels on the best sun beds. The record of the week was for the Germans to have "reserved" their sunbeds two and a half hours before they actually used them. They might have beaten that record if some plucky Brits (identity protected) hadn't gotten fed up and thrown the German towels in the pool towards the end of the week having consumed possibly one too many overpriced beers. Sunbed £100, towel £12, the look on Jerry's face - priceless. One of them actually put his fists up in the "Duke of Queensbury" stance and demanded retribution - we tactfully reminded him that the last couple of times Jerry picked a fight with the Brits we gave him a bloody nose. And then the American had to come in to try and smooth things over ......... and of course claimed a victory when everyone shook hands and forgot the whole thing. The Yank bought a round of drinks, and before long we were all ganging up on the French - which was nice.
The pool was a bit of a surprise in itself, having no shallow end as such, starting at 1.5 metres descending gradually to 1.8, metres before suddenly dropping off to 2.5 metres and levelling out at 2.8. Hardly child friendly, but fortunately both my children can swim well. Other families with none swimming children taught them to swim rather quickly, or bought floatation devices, air beds or snorkels. I didn't see anyone actually drown, but couldn't help but notice there were several empty seats on the flight home. Draw you own conclusion.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
The big getaway - Part 2 - Airports.
It strikes me that the airline industry has cashed in on the 9/11 thing to make more money.
For reasons I can't figure you have to check in three hours before you fly. Now I appreciate there are security checks to do and they have to Xray luggage in case you packed your case with Semtex instead of RayBan's, speedos and sun tan lotion, but how long does that take?
It seems they are playing on our own paranoia. We accept the Xrays, body searches and stupid questions because we don't want to be blown up over the channel. But would we accept the same security checks to travel on the number 10 from hull city centre onto Longhill estate? I doubt it, and the only difference is you would be blown up at ground level and killed immediately, instead of being blown up at 12,000 feet and killed immediately. What is the issue? I mean, if every black cab driver insisted that you checked in 3 hours before he drove you anywhere and then screened you for security checks, we would all be going nowhere very slowly indeed.
My personal experience of going through the airport security checks is as follows:
I arrived at the check in desk where the weight of my luggage was of far more importance than the actual contents. As long as my suitcase bomb weighed less than 15kg it was fine. My bag then went off on it's own way to be placed in the cargo hold of the plane, hopefully the same one I was flying on. My hand luggage was then checked at the next security check, which involved X raying it. I assumed hand luggage must be a small bag, but strangely enough it can weigh up to 15 kg, the same as proper luggage, as long as it fits into the little cage they have at the security check point. It cannot however contain any food, drink, or medicines, liquids of any sort in fact. On the way out of the UK we explained that my daughter Emma needs an EpiPen readily available due to various food allergies. No problem, we were allowed to take that. It contained only adrenalin anyway, so what harm could be done with it? Well, ask the Italians, because on the way back they made a real big deal of it, which you can read more of later. The reason hand luggage cannot contain food or drink becomes apparent once you reach the departure area, where you can then buy as much food and drink as your hand luggage will allow, albeit at prices which really make your eyes water. £2 for a small bottle of coke, and £4 for a sandwich. And you can take these on the plane, because you've already passed security. Now call me Mr Silly, but what is the difference between a bottle of coke purchased for less than a quid the other side of the barrier, and the one they have just ripped me off £2 for on this side?
Going through the security checks themselves was a totally haphazard exercise. I placed all metal items in the tray as requested and was about to remove my watch when the security guy said no, that was okay. Walking through the metal detector I set the alarms off and was then treat like Osama Bin Laden, with a full body search - quite why I'm not sure, as If they had let me take my watch off I'm sure I wouldn't have set the alarm off.
I then had to take off my shoes to be X Rayed?????? I'm sure they had no broken bones.
Having passed all security checks I was then allowed to enter the departure lounge where I could sit for two hours to wait to board the plane.
Eventually we boarded and took off.
I would have to say as a first time flier that the flight was quite uneventful and no more exciting than taking a bus trip really. There was a moment of excitement as the plane accelerated and took off at a steep climb, but it wasn't so very thrilling really. Even the turbulence we experienced in flight was no worse than a funfair ride. And the landing was so smooth that I thought we must have missed the runway altogether.
After a short taxi we were put on a very hot, very wide bus that took us to the terminal, which for some unfathomable reason the pilot had landed a couple of miles distant from. And there we were, in Italy, a very hot place made of concrete so far as I could make out.
more of this adventure tomorrow.
For reasons I can't figure you have to check in three hours before you fly. Now I appreciate there are security checks to do and they have to Xray luggage in case you packed your case with Semtex instead of RayBan's, speedos and sun tan lotion, but how long does that take?
It seems they are playing on our own paranoia. We accept the Xrays, body searches and stupid questions because we don't want to be blown up over the channel. But would we accept the same security checks to travel on the number 10 from hull city centre onto Longhill estate? I doubt it, and the only difference is you would be blown up at ground level and killed immediately, instead of being blown up at 12,000 feet and killed immediately. What is the issue? I mean, if every black cab driver insisted that you checked in 3 hours before he drove you anywhere and then screened you for security checks, we would all be going nowhere very slowly indeed.
My personal experience of going through the airport security checks is as follows:
I arrived at the check in desk where the weight of my luggage was of far more importance than the actual contents. As long as my suitcase bomb weighed less than 15kg it was fine. My bag then went off on it's own way to be placed in the cargo hold of the plane, hopefully the same one I was flying on. My hand luggage was then checked at the next security check, which involved X raying it. I assumed hand luggage must be a small bag, but strangely enough it can weigh up to 15 kg, the same as proper luggage, as long as it fits into the little cage they have at the security check point. It cannot however contain any food, drink, or medicines, liquids of any sort in fact. On the way out of the UK we explained that my daughter Emma needs an EpiPen readily available due to various food allergies. No problem, we were allowed to take that. It contained only adrenalin anyway, so what harm could be done with it? Well, ask the Italians, because on the way back they made a real big deal of it, which you can read more of later. The reason hand luggage cannot contain food or drink becomes apparent once you reach the departure area, where you can then buy as much food and drink as your hand luggage will allow, albeit at prices which really make your eyes water. £2 for a small bottle of coke, and £4 for a sandwich. And you can take these on the plane, because you've already passed security. Now call me Mr Silly, but what is the difference between a bottle of coke purchased for less than a quid the other side of the barrier, and the one they have just ripped me off £2 for on this side?
Going through the security checks themselves was a totally haphazard exercise. I placed all metal items in the tray as requested and was about to remove my watch when the security guy said no, that was okay. Walking through the metal detector I set the alarms off and was then treat like Osama Bin Laden, with a full body search - quite why I'm not sure, as If they had let me take my watch off I'm sure I wouldn't have set the alarm off.
I then had to take off my shoes to be X Rayed?????? I'm sure they had no broken bones.
Having passed all security checks I was then allowed to enter the departure lounge where I could sit for two hours to wait to board the plane.
Eventually we boarded and took off.
I would have to say as a first time flier that the flight was quite uneventful and no more exciting than taking a bus trip really. There was a moment of excitement as the plane accelerated and took off at a steep climb, but it wasn't so very thrilling really. Even the turbulence we experienced in flight was no worse than a funfair ride. And the landing was so smooth that I thought we must have missed the runway altogether.
After a short taxi we were put on a very hot, very wide bus that took us to the terminal, which for some unfathomable reason the pilot had landed a couple of miles distant from. And there we were, in Italy, a very hot place made of concrete so far as I could make out.
more of this adventure tomorrow.
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