Go fly a kite...


Last weekend, on a bit of a whim, my friend Laurent and I chucked the bare essentials and my kite into his car and headed for the coast.

The forecast was blustery showers, which would have made for perfect kite flying conditions, but once again the weather men were wrong and we arrived to find bright sunshine, clear skies and not a breath, not even a whisper of wind. Damn!



Luckily we had a plan B, and made our way through beautiful serene Normandy villages that just 60 years back were the backdrop for the D-day landings.

Its only when you grow up that you realise just how freaking pointless some of the hours you spent at school were. Of course maths is damn useful, as are the other 2 R's, and a good foundation of science, the arts and a language never hurt anyone. But why on earth did we spent weeks learning dead kings & queens, the Battle of Hastings and the Spanish crusaders when really none of that matters? Why did we breeze through the first & second world wars in a couple of wet afternoon classes with just crappy news clippings and a Robert Graves poem for backdrop when what happened then shaped our world and lives so significantly today?

My frustration stems from me now being old enough to appreciate the outcome and after effects of June 6th 1944. Unfortunately my crappy education left me none the wiser as to what really happened, either on that day or the events in the weeks and years beforehand.



Luckily the American Battle Monuments Commission have an incredibly little museum at the American Cemetery in Colleville sur Mer. It walks you through the 'highlights' of WWII with a series of displays that helped me understand the sheer enormity of what the allied forces did back then.

As a project manager I'm sensitive to the logistics and attention to detail required to pull something off well and the team work that's needed to make it all happen. Never had a I really stopped and thought about just how much work, planning, co-ordination and imagination went on back then. For example I never knew about 'Rupert'.



Standing about 4ft tall made from sacking and stuffed full of tiny 'fire-cracker' explosives, hundreds of self-destructing 'Ruperts' were parachuted behind enemy lines along the coast just days before the invasion. The men that landed with them were armed with flare guns and record players and their faux attacks caused panic and confusion, leading German forces away from the actual landing sites.
'Ruperts' were just one of the ways the allied forces out-foxed the enemy. Whole battalions of inflatable tanks were pitched out in fields along the British coast to intimidate the Luftwaffe spy planes and their sneaky photographers.

The ingenious of the tactics are captivating but the weight of what's beyond the museum helps put everything into perspective.




Rows upon rows upon rows of graves; small white crosses and stars of David stretch as far as the eye can see, perfectly tended with not a blade of grass or leaf out of place. Off to the right lies Omaha beach; peaceful, calm, flat, still. Its horribly surreal, horribly still.
Looking left you see Juno, in the distance is Gold, off right sits Sword, and shimmering in the distant heat is Utah. Many of the physical traces of what happened here have disappeared but the names have stuck. No one seems to remember what the beaches were called before.



Leaving Colleville with heavy hearts we continued West to 'Point du Hoc' where the physical scars of war remain.
The site sits 100ft (30m) up a sheer cliff face and was the home to some Nazi's heavy guns that were capable of doing some serious damage to the allied flotilla and landing forces. The 2nd Ranger's relentlessly scaled the cliff to take out the guns and of the 225+ that started out only 90 were still alive and fit to fight after 2 days. The assault on the whole was a bit of a blunder as the guns had been moved a mile away just days beforehand, but the story demonstrates well the selflessness and determination with which those guys fought and the hundreds of huge bomb holes around the site ensures you understand just how violent and relentless the battle was.



I didn't learn enough about what happened back then in my two days on the coast but I'm pretty sure i'll be going back again sometime and i'll start doing my homework so i'm better prepared next time. I did learn though that Laurent's grandfather fought in North Africa, like my grandfather, under Mountbatten. Unfortunately its not surprising that French and English neighbours grandfathers fought together thousands of miles away 60-odd years ago - everyone's grandfathers were fighting back then.

Sadly the weather never did deteriorate, the sun stayed out and the wind stayed away for the entire weekend. We made feeble attempts to get the kite up but failed, hanging out in the sunshine and eating hot dogs and sauerkraut instead! I'm not complaining though, like I said, I know i'll be going back.





x

Sleeping beauty?





She was a sleepy snoozy giant when I left her, but it looks like all that jumping up and down and 'lava dancing' I did on Friday woke up old Etna...



More photos from my Sicilian roadtrip here. Unfortunately i'm unable to post tastes or flavours so you'll just have to imagine all the delicious coffee, pasta and gelato I munched my way through ;-)

x

A long list


Once upon a time I had time. Time to think, time to research, time to plan so that when I arrived in a country to travel I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to go see and do. I don't know what happened to change all that but even finding time to choose which country I would travel to for this trip was a struggle, and its only now that I'm here I'm able to sit down, open the guide book and start to look at my options. Maybe that's not such a bad thing though as I find the most useful travel reference is other travellers, so yesterday, sat in the sun with a coffee I pulled out all the notes I've scribbled and started to string them together into a plan.


The problem is I've just spent the last 5 days trekking with Rob, who now in his early 50's is riding a Royal Enfield around India, and as hes been traveling since the age of 24 has literally hundreds of great travel tales and recommendations. My notes therefore stretch someway beyond India's borders and the list ends up looking like this (in no praticular order):


Trekking in Sikkim (where I arrived today)
Mountain treks in Uttar Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu & Kashmir
Jungle treks in Madhya Pradesh & Chhattisgarh
Orrisa
Loas, and back into Northern Vietnam
Qinghai–Tibet railway
Trekking in The Mountains of the Moon - Uganda
Bolivia
Equador
Colombia
Chile - Torres del Paines and back into El Chalten (Argentina)
River running in French Guyana (like Cama & Fion)

Tanzania

Ethiopia
Istanbul to Cairo overland

Norway

Japan

Trekking in Borneo

Trekking across Tasmania (I'm saving this one for when Jo & Gerry are back in Sydney)

New Zealand

Kazakhstan

Kyrgyzstan

Mongolia
Road trips, anywhere!

... and the list goes on.

As you can see the majority of the destinations revolve around trekking, mountains and my love of food (Ethiopia & Japan for example). When I'll get to do them though is in question, all I know is that I feel more comfortable now that I've drawn up a list so if I ever do get time I can start to research all these destinations, and potential travel buddies. If you fancy joining me on any of them drop me a line and we'll start some plans!

For now though I'm just planning 1 day at a time in the hope of finding some friends with which to do the 10 day Goecha-La trek here in Northern Sikkim, but given that it involves 9 nights in a tent and the night time temperatures are down below freezing I'm having trouble finding anyone crazy enough to join me ;-)

xxx

Lyon Road Trip


With a full tank of gas and a dodgy collection of 80's music Doug and I hired a car a couple of weeks back and headed South to Lyon and Bourgogne.

Rather than boring you all with words i'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

x

What makes me tick?


Fishing around on my friend Pier-Andrea's blog the other day I found his visual DNA - a collection of images hes selected, which strung together represent his take on life. Its an interesting concept and if you scroll down past the labels and links you'll find my cluttered collection of x&y chromosomes represented in picture form. The whole thing got me thinking though about if I had to represent myself (not the me that goes to work every morning or the me that goes out with friends or curls up with a book but the real 'me') which images would I choose? And so my reflexions started.

This all kind of links in nicely with the fact that since i'm back from that little Irish jaunt i've had this niggling, gnawing feeling that something is missing, and after a weeks deliberation I think i've identified it. I'm craving the open road.

Let me be a little more precise. Its not just the road i'm craving, but the car, and the driving; the feeling of liberty and the spontaneity that comes with 4 wheels and a full tanks of fuel. Something that has been all too absent in my life the last couple of years.



I grew up in an area where a car was essential. From the aged of 7 I was saving frantically for my first car and have always loved driving, yet I haven't owned a car for the last 12 or 13 years and I now climb into a plane more often than I get into a car, let alone drive.

Driving and the open roads are however not the only thing that makes me 'me'. If I could choose where i'd want to be whenever I have time it would definitely be up a mountain.

I've been lucky enough to trek and hike in many beautiful places, two of which i've found truly awesome. Awesome in the true sense of the world in that i'm left dumb by the impact of the scenery; the vastness and strength of it. Trekking in the Annapurna region first did this to me in Nepal in 2000. I remember waking up early one morning, climbing on to the roof of my hut and watching Annapurna's silhouette slowly turn pink as the sun rose.



At that moment in time I left so small, so insignificant, and yet at the same time so young. Young because unlike us adults who simply recognise the environment around us and take little notice of the details I felt more like a child watching the world for the first time; noticing leaves, stones, wildlife and seeing how it all knitted together.
El Chalten in Argentina had the same effect on me. Faced with one of the most stunning vistas i've ever seen I took literally hundreds of photos of the same view, realising now that I wasn't trying to capture the image I saw but more the emotions I was feeling sat before that image.



Looking at the photos now its difficult to conjure up those same emotions, whats not difficult to materialise is the craving to relive those same or similar moments.

There is one other activity that I think totally liberates 'me' and gives me a similar childlike sensation and one that again I find myself doing very rarely; flying my kite.
I remember my first kite. I remember failed attempts at making kites during school holidays and I remember the sting and burn as the rope has run across the folds of my fingers on countless occasions but what I remember most of all is how I feel when I fly my kite. The Australian cartoonist 'Leunig' sums it up best...




Why does kite flying do this to me? Maybe because being able to fly properly involves being out in the country or on the coast, preferably without too many people around. Perhaps its because being up high helps where the wind is stronger and more fickle in its currents. I guess there are all kinds of analogies that could be drawn but honestly the reason is not important, its the sensation and emotion that counts for me, and hence kite flying is an integral part of who I am, even if I dont get to do it that often.

The psychologists and therapists amongst you are now probably all brimming with theories and facts that will enable you to compartmentalise me into one of your little boxes but although the images of my visual DNA described above may differ from those on the VisualDNA website i'll stick with their definition of my character type thanks.

If you get a chance do check out their site and do the test yourself. If you feel like sharing drop the code for your DNA or the images you'd choose to represent yourself into a comment. Lets see what makes everyone else out there tick.

On the road again...

I've made references to traveling companions in previous posts and the bonds formed with complete strangers when you find yourselves in bizarre situations or moments of extreme beauty in strange places. Thats where I met Mat (previously known as 'The American') as we bussed out of Beijing on a cold clear December morning towards the Great Wall of China.

The day we spent walking the wall was truely awesome. On countless occassions during the hike I had to remind myself I was in the middle of China standing on one of the wonders of the world in beautiful sunshine. Its an experience thats been hardcoded into my memory, and its a memory that Mat and I will always share.

Mat was in Paris when I was in Argentina but we'd promised to try to travel again together at somepoint and so dates were set and flights booked for an Irish roadtrip rendez-vous.

The last time I was in Belfast was back in 1995 when the Troubles were very much apparent. I remember driving up across the Newry checkpoint which resembled a war zone with armoured tanks and rocket launchers lining the road and I clearly remember the night I spent in the Stormont hotel looking out over the city as it burnt and wondering if the streets would be opened again by morning so that I could get to my meeting. Belfast was a broken city; divided and explosive with no sign of peace in sight.

When I arrived in Sarajevo back in 2001 SFOR were doing their best to keep the fragile peace but the tensions between the ethnic groups were all too tangiable and the violence bubbled up regularly in pockets around towns and on the borders. It felt like war and it felt all to famililar - it felt like Belfast. I've resisted the urge to go back to Sarajevo as i'm afraid nothing is going to have changed but since 1998 things have moved on in Belfast and the city I discovered was vibrant, booming and basking in good weather with students sunning themselves in the parks and sidewalk cafes spilling out into the streets.

There are still sparodic tensions (old habits die hard) and the wall that divided Catholics from Protestants is still in place and closed each night, but these days Belfast is celebrating its future whilst remembering its past and marketing its history in the form of black taxi tours - not to be proud of its Troubles but so as to learn and not to forget. The 90 min taxi tour that Mat and I took was truely a whistle stop tour of the history and geography of Ireland and Belfast, much of which is emblazoned on the buildings and walls in murals and it gave us a very broad and yet very real taste of what the city has been through, and how far its come in the last 12 years.

Next morning with the wind in our wheels we drove North to the Giant's Causeway and to explore the Northern Irish coast.

Back thousands of years ago when giants roamed the earth and the moon was made of cheese Fin McCool (the local Irish giant) built this causeway to Scotland so as to fight his Scottish nemisis, Benandonner. Since then some clever scientists have debunked this legend claiming that the huge hexagonal stones were formed when basaltic rock from volcanic eruptions cooled into these regular shapes. Either way, giants or volcanoes, the causeway definitly is cool and we had a great couple of hours clambering over the columns and up the stepped cliffs.

Although the main area was quite touristy armed with the Lonely Planet's 'Hiking in Ireland' guide book and picnics in our daypacks after only a short walk along the clifftops we pretty much had the place to ourselves and after lunch found the perfect place to snooze in the sunshine. This had become a bit of a habit; hike, picnic, snooze and if anyone from Lonely Planet is reading i'd be happy to contribute a couple of entries to the 'Napping in Ireland' guide book when its published.

The perfect spot for a snooze.

The other habit we feel into all to easily was that of frequenting Irish pubs...

Irish bars are legendary, quite literally the world over, for their hospitality and music, and none more so than in Ireland itself where going to the pub is almost a full body-contact sport when the band is playing and the place is jumping.

The good weather had left us and the usualy Irish showers and rain returned so next morning we jumped in the car, threw away the map, pulled out the compass and headed West until we hit the water.


This is the stuff that great road trips are made of; stunning scenery, good music, twisty winding lanes and nothing but the open road and the unexpected ahead.

What we'd certainly not expected was to find the small town of Ardara in which every pub and bar on the high street was hosting (inside and out) a band, group of fiddlers, flautists and whistler players for their weekend music festival.

It seems every kid in Ireland is born with an instrument tucked under their chin or in their mouth and even the most timid of 8-year olds in pink sweatshirts armed only with a junior sized accordian is capable of getting an entire pub up and jumping or singing. Like all good road trips our Irish jaunt needed a themesong and with 'Dirty old town', 'The gambler' and 'Molly Malone' being bashed out in every pub we set foot in we had plenty to choose from and hearing any of them ever again is sure to bring back the memories of that spectacular day.

Our final days were spent in Dublin wandering the town by day and the bars by night (cue 'Dirty old town'...) with some Irish friends Mat had made back in Thailand.



The next morning I picked up the headlines in the Irish Times to find that the country had completed its troubled journey and jumped into a new phase of peace with the end of control from London in Northern Ireland and power sharing agreed between two previous enemies, Ian Paisley and Martin McGuiness. History completes its cycle in Northern Ireland and I hope someday i'll see the same cycle run its course in Sarajevo. For now though our little roadtrip had run its course and Mat and I went our seperate ways at Dublin airport knowing our travels will probably cross again sometime, someplace now that we've some great Irish memories to tack up alongside those great wall moments.

Road Fever

Often when I travel I find myself doing things I would never entertain the idea of at home; sharing a bathroom with 17 other people, living on a crap diet and travelling large distances by bus.

I´m currently half way through another 2-day road trip that started in the very far Northern tip of Argentina (on the border with Brasil), brought me here to Resistancia after 12 hours in a bus and will see me finishing up in Buenos Aires after another 13 hours on the road. From BA I´ll then head to Uruguay, by boat.

I estimate that by the time I get to BA i´ll have covered around 6000 Km by bus, taking almost 102 hours (mostly overnight). To add to this i´ve taken 3 internal flights since I got here which will probably bring the total distance covered closer to 10 000Km - thats the distance from Paris to Dakar, or Teheran!) Never before in any of my travels have I covered such huge distances.

Unless you can afford to fly between cities here (and tourists pay 2.5 times more for a flight than an Argentine resident...) then the bus is your only option.

Up here in the North buses and roads are both of an excellent quality. The roads are sealed and the buses come in two classes; ´semi-cama´ which reclines more than a usual chair, and ´cama´ which goes all the way back to an almost flatbed giving you a ride pretty close to Air France business class (only with crap food).

The further South you go though the service of both bus and roads deteriorate. To get from El Chalten to Bariloche in Patagonia Johan and I spent 2 days on a bus. The first day being broken with regular 15 min rest stops, both for us and the drivers as the road was nothing more than a dirt track. The second day was about 50% sealed roads, but the same driver drove almost continously (2 stops, 1 of 10 mins, 1 of 15 mins) for 14 hours straight. With about 7-hours remaining and with both my legs and bum numb I asked Johan the question, ´That El Chalten trek again in the wind, rain and snow or this bus journey?´ His response matched mine. We´d both gladly expose ourselves to the elements for a grueling 5-hours of shivering pain than sit coupped up in a bus for 2-days again.

Somehow though when you´re on holiday it all becomes part of the adventure, adds to the experience. If I come back to Argentina though i´m going to buy myself a car and have myself a real roadtrip. The most popular variety around here seems to be an old citreon, which I think will suit me quite nicely!

xxx

East or West, which is best? You decide!

So, i´m currently in Mendoza and wondering which way to go. West over the Andes into Chile for a couple of days unplanned adventure in Santiago and on the coast, or East for high-jinx big-fun paragliding, skydiving and land yachting...

You tell me! post a comment below and we´ll let the votes decide

xxx