The Libyan people have made their brave move and I salut them for it, whether the countless tribes and factions can easily resolve into what is today recognised as a cohesive government is yet to be seen. Whether they should or should not is probably the opinion of the oppressed Clansman in me that I will keep to myself, let us not forget their battle continues.

I would be very surprised if the Egyptians let their demonstrations get out of hand and seriously hamper business – it could yet happen, but I have my doubts especially as they share a border with Libya currently in turmoil, are custodians of “THE” canal and share another border with the nation most loved by all US “administrations”. Unwanted interest from the country that coins phrases like “friendly fire” and “collateral damage” settles most of us down.

Syria though has had decades of oppression, suppression and abuse, all of its borders with the exception of Jordan have been borders with strife. For centuries a skilled and educated people living in what was once the heart of civilization have been repressed even within their own homes, a situation that has gone mostly unreported in the west.

The problem with many countries is their borders, often defined by people who have no idea of the reality on the ground, just look at some of the ridiculous straight lines drawn across North America, the border of Kazakhstan & Uzbekistan, even in Europe there remains some madness between Austria & Germany and I should mention neither Ireland nor Navarre.

Leaving the Western Syrian border for now, to the North and East of Syria lies the traditional land of the Kurds, you may have heard of some issues in Iraq, those issues were mainly in the Arabic south, the North remains Kurdish, if you are very well informed you may know some of the plight of the Kurds who remain suppressed in the south east Turkey, this is a sad blight on my picture of the Turks, its why I mention the madness of lines on a map and it brings me to my point.

Angering the Turks is a bad idea – less than 10yrs ago I met an Austrian woman living in Hainburg on the Danube who to this day Hates the Turks and that opinion is based on what they did in 1683.

As a people I find the Turks a wonderful uniquely rich mix of European & Asian culture, but I would never ever get in a boxing ring with an angry one; even if it were my good friend the acerbically bright, mildly mannered & gentlemanly Nazim. However this is exactly what  the Syrian government has just done.

Having only visited Turkey once, on my cycle from the Bulgarian border to Cappadocia, I spent more nights in or beside military/ garrison towns than not, even during the day there was a military presence. On one day in a remote area on a dusty tertiary road I realised that the odd shapes in the undergrowth that had been making me uncomfortable were actually Turkish soldiers wearing their version of what the English army calls a “ghillie”.

Later the group commander explained the exercise to me in Oxford English, over wild sage tea while sitting in the company HQ/ tent. He was impressed that I had spotted so many of “his lads”. I somewhat dazedly spent most of the time thinking he had a wonderful accent and “They were pointing big f***ing guns at me, what’s not to notice”?

The Turks have a big army -  the second largest in NATO, they are well equipped, they are well trained, they have borders with two former Soviet countries, share a sea with Russia on which Russia has some serious war ships – just ask the Georgians how quick and effective a response from these ships is. They have internal conflict with the Kurds, further borders with Armenia, Iran, Iraq and until now have not got on very well with the Greeks. Historically they have a passing familiarity with war, in Hollywood parlance they don’t just “stay frosty” they are “frosty”.

Luckily President Erdogan is seemingly reluctant to start a war with Syria, despite parliament having given him the keys to the war chest. We must however remember what has happened in the past between Turkey and the Kurds in the north of Iraq, the Turks are not shy of letting their displeasure felt irrespective of what side of the border you are on.

The Syrian government seems to have realised their error, lets hope that it is an end to this particular madness, lets hope its the beginning of a larger realisation.

I have been very well cared for, and I am both surprised and delighted with the attention of the nursing staff, specialists and doctors, though it seems patients are no longer supposed to sleep.

If you are reading this Mr Gavan, by attention I mean “medical attention” not bed baths, of which there were sadly none and yes I have lodged a complaint; however my sister who works at MRI tells me that this will fall on deaf ears.

à propos – when the ward manager asked amongst other questions “Are you given enough privacy?”, I answered that yes I was and in some cases far too much. He turned beetroot red, so I was easy on him after that.

I’m out of hospital about two weeks now, and I am heading back to the hospital tomorrow for another blood letting and a review by the rather excellent Mr Green and his staff, who are as capable, attractive and interesting as they are culturally diverse – and being Manchester they are delightfully culturally diverse.

In the next week or so Ill post an update with a couple of pictures. I’m feeling OK, but very tired at times. My body is dealing well with such large amounts of drugs and although there are some unpleasant side effects they are manageable.

Meantime, thank you everyone who has sent me emails and messages, I very much appreciate your support and will reply to you soon.

PJ

After three courses of Antibiotics the ear infection is still hanging around and the E.N.T department of Cassino hospital have no interest in finding out whats wrong.

As you might imagine its been a very frustrating month here in Portella/ Cassino and I have decided to take a flight to the UK to find the source of the problem.

Hopefully it will only take a week or two, then I will return here and continue on my way, hopefully in much better shape.

Arriving in Portella I decided to have a week off/ holiday. Sadly during this time an ear infection resolved itself. I had a cold & runny nose for two weeks before and just ignored it, but one morning the bright yellow highlighter pen coloured fluid flowing out of my ear confirmed I had an ear infection.

Luckily Im in Portella and Anna & Pepino took me to the Dr. who prescribed Antibiotics but nothing for the pain which was dehumanising. With Catriona`s help I maxed out on Paracetamol & Ibuprofen for a few days which took the edge off.

The pain was staggering and after three days of no sleep and hitting my head off the wall, the pain finally receded a little, but each time I took the antibiotics the pain would intensify. After a week of this things were getting better and I finished the Antibiotics and was feeling better if not well.

Unfortunately, three or four days after the Antibiotics were finished the pain returned and I could not decide whether to return to the Dr or not. With Rossana`s help I visited the Hospital yesterday who charged me 25e as it wasn’t an emergency – I didn’t mind at all as they prescribed more Antibiotics and some other drugs. After sleeping yesterday through, my head feels clearer than it has for two weeks or more.

My only concern now is that I don’t know the reason or source of the infection and suspect that I will have to get my teeth checked, given recent history I’m not exactly eager and would have rather been in France to get this done.

]]> http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2011/09/sfortunato-fortunato/feed/ 6 http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2011/06/arriving-in-italy/ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2011/06/arriving-in-italy/#comments Fri, 24 Jun 2011 13:01:09 +0000 PJ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/?p=3377 Continue reading →]]>

The cycle to Italy was fun, I knew cheap accommodation was going to be a problem for the first few nights but I was too busy enjoying the downhill to care about much else. I arrived in the first town and stopped at the first café, the picture below is the result.

It was a fast easy cycle to Susa past the fortress at Exiles and I was early for the Ti opening. The woman was very helpful and pointed out that the place I intended sleeping had a gender restriction, luckily there was a place for those of us with a dangly collection of objects in our shorts. I met the chef who spoke excellent English and I managed to negotiate a more digestible price.

The woman at the phone shop spoke enough English for us to organise a new SIM with a DATA tariff and while eating at the kebab shop I used the WiFi for Skype, well until the woman playing annoyingly loud online slot machines stopped and switched off the WiFi.

It was only later that I was to realise that finding WiFi at cafés and bars would be a problem so my decision about the data tarrif was a good one, but UMTS coverage in Italy is patchy.

I wanted to spend the day at what is possibly the quietest place in Italy “Convento San Francesco” in Susa, but that wasnt possible. I decided I would have a short day and with help arranged a room in Avingliana which I was later to discover is probably the noisiest place in Northern Italy. Leaving Susa late, I stopped for lunch in Bussoleno, after cycling blissfully past returned to this excellent family run restaurant.

The food was with the exception of my soggy Milanese excellent. The Barbera was great, so great that I had a liter during the three hours I was there. The old bloke in the picture explained to me that they took the grapes off the vines, jumped up and down on the grapes, left them in open barrels for a while and then put it into the bottle, nothing added.

It was neither elegant nor sophisticated, it was simple, full bodied and delicious. As I was leaving, he gave me a bottle with me and I drank it to effect during my night at the noisiest place in Northern Italy.

Torino was a bit of a blur, I did meet two girls turning a map around and around, deciding they were tourists asked them where the Tourist Information was. They were English and did not have the faintest idea where they were. Their friend had given them the map which was missing the necessary “This way up” and “You are here” indications for them to be able to begin to comprehend it.

They asked what I was doing there and happy for the chance to speak English I loosely explained what I was doing. They did not believe me which was funny as Ella did not believe me either, I wonder if its the general English attitude, too much molly coddling from the state, too much defeatist attitude, another reason why Scotland has “GREAT” written across it on the map.

Anyway I was kind and made no comments about their inability to navigate one street away from the main train station, work out which was was UP on the map or know that sun-cream is a good idea when venturing out in a hot sunny country when you are a fair skinned blond from the Lancashire. I don’t know perhaps the big red swollen panda face was an intentional affectation, Im not upto date with fashion these days.

Leaving Torino I spotted my first Via Francigena route markings and so stopped to take this picture. What I didn’t notice was the large black woman in the bushes to my right.

I spotted her after I took the picture and she said something to me in Italian, excusing my lack of ability with the language and immediately in English she said “Lets Go”! I am quite certain she is not a cycling fanatic and her intention was other than to accompany me on my journey.

I looked at her bursting out of the short skirt, blouse and torn fishnets and thanked her but declined the invitation. Sadly the road I was to follow for the next few days was heavily used by truckers avoiding the Motorway tolls, which meant there were lots of girls sunbathing in the most unusual locations. I suppose if the English stop at the side of the road to erect sun-loungers and drink tea from a flask, these girls are just as free to sunbathe.

The Tourist Information despite being cute were no help with accommodation and I headed out of the city along the river and wasted half the afternoon asking in holy places if they had a bed for me. I met one old institutionalised bloke who was just horrible, it may have had to do with the area, the region east of Torino is a horrible place but I doubt it. They grow rice and breed A-5 Vigilante styled mosquitoes. As the light was failing and I still had no where to sleep, I stopped in a small town just to marvel at columns of mosquitoes rising above a gardens, it was like a horror movie and I knew I did not want to camp.

I tried valiantly to find a room, during which time I met this guy on the left from Morocco and we went for a cycle together where he told me he knew of a cheap room, it turned out to be more of the magic number nonsense and so we had a drink at the bar before I headed off again.

Finally I arrived in Trino, where I knew I was going to be screwed for 35e (35Euro is currently the magic number for a crappy room in Italy). As I entered the town I passed a priest talking to a group of boys (this observation is innuendo free) and asked him if there was somewhere to sleep. He spoke a little English and our level of communication was good, asking about accommodation he took me to the 35e crap room possibility. Pushing my luck I told him it was too expensive and thats how I managed to spend the night in the orphanage.

As I was leaving the next morning a Nun asked if I would like some bread and I said if you have a little left from breakfast that would be great. She gave me two huge sandwiches filled with artery clogging sausage that I would never chosen in a million years and they were excellent as were the two apples thank you!

There is a huge hospital meaning large numbers of people who walk around town with various monitoring devices attached typically attended by one or more family members eating ice cream, but its the attitude of the locals that I always find strange and difficult to describe in appropriate terms.

I had a clean room to myself which I shared with my bike, there are two old Italian Nuns there, the one I did not deal with was ok, but the one on duty when I arrived was quite strange, I didn’t bother to hang around Gap.

Even with the heavy traffic, the day to Embrun was good and I felt a little stronger despite the fierce sun.

The town had an immediate positive feeling, my reception at the tourist office was good and I easily organised my room for the night. The Gite is associated with a paragliding school and I spent my third night in the other part of the Gite that was less salubrious, but there was great camaraderie with the lads that were staying there.

On my last night I made the previous post at the TYS bar where there was a very relaxed atmosphere, I sat in the back working on my blog and it was when the bar was closing that a conversation began between the last few customers and the staff.

I was trying to have a conversation on Skype at the time and had to give up on it. The owner Marie Therese pictured in the middle below insisted I have another beer and I told them stories as best I could in my poor French.

The next day as I left I went back to the Ti office to organise my room for the night, to try and keep costs down I have been arranging my route to make best use of places that accept a donation. During the call the expressions on the face of the woman at the Ti suggested that it was a very odd conversation with whoever answered the phone but I agreed to be there at five.

Taking the advice of the Gite owner in Embrun, I followed a secondary route when I left for Briancon. It was  good advice, tougher than the main road but little traffic and excellent views, though I didn’t take so many photographs because of the clouds & rain.

Despite being ready to stop only half way to Briancon I kept going, mainly as I had somewhere to sleep.

The wind, rain and steady incline were making for a tough day, the traffic was not helping and the sharp, bright sound of the cars on the wet road was giving me a fierce headache.

I arrived at the community hall just before 17:00, calling my hellos, I received no answer. I could hear a woman talking and so went to the stairs and again shouted hello, but she kept droning on. In fact she kept droning on even when I was in the room and the poor mesmerised people who were listening to her were no longer paying attention.

I asked for who ever was in charge, to which they all looked at the floor then suggested I find a hotel, after explaining reasonably well that I had arranged an appointment at 17:00, was cold and wet and needed to get warm.

One guy suggested I cycle up the hill to the fortified city a solution I wanted to avoid at all costs, the rest of them continued with their general disinterest, shoulder shrugging with a sympathetic “not my problem styled attitude”. I asked if there was a phone available but that was just too much to ask and so considered waiting for the priest to arrive.

The general lack of interest was impressive, I began asking each person that arrived at the church for some help in tracking down whoever was responsible for my 17:00. I eventually borrowed a phone and called the number I had called earlier but only had the answering machine.

Despite the late appearance of the sun I was getting colder and knew that I had to get myself dry and warm soon, so I gave up on staying there and started looking for the next cheapest possibility.

It was then that I met woman in picture. I had asked her where the second cheap possibility was on my list and she urged me to wait on the priest as he was a good guy.

Well I waited till 18:30 mass was over, but my mood was far from good and I was really cold and it was approaching 20:15 when he sent me up the hill.

I met him outside the parish house and he showed me to a room that was obviously for the unfortunates that appear at his door, either swimming in beer or floating in a sea of drugs. There was no shower, just a washbasin in the cleaners cupboard. So I first cleaned everything, the sink the bed, surfaces and table in the room and then I washed myself, had something quick to eat and went to sleep.

I had a slight cold and slept most of the next day and realised the morning after saying goodbye to the priest with the intention of leaving that I was still very tired.

I packed my bags in preparation for leaving and had another easy day. He was not that happy that I was still there, but I explained to him that if it was a problem that I was ready to leave, otherwise I would leave with him at 8am the next morning, which I did. He never looked so pleased as when he saw my bike an bags outside and ready to go when he came down the next morning.

The old city in Briancon is well worth a visit, the views of the mountains from the old city walls are spectacular.

I was a little concerned about the cycle to Montgenevre but had decided to take it easy and spend the day at the top. It was then that a bloke from the north of England on a bike that weighed less than my left testicle pulled in front and started grilling me about the road ahead. He was worried about the climb, I was trying not to laugh and told him that the climb to Montgenevre is not that tough, go at your own pace and you will be fine, I was still laughing as I arrived in Montgenevre.

The summer ghost town of Montgenevre is not that interesting, though the ski-facilities look to be good. I though about heading on to Italy but liked the idea of spending the night here and had lunch, served by Sophie who by the way she moved is a natural belly dancer.

With the help of the pretty and fabulously presented Jeny at the Ti I had a room, a little expensive but good. The bloke who runs the hotel Philipe is an interesting guy. I spent three nights there as we came to a price accommodation, there was lots of rain and I had internet so I felt no great rush to leave. I really enjoyed the altitude, clouds, mist, rain and Sohpies exquisite movement as she served lunch.

I had really been kidding myself the last month or so that there was preparation left to do, it is finished as far as is reasonably possible and has been for a month or more. The walks in the Calanque, the English lessons with Nicole which were usually hilarious and quite risqué, I’m certain that the next English speaking couch-surfer is in for a shock or two.

It is always difficult getting myself back on the road and no matter how I try, I always have too much shit necessary equipment in my bags. My three season camping gear is as trim as possible and at just over 4kg quite an achievement when you consider the space and flexibility it includes, I should really write a page or two about my camping gear soon. My bike spares and tools are as trim as I can get, though I would rather not carry the extra tyre, but having the experienced first hand the drop in quality/ robustness of Schwalbe tyres, I now know its best to have one. The biggest issue at the moment is my winter gear and the paper – maps and guides, which I will not need for a while.

In Parma I will collect more gear that has been languishing with Francesco who I am looking forward to seeing and hoping the redistribution of the weight amongst four bags will make the cycling easier, but Im not convinced ;-}

I always find it difficult navigating a city and Marseilles is a particularly difficult city to get out of by bike heading North, or west, even though I know parts of it well. The uphill slog from View Port to St Antonie was heavy going with too much gear and not enough recent cycling, so somewhere around Bel-Air there was a “walk of shame” involved in my departure.

The areas I left through were poor, though I only felt uncomfortable during the first section closest to View Port, with the usual peppering of  “My friend, Hey you my Friend” from bored tea drinkers, Pimps and those with other produce for sale. After that the areas were in decline, but the atmosphere was ok. I asked one sharply dressed North African guy for directions, he was a very smooth dude indeed. I am never put off by the way an area of a town or city looks, it is always how it feels that makes me cautious.

The night before leaving Marsielles, I didn’t have the best of sleeps, the thunder & lightning were magnificent, but not conducive to a good nights rest and it was around 17:00 before I had my bulging bags packed, my room in order and the dishes washed.

It was a cold cycle, considering that it has been above 30 recently. The lightning had knocked out the phones so it was impossible to book the youth hostel and arriving just before 21:00 was less than ideal, they had no beds and the receptionist who was on a break when I arrived clearly did not care. Eventually I had a bed in a room with a strange looking and smelling old bloke and it was after 10 before I went in search of dinner, of course there was no food available at the YH but on the way I had spotted a pizza van and had a good feeling, which is unusual as the pizza in France is often awful.

The Pizza Man was an absolute star, I was due a pizza stamp and gave it to the people in the queue in-front of me. We then proceeded to shoot the breeze as only the French can while he prepared a previous order and then my pizza. It was not a Pizza D` Aubagne (one of the best pizza Ive eaten in France) but it was good. I had every fresh vegetable he had plus anchovies and he was rather proud of the creation as you can see his delighted with his work.

I have met some wonderful people in France and this guy is another example of those who an antigen to the general world opinion of the French. I have the feeling that the arrogance, particularly evident in the south is slowly fading which can only be a good thing.

I have some friends here in AIX, but as my departure was of the form “shit it really is time I left” I had no time to call them, so it did feel a little odd being here without calling them, C’est la vie.

There was a large contingent of German girls staying, and as I left the Youth Hostel the next morning in the drizzle, I was amused to hear them complaining about how cold it was. Actually I wanted to suggest they try wearing Lycra in this weather, but new if they did I would probably be arrested, most likely by sympathetic officers, but arrested nevertheless.

A very cold cycle to Bonnieux more shameful walking and beautiful views. Sadly the “Topo-guide” I copied is good for maps which I don’t need and poor for accommodation information.

I was not ready to spring 50e for a room and as the thunder shook the ground and lightning chased rain across the plain below I headed onwards to APT.

APT was empty, wet, grey and unwelcoming.I eventually tried one of the hotels as I had no energy left and met the owner, who gave me “a price” and I stayed two nights. Free WIFI and a big bed cant be beat- well it can but Im not digressing that far. I used the internet connection to track down much better accommodation information from an excellent French website.

Many French websites of which the rail site SNCF is a prime example are awful. If you get to the wrong place it asks you for the train number and other stupidly irrelevant information when you just want to know “IF” and “WHEN” and perhaps the price, not demonstrate your sad train spotting knowledge. Anyway if you know the bloody train number, your certainly going to know the timetable. This is one of many reasons why I always use www.bahn.de for ANY train time ANYWHERE, www.bahn.de has consistently been one of the best websites on the web. Many of the websites in the UK are very poor too, for example the website for my bank is like a cut-price supermarket advert and insists on taking you to your account via the theme park shop styled boutique, “Much Cheapness”

The weather continued to be bad and after another short cycle, I spent a few days in some rough chalets. Full of dead ants, flies and a number of indeterminable insects they were excellent, the chalets not the flies. Just over 2km from the town, it was quiet and ideal for me.

I just kept staying another night, another night until early one afternoon the owner appeared wearing a cowboy hat riding an earth mover and started moving earth back & forth in-front of my chalet. There was really no thought, planning or even elementary marking of the area. He just drove the damn thing back & forth first moving some earth to the left, then the right, getting out looking at what he had done and moving it back to where it was originally.

He has two small children, so as appealing as burial beneath aforementioned earth & machine was, I went for a walk in the hope he would be finished when I came back. Sometime after 19:00 that evening he stopped and still had not started again two days later when I left. Why you would choose to begin something like this in the middle of the season I have no idea.

I then managed unintentionally to take a very circuitous route, my own fault for deciding to follow a sign and not my map reading. When I arrived the only place in town that I was willing to pay for was full, but the woman suggested I camp so I paid 4e for the shower & toilet – great I though.

I had an easy calm evening at the farm, I had good cheap beer from Lidl and some vegetable/ pasta/ Quinoa mix leftovers from the day before and finally around 20:00 began to setup the tent.

The traffic was light and the farm quite calm and despite the noise of the industrial chiller that started around 21:00 I was looking forward to a good night.

Around 22:00 the local “youf” began to demonstrate their abilities at destroying tyres while navigating the roundabout, but I knew this would pass and around 23:00 I began to drift off to sleep. At 00:00 the first of two bus-loads of people arrived which lit the dogs blue touch paper. I had just started to doze again when the second bus arrived and the dogs were sent into orbit, sadly around my tent.

I should mention the two dogs, one was old and has more warts and ticks than hair, the other young and utterly unbalanced would bark if you looked at it and would bark if you didnt. I had made the mistake of showing some favour to the older one earlier in the day. So they spent the whole night jumping over the tent ropes chasing each other, this was very easy to watch as the warships search light positioned above Lidl lit the tent particularly well.

The dogs early morning fervour and my grunts of “arrêt” eventually began to alarm the fifty guinea-fowl whose alarm started the dogs barking even more.

As you could imagine I was delighted when the cockerel joined in at 03:40 as he and his female companions  began some early morning egg fertilisation, with it must be said remarkable gusto if the noise they all made should be believed. This, the dogs barking, guinea-fowl alarm and tyre screeching all began to fade around 04:30 and I collapsed in exhaustion to the sounds of the older flea bitten dog whining outside the tent over the noise of the industrial chiller, punctuated by the cockerels repeated announcement of his many varied pleasures.

Cycling any real distance the next day was out of the question luckily I could stay despite the Gite being closed and I jumped at the chance. A couple of pilgrims appeared the next day and we had an excellent dinner together.

The farmer is a member of the local shooting association and his buddies and their families had spent the day roasting two boar and what looked like half a rhinoceros, foolishly I didn’t take the opportunity to photograph this and of course each of them and their families each drinking a paddling-pool full of wine each, so by the time we had dinner they were very merry and dinner was very entertaining.

I did not like Gap even as I arrived I didn’t like the town, I stayed at a holy place which meant I had a nice clean room to myself, but the old Italian Nun was very odd. She was from Sicily, so why they had sent her to France I don’t know but she was strange indeed. I had the Ti call ahead from Sisteron, the helpful woman at the Ti was very puzzled by the reception and response she had from the call, I realized why once I arrived.

Having a room to myself was great, the bed was sprung as though for use in a circus act, this was easily solved by putting the mattress on the floor. When I went in search of food I liked the town less and less, it was then that I realised it had the same feeling as a German Spa town, where the larger section of the populace have their head so far up their own arse they don’t know left from a colonic irrigation.

I was tired the next morning, but refreshingly made very good time to Embrum though lightly grilled, but importantly did not have to fight for every km like I had the day before, so perhaps a little condition begins to return..

The town is a good size, the people a good mix. I had a rest day here and tomorrow I will head for Briancon, highest city in Europe and very involved in Tour de France Im planning a short day after that, as long as Im over the pass I dont care how much further I go, then its Italy, where Im off to see a man about a towel in Turin.

I know its a couple of months since the last post but Im working on other stuff at the moment while the current news is not so exciting, mainly the Galleries entry in the Menu.

Move your mouse over Galleries in the menu above and you will see a growing number of options, I am adding a gallery for each country in the order that I cycled through them, which is why India is between Estonia and Latvia.

The Other Journeys page is also being updated and I will add comments to all these images when I have the galleries uploaded.

As much as I enjoyed looking after the guys, it was impossible for me to get my own preparation done. Somehow nearly two months passed and all I had done was cook, bake scones, wash dishes and order some things on the Internet.

Nicolas & Carlos busy in the background

Carlos has been doing a lot of Bricolage on the place, his latest masterpiece the stairs are a great improvement on the previous owners solution. I started serving coffee for the guys around 17:30 which was a good way for them to finish their day, but it was two hours out of my day that I didn’t have and have to give up on it, though it was great for a couple of weeks. I started with scones, then experimented with a few fancy pastry creations, rice pudding and short bread etc. It stuck me  one day while asking Carlos if he wanted another Coffee that I should call it “Café Carlos”.

Café Carlos culminated in a visit from Nicolas boss (es). Heike whom I already knew, an Architectural Archaeologist  has worked on StGilles Abbey for ten years or more now. Andreas her bidey-in is something else. In addition to being the foremost authority in the region on old stones & structures, in his free time built his own Harpsichord. He also loves Scotland, speaks Gaelic significantly better than I do, not to mention his English in which he can adopt various accents and he plays the bagpipes.

Heike & Andreas had missed the Haggis, Neeps & Taties from the week before, so I made some scones and Café Carlos rocked out to traditional Scottish tunes.  Quite an aficionado Andreas prefers Ceòl Mór “Great Music”, plays extremely well and has a bagpipe collection that is about as staggering as his knowledge of the history of the instrument.

Sadly I do not have a picture of Heike,  she & Patrick are hiding on the right. of this picture. This is Nicolas and a “friend” – not to be confused with his friend from Arles and definitely not to be confused with the one from Le Mans. As you can see, she was somewhat uncertain how she should respond to a German bloke strolling around the kitchen playing the bagpipes.

Eventually though I headed off to Marseilles where I have been the last week or so. After two days of very little, I have been working very hard on logistics, information gathering and planning.

Fat Bloke, bike & favourite shirt

I will be here until the beginning of next week when I will leave, following Via Domitia to the Italian Border, this will be a tough start, cold and into the still snowy Alps, but I need the exercise.

From there to Torino and then following Via Francigena to Rome. Where I will head through the center of the country towards Palermo or Brindisi where I will take a ferry to Tunis or Albania. I am working on an alternate route via Albania, Macedonia & Greece but prefer to stick with Tunisia -> Container Ship -> Egypt -> Jordan.

Before things got bad in Libya I  sent an email to George Galloway looking for some help with getting a longer transit Visa for Libya, but he didn’t deem me important enough to warrant a reply. Im certain had I been a  handsome red headed woman of Polish extraction I would have more chance, but I would be the last to fault him for that, Meow.

The cycle to Marseilles was interesting, I was sad to be leaving the Camargue and it was the first test of my click-stand, an alternative to a kick-stand which did not go  as well as I expected, – the bike fell over! and there was the wind.

The online maps of the area are not so accurate, this is a small section of my Michelin with my route marked.

The cycle down to St Maries-del-al-mer went well, especially as it was my first day and so badly packed, it took me about 2hrs but I was content. However, I was supposed to be in Port St Louis du-rhone at 16:00 and did not have time to hang about, so after a very quick sandwich I headed east.

The southerly wind from Etang de Vaccares was tough, there had been moments on the road here, but heading East in the open was hard going.

I posted a video on YouTube to give you an idea “Its not windy Nicole”.

What the maps or pictures do not show is how bleak it is after Phare de la Gacholle.

It would be an ideal location to film vintage Tom Baker Dr Who, bleak, grey brown, utterly devoid of any sign of life. I kept expecting the route I was following to disappear as the path was repeatedly blocked by huge boulders, the red lines on the map. That or some Aliens in dodgy latex suits to emerge from the grey salty earth, grab me and transport me to their Spaceship. If there is ever a French version of “Mad Max” it will be set here.

Im sorry now that I took no pictures, at the time I was trying very hard to be in St Louis de Rhone for 16:00  and the wind was Triumphant & Victorious  in my defeat.

I took a gamble and followed the shortest route that was at times barley there. Once I had crossed the five barriers in the narrow strip of sand, I joined a network of  rough roads amongst what looked like salt pans., where I had my first interesting encounters.

The first was a large black Range Rover travelling at significant speed with a rather  serious looking guy at the wheel. I fully expect there was at least once corpse in the boot and he was either on his way to dispose of it or pick-up a boat load of Libyan refugees or drugs.

Not long before I reach the tertiary road, a bloke in a Porsche Boxster,  his passenger a strikingly beautiful black woman wearing a collection bright gossamer scarves, alive in the wind around her head, as though a collection of coloured snakes were writhing around her.

He was looking for something, probably some romantic viewpoint  to watch the other guy tipping dead bodies into the sunset and most certainly leverage to add his own  viper to the mix, but I was at that point approaching two hours late, utterly frozen, so a little selfishly acted the dumb tourist and said I didn’t know.

Meantime I have put a lot of work into the blog, do you like the new theme? Its not so different from the previous look, I will tweak it a little as I find it a little cold, but when I have time, for now its good enough.

I have begun but not finished updating all my existing posts, in particular fixing the pictures which are missing. I really hope that I have gotten to the bottom of this problem as I am somewhat disgruntled with the amount of time and effort I have had to exert to get it fixed AGAIN.

I am also re-creating the route map that follows where I have been, it should be finished later today. The spreadsheets too that have my track information missing, I have no idea what Google did with my route information for Sweden, its getting there.

There will be a post later tonight about walking The West Highland Way & Great Glen Ways just before Christmas.

Tomorrow I will also update the About page to include a summary of the last year and what my intentions are now. Im off to Italy in a few days, it will get cold as I head towards Torino and then warmer again as I head south through Italy. I will use the time to watch the situation in North Africa and decide what my eventual route will be.

For now, there are Pilgrims tonight who need fed, so I need to be getting back to the kitchen.