High and dry again

Just a quickie this time as otherwise I won't get to post at all. It's that time again. The man with the hammer has been and given his verdict on the state of my bottom, or rather, the Vereeniging's. I can't believe that it's already five years since the last time, and unfortunately, those five years have taken their toll. My lovely old lady needs a few sticking plasters on her rear end. Luckily only one of these is urgent as I don't have the time or the welder to do anymore.

I guess I was hoping in vain for a clear bill of health and I took the risk of not calling my welding friends beforehand. There's always an uncertainty with these inspections. You never know what you need until after the hammer has fallen. If you reserve a welder in advance, the chances are that you won't need him; if you don't, then you do (if you get my drift). Well I didn't and I should have, but never mind; my wonderful neighbour, Tim, who helped us last time, is going to save my bacon again. Sadly, he has limited availability, so we are just doing the urgent patch for the moment. I'll definitely reserve him next spring though...as long as he's still around...and there lies another risk! Will he or won't he? When my helpers live on boats too, there's always the possibility that they'll fare away. But I won't worry about that for now! We have enough on our plates for the moment.

Wish us luck, my old girl and me. We have to be finished by Sunday so we need all the dry weather and good painting conditions we can get!

Favourite moorings in northern France

During our recent travels, we've moored up over night at a variety of wonderful places. Some of these will remain firmly fixed in my memory, and often for different reasons. There have been places of incredible beauty, others of great tranquillity, some of unusual convenience. Whatever the case, I thought it would be fun to write a couple of posts about moorings I've particularly enjoyed. Here are a few good ones to start off with:

This first one (above) was actually the last on our trip this year. It's at Oudenaarde and is against the quay where the commercials tie up over night. There is a marina at Oudenaarde, but we prefer it here because we can watch the barge traffic going past. There is electricity, and as far as we know, it's free, although we're not sure if we were just lucky and someone had forgotten to turn it off. It might be intended for the commercials only, so it probably isn't something we should count on. The only downside is if barges speed past, it can set up a lot of rocking. When we were there ten days ago, a huge barge sped through the lifting bridge and then promptly did a handbrake turn (use your imagination for that) so it could go back through the bridge before it closed. I felt seasick for a good fifteen minutes after he'd gone as the rocking just went on and on...and on. Yes well. That aside, it's a lovely place to be and there's an Aldi just over the bridge and round the corner. Just what everyone wants, yes?

This next one is one of last year's photos, but we moored there this year too, and it's at Leers Nord on the Canal de Roubaix. We absolutely love it there. In fact, there seems to be something called the Leers effect as confirmed by the owner of another barge that was also there when we arrived and was still there when we finally dragged ourself away after five days. One of those 'you can check out any time you like' places but you never want to leave. There's definitely free electricity and water, a great café/restaurant and good shops just a kilometre away. There are some other lovely places to moor up on the Canal de Roubaix that have electricity too, but we haven't tried those yet. The whole canal is highly recommended.

I know this next mooring doesn't look all that interesting, but we really liked it. It is on the canal to Brugge/Bruges and it is totally unofficial, but then we tend to be attracted to informal moorings. They seem more adventurous somehow. This one is at Aalter. It's against a loading quay that has rails along the top and a moving crane. I suppose commercials come there to load up with concrete slabs or just the raw materials, but we found a bollard in the grass and a hook right at the end beyond the rails. We weren't in anyone's way and there were steps up to the quayside. We had to walk along the rails to find a place to get out onto the road, but then once round the corner, we found a good friterie. It was a bit on the pricey side for a chip shop, but it was just what we needed at the time.

This last mooring was on the Scarpe at St Laurent de Blangy. I'm not sure I would say it's a favourite all the time as it was a bit busy with all the kids coming to the water sports centre there (see the canoes), but there's free electricity and water and if you want to pay for Wifi, you can get it from the watersport centre's office. That costs €7,50, but it seems to be valid for three months, not that they'd be happy if you stayed that long, but if you really wanted your money's worth, you could always drive back there for some Wifi time. I mean you would, wouldn't you? Anyway, a very nice French man told us that most of the year, the mooring is wonderfully peaceful (remember: he said that, not me ) and as I loved the Scarpe, I thought it was worth adding. It's also a twenty minute walk from Arras or a bus ride if you're clever enough to figure that out. French public transport remains a mystery to me. I think you have to get up very early to spot a bus in these parts.

That's it for this week's favourite moorings then. I'll probably do a few posts of these as they might be useful to other boating friends. Have a good Sunday allemaal, and I'll catch up with you all in the coming days.

Adventures with Airbnb in Alicante

I have had so much fun this last weekend. I really have. I've been on a four day trip to Spain to stay with and see friends. I was due to stay near Moraira (between Valencia and Alicante) for most of the time, but the first night, I booked an Airbnb room in Alicante itself as I'd never been there before. I've also never used Airbnb before and it proved to be quite an experience.

Now I'll admit that I have little to no Spanish at all, and since Airbnb is often offered by people who have spare rooms in their own homes (actually what normal B&B used to be), this means that you are likely to be staying with local people. I won't name the lady I stayed with here or give her address, because she was really very sweet and I wouldn't want to put anyone off. Added to that, at least some of my problems were caused by a) the fact that I left my phone at home in Rotterdam (duh) and b) communication difficulties, which were hardly her fault. Anyway, all that aside my stay at her flat proved to be very good meat for a blog post, which is what you're getting here.

For the sake of giving her an identity, I'll call my host lady Sara. Well, Sara and I had been arranging things over the internet using the useful if not always accurate Google as our interpreter. So far so good. Even if the messages were slightly offside at times, we did at least understand I was going to arrive at her address at between 3 and 4 p.m. Which I did.

Last Friday afternoon, I found my way easily from the airport into Alicante by bus and walked the short, but very steep 400 odd metres to her house from the bus stop. To ensure I was at the right address and about to press the correct buzzer, I double checked the details. All was well till I rang the bell.

I pressed, pushed, leant on one side and then the other of the little button, but nothing happened and nothing I did would persuade it to ring. There was no sound and no one came to the door. Somewhat perplexed, I wondered how I could contact her. It was soon after 3 p.m., so I thought maybe she wasn't home yet. But how was I to find out without a phone? What a predicament.

What I did have, though, was my iPad, so I decided to go back down the hill to the centre and find a café with WiFi where I could email her. Which I did too. Again with the help of my friend, the sometimes mischievous translator, Google, I composed a message and sent it to her. I told her I'd left my phone at home, that I'd been to the flat and that it seemed no one was there. I then said I'd go back at 4:30 p.m. and try again. The message that came back translated like this: 'I hope you get your phone back. I'll be on the floor. The bell is 4b' As you can imagine, I was puzzled and my imagination went into overdrive.

Finishing my coffee, I hefted up my bag, which had gained weight significantly by this time (funny how they do that, isn't it?) and staggered off back up the hill to the BnB. Again, I tried the bell and again nothing happened. I peered through the glass and there was no one lying on the floor either.

Then (at last) it occurred to me that maybe the bell didn't work. I furtively pressed another one to see what would happen. Its loud and peremptory buzz made me jump out of my skin, and I prayed its owner wasn't in. How embarrassing that would have been! I began to sweat trying to imagine what I would say to any possible 'Qué?' that might come through the intercom. Luckily for me, no one answered, but it certainly confirmed that Sara's bell wasn't working.

What to do now? She patently wasn't on the floor and her bell wouldn't work. Was I really going to have to crawl back to the café with my ten ton load, buy more coffee and send her another message? Just as I was preparing to gather up my courage, a light came on and Sara appeared, right there 'on the floor'. She was clearly puzzled that I hadn't rung the bell as she was pointing at it when she opened the door, but when she realised hers was the only one in the whole block that didn't work, she was duly very apologetic.

We climbed up the eight flights of stairs to her fourth floor apartment, by which time I realised I was not as fit as I thought I was. I was practically on my knees by the time we got to her door. Well, she kindly gave me a restorative cup of coffee and introduced me to her daughter who did speak English. Apparently Google had played with my message too and they thought I'd lost my phone at the café which was why I'd gone back there. A litany of confusion, but anyway, they gave me a key for going in and out.

The next fun with breaking and entering - sorry, getting in - occurred when I went back to the BnB after taking an evening stroll round Alicante. It's a lovely city and I spent a lot of time walking around until well after dark, so by the time I got back, the entrance was dark too. Going in, I looked for a light and found one of those timed switches - you know the type. They stay on for a while and then turn themselves off. Lots of apartment blocks and hotels have them. I pushed this one and the light came on, so I started up the stairs, but it wasn't long before I realised I couldn't remember how many floors I'd climbed or how many storeys the building had. Oh dear. And there was nothing on any of the landings to say which one I was on. Oh dear, oh dear. I tried a key in the door I thought was the right flat and it didn't work. Oh dear, oh dearie dear. Not knowing now if I had to go up or down, I hesitated, and at that moment my time was up with the lights. Everything went black. And I really mean black.

Now just picture this - Val groping her way all around the walls in total darkness like a manic spider. It was crazy and I still couldn't find the light switch, so then I had a mild (micro) panic. I didn't dare go down or up the stairs. Firstly, I didn't know where they were and secondly, I was sure I'd break my neck if I tried. Can you imagine it? I could have sat down and pushed myself around on my backside I suppose or crawled, but didn't want to risk that either. I mean supposing someone came out of their flat, switched the light on and found me crawling up the stairs on my hands and knees. I was cringing at the thought. Then joy of joy, I remembered my iPad, which I'd thankfully taken with me. If I opened it, I would have the light from the screen. Talk about 'let there be light!' What a relief!

With the help of my trusty tablet, I confirmed my key was wrong for the door I was looking at and after shining the iPad around up and down the stairwell, I decided I needed to go up one more floor. I still couldn't find the light switch, though, so I used my screen light to find my way upstairs. Such was my gratitude that I'd got to the right door, I unlocked it, crept into my room and went to bed.

Now then,  shall I tell you about what happened when all the lights and heater in my room tripped out too? Hmm, no, I think I'll leave that for now. This is quite enough of a shaggy blog story :) More on the beauties of the Spanish coastal areas next time. Have a great week ending everyone!

Adventures in Public Transport

Now it's winter and we aren't faring places, I've still been lucky enough to do some travelling as readers here will know. At the end of November, we were in Poland and then the weekend before last, I was in England. Since in both places I've made extensive use of public transport, I thought I'd share some anecdotes with you that show (I think) why using buses, trams and trains is such a great way to meet local people when travelling abroad.

In Poland, for instance, public transport is very reasonably priced. I think the Poles must have heart failure when they come to the Netherlands and see how much it is here. Like most places now, the chip card system is replacing tickets in Poland although you can still buy paper tickets if you want. We wanted to pay upfront for our whole seven days in the Katowice area, so a card it had to be. Being dumbwits when it comes to understanding Polish, we had to ask at the office for help and this is where the Poles really shine for us. They are so patient and so helpful. Our lady had very little English, but between us we worked out what we had to do. It took ages: she wrote numbers down that we tried to make sense of; she tried to explain how to use the pin code machine, which I eventually understood; she gave us payment options and told us how to get our deposit back if we wanted it, but she made no complaint about the time any of this took and was as sweet as could be.

We travelled a lot by bus and tram in Poland. The Katowice network area is massive and we did quite a bit of sticking pins on the map and finding a bus going that way or simply looking at the destination and saying 'let's go there.' This led us first to Toszek with its gorgeous castle and then to Mikolow, a surprisingly pretty town with an old German square, both quite random discoveries for us. We also tried to go to a place called Halemba - twice - but didn't make it. We still don't know why, but it might have had something to do with a circular route...ahem.

On another occasion, this time on a tram, we met a man who initially told us he was diabetic and needed help to buy food. At first we were sceptical, I'm ashamed to say, but when he told us his story, I felt deeply for him. He used to work in the Netherlands until he he was diagnosed with diabetes, but he could no longer work because of the severe extent of his condition. We chatted to him for much of our journey and learned how things have perhaps not improved for everyone in Poland since the end of communism. 'Thirty years ago, I would have been looked after,' he said 'but not anymore'.

We also took a couple of train trips and while I was really impressed by the trains, I was even more impressed by the conductors. They were not only very nice, they were incredibly patient and helpful too. We had to buy our tickets on the train rather than on the station. Apparently, this is normal practice and the conductors have these onboard hand-held computers to calculate the prices and print the tickets.  You can only buy one way tickets, oddly, but that's the rule.

On our second train trip, we went to Zwardon, which involved buying a through ticket from Gliwice Labedy to Zwardon involving two changes. The conductor who sold us our ticket had trouble understanding where we wanted to go. I had the feeling she might not even have heard of it as I don't suppose many people from Gliwice ask to go there. In the end, after many attempts at trying to say the name (probably incorrectly) we had to 'spell' it for her on the wall of the carriage. Luckily, that worked, but I was again surprised by her patience.

On our return from chilly, snowy, Zwardon to Katowice, we had the same conductor as on our up trip - the wonderful Tomasz. I've never met a train conductor quite like him before. He told us so much about the history of Silesia and the area. He also showed us the most beautiful book about the Polish railways with its history and extensive maps and old photos. This was his reading material for the journey...an erudite conductor indeed.

Then a quick hop in time and over to the UK; to Shepton Mallet and Wells in Somerset at the beginning of December to be precise. Although I was staying at a B&B in Shepton Mallet, I needed to get to Wells every day. I'd hired a car, but for reasons I won't go into here, I cannot drive in the dark, so I had to take the bus on Friday and Saturday. Well, I'm so glad I did. It was such fun. I'd forgotten that people chat at bus stops and on the buses in England. That doesn't happen often here in the Netherlands, but in the UK, it's what you do when you're in the bus queue (innit?). For instance:
'Hallo love, you all right?'
'Yeah, pet, but the lumbago's giving me proper stick this week.'
'Oh no! So sorry you're poorly! It's the damp, love. I was just saying to my girls last week this wet weather's getting us all down.'
And so that's the norm. I'd forgotten this, having lived away from the UK for so long, but I was tickled to find out it's still true. On my first evening at the bus stop, after making friendly small talk with a lady standing in the bus shelter, a very nice gentleman, who reminded me rather forcefully of a garden gnome chatted to me on the bus itself and helped me with directions for when I arrived in Wells. In fact he was so helpful, he even wanted to escort me at the other end, but I told him I was more than grown up enough to find my own way. He wasn't convinced, bless him.

The following day, I was waiting at the bus stop in Wells waiting to return to the B&B and got chatting to a lass who was going to visit her boyfriend in Shepton Mallet. While we were talking, a young man came in looking a bit bemused asking if we knew when the next bus to Bristol was. He told us he'd fallen asleep on the bus and should have got off  some time before reaching Wells. He had a huge problem because his girlfriend was expecting him to collect her from Bristol Airport and his mum was expecting him home before going to fetch the girlfriend. What made matters worse, his phone had run out of battery power so he couldn't contact either of them. Oh dear. He looked very disconsolate and dishevelled. The girl I was talking to offered to let him use her phone to contact his mother. Between the three of us, we composed a text to tell his mum the bus had broken down and to ask her to come and get him from Wells. We all agreed that the truth was not an option and that he had to play the 'parent game' to smoothe things over. I hope everything worked out for him; he certainly looked a bit happier when our own bus departed a few minutes later. When we arrived back in Shepton Mallet, my young friend thanked me for the company and conversation.
'I hope you have a lovely evening,' I smiled at her.
Then she stepped off the bus into the arms of a romantic looking young man with Byronic curls, so I called out to them.
'Ah, I can see you will have a lovely evening.'
The boy looked puzzled, but the girl smiled. She knew what I knew. What a lovely way to end the day. There's nothing like a bit of random conversation with strangers on the buses to lift the spirits.

Have a lovely Christmas everyone xx

Jo Carroll - in the spotlight

After reading Hidden tiger, I really felt I wanted to know more about Jo Carroll and her intrepid wanderings. I'd already asked if she would join me here for a web interview and I was so glad when she said yes. I had a lot of questions to ask!  I was intrigued by what prompted and inspired her to go travelling on her own to such remote places. Her answers are all so interesting, I didn't want to edit a thing, so here they are - unadulterated, unabridged, untouched and in full!

1.Jo, I positively gobbled ‘Hidden Tiger’. It simply carried me along, and I loved the fact you wrote it all in the present tense. It felt as if I was there with you and it really was all happening as I read it. Was this a deliberate choice, or do you always write in the present time?

It was a choice – though an easy one to make, as all the diaries are written in the present tense – often in cafés and bus stations along the way. So taming them in the present was much easier than putting it all in the past. I hope, also, that it is more fun for the reader – being swept along, as it were, rather than simply looking back.

2. Have you always been a traveller? I’ve been to your website, and there are some great trips described there, but how far back does your travel bug go?

I’ve wanted to travel since my teens, but it was much harder for women to take off then. And then I was taken up with work and children – so the travel dreams went on the back burner for a long time. But once my daughters were launched and I realised that independent travel might be possible – well, there was nothing stopping me then (apart from nerves – I still sit in the airport before I fly and wonder what I really think I’m doing!).

3. I loved the way you described all your feelings and reactions in Hidden Tiger – the fear of being so close to the tiger and the trepidation you felt on the Siddhartha highway after the cyclone. It all seemed very intense. Was any of this just a tiny bit embellished for the sake of the story, or was it all for real?

I have never been as scared in my life as I was coming down the Siddhartha highway after the cyclone. There was no need to embellish that at all. The tiger – well, that was surreal. I couldn’t quite believe I was being led closer and closer to it – so I have played with that a bit.

But you raise an interesting point – the role of ‘truth’ and ‘untruth’ in memoir. I never make incidents up – so everything in Hidden Tiger and in Over the Hill and Far Away actually happened, but as a writer I make judgements about what will make an interesting story, and so leave out days of sitting on buses or pottering about on beaches, even though this may give the reader the idea that it is one adventure after another.

4. You always seemed to make friends easily in the book. Is this normal for the Nepalese? Are they generally friendly and hospitable?

I love the Nepalese – yes, they are generally friendly and wonderfully generous. And I am permanently curious, and so ask questions from anyone who looks willing to talk. I am also willing to tell them about me, and about my life at home – which feels fair exchange for the stories they tell me, but that bit of the conversation doesn’t make it into the books. But it does make it easier to make reciprocal relationships.

5. As a woman travelling alone, do you feel this is a disadvantage, or do you find that you make more friends as a lone traveller than you would if you were with someone else?

I love travelling alone. Although I have to think about safety in a way that I might not have to if I had company, I find it easier to meet local people, many of whom find the concept of a woman travelling alone very strange and begin with the ‘where is your husband’ question. I generally tell the truth (he died), which somehow opens up the conversation making confidences possible and suddenly I’m invited home to tea. (I don’t always go! Sometimes a polite refusal is necessary.)

6. I read that you sing in a choir at home. Would you tell me something about that? What kind of music do your perform and do you sing in concerts?

It’s a Choral Society – and we do proper concerts at Christmas and Easter. I’ve sung Mozart’s Requiem and Jenkins’ The Armed Man – so it’s serious singing, but we have a lot of fun. And I love what it does to my head – I always come home from rehearsals humming. I think it’s impossible to sing and think about anything else, which is probably why I love it.

7. I noticed that most of your travelling has been to the east. Do you have any plans to go west at all?

I’ve done a couple of road trips in America, but not written about it. I found it hard to meet people there, and the scenery – while wonderful – is known to many from watching films. But you never know, I might go again.

And I really want to go to Africa – even wondered about Madagascar in January. But it’s the cyclone season (need I say more?)

8. When do you think you will be off on your next trip, and where will it be?

I’m off just after Christmas. I booked a flight to Bangkok on a wet Friday, when I was fed up with the weather! I’d like to head north into Laos, if I can find an easy land border (I think there’s a train) – so I’m at the Lonely Planet studying stage. But I’m definitely going.

9. You mentioned that you write a diary when you are away. How does this help you when it comes to writing your books afterwards? How do you decide what to use and what to keep just as memories?

I worked with a mentor when polishing Over the Hill and he said to cut anything that people could see on the telly and make this about me. It was a tough lesson, and involved masses of rewriting, but I think the books are better for it. So I try to think what will work for the reader – a good measure is people’s reactions when I talk about a trip: if their eyes glaze over I know that bit is tedious, but if I can make people laugh then I know I’m onto something.

10. Is there anything that you always take with you on your journeys? You know, that special thing that you won’t leave home without?

I have a ‘kit’ with all the usual emergency stuff – penknife, silk sleeping bag, elastic washing line, sewing kit, plasters etc.

My one extra, which most people don’t carry, is a small fleece blanket – probably designed for a dog basket. It’s light, squashes in the top of my rucksack – and I’ve used it on almost every trip. It’s great for places where the air conditioning is stuck on high and the room is too cold. It’s great for hostels where you might not get enough blankets. It’s great for throwing round your shoulders in the morning when you sit up in bed writing.

11. One last thing, as a writer, do you think of your travels as potential books before you start or have your books evolved from the travelling?

I’ve always written – and when I was working I wrote about work. But the instinct to keep thorough records was easy to transpose into writing a diary.

But the initial drive was to travel. It was when I came home and someone said, ‘You should write a book,’ that I began Over the Hill. Now – I don’t think it’s so easy to separate the two. In fact, I think the only thing that kept me almost sane coming down the Siddhartha highway was thinking how to write it – organising words in my head was the only think I could think of to distract me from the reality that we might fall off the mountain!

Thank you for a great opportunity to visit your blog, Val – what wonderful questions!

It's been a great pleasure, Jo. I was fascinated by the book and intrigued by all these different aspects of your life, so thank you so much for answering so frankly and candidly, particularly questions 3 and 11. These are aspects of writing that I think all of us who do it can relate to.

Thank you again, Jo, and good luck with both the book and your future travels!