Bonjour from Paris

Bonjour! We are now in France. Paris to be exact.

We stopped for two nights in Amiens in the Somme Valley. The weather was brilliant. The campground is in the middle of parkland and the river canal runs by the site. We cycled along the tow path that leads through a wetlands reserve right into the centre of the town. The day was so warm we had to stop and peal off layers of clothes.

This is a beautiful city full of unspoilt old buildings and one of the best Gothic Cathedrals in Europe. Where the Notre Damme in Paris is dark and shadowy this is a place of light especially in the mid morning as the sun is not yet at its zenith. Every corner seems to be lit with the reflected light streaming through the high windows and the stained glass is just outstanding. To top it off there is a very pagan labyrinth on the floor at the centre of the cathedral. Most of the city architecture is several hundred years old but the brick and stone work is flawless. It is a mixture of styles some of it even looks German.

We headed south across the agricultural landscape that stretches from the Somme valley all the way to the Seine basin. The extended cold weather has postponed much of the early planting season and the canola crops that were tall and festooned with fluorescent yellow flowers last year, were barely six inches high and still a sea of emerald green. All the farmland was a patchwork of bright greens and earthy browns as many fields were yet to be sown with this years crop. I love the French countryside even more than that of England. The pastel blue sky flecked with scudding clouds, the patchwork fields corralled by hillside tree-lines, the spring blossoms and the honest toil of country folk – I can see why this landscape attracted so many artist and painters. France truly is nature's canvas.

Well here we are in Paris – Again! There is something about this place that draws us like a bee to nectar. We seem to find new and unfamiliar corners of the city every time we come here. The weather hasn't been that great, not like the warm days we had in Amiens but we didn't mind. We did our usual thing, just wandered about the city. Walked along the Seine to Ile de Cite and the Notre Damme – it's 850 years old this year. It was a good contrast as we had only been in the Amiens cathedral the day before, which is almost a carbon copy of the Notre Damme.

The next day was Sunday and we found our way the the Bastille markets. This is one of the best markets around. The quality of the produce here is better than any supermarket. Everything is so fresh. There is everything here incredible fruit and veg, fresh fish and seafood, meat, chicken, rabbit, cheeses to die for, the world's best deli goods, home-wares, handmade jams and preserves, a dozens varieties of honey, great bakery goods and more.

We sat beside the canal and ate freshly cooked chicken, tomato, tasty brie and cucumber on warm baguettes. Topped off with fresh strawberries for desert. We felt veeery French.

Today was our last day here. We caught the tram to La Defence. This area was just about ready for the bulldozers when we were here in the 70s. Someone took my advice and the entire area has been transformed into a huge commercial precinct with shopping mall, park and gardens. Standing on the terraced gardens you can look straight down Ave Charles de Gaulle to the Arc de Triomphe in the distance. Its the perfect contrast of old and new.

We then caught the Metro to Montmartre and revisited the Sacre Coeur Church. Its more like Sacre Circus with the streets surrounding it filled with cheap trinket shops and street hustlers conning the gullible with the latest version of the shell game. There is even a carousel in the church grounds. When we were here last there were barely a dozen tourists and they were outnumbered by the local parishioners. We walked along Boulevard Clichy, dodging the sex show spruikers, until we reached the Moulin Rouge.

We rounded the day off with a trip to the Eiffel Tower – gotta get your money's worth out of your Paris Visite Card. Tomorrow we are off to Normandy and the D-Day beaches and hopefully some more sunshine. Au Revoir for now.

From Paris With Love.

York - A Living Treasure

York was outstanding. It reminded me so much of Florence, not in architecture or design but in the way the entire city has been preserved. It hasn't been spoiled by garish contemporary buildings placed higgledy piggledy among some of the best examples of ancient and medieval architecture in Britain. York is old, its ancient Roman fortification testify to that but it has endured the travails of many cultures. The Romans built it as a northern outpost, it lies not far from Hadrian's Wall. After the Romans left it became the capital of Northumbria, a kingdom of the Angles. Then it was taken over by the Vikings who gave it the name that has endured – Jorvik or York in English.

Walking around those twisted cobbled streets one encounters pleasures at every turn both visual and culinary. What could be better than discovering, in the home of British confectionary and chocolate making, a crooked house on a twisted street selling sweet delights that would tempt any modern day Hansel or Gretel. Some of its streets could quite literally be from a Grimm's Tale. York is definitely due for a return visit.

We are now back in London with Dal, Renata and Little Monster Mat. We are waiting for some things to be delivered that we need to have for our Europe Trip. We all cycled from Dal's place to Battersea Park to take Matrim to the Children's Zoo there. He was more interested in the play area than the animals. And speaking of animals, my enduring memory of Battersea (from when we lived here in the 70's) is the Pink Pig floating over the power station during the photo shoot for Pink Floyd's Animals album.

The day was sunny and warm and the ride through the park was great except for dodging the skaters, skateboarders, tricycles, prams, wayward kids, thick parents, dogs and the droppings they leave that are rarely cleaned up by their owners. 21^st century London and it's still covered in dog shit.

The weather has been behaving itself here as well. The nights are still cold but the days have been sunny and warm although the wind is still cold. We have cleaned and prepped the van and are ready for Europe. The next post will be heralded with a Bonjour. So its Au revoir for now.

Druids Den to God's Country

We left Chirk and headed west into Wales. The road took us through Snowdonia National Park and the scenery was magnificent. We travelled along river valleys and rode up perilous drops over mountain passes to quaint valley town with even quainter names like Betws-y-Coed – we could have been in The Alps. There is still a great deal of snow on the ground and the wind, when it blows, is frigid. We stayed the night in Caernarfon on the Menai Strait and headed across the bridge onto Anglesey Island.

We stopped at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrovwllllantysiliogogogoch.

No it's not a typo that's the name of the place. The rest of Anglesey is flat treeless and quite frankly rather boring. Why the Druids (history's first recorded tree-huggers) would set up shop in this bleak and boring landscape is a understandable. It suited their lifestyle as most tree-huggers are bleak and boring. That was back in the time of the Roman Empire. And what did the Roman ever do for us? They marched all the way across Britain to Anglesey and wiped out all the tre... Druids. The Romans actually liked Global Warming – it meant they could grow fruit and grapes and make wine in England, something that doesn't happen here any more because the climate changed – without our help.

The rain had started to fall and the wind chill wasn't making it any better so we hightailed it back to the mainland where we stopped at Bangor, which is next to Menai – bloody copycats. We stayed the night at a quiet little campground overlooking Conwy Bay and headed for the Great Orme Head the next day. We planned to visit the Bronze Age copper mine but it started to rain heavily and the place was a mud pit. So we headed off for the Wirral Peninsular and Liverpool. The Wirral is a thumb of land the extends between the mouths of the River Dee and the River Mersey. It actually looks like a thumb with the clenched fingers being the North coast of Wales. We camped on the western coast not far from West Kirby – the last stop on the Metro to Liverpool city. When I say not far I mean a four mile walk to the station along the Wirral Way – it's a disused railway line that has been turned into a cycle track and walking path and it runs by the campground.

It was an 8 mile hike each day to and from the station – Brett's gotta be happy with that. Liverpool was great. We found the houses Grandma Bolton lived in south of town in Mossley Hill a short walk from Penny Lane – yep that Penny Lane. We spent two days soaking up the Sixties. Took the Ferry Across The Mersey (twice), walked down Penny Lane (didn't see the banker, fireman or pretty dancer), wandered around the old music district laneways, checked out the Cavern. We didn't go down as the place is infested with drunken yobbo touristas nowadays.

We left Liverpool and headed for the Lakes District and Yorkshire Dales. We stayed in a nice little campground in Kirkby Lonsdale. The town is beautiful full of well preserved stone building and narrow winding streets. You get to it across Devil's Bridge, a well preserved piece of 13^th century stone architecture. This was on the main route from the York to Penrith in Medieval times. There is a picturesque walk along the river which skirts the town but it is closed off at the moment due to the flooding that happened last year.

We headed off the next day across the Yorkshire Dales. We took the Ribble Run from Ingleton to Hawes. It winds along the River Ribble then up over the high Dales and then down into the Ure Valley. The scenery here is both bleak and beautiful. Yes its cold, barren and wind swept but on a clear day with that pale blue sky and the high ridges still holding the last vestiges of winter snow it has a beauty that words can't describe.

We stopped in Hawes for morning tea in a pleasant little teahouse. Hawes is even more beautiful than Kirky Lonsdale with its stone houses and narrow meandering streets. There is even a waterfall in the middle of town. Those Medieval town planners must have been thinking about the tourist dollar even back then. We girded our loins and headed for one of Britain's most famous roads – thanks in part to Top Gear, although it was discovered long before. The Buttertub Pass runs north from Hawes to Thwaite. It winds up the valley and along the ridge before literally diving down into the Swale Valley. It is a roller-coaster ride and I seriously doubt anyone could travel as quickly as they portray on Top Gear. The road is covered with loose gravel in many places especially blind corners and it has plenty of hidden dips and places where low riding sports cars would bottom out. It's Snake Pass with attitude.

The payback is the Swale Valley. It's like God made it hard to get to because it's so special. People throw the phrase “God's Country” around like a farmer sowing seed but here in this valley it has real meaning. The sound of the river racing over its stoney bed, the pleasant green of the fields criss-crossed with ancient moss covered drystone walls, the white of the snow patches stubbornly refusing to thaw on the hilltops, the soulful bleating of the new lambs calling for their mothers and that clear blue sky with cloudy patches painting shadows on the ground as the cold wind pushes then further east. I think all the Gods live here disguised as simple folk living out their lives in eons-old stone cottages filled with warmth and laughter and love.

Well that's enough of me waxing lyrical for the time being. We are now in Leyburn on the eastern edge of the Dales and heading for York.

Finally On Our Way

Well the journey begins. We picked up Aurora in Elland, near Halifax in Yorkshire. We spent the first few days around the areas in case of any teething problems and to provision the van for our trip. The weather has been cold in some places bitterly due to the wind chill but there has been no rain or snow falls since we left Dal and Renata in London.

Our first real camping stop was in Sheffield in Sherwood Forrest. The trip down from Elland was eventful with Honey, the fickle female who resides somewhere in our SatNav, taking us via every perilously narrow, pot hole ridden, stone wall lined, snow drifted country lane in the Midlands.

There is still a lot of snow on the ground even in the low lying countryside. It is still banked up along the drywall fence lines and the road verge where it has been ploughed. You can see that some of the drifts were at least six foot high and in some places even higher.

We only stayed one night in Sherwood as the Robin Hood spirit had infested the camping ground with the price being truly daylight robbery. It was called Clumber Park but should have been called Robber's Rest. We spent the next night just west of Sheffield at an outstanding little pub that caters for Motorhomers. The Three Merry Lads sits on a ridge at the edge of the Peaks District. The price was £8 for the night or nothing if you had a meal at the pub. We ate three nights worth but it was one of the best pub meals you could ask for. They even made Margie four Yorkshire Puddings even though it wasn't Roast Day. And they supplied Aurora with free electricity for the night.

The morning dawned bright, clear and so cold breathing in stung your nose. We headed off across Snake Pass one of the top ten driver's roads in Britain, it winds up a river valley and over the top of the moors of the Peaks District. It features prominently on a lot of Top Gear test drives, which explains why it is now festooned with speed cameras. It is also one of the worst roads for motorcycle fatalities in Britain, due to too many weekend world champ wannabes. We passed through Glossop, where we met Maddi's double outside our favorite coffee shop Costa's. Margie got lots of lovin. We then skirted Manchester and headed southwest into Wales.

We are now camped in a quiet little camping ground in the small town of Chirk. It noted for Chirk Castle which has out outstanding gardens. There is also the Chirk Aqueduct which is part of the inland canal system. We cycled across the aqueduct and along the tow path to a nice little pub called The Poacher. After sampling the local brew we cycled back to our little home as Margie calls it. On Sunday we rode along the tow path the other way to Pontcysyllte and across an even higher aqueduct. We had coffee and apple pie and tried to warm up after our ride at the lockside pub The Telford Arms.

The ride was sheltered in the hollow the canal runs through but the wind was vicious as we crossed the aqueduct. Our new bike performed very well except for the puncture I got on the way back to the campground.

We head off today for even more snow in Snowdonia National Park and then on to Anglesey.