La Grande Randonee - Day 4 - Tremolat - Le Bugue

2008-09-19 Tremolat-Le Bugue

After coffee, croissants, and yes, some cheese, it was time to say goodbye to our lovely green attic room and head off for the next town. Leaving our bags neatly piled up in the foyer, we set off...
and immediately got lost. This was the morning when we started to discover the occasional tricks and errors in our walking instructions. Arriving at the 12th century church of St Hilaire (we saw the inside last night), we realised that there was no sign of the path markings. Thoughtfully we retraced our steps to the point at which we had left the trail the afternoon before, and soon realised that what we needed was the 12th century nave of the church of St Nicholas.

From 2008-09-18 Lalinde-Tremolat

Re-oriented, we were on our way. The morning was uneventful - farms, fields, farm cats and sleepy country roads. At lunchtime we climbed up a steep hill (accompanied by the gentle clonking of a bell wether), to find ourselves at what appeared to be the top of the mediaeval town of Limeuil . This beautiful walled town wraps around a steep hill next to the river. Predictably, while we were at the top, the only available lunch was at the bottom next to the river. We ate goat's cheese salad (only a little cheese) in the company of all the British tourists. You could see they would get to the first turn in the winding street up the hill and collapse panting, before returning to the river bank to buy the view from the top on a fridge magnet. We, of course, were made of sterner stuff. We got to the top of the town and realised we were only halfway up the hill before we too collapsed. 

The rest of the afternoon was a slow-motion rollercoaster, as the GR markings led us up vertical limestone goat tracks and back down them again, with the occasional respite as we crossed fields of cows. We were immensely grateful to find ourselves on level ground at Le Bugue, and in the decadent 17th century surroundings of  Domaine de la Barde.

La Grande Randonnee - Day 3 - Afternoon - Mauzac - Tremolat

Our afternoon wandered up and down hills, through oak woods and corn fields. Even though this was the shortest day (allowing for measurement errors and accidental detours), we were very grateful to arrive in Tremolat and find our hotel - Le Vieux Logis.

The hotel garden

This beautiful hotel is reputed to be one of the best in the Dordogne - we don't disagree. The only disappointment was that the hotel staff all spoke excellent English and wouldn't let us practise our French.
Our luggage had been magically transported from Lalinde and was waiting for us in our beautiful attic room. L'Occitane bath products, fluffy bathrobes, foot ointment and clean clothes later, it was time for drinks on the terrace. After a glass of Bergerac Sec by the stream, we were ready for dinner.
Based on our last two dinners, our expectations were for good, but modest food. It was something of a surprise to be handed an 8 course tasting menu. The food was extraordinary, matched by superb wines. The middle courses are something of a blur, but I remember a few things like three little cubes of foie gras pate with different fruit jellies on top, foie gras creme caramel on the side and strict instructions for eating order. For the responsible people out there horrified that anyone could eat foie gras - it was the only time, I swear, it was a tiny amount, the goose was happy, and I had to know what the fuss was about. Then there was a perfectly grilled sea bass with a seaweed-scented foam, a tender magret de canard and, the CHEESE...
The waiter brought an enormous platter of cheese to the table - there must have been at least 15 different sheep, goat and cow cheeses on offer. I managed to restrain myself and not try all 15, but it was a challenge. This was followed by 3 different desserts. We barely made it up the stairs to bed.

Our room

La Grande Randonnee - Day 3 - Morning - Lalinde - Mauzac

well, this was it, the start of our walk. We jumped out of bed (only slightly slowed by last night's cheese), ready to throw open the shutters and greet the French sunshine.
It was raining (of course).This was the moment that I realised that despite having brought 3 raincoats, a rain poncho and two umbrellas to London, I had carried none of them across the Channel.
Oh well, we had just enough time before our taxi arrived to find a sports store, remedy the deficit and buy a map.

Our taxi arrived just in time, driven by a charming lady who I swear was either wearing an original Chanel suit, or a very good imitation. She explained that she was only driving the taxi for the day, but didn't explain further. We chatted happily in somewhat broken French on the 45 minute drive to Lalinde.

We arrived under the dripping plane trees of the town square and pulled out our maps and guides to work out where to go. First items on the agenda - find something for lunch and a public toilet.

Finding a public toilet was fairly easy. Finding a public toilet that was actually tolerable took a bit longer. Fortunately the robo-toilet has made it to the Dordogne, and we found one a few metres from where we left the taxi after wandering disconsolately around in the rain for a while.
Lunch was even easier - cheese! We were bludgeoned into submission by two charming cheese vendors who persuaded us to buy 30€ worth of sheep cheese. It was delicious, and lasted us several days, but every now and again as we walked, I would hear a snort from behind and a muttered "30€ for cheese!".
We finally found our way onto the trail, and spent the rest of the morning walking along a canal toward Mauzac.

This was the first and last flat stretch of ground in the whole walk - obviously planned to lull us into false confidence.

Mauzac's main attractions were a small hydro power station and a nautical club. We bought bread and tomatoes to go with our cheese, and clambered up the hill on the outside of town to find a lunch spot.The hill was only memorable for a brief sighting of a red squirrel, but the picnic table in a grassy hollow at the top of the hill was a perfect lunch spot.
Next post - the afternoon...

La Grande Randonnee - Day 2 - Bergerac

From 2008-09-17 M8_bergerac

According to Wikipedia, the medieval town of Bergerac had nothing to do with Cyrano de Bergerac. However this has not stopped the local residents from putting up a statue to the famous Cyrano in the town square.
We arrived mid-afternoon after taking the lunchtime train from Bordeaux.
Once you drag your suitcase out of the railway station and along the dog poo-strewn streets to your hotel, dump everything and wander out, Bergerac turns into a beautiful mediaeval town.
Our hotel was pleasant if unremarkable. The tour guide for our walk, Jean Paul, arrived about 6:00pm to give us a briefing. He insisted in going through the itinerary and the maps for all 6 days - pointing out those features that were very nice, those that were dangerous (but not too dangerous), and the various chateaux that we must be sure to see along the way. There seemed to be rather a lot of them...
I must admit my eyes glazed over about day four and chateau seven - that may explain the number of times we had to stop to check the map as time went on. The itinerary generally followed grande-randonnee #6 from Lalinde to Sarlat - it soon became obvious the first purchase of the morning would have to be a proper map.
After much friendly conversation and effusive best wishes, Jean Paul took his leave - not before selecting our restaurant for dinner for us. Fortunately the restaurant, Le Saint Jacques , was excellent. It was run by a cheerful Dutch family, who had a lot of fun seeing who could make jokes in the most languages. This evening, unfortunately, was also the start of a gluttonous week of cheese and cholesterol which we are still trying to overcome with soy milk and clean living.
Tomorrow, the start of our walk...

La Grande Randonnée - Day 1 - Bordeaux and the Getting There

2008-09-16 Bordeaux

as threatened last blog, we did have to resort to Plan B - flying to Bordeaux. Fortunately Kensington-Victoria-Gatwick-Bordeaux Airport-Bordeaux St Jean was ridiculously easy. Unusually for BA, the steward was funny, friendly, and the food was edible - must have been an off day. The piccolo of lunchtime champagne on the flight was almost good enough to ease the sting of the fully flexible airfare (ouch).
Bordeaux knocks Bath  off its perch for beauty and charm, not to mention much better food. We also score another tick on the World Heritage list.
We arrived in Bordeaux about 17:00, and enjoyed a couple of hours strolling around the 18th century town before dark. We had dinner at a little cafe across from the hotel. As it was our first night in France we opted for the Perigordais specialities of foie gras and magret de canard. Little did we know how tired we would be of anything made from duck or goose by the end of the week.
We stayed at the Amarys Royal St Jean, which was right across from the train station, very pleasant and good value.
The next morning we discovered that SNCF does not approve of credit cards without chips, and punishes foreigners by making them queue to buy train tickets from a real person. Fortunately we decided to buy train tickets before lunch rather than after, so this was not in fact a disaster. Next stop - Bergerac.

an incendiary week

I don't know what is wrong with London this week. Despite my doom-laden prediction in the last blog, the Whole Foods Market did not burn down (though there was a distinct smell of smoke).
However London's Burning may be more than just a song by the Clash.
This week the London Stock Exchange fell over, there was a tram and bus crash in Croydon, all the bus drivers are out on strike, the Tube upgrade blew out by a couple more billion pounds, yet another budget travel company went under and stranded 200,000 people, and yesterday afternoon, the Channel Tunnel caught fire! It's not looking good for the weekend.
I personally blame the switching on of the Large Hadron Collider in CERN. It has obviously created a wave of malfunctioning reality to ripple across Europe.
None of this would normally bother me, except...we are supposed to be catching Eurostar to Paris on Tuesday to go on holiday.
Never fear, Plan B (refundable air tickets to Bordeaux) is already booked.

Hotel troubles in Montreal (C23)

It's country #23 - Canada. By the rules of the country game, describing Montreal as part of Canada may be challenged. Many would vigorously defend the right of Quebec to be distinct from Canada. This includes many Quebecois who will be shuddering at my lack of accents (it's just too hard to find them on an English keyboard).

I spent this week at a putative 5-star hotel that shall be nameless to protect the staff. Now I'm sure on a good week this well-known and respected Montreal landmark would live up to expectations and deliver a fine and satisfying service. Unfortunately they seem somehow to have misstepped in the Canadian industrial relations system.

When I arrived, all seemed calm except for a polite notice that suggested some union action might occur. Certainly things seemed normal enough that evening - the bar and restaurants were open, all the staff seemed to be there. Over the next 3 days things grew steadily odder. Staff disappeared, my room was no longer cleaned, the health club closed, the remaining staff turned up in shorts and T-shirts, all pretence of service was abandoned. 

Sunday morning a fire alarm at 7:30 brought the few remaining hotel guests out into the street in their dressing gowns and jarmies to stand around outside the lobby and watch the fun. The fire engines arrived in less than 5 minutes, and there was much busy to-ing and fro-ing before the all-clear was sounded. Thank goodness it wasn't a real fire. The lack of visible fire wardens, defined muster point or crowd control would have meant victims for sure. Canadian safety procedures? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

Just half an hour ago, two housekeeping staff appeared at my door. A more trusting person might have been overjoyed that they had finally come to make up the room - it had been 2 days out of 4. Unfortunately they seemed only to want to take away all the minibar biscuits, chocolates and other over-priced goodies you are only ever tempted to eat after room service closes for the night. I would have just assumed they were bringing fresher versions, or that the guests' pilfering had reached unacceptable levels, if they had not invited me to help myself from the collection on the way out. Canadian hospitality? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

On my last morning, after a week of bemusedly watching a 5-star hotel implode on itself, I decided it was time to be assertive. I marched up to the front desk:

"I would like a 6:00pm checkout please"

"That will cost you an extra day"

Using my best Jedi hand-wave - "It will not cost me anything more".

The receptionist looked at me blankly for a moment, disappeared into a back room and returned a minute later.

"No problem, 6:00 it is".

Bouyed with confidence in my mind-control technique, when I came back at 6:00, I managed to get another night free for the inconvenience.

At least the weather was warm and sunny, there were lots of cheap and cheerful restaurants to choose from, and I had fun shopping.

Back in London now. The fire engines were piling up outside my favourite market yesterday, and I'm off to see if it burnt down while I was sleeping.

Avebury & Lacock (LW04, WH0373)

London Walks again came through on walk #4 (see the list of London Walks). In an eerie coincidence, they offered a day trip to Avebury and Lacock on the very day I was struggling to figure out a means of getting there by public transport. As usual, the cost was low, the organisation flawless and the guide whimsical.

Lots has been written about Avebury, so I am not going to be boring and repeat it all.The best book I have found on Avebury is "Prehistoric Avebury" by Aubrey Burl. I also read "Hengeworld" by Mike Pitts. Though this had lots of interesting content, the writing style was a bit breathless and incoherent. Here are some interesting links:

• National Trust
• Avebury - a present from the past
• Wikipedia

This doesn't rate as a new World Heritage site on the tick-off list because I have already been to Stonehenge (WH0373). However, it is huge, and wonderful, and I will go back one day and spend more than a couple of hours.

Lacock is a tiny gem of a village in deepest darkest Wiltshire. When not swamped by film crews, it is sleepy and peaceful. It may be the last living village in England with a Post Office and general store (and no Tesco's).

photographic fame at last

Was in Trafalgar Square on Sunday after visiting the National Gallery. I am trying to tick off every painting in "1001 Paintings to See Before You Die", but it's going a bit slowly.
On my way back to the Embankment Tube station I stopped to watch the crowds watching the Olympics on the big screen.

One of my pictures (<---) even made it onto the BBC website this week. They said:

"Thanks for your photo of the crowds at Trafalgar Square, it's just what we are looking for and we've used it in our gallery of audience photographs"
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/olympics/7565307.stm
it's somewhere in the above gallery - you may need to look at a few of other peoples' photographs before you find it.

Ishmaelia mon amour

20080706_Conakry

Early July, I found myself back in Ishmaelia (aka Guinea, aka country #21). After my disappointing encounter with country #22, and my failure to leave the grounds of the hotel on my last visit here, my expectations of this African experience were low.
I was also travelling for work. I think it may be a supplementary rule of the country game that you are allowed to be as negative and sarcastic as you like if your employer is paying for the trip (unless of course you work for a tour company).
If you are holidaying or otherwise there at your own behest, you always feel the need to defend the choice - "such an interesting experience", "dysentery is such a quick way to lose weight", "the foul sliminess of the local currency really discourages you from over-spending", and so on.
However, I strangely enjoyed myself. As one or two old Africa hands have said to me - either you hate the place or it sneaks up and grabs you by the heart. I can't see myself living in Guinea - for climate reasons alone (loathe the tropics) - but it is growing on me. Its mad, baroque complexity is oddly fascinating, the people are charming and dignified, and once you get out of the urban renewal target that is the capital and into the countryside, it is lushly beautiful. No timetables or guarantees, but looking forward to the next trip back.

Southwest

2008-05-31_berry_farm

as usual, writing blogs for things that happened months ago...
Back in Perth for a few days in May, managed to sneak down to Busselton and try out the new (or at least less old) campervan. Crammed in a few favourite things - lunch with the honeyeaters at the Berry Farm, a stroll through the Lake Cave, and evening on the coast.

autumn harvest

2008-05-29_autumn_harvest

one of the (arguably) nice things about being away from home for a few months is that you get to see things grow and develop in magic snapshots, like timelapse photography.

I went to visit our local community garden the other day, and was delighted by how much it has blossomed in just a few months.

I had to take a few shots of the autumn harvest.

Sydneyside

2008-05-17_sydney

Oh dear,
despite best intentions, I haven't improved my blogging frequency. Blame air travel. I'm back in Perth this week after a week in Sydney.
The haul from London to Sydney wasn't too bad. The best part was blowing some points to travel first class Heathrow to Singapore. As expected, it is a lot nicer, but not that much nicer. The best part is the flat bed and the snuggly doona.

Unfortunately despite a stop & shower in Singapore, first-class comfort did not prevent me arriving in Sydney at 5:15am horribly jet-lagged. Due to time zone confusion the hotel had cancelled my booking, but we managed to retrieve it. I spent the day walking around CBD Sydney and the Rocks, trying to stay awake. Had dinner in a nondescript seafood place in Darling Harbour and went to bed ridiculously early. The next day much the same in the morning - I had to be in Ingleside around 4:00, so got a taxi about 3:00.

It seems Sydney taxi drivers are not required to have the Knowledge. The driver got lost and started to get panicky. I had to take his street directory away and navigate intersection by intersection. Fortunately we were only about 2km from where we were supposed to be, and arrived quickly enough once a woman was in charge of reading the map...

The week in Ingleside was intense - 5 days of business strategy and leadership with ping pong in the evenings. I made it to my friends' house on Friday night totally exhausted.

Spent Saturday wandering around the Domain and the Botanic Gardens - spiders, cockatoos and Wollemi pines dominate the pictures this time.
Sunday back to earth (I mean Perth), and back in the office.

Unfortunately I have two laptops, a desktop and a portable hard drive scattered around the world at the moment, and I couldn't for a while quite remember which hard drive the pictures were in. I finally tracked them down in the home (Perth home) PC, cunningly filed in Lightroom instead of Picasa.

dogs in space

no pictures for this one, just a few thoughts.
Now the days are longer, I walk to work through the park. One of the odd joys of Kensington Gardens is the happiness that it brings to the dogs of Kensington. Many of them are starting to become familiar - the pair of wolfhounds, the two Irish setters, the pack (three bitser terriers, two aged golden labs, and two elderly ladies),the chows, and the many jack russells. I have never been much of a dog fan, but I do get a lot of entertainment out of the many dogs, racing each other through the trees, enjoying themselves immensely...

badly behind in blogging

I have been very remiss in keeping up with my vow to blog every week. Sometimes life just seems to move at a pace faster than your fingers can type.
I have had a few distractions though...
First, Mirek was here, so I got to be a normal person with a life instead of a grumpy workaholic for a couple of weeks. Having company means, of course, adventures. We weren't wildly imaginative, but we had a wonderful three days of being Easter tourists in Cornwall. We stayed in Penzance

20080329_cornwall_penzance

and roamed the south-west coast. Cornwall is one of those beautiful coastlines you walk along and realise why all your ancestors emigrated to New Zealand. Just like home but much much better...
It's all tiny, beautiful fishing villages, historic houses, hidden valleys, neolithic stone circles,

20080329_cornwall_merry_maidens

friendly locals, 14th century pubs and cider. New Zealand just has fewer stone circles, no cider and farmland that hasn't been bought up by pop stars. Actually, I'm not sure about the cider. I'm not sure about Cornish cider either, but I tried very hard. Oh, and pounamu. Never underestimate the attraction of pounamu...
I tried to take pictures of things that actually looked like they were in England, and not just Margaret River or Dunedin, but it was tricky sometimes. There were other odd resonances. I was trying to explain to my French teacher how we went on a walk to St Michael's Mount. You can imagine:
"Nous sommes allés à Mont St Michel"
"Mont St Michel! En Bretagne!"
"Non, en Bretagne"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit!"
"Non, en Bretagne, en Cornwall..."
"Mais, Mont St Michel est en Bretagne!"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit..."
at this point I gave up and just showed him the pictures, which didn't actually help that much because of the unfortunate close resemblance between St Michael's Mount in Cornwall, and Mont St Michel in Brittany.

20080328_cornwall_marazion_stmichaels

I must admit one of the highlights of our Cornish idyll was the Jubilee Poo.

20080328_cornwall_jubilee_poo

I can't explain, you have to see the pictures, but I'm sure David Hockney would have approved.
Next blog, I describe what it is like to have 3 inches of snow in London in April, and explain why a new camera removed my ability to type words for a while...

Turner's London

20080309_Southwark

Sunday the 9th was the day before the gales that blew all over England and led to a miserable cold and windy week. Perversely, London chose to be at its prettiest, giving us Turneresque skies and dramatic clouds. I almost expected the Fighting Temeraire to appear on the Thames.
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many...
I again took my guide from Benedict Le Vey and wandered up the Borough High Street. I passed London's only surviving galleried coaching inn, admired the fine brickwork of the hop factors, glimpsed the Corn Exchange, enjoyed the Art Nouveau excess of Harpers Cafe, and passed the oldest railway station in London. Across the street from St Thomas' Hospital, I was accosted by one of those worrying people with a satchel full of brochures and a slightly mad look in the eye. He was very interested to hear that this was the site where the first English bible was printed, but seemed disappointed at my lack of interest in his photocopies of inappropriate bookshop displays. I was just warming up for a lecture on the role of Southwark as a moral free zone outside the constraints of the Elizabethan City of London when he wandered away...
I made my way through Green Dragon Court (which you may remember from such films as Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)) and past the (closed) Borough Market. I whizzed past the Golden Hinde, Winchester Palace, the Clink, and wound up at the Anchor Tavern, arguably built on the spot where Samuel Pepys watched the Great Fire of London. Another fire viewed from nearby, The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October 1834, was a subject for Turner, and thus leads me back to the start of my blog.

Fleet Street and Smithfield

20080203_Fleet_St_Smithfield

I took my plan for this Sunday's stroll from two different guides - City Walks London and Eccentric London by Benedict le Vay. I started at Holborn Tube Station, where I was treated to the site of an open fire merrily burning on the truck painting stripes on the road. Safety? We don't have that in London.
I passed the home of the BBC World Service, dedicated to the friendship of English speaking peoples. I stopped to admire the Waldorf Hotel, famed for its tea dances in the 1920s. No doubt, like P.G. Wodehouse's Aunt Augusta, if I had gone in I would have seen Edwin lunching at the Waldorf with a creature.
Passing the Waldorf, I turned down India Place past the statue of Nehru, to find the little church of St Mary-Le-Strand. In Saxon times, this area was the heart of London. The present church is one of those built following the 1711 Act for building new churches in London.

I walked through the quite beautiful space of Somerset House, past Inland Revenue and down to the Thames Embankment. I walked past John Stuart Mill (the people you meet...), past the closed gate to Middle Temple Lane and up Temple Avenue to Fleet Street.

In bygone days, this was the course of the river Fleet - according to Benedict le Vay, the only river to have exploded due to the gas produced by its own effluent. Later of course, Fleet Street was more famous for the gutter press than the gutter. The outlet of the Fleet can still be seen below Blackfriars Bridge.

Just off Fleet Street and up a tiny alleway I found Dr Johnson's House. In the same little square you can find the bronze statue of Dr Johnson's cat, Hodge, who, according to Percival Stockdale,
...by his master when caressed
Warmly his gratitude expressed;
And never failed his thanks to purr
Whene'er he stroked his sable fur.
Hodge was presumably fond of oysters, as a pair of shells adorn the statue.
Returning back along Fleet Street toward Blackfriars I passed Wren's St Bride's, allegedly the primary inspiration for the tiered wedding cake.
I passed the Old Bailey, took a tour through Smithfield, visited Gloucestershire and found myself back at Ludgate Circus. Owing to the Engineering, Blackfriars Tube Station was out of service, so I had no choice but to make my way up to St Paul's and home.

I went to Camden Markets, but they were gone before I got there

20080210_camden

Memo to self - watch the news on weekends...
I was sitting at home on Sunday morning, trying to decide what to do. Perfect Perth winter day (oh wait, I'm in London)... Weirdly warm and sunny winter day - 15 degrees, clear skies. I knew I had to do something outdoors.
My first thought was to go see the Henry Moore exhibition at Kew Gardens, however I've been in London long enough to be cautious about public transport. Check the Transport for London website. Oh, disruptions on the Bakerloo line. Every other transport option takes twice as long.
Plan B - Camden Markets - that'll be fun! Circle Line is running today - catch the Tube to Great Portland Street and walk up Albany Street. All seems fine. I pass the Queen's Head and Artichoke, say hello to St Pancras and head up Oval Street to Regent's Canal.
Odd - Camden High Street is blocked to the north and I can't get to the markets. I heard a policeman mention "the pub" and I thought knowingly, "Sunday afternoon, there'll be footy riot at the pub, saw one of 'em at the Hillgate Arms the ovver week". Town crier directing pedestrians to the Stables Market. Kept walking.
Walk up Hawley Street - more police lines. Must be quite a footy game - ambulances, fire engines, emergency response teams - wait, something's not right...
Got to Leybourne St and as I surveyed the smoking ruins of the Hawley Arms ...finally... realised what was going on...
Clearly I need to watch more television and get out less...

Highgate Cemetery

20080127_Highgate

One of the less depressing things about London is the happy hunt for underappreciated tourist attractions. You know, things like Henry Moore's sculpture at Millbank on the Thames. Never heard of Millbank? Notorious Renaissance den of iniquity within the sanctuary zone of Westminster Abbey, 19th Century point of departure for the convict ships to Australia, origin of the term "Down Under", 1960s icon of Brutalist architecture? There you go - underappreciated.
This weekend's forgotten gem was Highgate Cemetery. In fact, before I got to Highgate, I had to turn again, turn again, turn again like Whittington, who stopped at the Archway Tube station to reconsider and go back to be thrice Lord Mayor of London. I took a picture of his cat. Bronze cats are popular in London - in a later blog, I will introduce you to Dr Johnson's.
You may know Highgate as the resting place of Karl Marx - I didn't bother to visit the great man. I did, however, pay homage at the modest gravestone of Douglas Adams - Writer.
Highgate represents the pinnacle of the great 19th century funerary obsession. It ranks with Pere LaChaise in Paris, and Recoleta in Buenos Aires. Unlike those two immaculate gems, Highgate has been allowed to subside into a delicately sustained neglect; something like that elderly relative who teeters between charming and vicious on the third brandy and dry.
Speaking of which, the West Cemetery is accessible by guided tour only. It is also guarded by a fierce dragon in Argyll plaid.
I was at the front of the queue, being compulsively early as usual. Immediately I was in trouble. I had my Hasselblad tucked discreetly under one arm. Not discreet enough for dragon-lady. My camera was too big, and thus disrespectful to the grieving and departed. She bore an alarming resemblance to one of my more intimidating primary school teachers, so the Hasselblad went back in its bag, and the baby Pentax came out. I must have projected the right air of cringing subservience, because she appointed me Head Girl in charge of collecting the tour group and walking them across the courtyard to our designated waiting spot.
Fortunately dragon-lady was replaced by cheerful and blonde, who walked us around the weird and wonderful relic of Highgate.
After the Highgate tour I still had energy to burn, so walked back across Hampstead Heath, then through Chalk Farm and Primrose Hill, across Primrose Hill and then to St John's Wood. All up, about 8km, so not too bad for a Sunday.

the strong, silent type...

no, I'm not really... I have just been a bit busy. Had a much less intensive weekend this one just past than I have lately. I think I am getting over the frantic tourist "must see everything in London in 4 days" attitude and starting to believe that it is not a mortal sin if I don't see anything new for a week.
Had an in-principle frustrating day on Saturday. Went to yet another photo lab to discover that they have never heard of medium-format, and think black&white is what Granddad used to watch the cricket on in the shed when Grandma wanted him to mow the lawn...
However, I am learning to deal with these disappointments by embedding my forlorn visits to camera shops in long walks with interesting things in.

20080106_regentspark_camden

Last week it was Regent's Park and Camden, with a nice, apologetic paraglider whose film technician had just resigned. Even the back-in-5-minutes sign was not too disappointing, as it meant I found the Chinese tea shop 1/2 a block up.
This week it was a stroll around Victoria (eventually). I was diverted to Marble Arch by (apparently) planned engineering works on the Circle Line. But fortunately everything in Central London is accessible on foot (if you are a Sherpa). And it needs to be - the daily congestion charge is now 8 pounds, before paying for parking.
I did find a very nice espresso maker and a teapot to go with my tea of last week, so mustn't grumble. After waiting 15 minutes for the "oo er dunno" response to my enquiry on film processing, I grumpily walked up the street. I was cheered by first seeing the London Eye from a new vantage point, passing New Scotland Yard (I was too frightened by the frowning bobbie to take a picture), and ending up at the headquarters of the London Underground (St James' Park). This Tube station is notable by being:
a) faced in terrazzo marble,
b) apparently never closed for engineering works
c) unusually clean
As I had achieved my target of 10,000 steps before I am allowed in a Tube station, I rode the magic railway home.

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Sunday was rain, wind & grim, so I stayed home and cleaned things. It cleared up briefly about 2:30, so I went out for some retail therapy and a stroll around Holland Park. Had a classic Enid Blyton moment sitting on a park bench involving squirrels, a magpie, a robin, and some obese doves (I know that sounds weird, but they were really, really fat...) If I had stayed out a bit longer there would probably be foxes too. A major culture shift in moving to England from Australia is learning to think of foxes as "aaaaw, cute", rather than "aaaagh, shoot!".

Country #22

Country #22, South Africa,was underwhelming. Perhaps I'm being unfair. It was the worst kind of business trip for country appreciation: airport-hotel-office-hotel-another office-airport.
But even so, with the best will in the world, Johannesburg is just not nice.
The food is so boring I actually lost weight.
You have to lock your handbag in the car boot because people will shoot you at traffic lights for 20 R & a Blackberry.
The place seems like one big office park (see unfair above).
There was no electricity for several hours each day.
I can't be bothered showing you photographs, because I might as well have been anywhere in the developed world - generic downtown with Africans.
You can't walk anywhere because people will rob you (see shootings above).
However, to be fair, the people were friendly, the hotel staff were funny & charming & patient, the beds were soft, and there was plenty of hot water. I was horribly embarassed by the Englishman who was abusing the reception staff for his inconvenience caused by lack of electricity. I wanted to brandish my passport and cry "New Zealand! Youse is all good blokes! I dunno what him Pommie bastard talking except sounds like bullshit!"
All in all, South Africa deserves another chance (but maybe not Johannesburg).