I COULD have taken the "Chrystal Cabin". This was promoted as the best option, because there were no queues and you could have 'soared above the forest' and enjoyed other such mind-boggling experiences. I chose to pay HKD50 less and queued for a standard 'cabin' on the chairlift to see the Big Buddah in the forest. It became apparent that the "Chrystal Cabin" was a glass-bottomed, air-conditioned car on the chairlift. While there was no queue for this experience, the wait was just as long, as there was only one "CC" for every standard car and I stood in line for as long as the "CC"ers did. I am not sure the extra cost provided any 'marginal utility' as an economist might refer to it.
The Ramblers separated again for the last full day - I to the Buddah and Jude and Ally to the Disney park. You will need to talk to A or J about their adventures, but I had a 'pearler' of a day. The chairlift ride was sensational, rising up and away from the outlet-shopping town of Tung Chung (last stop before the airport on the MTR train) and up into the clouds. Well normally there would be clouds, but not today (a Buddhist miracle, perhaps?).
The Po Lin monastery at the top is rooly rooly 'touristy', but there was a religious aspect to the goings-on that I was sure that not one of the experiences of the other two Ramblers. Hopping off the chairlift, the Rambler passes through a street lined with shops to provide the Rambler with any number of opportunities to acquire memorabilia of his or her trip. Razzle dazzle, razzle dazzle! Onwards and ever onwards the Rambler presses. Eventually he (or she) is rewarded with an opportunity to view the Buddah up close, a prospect that has been 'on promise' since its first sighting an hour previous from the comfort of the non-chrystal cabin of the chairlift.
At the foot of the stairs up to the Buddah is a ticket box. The lady inside persuaded me to buy a ticket that entitled Ramblers and other similar journey-makers to three things as follows:
1. Entry to the musuem
2. A bottle of water and
3. [Wait for it] am icecream!
Amazingly, one could not collect the last two items until one had passed through the museum! Of these three items, most valued was the bottle of water; then the icecream; then the museum entry. This despite the fact that the museum housed an actual relic of the Buddah presented by some keen followers in Sri Lanka. It was 'tres difficile' to identify exactly what the 'relic' was, as it was encased in 21st Century technology, viz. glass/perspex-looking encasement behind a protected-to-the-max clear barrier. Let me say that a good deal of trust was required in order to understand the true significance of what it was that one (ie me) was beholding.
Having 'done my time' in the museum, I dutifully exited and collected my bottle of water and ice cream. The bottle contained water in two forms: liquid and solid. Yes, a solid core of ice ensured that the remainder of the contents remained cold for as long as the water lasted. In the humid heat it was 'heaven on a stick'.
Further on from the enormous Buddha was a signpost to a monastery separate from the nearby one. Intrigued, I set out on foot to find it. No tourists here. No one really. The path that led into the forest was of substantial construction, but really only a walking path. It led on to a 'Youth Hostel' up off to the left of the path. This captured my interest and up I went. Surely enough, there was the youth hostel. Behind a huge wire fence. There was no sign of life and it was unclear whether it was in use. A decrepit sign outlined the opening times which were typical of YHA rules as I remembered them and it could well still be in use. Difficult to tell, however, and intriguing nonetheless.
Back to the track in search of the monastery, another blip on the path was a sign pointing to a camping area off to the right. Up I went to explore, finding a number of camping areas in terrace formation complete with camp-fire facilities and picnic tables made of concrete. Again, not a soul to be seen. Looked pretty good. A nearby sign contained a plea for all who used the site to look after it and to put rubbish into the nearby bin. Another sign warned of the danger of contracting dengue fever, advising of the need to keep away from shaded areas and to apply plenty of anti-mosquito gunk. I made myself a little promise never to camp here.
Again on the track I came across a huge Chinese-style gate that arched itself across the pathway. A youth of Eastern-European appearance came up the hill towards me. I asked about the monastery and he indicated that it was well worth a visit and much less commercial than the one back at the Huge Buddha. It was about 20 minutes away, down the hill. Off I went.
The monastery was truly amazing. It was a community that appeared to be self-sufficient, with a series of vegetable gardens. On a concrete terrace a whole lot of different spices and other such vegetable matter were drying in the sun. There were a couple of streets with dwellings and various prayer rooms. No sign of life until I happened upon a temple. Here a number of monks/nuns were engaged in a ritual that involved a lot of bowing, gong-striking, chanting and bell tinkling. They didn't appear to mind my stopping and looking. The monks/nuns were dressed in brown cloaks and all had shaved heads. They appeared to be of a different ethnic origin to Chinese in other parts of Hong Kong. A sign asked that no photo be taken.
On down the path to find the other side of the village I came across another temple. Here were two monks engaged in a ceremony different to that of the upper temple. Similar drum-hitting, tinkling and chanting, but quite a different routine. No sound other than those associated with the ritual. No other visitors that I could see and it appeared that my presence was not a problem for anyone.
On my way back up the hill to the chairlift I passed two monks walking separately down to the village, each pulling a shopping trolley (of the type my Grandma, Ethel, used in Preston all those years ago) and carrying an umbrella to protect themselves from the sun. No response to my greeting, they seemed intent on getting back to the village and resuming their amazing (to me) life.
The highly commercial monastery at the top of the hill seemed all the more rapacious after the tranquility of the one I had visited. The ride on the chairlift was just as enjoyable and I then hurtled in to the city on the MTR (train).
One final treat I had planned for myself was to take a ferry out to Lamma Island. It does not appear as though there are any cars on this island, but there is a pedestrian-only street that contains a number of seafood restaurants. I had been out there twice before - once with a crew from CSU, and once with Dear Jude. It really is a must-visit place, as the food is delicious and the ferry-ride is quite 'singular'. The fish dishes are as fresh as ever they could be, and this is evidenced by the actual fish swimming around in their glass tanks. The customer 'literally' (sorry Andy) points to the fish that he/she fancies for dinner and leaves it to the restaurateur to deal with it. Just HOW fresh do you want your fish?
Back on the second-last ferry at 9:05 pm and out to the Gold Coast to check on the adventures of the Disneylanders. You are just going to have to ask them about their day, because I am yet to hear from them directly. I had a pretty wonderful day.
Off home tomorrow.
No more Rambling for some time.
Stay tuned, there will be some overview blogs over the next little while ...
See youse soon!
Ramblers
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Language II & HK Rambling
It has so TOTALLY happened again! Little kids speaking the the language that I would KILL to speak fluently: Choyknees (Cantonese AND Mandarin)! These kids (like their French counterparts) look up to their caring adult and respond fluently in the language that eludes me. They are SO CUTE! They are SO ANNOYING!
Mind you, I do have total command of a few phrases. Here are at least 50% of them:
"Good morning"
"Thank you"
"How are you(se)?"
"My very good friends"
"Goodbye"
See how I'm really getting on top of the language? No wonder I am continually thought of as a 'real McCoy' around here (I hear shop assistants remarking to each other as I leave a shop: "But surely he is a native-born Chinese!" "No, I heard him say he was an Australian ..."). But I have to acknowledge that these little kids - some as little as 4-y-o - have perfect command. It's a worry.
There is a policy on this blog that 'everyone's a winner'. And I intend to keep it that way. No slagging off at individuals, or making fun of cultural practices. There are only two groups of people I cannot abide, and one of them is those who are intolerant of other people's cultures.
However, here are a few observations that I need to make about sightings in and around Hong Kong. The first is that last night we had dinner at an establishment called "Cooking Restaurant"(!) Another was called "Giant Foot Restaurant" and, though taste-tempting in its nomenclature, we sadly resisted. One other small observation is the number of people on hand in shops to serve you. I bought a pair of sandles the other day and no fewer than four persons waited on me, offering suggestions as to style, colour and price. FOUR! Ally bought a handbag at a shop out at Shen Zhen and again another FOUR peeps to cater to her every whim (and she had a few, let me tell you).
The change in time-zone has been a trouble. At some time between 1:00 am and 3:00 am one wakes. Totally. Absolute consciousness! All around is dark, and it is not clear whether the other two personages who share the room are sharing a similar state. Yet there you are. Awake. Nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. Read your iPhone. Wait in vain for UNconsciousness. For hours. Then it comes. Right on 8:00 am, when one should be hopping up, one nods off to sleep and DOESN'T WAKE TILL 11:30 am! ... By which time the included (ie 'free') breakfast time is finished! THIS HAPPENED YESTERDAY MORNING! Imagine how we felt! It's just as well we are getting this awkwardness over before we get back home. Imagine if that happens on Dear Jude's first day back at work (next Wednesday). We'd better be back on our best routines by then! Fingers crossed ...
One more HUGE ramble tomorrow: Dears Jude and Ally are off to Hong Kong Disneyland. I'm off to the other side of Hong Kong Island for some 'nature' rambling. Should be a hoot!
Get those hugging arms ready, We're a-coming!
YFBs
Mind you, I do have total command of a few phrases. Here are at least 50% of them:
"Good morning"
"Thank you"
"How are you(se)?"
"My very good friends"
"Goodbye"
See how I'm really getting on top of the language? No wonder I am continually thought of as a 'real McCoy' around here (I hear shop assistants remarking to each other as I leave a shop: "But surely he is a native-born Chinese!" "No, I heard him say he was an Australian ..."). But I have to acknowledge that these little kids - some as little as 4-y-o - have perfect command. It's a worry.
There is a policy on this blog that 'everyone's a winner'. And I intend to keep it that way. No slagging off at individuals, or making fun of cultural practices. There are only two groups of people I cannot abide, and one of them is those who are intolerant of other people's cultures.
However, here are a few observations that I need to make about sightings in and around Hong Kong. The first is that last night we had dinner at an establishment called "Cooking Restaurant"(!) Another was called "Giant Foot Restaurant" and, though taste-tempting in its nomenclature, we sadly resisted. One other small observation is the number of people on hand in shops to serve you. I bought a pair of sandles the other day and no fewer than four persons waited on me, offering suggestions as to style, colour and price. FOUR! Ally bought a handbag at a shop out at Shen Zhen and again another FOUR peeps to cater to her every whim (and she had a few, let me tell you).
The change in time-zone has been a trouble. At some time between 1:00 am and 3:00 am one wakes. Totally. Absolute consciousness! All around is dark, and it is not clear whether the other two personages who share the room are sharing a similar state. Yet there you are. Awake. Nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. Read your iPhone. Wait in vain for UNconsciousness. For hours. Then it comes. Right on 8:00 am, when one should be hopping up, one nods off to sleep and DOESN'T WAKE TILL 11:30 am! ... By which time the included (ie 'free') breakfast time is finished! THIS HAPPENED YESTERDAY MORNING! Imagine how we felt! It's just as well we are getting this awkwardness over before we get back home. Imagine if that happens on Dear Jude's first day back at work (next Wednesday). We'd better be back on our best routines by then! Fingers crossed ...
One more HUGE ramble tomorrow: Dears Jude and Ally are off to Hong Kong Disneyland. I'm off to the other side of Hong Kong Island for some 'nature' rambling. Should be a hoot!
Get those hugging arms ready, We're a-coming!
YFBs
Friday, July 02, 2010
Very 'Asian' around here
The people that surround us at the moment are very much "of Asian appearance" as they say in the Australian press. That would be because we are in Hong Kong, on our way home. What is remarkable, is that there are very few folk "of Caucasian appearance" at the hotel that Dear Jude had so cunningly booked for our last days as Ramblers. It is located at the Gold Coast (no, not the Australian version, which is full of sun-burned Victorians wandering about in a search for what the fuss is all about when there was never any fuss in the first place because Surfers Paradise was never a paradise for surfers but that's a long story).
THIS Gold Coast is not even the one represented in the 2010 World Cup. It is the Hong Kong Gold Coast and there is everything here that a fun-loving Chinese could ever want. Every World Cup game is promised to be televised live, there is a "Mighty Kidz" playground, a wonderful swimming pool an extensive garden and helpful staff to answer your every question and grant your every wish. Almost.
We snuck off to the city today and that took over one hour. Longer on the way back, but this is not the purpose of our stay here. Our main intention is to put a little bit of distance between the adventures of France and London and home, where we will be returning none too soon.
[A roar just went up outside the Business Centre at the hotel. Brazil ALMOST scored a goal in about the third minute. The Chinese punters erupted.]
Sure Hong Kong as one of the most dense populations in the entire world, buty they seem to 'do' space much better than in some of the spots in France we visited. No '3mm' rule here. There appears to be plenty of room for cars to pass each other, and there is no backing up if one car comes towards another on the same road. Perhaps this is a reflection of the fact that Hong Kong has not developed from plans made in the Middle Ages. Quite the contrarym, it appears to have been designed with the motor vehicle VERY MUCH IN MIND! I like Hong Kong, and am very much enjoying being here. There is nothing pretentious about the place. One could never say that about somewhere like Juan les Pins.
It was great to catch up with Steph in London and to see that she is settled in good 'digs' by the river at Hammersmith. The group in the house next door are being evicted because of continual loud noise and anti-social behaviour. What a pack of clods! The area around where Steph lives is TDF!
Dear Jude and I were upgraded to Premium on the way home. No such luck for Ally. This made the trip here very bearable, with just that little extra bit of leg-room. I do not understand why people complain about the food served on those long-haul flights. I have never had a bad one and the wine always tastes fabulous, though maybe that is because of the perception that one is receiving it free of charge. "Anyhow, I love it", as Madge used to say in that ancient commercial for dish-washing liquid.
Still a few more Rambles to do before getting home to Wangaratta. Georgia is delivering the car to us at the airport and then we shall scoot on up the highway. Billy Bonkers will get the bus back to Melbourne. What a GAL! She has really stood up for us back home, representing the family in a number of important ways. It will be great to see her again and give her a HUGE HUG! BTW, there will be a FEW of those dished out across the countryside. In many ways (apart from the enjoyment of overseas travel) we have been away too long and are looking foward to seeing our Australian chums.
ROLL ON THAT MOMENT!
[Another scream from the punters outside the Business Centre. Not a goal's-worth, but maybe a rooly great attempt. Gotta go and check it out ...]
YFRs
Jude and Graeme
THIS Gold Coast is not even the one represented in the 2010 World Cup. It is the Hong Kong Gold Coast and there is everything here that a fun-loving Chinese could ever want. Every World Cup game is promised to be televised live, there is a "Mighty Kidz" playground, a wonderful swimming pool an extensive garden and helpful staff to answer your every question and grant your every wish. Almost.
We snuck off to the city today and that took over one hour. Longer on the way back, but this is not the purpose of our stay here. Our main intention is to put a little bit of distance between the adventures of France and London and home, where we will be returning none too soon.
[A roar just went up outside the Business Centre at the hotel. Brazil ALMOST scored a goal in about the third minute. The Chinese punters erupted.]
Sure Hong Kong as one of the most dense populations in the entire world, buty they seem to 'do' space much better than in some of the spots in France we visited. No '3mm' rule here. There appears to be plenty of room for cars to pass each other, and there is no backing up if one car comes towards another on the same road. Perhaps this is a reflection of the fact that Hong Kong has not developed from plans made in the Middle Ages. Quite the contrarym, it appears to have been designed with the motor vehicle VERY MUCH IN MIND! I like Hong Kong, and am very much enjoying being here. There is nothing pretentious about the place. One could never say that about somewhere like Juan les Pins.
It was great to catch up with Steph in London and to see that she is settled in good 'digs' by the river at Hammersmith. The group in the house next door are being evicted because of continual loud noise and anti-social behaviour. What a pack of clods! The area around where Steph lives is TDF!
Dear Jude and I were upgraded to Premium on the way home. No such luck for Ally. This made the trip here very bearable, with just that little extra bit of leg-room. I do not understand why people complain about the food served on those long-haul flights. I have never had a bad one and the wine always tastes fabulous, though maybe that is because of the perception that one is receiving it free of charge. "Anyhow, I love it", as Madge used to say in that ancient commercial for dish-washing liquid.
Still a few more Rambles to do before getting home to Wangaratta. Georgia is delivering the car to us at the airport and then we shall scoot on up the highway. Billy Bonkers will get the bus back to Melbourne. What a GAL! She has really stood up for us back home, representing the family in a number of important ways. It will be great to see her again and give her a HUGE HUG! BTW, there will be a FEW of those dished out across the countryside. In many ways (apart from the enjoyment of overseas travel) we have been away too long and are looking foward to seeing our Australian chums.
ROLL ON THAT MOMENT!
[Another scream from the punters outside the Business Centre. Not a goal's-worth, but maybe a rooly great attempt. Gotta go and check it out ...]
YFRs
Jude and Graeme
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
"What's it to you, Copper?"
Today was the closest I have ever been to the Wrong Side of the Law. The four of us (Ramblers Two plus Ally and Steph) were rambling through London's sights when the decision was made to have a look at a sitting of Parliament. Not a bad idea in itself. None of us had ever been inside and the queue wasn't all that long.
When it came to the scanning the bags bit I remembered the picnic knife we had bought in a market in France. I declared it when the bag came out the other side. The uniformed lady officer lifted the folded up knife with two fingers much the same as if it were a dirty little insect tgat had been playing in muck. Very soon she came back with another officer who asked about the knife's purpose, where exactly I had acquired it and was it of sentimental value. I was asked to accompany him to a room nearby. A third officer was summoned. This chap would make an assessment if the situation and decide the fate of the Rambler. "On this occasion," began Officer Three, "I shall let the incident pass. If you were a UK citzen I would have to arrest you, as this is a 'prohibited weapon'. It is a lock knife.". Now this was the first I had known it was a lock knife. It possessed a great more utility than we had imagined, as I was in constant dread of it closing on one of our fingers. The officer (Three) showed me how the collar could be twiste. Around to lock it open. Very simple. Very useful. Very confiscated! The shame-faced Rambler was shown the door to fellow-Rambler (grinning) and daughters (smirking) and we continued on to a VERY boring speech by some Honorable Member for Chillingsgate (or whatever) and then on to freedom.
The whole incident with the police was conducted with the utmost pleasantness. This included a little banter about the cricket and "did I know that Roger Federer was out of the tennis?". The knife had cost about 8 euros and the sentimental value was low. However, it has made a good yarn and provided a punctuation point for our European Ramble.
The shower is empty, I hear the other Rambler calling. Time to get up and face the trip to Hong Kong.
I'll be in touch ...
See youse!
Rambler
When it came to the scanning the bags bit I remembered the picnic knife we had bought in a market in France. I declared it when the bag came out the other side. The uniformed lady officer lifted the folded up knife with two fingers much the same as if it were a dirty little insect tgat had been playing in muck. Very soon she came back with another officer who asked about the knife's purpose, where exactly I had acquired it and was it of sentimental value. I was asked to accompany him to a room nearby. A third officer was summoned. This chap would make an assessment if the situation and decide the fate of the Rambler. "On this occasion," began Officer Three, "I shall let the incident pass. If you were a UK citzen I would have to arrest you, as this is a 'prohibited weapon'. It is a lock knife.". Now this was the first I had known it was a lock knife. It possessed a great more utility than we had imagined, as I was in constant dread of it closing on one of our fingers. The officer (Three) showed me how the collar could be twiste. Around to lock it open. Very simple. Very useful. Very confiscated! The shame-faced Rambler was shown the door to fellow-Rambler (grinning) and daughters (smirking) and we continued on to a VERY boring speech by some Honorable Member for Chillingsgate (or whatever) and then on to freedom.
The whole incident with the police was conducted with the utmost pleasantness. This included a little banter about the cricket and "did I know that Roger Federer was out of the tennis?". The knife had cost about 8 euros and the sentimental value was low. However, it has made a good yarn and provided a punctuation point for our European Ramble.
The shower is empty, I hear the other Rambler calling. Time to get up and face the trip to Hong Kong.
I'll be in touch ...
See youse!
Rambler
One Last Ramble
The Chess Valley Walk rambles alongside the Chess River (hence the name) between Rickmansworth and Chesham to the north. I had done this particliar walk some years ago when Steph was on GAP year at the Rickmansworth Masonic School for gels and I wanted to take Dear Jude along it. Ally went shopping with Steph in the City.
Doing the walk provided a bit of a balance to the trip, finishing as we started, though to a much more modest degree. The Chess is not a huge river (only a few feet across in places), but it is clear and you can see brown trout swimming around in a very much 'trouty' way. Happy as Larry, those trout! Apparently the kingfishers love them for breakfast, lunch and tea! Ducks and swans on top of the river add more than a little ambience and apparently there are voles about. [That is not a mis-spelling. Your vole is the animal upon which 'Ratty' from Wind in the Willows is based. You can picture Ratty, can't you. Similar in cuteness to your bumblebee.] Informative signs along the walk tell about the wildlife and apparently your vole is difficult to sight. The best you can hope for is to hear a 'plop' as they drop into the water. No 'plops' for us today though. It was a 'plop-free' day.
The Ramblers were unable to complete the whole of the walk. This was mostly due to having taken 1.5 hours to get out of London to Rickmansworth. No trains for yonks, and the Docklands (where our apartment is) is quie the other side of the Big City. We walked out of the valley to Chorleywood station (how cute is that name?) and headed back to London and the girls. This is a highly recommended walk if you ever have a day free in London. You can get a map at the Rickmansworth library and I think it is also available online.
Back to London for dinner and a show package. The dinner bit didn't happen because there had been a fire in the restaurant and the show - Wicked - was agreed to be not all that good. Now many readers if thus blog I know will not agree with this assessment, but there did seem to be a sameness about all the sings and none seemed very memorable. The story did not link all that really well with the Wizard of Oz and there seemed to be a lot of screaming going on. The young part of the audience seemed to be getting into it, however and ut was close to a full house on a Monday night. Maybes we are getting OLD ... (though Ally and Steph agreed with us on this assessment). Not a total disaster. We did have a solid stodgy dinner at the pub across the road.
That's it for now. Not long before we head off to Hong Kong!
Ramblers
Doing the walk provided a bit of a balance to the trip, finishing as we started, though to a much more modest degree. The Chess is not a huge river (only a few feet across in places), but it is clear and you can see brown trout swimming around in a very much 'trouty' way. Happy as Larry, those trout! Apparently the kingfishers love them for breakfast, lunch and tea! Ducks and swans on top of the river add more than a little ambience and apparently there are voles about. [That is not a mis-spelling. Your vole is the animal upon which 'Ratty' from Wind in the Willows is based. You can picture Ratty, can't you. Similar in cuteness to your bumblebee.] Informative signs along the walk tell about the wildlife and apparently your vole is difficult to sight. The best you can hope for is to hear a 'plop' as they drop into the water. No 'plops' for us today though. It was a 'plop-free' day.
The Ramblers were unable to complete the whole of the walk. This was mostly due to having taken 1.5 hours to get out of London to Rickmansworth. No trains for yonks, and the Docklands (where our apartment is) is quie the other side of the Big City. We walked out of the valley to Chorleywood station (how cute is that name?) and headed back to London and the girls. This is a highly recommended walk if you ever have a day free in London. You can get a map at the Rickmansworth library and I think it is also available online.
Back to London for dinner and a show package. The dinner bit didn't happen because there had been a fire in the restaurant and the show - Wicked - was agreed to be not all that good. Now many readers if thus blog I know will not agree with this assessment, but there did seem to be a sameness about all the sings and none seemed very memorable. The story did not link all that really well with the Wizard of Oz and there seemed to be a lot of screaming going on. The young part of the audience seemed to be getting into it, however and ut was close to a full house on a Monday night. Maybes we are getting OLD ... (though Ally and Steph agreed with us on this assessment). Not a total disaster. We did have a solid stodgy dinner at the pub across the road.
That's it for now. Not long before we head off to Hong Kong!
Ramblers
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Doin' the Underground Bobble
When you know the width and heights of steps that lead down into the bowells of the London Tube, you are able (with confidence) to master the Underground Bobble. Observers of this movement are left jaw-droppingly mute with admiration. "Will the 'Bobbler' fall on his face, descending with such rapidity", one asks oneself. "That chap bobbles so gracefully, but with such a hurry-on will he not TRIP?". He never does. He is much too seasoned an Underground traveller.
No 'Underground Bobbling' for the four of us on Sunday. Too heavily laden with travel bags. [Thank goodness Stephanie had met us at the station.] Too many flights of stairs between King's Cross and Limehouse (our stop on the DLR - Docklands Light Rail). Bobblers travel alone. They have no encumberances to interfere with their passage and they always look as if they are late for an important engagement.
Andy and Grazyna recommended these apartments and they are RIGHT ON THE MONEY for standard of accommodation, price and relative convenience. You get there on the driverless DLR that takes you abkve the roads (as opposed to under them).
Today we trained it to Wimbledon to have a look about, but found to our dismay that it was a lay day. Not to be disheartened, we went to a nearby pub and watched Germany thrash England. The poms were besides themselves with dismay and didn't take the loss very well at all. England DEFINITELY scored that goal that wasn't allowed (you all saw that) and never recovered. A young chap recently having emerged (saturated) from the fountain at Trafalgar Square (we had over into town by that stage) bailed up Dear Jude and explained how lame-brained the English defence had been in allowing that third goal (you all saw that one as well), explaining that he had learned about that error in primary school. He was a bit pissy-boots, but seemed to be still having fun. We headed off to try for standby tickets to Phantom, but they were taking a night off as well.
Finally we 'bused' and 'trained' it back to Limehouse and then down to the docks for a light dinner at The Narrow, a pub that happened to be part of the Gordon Ramsay group of pubs. This was not a deliberate aim if the day, but the bar meals of fish cakes, sausages and mussels (separate meals, these) which turned out to be a highlight.
The other highlight was seeing Stephanie's house down near the Thames at Hammersmith. Quite a lovely three-level house, this, with Dear Steph occupying a big room right at the tippy top. Altogether too perfect! Steph has plans to travel over the summer holidays, so if anyone wants to rent it while she's away, I am sure that something can be worked out. Send me an email if you know of anyone who will be in the area at that time. I am going to try some Underground Bobbling tomorrow when Dear Jude and I hurtle out to Rickmansworth to do the Chess Valley walk to Chesham. We have to be back in time to see Wicked
No 'Underground Bobbling' for the four of us on Sunday. Too heavily laden with travel bags. [Thank goodness Stephanie had met us at the station.] Too many flights of stairs between King's Cross and Limehouse (our stop on the DLR - Docklands Light Rail). Bobblers travel alone. They have no encumberances to interfere with their passage and they always look as if they are late for an important engagement.
Andy and Grazyna recommended these apartments and they are RIGHT ON THE MONEY for standard of accommodation, price and relative convenience. You get there on the driverless DLR that takes you abkve the roads (as opposed to under them).
Today we trained it to Wimbledon to have a look about, but found to our dismay that it was a lay day. Not to be disheartened, we went to a nearby pub and watched Germany thrash England. The poms were besides themselves with dismay and didn't take the loss very well at all. England DEFINITELY scored that goal that wasn't allowed (you all saw that) and never recovered. A young chap recently having emerged (saturated) from the fountain at Trafalgar Square (we had over into town by that stage) bailed up Dear Jude and explained how lame-brained the English defence had been in allowing that third goal (you all saw that one as well), explaining that he had learned about that error in primary school. He was a bit pissy-boots, but seemed to be still having fun. We headed off to try for standby tickets to Phantom, but they were taking a night off as well.
Finally we 'bused' and 'trained' it back to Limehouse and then down to the docks for a light dinner at The Narrow, a pub that happened to be part of the Gordon Ramsay group of pubs. This was not a deliberate aim if the day, but the bar meals of fish cakes, sausages and mussels (separate meals, these) which turned out to be a highlight.
The other highlight was seeing Stephanie's house down near the Thames at Hammersmith. Quite a lovely three-level house, this, with Dear Steph occupying a big room right at the tippy top. Altogether too perfect! Steph has plans to travel over the summer holidays, so if anyone wants to rent it while she's away, I am sure that something can be worked out. Send me an email if you know of anyone who will be in the area at that time. I am going to try some Underground Bobbling tomorrow when Dear Jude and I hurtle out to Rickmansworth to do the Chess Valley walk to Chesham. We have to be back in time to see Wicked
Saturday, June 26, 2010
No More Megan!
What a huge day we have had! Belting across France from Annecy to Paris took us across fairly uninteresting country, really. The odd chateau loomed in, and then out, of sight. Ancient farm house clusters at the bottom of gullies (not the top of hills, as in Sunny Oz). Past the walled royal forest at Fontainbleau and into the streets of Paris.
The TomTom took us right throug the centre. Down Avenue General le Clerc, then Avenue Denfert Rochereau, Boulevard St Michel, on to Rue Sebastopol, turn left and you're there (or thereabouts). Hotel d'Amiens is home for the Ramblers' final night in La Belle France!
Dropping the bags and the girls (Dear Jude and Ally), I continued the prior direction straight across town and on to Charles de Gaulle Aeroport. Let me tell you that I was rooly optimistic to think that I could get out there quickly. No way! Every Frenchman worth his salt was headed either home or off to the provinces for the weekend. Bumper to bumper on the motorway, with three or four metres' progress only with every forward movement. Inch by deadly inch the traffic snarled forward. Now I had no plane to catch. Time was not an issue. What WAS an issue was the gazole (diesel). Having been determined to return Megan with minimal levels of liquid energy (at least less than what was in her when we picked her up), I was not prepared for the 'running out of petrol' scenario. As we millimetred our way forward, I watched the needle head south. Wait a moment. Isn't that a petrol station approching at a VERY slow pace? YES! IGNORE IT, Megan! We can do this! And we did. At some random point in the freeway the pace lifted and we reached Terminal Three in good time. With just enough fuel to take the next person to about half way to the nearest fuel depot. We had done it, Megan and I! I said my farewells and headed for the Gare du Nord. What WILL Megan get up to next? We'll never know...
I'm writing this on the Eurostar as we hurtle towards London. I have to turn my iPhone to flight mode now in case it interferes with the navigation system.
Hoo rooster!
Groombles!
The TomTom took us right throug the centre. Down Avenue General le Clerc, then Avenue Denfert Rochereau, Boulevard St Michel, on to Rue Sebastopol, turn left and you're there (or thereabouts). Hotel d'Amiens is home for the Ramblers' final night in La Belle France!
Dropping the bags and the girls (Dear Jude and Ally), I continued the prior direction straight across town and on to Charles de Gaulle Aeroport. Let me tell you that I was rooly optimistic to think that I could get out there quickly. No way! Every Frenchman worth his salt was headed either home or off to the provinces for the weekend. Bumper to bumper on the motorway, with three or four metres' progress only with every forward movement. Inch by deadly inch the traffic snarled forward. Now I had no plane to catch. Time was not an issue. What WAS an issue was the gazole (diesel). Having been determined to return Megan with minimal levels of liquid energy (at least less than what was in her when we picked her up), I was not prepared for the 'running out of petrol' scenario. As we millimetred our way forward, I watched the needle head south. Wait a moment. Isn't that a petrol station approching at a VERY slow pace? YES! IGNORE IT, Megan! We can do this! And we did. At some random point in the freeway the pace lifted and we reached Terminal Three in good time. With just enough fuel to take the next person to about half way to the nearest fuel depot. We had done it, Megan and I! I said my farewells and headed for the Gare du Nord. What WILL Megan get up to next? We'll never know...
I'm writing this on the Eurostar as we hurtle towards London. I have to turn my iPhone to flight mode now in case it interferes with the navigation system.
Hoo rooster!
Groombles!
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