Almost Anchored down in Anchorage

After the excitement of our Kodiak ‘Bear Day’, the rest of the cruise paled in comparison. It was almost the end of the voyage anyway and time for us to enjoy mainland Alaska. We cruised into Whittier, an isolated port ‘city’ in southern Alaska, famous for its extreme climate. Because the place is hidden in the mountains and covered in fog for most of the year, the US Army chose it as a secret military port. It became known as ‘the town under one roof’ as nearly all the residents lived in just the one building: at first in the (now abandoned) Buckner building [to the left in the photo below]—a giant military complex built during the early Cold War, designed to survive a nuclear attack and house up to 1,250 military personnel. Nowadays, the majority of the 300 residents have moved into the nearby modern Begich Towers [on the right]. Due to the intensely cold and wet weather for most of the year, shops operate within the block and children use an access tunnel direct from the building to their school.

Escaping from Whittier isn’t easy. We had been warned to book coach tickets way ahead as taxis are non-existent. Added to this is the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel, the longest rail/vehicle shared tunnel in the US, that cuts through the surrounding mountains for 2.7 miles and joins up with the highway to the outside world. The tunnel offers the only land access into and out of town and operates on a strict shared schedule for cars and trains, alternating direction twice an hour: train one way, followed by cars the same way then cars the other way, so there’s only a small opportunity each hour to travel through. Every hour, immediately after the train, a fire truck drives through to check for rockfalls or animals wandering in the tunnel. 

Just south of Anchorage we spotted an incongruous sight: a lone surfer on the inlet.  We had to stop and think about that … Turns out it’s all to do with a bore tide, which only happens after extreme low tides that are tied to the full or new moon. This particular one, Turnagain Arm’s bore tide, is one of the biggest of its kind: a wave that can build to 6-10 feet and roll in at 10-15 mph. It takes over five hours for the bore to travel the 40+ miles from the mouth of Turnagain Arm right to the end. As well as surfers, harbour seals often ride the tide and beluga whales sometimes visit once the water gets deeper to feed on fish.

An enormous taxidermied bear greeted us at the hotel in Anchorage. Bears aren’t quite as large these days (rather like chocolate bars).

Anchorage is the largest city in Alaska but not the capital (that’s Juneau). It’s still surrounded by wilderness, and moose often wander through the suburbs. The city has a lawless feel to it. In fact, we learned later that Alaska has the highest violent crime rate of any US state and Anchorage is a major hub for criminal activity.

Fortunately the only misdemeanour we heard about was to do with a mural at West Anchorage High School. In 1971 four students in their final year asked to gift a mural to be painted on the school’s front wall. The principal agreed to the mural, but not to their request to have their graduation year included. You know what’s coming … defying the rule, the students asked the artist subtly to hide 71 somewhere in the painting of the eagle, which he did, and it took the principal four years to notice. But there was a serendipitous outcome: when the miscreants turned up at the school’s ten-year reunion, he handed them ‘detention notes’, which were actually beer vouchers for a local bar.

The state sport is dog sled racing, using Alaskan huskies. The famous Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race takes place in March each year, covering 1000 miles through the wilderness from Anchorage to Nome.  [I have a theory that the dogs are actually trying to outrun the mosquitos, which are legendary in Alaska—so large the locals say they should have landing lights.]

The race originated with the 1925 serum run (or the Great Race of Mercy) when a relay of 20 mushers and 150 sled dogs transported diphtheria antitoxin to remote Nome to save the residents from an outbreak of the disease. To honour that, one of the Iditarod’s key rules is that each team must carry mail with them for someone in Nome. Renowned dog musher Joe Redington was inspired to start the Iditarod due to his love of dogs and his concern that snowmobiles and helicopters were starting to replace dog sleds across Alaska in the 1960s.

The sled dogs are treated like the elite athletes they are, being fed salmon and steak, and the musher talks to each one individually before a race. [Just before we went dog sledding in Mongolia one Christmas, I stopped off to stroke the nearest dog. Big mistake. The musher then insisted I stroke the entire dog team.] Being so highly strung and having a deeply ingrained pack mentality, if the other dogs spot favouritism it can cause tension and squabbles. Not good when they’re pulling you at high speed over snow and ice.

A section of 4th Avenue is known as the Mushing District and is the traditional starting line for the race.

In the 1950s, Bob Hope called 4th Avenue ‘the longest bar in the world’. In among the numerous pubs, we spotted an open-air rooftop bar that seemed ambitious, given that it was almost summer and we were in two-jackets-hat-gloves-and-scarf mode. Alaskans are clearly a hardy bunch. Talking of Bob Hope reminds me that Gene Perret, TV producer of Bob Hope specials, once said: Retirement is wonderful. It’s doing nothing without worrying about getting caught at it. I couldn’t agree more.

We had heard that the train south to Seward travelled through some spectacular scenery, so we hopped on one morning. It WAS truly stunning.

Ten minutes after arriving in Seward, we jumped on a wildlife cruise and spotted humpback whales, puffins and sea lions.

Just outside the central business district of Anchorage, Lake Hood is the busiest seaplane base in the world, with 600-800 takeoffs and landings each day in summer. The flights don’t stop in winter just because the lake is frozen: pilots attach hydraulic skis to the seaplanes for landing. We were intrigued to see that many houses in this area have a plane hangar instead of a garage. For reasons that remain unclear to me, children can start training for a pilot’s licence at 14 years old … which seems a reckless law at best, but I guess the pilot kids are at least sober as they have to wait another seven years before they can legally buy a beer. 

We escaped before a teenager offered to take us for a joy ride. Alaska is seriously beautiful but we needed to warm up (this was May!) so we flew to New York for a totally different type of culture.

The city was dubbed the Big Apple in the 1920s. At the time, New York’s prestigious racecourses offered the largest prize money for horse races in the country. John J. Fitz Gerald, a sportswriter, overheard two stable hands in New Orleans describe the ultimate racing destination as the ‘big apple’. Fitz Gerald picked up the phrase and started a horse-racing column in New York’s Morning Telegraph called ‘Around the Big Apple’.

We couldn’t miss a return visit to the NY Public Library to see the original stuffed Winnie the Pooh toy collection that inspired the Pooh books. It was gratifying to see that Pooh, Eeyore, Piglet, Kanga and Tigger have now been moved to their rightful place in the Treasures room. Christopher Robin’s original toy Roo was lost in an apple orchard in the 1930s, but when Queen Camilla visited recently she donated a handcrafted replica, which was still in the conservation department when we visited.

New York’s latest observation deck is The Edge, located on the 100th floor of a Manhattan skyscraper. Its main drawcard is a triangular platform projecting into the air with a glass floor and walls, giving 360-degree skyline views (and, to certain people, the heebie-jeebies).

We were heading to the UK for the summer so we sailed from New York to Southampton on the Queen Mary 2, which we learned is the only active ocean liner still in service.  To my shame, I hadn’t appreciated the difference between an ocean liner and a cruise ship. [For those that share my shame, an ocean liner is a large ship designed to transport people and cargo on a scheduled line across an ocean, and is built for heavy-duty travel with a thicker and higher hull and a longer bow than a cruise ship. Even the other three ships in the Cunard line are classed structurally as cruise ships.]

The views of New York City from a ship are legendary, so we all gathered outside for the sailaway through the harbour.

The Statue of Liberty loomed large, of course. Officially titled ‘Liberty Enlightening the World’, the statue was initially intended as a lighthouse at the entrance to the Suez Canal but the project was eventually scrapped due to spiralling costs. Instead, France decided to gift the Statue of Liberty to the United States to celebrate the centennial of American independence and honour the alliance of the two countries during the American Revolution. 

There was a proviso: the Americans had to raise funds to build the pedestal. As part of the fund-raising, Liberty’s right arm and torch were displayed in Madison Square Park for six years. Thrill-seekers could buy tickets (50 cents) to climb a ladder in the arm right up to the torch.

Once enough money was raised, the odd bits were reunited with the rest of the statue in Paris and eventually the entire body was shipped to New York. Being covered in a layer of copper, she glowed brown for the first 35 years but, once the copper started to oxidise, she morphed to the current sea-green colour. For those that are interested in such things, this substantial lady has a 35-ft waistline and wears a size 879 shoe.

With no ports-of-call until Southampton, we set about exploring the ship. We heard excited barking on an upper deck one day and discovered the dog kennels. The Queen Mary 2 is the only ship offering scheduled transatlantic trips that still allows dogs and cats onboard. The kennels are air-conditioned and presided over by a kennel master in white gloves. Back in the day, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were regular passengers, and always travelled with their dog. While walking his pet one day, the duke remarked it was a shame there was no lamppost near the kennels. A fair request, so Cunard complied immediately. Since then, a New York fire hydrant has also been installed so both American and English dogs can feel comfortable in their surroundings.

The older Cunard ships were renowned for carrying animals onboard; Colonel Phillips always brought his pet raccoon, of course. Other exotic travellers included an elephant, a monkey, and a number of horses. A special stable was built for Papyrus, the racehorse who had won the 1923 Derby. It was padded with air cushions and had a wooden-battened floor to help him stay upright if the ship rolled. Papyrus even had staff: a blacksmith, vet and stable hands, plus a companion—a horse called Bar Gold (who failed in her duties as she was seasick for the entire voyage).

It was too short a voyage—we were just getting into our daily stride of listening to excellent speakers and enjoying the beautiful library. Arriving in the UK was exciting too, though. We’d planned a long summer of dog-sits, holidays and catching up with family and friends, which is what we’re doing right now. News of that in the next post.

Until then,

Hasta La Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Where the Big Bears Roam

Without wishing to sound like a stuck record, this is—probably—our last year of full-time travelling. Yes, I know we said that last year (and may have mentioned it the year before too) but 2027 may just be the year we settle down. While we were in Perth recently—on a two-month budgie sit!—we made (for us) the monumental step of buying an apartment, so we no longer have the excuse of ‘having no home’. After 14 years on the road, it’ll be a major shake-up but we’ll test the waters at the end of the year and see how we go …

As a result, we’re throwing ourselves with gusto into our current travels. We started in the mega-metropolis of Jakarta, with its population of 42 million.  The city is still the capital but it’s in the process of being replaced by a new, purpose-built capital city named Nusantara, which is being built in East Kalimantan, Borneo. It’s a necessary move as parts of Jakarta are sinking up to 11 inches a year due to climate change, poor urban planning, and its position on a delta. The move may also be because of the congestion; the traffic is horrendous. It’s a motorbike city and the traffic jams, dirt and pollution have become major problems.

While researching interesting things to do in Jakarta, I was underwhelmed to find that two of the city’s ‘highlights’ were the country’s oldest escalator and a row of grapefruit-sized concrete balls hanging just above train carriage height to discourage passengers from travelling illegally on the roof. This was a last-ditch attempt after spraying the roof surfers with paint, using sniffer dogs, and placing rolls of barbed wire on top of the carriages.

Credit: AFP/Getty Images

Instead, we visited Kota Tua (Old Town) where we enjoyed the historic Cafe Batavia

and the nearby Hotel Tugu with its treasure trove of antiques.

To our surprise, we found that Indonesia’s train service is considered second only to Japan’s in being the fastest, cleanest and most efficient in Southeast Asia. We can vouch for that: our 10-day scoot around Java went without a hitch, though there were plenty of early morning starts. No problem with waking up though as, with any Islamic country, we were never far from a mosque and the inevitable early calls to prayer. 

The first high-speed railway in Southeast Asia, called the Whoosh, runs from Jakarta to Bandung and can travel up to 350 kms/hr. Train journeys from city centres are rarely picturesque at the start, and from Jakarta is no exception. But once past the city’s shanty towns, the views are of lush and exquisitely cultivated paddy fields. To fully enjoy the scenery, the seats on our train swivelled round to face the window.

Bandung is set in the highlands and surrounded by volcanic mountains. It’s known as the ‘Paris of Java’ due to its colonial-era charm and cool climate.  After a couple of days in the city we’d noticed several blind musicians singing by the roadside or feeling their way through traffic as they strummed instruments. It turns out the city has a thriving community of visually impaired musicians, ranging from street performers to independent artists and bands. They often play the kacapi—a type of zither—and are helping to preserve classic Indonesian folk music.

An hour north of Bandung is the active Tangkuban Perahu volcano, which has erupted numerous times since records began—the last time in 2019. From the view points, we could easily see the hot water springs and boiling mud pools (though we resisted the urge to buy eggs that had been cooked in them).

On our trip around Java we treated ourselves to some beautiful Colonial hotels. 

We were blown away by the buffet breakfast at the Pullman Grand Hotel in Bandung. We’ve enjoyed some great breakfast buffets in our time but this was on another level. Nestled in among the exotic fruit, pancakes and noodles were silky smooth chocolate fountains, ice cream, freshly cooked satay sticks, and piles of macarons. It was hard to tear ourselves away to catch a train.

With Jogjakarta as our base, we explored Borobudur, the world’s largest Buddhist temple. Built in the 8th century, Borobudur was abandoned a few hundred years later when Java started to convert to Islam. The site lay hidden for centuries under jungle growth but in 1814, after a tip-off by some locals, Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles—the then British governor-general of Java [and later of Singapore fame]—was instrumental in rediscovering the site. This led to the start of restoration efforts with UNESCO’s help.

The 9th-century Prambanan, another UNESCO World Heritage Site, is Indonesia’s largest Hindu temple complex. It comprises hundreds of structures with stone-carved reliefs illustrating the Ramayana, a centuries-old Javanese dance. Since the 1960s, the dance has been performed every full moon night in the temple. Raffles had a hand in rediscovering this temple too—commissioning a full survey of the ruins after one of his surveyors came across the site by chance. Sadly, many of the sculptures and foundation stones were looted so restoration has been slow and is still continuing today.

In Malang we strolled around the colourful Jodipan village. After occupation by the Dutch East Indies ended, the newly-formed Malang government struggled to build enough affordable housing, which led to the building of shanty towns along the rivers and rail tracks. Jodipan was a badly neglected neighbourhood and due to be demolished in 2016, but university students transformed the village into a large-scale art project, inspired by the favela painting initiative in Rio de Janeiro. 

Our final train ride in Java was to Banyuwangi to catch a ferry to Bali for some much-needed R&R. I have nothing to report on our week spent in a village near Ubud as we did absolutely nothing. And it was marvellous. [Still no sleep-ins, though: the daily early morning call to prayer we’d endured in Java was replaced by the 4.30am cockerel alarm.]

The timing of our short flit into Tokyo to board a ship was serendipitous as we met up with two sets of friends who also happened to be passing through.

While in a cafe in Shinjuku during a storm, I amused myself by making a ‘Don’t Do This in Japan’ List: blow nose in public, clear throat loudly, eat on street, jay walk, talk in lifts, arrive on time (which is considered late) … and so it goes on. It must be exhausting to live there as a foreign national if avoiding these things doesn’t come naturally.

Our ship, the excellent Azamara Pursuit, was bound for Whittier in Alaska and, almost instantly, the temperature dropped dramatically. Our first stop, Aomori in the far north of Japan, is one of the world’s snowiest cities; in January and February, two metres can be dumped in one day. 

To cheer themselves up in the winter months, the locals busy themselves working on the Nebuta Festival that has taken place every August since 1720. Nebuta are characters that ward off ‘sleep demons’ who were said to cause drowsiness during the busy farming season. The Nebuta floats are enormous structures made from bamboo, melted paraffin wax, and Japanese rice paper stretched over wire frames. They are illuminated internally by hundreds of light bulbs and under each float is a large wheel and a wooden platform. It takes up to 50 strong men to manoeuvre the heavy float during the procession.

Nebuta master artists design and create the floats, which often feature ancient warlords. Every year a total of 23 floats are made. After the procession, 19 of them are burned and the remaining four prize-winning masterpieces are displayed in the Nebuta Museum for the following 12 months.

Having slight railway withdrawal symptoms, we hopped on a train to Hirosaki for the afternoon. As well as being Japan’s leading apple growing area (we saw numerous apple pastries but strangely no apples to buy), Hirosaki Park claims to be the best cherry-blossom viewing site in the country.  Many Hirosaki citizens donated cherry blossom trees to the park in the early 20th century. As a result, more than 2,600 cherry blossom trees of various species come into bloom throughout the park every spring. We asked a man for directions to the castle within the park and he accompanied us around the grounds, pointing out huge cherry trees and chattering away in Japanese, even though he knew we couldn’t understand. I suspect he was saying, ‘You should have been here last week!’ (Cherry blossom season had finished the week before.) 

The first pic is a photo from a few weeks earlier; the second is what we saw!

Heading east, the ship cruised along the Aleutian Islands that form a long arc between Russia and the State of Alaska. 

We sailed for days past the continuous snowy peaks of the islands. The peaks, gorges and dramatic shorelines were shaped by seismic activity and we were shocked to learn that an earthquake of some magnitude occurs somewhere in Alaska every 15 minutes.

Most of the Aleutians belong to Alaska, with a few of the western ones being claimed by Russia. During World War II, the Japanese occupied a couple of the Alaskan islands, Kiska and Attu, and the Indigenous Aleuts were taken to an internment camp in Japan. The invasion was the first time American soil had been occupied by a foreign enemy since the War of 1812. US and Canadian forces ousted the Japanese a year later.

Our main reason for taking the cruise was to visit Kodiak Island, off the coast of southwestern Alaska, in the hope of seeing wild Kodiak brown bears. These are twice as big as their grizzly cousins on the mainland (males can weigh up to 680kgs at peak times), due to their isolation from the mainland bears and their protein-rich coastal diet, particularly the all-they-can-eat salmon buffet during the summer months. Together with polar bears, they are the largest members of the bear family. 

The town and island are part of the Kodiak archipelago. About two-thirds of Kodiak is a refuge to protect habitat, particularly brown bears and salmon. Puffins, whales, seals, sea lions and sea otters are common in the bays.  We saw several bald eagles and discovered that ‘bald’ originally meant ‘white’, so these majestic birds are not follicly challenged but have a fine crop of white feathers on top.

It was to be a double-whammy of firsts: to see bears in the wild, for me [Jim had seen them on a previous trip to Kamchatka] and our first time on a seaplane. The entire day was Jim’s amazing present to me for my 70th birthday.

We flew to the Katmai coast with its many inlets where bears enjoy roaming. Not all the bears were awake yet as it was just coming to the end of the hibernation season, but it wasn’t long before we spotted our first pair! The seaplane plopped at the water’s edge and we clambered onto the float bars to watch. Our pair wandered very close to us but it was mating season so they were distracted. Or, at least, the male was … the female was very much otherwise engaged and seemed to be saying: ‘For goodness sake, I’ve just woken up!’ There were more sightings and landings during the morning, each as exciting as the first.

They have a phenomenal sense of smell and had we been walking in the woods, they would have known we were nearby long before we saw them. Perched on the plane’s floats, we could have made a fairly quick getaway but, for good measure, the pilot did give us some general bear advice if faced by them: black bear (be aggressive—make yourself as big as possible); brown bear (be totally submissive—lie face down with legs spread so you can’t easily be rolled over); polar bear … say goodbye.

There are about 3,000 bears on the archipelago so the males will get lucky at some point. Females have the easiest pregnancies and early motherhood of virtually any animal: they mate in May/June but the fertilised embryos don’t implant until Oct/Nov when the bears go into hibernation. So mum goes to sleep for six to seven months. While she’s busy snoring, the cubs are born then suckle for a few months. By the time they all emerge from the den in June, the cubs have gained nine kgs on the rich milk and mum is startled to discover she has toddlers to contend with.

Two days after our amazing excursion the ship docked in the tiny mainland port of Whittier and we disembarked. Surrounded by snow-capped peaks there was no doubting we had arrived in ‘rugged frontier Alaska’.

We had another ship to catch on the other side of the US, but before that a few more precious days in Alaska.

Details next time. Till then, take care.

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Beating About the Bush

We sailed into the magnificent city of Cape Town just before Christmas. Table Mountain loomed over the city at every turn, sometimes with—but often without—cloud cover [dubbed ‘the tablecloth’].

We had all climbed or cable-car’d the mountain before, so were happy with a worm’s-eye view this time. Instead we rooted out a few interesting museums.  The Heart of Cape Town Museum is, as the name suggests, all about the heart. But not just any old heart. On 3 Dec 1967, at the Groote Schuur Hospital, surgeon Christiaan Barnard performed the world’s first human-to-human heart transplant. 

Due to the medical ethics and South Africa’s apartheid policy at the time, the senior hospital administration had agreed to select a white donor and recipient for the first transplant. Louis Washkansky, who had an incurable heart disease, was already lined up as a potential candidate—so when Denise Darvall died in a car accident and her father generously donated her heart, Louis was whipped into hospital as the lucky recipient. Time was of the essence, so Barnard immediately gathered his 30-strong team and performed the operation … without alerting the head of the Cardiac Unit first. Only after the surgery did he ring his boss to admit what he’d done.

Fortunately, the surgery was deemed a success [as the heart was beating and the patient had survived the operation]. Sadly, Washkansky died 18 days later of pneumonia but the hospital supported Barnard in his second, more successful, transplant shortly afterwards. Approximately 7,000 heart transplants are now performed worldwide each year (and those numbers would be much higher but for a severe shortage of donor hearts).

For a complete change of scene, we trotted off to the Museum of Dogs, the only one in the world dedicated to dogs (as far as I know). Entry: Dogs free. Humans 100 Rand.

Owners have contributed amusing and sometimes heartbreaking stories about their dogs, and donated precious objects that remind them of their pets. It reminded us of the wonderful Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb.

We also paid a sobering visit to the District Six Museum. In the 1960s, under apartheid, District Six—a racially-mixed suburb near the city centre—was declared a whites-only area. Over a decade, many homes were demolished and the government forcibly removed 60,000 residents, relocating them to distant townships. Ironically, for many years afterwards much of the area remained undeveloped and empty, but in recent years there has been a ‘reclaim scheme’ to help former residents move back. 

Before Pete and Ange departed for their UK Christmas, we spent a marvellous day at the wineries in Franschoek. It seemed socially acceptable to imbibe at any time of day there, so we dutifully complied.

Renting what seemed to be a woefully inadequately-sized car for our drive across country to Durban, we set off for the start of the famed Garden Route. 

In Swellendam we visited the Drosdty, one of the oldest buildings in South Africa. Built in 1747, it served as the court and home of the magistrate. 

We were intrigued by the peach pip floor. Kitchen floors at the time were usually a mix of dirt and clay (with a dash of cow dung to minimise the dust). Here’s what (probably) happened: The cook made peach jam, discarding the pips outside. Over time the pips were trodden into the soil and some bright spark realised the combination could create a hard-wearing floor. While a new floor was still at its muddy consistency stage, numerous peach pips were painstakingly pressed into it, making an excellent durable surface. Quite brilliant. And saving on landfill too.

We were making up our itinerary as we went along and found ourselves at Mossel Bay on 31 December. We discovered that local rock ‘n’ roll ‘legend’, Mark Haze, was performing at a winery nearby so we spent a memorable New Year’s Eve there, dancing and singing with the locals.

Along the Garden Route, I loved that some of the hotels and Airbnbs used sugar sachets printed with wise words by Nelson Mandela.

To practise for our upcoming three-week camping safari, we eased in gently with a one-dayer at Schotia private game reserve, established in the 1800s. When reserves are first created, elephants are generally the first animal residents. They destroy vegetation as they eat, making natural paths throughout the area, before other animals are brought in.

There were certainly plenty of elephants to spot. We learned that their power of smell is four times that of dogs and they can smell water deep underground. Also, they don’t like the sound of bees, so hives are often placed under trees to protect certain species; elephants learn very quickly not to mess with angry bees.

Finally, we rolled into Durban after sixteen days on the road. We’d allowed time to visit Rorke’s Drift and Isandlwana—a dream of Jim’s—and he was beside himself to be there at last, after an aborted attempt in 2009. 

I’m sure most of us know the story centred around Rorke’s Drift, especially after viewing the Zulu movies. A day after a catastrophic defeat at the Battle of Isandlwana in 1879, a mere 150 British and colonial troops defended the station against attacks by an estimated 4,000 Zulu warriors. The heroic stand resulted in 11 Victoria Crosses being awarded.  Our superb guide for the day had been present during the filming of Zulu Dawn and delighted in telling us some behind-the-scenes stories. When the Zulus were massed on top of the hill ready to charge, the director asked them repeatedly to run faster down the hill, as they were looking pretty lethargic for ‘dangerous warriors’. After many takes, the problem was eventually solved by placing crates of beer at the bottom of the hill and telling the Zulus to grab some on the way past.

Finally the day dawned for the start of our camping trip (and it did dawn too, with a 4.30am start on the first day).

We were with a wonderful group of 15 like-minded travellers who were great fun and we all got stuck into helping out.

Heading north from Johannesburg, giraffes, impalas and zebras were in plentiful supply in the national parks. The zebras—like giant four-legged barcodes—each have a unique stripe pattern, similar to a human fingerprint. It’s thought the stripes help to maintain a stable body temperature (the black stripes absorbing light and the white ones reflecting it) and also protect against biting insects such as tsetse flies, as the stripes blur the insects’ vision.

It must be a nerve-racking life for the many types of antelope in Africa; they rarely get to relax. Being close to the bottom of the food chain, they are ‘lunch’ for most of the larger animals so need to be eternally vigilant.

Again like human fingerprints, no two giraffes have the same spot pattern. They may look gentle creatures but they can kill a lion with a single kick when provoked.

The males also have enormous genitalia (even when they’ve been dead for some time).

Having crossed into Botswana, we discovered that wildlife spotting was a whole new ball game. It’s one of only a few African countries that allows wildlife to roam free through vast unfenced conservation areas. Botswana, Namibia, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Angola are part of the KAZA region (106 million acres) that allows animals to roam across borders: free-range wildlife, so to speak. It reminded me of someone I met years ago who had been at her boyfriend’s weekend place in the country. They woke up in the morning to find six lions on their veranda … They stayed put but if they HAD needed to leave urgently, there is a solution: someone’s finally found a good reason to own a vuvuzela: lions run away as they don’t like the noise (along with most people).

We headed straight to the Okavango Delta where we were met by a team of ‘polers’ with mokoro boats to transport us to our camp. Our poler was Miriam, who was very sweet but seemingly the slowest poler in Botswana. The others had set up camp by the time we arrived.

Our first outing was to see happy hippos. All was going well until four hippos looked up and started swim-charging towards us. Miriam yelped and instantly set a new poling record; she had us out of there in under 10 seconds (despite Jim’s pleas to stop for a photo).

This was our first experience of African ‘wild camping’. It seemed somehow reckless to ask about overnight pee visits, but our tour leader did have one piece of advice: Before leaving the tent, shine a torch outside to look for eyes. If they’re red stay in bed, because those will be lions or crocs … I felt an uncomfortable tightening in my chest and resolved to drink less with dinner.  When we clambered inelegantly out of the tent on the first morning, we spotted dinner plate-sized prints outside the door. Hippos had wandered through the campsite overnight.

There is a reason why Botswana is so green.

Botswana is ahead of the game in protecting its wildlife and its people. When anti-poaching teams find poachers they are allowed to shoot to kill. The nation’s economy is powered by its lucrative diamond mining industry. Some neighbouring countries have allowed mining companies to take most of the profits out and left locals with nothing once the mines are closed. In Botswana, since 2025, the mining companies are required to teach locals the necessary skills to continue and the government or local investors keep a 24% stake in new mining concessions. This initiative aims to ensure that citizens directly benefit from the country’s mineral wealth.

Leaving the Okavango Delta wasn’t straightforward.

Next stop, the stunning Chobe National Park where we certainly got our lion fix.

But we were more than a little perturbed to find a lioness lying right outside our camp for the night. Our guide blithely pointed out that she’d just killed her dinner so she didn’t need us as well. We sort of believed him.

The bright yellow weaver birds and their nests caught my eye. The male is responsible for building the nest and once it’s complete, the female inspects it thoroughly. If she doesn’t approve, she tears it apart and the male has to start again. No helpful tips seem to be given.

We crossed the border into Zimbabwe, stopping on the famous bridge where four countries join: Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia.

Victoria Falls, on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia, was in full flood and our jaws dropped, just as they had on our first visit.

When we stopped for a coffee, we were joined by a family of boisterous warthogs who lived nearby.

When we were here in the mid-nineties, Jim had suggested a boat cruise on the Zambezi River one day … which turned out to be whitewater rafting. It was in the days before safety equipment was mandatory so we had life jackets but no helmets. Having been thrown out twice and been stuck under the boat for what seemed like minutes, I opted to leave the ‘cruise’ at lunchtime. Jim was clearly loving it and stayed for the whole day. So, on discovering we had a free day at Vic Falls this time, he and a few others in the group girded their loins and set off for their idea of fun. 

On the border of Hwange National Park we visited the Painted Dogs Sanctuary. These ‘dogs’ (although, strictly speaking they’re not dogs at all) are Specially Protected Animals and the hunting and trapping of them is punishable by nine years imprisonment. 

There are only about 7,000 of them left due to hunting, poacher’s snares, road kills and loss of habitat. Since 2002, anti-poaching units have removed more than 30,000 snares set by poachers in the wild. The sanctuary has been innovative in recycling the rescued snare wire to make sculptures of painted dogs, which are sold in the gift shop.

En route to visit a distinguished village chief, our truck became bogged, but the local village lads pitched in to help.

To Jim’s delight, the Zulu chief turned out to be a fellow Leeds United supporter!

On our last day in Zimbabwe we had an up-close bush walk to spot rhinos. And we did get very close.

Back in South Africa we spent a day and night in Makushu village, where the local ladies had organised some traditional activities, including beading. Jim’s still wearing the bracelet he made (in Leeds colours, of course).

And here’s a scene we don’t often see. The mother plonked the baby in Jim’s lap without asking and ran off on an errand. The pair seemed to get along fine!

One very game elderly lady demonstrated how to, as she called it, ‘make floors’, which involves spreading very fresh elephant dung by hand across a veranda floor to help keep away mosquitos (and, I suspect, visitors).

Our final days on tour were spent roaming around the Kruger National Park. The array of wildlife was staggering and we added leopards, African buffalo, wildebeest and hyenas to our already impressive ‘haul’.

From Johannesburg we had some much-needed R&R in Perth—catching up with friends, having medical appointments and buying an apartment, which we’ll move into in November. Right now, we’re in Japan, about to board a cruise ship to search for grizzly bears in Alaska.

More on that next time.

Hasta La Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Lost at Sea

Visiting the Kennedy Space Center had been on Jim’s bucket list since the dawn of time, so (as we are approaching an age when bucket lists need to be ticked off post haste) we found a ship sailing from Barcelona to Miami—via the Caribbean, to spice it up a bit..

The MSC Seaside is a ‘monster ship’, by far the largest we’ve travelled on to date (5,000+ capacity) with superfluous facilities such as a water park, zip lines and a bowling alley. All I yearned for was a library …  But, with numerous sea days to fill, Jim availed himself of the opportunities.

Over the years we’ve made a few forays into the Caribbean and were looking forward to exploring more—but without making Christopher Columbus’ mistake. On his explorations of the area, he is known to have recorded in the ship’s log that he saw mermaids frolicking in the sea. It has since been determined that what he actually witnessed were Caribbean manatees (their tails are similar to those of imagined mermaids … well, a bit). It’s also thought Mr Columbus may have imbibed a drop or two that night.

Perfectly sober, we set off to explore Barbados—which didn’t take long as on a Sunday almost everything shuts. We did what any self-respecting Barbadian/Bajan would do: went to the beach and drank the rather disturbingly named Mount Gay rum.

On to Grenada, which is a very hilly island with lush scenery. We visited waterfalls, lakes and the Grand Etang National Park with its troops of Mona monkeys swinging through the rainforest.

It’s affectionately known as the Spice Island and the local market is a medley of intoxicating aromas: nutmeg, mace, cloves, ginger, saffron and cinnamon. The rich volcanic soil and tropical climate help this tiny country produce over 20% of the world’s supply of nutmeg. But, far more importantly, the excellent nutrients in the soil also help copious amounts of cocoa trees to grow … and we all know what that means.

In 1648 the Dutch and French signed a treaty agreeing to share the Caribbean island of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin.  With an area of 87 sq kms, it has the unique distinction of being the smallest inhabited island split and run between two countries. The northern part (Saint Martin) run by the French is slightly larger but with a lower population, while the Dutch govern the southern portion (Sint Maarten). 

The Dutch are lucky to have one of the main tourist attractions. Princess Juliana Airport is immediately adjacent to Maho Beach, which has become famous for plane spotting.

The runway is relatively short at 2,300m long, requiring very low-altitude approaches for large commercial jets. It’s a spectacular sight.

Puerto Rico is a conundrum. It’s an American territory but is allowed to compete independently in the Olympics; its citizens can claim US welfare payments but have no voting rights in the US; the metric system has been only partially adopted, resulting in potential mass confusion: the hybrid system measures road distances in kms but speed limits in miles; land is bought in sq metres but buildings are measured in sq ft; weather is reported in degrees Fahrenheit but thermometers measure body heat in Centigrade. On the plus side, the drinking age is 18 in Puerto Rico—three years lower than most of mainland US—so it’s a popular party place for young Americans.

The first classic Pina Colada was served in San Juan, Puerto Rico in 1954. There seems to be some long-standing rivalry between bars as to which one actually invented it but (so one story says) a bartender at the Hilton Hotel created the cocktail and served one to Joan Crawford, who declared it ‘better then slapping Bette Davis in the face’. However, Barrachina down the road insist that they are the birthplace of pina coladas. Whoever’s right, they both make a mean cocktail.

To date, eleven US presidents have visited the island while in office and they have each been rewarded with a life-sized bronze statue opposite the parliament building. The Paseo de los Presidentes (Walkway of the Presidents) includes Theodore Roosevelt (the first to visit in 1906), Franklin D. Roosevelt, Dwight D. Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy, and Barack Obama among others.

We tracked down El Batey, the classic dive bar that was allegedly the Rolling Stones’ favourite when in town—though the bartender denied all knowledge of this. It certainly looked like the sort of place they would enjoy. 

Perhaps the Dominican Republic is more about beaches but we found the small colonial town of Puerto Plata a little underwhelming. Apart from the cathedral, the most interesting sight was Umbrella Street.

Most of the US cruise companies own at least one private island in The Bahamas and Ocean Cay is one belonging to MSC. The island was formerly an industrial sand-mining site, but has now been transformed into a beautiful marine reserve. We spent a very happy day there before disembarking in Miami and catching the train to Orlando.

Orlando itself is ‘Theme Park Central’ but we were there purely for the Kennedy Space Center, located on Merritt Island. It’s NASA’s primary launch centre for American space flights although, since 2014, Elon Musk’s SpaceX has leased the main launch pad (LC-39A). More SpaceX Falcon 9 rockets have blasted off from LC-39A than the 82 Space Shuttles.

I had to tear Jim away, but we had more fun days planned in Tenerife with some of his family and friends.

As locals they knew wonderful hidden-away places, including traditional Canarian restaurants, complete with live chickens strutting around the tables.

A few days later we took a ferry to Gran Canaria to meet good friends Pete and Ange for yet more cruising, this time along the west coast of Africa.

We learned from a lecturer onboard that the African continent is much larger than it appears on most maps. The Mercator projection (commonly used on maps) inflates the size of landmasses the further they are from the equator so, for instance, Greenland appears roughly the same size as Africa when, in fact, Africa is 14 times larger.

It must be difficult to keep your neighbourhood immaculate when you live so close to the Sahara. A mind-boggling 60% of the world’s dust blows around west Africa so we were well-swaddled up for our first port-of-call, Dakar. The capital of Senegal is home to several legendary musicians including Youssou N’Dour and Baaba Maal. [By the way, have you ever noticed the strange shape of Senegal? Similar to a head with The Gambia wriggling like a snake inside the open mouth.] The area is referred to as Africa’s Smiling Coast, partly due to the mouth of the Gambia River but also because the locals are famously friendly.

On a drive round Dakar, our guide excitedly pointed out the enormous amount of construction happening in the city: ‘See how much money we have here!’ We weren’t convinced. We visited a couple of art galleries, including one with a sand floor that was fun to walk through in bare feet, plus the Village des Arts, with its 52 artist studios. 

At a mighty 49m high, the bronze African Renaissance Monument is Africa’s tallest statue, built in 2010 to commemorate the country’s 50 years of independence from France. The statue is controversial on many levels: in mostly cash-strapped Senegal the final cost was a staggering $27m; the immodestly dressed female figure caused consternation among the 90% Muslim population; the then-president struck a deal to pocket 35% of the tourist proceeds; and, although designed by a Senegalese architect, it was built by Mansudae Overseas projects, a North Korean company who specialise in large-scale propaganda statues, such as the enormous ones of Kim Jong-un and Kim Jong-il in Pyongyang.

On first sight, nearby Gorée Island is picturesque with its alleyways and colourful houses.

But it has a very dark history. Once a major centre of the transatlantic slave trade, it’s a grim reminder of the 12 million Africans taken by ship to Brazil, the Caribbean and beyond. The island’s museum, the House of Slaves, includes the poignant Door of No Return, which needs no explanation.

Many slaves didn’t survive the harsh conditions onboard the ships from west Africa to the Americas, known as the ‘Middle Passage’, and those that did make it across the Atlantic had a very short life expectancy due to the hard physical labour awaiting them. Of the slaves who were eventually freed—generations later—many were unable to trace their ancestry to one particular African country.

One ‘success story’ was Alex Haley, author of Roots. The book is based on the search for his ancestor, Kunta Kinte, who was captured in Juffureh, Gambia, in 1767 and sold into slavery. After considerable research, in 1967 Haley followed a lead to Juffureh where he interviewed a griot (oral historian). After a few days the griot mentioned Haley’s ancestor and confirmed the family’s story through the oral history passed down through generations.

When we arrived in Banjul, the capital of The Gambia, I finally found the answer to something that’s been bugging me for years: why there’s a The in The Gambia. The [not-so-short] answer: Zambia had gained its independence in October 1964. Just before Gambia’s independence four months later, the then-Prime Minister wrote to the succinctly-named Permanent Committee on Geographical Names for British Official Use requesting that the name The Gambia retain the definite article to avoid confusion with the newly independent Zambia.

The ‘Bank of Banjul’ was waiting to change our money as we left the ship.

Our driver took us to Arch 22, built to commemorate the bloodless coup of 1994. An earlier (and bloodier) coup had taken place in July 1981 when an opportunist gang of rebels overthrew the government while the President was in England attending Charles and Diana’s wedding.

One of the keepers at the Kachikally Crocodile Pool waved us over with an oh-so-casual offer: ‘Come and stroke the crocodiles.’ And (as if this might be extra inducement) ‘They’re sleepy.’ We approached with some trepidation but the somnambulant creatures did seem to enjoy being stroked.

It was certainly an odd experience and one we probably won’t get to repeat.  It’s a sacred site—the pool is believed to have spiritual powers, especially for fertility and healing rituals—but the crocs are obviously the main draw.

We were excited to revisit Saint Helena Island, one of the world’s most remote inhabited islands and smack bang in the middle of the world on most maps. Together with Ascension Island and Tristan da Cunha, it forms a British Overseas Territory.

Apart from being a vital stopover for ships crossing the Atlantic, the island’s remote location [1200 miles from the nearest landmass] made it the perfect place for exiled prisoners. These included deposed French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte after his ‘activities in Europe’ so, as the Allied powers stated, he could ‘no longer disturb the peace of the world’. He lived at Longwood House from 1815 until his death in 1821.

His tomb is nearby in the Valley of the Geraniums. He’s no longer in there as his remains were moved to France in 1840, but it’s a peaceful spot to remember an egotistical tyrant.

Plantation House, where the present governor lives, is on the tourist circuit for a more unusual reason: Jonathan, a giant tortoise, lives in the grounds of the house. At 193 years old, he is the world’s oldest living land animal. He was transported from the Seychelles in the late 1800s, along with three other tortoises who were all well into their fifties by then. More recently another male giant tortoise, Frederick, was brought in as a companion. Jonathan has embraced this idea wholeheartedly and now spends most of his time with Frederick: eating, sleeping and having sex. To mark Jonathan’s 190th birthday in December 2022, local residents arranged a three-day celebration and presented him with a cake made from his favourite foods.

We toiled down the historic 600ft high Jacob’s Ladder, all 699 steep steps of it. The staircase is on an 87% incline and is all that remains of a cable railway built to carry cargo in the early 1800s. The name is a reference to the biblical Jacob’s Ladder: a ladder extending to heaven. It certainly felt a l-o-n-g way down while we were on the descent but visitors to the island feel a certain compulsion to slog either up or down it while they’re there.

First stop in Namibia was Walvis Bay, which has had a chequered history: settled by the Dutch, annexed by Britain and administered by South Africa, before finally joining Namibia in 1994 — four years after the rest of the country gained independence. The town is surrounded by the massive sand dunes of the Namib Desert including Dune 7, renowned as one of the tallest in the world. 

Namibia’s Skeleton Coast gets its dramatic name from the numerous shipwrecks and the remains of whale and seal bones littering the shoreline. We headed south to Sandwich Bay, famous for ‘where the desert meets the sea’. It’s a dramatic sight with dunes up to 100m high plunging into the Atlantic.

We were grateful to have a 4WD vehicle and an excellent driver as we rode over the dunes.

On the return journey we rescued a family in a self-drive car who had become well-bogged. It was a common occurrence according to our guide.

One of the main ethnic groups in Namibia is the Herero. They are renowned for their distinct culture that centres around cattle and for their traditional clothes, heavily influenced by 19th-century German missionaries. In the market we spotted a Herero lady wearing the traditional Namibian headwear called otjikaiva, the wide fabric-covered hat representing cattle horns. It’s wound from a long piece of material, in much the same way as a turban—but while there may be many different ways to wind a turban, there is just the one for the otjikaiva. We were told that as the lady ages, she makes her headwear ever narrower. [Then, as I took a photo, the lady from the next stall sidled in!]

We also called into the historic fishing town of Luderitz to admire its colonial German architecture.

Nearby is Kolmanskop, Namibia’s most famous ghost town that has been used in several films. Once diamonds were discovered in the desert in 1908, Kolmanskop became a wealthy German settlement with grand houses, a hospital, and even a casino and bowling alley. The town was abandoned in the 1950s when richer deposits were found elsewhere, leaving the buildings to be swallowed by sand. 

In its heyday the town boasted electric street lighting, a telephone system and the southern hemisphere’s first X-ray machine (not used for medical purposes but to detect stolen diamonds) but, sadly, the residents had no access to fresh water.

Back onboard the ship, our quiz team was living up to its name, ‘Making Waves’, as we won the Progressive Trivia game that had started way back in Gran Canaria.

Cape Town loomed in the distance and before we knew it, we were landlubbers again. Jim and I stayed for a week over Christmas (what a great city!) More details in the next post.

Until then, Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Gone to the Dogs

It was time to leave the elusive animals of Canada for a more reliable source: dog-sitting in England. First though, we struck a few things off our London bucket list. For ages we’ve wanted to take Lift 109 to the top of Battersea Power Station.

The lift is built within one of the chimneys and pops out to give superb views of the city. Interestingly, each of the four chimneys is of a slightly different height.

At its peak in the 1950s the power station produced a fifth of London’s energy supply but by the ‘80s the UK had largely moved to oil, gas and nuclear power. Not to be thwarted, the building reinvented itself as a backdrop for movies, TV, music videos and album covers.

The V&A East Storehouse has also been on our radar after many recommendations from friends. At any one time the Victoria and Albert Museum has a mere 5% of its vast collection on display; the rest is stored in its three-storey building in Stratford, east London at the site of the 2012 Summer Olympics. Apart from roaming among the shelves and delving through drawers packed with treasured items, it’s also possible to watch conservationists at work.

The dog-sits we’d lined up for the summer were a delightful mix of regular ‘clients’ and new ones. Our first, Elsie the cocker spaniel, lived in the Yorkshire village of Bramhope and was—by a long shot—the most well-behaved dog we’ve ever looked after.

She had beautiful soft fur and, after brushing, we stuffed any fur from the brush in a separate birdseed holder … and birds queued up to line their nests with it. It was fun to imagine all the fur-lined penthouse nests located around the village.

For a treat we took Elsie on her first bus ride to Otley, where we were thrilled to find a small garden known as Tittybottle Park. Yes, really! The Manor Park Gardens were originally part of the Manor House but were bought by the local council in 1909 to be a public park. The gardens soon became a popular spot for mothers with babies to meet, hence the name. 

Our next charge was Madcap Mabel with whom we’d fallen in love last year. Positively bonkers and totally unruly, but so affectionate she disarmed us completely. 

In between sits we visited Halifax to see the famous Piece Hall, the world’s only remaining Georgian cloth hall. It was built in 1779 for local handloom weavers to sell woollen cloth in  ‘pieces’ (a standard 30-yard length) but the building now houses shops, restaurants and bars. The central open courtyard is used for regular live performances and we enjoyed a Supergrass concert there.

Next to Piece Hall is the Calderdale Industrial Museum with demonstrations of the various industries that developed in the area. One that grabbed my attention was the ‘cat’s eye’ exhibit. One dark night in 1934, Percy Shaw from Halifax realised that he’d been using the tram-lines’ steel rails to navigate at night … BUT they’d just been removed.

So that he could continue to drive safely at night, he devised an ‘eye roadstud’ that became known as a cat’s eye. When illuminated by the lights of an approaching car, the ‘eye’ becomes visible as a marker for the middle of the road, and is particularly useful in fog. During World War II, the blackouts and the shuttered car headlights highlighted the usefulness of his invention and helped popularise their mass use in the UK. 

The 15th-century Halifax Minster is also nearby. In the early 1900s, a furniture maker called Robert Thompson was asked to make oak chairs for the church. During a conversation about ‘being as poor as a church mouse’, he started to carve mice on a few chair legs. Fortunately the vicar was delighted. The wooden Mouseman chairs went ‘viral’ and can now be seen in churches all over the country, as well as pews and choir stalls with the same carved mice.

It was time for a holiday … Neither of us had been to Cyprus so we planned a road trip along the south coast, into the Troodos Mountains and across the border briefly to the Turkish side.

On our second day in the rental car, we became aware—shamefully late—that we had no idea what the ‘B’ on the gear panel stood for. Boost?  Bypass? Back?

We kept going regardless and reached Lefkara, a pretty village known for its silver, lace-making and embroidery.

The Monastery of the Holy Cross in Omodos is named for the piece of ‘holy rope’ enclosed in a cross, believed by some to be part of the rope used to tie Jesus to the cross.

Still blissfully unaware of the B word, we took a complicated diversion off the main road to the Golden Donkey Farm. Well worth it.

The twisty turny mountain roads gave us pause for thought. Could ‘B’ mean brake, as in low gear, to help slow us on the downhills? Ah, right. Got it.

Varosha, the desolate ‘ghost town’ on the Turkish side, is eerily fascinating. After the Turkish invasion in 1974, the Greek Cypriot residents abandoned the town and it’s since become a heavily disputed and derelict zone. With no-one living there since, the buildings have decayed and nature is taking over.

Hard to believe now but it was once a playground for the rich and famous, visited by a coterie of celebrities such as Elizabeth Taylor, Raquel Welch and Brigitte Bardot. In 1970, four friends visited Varosha on holiday and performed an informal show for Swedish UN peacekeepers—the first time Björn, Benny, Agnetha and Anni-Frid performed together before forming ABBA.

The nearby town of Famagusta is alive and thriving though, with gorgeous patisserie shops.

Back in England we spent time with (yet another) Elsie, this time a bearded collie in Minster Lovell, on the edge of the Cotswolds. She was a gorgeous fun-loving girl, though prone to rolling in fresh manure—and that’s a lot of fur to wash and brush every day.

Elsie had befriended a trio of alpacas on her daily walks, so we did too.

Last year in the village of Wanborough in Wiltshire we looked after Millie, a delightful springer spaniel we’d been looking forward to seeing again. Earlier this year, Millie had puppies and her owners kept one female called Fern. 

What to say about Fern?! She’s definitely the naughtiest dog we’ve looked after so far … but she was only six months old at the time.

And in the evenings—exhausted after her day’s escapades—she’d curl up on our chests to be massaged and be the sweetest dog ever.

Our summer in England over, we flew to Mallorca. Our friends Derek and Ali had organised a Nepal reunion at their villa there. Eleven of the 13 of us who had been on the Annapurna trek three years ago gathered for a few days and great fun was had by all.

In between (quite a lot of) wine-drinking, we enjoyed short hikes, a spot of paddle-boarding, and a riotous night with a Beatles tribute band.

Afterwards—as we were in Spain already—Jim and I took a week-long road trip around the north, beginning and ending in Madrid.

The historic city of Salamanca with its stunning sandstone buildings is home to Spain’s oldest university. In fact, when Christopher Columbus was lobbying for Spanish funds to find a western route to the Indies, he presented his case to a council of geographers at the University of Salamanca, who supported his voyage. Result!

The 4th-century La Olmeda Roman Villa near León has a very impressive mosaic collection. They were discovered in 1968 by farmer Javier Cortes while levelling some of his land. The majority of the 35 rooms of the villa still have their colourful mosaic floors and most are very well preserved.

We were excited to arrive in the village of Borja, near Burgos: it had become  a pilgrimage for us to see the well-known fresco ‘Ecce Homo’ (Behold the Man), in the Sanctuary of Mercy Church. The fresco, depicting Jesus crowned with thorns, was painted in about 1930 by an artist who spent his holidays there. 

Over time the painting deteriorated and in 2012 one of the parishioners, Cecilia Giménez, offered to retouch it. The priest gave his permission, despite Cecilia being an 81-year-old untrained amateur artist. She threw herself into the project with gusto but, unfortunately, took a holiday before she’d finished. 

While she was away, people were shocked to see her unfinished work; the picture had already been radically altered in the botched attempt, and some even thought it had been vandalised. By the time Cecilia returned, people were up in arms and she became quite distressed by the reaction. It is fair to say it wasn’t Cecilia’s best work—in fact, it’s sometimes dubbed ‘Ecce Mono’ [Behold the Monkey].

But, fate took a lucky turn: as the unfinished restoration was derided far and wide, it suddenly became an Internet phenomenon … and tourists started flocking to the town to see it, putting Borja on the map. So the painting has been left as is and, years later, people still throng to the tiny church. The entrance walls are covered in maps of the world with pins showing where visitors have come from.

There’s even a tiny gift shop with all things Ecce Homo, including mugs, t-shirts and wine. The €3 church entrance fee generates thousands a year, which helps to pay for the extra church guides needed and to fund a home for retirees, including Cecilia, until she died recently in her mid-nineties.

Barney, the cocker spaniel in Portugal, needed company for a couple of weeks so we popped into the Algarve next—always fun—before boarding a ship to Florida via the Caribbean. Details of that next time.

Photo credit: Gillian

Until then, we hope 2026 brings you all good health and happiness.

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

From Piggies to Prairies and Beyond

Loving train travel as we do, we’d planned some big trips through the US and Canada, so—with plenty of time to get there—we flew from Taiwan to Japan for a few days then boarded a ship from there to Los Angeles.

On hearing we were in Tokyo, a friend recommended we see an art project called Digitized Nature by teamLab. Thanks, Damian—a great recommendation. It’s a full immersion experience, such as balancing on wobbly stepping stones and wading in knee-deep water with projected koi fish ‘swimming’ between our legs.

A spectacular art installation that we were lucky to catch in the short time we were in Tokyo.

The city is well known for its animal cafes. Fancy cuddling a capybara? There’s a cafe for that. There are numerous cat ones, of course, but also meerkat, alpaca, parrot and snake cafes. We chose to snuggle up to micro pigs. 

Forget taking home kimonos, anime characters or origami cranes; KitKats are the most sought-after souvenirs in Japan. Friends send KitKats to wish each other luck, possibly because kitkat apparently sounds similar to the Japanese phrase for ‘you will be successful’. On a recent visit to the UK, I had been excited to discover mint and orange ones; in Japan there are more than 300 different flavours, including ginger ale, soy sauce, wasabi and sweet potato.

I’ve always been fascinated by the items different countries choose to sell in their vending machines, e.g. baguettes in France, paperbacks in the UK, last-minute gifts (perfume, lingerie, candles, etc.) in Dubai airport [arriving down the chute in gold gift bags], and in 2020, a machine near us in Portugal—in a perfect example of moving with the times—was converted overnight from chocolate bars to one dispensing face masks and hand gel.

Vending machines were invented in Japan in 1888. There are approximately four million of them in the country—that’s one for every 32 people—dispensing all manner of stuff such as clothes, ice cream, hot meals, and even (so I’ve heard) live crabs, with the essential accompaniments of vinegar and ginger tea. The machines selling cans of beer are often fitted with driving licence scanners to avoid underage drinking. 

Sagamihara Vending Machine Park is such a popular tourist spot that the 100 vintage machines there need to be restocked daily. At Mt Fuji some marketing bod has done their homework: with a million visitors annually, it is the world’s most-climbed mountain—and every summer a vending machine is carted to the summit for climbers’ convenience.

Photo taken from Internet

We tore ourselves away to board the ship. The cruise across the Pacific was memorable for the musician who trundled his piano around the ship, turning up everywhere including in the lifts.

This excellent contortionist gave a rather unsettling performance one evening.

We stopped in Osaka and trekked up to the famous castle. 

Improbable things were happening in the surrounding park. Here’s ‘Mr Takahashi’ taking his goanna for a walk, ably assisted by his owl.

After almost two weeks out of sight of land, we finally disembarked in Los Angeles and skedaddled to Santa Barbara by train.

It’s a delightful place with a stunning Old Mission, fine beaches, top quality fish and chips and scrumptious ice cream!

Sadly, our time there was truncated somewhat by the ship arriving a day late in Los Angeles, but we loved what we did manage to see and a second visit may well be in the offing. 

Then it was back on the train, this time to San Francisco where great friends had planned a superb two-day itinerary for us—packed with so many places I can’t mention them all, but the all-American diner was a highlight.

I was, of course, thrilled to visit the 16th Avenue Tiled Steps (aka the Moraga Steps) in Golden Gate Heights.

We had an excellent guide for a walk around the Haight-Ashbury district, with its beautifully decorated houses—where some famous bands lived in the 1960s, including The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and the inimitable Janis Joplin.

There was even a good variety of transport as we zipped around the city including cable cars, of course, and a spur-of-the-moment Waylo driverless taxi. Creepy, but fascinating.

I loved hearing that the notorious San Francisco fog is known affectionately as Karl throughout the city. Daily weather reports start with (something like), “Karl made an early appearance over the bridge today, but is due to lift by mid-morning.”

The final fact we learned in those two action-packed days was that ‘99 ice creams are unheard of in the US … except in an Irish pub, where we introduced our friend Ken to one. [For those also unfamiliar with the ‘99, it’s a British soft-serve ice cream in a cone with a Cadbury Flake stuck in it.]  Various theories are circulating to explain the unusual name. I feel the explanation should at least be tethered to the truth so I’m going with the official Cadbury line.  In the 1920s, Italian ice cream vendors working in England created the ‘Flake in a cone’ idea to boost sales.  Wanting to make it sound like a superior product, they borrowed from their own royalty: when Italy had a monarchy, the king had a specifically chosen guard of 99 men who were considered an elite force. Ten years later, Cadbury formally adopted the ‘99 name when it launched its specific ‘short Flake’ for the ice cream.

And so to Vancouver to meet Jim’s cousin, Tim, and board the famous ‘Canadian’ for the epic five-day, four-night train journey to Toronto.

It’s a total of 4,466 kms through the spectacular Rockies, the vast Prairies and the evergreen forests and lakes of Ontario. 

The scenery from the train was magnificent and we spent most of our time in the observation car with our jaws dropped.

We passed Mt Robson, the highest peak of the Rockies (3,954m). 

Along the way we learned the history of the Canadian gold rushes and fur trading, but wildlife spottings were a little disappointing. We saw just one black bear in the wild, and it happened so quickly we didn’t have time to snap it.

In Toronto we met John and Gillian for our road trip across eastern Canada. We had a day in Toronto first to test our nerves on the glass floor of the CN Tower.

I insisted we visit the Wonky Donkey statue—a tribute to Primrose, a real-life donkey who was born prematurely with underdeveloped front leg bones. She couldn’t stand or walk, so two veterinarians applied plaster casts to support her body weight until her legs had developed correctly. During her three weeks of rehab, she won hearts and became known as the Wonky Donkey. When the statue was finished, the artist invited children to write good luck messages on Primrose’s leg casts, and visitors have continued the tradition since.

From Toronto, our first stop was Niagara Falls, straddling the border between Canada and the US. There are three waterfalls, the largest and most powerful being the Horseshoe Falls, where boats take tourists close enough to ‘feel the mist’. 

We were absolutely drenched.

Heading east through stunning landscapes, we found lakeside cabins in Huntsville and the delightfully named Calabogie for lazy days of hammocking and kayaking.

As we crossed the country, we started to notice considerable discontent among the locals at Mr Trump’s idea that Canada should become the 51st US state. 

The citizens are making a stand; even coffees are being renamed.

Our furthest point east was Quebec City, where we enjoyed the charming old part of the city. It has the only remaining fortified city walls north of Mexico.

It also boasts some excellent street art.

Apart from a lonely moose in the woods we still hadn’t spotted much wildlife, so on the return journey to Toronto we had an overnight stay inside a wildlife park. At Parc Omega in Montebello, the reception committee was waiting for us.

The inmates were exceptionally friendly, particularly when carrots were spotted inside.

The bears had a huge area to roam around in, but we waited patiently; we were determined to see them.

Then this little beauty popped up to fully satisfy our needs!

From Toronto it was on to England for us and a summer of dog-sitting some amazing hounds. More on that in the next  post.

Hope all’s good with you.

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Toilets, Trains and Cuddly Toys

Taiwan has been on our bucket list for a while and this year we felt an urgency, shall we say, to visit while it was still ‘independent’. We’re glad we did as it’s a country full of surprises.

We were amazed to learn, for example, that it’s the most mountainous island in the world, with 268 peaks above 3000m—more than double the number in Colorado. It’s also known for its active volcanoes, including one only 15kms from downtown Taipei City.

Despite the possibility of an eruption, we started our trip in Taipei. The city’s most iconic landmark, the Taipei 101 Tower (with, yes, 101 floors) boasts one of the fastest lifts in the world at 1,010 metres per minute.

The views are stunning and, from the cafe windows, we spotted the roof of the Apple Store below, cleverly designed as a closed MacBook. 

Being on the Pacific ‘Ring of Fire’, Taiwan has its fair share of natural disasters but has an advanced response system in place. Lurking inside the 101 Tower, for instance, is an enormous tuned mass damper—a huge metal ball used for earthquake resistance. It weighs a massive 660 metric tons, the equivalent of 132 elephants. [Who works this stuff out?]

In 2015 a typhoon called Soudelor devastated the country.  One of the enduring reminders in Taipei is these wonky postboxes, charmingly called Little Red and Little Green. These imperfect postboxes became a symbol of resilience so the Taiwanese mail service left them as is, wonky stands and all. Letters can still be posted in them and they receive a special ‘wonkiness postal stamp’.

It’s fair to say that pets are pampered here. Dogs and cats can often be seen in the daytime being wheeled around in pushchairs, sometimes with visors and sun shields to protect them.

On National Pet Day each year, the Taipei Metro has designated trains with pet-friendly carriages, so off-lead dogs and cats can hobnob with each other. [The metro also employs specific cleaners in case of pet mishaps.]

We enjoyed roaming the Taiwan night markets, which are very popular for street food.

This is where you’ll find ‘stinky tofu’, should you be inclined to try it. The cubes of tofu are marinated in a brine (usually dried fish, meat and fermented milk) and left for months, then deep fried or steamed to serve. The flavour is an acquired taste—some say the worse it smells, the better it tastes. I’ll take their word for it. 

One of the must-do sights in Taipei is Chiang Kai-shek’s Memorial Hall. 

Despite being a Chinese politician, his is probably the most well-known name in Taiwan. He led the Republic of China (ROC) on the mainland for over twenty years until 1949 when he was defeated by the Chinese Communist Party in the civil war. Along with many other mainland Chinese, he scarpered to Taiwan from where he continued as President of the ROC because the United Nations considered him the legitimate leader of China. 

The country’s biggest exports are electronics, especially microchips, and—as you’d expect—day-to-day life often involves high tech. We visited Xinyi district to use the famous viral digital signpost, designed by some clever clog. Once the place name has been keyed in, the sign rotates to show the required direction … except the signpost wasn’t working! 

The Taiwanese absolutely love colourful cutesy stuff. It’s everywhere—we even saw it on grown men’s office desks. 

The locals also have a thing about claw machines, which offer a dazzling array of prizes, including soft toys (of course) and drinks, but also more unusual offerings such as laundry powder and handcuffs.

The Taiwanese are very respectful of one another, dutifully observing the ‘Speak Quietly’ signs in public places and taking up no more space than necessary. Their mantra seems to be ‘don’t get in the way’ of anyone or anything. 

This may be the result of multiple periods of colonial rule: the Dutch, Spanish, Japanese and Chinese have all ticked it off their ‘been there, done that’ list. As a result, the population has an interesting mix of features from Han Chinese and Japanese through to various groups of Indigenous peoples. Many Taiwanese speak a dialect of Mandarin Chinese, called Hokkien (or simply Taiwanese). In the 1950s, mainland China adopted simplified characters of the written language to improve literacy, but Taiwan has kept the traditional Mandarin characters that require more strokes to write.

It was time for us to explore the rest of the country so, after a quick side trip to the northern coast, we took a circular route by train.

We were keen to start with the Pingxi Line, a railway built in 1921 to transport coal under Japanese rule. Our first stop was Jiufen, a cobblestone mountain-top village full of stairs and tea houses, which is often used in Taiwan movies.

Further up the line, Shifen has far fewer steps and just one historic street with the railway running through it. Its main attraction, for both Taiwanese and overseas tourists, is the release of paper sky-lanterns. First we painted messages and wishes on our chosen lantern.

Then man-handled it to the tracks, lit and released it. We watched it float up into the sky carrying our meaningful messages … before it burned up.

It’s a fun idea, although the sheer number of lanterns released isn’t helping the environment: the remains can get stuck in trees and charred bits are continually floating down onto the village. Later we discovered a shop selling (more expensive) eco-friendly ones that totally burn up in the sky, which I promise we would have bought had we found them earlier.

Starting on the east coast, we took a train through the Huatung Valley to Hualien. The big draw in this area is the Taroko Gorge within the national park. Unfortunately a huge earthquake hit here in April 2024 and most of the park is still closed due to major damage. 

The local tourist office was doing a sterling job in encouraging visitors to continue to visit the area by providing free shuttle buses to reach the open parts of the park and other popular sites along the way.

Also, our hotel offered complimentary buffet dinners and all-day snacks in the foyer. Maybe it was the grade of hotel we were using but the restaurants appeared to be totally self-service: after eating, everyone obediently took their trays of used plates and cutlery and stacked them on shelves. We saw this often around the country: model citizens. And exceptionally kind.  Further down the coast in Taitung, a lady spotted us in town trying to find the right bus stop. She mimed that we should wait there and she’d fetch her car to give us a lift back to our hotel—about 20 minutes drive. We had an interesting chat on the way via Google Translate.

When I heard Beethoven’s ‘Für Elise’ blasting from the street one day, I ran out expecting an ice-cream van. Sadly, I was joined by locals who knew better; they had grabbed their rubbish bags for collection by one of the bright yellow garbage trucks plying the streets. I guess it brightens everyone’s day to hear the trucks playing jolly tunes, and the system of ‘keeping rubbish inside until the truck arrives’ has helped transform Taiwan from its former ‘garbage island’ status.

Discovering there was no public transport on Green Island, I girded my loins to ride pillion on a scooter with Jim. 

The island is renowned for snorkelling and diving, and has one of only three saltwater hot springs in the world.

The locals were keen to point out the ‘sleeping princess rock’.

Also, the deepest underwater postbox in the world is just off the coast. Divers can descend 11 metres to post special postcards written with oil-based pens. To help with marine conservation, the divers are asked to collect underwater rubbish while down there and throw it into a net by the postbox. But, instead of snorkelling or diving, we just enjoyed a beer with the locals.

Most people head to Chiayi on the west coast to ride on the famed Alishan Forest railway, but I was more excited by the Museum of Old Taiwan Tiles (4,000 of them!) 

We did go on the train as well though, and it proved a major highlight. The track climbs through the beautiful dense forest high into the mountains and has all the things enthusiasts get excited about: narrow-gauge tracks, z-shaped switchbacks, tunnels and wooden bridges.

The forest itself is spectacular with giant ancient cypress and cedar trees. There is a much revered Sacred Tree that’s over 3,000 years old.

One of the most popular tourist sites near Taichung is Sun Moon Lake, Taiwan’s largest natural lake. 

Our guide for the day, Miss Chin, spoke only Mandarin but we got the gist with the help of good old Google Translate … most of the time, anyway . This time she tried to tell us what time to meet … 

Good to know.

During yet another major earthquake (1999), in nearby Jiji town, the Wuchang Temple collapsed and was left where it fell as a fitting reminder.

Back in Taipei, we took a bus up the hill to the imposing Grand Hotel where visiting celebrities, heads of state and people with too much money stay. 

During a major renovation in the 1970s, two secret tunnels were built for emergency evacuation, one of which includes a slide to help those with physical disabilities. Ironically, the slide is so steep and the journey on it so quick (3-4 seconds) that it could itself cause injury.

We had an entertaining evening at a toilet-themed restaurant in Taipei, where diners sit on lavvies instead of chairs and food is served in miniature toilet-shaped bowls. Ice cream (always chocolate) is, of course, poop-shaped. It was apparently inspired by a character from a Japanese comic who is fond of playing with poop. 

Even the beer has its own special jug.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. The complex political situation between the People’s Republic of China and Taiwan is confusing, to say the least. Even after a couple of weeks, we were still confused about Taiwan’s identity. Their passports say Taiwan, but ROC is on the front too in a smaller font. Their Olympic team’s official name since 1984 is Chinese Taipei [note, not Taiwan] a compromise agreed upon with the International Olympic Committee, allowing Taiwanese athletes to compete in the Olympics without being recognised as a sovereign nation.

It was time to move on; the novelty of cold noodles and wilted bok choy for breakfast having quickly waned. We flew to Tokyo and jumped on a ship to Los Angeles for a mega rail trip. More on that next time.

Until then,

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

(Halfway) Round the World in 80 Days

We’ve been a little busy since my last post. Having decided that Australia will definitely be ‘home’ in the future, we packed up in Portugal, sold our Algarve apartment, then took a whistle-stop tour through Europe before a slow boat from Italy to Argentina, and eventually flew to Perth.

First stop was Lisbon, home of steep hills, tiles to drool over and—close to our apartment—this rather useful multi-purpose shop. A curious but perfect combination.

Lisbon is also famed for its artistic roads and pavements and we were delighted to discover a statue in tribute to the calceteiros (pavers) who have been manually laying cobblestones for centuries.

When Lisbon’s Rossio Square was refurbished in 1848, an intricate wave pattern was designed in the cobblestones to pay homage to the seas crossed by Portuguese sailors. This quickly became a symbol of Portuguese identity that spread across the country and to some of its colonies. Sadly—attractive as it is—the stones often come loose, the surface is slippery in the rain and weeds tend to grow in the cracks. Also, the meticulous work involved for often low pay has resulted in few people wanting to become calceteiros these days, so the craft is slowly dying.

We’d travelled to Lisbon with good friends and fellow travellers, Pete and Angela. There’s no escaping the steep hills in the city, as we found on a day-trip to Sintra, an hour out of Lisbon. The medieval Moorish Castle has wonderful views from its hilly perch. 

From the heights to the depths: in the grounds of Quinta da Regaleira palace we clambered down an initiation well.

Groups such as the Freemasons revived the rituals of the earlier Knights Templar here. Initiations started with blindfolded candidates descending the nine flights of stairs with a sword held close to their heart. Feeling their way through dark passageways at the bottom of the well, they had to find their way up towards the chapel, where they were welcomed into the Brotherhood.

On to Bologna, home to miles of covered walkways, known as porticoes. In the historic centre alone, these sheltered pathways cover a distance of 38 kms (24 miles) and are very welcome in the summer heat.

This region is also the birthplace of tagliatelle—wide flat egg noodles—of which the locals are extremely proud and protective. As a tribute to its elevated status, the Chamber of Commerce building houses a pure gold model of this particular pasta. The real thing MUST be at least six mms wide to be true tagliatelle, otherwise it’s merely fettuccine. 

The Bolognese are partial to all their food and it’s easy to see why. Italians refer to the city as the Red (for the terracotta rooftops and building facades, plus the Leftist politics), the Learned (for the prestigious university), the Fat (for the rich culinary tradition). As usual, it sounds much better in Italian: La Rossa, La Dotta, La Grassa.

The university’s Anatomical Theatre was built in 1637 and medical students watched corpses being dissected here up until the 18th century, when the university moved. Only women’s bodies were dissected as, apparently, they have no soul … [Around the area were many brothels with prostitutes regularly dying of disease so it may be that doctors at that time believed it was these particular women who had no soul.] Even so …

Our visit to the Museum for the Memory of Ustica was sobering, but fascinating. In June 1980, an Italian plane exploded and crashed into the sea near the island of Ustica while flying from Bologna to Palermo, killing all 81 onboard. The cause of the explosion has been the source of conspiracy ever since, but it is now widely believed to have been a stray Italian missile. [In the Italian media the flight is referred to as the Ustica Massacre.] 

The wreckage of the plane was salvaged from 3,700m underwater and (as far as possible) painstakingly pieced together around a wire plane-shaped ‘cage’, making it fairly complete.  Large black boxes outside the plane contain the victims’ personal belongings, 81 ceiling lights flicker on and off and 81 black mirrors on the walls hide speakers that project ‘whispered’ messages as visitors walk past, adding to the haunting atmosphere.

When is a lift not a lift? When it’s in Genoa.

The Ascensore Castello d’albertis-Montegalletto is a combined funicular and lift.

It travels first along rails for 236 metres—similar to a (very short) underground train—then shuffles into a lift shaft for the second part of its journey, upwards for 70m. 

Our voyage to Buenos Aires departed from Genoa. As a sweetener, the travel agent offered us a choice between the premium WiFi package and the premium drinks package. All those friends who didn’t hear from us for three weeks will have guessed the one we chose.

The bar staff introduced us to Engine: an ingeniously packaged, organic Italian gin. We were soon well lubricated.

The first port-of-call was Marseille, where we found some bold and beautiful street art in the Panier district. 

As a street art location, the town has had the ultimate seal of approval: Banksy visited in May 2025 and left a ‘calling card’.

Catalan people have a strange obsession with all things pooping. In Tarragona at the beginning of December, families go hunting in the woods for a suitable log officially called a tió de Nadal (or unofficially, a Caga tió, meaning ‘poo log’). The children must take care of the log in the lead-up to Christmas by covering it with a blanket and leaving food for it every night. Apparently, the better behaved the kids have been, the more presents the log will poop out. On Christmas morning, the children gather in a separate room to warm sticks, then come in to sing songs and hit the log to make it ‘defecate presents’, usually sweets, nuts and small toys that [spoiler alert] have been hidden under the blanket earlier. It comes from a pagan tradition celebrating Winter Solstice when Catalans chose a large tree trunk to be burned throughout the winter. 

We sailed on to Tarragona, famous for the Human Tower constructions (or castells) that the locals build in their spare time. As a community-bonding activity, it’s unsurpassed. A minimum of 200 people are in each team, mainly men due to the strength required, but some women climb to the upper tiers or act as crutches under the men’s arms at the base. Depending on the number in the team (and their bravery) the towers can be six- to ten-tiers high.  People of all ages, large and small, get involved, and young light children form the top levels. At the summit is a very nimble child called the enxaneta. When he/she has scrambled up and raised four fingers (symbolising the stripes on the Catalan flag) it means the structure is complete. Then they clamber down very quickly. Amazingly, there have been very few fatalities over the years.

We crossed the Atlantic to Rio de Janeiro, where my only request was yet another visit to the tile-covered Convent Stairway, aka the Selarón steps. 

Friends who know me well are aware of my tile addiction and my ever-growing collection that I add to on my travels—not the lightest items in the world to cart around …

Jorge Selarón was a Chilean-born artist who, after much travelling, settled in Rio. He lived in a house by the 215 steps and decorated them as his ‘tribute to the Brazilian people’. He painted many of the tiles himself, but also invited admirers to contribute tiles from their own country and, over the years of taking tours there, Jim donated quite a few. Selarón believed the best quality tiles to be from England.

Before Selarón was found dead on the steps in 2013—in mysterious circumstances with cigarette burns on his body—he painted us a picture, which was still wet when presented to us. His pictures have a very distinctive style and always feature a dog and a pregnant Black woman. Throughout his life he was cagey about the meaning, saying only that it was a ‘personal problem’. He estimated he had painted over 35,000 pregnant women in his lifetime.

After three gin-soaked weeks, the ship finally arrived in Buenos Aires. I’ve written numerous posts about Argentina so you know how much we love the country. We spent another fun-filled two months in BA, catching up with friends, visiting some of the more obscure museums and spending inordinate amounts of time in grand cafes.

Colón Fabrica is a warehouse, open to the public, where the sets and stage props of the famous Colón opera house are stored.

One of our favourite bars, Floreria Atlantico in Retiro, is ingeniously hidden in the basement of a florist shop. What looks like a cold store door is, in fact, the entrance to the basement bar.

On this visit we discovered an interesting new Argentine delicacy.

As a general rule Argentines don’t drink much and are truly astonished at how much Brits, for example, can pack away. Our friends, Kate (English) and Julian (Argentine), hosted a marvellous English Christmas with all the trimmings: Yorkshire puds, trifle, mint sauce, Christmas crackers, etc.

Julian tried to keep up with us drinkers but slunk away early, not to be seen again. The next morning he announced: I tried, but I am NOT an Englishman!

Jim always travels with a lightweight hammock (that’s the difference between us: he has a pocket-sized hammock in his luggage; I have an ever-growing pile of tiles). His reasoning is that you never know when you’ll come across two trees at just the right distance apart to sling up a hammock. Which is how he came to be summarily escorted from one of BA’s parks by the police, who insisted he could not ‘treat the trees in this manner’.

Fearing he may be deported for good, we moved on to Australia. In between medical tests we had a wonderful two months back in Perth, before heading to a new country for both of us: Taiwan. Details in the next issue!

Until then, hope all’s good with you all.

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

The Land that Time Forgot

Madagascar has been on our bucket list for more than 20 years. We’d made two aborted attempts, the first being foiled by a locust plague and the second by the pandemic. So, third time lucky! We were joined by our regular travel companions Pete and Angela, and the ‘Delberts’, Derek and Ali.

There’s a train in Madagascar known as the FCE, the Fianarantsoa-Côte Est Railway, which Jim had been pestering our guide, Diary, about for months. It doesn’t run all the time and, in fact, it’s the only one of its kind still running at all. [Note to self: Forget the romantic notion. What the phrase only one still running actually means is:  a) it’s old, b) there’s a good reason the others are no longer running, and c) when it breaks down—which it will—parts will be extremely hard to find.]

Things don’t always go to plan in Madagascar so, when Diary finally managed to book the train, we didn’t count our chickens. Sure enough, the day before we were due to go, the train broke down and it took three days to find the part to fix it. Fortunately, Diary was able to reschedule our itinerary so we happily went lemur spotting instead of trainspotting for a few days.

We duly turned up at the train station on the rescheduled day. The train was Jim’s baby so the rest of us hadn’t done our homework on the FCE. All we knew was what he’d drip-fed us: a private colonial-built train just for us and an eight-hour trip through spectacular scenery all the way to Manakara on the coast. So when this finally trundled in, two hours late, we really didn’t have a leg to stand on. We could only laugh like startled lemurs.

We shouldn’t have been surprised that three train engineers accompanied us for the entire journey. They travelled outside at the front, ready to leap off when required.

The rails were warped so it was a noisy and bouncy trip, particularly difficult for Derek with his bad back and those of us with ‘Madagastro’. It was fortunate in a way that there were so many unscheduled stops—when the train overheated, broke down or derailed. 

Pulling into one station, there was a helluva hullabaloo with a large crowd of people clamouring around the train. It turned out that a young man lying in a corner had been stabbed (trying to break up a fight at a circumcision ceremony … don’t ask). He’d been given an injection by the local midwife and told to get to hospital asap—difficult with no roads within miles of the place—so the whole community had come to wait in case a train arrived and he could get to hospital. There was a heated discussion with the train staff who weren’t keen to take responsibility for a possibly dying man. Meanwhile, we cleared a row of seats and insisted that he come with us … and eventually he was carried onboard. It must have been a very uncomfortable bouncy ride for him but he endured it in silence and made it to hospital. A week later we heard from his family that he was ok and well enough to go home. They also mentioned that the train had finally reached the coast 12 hrs late (we’d bailed a few hours earlier). C’est la vie in Madagascar.

That behind us, the six newly crowned ‘life-savers’ returned to the focus of the trip: lemur spotting. Many endemic species of wildlife have evolved over the millions of years since the Madagascar landmass broke away from both Africa and the Indian subcontinent, making it the world’s oldest island. Our route around the country took us to the Central Highlands, the verdant forests of the east, the coast, and the dry sparse lands of the south, so we were optimistic of seeing many different species.

In Ranomafana National Park our extraordinary park guide, Theo, showed us some of the 112 species of lemur on offer in Madagascar, including the red-bellied, the golden bamboo, the greater bamboo, and the Milne Edwards’ sifaka.

As we walked through the tropical forest we asked Theo about his life. His tribe had been living sustainably in the forest for many generations but, when Theo was five, the government moved them out to make way for a research centre and to open the forest as a national park. The tribe, understandably, found it difficult to integrate in the outside world and—despite the government’s promises—financial help wasn’t forthcoming. Fortunately, very early on, Theo met Dr Patricia Wright, the American who founded the research centre. He taught her about life in the forest and she employed him as a lemur spotter. He’s worked for her ever since, learning English along the way. Since then he’s worked with David Attenborough on Planet Earth, and also National Geographic and the IMAX film company.

The golden bamboo lemurs we saw have a fairly dull diet: bamboo and more bamboo—and they fussily only eat the young shoots, as they’ve worked out they’re high in protein and easy to digest. Ironically, this part of the bamboo is also deadly. As a natural defence against being eaten by herbivores, the bamboo produces cyanide in its new shoots so most creatures give these parts a wide berth.  Studies have shown that this lemur’s gastrointestinal tract and kidneys can absorb the cyanide (they also eat soil to help neutralise the chemical’s toxicity). The combination obviously works: the lemurs thrive, despite their daily consumption of cyanide being enough to kill five adults. 

On our travels we also saw Indri, the country’s largest lemurs. They communicate by singing to each other—a haunting out-of-tune, long-horn sound. Being about a metre tall with long legs, they have impressive jumping skills.

The golden sifaka is also known as the ‘dancing lemur’. Its party piece is leaping sideways up to nine metres at a time. In fact, it’s become so adept at bounding at speed that it has lost the ability to walk.

And, of course, we spent time with our favourites: the ring-tailed lemurs.

But there was more wildlife than just lemurs. There were frogs, birds, giraffe weevils and the ominously named satanic leaf-tailed geckos. The Parson’s Chameleon was one of our favourites. Sadly though, these creatures are perpetually angst-ridden. The brighter the green colour, the more anxious they are—so this one must have been a nervous wreck. If he’d been more relaxed around us, we might have seen him flick out his coiled tongue to catch his next meal. Amazingly, the extended tongue measures the same length as the body and tail combined.

One dark night we crept into the forest to see the world’s largest nocturnal primate. Some Malagasy people kill the (now critically endangered) aye-ayes as they believe they are evil. True, these hapless creatures are not blessed with good looks and it’s a good bet that the evil Gremlins in the movie of the name were based on aye-ayes. Perhaps as a result of this, they’re extremely sensitive and we had to keep silent when we found them.

Diary organised back-to-back surprises for us one day: first a city tour of the capital, Antananarivo, in beautifully restored 2CVs

followed by a traditional lunch and a raucous party at his house. He and his wife, Mihaja, had invited musicians and a singer who were all superb but everyone in his family could sing, dance and play instruments. We felt a little inadequate. Churning out a couple of verses of Waltzing Matilda between us didn’t really cut it. 

As we drove around the country I was intrigued by the facial features of the Malagasy people. Being only 400 km from Mozambique, I had expected everyone to look African. In fact, Madagascar was settled by Indonesian sailors from Borneo from about 350 BCE; it was much later that people from Africa arrived. So the Malagasy genetic makeup is an interesting mix of half Indonesian and half African.

Another of Jim’s ‘must do’s’ was to witness the sacred ritual of Turning of the Bones (famidihana). One of the first things we learned was that seriously ill is Malagasy-speak for dead (if someone really is seriously ill, they are referred to as sick). Each family’s ancestors are kept in a large tomb, considered the ‘permanent home’. As it’s believed their ancestors are still in the land of the living until they have decomposed completely, they need warming up in the cooler weather—so after seven years the seriously ill members are brought out of the tomb and carried aloft on rush mats. It’s an incongruous sight.

Also known as ‘playing with the dead’ the ceremony is surprisingly a joyous, even raucous, celebration with loud music, singing, dancing and drinking. At first it seemed to us irreverent high spiritedness, until it was explained that the families are overjoyed to meet their ancestors again.  We had assumed we’d be spectating quietly from the sidelines, but NO. Not only were we welcomed as special guests by the witch doctor in his speech, we were even invited to help carry the bodies.

They were paraded around for some time and eventually taken to a resting area where the silk shrouds they had been wrapped in were carefully peeled off and exchanged for new ones. Family members often take home a piece of the old shroud to help with any ailments they have, and the rush mat that carried the body is used to help cure infertile daughters.

It was a quite extraordinary experience and we felt privileged to have been a part of it.

We learned that circumcision is compulsory for young boys in Madagascar and the local witch doctor is consulted for the correct time to do the deed.  Until he’s been circumcised, the child is not considered a ‘real boy’ and is unable to protect his family.  If the child dies during the procedure or the circumcision can’t be carried out for some reason, his body won’t be allowed in the family tomb when the time comes. Diary casually mentioned that the boy’s grandfather or uncle has the unenviable task of eating the foreskin—accompanied by a banana to help it go down smoothly. He mustn’t chew on the banana as the child will feel pain … No comment. I’m just leaving that out there.

Photo from Internet: Old-fashioned circumcision

The Bara tribe around Ambalavao in the south are zebu (cattle) rustlers and young men must prove they can successfully steal cattle before they’re able to be married. Among the young boys, zebu wrestling is the local sport, made more interesting by the cattle being castrated beforehand to make them stronger. We watched a zebu rodeo and were impressed (as were the local girls) by the boys’ bravery.

We visited the Mananjary region on the southeast coast. The ethnic group here, the Antambahoaka people, are unusual for not building family tombs. Instead, ‘seriously ill’ people are taken to the forest and left in the fork of a tree, providing a meal for vultures or whichever creature finds the body first. The Antambahoaka also believe that raising twins brings misfortune or even death to their family; this mystifying taboo is called the fady kamamba. The mother is expected to abandon the babies in the forest or ask a witch doctor to kill them, otherwise they will be ostracised by the community. The local witch doctor is consulted regularly and Jim quizzed the one we met on how to become one …

Respect for ancestors is huge in Madagascar and traditional beliefs are strong among many of the ethnic groups; taboos control all aspects of their life from birth to death. Because the cultural practices are tied to faith, they are often more influential than the law and it’s difficult for the local authorities to eradicate the traditions if they become, shall we say, ‘outdated’.

Madagascar is large and to get around even half of it in three weeks meant some early starts and long days of driving. Diary had warned us in advance about the state of the roads—even so, it was mind-blowing and certainly made for slow going some days. A number of trucks had fallen on their sides too, which held up the traffic even more. But we had an excellent driver, Rova, who wasn’t fazed by the roads’ lagoon-sized craters.

We had another surprise in Ifaty on the southwest coast: a fun zebu cart ride through the towering baobab trees at sunset.

The baobabs were hiding other secrets. Coming into a clearing, we found a table set for a candlelit dinner and musicians hiding in the shadows. 

Four dancers arrived later who treated us to a truly mesmerising twerking performance. Apparently, every girl in the nearby village learns how to do this from a very early age. It was a magical evening.

I could go on and on about Madagascar. We absolutely loved the place. This was one of the best trips we’ve ever done: tons of wildlife, fascinating culture, spectacular scenery and an exceptional guide in Diary. We went with Awesome Madagascar Tours. Check out their website: www.awesomemadagascar.com   And if you haven’t already been, put it top of your list!!

We’re currently back in our favourite city, Buenos Aires—enjoying spending time with friends, the warm weather, the culture and the sight of professional dog walkers in charge of a dozen dogs. We hope the Christmas holidays have rejuvenated your spirits and that 2025 brings good health and much happiness.

Hasta la Wotnot

Gay and Jim

Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet (Bob Marley)

You know how easy it is to get excited about spending the whole summer in your home country—catching up with friends, looking after dogs, road trips, etc—but completely forget about the weather? Welcome to the UK.

That said, we did have a marvellous summer: a road trip in Scotland, quick visits to Ireland and the Isle of Man, a cruise around the British Isles and seeing friends, all of which kept us busy (as did all the dog walking).

For once it was my idea to go for a trek … oh, go on then, a day’s walk. I persuaded our friends Janet and Stan, who used to live in the same village, to come too.

Like many other English villages, Aldbourne in Wiltshire—where I grew up—organises an annual Beating the Bounds walk, which I’ve been meaning to do for years. This ancient custom of walking the parish boundaries involves ‘beating the boundary markers’ with a willow stick and, in days when maps were rare, the annual walk helped villagers to remember the precise location of the borders.

There are still a few traditional customs carried out each year: all participants must touch the village cross on the Green immediately before and after the walk, a horn is blown on reaching the furthermost east, west, north and south points, and the youngest walker is ceremoniously bumped on their bottom on the large flat boulder at the aptly named Shipley Bottom.

I should have done the walk as a child when I’d have skipped around; instead, after the 18 miles (29 kms), I was absolutely done in—but I did feel immensely proud.

As Jim and I limped back into the village, the Time Team crew were setting up an archaeological dig, hoping to find artefacts left from service personnel stationed there during WWII. A thousand paratroopers from Easy Company of the US 101st Airborne Division trained in the village in readiness for D-Day. Easy Company was made famous by the HBO series, Band of Brothers. We heard afterwards that the crew found quite a stash of objects, some of which are now in the village museum.

We’d organised a dogsit in the next village, Wanborough, with Millie the springer spaniel. 

She’s the first dog we’ve met who rings a bell when she wants to go for a wee! (see pic to the right)

We also looked after Peggy in Lewes, Dora in Herefordshire, Woody in Petersfield and Mabel in Leeds—all gorgeous—and on our travels we found dog-friendly cafes offering canine customers a range of treats including ostrich & coconut biscuits, squirrel & turmeric bites, and duck & pomegranate super bones.

As part of my birthday celebrations Jim took me on The English Tea Bus in London. As we scoffed and quaffed our way through scones, sandwiches, cakes and Prosecco, we had a tour of the city’s sights from the top of the bus. Marvellous!

Friends Tim and Sue flew us from Gloucestershire to Lee on Solent in Hampshire for lunch, which was a real treat. 

Our road trip to Scotland had been a long time in the planning: a two-centre jaunt to visit cousin Jodie, her husband Jono and their three dogs on the Ardnamurchan peninsula, then further north to Duncana and Steph’s house near Lochmaddy in North Uist. All four had driven from England to their far-flung holiday homes in the West Highlands to host us on consecutive dates, for which we were extremely grateful.

The scenery along the way was absolutely stunning. This scene brought to mind the 1983 movie Local Hero.

In between sunbathing at Sanna Beach and visiting Tobermory on the nearby island of Mull, one of our highlights was the 8-course tasting-menu dinner at Mingary Castle.

On North Uist we tried our hands at clay pigeon shooting. Duncana is a master shooter with years of practice so we couldn’t hope to compete, but it was fun trying to hit the thing.

Seaweed gathering and drying is an ancient Hebridean industry still in force here. In 2017 three tonnes of dried seaweed was shipped from the North Uist factory to the United Arab Emirates to feed racing camels and prize racehorses. And a study in Australia found that feeding seaweed supplement to cattle halves methane emissions.

I was intrigued by the traditional black houses of the area. The design and construction date back several thousand years (‘newer’ houses from the late 1800s were called white houses). Livestock and humans lived together in the one building—probably for warmth as there was often no fireplace or chimney. As the roof had to withstand extreme weather conditions at times, the thatch or turf was often secured by using netting with large stones tied all around.

Those of you who have been reading these posts for a while will know of my aversion to offal—and haggis in particular. But I was thrilled to spot this in the Ardluis Hotel, on the shores of Loch Lomond.

The hotel generously shared details of their rare stuffed specimen:

‘The haggis is a master of camouflage, which explains why so few people have seen one in the wild. This fine example of a male haggis in his prime was run over and killed in 1834 by the passing Oban-Glasgow mail coach. Allegedly, it is unlucky to hunt the wild haggis; perhaps this is why there are no registered haggis hunters.’ 🤣

Talking of all things strange, I’ve a long history of visiting Wunderkabinetts: cabinets or rooms of curiosities [sometimes faked]—from Peter the Great’s Kunstkamera collection in St Petersburg to the exotic anthropological objects in the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford. I never fail to be fascinated. So when I heard about The Viktor Wynd Museum of Curiosities in London, I was off like a shot. 

The museum is in the basement of an atmospheric absinthe bar. Downstairs I was entranced by the remains of a mermaid, a two-headed piglet, an eight-legged lamb, a large jar of moles, celebrities’ poo, shrunken heads, the preserved head and skull of a unicorn, the leg bone of an Irish giant, mummified Irish fairies, the remains of a biscuit from David Attenborough’s visit, and intestinal worms. Macabre maybe, but riveting nonetheless.

Only slightly less gruesome is stargazy pie, which we discovered in Cornwall. Jim had been champing at the bit to go by train from Aberdeen to Penzance, the longest rail journey it’s possible to take in the UK without changing. Tim, Jim’s cousin and a self-confessed train geek, joined us.

The 13-hour journey covers 774 miles through stunning scenery with a total of 35 stops in Scotland and England. We arrived in Penzance before the pubs closed.

Along the coast from Penzance is the charming 13th-century fishing village of Mousehole, with its granite cottages and steep cobbled streets leading to the tiny (vaguely mousehole-shaped) harbour. As with many Cornish names, the spelling doesn’t help with the correct pronunciation: Mowzle.

One stormy night in the 1500s—when all the other fishermen in the village had admitted defeat—one lone chap ventured out to sea and returned with a boatful of pilchards; enough to feed everyone in Mousehole. A huge pie was made. The pilchards were stood up with their heads protruding through the pastry and their eyes looking skywards. Since that time Stargazy Pie has been a Mousehole staple, and is commemorated each year on 23 December.

We spotted Grenfell Street on our meanderings through the village and learned that Mousehole invited victims and relatives of the Grenfell Tower fire in London to spend a week’s holiday in the village. Firm friendships were made as a result.

Nearby is the famous Minack Theatre, perched on granite cliffs overlooking Porthcurno Bay. It was built by Rowena Cade and her gardener in the 1930s, carving out the cliffs with hand tools and the odd stick of dynamite. The stage is completely open to the elements but performers continue whatever the weather, pausing only to don waterproofs. The first performance was, aptly, Shakespeare’s The Tempest in the summer of 1932. With no formal lighting, the performance used batteries and car headlights to illuminate the stage. We went to a matinee performance so there was plenty of natural light.

If you enter the theatre the correct way, from the carpark, you climb down steps through a sub-tropical garden with exotic plants from around the world. If not, and you approach it from the sea—clambering up the side of the cliff, as we did—you’ll probably spend the next day at A&E as Jim did, having x-rays on a smashed shoulder after a tumble …

Jim soldiered on, though. Ten of us had booked a 12-day cruise around the British Isles, visiting some of those outer islands that we’d probably never get to otherwise, such as the Orkneys, Shetland, Guernsey, Scilly and Lewis (and, bizarrely, the Belgian city of Antwerp … which we all loved and vowed to return to, when it wasn’t raining). 

We met up in Liverpool where the cruise started. 

After the mandatory ferry across the Mersey, we visited Bella and Bertie: the mythical Liver birds who sit atop the towers of the Royal Liver Building. The building was originally home to the Royal Liver Assurance group who, since 1850, had given financial assistance to those who, among other things, couldn’t afford funerals.

The bird sculptures, which are based on cormorants and 5.5m tall, face in different directions so one can watch over the city and the other the Mersey River. Another reason they face away from each other is, it’s said that if the pair were to mate and fly away, the city would cease to exist (as a precaution, the birds have been chained to the domes they stand on).

Once onboard the fun continued (we were all on the drinks package, of course). There was little pretence of keeping extra weight at bay so we were able to party with abandon.

In St Peter Port in Guernsey we spotted the Albion House Tavern, which has an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records: the closest pub to a church in the British Isles. It’s possible to stand in the laneway between them and touch both buildings at the same time. The proximity of a gargoyle on one wing of the church has helped it beat off any other contenders but the entire building is nestling up to the pub fairly provocatively.

After the cruise, en route to the Isle of Man ferry with Pete and Angela, we skidded to a stop in Morecambe at the statue of legendary comedian, Eric Morecambe.

It was an omen for the plethora of statues we found on the Isle of Man. Any tenuous link will do to claim them as Manx personalities.

Bee Gees (born here)

Sir Norman Wisdom (buried here)

George Formby (once starred in a movie shot on location here)

When not hunting down metal celebrities, we explored the island by train and car. The Laxey Wheel is the largest surviving original working waterwheel in the world. It’s also known as Lady Isabella, after the wife of the island’s governor at the time (1854).

Entire blocks of hotels on Douglas’ promenade were requisitioned during WWI; surrounded by barbed wire, they were used as internment camps. We noted a sad correlation: the chap who created the Liver birds—a German called Carl Bartels—was interned on the Isle of Man before being forcibly repatriated to Germany after the war, despite being a naturalised Briton for 27 years.

A brief pause back in England then we were off again, this time to Cork in Ireland to look after friend, ‘Irish Liz’s’ dogs. We happily wandered with them in the woods, picking blackberries as we went, and Jim couldn’t resist heading off to kiss the famous Blarney Stone nearby.

On the way back to Dublin we spent a couple of days in Kilkenny, known for its lively pub scene. Sadly the number of pubs has dwindled in the last 20 years and there are now only 185 left in the town …

The Irish have always had a way with words. How’s this for Oirish salesmanship?

After the UK we spent a few weeks in Madagascar—more details of that adventure in the next post—and we’re currently in Portugal looking after Barney, our favourite cocker spaniel.

Hope all’s good with you all. Stay happy and healthy.

Hasta La Wotnot

Gay and Jim

The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.
Eeyore