The Flight from Frankfurt was unexceptional. Fortuitously, we managed to be upgraded to business class for the Singapore leg, which meant that we could stretch out and sleep on the first leg (thankyou Qantas!).
We arrived in Melbourne a couple of hours late due to the need to divert around the Merapi colcano plume. We managed to get through customs without any dramas, and after a short wait found ourtselves home in what seemed like very strange but familiar surroundings.
This morning, we were awake at four thirty am, and so took ourselves off ofr a walk up Mount AInslie's slopes - part of our regular routine. It is very very green, many birds (magpies, kookaburras on the wing), not so many kangaroos evident as their silver'grey fur is well camouflaged in the lush vegetation. Boronia was looking for orchids and found a few yelow donkey orchids without too much trouble. Yellow hibercia, dianella, and swards fo silver grass seeds covering the hillsides like a rolling mist reminded us, not that we needed it, that we were home. The air is fresh, filled with familiar birdsongs, the temperature crisp yet mild. We didnt climb too high, as we walked from Downer, but the views over black mountain and O'Connor were beautiful. All in all, wonderful to be here, clothed in the the familiarity and memories of home!
Am not sure if I will update this blog further. At best, it will be much less regular. I will try to get Boronia to upload some photos in due course.
Au revoir mike
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
heading home
Am posting this from the airport lounge in Frankfurt.
From Scarrif, we headed to Dublin, returned the hire car and readied ourselves for the trip home. I managed to fit in a seminar on some theoretical aspects of international relations at Trinity; much went over my head, but was worth the time just to remind myself what I have been missing (for those of you who dont know, one of my hobbies -neglected in the past few years - is attending seminars at the ANU mainly in the social sciences. We also took in a movie and a couple of enjoyable meals.
We flew to Frankfurt early Saturday morning, and have been pleasantly surprised at what is on offer. Today Sunday was spent in two of the major galleries, one focussed on photography, the other with a major exhibition on Courbet. Both exhibitions were very good, providing plenty of great works, and much to enjoy and think about.
I wont try to sum up our two months away just yet; suffice to say we have enjoyed ourselves immensely, we have probably regained the weight we lost walking, and we have certainly appreciated the terrific scenery in France and Ireland. Nevertheless, we will return to Australia with an increased respect for its many virtues. There is nothing like 'home'!
We will be back in Canberra on Tuesday.
mike
From Scarrif, we headed to Dublin, returned the hire car and readied ourselves for the trip home. I managed to fit in a seminar on some theoretical aspects of international relations at Trinity; much went over my head, but was worth the time just to remind myself what I have been missing (for those of you who dont know, one of my hobbies -neglected in the past few years - is attending seminars at the ANU mainly in the social sciences. We also took in a movie and a couple of enjoyable meals.
We flew to Frankfurt early Saturday morning, and have been pleasantly surprised at what is on offer. Today Sunday was spent in two of the major galleries, one focussed on photography, the other with a major exhibition on Courbet. Both exhibitions were very good, providing plenty of great works, and much to enjoy and think about.
I wont try to sum up our two months away just yet; suffice to say we have enjoyed ourselves immensely, we have probably regained the weight we lost walking, and we have certainly appreciated the terrific scenery in France and Ireland. Nevertheless, we will return to Australia with an increased respect for its many virtues. There is nothing like 'home'!
We will be back in Canberra on Tuesday.
mike
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Family history in Scarrif
By rights I shouldnt be writing this post as all the action concerns Boronia's side of the family.
On Tuesday (yesterday) we departed Killarney in pouring rain. The forecast for the week is essentially rain and more rain. We headed north towards Scarrif a small town where Boronia's great grandmother Anne Farrell was born. She and five of her siblings emigrated to Victoria in the last half of the 1800s, probably as a result of the Irish famine and the social consequences arising from changes in the inheritance of land. One of Anne's brothers, Michael, stayed on the small leased family farm; Anne and four other siblings all left. Boronia is yet to make contact with any of his descendants. The names Michael and Patrick recur down the family tree. Consequently it seems unsurprising and somehow rather appropriate that one of my sons should be named Patrick Michael.
We found the farm and its original stone cottage, three windows, three rooms and a slate roof. It is currently a cow shed on a road two kilometres out of Scarrif. Boronia's brother Tom had commissioned a report from the Clare Historical Society which laid out quite a lot of the family's basic history. We also found a number of graves in the local burial ground next to the church, with a sign telling us that it is Ireland's oldest catholic church still in regular use.
Boronia is out at the library here in Ennis doing some more basic research for her brother who is the keeper of the |Halstead family's geneaological records. Some of the papers she has already dug up on the history of the famine in the Scarrif region make scarifying reading, with tales of cemetries overflowing, workhouses full and overflowing, cholera and malaria rampant. That and the weather makes anyone's decision to emigrate understandable. The added prospect of actually owning land in Australia proved irresistable. It helps ot explain Australians focus on actually owning a quarter acre!
For my part, I have resisted the temptation to ring my sister Cathy and seek out what information she has on the origins of the Dillons in Ireland. It is enough for me to get a sense of the history, the geography, and the culture. I have come to realise how much Irish culture - accounts of Irish myths, Irish history, a bastardised version of the Irish sense of humour, and a scepticism for authority, particularly English authority was imparted by family and the very Irish De La Salle brothers who taught me in Armidale. While I dont feel Irish, I certainly feel an affinity. Of course, all of this is perhaps counteracted by my birth order (first) and perhaps more potently by the German genes on my father's mother's side. These reinforce my authoritarian tendencies and also scepticism of the English. Of course, the Halsteads are also a very English family....perhaps marriage to Boronia has forged me into the balanced individual I am today!
We have decided to spend another day here in Ennis some thirty kilometres from Scarrif, then we drive to Dublin on Thursday and essentially begin to wend our way home, via Frankfurt where we spend a couple of days in a classy hotel and living it up before the stringencies of unemployment take hold of me.
We havent managed to see much of Ennis itself. Its winding central streets have been full of cars, wind and rain. Its central square sports a monument some ten metres high of Daniel O'Connall, an Irish patriot, so high above us we can barely make him out. The people we have met and spoken with have been uniformly polite and friendly, but this has been not enough to make us prefer the delights of O'Connall's gaze here to those of the ACT. We have been away so long that the joys of the ACT are beginning to become a dim memory.....we are both looking forward to getting home!
mike
On Tuesday (yesterday) we departed Killarney in pouring rain. The forecast for the week is essentially rain and more rain. We headed north towards Scarrif a small town where Boronia's great grandmother Anne Farrell was born. She and five of her siblings emigrated to Victoria in the last half of the 1800s, probably as a result of the Irish famine and the social consequences arising from changes in the inheritance of land. One of Anne's brothers, Michael, stayed on the small leased family farm; Anne and four other siblings all left. Boronia is yet to make contact with any of his descendants. The names Michael and Patrick recur down the family tree. Consequently it seems unsurprising and somehow rather appropriate that one of my sons should be named Patrick Michael.
We found the farm and its original stone cottage, three windows, three rooms and a slate roof. It is currently a cow shed on a road two kilometres out of Scarrif. Boronia's brother Tom had commissioned a report from the Clare Historical Society which laid out quite a lot of the family's basic history. We also found a number of graves in the local burial ground next to the church, with a sign telling us that it is Ireland's oldest catholic church still in regular use.
Boronia is out at the library here in Ennis doing some more basic research for her brother who is the keeper of the |Halstead family's geneaological records. Some of the papers she has already dug up on the history of the famine in the Scarrif region make scarifying reading, with tales of cemetries overflowing, workhouses full and overflowing, cholera and malaria rampant. That and the weather makes anyone's decision to emigrate understandable. The added prospect of actually owning land in Australia proved irresistable. It helps ot explain Australians focus on actually owning a quarter acre!
For my part, I have resisted the temptation to ring my sister Cathy and seek out what information she has on the origins of the Dillons in Ireland. It is enough for me to get a sense of the history, the geography, and the culture. I have come to realise how much Irish culture - accounts of Irish myths, Irish history, a bastardised version of the Irish sense of humour, and a scepticism for authority, particularly English authority was imparted by family and the very Irish De La Salle brothers who taught me in Armidale. While I dont feel Irish, I certainly feel an affinity. Of course, all of this is perhaps counteracted by my birth order (first) and perhaps more potently by the German genes on my father's mother's side. These reinforce my authoritarian tendencies and also scepticism of the English. Of course, the Halsteads are also a very English family....perhaps marriage to Boronia has forged me into the balanced individual I am today!
We have decided to spend another day here in Ennis some thirty kilometres from Scarrif, then we drive to Dublin on Thursday and essentially begin to wend our way home, via Frankfurt where we spend a couple of days in a classy hotel and living it up before the stringencies of unemployment take hold of me.
We havent managed to see much of Ennis itself. Its winding central streets have been full of cars, wind and rain. Its central square sports a monument some ten metres high of Daniel O'Connall, an Irish patriot, so high above us we can barely make him out. The people we have met and spoken with have been uniformly polite and friendly, but this has been not enough to make us prefer the delights of O'Connall's gaze here to those of the ACT. We have been away so long that the joys of the ACT are beginning to become a dim memory.....we are both looking forward to getting home!
mike
Monday, November 1, 2010
Killarney
Just a quick update. We left Schull on Saturday bound for Dingle peninsula, but after passing through Killarney, with its fabulous scenery, oak forests, and potential walking we turned back and have holed up here instead.
Sunday saw us visit the national park's major drawcard, Muckross house and its gardens. As it was pretty wet, we decided to take a tour of the house, which was quite enlightening, particularly in terms of the class based nature of irish society right through the 19th century (and beyond?). Reminded me of the Robert Altman film Grafton House (I think that was the title?). Then for a walk around the estate, out onto a peninsula into the lakes, wonderful oak and yew forests (some of the last remaining in Ireland), moss covered forest glades, green swardes, lake and mountain views, all under a leaden grey sky, misty, damp and windy...we managed to enjoy ourselves immensely...
Today, we planned to climb a small mountain in the park, Mount Torc, and gave it a pretty good shot....it is only around a 300 metre climb and the path is largely made, but the wind and rain forced us back about two thirds of the way to the summit. Boronia managed to wear the chaps she had bought to keep her trousers dry, I stubbornly didnt put mine on as it would have meant removing my boots in the rain. As a result, we both ended up damp, me somewhat wetter than Boronia. Still, a bracing three hour walk through forest, along rivers, besides waterfalls, and onto hill sides in wind and sleet was just the thing to make us feel like we are confronting the elements and not allowing the weather to determine everything we do!
Not much more to report!
best wishes to all our readers
mike
Sunday saw us visit the national park's major drawcard, Muckross house and its gardens. As it was pretty wet, we decided to take a tour of the house, which was quite enlightening, particularly in terms of the class based nature of irish society right through the 19th century (and beyond?). Reminded me of the Robert Altman film Grafton House (I think that was the title?). Then for a walk around the estate, out onto a peninsula into the lakes, wonderful oak and yew forests (some of the last remaining in Ireland), moss covered forest glades, green swardes, lake and mountain views, all under a leaden grey sky, misty, damp and windy...we managed to enjoy ourselves immensely...
Today, we planned to climb a small mountain in the park, Mount Torc, and gave it a pretty good shot....it is only around a 300 metre climb and the path is largely made, but the wind and rain forced us back about two thirds of the way to the summit. Boronia managed to wear the chaps she had bought to keep her trousers dry, I stubbornly didnt put mine on as it would have meant removing my boots in the rain. As a result, we both ended up damp, me somewhat wetter than Boronia. Still, a bracing three hour walk through forest, along rivers, besides waterfalls, and onto hill sides in wind and sleet was just the thing to make us feel like we are confronting the elements and not allowing the weather to determine everything we do!
Not much more to report!
best wishes to all our readers
mike
Friday, October 29, 2010
Schull and Bantry
Its Thursday morning here in Bantry, a delightful little town with a wide selection of shops all living in what appear to be gingerbread cottages painted bright colours. We are exploring the local area, and on our way to the Beara Peninsula, one of three or four which extend out into the atlantic off the south west coast of Ireland. Next stop is a coffee shop and then on into the wind, rain and fog which seems ubiquitous and ever-present here. Hopefully the conditions will jsut add to the scenery.
We are staying in a wonderful cottage overlooking the atlantic ocean just ourside the town of Schull, which the maritime charts list as Skull. Unfortunately, I am sick with the flu, so have not been able to get out and about as much as we would like.
One compensation has been that I can get some reading done. Highlight has been Marilynne Robinson's extraordinarily moving novel Home, but have also been delving into a couple of Ian Rankin crime books.
Next step is not clear. We head off from Schull on Saturday, maybe towards the Dingle Peninsula. General direction is to head north along Ireland's western coast. While we may not be living dangerously, we are gradually coming to rely more on serendipity as a guiding principle.
Apologies for the brevity, but I am not up to a longer account!
mike
We are staying in a wonderful cottage overlooking the atlantic ocean just ourside the town of Schull, which the maritime charts list as Skull. Unfortunately, I am sick with the flu, so have not been able to get out and about as much as we would like.
One compensation has been that I can get some reading done. Highlight has been Marilynne Robinson's extraordinarily moving novel Home, but have also been delving into a couple of Ian Rankin crime books.
Next step is not clear. We head off from Schull on Saturday, maybe towards the Dingle Peninsula. General direction is to head north along Ireland's western coast. While we may not be living dangerously, we are gradually coming to rely more on serendipity as a guiding principle.
Apologies for the brevity, but I am not up to a longer account!
mike
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
short update from Kinsale
W have been busy, and have not had much access to the internet, so apologies for the lack of updates
Our last day in Dublin was terrific, we walked to the docklands, a sort of mini darling harbour which was pleasant, and good excercise, then to the national gallery which was unexpectedly terrific, with a great selectin of renaissanace paintings: Bosch, Velasquez, Titian and Caraveggio amongst many others, yet not overwhleming like the Prado or Louvre. Next on the list was a visit to the National Library, and a splendid exhibition of W.B.Yeats manuscripts, photographs, films, and poetry readings. The day finished with a guided Literary Pub Crawl, which was both highly amusing and entertaining, and informative to boot.
Friday saw us driving to Cork, the main attraction being the Cork Jazz Festival. Boronia had amazingly booked us last minute accommodation in the very centre of Cork, it was almost too good to be true, and after an hours fruitless searching, we discovered it was too good to be true, and was in fact in Ballycotton, a mere 42 kms away. In Boronia's defence, the google map on the booking confirmation was highly misleading! Nevertheness, the Bayview Hotel in Ballycotton was four stars, had great views over the bay and the atlantic, a cliff walk and enabled us to explore the surrrounding area and have a great time. Serendipity at work!
We still managed to take in a fair bit of the jazz festival and to explore Cork. The highlights were a concert by the Tord Gustavsen ensemble - I have three CDs, but the live performance was extraordinary. Also a more energetic, but less nuanced concert by the Omar Sosa quartet, afro-latin jazz in extremis! I highly recommend Tord Gustavsen for anyone looking for some laid back and very svelte scandinavian jazz.
We are now heading to Ireland's wild south west. We have only managed an hour's driving before Boronia was diverted by a market day in Kinsale, the gourmet capital of Ireland according tothe various brochures and guide books we have managed to get our hands on. Sounds like a good place for lunch!
So we are surviving! We managed to walk ten kms yesterday, and have done a fair bit of walking around Cork, but the waist lines must be expanding!...the next week should offer plenty of oportunities to remedy this. All I am missing is the New Yorker, a regular hit of Australian newsprint, and my own home made meusli....otherwise, life is perfect! I cant help thinking the good times are bound to end soon!
Top of the day to all our readers
mike
Our last day in Dublin was terrific, we walked to the docklands, a sort of mini darling harbour which was pleasant, and good excercise, then to the national gallery which was unexpectedly terrific, with a great selectin of renaissanace paintings: Bosch, Velasquez, Titian and Caraveggio amongst many others, yet not overwhleming like the Prado or Louvre. Next on the list was a visit to the National Library, and a splendid exhibition of W.B.Yeats manuscripts, photographs, films, and poetry readings. The day finished with a guided Literary Pub Crawl, which was both highly amusing and entertaining, and informative to boot.
Friday saw us driving to Cork, the main attraction being the Cork Jazz Festival. Boronia had amazingly booked us last minute accommodation in the very centre of Cork, it was almost too good to be true, and after an hours fruitless searching, we discovered it was too good to be true, and was in fact in Ballycotton, a mere 42 kms away. In Boronia's defence, the google map on the booking confirmation was highly misleading! Nevertheness, the Bayview Hotel in Ballycotton was four stars, had great views over the bay and the atlantic, a cliff walk and enabled us to explore the surrrounding area and have a great time. Serendipity at work!
We still managed to take in a fair bit of the jazz festival and to explore Cork. The highlights were a concert by the Tord Gustavsen ensemble - I have three CDs, but the live performance was extraordinary. Also a more energetic, but less nuanced concert by the Omar Sosa quartet, afro-latin jazz in extremis! I highly recommend Tord Gustavsen for anyone looking for some laid back and very svelte scandinavian jazz.
We are now heading to Ireland's wild south west. We have only managed an hour's driving before Boronia was diverted by a market day in Kinsale, the gourmet capital of Ireland according tothe various brochures and guide books we have managed to get our hands on. Sounds like a good place for lunch!
So we are surviving! We managed to walk ten kms yesterday, and have done a fair bit of walking around Cork, but the waist lines must be expanding!...the next week should offer plenty of oportunities to remedy this. All I am missing is the New Yorker, a regular hit of Australian newsprint, and my own home made meusli....otherwise, life is perfect! I cant help thinking the good times are bound to end soon!
Top of the day to all our readers
mike
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Deliberative democracy in Dublin
I wont comment on the defamations in the previous post.
We have been exploring the city on foot, always a pleasant experience. Unfortunately, I doubt that the excercise involved will offset the calories we are taking on board as we go. Highlights have included the Dublin City gallery, with an interesting exhibition which includes the entire contents of Francis Bacon's studio, transported from London after his death; the Chester Beatty Library which houses a terrific collection of Islamic, East Asian and Christian art and artefacts - reminiscent of the Gulbenkian Museum in Lisbon; and the Gallery of Photography with an excellent exhibiiton of early Irish photographs from a private collector's collection. Disappointments were the Irish Museum of Modern Art, for which I had high expectations, and the Trinity College art collection for which I didn't expect too much. Of course, there are no highs without the lows, and even the mediocre galleries incude the odd gem.
I also managed to attend a lecture at Trinity College by a Canadian academic, Prfessor Carty, on a citizens' assembly process undertaken in British Columbia in around 2004 to assess BC's First Past the Post electoral system. The lecture was quite straightforward, delivered well, and enjoyable, essentially arguing that the randomly selected citizens' assembly process worked very well, even though the subsequent referendum failed. The key points made were that there had been increasing frustration with politics and politicians in BC, and the then Opposition committed to the process as part of its then election platform.
When it won Government, the process was initiated along with a commitment to implement whatever the Assembly proposed should it pass at a Referendum. The bar was set at 60%, and more than 50% in a majority of districts. In the event, the Assembly recommended a Single Transferable Voting system over the status quo. At the subsequent referendum, the BC community voted in favour of the Assembly's recomendations with a 58% support level and a majority in 75 of 77 districts. As the previously set benchmark had not been met, the proposal failed. There was a subsequent referendum which also failed, though Prof Carty didnt go into why.The thought occurred to me that there was a paradox at the core of the process - it was built on voter dissatisfaction with politicians and politics, but was essentially aimed at finding a better way to elect politicians and determine politics. It didn't really question the underlying assumptions of the electoral system and politics generally.
I found the lecture quite stimulating, not so much for what it says about British Columbia or deliberative democracy, but because it highlights that the so called democratic deficit is widespread, even ubiquitous, in democratic societies. It seems to me that whatever the merits of citizens assemblies and deliberative democracy, our electoral systems are increasingly archaic and ill-suited to the the pace, demands and broad cultural ethos of modern societies. Our electoral systems are based on 17th and 18th century technology. Representative democracy no doubt will continue to have a place in democratic societies, but where in the political marketplace do voters and citizens have the purchasing power they have in commercial markets? Why can't we devise ways to allow for this? What might those ways be? I feel an essay coming on, so will spare you all.
Best wishes from Dublin
mike
We have been exploring the city on foot, always a pleasant experience. Unfortunately, I doubt that the excercise involved will offset the calories we are taking on board as we go. Highlights have included the Dublin City gallery, with an interesting exhibition which includes the entire contents of Francis Bacon's studio, transported from London after his death; the Chester Beatty Library which houses a terrific collection of Islamic, East Asian and Christian art and artefacts - reminiscent of the Gulbenkian Museum in Lisbon; and the Gallery of Photography with an excellent exhibiiton of early Irish photographs from a private collector's collection. Disappointments were the Irish Museum of Modern Art, for which I had high expectations, and the Trinity College art collection for which I didn't expect too much. Of course, there are no highs without the lows, and even the mediocre galleries incude the odd gem.
I also managed to attend a lecture at Trinity College by a Canadian academic, Prfessor Carty, on a citizens' assembly process undertaken in British Columbia in around 2004 to assess BC's First Past the Post electoral system. The lecture was quite straightforward, delivered well, and enjoyable, essentially arguing that the randomly selected citizens' assembly process worked very well, even though the subsequent referendum failed. The key points made were that there had been increasing frustration with politics and politicians in BC, and the then Opposition committed to the process as part of its then election platform.
When it won Government, the process was initiated along with a commitment to implement whatever the Assembly proposed should it pass at a Referendum. The bar was set at 60%, and more than 50% in a majority of districts. In the event, the Assembly recommended a Single Transferable Voting system over the status quo. At the subsequent referendum, the BC community voted in favour of the Assembly's recomendations with a 58% support level and a majority in 75 of 77 districts. As the previously set benchmark had not been met, the proposal failed. There was a subsequent referendum which also failed, though Prof Carty didnt go into why.The thought occurred to me that there was a paradox at the core of the process - it was built on voter dissatisfaction with politicians and politics, but was essentially aimed at finding a better way to elect politicians and determine politics. It didn't really question the underlying assumptions of the electoral system and politics generally.
I found the lecture quite stimulating, not so much for what it says about British Columbia or deliberative democracy, but because it highlights that the so called democratic deficit is widespread, even ubiquitous, in democratic societies. It seems to me that whatever the merits of citizens assemblies and deliberative democracy, our electoral systems are increasingly archaic and ill-suited to the the pace, demands and broad cultural ethos of modern societies. Our electoral systems are based on 17th and 18th century technology. Representative democracy no doubt will continue to have a place in democratic societies, but where in the political marketplace do voters and citizens have the purchasing power they have in commercial markets? Why can't we devise ways to allow for this? What might those ways be? I feel an essay coming on, so will spare you all.
Best wishes from Dublin
mike
Sunday, October 17, 2010
post from dublin
We arrived in Dublin two days ago. It is a real thrill typing on a normal keyboard (rather than the French keyboard) and being able to turn on the TV and understand what's going on. The latter doesn't seem to affect Michael so much - he can watch an entire movie in French, as long as it's a shootemup movie with lots of car chases and so on - in fact if he doesn't get a fix of this in some language he seems to become rather woebegone.
We are booked to stay in Dublin for a week, and have been pleasantly surprised by the richness of Irish cultural life - great bookshops, and lots of theatre and many galleries.
I think there must be some index of a city's focus that is based on the number of square metres of the CBD that is dedicated to particular functions. In Paris, there seems to be a coiffure in every block and a boulangerie. In Dublin, a quarter of the metreage seems to be dedicated to pubs or drinking outlets of some kind. We can testify to the after-effects, as our apartment is on the third floor over the Millennium Walk, close to the city centre. People seem to rage in our neighbourhood until about 4.00 am in the morning. This morning we (and the rest of the neighbourhood) were serenaded by some young man the worse for wear, with a song of yearning about Ouma from lovely Sligo.
We have discovered that there is a big jazz festival in Cork next weekend, so we have booked to go there. There is also some wild countryside in the county, in which we are planning to do some walking. The hills in Ireland are nothing compared to the haute alpes in southern France, so the walking shouldn't be too difficult. It will be good to walk again.
We are booked to stay in Dublin for a week, and have been pleasantly surprised by the richness of Irish cultural life - great bookshops, and lots of theatre and many galleries.
I think there must be some index of a city's focus that is based on the number of square metres of the CBD that is dedicated to particular functions. In Paris, there seems to be a coiffure in every block and a boulangerie. In Dublin, a quarter of the metreage seems to be dedicated to pubs or drinking outlets of some kind. We can testify to the after-effects, as our apartment is on the third floor over the Millennium Walk, close to the city centre. People seem to rage in our neighbourhood until about 4.00 am in the morning. This morning we (and the rest of the neighbourhood) were serenaded by some young man the worse for wear, with a song of yearning about Ouma from lovely Sligo.
We have discovered that there is a big jazz festival in Cork next weekend, so we have booked to go there. There is also some wild countryside in the county, in which we are planning to do some walking. The hills in Ireland are nothing compared to the haute alpes in southern France, so the walking shouldn't be too difficult. It will be good to walk again.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Toulouse
Greetings to all.
We are in Toulouse, essentially to catch a flight to Dublin tomorrow. We had hoped to do some walking along the canals which cross southern france and pass through Toulouse, however Boronia has been quite sick, and I have been unwell. Consequently, we have only managed to explore the city itself, which is much larger than we had realised, and quite charming.
Yesterday we spent a couple of hours in the Musee des Augustines, a beautiful old monastery and church converted to a museum in the eighteenth century. It includes a large selection of roman sculptures, some more recent 18th century French sculptures, a terrific selection of stone argoyles which look even more dramatic up close, all located in a beatiful setting , the galleries surround a square cloister, now converted to a luscious vegetable garden. As well we sought out the contemporary art gallery which was located in an old abbatoirs revamped into a very avant garde space, and which was interesting, but limited in terms of the art on display. Made me realise how lucky we are in Canberra - a city of comparable size to Toulouse I suspect - to have a national gallery at our disposal.
Today, we explored more of the city, observed a very noisy strike parade of students and unionists - there is a national industrial campaign underway across France at the moment - and undertook some important but time consuming tasks like attending to posting items to our grandchildren and so forth.
mike
We are in Toulouse, essentially to catch a flight to Dublin tomorrow. We had hoped to do some walking along the canals which cross southern france and pass through Toulouse, however Boronia has been quite sick, and I have been unwell. Consequently, we have only managed to explore the city itself, which is much larger than we had realised, and quite charming.
Yesterday we spent a couple of hours in the Musee des Augustines, a beautiful old monastery and church converted to a museum in the eighteenth century. It includes a large selection of roman sculptures, some more recent 18th century French sculptures, a terrific selection of stone argoyles which look even more dramatic up close, all located in a beatiful setting , the galleries surround a square cloister, now converted to a luscious vegetable garden. As well we sought out the contemporary art gallery which was located in an old abbatoirs revamped into a very avant garde space, and which was interesting, but limited in terms of the art on display. Made me realise how lucky we are in Canberra - a city of comparable size to Toulouse I suspect - to have a national gallery at our disposal.
Today, we explored more of the city, observed a very noisy strike parade of students and unionists - there is a national industrial campaign underway across France at the moment - and undertook some important but time consuming tasks like attending to posting items to our grandchildren and so forth.
mike
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Arles
Hallelujah.
We have finally arrived at Arles.
I last posted just after arriving at Cavaillon, a pleasant town madu unpleasant by the loudspeakers blasting commercial radio into the main square and streets. We found a two star hotel in the centre of town, run by an amiable man slightly past his prime sporting cowboy boots. So too was the hotel. Our room included a non-descript painting which was slightly askew, so Boronia felt obliged to attempt to straighten it, whereupon it fell off the wall. The shelf in the bathroom, above the toilet, tilted downwards at an alarming rate. The curtins were fashionable pre-war and the furniture featured chipped paint, a reminder of the gilded age. Boronia's immediate comment on taking full stock of the room was that everything in the room had brewers droop. It wasn't clear to me if I had been included in the assessment.
From Cavaillon we crossed the Durance and tramped through pine forests and vinyards towards a chain of mountains which we learned went by the name of Les Alpilles. Suddenly we had arrived at Eyglieres, a very pretty little village set on the edge of the hills. Medieval church, ruins, stone houses, it was truly charming. After a drink to quench our thirst, we found a room, and went exploring. The only downside was that it had been discovered by many tourists before us which meant that every cafe, restaurant and shop in the town charged a considerable premium. But even so, we enjoyed ourselves and felt totally relaxed.
Boronia's joy was unlimited when we awoke to the sounds of a local market being set up in the street below. After an hour or so wandering amongst the stalls, the discipline of our backpacks exerting enough superior force to just, by the merest margin, overwhelm the natural inclination in some quarters to spend, purchase and buy (name not mentioned to protect the guilty).
From Eygalieres, on Friday, we climbed through the forests of Les Alpilles to St Remy de Provence, the site of Vincent Van Gogh's stay in a local sanitarium in 1889//90 and a notable roman archaelogical site. We avoided the tourist trail, walked around the town, and found a wonderful Italian inspired restaurant.
From St Remy, we had planned a short day walking to St Etienne at the western end of Les Alpilles. An hour out of St Remy, we reached the 400 km mark by my ongoing calculation. This obsession of mine is looked down upon in some quarters as overly bureaucratic, for reasons I find hard to fathom....something incoherent about the process of journeying, the meditative reflection made possible by the step by step progress, not the destination, being the point of the trek. Of course, without knowing how far we have come, we wouldnt really have any means of evaluating progress, assessing the likely time of completion, or even the likelihood of completing the trek. These are clearly important strategic considerations in advancing along any route or path, and clearly ought not to be underestimated.
We arrived to find St Etienne to be a quite strange town, modern, strung out over a kilometre or more along a quite busy road, with nothing open - it was Saturday afternoon afterall - and our projected accommodation booked out by a wedding party...We faced a long six plus hour walk to Arles, some alfresco camping, or a night huddled in a bus-stop. In the end, we decided to take a bus to Arles, only some twelve kms away by road, or twenty by the path we would have taken through the western end of Les Alpilles. After a two hour wait, most spent in a roadside bar, our bus arrived and within fifteen minutes we were in the centre of Arles. Not the triumphant entry I had planned in my mind, whereby the weary pilgrims walk up to the roman amphitheatre perched on the edge of the Rhone, but we have learned to accept the inevitable and to avoid the evitable.
Arles will perhaps require a post of its own. Our first night was spent in a hotel which displays a magnificent bronze of a naked man shooting a bow and arrow into the air. This prompted a degree of commentary comparing -adversely - my physique to the statue's, and a suggestion that we might have fallen into an interesting part of town. The photo on the wall in the room, clearly taken in the foyer, which showed a man descending the stairs, the statue in the foreground, a matador in very tight trousers about to meet him, and a woman wearing matadors trousers, but not much else, seemed to confirm the fears. They turned out to be totally unfounded. the room was excellent, the hotel quiet, and all was well. in any case, we had previously decided to reward oursemlves by upgrading to a three star hotel, so we will see what that brings.
For now, au revoir
mike
We have finally arrived at Arles.
I last posted just after arriving at Cavaillon, a pleasant town madu unpleasant by the loudspeakers blasting commercial radio into the main square and streets. We found a two star hotel in the centre of town, run by an amiable man slightly past his prime sporting cowboy boots. So too was the hotel. Our room included a non-descript painting which was slightly askew, so Boronia felt obliged to attempt to straighten it, whereupon it fell off the wall. The shelf in the bathroom, above the toilet, tilted downwards at an alarming rate. The curtins were fashionable pre-war and the furniture featured chipped paint, a reminder of the gilded age. Boronia's immediate comment on taking full stock of the room was that everything in the room had brewers droop. It wasn't clear to me if I had been included in the assessment.
From Cavaillon we crossed the Durance and tramped through pine forests and vinyards towards a chain of mountains which we learned went by the name of Les Alpilles. Suddenly we had arrived at Eyglieres, a very pretty little village set on the edge of the hills. Medieval church, ruins, stone houses, it was truly charming. After a drink to quench our thirst, we found a room, and went exploring. The only downside was that it had been discovered by many tourists before us which meant that every cafe, restaurant and shop in the town charged a considerable premium. But even so, we enjoyed ourselves and felt totally relaxed.
Boronia's joy was unlimited when we awoke to the sounds of a local market being set up in the street below. After an hour or so wandering amongst the stalls, the discipline of our backpacks exerting enough superior force to just, by the merest margin, overwhelm the natural inclination in some quarters to spend, purchase and buy (name not mentioned to protect the guilty).
From Eygalieres, on Friday, we climbed through the forests of Les Alpilles to St Remy de Provence, the site of Vincent Van Gogh's stay in a local sanitarium in 1889//90 and a notable roman archaelogical site. We avoided the tourist trail, walked around the town, and found a wonderful Italian inspired restaurant.
From St Remy, we had planned a short day walking to St Etienne at the western end of Les Alpilles. An hour out of St Remy, we reached the 400 km mark by my ongoing calculation. This obsession of mine is looked down upon in some quarters as overly bureaucratic, for reasons I find hard to fathom....something incoherent about the process of journeying, the meditative reflection made possible by the step by step progress, not the destination, being the point of the trek. Of course, without knowing how far we have come, we wouldnt really have any means of evaluating progress, assessing the likely time of completion, or even the likelihood of completing the trek. These are clearly important strategic considerations in advancing along any route or path, and clearly ought not to be underestimated.
We arrived to find St Etienne to be a quite strange town, modern, strung out over a kilometre or more along a quite busy road, with nothing open - it was Saturday afternoon afterall - and our projected accommodation booked out by a wedding party...We faced a long six plus hour walk to Arles, some alfresco camping, or a night huddled in a bus-stop. In the end, we decided to take a bus to Arles, only some twelve kms away by road, or twenty by the path we would have taken through the western end of Les Alpilles. After a two hour wait, most spent in a roadside bar, our bus arrived and within fifteen minutes we were in the centre of Arles. Not the triumphant entry I had planned in my mind, whereby the weary pilgrims walk up to the roman amphitheatre perched on the edge of the Rhone, but we have learned to accept the inevitable and to avoid the evitable.
Arles will perhaps require a post of its own. Our first night was spent in a hotel which displays a magnificent bronze of a naked man shooting a bow and arrow into the air. This prompted a degree of commentary comparing -adversely - my physique to the statue's, and a suggestion that we might have fallen into an interesting part of town. The photo on the wall in the room, clearly taken in the foyer, which showed a man descending the stairs, the statue in the foreground, a matador in very tight trousers about to meet him, and a woman wearing matadors trousers, but not much else, seemed to confirm the fears. They turned out to be totally unfounded. the room was excellent, the hotel quiet, and all was well. in any case, we had previously decided to reward oursemlves by upgrading to a three star hotel, so we will see what that brings.
For now, au revoir
mike
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Cavaillon
We have arrived in Cavaillon, some forty kms south of Apt, after two days of quite pleasant walking, though by the end of the day we are both quite tired.
Boronia finds it impossible to walk past any walnut tree, blackberry bush, fig tree, pear tree, apple tree, grape vine, rocket plant, almond tree, melon patch or other source of fresh food without sampling the wares. I live in fear of being accosted by an irate landowner, or worse still, the gendarmerie, but we seemed to have survived so far. If necessary, no doubt she will claim the pilgrim's right to forage, though whether this is an accepted rationale I am not sure.
Boronia is resting in our hotel room, I have been checking emails and the newspapers from Australia, but promised I wouldnt be away too long so will keep this short.
We have essentially been following the path of the roman road between Spain and Rome built some two thousand years ago. Many of the towns along the route were established as staging posts by the romans. In places, the remnants of the actual road are still visible underfoot, along with three or four quite beautiful bridges.
All this imperial history underfoot leads me to wonder what will remain of our cities,work and lives in two thousand years? The answer is probably not much, but what is important is the cultural foundations which we continue to build on our forebears own cultural contributions, and which will in some way continue to find expression in the quality of life of our descendants. One of the very positive things we have noticed in France, apart from a general friendliness, a sense of community politeness and formality which engenders and promulgates respect amongst all, is something which we will try to bring back with us to Australia, namely, a concern to respect and appreciate quality and the value of personal contributions. This has been most apparent in the way the French prepare and present their food, and is perhaps more apparent to us given the time we are spending in small farms, gites and so on where the values of personal contribution are emphasised and are still strong. Nevertheless, it is a noticeable difference overall, and worth emulating in all parts of life.
Enough philosophy for one day.
Regards to all our friends and family
mike
Boronia finds it impossible to walk past any walnut tree, blackberry bush, fig tree, pear tree, apple tree, grape vine, rocket plant, almond tree, melon patch or other source of fresh food without sampling the wares. I live in fear of being accosted by an irate landowner, or worse still, the gendarmerie, but we seemed to have survived so far. If necessary, no doubt she will claim the pilgrim's right to forage, though whether this is an accepted rationale I am not sure.
Boronia is resting in our hotel room, I have been checking emails and the newspapers from Australia, but promised I wouldnt be away too long so will keep this short.
We have essentially been following the path of the roman road between Spain and Rome built some two thousand years ago. Many of the towns along the route were established as staging posts by the romans. In places, the remnants of the actual road are still visible underfoot, along with three or four quite beautiful bridges.
All this imperial history underfoot leads me to wonder what will remain of our cities,work and lives in two thousand years? The answer is probably not much, but what is important is the cultural foundations which we continue to build on our forebears own cultural contributions, and which will in some way continue to find expression in the quality of life of our descendants. One of the very positive things we have noticed in France, apart from a general friendliness, a sense of community politeness and formality which engenders and promulgates respect amongst all, is something which we will try to bring back with us to Australia, namely, a concern to respect and appreciate quality and the value of personal contributions. This has been most apparent in the way the French prepare and present their food, and is perhaps more apparent to us given the time we are spending in small farms, gites and so on where the values of personal contribution are emphasised and are still strong. Nevertheless, it is a noticeable difference overall, and worth emulating in all parts of life.
Enough philosophy for one day.
Regards to all our friends and family
mike
Monday, October 4, 2010
An idle day in Apt
Today we're having a day off in Apt - Michael says it's OK. The walking is improving - we really enjoy the mornings, then something happens to my pilgrim spirit at the 10 km mark - when it becomes indignant and non-compliant. It recovers somewhat with food - usually bread and sardines or bread and cheese. Then the spirit goes into a dormant and dogged state until we get to our destination. I remember someone saying that you can always tell who the pilgrims are at Santiago de Compostella because they walk like Groucho Marx. That's me at the end of the day!
Two days ago we arrived in Reillanne. Exhausted- we ask around for the location of our Gite, an ancient Chateau and then walk down the road following the directions we were given. Some Gites are very coy about their location, and this Gite is apparently one of those. It's not so bad when your in a car, but when you're on foot at the end of a long day's walking, one gets despondent if it's not easy to locate. I sit down with the packs beside the track next to a sign that says Chateau but with a 'properte privee' sign and without the usual Gite D'etape emblem, while Michael goes on a reconnaissance mission. A bloke in a truck turns into the track - I ask him in my broken French - Gite ici? He looks non-plussed and repeats 'shit ici?' and says 'Non!' in an emphatic way and quickly puts his foot on the accelerator. An English couple walk up to us, and we ask them, and they point to the sign next to us, as if to indicate we really should open our eyes!
So, we walk down the track.
We arrive at the Chateau, which is very old and crumbling in parts, in a rambling garden. It has obviously been very grand in its day. There is a small sign pinned on the door on a piece of A4 paper that says in biro 'Gite', with an arrow to the back of the building. Relieved, we follow the arrow, down a crumbling flight of stairs, and are greeted by an assortment of dogs and honking geese, not used to the sight of weary pilgrims. A voice from the vegetable garden quietens the managerie and is followed by a woman emerging from the shrubbery, with a welcoming smile.
We are shown to our room inside the building, which seemed at first sight like something from the set of Cold Comfort Farm or Wuthering Heights. Our room looks out from the third floor into the tops of huge plane trees, and onto a large pool, strewn with autumn leaves and surrounded by a ruined Italianate fence.
The Gite is run by a woman, with the help of her daughter. We join them for a very pleasant meal later. Their English is as good as our French, so the conversation swings between french, english and spanish, with much gesticulation.
After a good night's sleep, and breakfast, our host kindly walks with us up to the village, telling me the names of various wild herbs along the way, and stuffing a bunch of something that she tells me goes well with fromage into a pocket on the outside of my backpack.
We walk to Cereste. Our Gite is easy to find and very pleasant. Our host is very friendly, and when we leave in the morning, tries to press a jar of homemade fig jam into our hands. I point to my gammy knee and thank her, but explain that it would be too heavy to carry.
The next morning we set off again, for Apt. Unbeknowns to us, Sunday morning is when a man takes his dog and his shotgun and goes out into the countryside for a spot of shooting. They blaze away on all sides. We hope it's not to pot a pilgrim. They wear brightly coloured orange hats and armbands, but I'm in my sparrow browns and Michael is not much easier to spot in his regulation blue outfit. As we walk through a thicket, close to where we can see a hunter but uncertain that he has seen us, I think I should break into a desperate and hopefully life-preserving whistle, choosing the zulu song, 'we are marching in the light of god' for the tune. Michael asks 'why are you whistling?' I tell him it's so I don't get shot. When we emerge from the thicket, we see the bemused hunter, who gives us a wave. We survive.
Two days ago we arrived in Reillanne. Exhausted- we ask around for the location of our Gite, an ancient Chateau and then walk down the road following the directions we were given. Some Gites are very coy about their location, and this Gite is apparently one of those. It's not so bad when your in a car, but when you're on foot at the end of a long day's walking, one gets despondent if it's not easy to locate. I sit down with the packs beside the track next to a sign that says Chateau but with a 'properte privee' sign and without the usual Gite D'etape emblem, while Michael goes on a reconnaissance mission. A bloke in a truck turns into the track - I ask him in my broken French - Gite ici? He looks non-plussed and repeats 'shit ici?' and says 'Non!' in an emphatic way and quickly puts his foot on the accelerator. An English couple walk up to us, and we ask them, and they point to the sign next to us, as if to indicate we really should open our eyes!
So, we walk down the track.
We arrive at the Chateau, which is very old and crumbling in parts, in a rambling garden. It has obviously been very grand in its day. There is a small sign pinned on the door on a piece of A4 paper that says in biro 'Gite', with an arrow to the back of the building. Relieved, we follow the arrow, down a crumbling flight of stairs, and are greeted by an assortment of dogs and honking geese, not used to the sight of weary pilgrims. A voice from the vegetable garden quietens the managerie and is followed by a woman emerging from the shrubbery, with a welcoming smile.
We are shown to our room inside the building, which seemed at first sight like something from the set of Cold Comfort Farm or Wuthering Heights. Our room looks out from the third floor into the tops of huge plane trees, and onto a large pool, strewn with autumn leaves and surrounded by a ruined Italianate fence.
The Gite is run by a woman, with the help of her daughter. We join them for a very pleasant meal later. Their English is as good as our French, so the conversation swings between french, english and spanish, with much gesticulation.
After a good night's sleep, and breakfast, our host kindly walks with us up to the village, telling me the names of various wild herbs along the way, and stuffing a bunch of something that she tells me goes well with fromage into a pocket on the outside of my backpack.
We walk to Cereste. Our Gite is easy to find and very pleasant. Our host is very friendly, and when we leave in the morning, tries to press a jar of homemade fig jam into our hands. I point to my gammy knee and thank her, but explain that it would be too heavy to carry.
The next morning we set off again, for Apt. Unbeknowns to us, Sunday morning is when a man takes his dog and his shotgun and goes out into the countryside for a spot of shooting. They blaze away on all sides. We hope it's not to pot a pilgrim. They wear brightly coloured orange hats and armbands, but I'm in my sparrow browns and Michael is not much easier to spot in his regulation blue outfit. As we walk through a thicket, close to where we can see a hunter but uncertain that he has seen us, I think I should break into a desperate and hopefully life-preserving whistle, choosing the zulu song, 'we are marching in the light of god' for the tune. Michael asks 'why are you whistling?' I tell him it's so I don't get shot. When we emerge from the thicket, we see the bemused hunter, who gives us a wave. We survive.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A review of progress
As Boronia mentioned, we have now come down out of les hautes alpes, and the walking is much easier.
We began in Briancon on Tuesday 14 September, and spent nights in each of hte following locations: Bouchier, L'Argentiere Les Besses, Mont Dauphin, Chateauroux Les Alpes, Embrun, Savines Le Lac, Montgardin, Gap, where we had a rest day, Venterol, La Motte du Caire, Saint Genieux, Sisteron, Peipan, Les Grandes Molieres, Lurs (Le grande bastide), and Forcalquiere.
Our cumulative walking distance is around 270 kms to date, though the ups and downs, sometimes exceeding 1000 metres in the days walking, has moderated out total.
The next towns on our route include Lincel, Cereste, Apt, Coustellet, Orgon, St Renee de Provence, Fontvieille and Arles.
I have just lost a section of text....will have to wait our next post to enlighten you all of its contents
mike
.
We began in Briancon on Tuesday 14 September, and spent nights in each of hte following locations: Bouchier, L'Argentiere Les Besses, Mont Dauphin, Chateauroux Les Alpes, Embrun, Savines Le Lac, Montgardin, Gap, where we had a rest day, Venterol, La Motte du Caire, Saint Genieux, Sisteron, Peipan, Les Grandes Molieres, Lurs (Le grande bastide), and Forcalquiere.
Our cumulative walking distance is around 270 kms to date, though the ups and downs, sometimes exceeding 1000 metres in the days walking, has moderated out total.
The next towns on our route include Lincel, Cereste, Apt, Coustellet, Orgon, St Renee de Provence, Fontvieille and Arles.
I have just lost a section of text....will have to wait our next post to enlighten you all of its contents
mike
.
Into Provence
This post is being written in Forcalquier - a provincial centre, with an internet shop. We are now walking through the rolling hills of Provence - the fir trees have been replaced by rockroses, rosemary and thyme. While the countryside is much softer, the designer of our path is determined to keep sloth at bay, and has stayed faithful to the master plan of going to the top of any hill in sight and through the centre of any villages in view.
We were walking for some days with an English-speaking French couple, fifteen years older than us but veterans of the walks of St Jacques. They say that the path we have chosen is much more difficult than any other path to Santiago de Compostella. It doesn't seem to affect them very much - they always leave later than us in the morning but reach the target an hour before us. They have now gone on ahead, and we have said goodbye, and are not likely to see them again.
My navigator and I are still working out some of the rules of the road. Is the man obliged to wait while the woman looks for good figs, or picks blackberries - or can they just keep walking without looking back? This is a very difficult question. I am still perplexed. You could SMS 'yes' or 'no' and we could will the votes.
Handing over now to the navigator, whom I am realising is always right.
Boronia
We were walking for some days with an English-speaking French couple, fifteen years older than us but veterans of the walks of St Jacques. They say that the path we have chosen is much more difficult than any other path to Santiago de Compostella. It doesn't seem to affect them very much - they always leave later than us in the morning but reach the target an hour before us. They have now gone on ahead, and we have said goodbye, and are not likely to see them again.
My navigator and I are still working out some of the rules of the road. Is the man obliged to wait while the woman looks for good figs, or picks blackberries - or can they just keep walking without looking back? This is a very difficult question. I am still perplexed. You could SMS 'yes' or 'no' and we could will the votes.
Handing over now to the navigator, whom I am realising is always right.
Boronia
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sisteron
We have arrived at Sisteron. Internet access islimited, so this post will merely report that we are well, slightly footsore, enjoying the countryside, the companyof fellow trekkers, the french food we are eating in the various gites - essentially home cooked country fare, and that we are generally very happy with how we are travelling.
best wishes to all
mike
best wishes to all
mike
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Arrival in the regional centre of Gap
We have been making steady progress, up mountain and down dale. At Embrun, we stayed in a small family run hotel where the meal served is essentially what the family eats, that is no choice of menu. It was very good, the family which ran the hotel were Belgian and plied us with a range of belgian beers, all especially enjoyable at the end of a day's walking.
On Sunday, we walked the 18 kms from Embrun to Savines le Lac, a relatively new town on the shore of a large lake whose name escapes me. Savines le Lac is a tourist town built around water sports. Our accommodation at the Hotel des Sources was clean and pleasant.A meal in the local vietnamese restaurant was perfectly adequate. After dark, the lights of the village of St Apollinaire, tomorrow's first stop, shone down from what seemed - and ultimately transpired - to be a great height.
Monday morning, we set off across the bridge, and up to St Apollinaire, where we boiled the billy - Boronia doesnt travel very far nor very happily without regular infusions of tea. From St Apollinaire, there is a fantastic vista back to Embrun, across to the hills hiding the monastery of Boscodon which we had diverted around the day before, and down the valley for at least two days walk. By the end of the day, we had made Chorges where we had planned to stay, but despite extensive use of hte mobile phone, we couèld find no accommodation. We decided to walk an extra three kms to Montgardin where there is an Auberge.
As we left Chorges, we went looking for water....taps are in surprisingly short supply when you need them, though most villages have permanently running fountains. In any case, we decided to walk into the yard of a nearby factory or storage depot to ask for water. We were met with quizzical looks, which I put down to my hat - which Boronia despises - and poor french, and given two large bottles of water from a nearby pallet. It was only as we left that we noticed the sign which explained that we had walked into a huge water bottling factory asking for water.
The Auberge du Moulin at Montgardin was superb. Restful garden setting, very french and friendly hospitality, wonderful food, much of it grown on the farm and transformed into confitures, fruit salads and more.... in short, heaven. We could have stayed a week.
Tuesday morning saw us setting off for Gap via Laus, a site of some importance to local catholics for reasons we dont entirely understand.... I think it was where St Benoit lived and worked. Of course, it is situated half way up a huge mountain, and our pathway took us to the very top before wending our way down to Gap after around six hours trekking plus a couple of rest stops for tea and lunch. We both managed the climb remarkably well, but felt quite sore by the end of the day.
We are spending a rest day in Gap, so have booked into a proper hotel including access to the internet which is allowing this blog update. Boronia jumped straight into the bath on arrival, but I decided against doing so on the grounds that i would have to fold myself in thirds to fit in, and given how stiff I am feeling, it might have proved impossible to unfold myself once I inserted myself in the bath cavity. I cant help thinking that the shape, size and comforts of baths in Paris or New York would be much more enjoyable than what is available here, let alone at home in Canberra, but then again, the privations of a pilgim's trek must amount to something if we are to gain the deferred benefits promised by the promoters of such adventures!
I dont think we have explained that we are following a set route, one of France's Grande Randonnees; ours is the GR653D, from Col de Mont Genevre / Briancon to Arles. Our next major stop is Sisteron, where we will take a day off if I can persuade Boronia to cease her incessant pedestrianism. It will take us around 24 days walking to Arles, and our progress beyond will require further negotiation.
So far, we have covered a total of over 130 kms in seven days, at an average of 18 kms a day. I count this as very good progress given the amount of climbing involved. At my lowest ebb yesterday, coming down into Gap over rocky paths, my feet feeling sore and sensitive, I asked myself why this might be so, and calculated the number of steps we had taken since Briancon. Some 180,000 steps, 90,000 for each foot!
We wish all readers of this idiosyncratic trek account the very best
mike
On Sunday, we walked the 18 kms from Embrun to Savines le Lac, a relatively new town on the shore of a large lake whose name escapes me. Savines le Lac is a tourist town built around water sports. Our accommodation at the Hotel des Sources was clean and pleasant.A meal in the local vietnamese restaurant was perfectly adequate. After dark, the lights of the village of St Apollinaire, tomorrow's first stop, shone down from what seemed - and ultimately transpired - to be a great height.
Monday morning, we set off across the bridge, and up to St Apollinaire, where we boiled the billy - Boronia doesnt travel very far nor very happily without regular infusions of tea. From St Apollinaire, there is a fantastic vista back to Embrun, across to the hills hiding the monastery of Boscodon which we had diverted around the day before, and down the valley for at least two days walk. By the end of the day, we had made Chorges where we had planned to stay, but despite extensive use of hte mobile phone, we couèld find no accommodation. We decided to walk an extra three kms to Montgardin where there is an Auberge.
As we left Chorges, we went looking for water....taps are in surprisingly short supply when you need them, though most villages have permanently running fountains. In any case, we decided to walk into the yard of a nearby factory or storage depot to ask for water. We were met with quizzical looks, which I put down to my hat - which Boronia despises - and poor french, and given two large bottles of water from a nearby pallet. It was only as we left that we noticed the sign which explained that we had walked into a huge water bottling factory asking for water.
The Auberge du Moulin at Montgardin was superb. Restful garden setting, very french and friendly hospitality, wonderful food, much of it grown on the farm and transformed into confitures, fruit salads and more.... in short, heaven. We could have stayed a week.
Tuesday morning saw us setting off for Gap via Laus, a site of some importance to local catholics for reasons we dont entirely understand.... I think it was where St Benoit lived and worked. Of course, it is situated half way up a huge mountain, and our pathway took us to the very top before wending our way down to Gap after around six hours trekking plus a couple of rest stops for tea and lunch. We both managed the climb remarkably well, but felt quite sore by the end of the day.
We are spending a rest day in Gap, so have booked into a proper hotel including access to the internet which is allowing this blog update. Boronia jumped straight into the bath on arrival, but I decided against doing so on the grounds that i would have to fold myself in thirds to fit in, and given how stiff I am feeling, it might have proved impossible to unfold myself once I inserted myself in the bath cavity. I cant help thinking that the shape, size and comforts of baths in Paris or New York would be much more enjoyable than what is available here, let alone at home in Canberra, but then again, the privations of a pilgim's trek must amount to something if we are to gain the deferred benefits promised by the promoters of such adventures!
I dont think we have explained that we are following a set route, one of France's Grande Randonnees; ours is the GR653D, from Col de Mont Genevre / Briancon to Arles. Our next major stop is Sisteron, where we will take a day off if I can persuade Boronia to cease her incessant pedestrianism. It will take us around 24 days walking to Arles, and our progress beyond will require further negotiation.
So far, we have covered a total of over 130 kms in seven days, at an average of 18 kms a day. I count this as very good progress given the amount of climbing involved. At my lowest ebb yesterday, coming down into Gap over rocky paths, my feet feeling sore and sensitive, I asked myself why this might be so, and calculated the number of steps we had taken since Briancon. Some 180,000 steps, 90,000 for each foot!
We wish all readers of this idiosyncratic trek account the very best
mike
Saturday, September 18, 2010
So far so good
We have survived four days of walking!!!! We arrived in Briancon by train on day one, and checked into the Hotel de la Gare. From my childhood, I have known about railway hotels = in my home town, the Railway offered a range of trades = in dubious services. Some time in the middle of the night, I was set upon by a famished bedbug, which having sized up the dining options, decided that I should be the chosen one, completely passing Michael over: Having commenced his sup, in a decorative ring around my neck, the offender was caught and despatched.
Day 2 We start our walking on the GR 653D to a Gite in a very small village at the top of a very, very big mountain: I find that a relative of the bedbug has transformed itself into my backpack, and gradually sucks the life force out of me as the climb goes on, up, up, up and then more up. Our Guidebook says that food is available in the village, but when we finally arrive, there is no food = NO FOOD. Starving after the climb, we assemble our meagre rations to work out how they might furnish dinner and breakfast. We have eight rice crackers and some cheese. There are some goats outside and they look mighty tasty: At sundown; we are joined by another pilgrim who looks a bit lean to eat, but he has a jar of peas and carrots and some breadsticks! We discover some eggs in the kitchen, and put together a very passable meal of omelette and the vegies, and there's even enough for an egg on a rice cracker for breakfast.
The Gite is a fairly sparten affair, with bunkbeds, but it has a wondrous washing machine and a dryer; It is also the home of a large telescope, with a special room with an opening roof for viewing. We don't get to see the view through the telescope, but the view of the nightsky is truly beautiful.
We sleep well.
Day 3 The bedbug gets a grip early in the day. After the first 30 minutes of climb, I feel exhausted. The mountains are magnificent from a distance, but at close quarters are a torture chamber with the path designed by some twisted mind. Michael has taken on the form of the devil, and says 'there's not much more uphill', but it's a lie. Beware of false prophets on the path! Somehow, after about six hours we arrive in Argentiere. My pilgrim staff props me up, with little rests every hundred metres. As we stumble into the village, we make our first sighting of fellow pilgrims = a couple of around our age - I am embarrassed as they catch me at my lowest ebb, doubled over and moaning into the handle of my pilgrim staff. We discover that they speak French and not much English. We are too tired to make much of an effort, and they wonder if they should make a wide berth of this insane woman. We greet each other, and go to our respective accommodation. We walk thrugh the village to our Gite. We find that our hostess is wonderful, and shows us to a simple room, which is light and airy. We pack up two large boxes of surplus clothing and chattles at the La Poste; and send them back to Australia. The bedbug is firmly encased at the bottom of the first box. We stagger back to the Gite and fall down on the bed. Our host serves us a beautiful 3 course meal which ends with a creation of creme anglais, stewed peaches, stiffly beaten egg whites and crushed almond macaroons. I resolve to recreate it when I get back to my own kitchen.
Day 4 Legs getting stronger = first three quarters of the walk to Chateauroux Les Alpes is actually enjoyable. The scenery is spectacular. The day is hot, but the path takes us through shady forests, even if it keeps going ever up. I start to notice the many different wild flowers we pass - trying to drag their Latin names into my exhausted consciousness -was that Exygium or Erigeron?? And that's a hellebore, and there are lots of scabiosa. Most beautiful of all are the colchicums - or autumn crocus, which fill whole paddocks. If I keep a sharp eye out, there are also ripe blackberries, and surplus grapes on unguarded vines. Michael even concedes that he likes the walking poles! We find our hotel, just as our legs are buckling. Our hosts are very helpful, and have been alerted to the Australian couple staggering their way, by the pilgrims we met earlier on the trail.
Day 5 We are comforted by the red and white stripes that mark the way. Occasionallly in bigger towns, like Embrun where we are today, there will be a path of brass shells marking the way on the footpath. My heart has a little jump when I see them. But today, it was wet and we lost track of the red and white stripe markers two thirds of the way up a very high hill. Michael is a fantastic intuitive navigator but I have no sense of direction. I rely on the stripes - the STRIPES - where are they!! After much backtracking along various forks in paths in the grass and muddy tracks, we strike out on a forest trail that seems to be heading in the right direction. It goes on up, up qnd then more up, into the mists. We can see nothing below us now. We hear the bells on cows in the gloom. A man with a gun looms out of the mist. We ask him in broken French which way to Embrun - his hands go up and down, then up again, and he says something we don't catch, but it doesn't seem entirely hopeless, so we keep struggling up the path. Then the path goes down - and down - and we come to a junction where - hallelujah - we're reunited with the stripes!!!! And we do get to Embrun!!!
Day 2 We start our walking on the GR 653D to a Gite in a very small village at the top of a very, very big mountain: I find that a relative of the bedbug has transformed itself into my backpack, and gradually sucks the life force out of me as the climb goes on, up, up, up and then more up. Our Guidebook says that food is available in the village, but when we finally arrive, there is no food = NO FOOD. Starving after the climb, we assemble our meagre rations to work out how they might furnish dinner and breakfast. We have eight rice crackers and some cheese. There are some goats outside and they look mighty tasty: At sundown; we are joined by another pilgrim who looks a bit lean to eat, but he has a jar of peas and carrots and some breadsticks! We discover some eggs in the kitchen, and put together a very passable meal of omelette and the vegies, and there's even enough for an egg on a rice cracker for breakfast.
The Gite is a fairly sparten affair, with bunkbeds, but it has a wondrous washing machine and a dryer; It is also the home of a large telescope, with a special room with an opening roof for viewing. We don't get to see the view through the telescope, but the view of the nightsky is truly beautiful.
We sleep well.
Day 3 The bedbug gets a grip early in the day. After the first 30 minutes of climb, I feel exhausted. The mountains are magnificent from a distance, but at close quarters are a torture chamber with the path designed by some twisted mind. Michael has taken on the form of the devil, and says 'there's not much more uphill', but it's a lie. Beware of false prophets on the path! Somehow, after about six hours we arrive in Argentiere. My pilgrim staff props me up, with little rests every hundred metres. As we stumble into the village, we make our first sighting of fellow pilgrims = a couple of around our age - I am embarrassed as they catch me at my lowest ebb, doubled over and moaning into the handle of my pilgrim staff. We discover that they speak French and not much English. We are too tired to make much of an effort, and they wonder if they should make a wide berth of this insane woman. We greet each other, and go to our respective accommodation. We walk thrugh the village to our Gite. We find that our hostess is wonderful, and shows us to a simple room, which is light and airy. We pack up two large boxes of surplus clothing and chattles at the La Poste; and send them back to Australia. The bedbug is firmly encased at the bottom of the first box. We stagger back to the Gite and fall down on the bed. Our host serves us a beautiful 3 course meal which ends with a creation of creme anglais, stewed peaches, stiffly beaten egg whites and crushed almond macaroons. I resolve to recreate it when I get back to my own kitchen.
Day 4 Legs getting stronger = first three quarters of the walk to Chateauroux Les Alpes is actually enjoyable. The scenery is spectacular. The day is hot, but the path takes us through shady forests, even if it keeps going ever up. I start to notice the many different wild flowers we pass - trying to drag their Latin names into my exhausted consciousness -was that Exygium or Erigeron?? And that's a hellebore, and there are lots of scabiosa. Most beautiful of all are the colchicums - or autumn crocus, which fill whole paddocks. If I keep a sharp eye out, there are also ripe blackberries, and surplus grapes on unguarded vines. Michael even concedes that he likes the walking poles! We find our hotel, just as our legs are buckling. Our hosts are very helpful, and have been alerted to the Australian couple staggering their way, by the pilgrims we met earlier on the trail.
Day 5 We are comforted by the red and white stripes that mark the way. Occasionallly in bigger towns, like Embrun where we are today, there will be a path of brass shells marking the way on the footpath. My heart has a little jump when I see them. But today, it was wet and we lost track of the red and white stripe markers two thirds of the way up a very high hill. Michael is a fantastic intuitive navigator but I have no sense of direction. I rely on the stripes - the STRIPES - where are they!! After much backtracking along various forks in paths in the grass and muddy tracks, we strike out on a forest trail that seems to be heading in the right direction. It goes on up, up qnd then more up, into the mists. We can see nothing below us now. We hear the bells on cows in the gloom. A man with a gun looms out of the mist. We ask him in broken French which way to Embrun - his hands go up and down, then up again, and he says something we don't catch, but it doesn't seem entirely hopeless, so we keep struggling up the path. Then the path goes down - and down - and we come to a junction where - hallelujah - we're reunited with the stripes!!!! And we do get to Embrun!!!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Change of Plan
Over a very nice meal here in Montpelier, we have decided to start our trek from Briancon in the Alps, and head west, towards Toulouse and Spain. Boronia's stated reason is that it will be cooler walking at this time of year - and it is quite warm. I have a suspicion however that the fact that we start high and end low may also have something to do with it. We travel by train to Briançon tomorrow.
mike
mike
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Singapore and London
Our flight to Singapore was uneventful. I watched some movies, the best of which was Animal Kingdom about Melbourne's underworld. And really about how we are prisoners of the choices we make.
Singapore was a chance to relax, explore,and enjoy the local food. Day one was spent exploring the areas around our hotel, the Muslim quarter, the Singapore Art Gallery, and the parliment house area, all on foot. A delicious lunch in a Burmese restaurant in the city. Day one was topped off with a text message from JB indicating that Labor had secured an agreement which would allow it ot form a minority government.
Day two was planned as a walking day in some of Singapore's parks,but our plans were abandoned shortly after what ended up as a three hour torrential downpour began. Instead, we explored Little India, and made a short foray into the old chinese quarter, which was too touristic for our tastes, so we made a quick exit. After lunch in Little India - biryani curry, and in the face of continuing rain, we headed for the airport, where we could relax in the lounge.
The flight to London was not too bad considering its length. Twelve hours sure beats twenty. Boronia had secured good economy seats, with plenty of leg room, the main criterion for me. We arrived at five thirty am this morning, feeling a little bleary. First priority was our hotel to drop our bags. Check in is around noon.
Second was to walk through the city for a while until the Tate Modern opened at ten am. A couple of hours there, and we were ready for a siesta. Lunch in a local Italian trattoria. On the way back we passed William Bligh's house in Lambeth Road. My joints creaked, my buttocks are already stiff from walking a few hundred meters with the pack. My arthritic knees almost buckled. I felt a mutinous twinge against the tyrrany and oppression of the trek organiser, but suppressed it in the interests of harmony and survival. The potential tongue lashing at any sign of mutiny would be worse than any cat o'nine tail available to Bligh. Here's hoping she doesnt read this! We have another couple of days here before we fly to Montpelier on Saturday evening.
I am pressuring Boronia to work out how to post some photos for your enjoyment!
Posting is likely to be irregular!
Singapore was a chance to relax, explore,and enjoy the local food. Day one was spent exploring the areas around our hotel, the Muslim quarter, the Singapore Art Gallery, and the parliment house area, all on foot. A delicious lunch in a Burmese restaurant in the city. Day one was topped off with a text message from JB indicating that Labor had secured an agreement which would allow it ot form a minority government.
Day two was planned as a walking day in some of Singapore's parks,but our plans were abandoned shortly after what ended up as a three hour torrential downpour began. Instead, we explored Little India, and made a short foray into the old chinese quarter, which was too touristic for our tastes, so we made a quick exit. After lunch in Little India - biryani curry, and in the face of continuing rain, we headed for the airport, where we could relax in the lounge.
The flight to London was not too bad considering its length. Twelve hours sure beats twenty. Boronia had secured good economy seats, with plenty of leg room, the main criterion for me. We arrived at five thirty am this morning, feeling a little bleary. First priority was our hotel to drop our bags. Check in is around noon.
Second was to walk through the city for a while until the Tate Modern opened at ten am. A couple of hours there, and we were ready for a siesta. Lunch in a local Italian trattoria. On the way back we passed William Bligh's house in Lambeth Road. My joints creaked, my buttocks are already stiff from walking a few hundred meters with the pack. My arthritic knees almost buckled. I felt a mutinous twinge against the tyrrany and oppression of the trek organiser, but suppressed it in the interests of harmony and survival. The potential tongue lashing at any sign of mutiny would be worse than any cat o'nine tail available to Bligh. Here's hoping she doesnt read this! We have another couple of days here before we fly to Montpelier on Saturday evening.
I am pressuring Boronia to work out how to post some photos for your enjoyment!
Posting is likely to be irregular!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Almost on our way
Last minute preparations are well under way. Boronia has done a terrific job in researching lightweight materials, purchasing what is required and planning potential routes.
We are largely packed, though having trouble finding space for the last few items.
Mike has had trouble tearing himself away from work, with a range of issues still in play, and a degree of uncertainty about the final result. But he is working hard to focus on the trip now, and leaving the delights of parliament house behind. He was given a wonderful send off by his colleagues (who he will miss very much!). Next step scheduled for this afternoon is to give up the blackberry. Complete recovery may take some weeks.
First stop is Singapore where we stay two nights, before flying to London for a couple of days. Then we fly to Montpelier in the south of France. Beyond Montpelier is a subject of ongoing debate.
Option One (originally planned by Boronia and presently preferred by Mike) is to head for Italy via Arles and Col de Mont Genevre - a pass through the Alps. Option Two (being canvassed by Boronia) is to head west towards Toulouse, and thereafter, who knows. Resolution of this impasse will be the subject of intense negotiation over the coming days, and results will be advised once they are finalised. We are both committed to total transparency in assessing these issues, and any concessions made between the parties will be made public and if necessary independently costed.
We look forward to keeping all out friends informed of our progress and if we can manage it to posting the odd photograph.
In the meantime, we wish our friends, colleagues and family all the best.
mike
We are largely packed, though having trouble finding space for the last few items.
Mike has had trouble tearing himself away from work, with a range of issues still in play, and a degree of uncertainty about the final result. But he is working hard to focus on the trip now, and leaving the delights of parliament house behind. He was given a wonderful send off by his colleagues (who he will miss very much!). Next step scheduled for this afternoon is to give up the blackberry. Complete recovery may take some weeks.
First stop is Singapore where we stay two nights, before flying to London for a couple of days. Then we fly to Montpelier in the south of France. Beyond Montpelier is a subject of ongoing debate.
Option One (originally planned by Boronia and presently preferred by Mike) is to head for Italy via Arles and Col de Mont Genevre - a pass through the Alps. Option Two (being canvassed by Boronia) is to head west towards Toulouse, and thereafter, who knows. Resolution of this impasse will be the subject of intense negotiation over the coming days, and results will be advised once they are finalised. We are both committed to total transparency in assessing these issues, and any concessions made between the parties will be made public and if necessary independently costed.
We look forward to keeping all out friends informed of our progress and if we can manage it to posting the odd photograph.
In the meantime, we wish our friends, colleagues and family all the best.
mike
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