Amateur Ramblings

The London Times

It’s been almost exactly one year since the last sustained piece of nice weather in the UK. I remember the day well; it was my birthday and we all went for a picnic in Ilkley. This year, a fortnight ago, a handful of us went to Bradford to catch the Cartier-Bresson exhibition and eat cake. Then on the Sunday we caught a GNER National Express East Coast train to London. We dashed south through the eastern counties on what seemed to be a train which was fitted out in comfy 70’s beige.

Once at King’s Cross, we walked the short distance to the newly refurbished St Pancras International (passing platform 9¾ on the way). The newly refurbished station smelled of concrete dust. Resisting the urge to jump on a train to the continent, we used our shiny and new Oyster Cards to catch a southbound Thameslink service under London to Loughborough Junction, where we were met by Sarah who walked us the five minutes to the Brixton / Herne Hill flat she shares with Tom. Here I was welcomed by birthday balloons and a welcoming cup of tea.

We planned to keep busy each day, and here is a kind of diary-within-a-diary summary of our short break.

Sunday

We decided upon a lazy Sunday. In the afternoon, we (minus Tom) headed over to Dulwich Village. This is a well middle-class enclave full of yummy-mummy’s pushing 4x4 buggies and shouting kids on strange yellow bikes. But the place itself felt like somewhere straight out of the Cotswolds, and was generally very agreeable. Sarah explained that London is full of neighbouring suburbs that are vastly different in class or ethnic make-up, and I think this is one of the reasons why London to me is so exciting and interesting and unpredictable.

Back at the flat, we learned that Loughborough Junction Station is the only one in the UK from which it is possible to see six railway bridges all carrying different lines – it really is a mini spaghetti junction of the rail network. Then we got on to the serious subject of the new Mayor of London. None of us could really believe that Boris Johnson had managed to beat Ken Livingstone, and neither Sarah nor Tom knew anyone who voted for the former. All agreed that this was a disastrous move and that we were sad about it.

Monday

After a lovely breakfast of poached eggs and bacon, plus some really sweet cherry tomatoes and home-baked bread, we all went to the London Transport Museum.

Tom helpfully pointed out that the advertised entry fee is £10, but £2 of this is secretly a voluntary donation (which we all decline to give on the basis of the museum’s presumption). Here, we were pleasantly diverted for a couple of hours, before finding a kerb in ever-busy Covent Garden on which to sit and eat our home-made left-over chicken and stuffing sandwiches on home-made rolls.

After lunch, we split up and Gemma and I headed over to the shops around Neal’s Yard (which by chance features in the Palin Diary that I am currently reading – he and a couple of other Pythons bought 2 Neal’s Yard as a studio in 1975). A short hop on the tube took us to Embankment. We walked across the river to the Royal Festival Hall, where we took a polite look at a small organic food market and had an ice cream, before deciding that we were sufficiently hot and tired enough to return to base. Diner and a pint at the local pub saw the evening out, and we fell gratefully into bed.

Tuesday

First day back at work for our hosts. Tom started a new job today and was happy that his commute time was quartered from 2 hours to 30 minutes. We too had a reasonable early start, for we had an appointment with Parliament.

Anyone can pay to take a tour during the summer recess, but did you know that you can book a free tour any time of the year simply by writing to your MP. I did, and despite the best efforts of the District / Circle Lines we arrived promptly at the Wonkaesque time of 9.44am, as instructed on our Commons-headed invitation. The tour group was larger than I expected, and there were many groups being shown round this morning. Our guide was a kindly but extremely posy little lady called Malka, and she whisked us efficiently round the Houses Lords and Commons, the Queen’s robing room, the shelf of Hansard’s and other choice parts of The Palace of Westminster that you don’t normally get to see. I was happy to be taking a peek inside one of my top-ten favourite buildings, and it was strange to find myself standing where a few hours later Gordon Brown would be leaning against his dispatch box.

After dispatching a parliamentary muffin in the cafe, we headed back to the flat (after having a quick look round Brixton High Street). Newly enfreshened, we got to Regent Street a little ahead of schedule and called in for a few minutes at Hamleys, where a salesman asked me how old my child was. ‘It’s not born yet’, was my true yet satisfying sale-killing response Actually, I just remembered that I haven't posted here about our exciting news - this will be done in a few weeks after the twenty-week scan.

Just down a side street we found the Mason’s Arms, where we met up with Dan and Camille for a night of comedy. I am sorry to say I did not note the names of the fist six stand-ups (all bar one were pretty funny, notably the slightly overweight stockbroker who made good use of a bar-chart to help illustrate his points about Internet dating). The headliner was Richard Herring, who I thought would be on longer than his allotted 20 minutes; still, he was very funny and, following a bold statement about his knowledge of the Guinness Book of Records, coaxed Dan into confusedly asking him if he knew the name of the man ‘who ate the Eiffel Tower'. We all laughed.

Wednesday

So far we had gotten to wherever we were going using the Victoria Line from Brixton. This morning, we decided to travel overground, and caught the 345 Bus all the way to South Kensington. The 50 minute journey gave us time to eat our lunch as we weaved through the increasingly posh houses and shops of Battersea and Chelsea. We were soon at the Victoria and Albert and the Natural History Museums. Both collections are housed in amazing buildings, and, unbelievably, both are free. In the V&A, we took in the 20th Century rooms, and I saw the photography room and the current Chinese Design Now exhibition (while Gemma lay in the sun outside). Then we popped next door, where we had time to see the Dinosaurs and the Mammals, rooms full of massive skeletons of the extinct and even massiver actual specimens of Elephants and Whales. It was literally awesome, and I can only imagine what the pre-mass-media-and-Internet public made of these collections. You could definitely visit for days on end and not see everything.

We did not have days, for we had to get to the West End for a show. Avenue Q was my choice, and despite the front-row seats being stupidly close to the high stage and causing a little neck ache, we both enjoyed this funny, simple, adult-orientated puppet-based musical.

Thursday

To St. Paul’s Cathedral today, via train. I got confused by the discrepancy between the name of the nearest station in the A to Z (Ludgate Hill) and on the network map (Thameslink), so we got out at Barbican, and soon discovered that the two stations were one and the same. Ah London, you mysterious deceiver!

The steps of St. Paul’s were full of lunching office workers. We weaved deftly through the melee, and into the cool environs of the cathedral. Starting in the crypt, and momentarily eavesdropping on a guided tour, we worked our way up the 259 steps to the Whispering Gallery. Up here in the dome space, many tourists talked into the walls in the hope of experiencing the phenomenon of having their friends hearing that whisper on the opposite wall. It sounded to me like a whole lot of European snakes. I carried on to the Golden Gallery, a further 271 steps which take you 280ft out into the London skyline. Despite my healthy natural fear of heights, I loved it out here in the sun, with just a few fit brave tourists for company. I had been looking for an alternative to the Eye for getting a first class view of the capital, and I have to say this was it. Until I get a new copy of Photoshop, I can't stitch together the snaps of the wonderful 365º view, so you'll just have to make do with North, South, East and West instead (and in that order).

 

Back on the ground, we lunched at Leon’s, before hopping on a tour bus. We usually take a guided tour in an open-top bus; it’s so touristy and tacky but you do get to see all the ‘sights’ whilst taking the weight off your feet. Due to toilet commitments, we experienced commentary in both an Australian and a Russian accent. We hopped off at Shaftesbury Avenue, and after a light dinner took our seats in the Lyric Theatre for Gemma’s choice of show, which was Cabaret. This production starred Alastair McGowan. Gemma did not like the show much (she claims to have seen better versions at her university in Newcastle), whilst I pretty much hated it. The story was slight yet very depressing and dark, the music and dancing corresponded exactly with the sort that I dislike, and the seats were uncomfortable. I was glad to eventually leave and head south on a variety of tube trains and buses.

Friday

A train and a tube took us to Tower Hill, where we boarded a big white boat which took us to Greenwich. A young crew member provided some genuinely interesting commentary as we headed east through the former dockland (now, inevitably, the river here is lined with endless soulless apartments). But I was excited to be showing Gemma one of the lovelier parts of the capital. The boat docked and we split from the real tourists by ducking into the market, before having lunch at an empty Spanish restaurant (weird prawns and patatas bravas for Gemma, tiny fishcakes for me). Afterwards we strolled up to the Royal Observatory, where we straddled the meridian and marvelled at the camera obscurer, before heading back down for an ice cream.

An alarmingly wobbly DLR train conveyed us back to town, and we decided that the above constituted enough for this week thank you very much. Back at Sarah and Tom’s flat, we had a bath (I enjoyed shedding a weeks worth of factor 50) and read the Guardian, before our hosts returned from post-work drinks to cook up a vegetable lasagna and discuss our week (for we saw nothing of them during over the previous few days – they always left for work before we woke, and we usually returned after their bedtime).

Saturday

I was sad to be leaving friends and also to be leaving London this morning. We got to Kings Cross in ample time to catch the 12.10 north. As we accelerated through Hertfordshire, I reflected on why I like, indeed love London so much. I find the place mysterious and confusing, exotic yet familiar. There is literally a limitless amount of amazing things to see and do, much of it, if not free, then at least reasonably priced. It’s so big, but very easy to get around. Its size works to pull entertains and comedians and musicians into the large arenas and small rooms above pubs and even the streets.

I reckon that if I put my mind to it, I could learn more of the city’s geography and cultures and customs, but I actually enjoy not knowing – it keeps the mystery going for me.

t'Getting away from it all

So, we did go to Egypt. We came back last Monday night, and have been collecting our thoughts and washing our shorts since then. Going back to work is always a drag, but processing the pictures we took has brightened my evenings. For this review, I thought I’d categorise and ignore chronology.

t’There and Back

We set out from Leeds at 5am on a dark, cold, windy and wet Monday morning. Did I mention it was windy and wet? The journey over the Pennines was horrendous, and we were buffeted about like a heavy four-seater leaf. Upon arrival at Manchester Airport we found that our bags were pretty overweight and we had to swiftly stuff our heaviest clothes into our hand luggage to reduce the excess payment. The 757 was packed full of seats, and each one was occupied. The flight was therefore cramped, but the 150mph tailwind thoughtfully reduced the flight time to something approaching reasonable.

The return journey felt like a kind of hollowed out version of the above; we were pretty tired from all our holidaying and wanted more than anything to get back and have a cup of tea. Upon our return, we fell gratefully into clean sheets and slept.

t’Hotel

We booked a package holiday via Thomas Cook, something we have not done before. We opted for ‘allocation on arrival’ for our accommodation, and we pretty much lucked out in being placed at the Sheraton, a five star hotel on a spit of land between the airport and Naama Bay, the local town. It felt new yet a little dusty, and strangely Disney in its existence on the rocky nowhere of the Sinai Peninsula. The hotel is built into a cliff, so that the lobby, ground-floor at the front, leads to restaurants at the rear with amazing seventh-floor views into the Red Sea.

We chose only to pay for bed and breakfast, and this was the correct decision to have made as the food certainly was not five star. It wasn’t terrible, it just wasn’t great, and it was pretty expensive. We mostly eat out in town. The Egyptian staff, all male, were on the whole very friendly but a little too deferential and this felt weird.

t’Getting About

I reckon it would have been possible to walk to Naama Bay from the hotel in around 20 minutes, had there been a coast path. But the only walking option available was the unattractive and dusty inland route via the Peace Road. The hotel ran an irregular and over-subscribed shuttle bus, with which we were seldom able to get involved. We mainly caught an expensive hotel taxi the couple of miles, and returned using an unlicensed but more reasonably priced taxi back.

Even during our first short sojourn onto the Egyptian roads on the transfer from the airport we were shocked by the standard of driving. I was going to make a list of all the British driving rules that are flouted, but this proved impossible. Basically there appeared to be no rules, and this was confirmed by our guide when we when to Cairo, who explained that there is no driving test in Egypt, drivers simply buy a licence. He also told us that the only rule of the road is ‘if you see a gap, get in it’. The horn is the Egyptian driver’s best friend; it is a multi-purpose tool that warns, greets, alerts, invite, or simple proclaims that ‘this car is fitted with a horn and I’m going to let the world know it’.

t’Weather

The average temperature of both the Red Sea and the south Sinai air is around 22°C in January. This was very pleasant, thank you. During the central portion of our stay, it was pretty windy and this took the edge off the temperatures. During the last few days it became increasingly cloudy, and on the day we left it began raining.

t’People

As I mentioned above, the hotel staff we friendly but a little too subservient for my liking. Yet they were a welcome relief in comparison to the shop-keepers and restaurateurs of Naama Bay, who seemed to be powered by the same instincts as mosquitoes, homing in on the naive pale-skinned tourists and putting up a sheer wall of small talk in almost any language. Actually, not at all like mosquitoes. For approximately 3 minutes it was a novelty; the next couple of days were spent working out the best tactics for avoidance, the final week was spent employing these ploys, which essentially involved politely ignoring everyone.

The main places where the tourists were from, in order of attendance, seemed to be Russia, Britain, Germany and Italy. We had quickly gleaned from our Egyptian hosts that the Russians were disliked, but we were unsure why. I regret to say that we eventually came to the conclusion that all of the Russians in Sharm el-Sheikh were rude, miserable and without style.; many of the males sported mullets.

t’Food and Drink

Not all of the hotel food was poor quality; just most of it was. The exception was the Lebanese restaurant, where we dined but once. Here we had a variety of Mezzah, and it was good. The fare available in Naama Bay was a lot more varied but only moderately better. Highlight meals were the Italian and the Indian restaurants either side of the Camel Diving Club, and the Mexican near Little Buddha, which was in fact my meal of the fortnight. We mainly drank water and cola, and occasional Stella, the local beer. Tap water was strictly off limits, and our stomachs were certainly glad of our restraint and care in this matter.

t’Entertainment

The hotel-based disco held no interest for us, nor did drinking until the small hours in Naama Bay. We like the quite life, us, and tended to stay in the hotel of an evening. Spurning the initially reassuring yet ultimately rubbish CNN, we tuned into the Showtime family of channels, as it delivered to us Bones, CSI: Miami, and Napoleon Dynamite.

Gemma’s iPod provided general music, whilst my new ZEN Stone gave me up to 3 hours worth of songs. I was especially digging the Ride best of, Midlake and the new record from The Broken Family Band, as well as a bunch of ace compilations made by my friend John. I completely read Waterlog, The Undercover Economist, and Urban Grimshaw and the Shed Crew, and we both read snatches of Charlie Brookers’ collected writings in Dawn of the Dumb. Small gaps were plugged by Mojo and National Geographic.

t’Celebs

One day we took a stroll further along the beach, and stumbled upon an extensive film crew set up in one of the hotel bars. Dozens of Egyptian cameramen and technicians buzzed about the place, and at the centre of this activity was a couple of Eldorado/Hollyoaks-style young actors waiting to ‘put one in the can’, as they definitely say in televisionland. Also of note in this category was the fleeting visit to Sharm el-Sheikh by President George W. Bush of the USA; he met briefly with the Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak. We saw neither them, nor Air Force One.

t’Shopping

The shopkeepers must have developed some kind of instinct to home in on green tourists who have not long stepped of a plane. On the first evening, we went for a wander around of the hotel. A charming gentleman got chatting to us, and upon discovering we were from England invited us into his perfume shop to ‘sign his guestbook’. He then ordered his colleague to get the tea on, and chatted a little about the state of the world. Ultimately, he managed to sell us some essence for a price so vastly inflated that I am shy to reveal it here. Suffice to say that our new friend most likely took the rest of the night off.

We learnt our lesson quickly, and although we would be once more led semi-willingly into an shop, we did not pay too much again. Shops mainly sold one or any number of the following goods: essences; fake-brand clothing; ‘traditional’ middle-eastern clothing; jewellery; souvenirs; papyrus. Walking down the street was very tiring, as we had to fend off the advances of every single proprietor. And having to haggle over the price every time we wanted or needed to buy anything quickly got boring.

t‘Sharm el-Sheikh and Naama Bay

Sharm el-Sheikh, Sharm to it's friends, is the city nearest to where we stayed. It is known as ‘The City of Peace’, even though it was bombed by terrorists in 2005. Historically a minor fishing village, it became a major naval base for Egypt during the middle of last century. It lies on the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula, which is a rocky, triangular land bridge between Africa and Asia. The Sinai was occupied by Israel between 1967 and 1981, who renamed Sharm el-Sheikh ‘Mifratz Shlomo’, though this never caught on. Naama Bay is a slightly scruffy, vaguely dusty Disney town, and does not represent Egypt. It is entirely tourist orientated, and is full of un-Egyptian restaurants, bars, and shops.

It is rare to find an Egyptian in Sharm who comes from the area; most are from Cairo. Those who are local are likely to be Bedouins from Arabia, Jordan and Palestine, who settled on the Peninsula because it was on the trade route to the Nile.

t’Trips

We didn’t confine ourselves to the hotel for two weeks, no sir. We opted to go on a number of trips. The shortest of these was an hour and a bit on a glass bottom boat, which scuttled around Naama Bay and afforded us pretty amazing views of some coral and some tropical fish.

I got closer to the coral on the ‘adventure safari’, which first took us into the desert to a Bedouin camp for tea and bread, and a camel ride. The crazy driver then bounced us to Dahab, a rubbish approximation of what Sharm el-Sheikh was like about ten years ago. Near here we snorkeled. Getting into the sea was painful on the feet, and Gemma in fact gave up and went to get a drink. But I stuck with it and the rewards were immense. Breathing through a fat straw took a little getting used to, but supported by the Red Sea (the saltiest living sea on the planet) I began to enjoy floating across the coral and the fish. My only regret is that we didn’t buy an underwater camera. After we got back to the hotel, I realised my mobile phone was no longer in my pocket. I can only assume that it was teased out of my pocket by the insane driving of our Bedouin host.

Also on Sinai, we took a ride up to St Catherine’s Monastery, which holds the title of the worlds oldest continuously function Christian monastery. It is also the sight of the ‘burning bush’, which is an actual bush through which the fictional character God spoke to Moses in the popular book ‘Bible’. I enjoyed deliberately confusing the burning bush with the talking tree at the West Bromwich branch of McDonalds.

We left Sinai twice, both on long and tiring trips. First, we went to Cairo. We opted to be taken there by aeroplane, as the alternative was a seven-hour coach journey. I went to Cairo when I was about thirteen as part of the Dudley Schools Cruise, which delivered hundreds of Black Country teenagers to numerous Mediterranean destinations at the end of the 1980’s. The city was just as I remembered it: big, loud, busy, dusty, chaotic. We firstly visited the Egyptian Museum, where we saw thousands of things that were thousands of years old. I am actually not at all interested in ancient history, but it was impressive to see artifacts from this advanced civilisation from 4500 years ago, and it was mad to think that they just faded away over time. The tomb and mask of Tutankhamen was pretty amazing.

After a buffet lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe (where the Egyptian staff danced uncomfortably to YMCA) we headed out to see the main event – the pyramids of Giza. The Giza bit is important, as there are hundreds of pyramids in the north-eastern corner of Africa. These though are the pyramids everyone knows. They were actually more impressive than my teenage self remembered; they suddenly loomed above the suburbs like alien spaceships.

The three pyramids here were the tallest man-made structures on the planet for 43 centuries! Inside the Pyramid of Khafre, it was small and hot and airless, but incredible. The annoying woman from Stoke on our coach told us later that she hadn’t bothered going in (entrance fee £2.50) as ‘there’s no point, there ain’t nothin’ to see’. Quite. We also squeezed in a visit to a papyrus ‘museum’ (museum is an Egyptian word for shop, I think), where we were given an interesting demonstration in the art of making papyrus, and an opportunity to buy some product.

The longest excursion was to Petra, which is in Jordan. The total journey time was around sixteen hours, yet we were only at the site of the Rose City for a little over three hours. We were very tired and a little grouchy when we got back to the Sheraton. Our trip took us by coach to the small port city of Taba, near the Israeli border. Here, we queued for around two hours at the inefficient border control, before boarding a ferry full of Russian tourists for the thirty minute crossing of the Gulf of Aqaba to the Jordanian city than gives the country sea access and its name to this particular branch of the Red Sea. We were initially worried when our passports were retained here, but we were reassured by our guide that this was normal, and would speed things along upon our return. A fresh coach took us north into the mountains, and soon(ish) we arrived at a visitor centre which featured reasonable toilets for which we didn’t have to pay baksheesh. The decent into this ancient hidden city was awesome; each step bought the red rocks narrower and higher, until we popped out in front of the treasury (made famous in that Indiana Jones film). It put me in mind of an out of control Kinver Edge.

t’Summary

We took some pictures of our holiday – they can (soon) be seen on my Flickr page. We wouldn’t go back to Sharm el-Sheikh; not because we had a bad time, we didn’t, but because we don’t normally take package holidays and we pretty much exhausted our options as far as seeing the sights went. But it was just really nice to get away for a couple of weeks and do not much.

Bring me sunshine.

I don't know if things are the same where you are, but things up/down in Leeds are dull. That is to say, the whole of the city seems to have been coated in grey. For the last week or so, the sky has been steel, and the air has been still. So cold has it been that the atmosphere seems not to have been able to hold on to it's moisture. All surfaces have been coated in damp and over the course of the week, pavements have become mucky and roads seem to be freshly painted in matt black. Cars are filthy and the even the street lights seem dullened. I hope the sun comes out soon.

Chopin Liszt

We've just come back from a fruitful weekend in Birmingham. We stayed, as usual, at my Mum and Dad's. Thanks, parents. Tharents.

Whilst there, we did most of the rest of our Christmas shopping. I have to say that I really like Birmingham City Centre. Of course I'd think that anyway, you say, and perhaps you'd be right. But since the commencement of  extensive remodelling, I reckon that Birmingham is one of the better shopping experiences. You may know that I hate shopping and crowds, but I was able to not get to stressed out on the first real shopping Saturday before 25th December.

We were able to park easily in an inexpensive multi-story at the edge of the city centre near to the pleasant Centenary Square, and reached the city centre by way of an improved shopping centre that sits underneath the doomed Central Library. We found Chamberlain and Victoria Squares, and the top end of the long-pedestrianised New Street given over to the largest German Christmas market outside of Germany or Austria. Although many of the stalls were not selling anything remotely Germanic, it still lent a suitable festive feel to the start of our day.

These days, the Bull Ring Shopping Centre is no longer the outdated joke it once was. Even though there are queues to get onto the escalators, I remained calm as the goal of finishing the annual hell of Christmas shopping hovered on the horizon. I think my favourite part of the day was the food hall at Selfridges, where we also had lunch. by the time we were headed back to the car, New Street was virtually impassable with the sheer weight of  shufflers.

I'm afraid that although I have lived in Leeds for a total of five years (nearly), I feel no loyalty to the city's shopping offerings, especially it's claims to be the leading northern shopping city. Sure, it has plenty of shops - and so it should; it is the third most populous city in England. And I do appreciate it's many restored Victorian arcades, the handsome Indoor Market and the Corn Exchange. And the central area is almost all pedestrianised.

But so what if it has a Harvey Nichols (as they are always telling us via a perpetual, mantra-like boast) - Manchester does too. Who needs a £155 scarf anyway. And Manchester has better independent music and clothes shops, Sheffield has Meadowhall (if you're into your soulless malls), York has it's quaint windy streets (though it has less of these than you might image). Leeds city centre is deficient in parks, squares and open spaces, and is drowning under an never-ending vertical conveyor belt of identical, overpriced flats city living accommodation pods (or whatever they're being called) and new office space (some of which is pretty stylish, actually).

Anywoo, we're about 95% there with the seasonal present shopping, so I'm looking forwards to a relatively stress-free run-up to the end of the year. See you there.

Gap in the market

You've no reason not to press play and watch this reasonable amazing video of a commuter train trundling through a Bangkok market?

via a welsh view

What we did on our holidays - Guestblog: John Keith

My Austria

On the first day we discovered the Mexican boy beneath the staircase. He said his name was Alpuerto but his friends called him ‘Mono’ on account of his deafness in one ear. He told us about his life and said that the German Austrian lady kept him prisoner and that she would not allow us to leave the cabin alive. I took fright but counted my blessings. After all, it’s not every day you meet a real Mexican boy with good English.

He said that his family lived in the valley and that if you were to lie down on the eastern side, the tree-tops on the western valley spelled out the word Mexico in bold italics. We quickly nicknamed him ‘Pedro’ and ‘Ped’ became an uninvited guest at our table during our often turbulent and fractious meal times. Pedro’s affection for us was limited only to Neil. He tousled with his hair and said he would be Neil’s monkey come rain, wind or shine. In exchange for sweets he taught us enough German to enable us to escape the clutches of the short faced Austrian-German lady unscathed.

Austro fact: In Austria the weather leaps from the skies, banshee like.

We took a coach ride up the famous ‘spag’ road to the greyest, deepest and most staunchly figurative mountain I’ve ever seen my life. It is the rightful home of Spanish ice-cream and to celebrate our arrival, Lee gave us a stirring and delicate performance of ‘Ave Maria’. The natural reverb from the surrounding mountains meant that the tourists were treated to a moment - and I quote: ‘sent direct from god’. Global warming? I think so!

Most of the locals were peasants and they ate directly from the land. Half of Austria is owned by the ‘All American Gold Star Sausage and Hotdog Industry’ (AAGSSHI). AAGSSHI factories present a daunting opposition to the Austrian countryside and the timid mountains seem to cower before the all-encompassing conglomerate. Tourists flock to the underground salt mines in the region to see livestock seasoned alive before being fed into the AAGSSHI meat plants via an underground shuttle. It costs 7 Euros (that’s about 18 US dollars or 14 yen). It’s a good place to try out some of the local cuisine. We opted for one of the main courses. It was a rich dish full of fruity with textures that dissolved like bitter barley on the tongue. We had both a vegan and a vegetarian in our party - because we’re in touch with those kind of people too.

Austro fact: I think I probably saw about 5000 people. I’d say about 2 percent of these were black.

The Greek god Zeus lives in Salzburg and shop-faces are unashamedly adorned with his robust face on chocolate boxes, toothpicks and leather shorts. We had reached the mid-point of our stay and the days and nights were rolling by effortlessly – one after the other, followed by another one…two, three more followed, then four, five – possibly 2 years passed. I had decided to ship my entire belongings to Austria. I demanded a business class seat for my more precious belongings and an in-flight meal for my oak chest of drawers. It was my intention to purchase a terrace of homes from the peasants whom I would then employ to work and feed from my land. The deal was almost at a fingertips reach when I made a discovery that would ruin both my life and the lives of my wanton, woeful peasants. Like Saint Nicholas, Bob Hope, and Stalin, the single greatest source of the regions wealth and the inspiration for my self-imposed exile from my homeland was in fact, a dead man.

Austro-fact: Most Germans live in Austria.

Austrian nightlife is dominated by the sex industry, with locals offering lewd dances or ‘performances’ in exchange for alcohol and ‘tobac’. Advances from male prostitutes are frequent and are as unwelcome as they are unavoidable as they are unpleasant. I paid for a young girl named Amber. She cost 7 Euros and the session lasted for 1 hour.

They’ve all gone home now. The Austrian–German lady won’t return my calls and Pedro choked to death on sweets. So it came to an end. Our own slice of paradise was eventually eaten by the hand that fed it. My favourite memory? Walking barefoot through the desert, compass in hand, feeling like I was in a place I thought only existed in my imagination.

Overall rating - 4 American Stars. Dankeschtnurn.

what we did on our holidays - guest blog: neil wilson

synopsis of my time in the land of austria – part three: salzburg

ahhhh, civilisation. we arrive in salzburg and get a taxi to our modest, but extremely comfortable hotel. me and deb only had two days in salzburg as we had to return to work earlier than the others in the group. i think we made the most of our time there though! the highlight here for me was watching deb get wasted in a local bar we happened upon. the place was nice and very friendly and gave me opportunity to speak to some austrian people, who spoke fluent english. that evening we’d arranged to go for some food and ended up having chinese. lee decided against this and stayed in the bar to sup more austrian lager. the meal was very nice but the best thing about it was when deb helpfully tried to clear the table by handing the waitress our plates but suddenly, from a seated position, fell off her chair and landed on the floor. too embarrassed to assist me and john turned our heads in shame. welcome to salzburg deb!

during the days and nights we saw many amazing sights and soaked up the atmosphere. salzburg has fantastic architecture and many tourist attractions. we visited several ornate churches, went to a modern art gallery (i wasn’t impressed), took shelter from the sun in a huge fortress on top of a hill/mountain, and walked around the old and new towns for many hours. i especially enjoyed the times spent eating and drinking the fine beer. on mine and deb’s final night we went to a really nice indian restaurant which catered for vegans and meat eaters. the place was empty and i was well impressed with their home made naans. another quality moment which again involved deb happened during our meal. there was a young girl sat by our table listing to her walkman, or whatever, colouring in her book. i noticed that the girl had downs syndrome and assumed that she we was a family member of the restaurant owners. anyway, i heard the girl was humming along to her favourite tunes but deb hadn’t noticed this. enjoying our meal deb said out loud, something along the lines of, what is that god awful noise, it sounds like someone’s being murdered? oh deb, what a terrible faux pas. to be fair to deb though, she would never have said this had she known. pour vous! to sum up, my holiday to austria was superb! i wasn’t looking forward to it all that much but i had a really fantastic time with some of my bestest friends. until next year. ich bin zwolf jahre alt!

what we did on our holidays - guest blog: neil wilson

synopsis of my time in the land of austria - part two: taxenbach

a brief taxi journey from the airport to salzburg main train station - a bit scrutty for my liking. we find our train and an hour and a half later we’re in the pitch blackness of taxenbach. almost falling onto the tracks from the train i trundle over to the station house. lots of interesting sounds fill the air; wildlife buzz and hiss and water rushes somewhere nearby. adventures ahoy! we saw a sign to taxenbach and considered following it. we were right not to as it would only take us in the opposite direction of our accommodation. gemma enquired about calling a taxi (not the biscuit sort), but we were told that they don’t operate in the area. the station guard then made a telephone call to our austrian (only) speaking hostess and she arrived to pick us up, accompanied by her stinky dog, charlie. please charlie, don’t lick or sit by me. honestly he did stink. quite sweet though. we drove up steep hills and turned tight corners and stopped at base camp. unable to speak the lingo, it was a tad frustrating/awkward trying to communicate at times. my german language skills are very limited indeed; hello, how old are you, thanks, cheers (this one thanks to tom).

entering the chalet was very exciting; however i have to admit, i was disappointed to begin with. the main reason was that our hostess had not left us with any supplies, such as coffee, milk, bread, nor even a bottle of wine. i sent a text to my mum informing her of my safe arrival and confirming ‘first impressions, shit!’. which would later come back to bite me on my arse, as you will soon read.that night we played cards like maniacs, an activity which continued throughout the trip, and we drank boiled water, which left a white chalky substance in the drinking vessel, possibly fluoride, according to dr gemma? the boiled water idea quickly ceased and soon after we drank straight from the tap via a cup or glass and became slightly hysterical. does fluoride cause hysteria? a great night had by all. here’s where my arse gets bitten; that morning deb and lee (our heroes) awoke the earliest to buy supplies from the local shop. deb shook me and told me to look out the window at the view.

the place and surroundings were not in fact shit but in the light of day, actually quite awesome! here’s where days, events and activities merge and i’ve not really recalled them in the correct order. we walked into taxenbach town centre, about an hour, along a busy road. regardless of the traffic noise we had a lovely leisurely stroll with the sun beating down on our little english heads. arriving in town we had some refreshing beverages and i had paella for lunch. after a walk around the tiny area we went to billa, to get some groceries and booze. we all chipped in and loaded ourselves up with bags. a short journey on the bus and we stopped at the bottom of our steep hill. i didn’t realise just how unfit i was until this moment. commence ‘operation purple-sweaty-face’. that evening we chilled, talked, ate, drank, listened to ipods, played cards and laughed a lot. these moments were kinda the theme of the holiday and were my favourite times above all. another great day and night!

yet again another lovely morn with delicious meats and putrid cheeses for brecky. we took a trip to zell am see, another town centre but much bigger than taxenbach. i liked it there because, i’m sorry to say, there were tacky shops and people, but it wasn’t in-your-face busy, just pleasant.

on a downside though, never drink or eat at crazy daisy’s. my meal was a bit poo and we were over-charged. before leaving the town tom and gemma arranged for us to take a coach trip the following day up the highest mountain in austria! we then had a sinister cab ride back to the chalet. as we crossed the road to get into the first taxi, as you do, the second cabby accosted us demanding that we get in his taxi. ‘nah mate, you’re alright thanks’. i was a bit apprehensive to say the least of getting into our taxi because as we approached, a blood stained tramp vacated the front seat (where i was forced to sit) rambling on about something or another. quality service indeed! after a brief haggle of an appropriate fare we set off for home.

awaking way too early the next morning, a bit hung-over, i didn’t have time for breakfast before our daytrip. we boarded our coach and started off on our 27 hairpin bend journey. we stopped off at designated points for breaks before reaching our destination – just below the summit of the ‘grossglockner’. our tour guide, heidi, for the purposes of this summary, tried to sell us anything and everything. she tried to push on us some, ‘noice cakes and noice coffee’ in the cafe, as well as a book of the mountain which appeared to be printed in the 70’s! we arrived at the top, and frankly, even though the weather was cloudy and you could hardly see jack shit, the view was still pretty amazing. a real glacier, man! noice.

on the way back down we passed through a couple of villages/towns and rested for several minutes to take in the sea air. we stopped at a church which apparently contained some of christ our lord’s blood. does that mean scientists could clone jesus? we passed through another place which is quite close to italy. apparently, when mussolini invaded the area he wanted it to be more like italy, so he went and forced italian families to move there against their will. me, deb, john and christina had some lovely authentic italian ice-cream from there, noice. we also bought a 1gb camera memory stick for 17.99 euros each. get in! that night, after most of us went to bed, me, deb and john stayed up drinking lots of booze - wine, larger, vodka, and absinthe. a lethal cocktail in the hands of the inexperienced! i thought this was a very bold move by john as he would need to have his wits about him for the following day’s planned activity; white water rafting! ha.

me and deb decided against this for fear of our lives so we went for a walk to get pizza ingredients and stayed in the chalet. luckily, on the way back up the hill, heavy bags aplenty, our hostess and smelly charlie drove up and offered (hand gestured) us a lift. we then went our separate ways, albeit awkwardly. back to the rafting. all that needs to be said is that lee fell in the water. double ha. pour vous. the following day we ventured into zell am see one last time to check out a music festival held in the streets. we stopped at a mexican/italian restaurant for food. me and john shared our meals whilst listing to the haunting sounds of two men and an accordion, entertaining us with their rendition of hello dolly. anyway - food, we got chicken wings, spicy ribs, chips and garlic bread. marvellous! little did i know it then but tonight was going to be one of the funniest times i’ve had in ages. having supped quite a few beverages and having played several hands of shithead, we were given a pleasant surprise in the form of a visit from john’s alter ego, the austrian speaking gerhard accompanied by his translator (me). i never knew john was so fluent. i’m sure much offence would have been caused if in the company of the locals. sorry. brilliant though! the night also included an addition to the utility sock series, which made its debut appearance at the green man festival 2006. ladies and gentlemen, may i please present the utility headband:

the next day was our last in taxenbach before we journeyed to salzburg. previously in the week one of us got wind of a possible market in taxenbach. we took an alternative route this time on a cycle path through some picturesque countryside. we walked into the town realising that we got our dates mixed up and the market wasn’t happening for a couple of days. oh well. we also wanted to go on a waterfall/mountain trek but weren’t quite sure how to get there. we asked our friendly cafe waitress for directions, for the purposes of this summary lets call her ooter. i was so pleased i decided to wear my jesus sandals on this day (tsk). honestly, i mean who climbs up a mountain trek in sandals! my feet were in bulk. i was almost about to turn back but the end was in sight. we caught the bus to the chalet and made it back just in time to get some more booze from the shop at the bottom of the hill. oh the joy! another terrific night of entertainment and pizza ensued. the next morning, after uncomfortably settling our owed ‘taxes’ with our hostess, we got a lift to the train station. bye, bye stinky charlie. next stop, salzburg.

what we did on our holidays - guest blog: neil wilson

during the holiday, i asked the other if they would't mind writing up a report on their experience and impression of austria. here is the first of these, by neil.

synopsis of my time in the land of austria – part one: introduction

well then, well then, well then, good game, good game.

and so the flying sweats begin, two days before we’re* due to jet off to australia austria. i really don’t enjoy the experience of being packed into a tin can and being catapulted off at mach 10, or whatever, and cruising at an altitude of 35+ thousand feet! it’s just ‘plane’ wrong. so, we all arrive at manchester airport by train, three hours before check-in, thanks to the cunning, planning doctor who is gemma. thank you gemma. we check-in and edge forward to the departure lounge, where i, unwittingly, draw out a homemade bacon barm to eat. apparently such items should have been declared and disposed of before entering the departure lounge. how very rude of me. forgive?

two pints of lager later and we’re good to go, to the departure gate that is. our flight is announced and i go grey inside. lee returns from the toilet just before boarding. by this time my palms are leaking like a sewerage outlet. please god let us land safely. pleeeeeease. i’m braced for takeoff and sink back into my seat. clasping onto deb’s hand we’re 100ft in the air before i know it. no turbulence please i’m english! ummmmm, what to choose, what to choose; the flight catalogue is plucked from its resting nest and i’m browsing the booze menu before you can say ‘i’m not a celebrity…get me out of here!’. should i have a jd or cider…cider it is. prost! i’m on us holidays. i’m tentatively beginning to enjoy the sense of flying. i hope there aren’t any nutters on board who try to open the emergency exits. are the cabin crew trained in hand to hand combat?we land safely and i thank the cabin crew for a pleasant journey. alighting the plane the austrian heat hits us. we’ve arrived! 'wie alt bist du!’.

having arrived at the playmobil size airport of salzburg we find ourselves in a bit of predicament; tom’s bag has gone missing! to be honest though, as much as this was a great inconvenience to tom, and i think i say this on behalf of all the males present, thank the dear gods it wasn’t one of the girls’ bags that didn’t turn up! tom handled this difficult time like a real trouper. a+. i did offer him a turn of my underpants but he gracefully declined. to conclude this matter, tom’s bag was delivered by the airport a few days later. that night tom threw an exceptional clothes, shoes and suntan cream party.

* neil, deb, tom, gemma, john, christina, lee.

what we did on our holidays, day ten - hast du geschwister?

no time for hangovers, daddio – lee and i returned to the museum de moderne, to have a proper look at the majong exhibition. i really liked this show, and appreciated the variety of chinese artists included. i was especially taken with the photography, some of the sculptures and videos, and the recurring theme of communism.

the rain returned today, real heavy stuff mixed with thunder and lightning. the perfect day, therefore, to head into a mountain. that’s right, granddad, not just into the mountains, but actually into a mountain. a coach took us across the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it border between austria and germany, and on into bavaria. we soon arrived at the berchtesgaden salt mine, and after climbing into special suits, we boarded a tiny train that took us deep into the heart of the mountain. the mine has been in producing salt since 1517; the once valuable commodity was traditionally used to be transported by river to salzburg, 30km away.

the train was the first of many modes of transport that would propel us around the disused sections of this still-working mine. we were invited to slide 150ft down an original wooden slide (as used by miners), and after some informative displays about the layout, history and current workings, there came the bit of the journey i had been waiting for – the lake. that’s right, uncle, an actual underground lake, which we now traversed on a large wooden raft. an explanation of the existence of this unlikely subterranean body of water is found in the way salt here is mined. narrow yet long bores are pushed down into the saltrock; water is slowly pumped in, and the salt dissolves creating a kind of saline bubble within the rock. this is left alone for a while, until an air-pocket forms; spring water is introduced, this floats on the heavier salt-water, which is then sucked out from the bottom. finally, the saline is dried. et viola, you got salt, baby.

i was a tad disappointed with the lake – photography was disallowed, so i had to be discrete and quick, and the lighting could have been less disco and more ethereal, in keeping with the fantastical atmosphere. i luckily managed to get a couple of decent shots. a funicular lifted us back to the little train, which in turn delivered us to daylight. back on the coach, the guide gave us the option of spending half an hour in the town of berchtesgaden, or heading up towards the site to the eagle’s nest, hitler's mountaintop retreat. we couldn’t reach the site, due to snow. that’s right, sister, real live snow, settling at 1500m. our guide mentioned in passing that the coach driver today came from zell am see, and that the nearby grossglockner had also been closed. i felt relieved at our fortunate timing.

back in salzburg, we plumped for a japanese as our final meal of the our final night of the holiday. this proved to be the second best food i ate in austria. we then made a second stab at having a drink brewed by monks in a pub run by monks. the beer was the nicest drink (apart maybe from that coke i had after that long hot walk into taxenbach on day two) that passed my face in austria. we returned to the hotel in the rain, but happy to be ending on high.