Category Archives: city

Stockholm weekend

Way back when I was in Italy for a month somehow I ended up booking flights to Stockholm for the weekend just past – as Bea was going to exhibit at a trade-show & invited me along. At twenty pounds each way, it wasn’t too much of a big deal if I couldn’t or decided not to go. This time last week I was still undecided, but ended up booking accommodation & therefore I was going. Flying from Stansted also provided a good opportunity to continue the bike-touring farewells to extended family – this time with not quite as much riding.

I set off across London aiming further west than necessary so as to connect to National Cycle Route 1 alongside the Lea. Within long I was under the Thames & riding along the Greenway – a very straight raised cycleway/footpath. I was pleased to discover I was riding on top of Victorian industrial history – the North Outfall Sewer from the 1860s. After visiting Crossness a few years ago I recognised Abbey Mills Pumping Station pretty easily – also an impressive building considering its designed use.

It was a perfect winter’s day for cycling – still & crisp.

Eventually I had to leave the river & cut back east to Carol & Barry’s. First I found this little village:

And then I found the Matching church a couple of miles away, the possibility of bad puns is obvious.

I made it before dark and was warmly welcomed and plied with vast amounts of food – a sure way to make a cyclist happy after fifty-odd miles. Conveniently, the airport is only a short-hop on a local bus away; I had plenty of time to get stuck into War & Peace again. This weekend has been my only experience of the much-maligned Ryan Air – but when a return trip to Stockholm for about the same price I’ve paid for a eighty-minute off-peak train journey in southern England, one really shouldn’t complain too much.

By the time I was on the coach into Stockholm, the sun was already starting to set – this was going to take a little getting used to. After meeting Bea & her friends, then meeting my airbnb host & settling into the vast rooms I’d somehow got for a very reasonable price (in a lovely period apartment block) I was back out again. To my surprise we (me & the Italians) ended up taking the metro some distance out of the centre and before I knew it I was in an extensive indoor-climbing gym watching a Swedish bouldering competition with a couple of hundred Swedish climbing enthusiasts; I am still unsure how that happened.

Saturday was the first day of the trade-show, so I excused myself from providing Italian-English translation of dubious quality and went to have a proper look around the city. Walking across town the morning was absolutely miserable as cars clattered past with spiked tyres on roads free of ice & snow – dense cloud all around, cold and just plain bleak. I was beginning to regret the decision to go on one last Euro weekend trip before my return to summer next week. Thankfully, I went to the Vasa Museum, was thoroughly impressed and my enthusiasm for seeing new places returned.

The Vasa story is similar to the Mary Rose in that it was a warship launched to much fanfare (in this case, in 1628) and then promptly sunk on its maiden voyage while crowds watched, before being salvaged in more modern times. The Vasa sunk in little more than a breeze (it was too narrow for its height & its high centre of gravity) less than a mile into its first outing in Stockholm harbour before it was brought up 333 years later in 1961. Due to the brackish water & subsequent absence of shipworm to hasten its decay, it’s in remarkable shape at over ninety-five percent intact. At almost seventy metres long and twelve metres across it is a very impressive sight – & looks strangely familiar as the Black Pearl from the Pirates of the Caribbean film series was heavily influenced by it. I easily spent close to three hours in the museum, it was fantastic & the highlight of what I saw in Stockholm, before considering braving the cold again.

Many of the carvings were still discernible – lions on the underside of the gun hatches to intimidate the passersby/enemy.

In a better mood, I found things I thought it was worth taking photos of.

The apartment block that was home for the weekend.

With the trade-show finishing around eight, I popped in & managed not to sample too much wine & grappa before we headed out for dinner with yet more Italians. I expected to hear a bit of Swedish, naturally, over the weekend – but I think I heard mostly Italian spoken; which is a bit of fun trying to work out what is being said, but my vocabulary is still too limited so mostly I had no idea!

Sunday was, to my delight, a bit warmer & a lot brighter. It was a pretty easy day with a late brunch followed by a visit to Skansen – a large historic village with old buildings from all over Sweden that aims to give a sense of how people lived this far north over centuries past. It was nice being outside leisurely wandering around learning a bit; there was also a small wildlife park which provided some entertainment – but I’ve been spoilt by East Africa too many times to be captivated by such displays.

The sun even came out, except we weren’t really standing in its light.

Walking back past the Vasa museum, these replica masts show how tall the ship was.

Once the sun had set the rest of the day was spent among excellent company and conversation (some of which I could understand) in various bars. So that was pretty much my last little Euro trip for who-knows-how-long – it didn’t start fantastically, but I came around and really enjoyed it. I’d very much like to see Stockholm during long summer days – it must be quite something.

Apparently I missed a Sunday of horrendous rain back in England – but Monday’s sunset was worth seeing.

Now that I’m back home, I just have to pack my life up into a few boxes and bags, clean my bike thoroughly for the NZ border and say last farewells. Should be manageable.

A Strasbourgian Birthday

I’ve a hour or so up my sleeve while I wait for a train to Basel – yes, a train. But I’ve been convinced that the cycling from Strasbourg to the Basel/Mulhouse area is none too exciting and while pleasant, the ride from Wissembourg to Strasbourg was enough of the flat Rhine valley to see. From there, I think I’ll skirt the French-Swiss border through the Jura range – if I can handle that & whatever the weather does – and somehow get over/through the Alps to Aosta in NW Italy.

As mentioned, Saturday’s ride into Strasbourg was not too thrilling – pretty flat (only a hundred metres of climbing in over ninety kilometres) as I paralleled the Rhine upstream. A lot of it was road too, with not many dedicated cycle routes to be had. It rained quite a bit, but nowhere as bad as the torrents that fell from the sky in Belgium. As I was sitting eating my lunch, through another shower, I saw a couple of Italian flags flying past on the back of touring bikes. Eventually I caught up to Giorgio & Nora sheltering under a shop awning from another shower. From Umbria, they were a week into their honeymoon cycle-touring from Amsterdam back towards Italy – I think they were sick of the same weather that I was.

While we mostly conversed in English as we shared the ride into Strasbourg, it was fun to try out what Italian I can remember. Just as we approached the city, there was a cycle-path off the road and this one was most definitely riding along the top of the Maginot line – it was raised like a stop-bank for the river, but every couple of hundred metres there was a concrete bunker/pill-box. I bid my Italian cycling buddies arrivederci as we neared their campground and I my first warmshowers.org experience (like couch-surfing, but for cycle-tourists).

Adrien greeted me warmly, we managed to get my bike in the elevator up to the sixth floor (29” wheels are almost a bit much for small European elevators) and I even got a loaned a pair of house shoes (slippers) for my stay. Thankfully, Adrien graciously let me stay an extra night to what I initially proposed – this meant that I could have my birthday completely off the bike – and cooked me dinner and made tea. Like a lot of border town/cities around here – Strasbourg has at different times been German & French.

More TPHS history classes here: Germany lost Alsace (the region of which Strasbourg is the largest city) and neighbouring Lorraine back to France after Versailles, I’m unsure how many times before the area has changed hands. So there is a big German influence in the city’s buildings and language. In fact, Adrien is a primary school teacher and he shares two classes of six to seven year olds with another teacher – he teaches in German, while the other teacher teaches in French (I think I’ve got that correct). But Adrien is from Brittany, so not a native German speaker – but then Europeans do so much better at learning languages than Kiwis.

I slept well on a proper mattress, slept-in & missed birthday calls from family back home, returned said calls, slowly got organised and headed into the city for a leisurely look around – snacking regularly on various baked goodies. A climb up the cathedral (also called Notre Dame) tower was the most strenuous my day got – but 330-odd stairs take a little effort. As it was Sunday, there were only really tourists around but the city gradually woke up and was nice to walk around looking at the buildings and canals. I sat writing postcards, finally, with a beer looking up at the cathedral.

I did enjoy looking at all the steep roofs from the cathedral tower.

The view from Adrien’s apartment

Upon my return Adrien & his mate had returned from a couple of hours of road riding to the west towards the Vosges. I had suggested that I take him out for dinner as thanks and also for my brithday – but he was keen to cook crepes and somehow with the help of his ex-flatmate, it turned into a dinner party of nine. We rearranged the kitchen and living area to try and hold nine people and then Adrien dragged out his crepe hot-plate, for want of a better word. Bretons take their crepes seriously – this hot-plate was a 30th birthday present and it was hefty, weighing in at eighteen kilograms! That’s getting up there with my loaded bike. A vast amount of batter was made up, with buckwheat flour – this is best I’m told and gradually people started arriving.

Over a few hours the crepe hot-plate was in constant use and over good conversation (although I was lost whenever it strayed from English, which was often) and three bottles of champagne a most memorable birthday was rounded off. Somehow during the course of the evening my named morphed to Brian – to which there is only one answer. “I’m not Brian!” – of course that is slightly wrong with the negative, but it’s always surreal to me to be discussing Monty Python with people from foreign-speaking countries, for some reason.

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Adrien with the tools of the trade

By the time I ran a few errands this morning (another kilogram shed from my luggage and rear bag structure now more secure), it was getting close to noon – Adrien has definitely gone out of his way to accommodate me. What a great stay and a nice break from the bike (only two weeks in), thanks Adrien and au revoir.

A family week for a Chianti wedding

The main impetus for a month of family visiting me from the Southern Hemisphere at this particular time was that my second-cousin (that is, my mother’s cousin’s daughter) Catherine and her fiancé Chris were getting married in Tuscany after a lot of planning. As well as the parents of the bride, & Mum and Adele, also along for the week in Chianti from our side of the family were two cousins, Trish (from most of my previous adventures in & around London) and Keith, and my aunt Valerie from Sydney (who’d I’d last seen on the our big west-USA roadtrip three years ago). Sorting out all the flights, accommodation, rental car etc. between such far-flung people was not particularly easy – but it all came together in the end, with different people sorting various things out.

Many of the wedding guests stayed in the same building, four separate apartments, for the week with others joining us later in the week staying closer to the castle. I was excited to be back in Italy yet again as I really enjoyed the week when my Kiwi cousin got married nearby six years ago and also since then I’ve learnt a little bit of Italian at work. Plus Tuscany is beautiful and the food and red wine excellent. At least this time, being six weeks earlier in the year, was more moderate in temperature – mid-twenties is much better than high-thirties.

With the wedding later in the week we had a few days to amuse ourselves. While I still had some enthusiasm for driving a large people-mover on windy & slow Tuscan roads we did a couple of day trips to Siena and San Gimignano. The weather wasn’t as good mid-week, but by then I was keen to explore the pretty hill-top villages that one could see from Castello di Meleto – Adele was happy to oblige and come along for some big walks exploring the local hills, tracks and restaurants.

Home for the week

Looking down to the castle

And out over the Chianti hills – much hillier and more wooded than around San Gimignano, where we stayed last time

Siena – while eating the most expensive, but not necessarily the best, gelato of the week

Siena Duomo again

Back looking at the towers in San Gimignano – where Mum, Adele & I somehow managed to bump into our fourth-cousin (we share the same great-great-great-great grandparents, I think) from NZ & her fiancé completely unexpectedly

The ground around where we were staying (that’s the villa at top-left) was so rocky only grapes or olives were any good for cultivating

I’d had my eye caught by the large walled village right across the other side of the valley – as it wasn’t on many maps, I was intrigued. To walk off lunch & the early wine-tasting Adele & I set off in that direction happy to explore small lanes. Perhaps the road we chose was steeper than we bargained for, but we were enjoying ourselves. We did get to the village and unlike the previous ones we’d been to, it was pretty much deserted with a church and single cafe seeming the only public buildings. A couple of lost bikepackers rode in, so that was encouraging (that there were bikepackers in the area, not that they were lost); we had more ice cream in the sun.

Buoyed by the success of Tuesday’s exploring we set Wednesday aside for a more ambitious route – thanks to the big map boards in Gaiole-in-Chianti central car park, we had plenty to choose from. These well defined routes went some way to explaining why there seemed to be so many people randomly walking and mountain-biking through the estate during our stay.

We’d reached our objective, Barbischio (another village we’d seen across the valley on the previous day’s walk), by lunchtime. Perhaps spurred on by the wine and the grappa/limoncello, it was decided it was a good idea to walk up another big hill to a small ruined keep that had been taunting me like a French knight. It was a good idea, but our chosen route took us to the top of the wrong hill – leaving the keep to “taunt us a second time”. Still, can’t complain about six hour walking around with great company in the sun spotting deer, wild boar, snakes and multitudes of lizards and admiring the landscape.

Half this tower had fallen down, so someone had built their house inside the shell

Like a few other complexes we’d seen around, these four or so new houses were all but finished, and completely deserted

The morning of the wedding (four o’clock service) I could stand the taunting of the keep no more, so Mum, Valerie, Adele & I drove up there (having worked out how to get there). It was pretty ruined, so we had fun pretending we were like the Famous Five, or some such, exploring it. The views back down to Gaiole & beyond were worth it too.

We popped into another small town, Radda-in-Chianti for a little wander, a quick bite and more gelato – I made the mistake, not to be repeated, of not getting lemon as one of the three scoops. With what was supposed to be plenty of time, we returned home to eat & prepare for the wedding; that is, until Adele found the first of her five flights home starting the next day had been cancelled due to strike action. So cue a couple of hours of stress trying to find a nearby flight that would get Adele to Heathrow after the wedding, but before her intercontinental journey was to start. Somehow we both managed to sort that out and still get to the wedding scrubbed up, all will be well when the travel insurance stumps up.

Earlier concerns over the weather for the outside service proved unfounded and it was good in such a beautiful setting. Now is when I find that I really did leave all photography of pretty much everything wedding-related to those with better cameras and ability – all I have is this pre-shot of the strings. Shocking. Still, I’ll have to go off my memory of a simple & elegant service, with some nice readings and a very beautiful happy couple (that was mostly Catherine, but Chris scrubbed up pretty well too).

So much food, again. Canapés & cocktails on the lawn while the photos were being taken; dinner and speeches in the castle; and finally cake-cutting out in the garden as the night drew in. Great night.

Adele managed to get all packed up the morning after the night before and we, Mum & Valerie too, were off to drop her at Pisa airport. It was supposed to be the relatively close Florence airport, but flight rearrangement meant a lot more driving – but we got to see the tower again. With goodbyes, lunch, final Italian gelati for a while & the sightseeing done we took a rather roundabout route home via Lucca as I forgot there was a difference between the autostrada and highway between Florence & Pisa. Nevermind, we got to see the huge thunderstorm pummelling Chianti as we drove towards it.

That was about the week really – a fantastic one spent with family in a stunning setting with plenty of top-notch food & red wine and just enough exercise to offset it and stop me going slightly more crazy.

Glasgow & Highlands Walking

The seven hour drive north from London to Glasgow Sunday evening was uneventful; but, considering it was mostly motorway, strangely beautiful in the evening light. Arriving just before one o’clock Monday morning, there was not much else to do apart from briefly say hi to Fi and then sleep.

The purple patch of weather of the weekend in London continued with us and after a late brunch (it’s easy to justify a full Scottish breakfast when it’s noon & it really is breakfast and lunch) Fi took us on a very nice walking tour of Glasgow. Through the university, large sun-soaked parks and down to the side of the Clyde I was impressed and after the little I’ve heard about Glasgow, pleasantly surprised to be so.

On the walk back to Fi’s (recently acquired & nice) flat it was decided by consensus that it was definitely above the threshold temperature for gelato – starting a week of high ice cream consumption. Now that I think of it, that started a fortnight of regular ice cream eating. Adele & I weren’t really sure what Fi had planned for the week, so had packed the car for many eventualities. As the forecast was best earlier in the week, we soon had a chalet booked near Fort William (I tried not to miss having a bike too much) and drove north into the highlands planning a bit of walking the next day. The town itself proved quite a frustrating one in which to find a decent place to eat in the shoulder season; the huge chicken skewers were definitely memorable, but (in an unrelated way) that night started a strange week-long run of extremely broken sleep & I still don’t know why.

Tips Fi had gleaned from others suggested we should take a less trodden and defined route around the back of Ben Nevis and along a shoulder to avoid the easy route up. Some unplanned reconnaissance (we missed the turn for the trailhead) showed a lot of snow still up that way, so I was beginning to have doubts. Even with the detour we were walking shortly after eight o’clock on a beautiful morning with good views up and down the glen and of the surrounding hills. It certainly is a big wide path up to the top of the UK’s highest peak, but there are enough big rocks and steps mixed with switchbacks and, in such weather, good views that it is definitely not boring climbing – I quite enjoyed it, but then I usually much prefer hiking up over hiking down , when I just think of bikes.

It flattened out a lot briefly before we reached the junction in our path. Still undecided about which route, we walked north to check out the more difficult one. Getting under the north face we could see that there was a substantial amounts of snow and wind up further along the route; with none of us really knowing the route or having more suitable equipment, common sense prevailed and we headed back to the main trail. At the junction we met the frontrunners of a large group of Edinburgh bus-drivers out on a charity walk before we started hauling in those walkers we’d already passed earlier on.

We steadily, actually it was pretty quick – Fi sets quite a pace – continued to climb – enjoying the switchbacks that took us away from a strong headwind. For the last few hundred metres of ascent it was a choice of hard packed snow or getting well off route and clambering over the rocks – I found the rocks an easier route for climbing. Unfortunately it clouded over pretty well as we neared the summit and the wind was fierce – we were quite glad we took this route up for our little outing. There were occasional breaks in the cloud to give views around. The most memorable part of the top of the UK was when one of the vanguard of bus-drivers (there were three about the same pace as us) pulled out a full bottle of Scotch, still in its box, and numerous shot glasses and offered us a wee dram. I’m not much of a whisky drinker, but it was pretty good – & possibly Adele’s first, which in the inclement conditions led to surprised comments of the warming qualities of such drinks.

Walking and running down on the snow was much quicker and quite good fun. We sat out of the wind and enjoyed a long lunch while we watched the rest of the (un-fitter) bus-drivers struggle on up – along with a large collection of people in all sorts of strange and, bordering on, unsuitable attire. Just as well the views were good as the trip down was the usual tedium of walking in zig-zags to try and stop my knees hurting for days afterwards – two walking poles between three doesn’t go so well, but my knees seemed to hold up better than expected.

It turned out to be only just over a six-hour outing – that’s including our half-hour detour and half-hour leisurely lunch; so plenty of time for more ice cream in the sun as we gave up on the Information Centre and headed back to the chalet for WiFi to research the next day’s outing. I say that, but after planning the rest of the three week holiday for Adele, I was more than happy to sit in the back seat – literally & figuratively. Pre-dinner drinks on the balcony overlooking Loch Linnhe were followed by a meal that is best remembered for the waitress continually apologising for the meltdown the chef was apparently having – “lucky we didn’t say anything about the dirty knife”.

Wednesday wasn’t quite as sunny in the morning, but that worked well to head to Glenfinnan to see the easily recognised viaduct.  Quite a spectacular setting and we timed it well to see the train from Fort William steam across – if that was the Hogwarts Express, we missed getting on it, so went back to do more muggle oriented activities.

The sound and smell of a steam train is very good indeed

Looking out over Loch Shiel near the Glenfinnan monument

That afternoon we went on a couple of pleasant strolls through various woods & forests that the girls had found somehow. The first was most noteworthy for my legs being destroyed by the notorious Scottish midges (after two weeks the bites have finally almost completely faded) during lunch, rickety bridges over a pond & half the intended trail being closed due to logging. The second walk was through quite pleasant woods with randomly spaced carvings made out of dead tree-stumps, a pond with ducklings, more bluebells (we’d seen many previously) and the picturesque River Spean. More ice creams.

Our drive north continued with a bit of Nessie spotting as we went up the west edge of Loch Ness to Drumnadrochit. We didn’t see Nessie, but it was still quite light and we obviously hadn’t had enough to drink. The local ale at the brew pub was pretty good – Adele even enjoyed her first real ale. The pint was substantially better than the greeting one must assume is only given to locals at the bar – “are you going to order or just sit there making the place ugly?”. Other peculiarities included novelty-onesie clad horse-riders wandering through the bar (horses left in the middle of the car park).

Adele by this stage in this trip had developed a fascination for castles, so that got a bit of a fix Thursday morning as we visited the nearby Urquhart Castle on the shores of Loch Ness. With an interesting role in the Scottish Wars of Independence, it was a good visit – although most of the signs posted gave the impression that they had no idea what different parts of the castle were used for.

Time to head back to Glasgow, we drove the short distance north to Inverness (sights seen included the castle from a distance and a fascinating multi-story car park, before we had lunch sheltering from the rain overlooking Beauly Firth) and then south on the notorious A9. It would have been rude to not break the journey up for Fi (I was still pleased to not be driving) with an ice cream – so a local dairy (in the British, not NZ, sense of the word) was found.

When I discovered Doune Castle was not much of a detour from the fastest route, I just had to go & see where so much of the Grail was filmed.

No large mammals or assorted poultry were thrown over the walls at us, which was most useful

It was almost closing time, so we had a brief wander around to satisfy my curiosity before we continued on towards Fi’s parents’ house for dinner. Looking back that was a rather surreal evening: Cally, the dog, had an injured paw & spent most of the night trying to chew off the dressing to the concern of all; people repeatedly seemed to lock themselves in the bathroom, or not; an endless parade of soft-toys; constant talk of power pylons; the story of two lost fishermen who thought it prudent to wave a red ball at a passing boat to indicate something was wrong; and somehow Jude knew that I’d been instructed to raise my BMI – she seemed determined that I should put on five pounds in the space of two hours, I have not eaten so much in a long time & that’s saying something. I ramble – it was a wonderful evening and a fitting end to a fantastic week in Scotland. I’m a little miffed that I’ve not managed to spend more time in such a beautiful part of the world. Not quite sure I’ll be able to rectify that now, but it would be nice to.