tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19176892225513833122024-02-19T11:15:46.113+00:00Maxted Travels with Modestine 21 April to 30 July 2007Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-12912266323851853322007-08-20T17:17:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:11.380+00:00Round Europe with Modestine 2007<B>Key and map to Maxted Travels with Modestine 2,<br />covering 1 April to 30 July 2007.</B><br /><br /><a href="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/map-2007.html"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UR8lOjP8DZBmD4_yYZHkh89JwmWecqfoEc4BLX1tJRZ0Jf1xM-xzR5-lo8xxneu-sKOMdebHotWYZsk5Mtle3dBbFQ8bbPb25BFXFYcP7ci_fHuOdlnehGSLPTaWHnjsaeSGcAq7YDM/s400/MAXTEDTRAVELS-2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100805898954895314" /></a><CENTER>Click the map to see full size with links to the text.</CENTER><br />In all Modestine travelled 6337 miles and consumed 611 litres of diesel. To this should be added about 500 miles for the ferry crossings and journeys by public transport. The total cost of the four months away was about £4565, including £697 for an overhaul of Modestine before we set out. Campsites accounted for about £900, diesel about £435 and ferry crossings about £275. The remainder was made up of items such as food and wine, public transport, internet access, gifts to friends and £50 for the complete works of Bach on 155 CDs!<br /><br />The details given for each of the postings listed below are: a running number, the first day of the posting, the title - which is a hotlink - and the main places included. <br /><br />01. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/03/you-cant-get-too-much-of-good-thing.html">You-can't get too much of a good thing!</A><br />Setting the scene.<br /><br />02. 6 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy.html">Normandy</A><br />Trouville, Deauville, Bavent, Regnéville, Abbaye de Hambye, Bayeux<br /><br />03. 9 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html">Normandy and Franche-Comté</A><br />Suisse Normande, Caen, Clécy, Orne, Sées, Gien, Vézelay, Champagne-sur-Loue, Arbois<BR /><BR />04. 14 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html">Lake Annecy to Lake Maggiore</A><BR />Annecy, Gorges de Fier, Salgesch, Chamonix, Col de la Forclaz, Simplon Pass, Lake Maggiore, Baveno<br /><br />05. 18 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-maggiore-and-milan.html">Lake Maggiore and Milan</A><br />Isola de Pescatore, Isola Bella, Isola Madre, Pallanza, Milan<br /><br />06. 22 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-iseo-and-brescia.html">Lake Iseo and Brescia</A><br />Lake Iseo, Iseo, Brescia, Lake Garda, Peschiera, Cislano<br /><br />07. 24. Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/verona-and-vicenza.html">Verona and Vicenza</A><br />Peschiera, Verona, Vicenza<br /><br />08. 26 Apr. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/venice-and-aquilea.html">Venice and Aquilea</A><br />Venice, Burano, Torcello, Lido, Murano, Aquilea<br /><br />09. 1 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html">Trieste and Slovenia</A><br />Duino, Triste, Lipica, Postojna, Predjama<br /><br />10. 4 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/vrh-to-krk.html">Vrh to Krk</A><br />Krk<br /><br />11. 6 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html">Down the Dalmatian coast</A><br />Krk, Dalmatia, Vodice, Skradinski Buk, Skradin, Sibenik, Primosten, Trogir, Stobrec<br /><br />12. 9 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/split-and-dubrovnik.html">Split and Dubrovnik</A><br />Split, Dalmatia, Dubrovnik<br /><br />13. 13 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html">Bosnia</A><br />Magistrala, Mostar, Neretva Canyon, Sarajevo, Butmir, Slavonski Brod<br /><br />14. 17 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/from-croatia-into-hungary.html">From Croatia into Hungary</A><br />Slavonsi Brod, Pécs, Szekszárd, Tihany<br /><br />15. 22 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html">Balaton and Budapest</A><br />Székesféhervár, Budapest, Veszprém, Balatonfüred, Badacsony, Hegymagas, Keszthely<br /><br />16. 26 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html">In north-west Hungary</A><br />Keszthely, Héviz, Szombathely, Köszeg, Gyömöre<br /><br />17. 29 May. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html">Bratislava</A><br />Bratislava, Modra, Senica, Hodonin, Trebric<br /><br />18. 2 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/prague-and-karlovy-vary.html">Prague and Karlovy Vary</A><br />Benesov, Konopiste, Jesenice, Prague, Karoly Vary<br /><br />19. 7 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html">Down but not out in Germany</A><br />Potucky, Zwickau, Gera, Weimar, Tiefurt, Apolda<br /><br />20. 12 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html">Goslar and Göttingen</A><br />Bad Frankenhausen, Wernigerode, Goslar, Salzgitter Bad, Okertal, Seeburger See, Ebergötzen, Göttingen<br /><br />21. 16 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/fulda-and-frankfurt.html">Fulda and Frankfurt</A><br />Fulda, Frankfurt am Main, Bad Homburg<br /><br />22. 18 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html">The Rhine and the Moselle</A><br />Rhine, Lorch, Lorelei, Sankt Goar, Moselle, Burg Eltz, Cochem, Hunsruck, Saarburg, Trier<br /><br />23. 22 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/luxembourg.html">Luxembourg</A><br />Nennig, Luxembourg, Diekirch<br /><br />24. 24 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/nancy-and-domremy.html">Nancy and Domrémy</A><br />Ars-sur-Moselle, Pont-à-Mousson, Nancy, Domrémy<br /><br />25. 26 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/verdun.html">Verdun</A><br />Verdun<br /><br />26. 28 Jun. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/beauvais-rouen-honfleur.html">Beauvais, Rouen, Honfleur</A><br />Chalons-en-Champagne, Champagne, Beauvais, Lyons-la-Forêt, Rouen, Honfleur<br /><br />27. 4 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/caen-and-cotentin.html">Caen and the Cotentin</A><br />Caen, Luc-sur-Mer, Saint-Vaaste-la-Hogue, Gatteville, Barfleur, Omanville-la-Rogue, Omanville-la-Petite, Cap de la Hague, Joburg, Vauville, St.- Germain-le-Gaillard<br /><br />28. 8 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html">The Cotentin and Mont St Michel</A><br />Carteret, Lessay, Hauteville-la-Guichard, Coutances, Granville, Avranches, Mont-St.-Michel, Pontorson, Mortain<br /><br />29. 12 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html">Calvados</A><br />Domfront, Bagnoles-de-L'Orne, Carrougers, Falaise, Caen, Arromanches, Port-en-Bessin<br /><br />30. 16 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html">The Loire</A><br />Pocé-sur-Cisse, Chaumont, Amboise, Chambord, Chedigny, Chenonceau<br /><br />31. 22 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html">Southern Brittany</A><br />Ancenis, Nantes, Port-Louis, Lorient, Pont-Aven, Concarneau, Rosporden<br /><br />32. 26 Jul. <A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html">Finistère</A><br />Pleyben, Guimiliau, Saint-Thégonnec, Huelgoat, Guissény, Brest, Landerneau, RoscoffJill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-20009041770061723852007-08-20T17:05:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:11.391+00:00Map 2007<CENTER><B>Clickable map showing the route of our travels</B></CENTER><BR />Because of the scale not all places are linked to. Where places occur more than once, the link is to the first posting on which it is mentioned.<BR /><BR /><MAP NAME="MAXTEDTRAVELS-2"><br /><IMG SRC="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UR8lOjP8DZBmD4_yYZHkh89JwmWecqfoEc4BLX1tJRZ0Jf1xM-xzR5-lo8xxneu-sKOMdebHotWYZsk5Mtle3dBbFQ8bbPb25BFXFYcP7ci_fHuOdlnehGSLPTaWHnjsaeSGcAq7YDM/" ISMAP USEMAP="#MAXTEDTRAVELS-2"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="65,75,8" title="Exeter"> <br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="102,63,8" title="Wilton"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="120,76,8" title="Portsmouth"> <br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="144,136,8" title="Trouville & Deauville" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="105,142,8" title="Regnéville" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="116,142,8" title="Abbaye de Hambye" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy.html"> <br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="123,135,8" title="Bayeux" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="135,140,8" title="Caen" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="126,147,8" title="Clécy" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="147,162,8" title="Sées" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="197,193,8" title="Gien" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"> <br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="239,212,8" title="Vézelay" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="282,229,8" title="Champagne-sur-Loue" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="285,232,8" title="Arbois" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/normandy-and-franche-comte.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="284,265,8" title="Annecy" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="280,269,8" title="Gorges de Fier" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="326,253,8" title="Salgesch" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="307,265,8" title="Chamonix" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="314,262,8" title="Col de la Forclaz" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="348,248,8" title="Simplon Pass" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="359,259,8" title="Baveno" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-annecy-to-lake-maggiore.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="365,260,8" title="Lake Maggiore, Borromee Islands, Pallanza" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-maggiore-and-milan.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="375,278,8" title="Milan" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-maggiore-and-milan.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="398,265,8" title="Iseo" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-iseo-and-brescia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="402,272,8" title="Brescia" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-iseo-and-brescia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="404,262,8" title="Cislano" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/04/lake-iseo-and-brescia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="416,272,8" title="Peschiera & Lake Garda" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/verona-and-vicenza.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="424,274,8" title="Verona" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/verona-and-vicenza.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="437,269,8" title="Vicenza" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/verona-and-vicenza.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="457,269,8" title="Venice" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/venice-and-aquilea.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="481,256,8" title="Aquilea" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/venice-and-aquilea.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="487,255,8" title="Duino" A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="495,258,8" title="Trieste" A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="502,255,8" title="Lipica" A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="506,249,8" title="Postojna" A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="502,249,8" title="Predjama" A HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/trieste-and-slovenia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="519,277,8" title="Krk" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/vrh-to-krk.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="555,314,8" title="Vodice" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="564,314,8" title="Skradin & Skradinski Buk" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="560,318,8" title="Sibenik" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="567,323,8" title="Primosten" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="572,328,8" title="Trogir" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="584,328,8" title="Stobrec" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/down-dalmatian-coast.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="579,325,8" title="Split" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/split-and-dubrovnik.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="630,350,8" title="Dubrovnik" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/split-and-dubrovnik.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="614,340,8" title="Magistrala" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="618,326,8" title="Mostar" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="616,318,8" title="Neretva Canyon" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="623,303,8" title="Sarajevo" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="610,257,8" title="Slavonski Brod" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/bosnia.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="608,222,8" title="Pécs" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/from-croatia-into-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="615,212,8" title="Szekszárd" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/from-croatia-into-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="588,196,8" title="Tihany" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/from-croatia-into-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="606,179,8" title="Székesféhervár" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="619,164,8" title="Budapest" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="591,184,8" title="Veszprém" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="592,292,8" title="Balatonfüred" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="581,201,8" title="Badacsony & Hegymagas" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/05/balaton-and-budapest.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="575,207,8" title="Keszthely" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="570,204,8" title="Héviz" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="559,187,8" title="Szombathely" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="561,176,8" title="Köszeg" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="576,168,8" title="Gyömöre" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-north-west-hungary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="566,150,8" title="Bratislava" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="563,143,8" title="Modra" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="562,135,8" title="Senica" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="559,130,8" title="Hodonin" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="533,115,8" title="Trebric" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/bratislava.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="495,98,8" title="Benesov & Konopiste" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/prague-and-karlovy-vary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="488,96,8" title="Jesenice" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/prague-and-karlovy-vary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="488,89,8" title="Prague" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/prague-and-karlovy-vary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="452,86,8" title="Karoly Vary" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/prague-and-karlovy-vary.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="450,80,8" title="Potucky" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="440,70,8" title="Zwickau" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="428,64,8" title="Gera" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="412,65,8" title="Weimar" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="416,61,8" title="Apolda" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/down-but-not-out-in-germany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="403,47,8" title="Bad Frankenhausen" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="394,37,8" title="Wernigerode" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="386,30,8" title="Goslar" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="381,22,8" title="Salzgitter Bad" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="385,35,8" title="Okertal" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="381,44,8" title="Seeburger See & Ebergötzen" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="373,44,8" title="Göttingen" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/goslar-and-gottingen.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="373,81,8" title="Fulda" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/fulda-and-frankfurt.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="357,100,8" title="Frankfurt am Main" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/fulda-and-frankfurt.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="350,97,8" title="Bad Homburg" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/06/fulda-and-frankfurt.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="325,109,8" title="Lorch" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="321,103,8" title="Lorelei & Sankt Goar" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="311,101,8" title="Burg Eltz" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="311.106,8" title="Cochem" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="305,120,8" title="Saarburg" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/rhine-and-moselle.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="299,115,8" title="Trier" 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title="Saint-Vaast-la-Hogue" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/caen-and-cotentin.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="111,118,8" title="Barfleur" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/caen-and-cotentin.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="98,119,8" title="Cap de la Hague, Omonville, Joburg" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/caen-and-cotentin.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="101,124,8" title="Vauville" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/caen-and-cotentin.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="104,129,8" title="Carteret" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="108,132,8" title="Lessay" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="108,140,8" title="Coutances" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="107,146,8" title="Granville" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="111,156,8" title="Avranches" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="102,156,8" title="Mont-St.-Michel" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="103,161,8" title="Pontorson" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="115,162,8" title="Mortain" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotentin-and-mont-st-michel.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="124,162,8" title="Domfront" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="130,162,8" title="Bagnoles-de-L'Orne" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="137,163,8" title="Carrouges" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="137,148,8" title="Falaise" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="118,132,8" title="Port-en-Bessin" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/07/calvados.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="162,201,8" title="Pocé-sur-Cisse" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="171,204,8" title="Chaumont" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="163,208,8" title="Amboise" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="178,200,8" title="Chambord" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="168,224,8" title="Chedigny" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="171,214,8" title="Chenonceau" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/loire.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="109,206,8" title="Ancenis" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="102,209,8" title="Nantes" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="81,202,8" title="La Roche-Bernard" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="64,190,8" title="Port-Louis & Lorient" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="54,187,8" title="Pont-Aven" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="48,183,8" title="Concarneau" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="48,175,8" title="Rosporden" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/southern-brittany.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="44,170,8" title="Pleyben" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="42,158,8" title="Saint-Thégonnec & Guimiliau" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="46,165,8" title="Huelgoat" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="34,155,8" title="Guissény" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="30,161,8" title="Brest" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="34,160,8" title="Landerneau" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="49,156,8" title="Morlaix" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="45,152,8" title="Roscoff" HREF="http://modestine2.blogspot.com/2007/08/finistere.html"><br /><AREA SHAPE="CIRCLE" COORDS="49,86,8" title="Plymouth"> <br /></MAP>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-3914235625941082262007-08-07T09:57:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.028+00:00Finistere<B>Thursday 26th July 2007, Guisseny, Brittany</B><br />It rained all night and our pitch was a muddy quagmire this morning. Surprisingly, and to our great relief, Modestine did not get bogged down and by the time we reached the notaire's office in Briec the rain had been replaced by a blustery wind that has continued for most of the day. <br /><br />Of course at the notaire's the only person who could help us was on leave until next Tuesday. As we are returning to England on Monday the secretary agreed to pass on a letter from us to our friend, via the notaire on her return to work. <br /><br />As we were in the heart of Brittany we decided to investigate the interior with its forests, rivers and moorland region known as the Montaignes Noires. Inland Brittany is known as the Argoat (woodland) whereas the coastal part is the Armor (sea). <br /><br />First we stopped at Pleyben where we discovered the first of a series of several granite churches, elaborately carved and decorated in the 16th and 17th centuries. Together they form a circuit through the Argoat known as Les Enclos Paroissiaux (parish closes). Each enclos has a church, an ornate belfry, an ossuary, a calvary and a triumphal entrance. They are all heavily carved and decorated and surrounded by a granite wall to safeguard the graveyard and keep out pigs, dogs and other animals generally found within the streets of villages during the 16th century. It became a challenge in this part of Brittany for each parish to attempt to produce a more decorated and original calvary than those of the neighbouring parishes and the results are quite stunning. After travelling so far around Europe and seeing so many rare and beautiful sights, these little granite churches and their religious decoration still have the power to astonish us with their simple beauty.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuhRXn4NAQPcPFbPJsJnKKS9i8SB0vJONPQaiVYLry23wd2kDVCXKFykK3xtkJ4JqFRwm5BrNk87j8qdAzh9_Y7RpCAGwirdWT_SmmcvbHADv8wKAJGmNvIXX6GUrThfc1D8dcjgsicQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3053.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuhRXn4NAQPcPFbPJsJnKKS9i8SB0vJONPQaiVYLry23wd2kDVCXKFykK3xtkJ4JqFRwm5BrNk87j8qdAzh9_Y7RpCAGwirdWT_SmmcvbHADv8wKAJGmNvIXX6GUrThfc1D8dcjgsicQ/s400/YIMG_3053.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880668160942114" /></a><CENTER>Parish enclos, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHyQg5euOHObuQlbhl4gQdalCXv34LY4-Tt5jR_6UhspcA9Drp5xkC2pnGN4qu4s3ervYi_36ja0dXxNislTqxXwS8CQb8ue3ZOp5-7J7sAGSNwI-NM-fl9HDWBwlHnFi3gCnzvKNYOU/s1280-h/YIMG_3052.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHyQg5euOHObuQlbhl4gQdalCXv34LY4-Tt5jR_6UhspcA9Drp5xkC2pnGN4qu4s3ervYi_36ja0dXxNislTqxXwS8CQb8ue3ZOp5-7J7sAGSNwI-NM-fl9HDWBwlHnFi3gCnzvKNYOU/s400/YIMG_3052.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880672455909426" /></a><CENTER>Church tower and cloché, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNtd_7jc5X9xxJoIyGWgtNpp5HRUkVYzgaLQqrzbdNsbY4uVo0T_1_yb0Pt9vQQAYFINnduhLPBm1TcnwB7I-BnDcFtXp9NCQJex2YxiUiZyz2ydpYa1QGoAS8biFNwnV81LZLLeGXuA/s1280-h/YIMG_3030.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNtd_7jc5X9xxJoIyGWgtNpp5HRUkVYzgaLQqrzbdNsbY4uVo0T_1_yb0Pt9vQQAYFINnduhLPBm1TcnwB7I-BnDcFtXp9NCQJex2YxiUiZyz2ydpYa1QGoAS8biFNwnV81LZLLeGXuA/s400/YIMG_3030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880685340811330" /></a><CENTER>Triumphal entrance, Calvary and church, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMkwRIi6lsrrJD78pfOvyLcMiMEg1zKaUTurTI-JcSJGPVVCuhzY7w6P1qrBcVEWn2o6C3FZmAFERBm_Hc9S7DlPsJnx02vShH1oETXIWAj072qJVmG2HkmxTEtBRMHzshwAwNn5_bkw/s1280-h/YIMG_3034.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMkwRIi6lsrrJD78pfOvyLcMiMEg1zKaUTurTI-JcSJGPVVCuhzY7w6P1qrBcVEWn2o6C3FZmAFERBm_Hc9S7DlPsJnx02vShH1oETXIWAj072qJVmG2HkmxTEtBRMHzshwAwNn5_bkw/s400/YIMG_3034.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880689635778642" /></a><CENTER>Detail of the Calvary, carved in granite, Pleben</CENTER><br />The churches at that time played a pivotal role in village life. Few country people could read or write and the stained glass windows, symbolic friezes, wooden carvings and painted saints inside the church, together with the figures on the granite calvary in the churchyard, interpreted the Christian Faith for people. They were picture books in wood, glass and stone, the <I>bandes dessinées</I> of their time teaching parishioners in graphic images about the Bible and the life hereafter. They show scenes from the life of Christ and the saints, frequently dressed in 16th century contemporary costume. Mixed with the figures of the saints and tableaux from the books of the Bible are frequently found Celtic strapwork patterns and pagan symbols – lion's heads, grotesques and monsters representing Hell. Beside each church stands the ossuary. Originally people were buried in the churchyard for a period of time before their bones were exhumed and placed in the ossuary - frequently stacked in reliquaries – to create further burial space for new occupants. The ossuaries were normally decorated with carved figures representing Death or with skulls and bones as a reminder to the faithful of what lay ahead for them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWKrB2XmQf7E8OimgX2SXmYwKDJJHAq72WOmJ23ZmXqAXI6UsMlTVvV0MkFN09_ebC8hYizZEjVj0BmVt1AqydA8ozaXeMq3rmgTkmAf-9hPRiGAHCTy90QHTKbRoMKDsBcfS-sycOfo/s1280-h/YIMG_3035.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWKrB2XmQf7E8OimgX2SXmYwKDJJHAq72WOmJ23ZmXqAXI6UsMlTVvV0MkFN09_ebC8hYizZEjVj0BmVt1AqydA8ozaXeMq3rmgTkmAf-9hPRiGAHCTy90QHTKbRoMKDsBcfS-sycOfo/s400/YIMG_3035.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880698225713250" /></a><CENTER>Church porch, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHj099yq_oMHFwUvgbC2G3rTryISz2DUzTSgmZ-u0Q4Pfbkt1ZcVqCAQE5M2VwgUxUtdLLbaOKe54eIdP6DnghkaAwdgIOZFmE-_ItwJrENgr-xfZeKdwBmcMHQIdcX7jrPpqNyAjuaM/s1280-h/YIMG_3036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHj099yq_oMHFwUvgbC2G3rTryISz2DUzTSgmZ-u0Q4Pfbkt1ZcVqCAQE5M2VwgUxUtdLLbaOKe54eIdP6DnghkaAwdgIOZFmE-_ItwJrENgr-xfZeKdwBmcMHQIdcX7jrPpqNyAjuaM/s400/YIMG_3036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880985988522098" /></a><CENTER>Inside the church porch, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-m_7pP8INSTH4fFB7jp7x926SGmMpIZ30X2iFEmCR5aoXpEwB7PO-pYCkcC8Jn-zs4bSr-8PrDPUxnJ1n8jqKnbJE2fa0lmFzSUdlLhKlnRX0fWBNZ6n0GfWXN61gFlccXzaFtsAbDI/s1280-h/YIMG_3037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-m_7pP8INSTH4fFB7jp7x926SGmMpIZ30X2iFEmCR5aoXpEwB7PO-pYCkcC8Jn-zs4bSr-8PrDPUxnJ1n8jqKnbJE2fa0lmFzSUdlLhKlnRX0fWBNZ6n0GfWXN61gFlccXzaFtsAbDI/s400/YIMG_3037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880990283489410" /></a><CENTER>Figures inside the church, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49zLY4kdlEcdxvHIW2Gdvun3K9BYf4HxmkV-rP7RDTZBFG49rijjMhERtKkaQc6LBGy3RoD3PT3nd-xKaKJBFetPdoUpBQ1GDWdvoTozmUCnfG5doE6E0qykx8fvrhlk9qupGmYx2K_s/s1280-h/YIMG_3039.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49zLY4kdlEcdxvHIW2Gdvun3K9BYf4HxmkV-rP7RDTZBFG49rijjMhERtKkaQc6LBGy3RoD3PT3nd-xKaKJBFetPdoUpBQ1GDWdvoTozmUCnfG5doE6E0qykx8fvrhlk9qupGmYx2K_s/s400/YIMG_3039.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880994578456722" /></a><CENTER>Roof frieze inside the church, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42BNqoANQh6G6XgwIPRTxfxRA0GmcE5zJtsUkmWrfnmBTXnQ_do-5xOBhZ8_5kACDr9gz71xqkAH4vT1P_yr87v6CS_xlUhcBrmHNNZv1nOA205dRNombZrsOjEQYkckcPhkB3cOTAHA/s1280-h/YIMG_3040.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42BNqoANQh6G6XgwIPRTxfxRA0GmcE5zJtsUkmWrfnmBTXnQ_do-5xOBhZ8_5kACDr9gz71xqkAH4vT1P_yr87v6CS_xlUhcBrmHNNZv1nOA205dRNombZrsOjEQYkckcPhkB3cOTAHA/s400/YIMG_3040.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095880998873424034" /></a><CENTER>Organ loft, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1Yy220JyNdIMS-eEdQiG_yR7GT6cd-ZhXozu4BbhFM0MDjpqY7yKGFksf3qfECcZd8vxHcnZakjoP8LRYyvjOQkVhXy9It7rzYo36CWkiK3h54ZfwNp-WPrF_y2eMbc6clP5oOjV3K8/s1280-h/YIMG_3041.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1Yy220JyNdIMS-eEdQiG_yR7GT6cd-ZhXozu4BbhFM0MDjpqY7yKGFksf3qfECcZd8vxHcnZakjoP8LRYyvjOQkVhXy9It7rzYo36CWkiK3h54ZfwNp-WPrF_y2eMbc6clP5oOjV3K8/s400/YIMG_3041.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881007463358642" /></a><CENTER>17th century confessional, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkK7sBQFmcicJ0ftiVt4rPnxwaTHA30do7gW-vTDA1a8nl_LuOs6PoSPhXpLPuzwU1XOSZ1_stwM7wMt1BfxbV7_gF9fN7HHAnKQoiyXMMnO1Rn9oeBVcAwqu5KDs_9RNaNcx3wqxYiYs/s1280-h/YIMG_3043.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkK7sBQFmcicJ0ftiVt4rPnxwaTHA30do7gW-vTDA1a8nl_LuOs6PoSPhXpLPuzwU1XOSZ1_stwM7wMt1BfxbV7_gF9fN7HHAnKQoiyXMMnO1Rn9oeBVcAwqu5KDs_9RNaNcx3wqxYiYs/s400/YIMG_3043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881329585905858" /></a><CENTER>High altar, Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPzPdafxl09D5bTQR7zYObD4RCFzMMrkNsyEowQ49yj_HIGXFbv11wqYbOeehQBF27GNiAJn2Lp1_V412wHkwlOhWsxOI1rb31dgLvmi2N2Anj7i3wLM6ptixHM2cGnUerM4a5ikNSkw/s1280-h/YIMG_3044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPzPdafxl09D5bTQR7zYObD4RCFzMMrkNsyEowQ49yj_HIGXFbv11wqYbOeehQBF27GNiAJn2Lp1_V412wHkwlOhWsxOI1rb31dgLvmi2N2Anj7i3wLM6ptixHM2cGnUerM4a5ikNSkw/s400/YIMG_3044.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881342470807762" /></a><CENTER>Detail from a side altar, (note "modern" dress.) Pleben</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9PdTEa9EWy5kzIk4DQm6vU8pegm5oqWtt417JJ2Lf58ccMKuebGW7SF2cahYsS-OLgZAeGKJY5A6oNs4Nq11vyGQ9ifCpoh4m6X_PwfxXxp2NV7_BijVnHbX4Db8XXqdd_NBIBEKQ28/s1280-h/YIMG_3048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9PdTEa9EWy5kzIk4DQm6vU8pegm5oqWtt417JJ2Lf58ccMKuebGW7SF2cahYsS-OLgZAeGKJY5A6oNs4Nq11vyGQ9ifCpoh4m6X_PwfxXxp2NV7_BijVnHbX4Db8XXqdd_NBIBEKQ28/s400/YIMG_3048.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881355355709666" /></a><CENTER>Roof detail showing carving of a monster holding the supporting timbers, Pleben</CENTER><br />Having been fascinated by the enclos at Pleyben we determined to spend the rest of the day exploring the countryside as we made our way around the circuit visiting some of the other churches on the way. If collectively Breton enclos are not yet on the Unesco list of World Heritage sites they most definitely should be. Other particularly beautiful enclos are to be seen at Guimiliau and St.Thégonnec.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEJCKphlhVfl7hcPUHar77hTZ0ZOn2-COwlC8L-Q4NjcJL7hbP7QJMmAHfFUg3xmujd6O1e7Ii2JAinpqvTB_xAy1xyjwKMAr0cv5y-7ViwLNnfi7I7I6X7vuJJ4o1uLzEjgdH8879Qw/s1280-h/YIMG_3076.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEJCKphlhVfl7hcPUHar77hTZ0ZOn2-COwlC8L-Q4NjcJL7hbP7QJMmAHfFUg3xmujd6O1e7Ii2JAinpqvTB_xAy1xyjwKMAr0cv5y-7ViwLNnfi7I7I6X7vuJJ4o1uLzEjgdH8879Qw/s400/YIMG_3076.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881368240611570" /></a><CENTER>Enclos at Guimiliau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHtJvYjVxUTyAtlAO_-F8kT1nnbTcBFNqVuzO4fMrJed0Upmk6qoLZ-_bPs2DAJGhIEX7C3J4RHMRyMQS6kD0j_-_ouFPQuMeJK_fsn-2aot9h_D5TZyIQlYSBKzcXDS_JK9nAq-7XN4/s1280-h/YIMG_3074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHtJvYjVxUTyAtlAO_-F8kT1nnbTcBFNqVuzO4fMrJed0Upmk6qoLZ-_bPs2DAJGhIEX7C3J4RHMRyMQS6kD0j_-_ouFPQuMeJK_fsn-2aot9h_D5TZyIQlYSBKzcXDS_JK9nAq-7XN4/s400/YIMG_3074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881372535578882" /></a><br /><CENTER>Detail of the calvare, Guimiliau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdlZVhqWKkVxdKZWogkJDkrTGF-imrD2m9NlyMMHYu87BipXOYi4izYDgitArbWN3FGUgkkPDfmbD-_hVGOdmUnioE24iqTEBa5DzQtj_qfHtDtTWjcPatovJD_MaVLO9Oh5XRVAwxjQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3086.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdlZVhqWKkVxdKZWogkJDkrTGF-imrD2m9NlyMMHYu87BipXOYi4izYDgitArbWN3FGUgkkPDfmbD-_hVGOdmUnioE24iqTEBa5DzQtj_qfHtDtTWjcPatovJD_MaVLO9Oh5XRVAwxjQ/s400/YIMG_3086.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881741902766354" /></a><CENTER>Altar at Guimiliau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mGwG5i3WkS9ebQOqytdt3OOnrTO1Jhu4zfQnTT55WKdE75WR_wfXlYd5klcAOtEwy3M7UJkwETiLAPxvG7_YCUfn66Jm89SJp5KEXcUjvbK_pVyZhXdpPHynF1_OJVvO_vaXWDPaEHo/s1280-h/YIMG_3103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mGwG5i3WkS9ebQOqytdt3OOnrTO1Jhu4zfQnTT55WKdE75WR_wfXlYd5klcAOtEwy3M7UJkwETiLAPxvG7_YCUfn66Jm89SJp5KEXcUjvbK_pVyZhXdpPHynF1_OJVvO_vaXWDPaEHo/s400/YIMG_3103.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881754787668258" /></a><CENTER>Church and triumphal entrace at St.Thégonnec</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadAe6QZUBvJYXy-c1BU-aT3mtDV8l3dh_lN3_8isLG9uqZly8d529uE8eWuWwwpXVfY1VjkvbVNzLSb2DR-cxy7lVkhPSQbvzLtDhBZsauoVT4Np5Si31mcP-24jX3cWhtgRPVMeBEkQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3090.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadAe6QZUBvJYXy-c1BU-aT3mtDV8l3dh_lN3_8isLG9uqZly8d529uE8eWuWwwpXVfY1VjkvbVNzLSb2DR-cxy7lVkhPSQbvzLtDhBZsauoVT4Np5Si31mcP-24jX3cWhtgRPVMeBEkQ/s400/YIMG_3090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881759082635570" /></a><CENTER>Detail of the calvary at St.Thégonnec</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOEQXTbtabqjuT7rjgoS54sgsBIpId6n6RB7KJuFsymWURLUcQrcmiRmmDl8_4geHEwLWe47Zkc2f665il_Q4dwrf2F3Wu4A0pp3c7LABjlzOV9KRWl2j_pJ1CvZ9BzFisXJJNCVW3_E/s1280-h/YIMG_3102.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOEQXTbtabqjuT7rjgoS54sgsBIpId6n6RB7KJuFsymWURLUcQrcmiRmmDl8_4geHEwLWe47Zkc2f665il_Q4dwrf2F3Wu4A0pp3c7LABjlzOV9KRWl2j_pJ1CvZ9BzFisXJJNCVW3_E/s400/YIMG_3102.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881767672570178" /></a><CENTER>Reliquary of St.Thégonnec in the ossuary</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLNxWkfjtKmYIj6Ki3ofmrntm-Xo0ydnhQSzENOynyOz4rm85Qr7Sadks-kMK3pM8Tf2NxXZtwge0DcP1mRenHYEDEvYP8pOfG6vUH2ydLUh24L6JdbiiiTTfe8mpGF45bTP-ZXASV4k/s1280-h/YIMG_3060.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLNxWkfjtKmYIj6Ki3ofmrntm-Xo0ydnhQSzENOynyOz4rm85Qr7Sadks-kMK3pM8Tf2NxXZtwge0DcP1mRenHYEDEvYP8pOfG6vUH2ydLUh24L6JdbiiiTTfe8mpGF45bTP-ZXASV4k/s400/YIMG_3060.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095881776262504786" /></a><CENTER>Typical ossuary beside the church of an unremembered hamlet</CENTER><br />Our travels took us around the deserted interior of Brittany with its green hedgerows and quiet country lanes. At Huelgoat however, in the wooded heart of the region, there were many summer visitors wrapped in warm waterproof jackets slithering through the mud along the mossy woodland paths where several of Brittany's renown beauty spots are to be found. Amongst a chaos of huge granite boulders and flowing water known as the Virgin's kitchen pots, we discovered a metal ladder fixed to the rocks and below, once our eyes adjusted to the deep gloom, we found a low, narrow, slippery passage through the rocks to a ledge overlooking a thundering cascade of water known, predictably as the Devil's cauldron. Further along the forested path we heard the haunting sound of flutes and bagpipes as a couple of young men busked beneath the ancient oak trees.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZn0j9SBWD_Fjonn8E3OTOvRkpsmUby-pRmWRE2OrhzjX68li1lQlNO1MdbabkfIINLEcZ4NHTLiKjQ7Pj9RUnJ6nYfYHF1wgaFpANbtSKqnL49f_WFJGA0Hgz8bvAgDGcDy8YnKcmSM/s1280-h/YIMG_3068.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZn0j9SBWD_Fjonn8E3OTOvRkpsmUby-pRmWRE2OrhzjX68li1lQlNO1MdbabkfIINLEcZ4NHTLiKjQ7Pj9RUnJ6nYfYHF1wgaFpANbtSKqnL49f_WFJGA0Hgz8bvAgDGcDy8YnKcmSM/s400/YIMG_3068.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882313133416802" /></a><CENTER>Woodland boulders, Huelgoat</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJLVsEdWAyi6u388YQyPvSLSJEnLLV2DYztoIUwpq9AmqlHYhubIjQweCQvPRqINFSDZUHaeWCej2NBolaazsitywyNcF9xMy-iwZwIlubxYKPAPjfdrmNNjYrKxwfdRXxeyA76UKhkg/s1280-h/YIMG_3066.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJLVsEdWAyi6u388YQyPvSLSJEnLLV2DYztoIUwpq9AmqlHYhubIjQweCQvPRqINFSDZUHaeWCej2NBolaazsitywyNcF9xMy-iwZwIlubxYKPAPjfdrmNNjYrKxwfdRXxeyA76UKhkg/s400/YIMG_3066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882317428384114" /></a><CENTER>Rocking the logan stone, Huelgoat</CENTER><br />We were later than anticipated arriving in Guissény but nobody minded. Joël was not alone and we were overjoyed to discover his son Stephan and daughter-in-law Cathérine, whom we had missed in Thionville when we visited Luxembourg, are here with their children Gwladys and Donatien (typical Breton names). Joël's second son Emanuel was also here to greet us though he currently lives in nearby Lesnevan. He used to visit us in Exeter as a teenager and he and our son Neil have retained a friendship. Danielle's cousin Annie from southern Brittany was also visiting with her husband and grandchildren. There were thirteen of us at supper! We all spent a brilliant evening with happy smiles and laughter, tinged at moments by sadness that Danielle can no longer be a living part of it. How she would have adored her lovely grandchildren. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhylOlsDs-fJW3aKuBw1DIbClmD1SQIiUpDstxMtTS8dvKDyX56DfHGzwmKldXOvuXYyvpNq_0prAZAsr3ZoxWYKYrL-ZREdpyXca68vyiayhYqWnqn0t9VU6OXPdt6WoShHT6P_dLwY/s1280-h/YIMG_3104.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhylOlsDs-fJW3aKuBw1DIbClmD1SQIiUpDstxMtTS8dvKDyX56DfHGzwmKldXOvuXYyvpNq_0prAZAsr3ZoxWYKYrL-ZREdpyXca68vyiayhYqWnqn0t9VU6OXPdt6WoShHT6P_dLwY/s400/YIMG_3104.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882326018318722" /></a><CENTER>Donatien</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCfKUXq21xuTc7anFG6ys1kxpqKMAYxDbWt44vEOReSFu-aw-6PXiKvtVu1LQoBstRGHk0WSBkj6SP7qVSPxgtrvUoEAuuvzTKECatV_BjwsQRgnkCPkSwPE6VK1gqX8SKr_tZAsErWA/s1280-h/YIMG_3110.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCfKUXq21xuTc7anFG6ys1kxpqKMAYxDbWt44vEOReSFu-aw-6PXiKvtVu1LQoBstRGHk0WSBkj6SP7qVSPxgtrvUoEAuuvzTKECatV_BjwsQRgnkCPkSwPE6VK1gqX8SKr_tZAsErWA/s400/YIMG_3110.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882334608253330" /></a><CENTER> Joël and family</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9qYXOXQ1YwSASv5FQ-yIX6FwpD2b7w2ekOCPFzzwDh3TCTAJlTMQk1xJvW2NSZewtxsPl0ikmvo1V1jZWeu47aRgpp4SKOlQyu5UHJyUDKJ2m4Oft8TI6uk-aOk3whyphenhyphen7GT1Qq1iSICs/s1280-h/YIMG_3112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil9qYXOXQ1YwSASv5FQ-yIX6FwpD2b7w2ekOCPFzzwDh3TCTAJlTMQk1xJvW2NSZewtxsPl0ikmvo1V1jZWeu47aRgpp4SKOlQyu5UHJyUDKJ2m4Oft8TI6uk-aOk3whyphenhyphen7GT1Qq1iSICs/s400/YIMG_3112.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882343198187938" /></a><CENTER> Gwladys helps her mum Cathérine with the washing up</CENTER><br /><B>Friday 27th July 2007, Guissény, Brittany</B><br />(Guissény has been described in our earlier travels with Modestine. See <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/04/guissny.html">Tuesday 11th April 2006</a>)<br /><br />Joël was up before 6am and off with his friend Marcel to check his lobster pots. We were still at breakfast when he returned with a large bucket containing seven spider crabs and several ormers. Ormers are large, rather meaty shell fish that can occasionally be found on the rocky shoreline of Brittany and the Channel Islands. They are becoming increasingly rare. The children were fascinated to see the crabs clambering around in the bucket and Stephan soon had them cooking in a massive saucepan. (Crabs, not children!) He and Joël then disappeared up to the village to give blood at the mobile unit.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfryaQT-xE4hzfFGNprafwyPr8K_Kr8q-IyyKMFk-ybSV0mHKBT49n2ygFSr-8Y_XiKXQpZoVUH-zPYLV1iStejgk_wcJr-ntt3fnzNm7t4QbGI3AXpL6qgO0XSr7Dm9u7vg_DxSQ-9sg/s1280-h/YIMG_3114.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfryaQT-xE4hzfFGNprafwyPr8K_Kr8q-IyyKMFk-ybSV0mHKBT49n2ygFSr-8Y_XiKXQpZoVUH-zPYLV1iStejgk_wcJr-ntt3fnzNm7t4QbGI3AXpL6qgO0XSr7Dm9u7vg_DxSQ-9sg/s400/YIMG_3114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882699680473522" /></a><CENTER>The children investigate Joël's catch</CENTER><br />Meanwhile, we went for a morning stroll around the familiar granite village and to the churchyard to see the tombstone that has been erected for Danielle since our brief visit last autumn after she died from breast cancer. Guissény church holds so many memories for us and we had mixed emotions there today. It does not yet seem real that we are here, staying in Danielle's home with her husband and sons and playing with her grandchildren, when she is no longer with us. She has been a close friend to Jill since we first met at Champagne-sur-Loue as teenagers. It is good that the Guissény churchyard is right in the heart of the village with friends and family passing nearby every day as they go about their shopping so she is still naturally a part of the community.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPwspUm2irMGN5pInyogRAs7xZCoAenAoT_3afm_F_mzHklWY2jBPbPeAPg15DegTNmvAtriDB2TApyc7xH3HUq3GSR-vxhc6r2zBmAyAqKs96-4uPhF9Ab8VYgdUTknrk4jANzCccj0/s1600-h/YIMG_3135.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPwspUm2irMGN5pInyogRAs7xZCoAenAoT_3afm_F_mzHklWY2jBPbPeAPg15DegTNmvAtriDB2TApyc7xH3HUq3GSR-vxhc6r2zBmAyAqKs96-4uPhF9Ab8VYgdUTknrk4jANzCccj0/s320/YIMG_3135.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096013477139670002" /></a><CENTER>Gwladys visits her mamig, Guissény churchyard</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9GYbVvFfzby0MsdrLpI0l-ABprc8SEWRYLV5B-FFpR6ZrWUM8FYd7KrzKgIYBYxn8oCMs2NmR3XMsUuQItSRwW38q8r93ZPrscIIUY2vXh3F_te_LqeyN7EF9dQZPQ5hP3H3WhyR928/s1280-h/YIMG_3118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh9GYbVvFfzby0MsdrLpI0l-ABprc8SEWRYLV5B-FFpR6ZrWUM8FYd7KrzKgIYBYxn8oCMs2NmR3XMsUuQItSRwW38q8r93ZPrscIIUY2vXh3F_te_LqeyN7EF9dQZPQ5hP3H3WhyR928/s400/YIMG_3118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882729745244626" /></a><CENTER>Bell tower and calvary at Guissény</CENTER><br />Back home Emanuel had arrived for lunch. The plan for the afternoon had been for us all to take out Joël's boat – also named Danielle - for a sail around the little harbour at Le Curnic. However, the wind had risen again during the morning and visibility was not brilliant so the plan was abandoned. Instead Emanuel disappeared into the workshop where he is busy restoring furniture made by his grandfather, Danielle's father, a master joiner from the Jura, ready for his new flat at St. Pol de Léon. Meanwhile Joël trimmed the garden hedges while Jill raked the clippings into piles and Ian and Stephan loaded them into the van and disposed of them at the local tip. We all felt quite relieved when the rain returned in earnest, forcing us to abandon work until tomorrow.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT_su_URiD5RM0tWlMMRWhYakK47R19eM6ze8jj5FSl6rcIAFk3euT9kFPiYXWYM9XqYaE3Zfxpzqb96IpMW7OTZnUb4bWxJaetnvOYUiK2FJhugkK3TNZjPVAsE7xXUXZZ9TMGAf0dc/s1280-h/YIMG_3126.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT_su_URiD5RM0tWlMMRWhYakK47R19eM6ze8jj5FSl6rcIAFk3euT9kFPiYXWYM9XqYaE3Zfxpzqb96IpMW7OTZnUb4bWxJaetnvOYUiK2FJhugkK3TNZjPVAsE7xXUXZZ9TMGAf0dc/s400/YIMG_3126.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882742630146530" /></a><CENTER>Stephan, Gwladys and Donatien, Guissény</CENTER><br />Back indoors we translated the English instructions for replacing the reeds and tuning-in the drones on Joël's Breton bagpipes. Rather surprisingly they are manufactured in Australia! There is presumably a workshop near Alice Springs called <I>Didgeridoos and Breton bagpipes R Us</I>! We now have an in-depth technical vocabulary in both French and Breton concerning the Biniou that is quite probably unique in the English speaking world! Meanwhile the children kept us all entertained and gave us an initiation into grandparenthood. They are incredibly lively and found English nursery rhymes and games such fun they kept us repeating them all afternoon! Gwladys can now chant a couple of phrases that are recognisably English even if she has no idea what they mean.<br /><br />Late this evening Cathérine's brother, his wife and daughter arrived from Mayenne to spend a week's holiday by the sea. They have brought more rain and wind with them, though they are still hoping to take the boat out tomorrow morning. There are ten of us staying in the house at the moment. So much for our anxiety that we would find Joël lost in such a large house without Danielle when we arrived! <br /><br /><B>Saturday 28th July 2007, Guissény, Brittany</B><br />The wind dropped and the rain disappeared during the night so this morning Stephan and his brother-in-law were up early and had the boat out. Meanwhile, we drove into Lesnevan to buy some champagne for Emanuel to celebrate getting his own flat, some wine for us and some cheap diesel - about 66p per litre - for Modestine before we return home<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIhA4bVxevYeMWml4QEZBqNuXSOuAuI-JKWCzt_6kN-qwQAFrPGEXQzFQAq7Ji9gypQci774WK8u4Epeg8dQUDFCjOEtrvF3hyphenhyphenES39GjTvnXeHaBJwCG2_InXBEa6FB_cJCB0cwtZb_M/s1280-h/YIMG_3132.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIhA4bVxevYeMWml4QEZBqNuXSOuAuI-JKWCzt_6kN-qwQAFrPGEXQzFQAq7Ji9gypQci774WK8u4Epeg8dQUDFCjOEtrvF3hyphenhyphenES39GjTvnXeHaBJwCG2_InXBEa6FB_cJCB0cwtZb_M/s400/YIMG_3132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095882764104983026" /></a><CENTER>Emanuel and Jill</CENTER><br />At lunchtime the pink, dismembered crabs appeared in a couple of huge bowls on the dinner table. The next couple of hours were spent with metal hooks teasing the crabmeat out from body cavities and from within the joints of the long, spidery legs. There is a surprising amount in your average crab though neither of us really felt it was worth the effort. Bretons are surprised that so little seafood is eaten in England. We were told that English fishermen tend to bring their catches of crabs and lobsters over to Roscoff to sell as there is a more ready market here. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0em8J1lVO9TIZc0TeJZh90RA8-gZbtBjUTScauGQHppijBISO-AnKodkaGNq1rsab34aPjMMQ2ErLX8HZBistE8Alxo7u028rrSM5PG3UYHrtfl7Pj-Ty9B2VXguUEJ1hoiGJpBIztw/s1600-h/YIMG_3127.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0em8J1lVO9TIZc0TeJZh90RA8-gZbtBjUTScauGQHppijBISO-AnKodkaGNq1rsab34aPjMMQ2ErLX8HZBistE8Alxo7u028rrSM5PG3UYHrtfl7Pj-Ty9B2VXguUEJ1hoiGJpBIztw/s320/YIMG_3127.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098503866681615362" /></a><CENTER>Ellen, Donatien and a plate of crabs</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOPjOh_YVMu9wug3HbdGzamje-PTShW9anVrB70cT8jpyjXJR4L8vC19CEXlT2tHP0WMkY3OWg9mhrOlG-pPCBVsZXyCNTuAcMNO4p8CXdSco8NOw24PS1De1LRm9JiWK3ij5VKci_VQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3129.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOPjOh_YVMu9wug3HbdGzamje-PTShW9anVrB70cT8jpyjXJR4L8vC19CEXlT2tHP0WMkY3OWg9mhrOlG-pPCBVsZXyCNTuAcMNO4p8CXdSco8NOw24PS1De1LRm9JiWK3ij5VKci_VQ/s400/YIMG_3129.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886367582544818" /></a><CENTER>Sociable lunch</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIenMSx9Perlorc6ySdD79nbCkWwJQa8bm1gdt9bBLwJ08F22Rm0FE74p3f1QhtrIFSIsvlJtXU71v01pyaotJNn_7flobAI2zy2-PDvGePBNj2VxoA58SrTwYIEEfwh01CRWfLl_tVo/s1280-h/YIMG_3130.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIenMSx9Perlorc6ySdD79nbCkWwJQa8bm1gdt9bBLwJ08F22Rm0FE74p3f1QhtrIFSIsvlJtXU71v01pyaotJNn_7flobAI2zy2-PDvGePBNj2VxoA58SrTwYIEEfwh01CRWfLl_tVo/s400/YIMG_3130.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886358992610210" /></a><CENTER>Emanuel with Jill and Ian</CENTER><br />It took several very sociable hours to finish the various courses of lunch, and the box of assorted cakes we'd purchased in Lesnevan were greeted with enthusiasm over the coffee. <br /><br />This weekend Guissény is having a celebration of the sea, to raise funds for the Guissény lifeboat down at the little harbour of le Curnic where Joel's fishing boat is moored. This includes blessing the sea, a display of the work of the French National Lifeboat Service, guessing the weight of a huge lobster in a tank, the village children reciting poems in Breton and some anarchic sort of dance that came close to rivalling our experience at the Trinidad Carnival at Couva - but less volubly! During the afternoon everyone except us drove through the village down to the cove to join in the festivities. Having enjoyed both porto and wine at lunch we decided it might be wiser to follow the coastal path on Hinge and Bracket instead. This was a lovely ride of a few kilometres with views out across the estuary of the little river Quillemadec, the white sandy beaches and the islets and rocks just off shore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyFGI_xfw9xcvD4g6SBaceZDo4xV7d-OULhjjHpiCHo3jUGObV1ovz3lIPnrGqhCm3Wno9U4bH0xMSOwiOiuBmNNmcU-uuItxnXgpeLcB98h0_p_nIuGxoFMLCayXc0dII0eSJRvi0fs/s1280-h/YIMG_3145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyFGI_xfw9xcvD4g6SBaceZDo4xV7d-OULhjjHpiCHo3jUGObV1ovz3lIPnrGqhCm3Wno9U4bH0xMSOwiOiuBmNNmcU-uuItxnXgpeLcB98h0_p_nIuGxoFMLCayXc0dII0eSJRvi0fs/s400/YIMG_3145.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886371877512130" /></a><CENTER>Harbour at le Curnic, Guissény</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1tLrWCcMO93L-bElNkphVKex8CPcMz5EtFo3mKtO_I8EB-c76fbZCDKcIAFPy0HWedV20YK7ZXtfF52KX7QoqsvO4-imf6fvy9U4mESVKPohEno14M3_yIR7B1PviAxbXzS8pyO8Un8/s1280-h/YIMG_3140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1tLrWCcMO93L-bElNkphVKex8CPcMz5EtFo3mKtO_I8EB-c76fbZCDKcIAFPy0HWedV20YK7ZXtfF52KX7QoqsvO4-imf6fvy9U4mESVKPohEno14M3_yIR7B1PviAxbXzS8pyO8Un8/s400/YIMG_3140.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886376172479442" /></a><CENTER>Entertainment or mayhem? Guissény</CENTER><br />We reached le Curnic in time to see the sea rescue dogs put through their paces. We've never heard of these before but they are apparently stationed along the Breton coast and provide a valuable service swimming out and towing back to shore small fishing and rowing boats in distress. They are to the French coast what the St. Bernard is to the Alps. They are huge, powerful swimmers working in perfect harmony with their wet-suited owners. Today they were towing back to the jetty boatloads of sea drenched volunteers.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZtLZJsDbgVqKyUgPn5D7Hu_zBwjLlVqgUNmD7ENJxIduSSJjnGuRTu5cLDoyjjAAJrdb-9WCtYPQgDNRknJBUuSOqhRnjjZeFNFVwYZWXn35RxLiZyF3PzeCCn2qUvtuQq6CHswYBsQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZtLZJsDbgVqKyUgPn5D7Hu_zBwjLlVqgUNmD7ENJxIduSSJjnGuRTu5cLDoyjjAAJrdb-9WCtYPQgDNRknJBUuSOqhRnjjZeFNFVwYZWXn35RxLiZyF3PzeCCn2qUvtuQq6CHswYBsQ/s400/YIMG_3136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095883902271316482" /></a><CENTER>Sea rescue dogs, Guissény</CENTER><br />Next we settled to hear an open air concert of sea shanties sung in both Breton and French. Of course almost everyone in the audience was related to somebody in the fishermen's choir so there was considerable cat-calling and joining in with the singing. Around us we heard people speaking Breton and the elderly man next to us told us he used to be a fisherman and his brother was in the choir. He shouted the chorus and waved his arms enthusiastically, jumping up from time to time to dance a few steps with the spontaneous line of dancers that were occupying the central aisle. His accent was almost incomprehensible in French but he proudly told us he spoke some German as during the war he had worked as forced labour for the Germans constructing blockhouses along the Breton coast.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nB7PJpvkucO8kUnb9ez7JAB_nKb7sA7Z3dmh5bEltu6IT4lR1B0849hqj1YVgJdcPThG6iuG-0dQYzV3okFwI14r3BZKkzvY-vs-33NotwvSoq2cwjSRZK_GOwh4BwgqMs8RamvAVdc/s1280-h/YIMG_3143.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nB7PJpvkucO8kUnb9ez7JAB_nKb7sA7Z3dmh5bEltu6IT4lR1B0849hqj1YVgJdcPThG6iuG-0dQYzV3okFwI14r3BZKkzvY-vs-33NotwvSoq2cwjSRZK_GOwh4BwgqMs8RamvAVdc/s400/YIMG_3143.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095883915156218386" /></a><CENTER>Fishermen's choir, Guissény</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdeoaRjlu5W7ZTn4kcgFbw0-0jMriEpNeIYXsBE8u2yGcP3yfTEy4V1Gf9qRwlzFgNaVEXdtH74YVqNfnDE6a9ccA87tNWmDA5-zhG_5GNefxAFVjxXX7KMInHlvEGIRuQ641tGdyCQY/s1280-h/YIMG_3144.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdeoaRjlu5W7ZTn4kcgFbw0-0jMriEpNeIYXsBE8u2yGcP3yfTEy4V1Gf9qRwlzFgNaVEXdtH74YVqNfnDE6a9ccA87tNWmDA5-zhG_5GNefxAFVjxXX7KMInHlvEGIRuQ641tGdyCQY/s400/YIMG_3144.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095883923746152994" /></a><CENTER>Spontaneous Breton dancing, Guissény</CENTER><br />Everyone queued for the alfresco supper of spicy mergues sausages served with a tray of chips and a glass of Breton cider. We all sat at communal benches for supper while a band played Celtic folk music and people danced in a circle around the tables. <br /><br />Almost all Bretons know their traditional dances. They are brought up to it from infancy and if by any chance they slip through the net there are special classes held over the winter months in the village halls. Danielle was not Breton by birth but learned the dances and wore the Breton costume for special ceremonies – such as when the relics of St. Sény are paraded through the streets of the village on his feast day or pardon. On one autumn visit a few years ago we were drummed into attending these classes. It was really an excuse for everyone to gather for some fun, some music and a verre d'amitié but the teacher took it all very seriously. We were the most useless students, except for the village policeman who had recently arrived from elsewhere in France. As we linked little fingers, rolled our arms first clockwise, then anti-clockwise, and shuffled around the room treading on peoples' toes and giggling the policemen commented glumly to us that we were okay as we were going back to England before the next session but his wife had signed him up every Thursday night for the next twelve weeks! Even today we shrank into a corner in case anyone remembered our lessons and dragged us out to join in the circle!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fY7d5qUvYkOe_M3esPP0r5xnUR9gbQaXzTgI2QOaLt8v_6yLNYgsa5f-7HxfnkVf62bjL3F-EszAcAUfcjmUan7mPyk6CR2YphYSJuE5ceQD3wLMDPrMC_kKxkt4J8p5o0fUIsXpJXs/s1280-h/YIMG_3147.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fY7d5qUvYkOe_M3esPP0r5xnUR9gbQaXzTgI2QOaLt8v_6yLNYgsa5f-7HxfnkVf62bjL3F-EszAcAUfcjmUan7mPyk6CR2YphYSJuE5ceQD3wLMDPrMC_kKxkt4J8p5o0fUIsXpJXs/s400/YIMG_3147.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095883932336087602" /></a><CENTER>Blue thistles commonly found amongst the dunes, Guissény</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYn8v6Ni40tSEzg8VpCWDURfMVSsB7hnR4zN5uhTGALWS4B6HDHNATJjkscnDfIuqpqRHFcwt1la4IPbRzm7jSPnJ46D2RJsz1dJE5M8BYo5ETCKUzfIY5EmuPFzQFbORR7JqZpOab6O0/s1280-h/YIMG_3176.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYn8v6Ni40tSEzg8VpCWDURfMVSsB7hnR4zN5uhTGALWS4B6HDHNATJjkscnDfIuqpqRHFcwt1la4IPbRzm7jSPnJ46D2RJsz1dJE5M8BYo5ETCKUzfIY5EmuPFzQFbORR7JqZpOab6O0/s400/YIMG_3176.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095883945220989506" /></a><CENTER> Joël's boat moored at le Curnic, Guissény</CENTER><br /><B>Monday 30th July 2007, On board the Pont Abbé ferry between Roscoff and Plymouth</B><br />We have been having such a grand time in Brittany we forgot about coming home! We arrived at the port late last night to await the ferry departure early this morning, only to find everywhere completely deserted! When we found and checked our ticket it was to discover we'd missed the boat which had left early Sunday, rather than Monday! We felt rather stupid as we settled alone on a vast empty concourse beside the deserted dock to sleep, having decided there wasn't much we could do about it until the morning. We slept really deeply and woke to the sound of the ferry docking as it arrived from Plymouth. The lady from Brittany Ferries at reception was charming, realising immediately that she was dealing with a pair of pensioners who were beginning to lose their marbles. She clicked her mouse a couple of times, charged us 7 euros (£5) and directed us off towards hot showers and coffee! <br /><br />There was no early ferry this morning so we have had to wait until 4.30pm to finally leave France but it did give us an extra, sunny day around the coast and Roscoff. <br />The town is famed for its onion sellers who would regularly take the ferry across to England with bicycles loaded with strings of pink onions. How it could have been economically viable is questionable. There is a museum in the town devoted entirely to the Breton onion industry and the lives of the onion sellers. The author Alexander Dumas happened fortuitously to be staying in Roscoff as he reached the letter O while writing his dictionary of French cuisine, so was able to include Ragout d'onions! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaq9NRDN4smeJrjFHB07gcdY_2xzlUG1HXxto_FbroqWKmu3Qn6kROELKL9yToQn7nlrDC9RfEPe2C506GzB_DSnB_CL2MF7j39suMOPL5mWa1kwihdgQWg5VVpyzVhggn64sJw-XzA0/s1280-h/YIMG_3179.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaq9NRDN4smeJrjFHB07gcdY_2xzlUG1HXxto_FbroqWKmu3Qn6kROELKL9yToQn7nlrDC9RfEPe2C506GzB_DSnB_CL2MF7j39suMOPL5mWa1kwihdgQWg5VVpyzVhggn64sJw-XzA0/s400/YIMG_3179.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095884542221443666" /></a><CENTER>Granite church, Roscoff</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihopwBX3hIpbtD9x6xg6CdaHzqtdyIfu0Lz9XUFzTeI4gXT08Z8ESz3cVpjUakOB6Ywcvo0fOq4oE9ycwhlnqQjIZg6yg29CSUnOPlhe_tVdI66QlOgf8P3r8xAxXyIr6f2exbhV84c1g/s1280-h/YIMG_3182.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihopwBX3hIpbtD9x6xg6CdaHzqtdyIfu0Lz9XUFzTeI4gXT08Z8ESz3cVpjUakOB6Ywcvo0fOq4oE9ycwhlnqQjIZg6yg29CSUnOPlhe_tVdI66QlOgf8P3r8xAxXyIr6f2exbhV84c1g/s400/YIMG_3182.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095884546516410978" /></a><CENTER>In the library, Roscoff</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAzysR79taIqIX3vy3I9fQ_YoTXJ460uV8XM3HR-1vV38HEQWIPl1ta8zgO-TNFVTHJHEEKLUvSkcYXnrFVzTpXLECXA3XgFSY8AaRXimN-RfZres59ilHgaeapRSL1wf_gR8F90PFfA/s1280-h/YIMG_3183.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAzysR79taIqIX3vy3I9fQ_YoTXJ460uV8XM3HR-1vV38HEQWIPl1ta8zgO-TNFVTHJHEEKLUvSkcYXnrFVzTpXLECXA3XgFSY8AaRXimN-RfZres59ilHgaeapRSL1wf_gR8F90PFfA/s400/YIMG_3183.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095884555106345586" /></a><br /><CENTER>Alexander Dumas at Roscoff</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFHJN-ctZMWMIPtibFl_OTf4eLFuIHoO2M4MoesjD7BbJui3DHUgcgbp0y2deYoTQRUDGQj_nn8PmLY_5gOhHXTdYbsbJWzIBj1fRolBW2JvsXaS2FMDKRbFhixzPZOPu1yF0W0_XRaQ/s1280-h/YIMG_3191.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFHJN-ctZMWMIPtibFl_OTf4eLFuIHoO2M4MoesjD7BbJui3DHUgcgbp0y2deYoTQRUDGQj_nn8PmLY_5gOhHXTdYbsbJWzIBj1fRolBW2JvsXaS2FMDKRbFhixzPZOPu1yF0W0_XRaQ/s400/YIMG_3191.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095884563696280194" /></a><br /><CENTER>Roscoff seen across the harbour</CENTER><br />Yesterday it was pouring with rain and we were beginning to tire of playing <I>Incy Wincy Spider</I> with the children so went off for a ride in Modestine along the coast to look at the Abers. These are drowned river valleys stretching well back inland that have become flooded by the sea. Brittany is remarkably like Cornwall and under a wet mizzle it has a definite Celtic charm. There were few people out and all the villages were deserted. Eventually we passed through a village and discovered a queue right down the street waiting to be served at the bakery. In St.Renan we found the remnants of the market being cleared away, the wet stallholders eager to get home for Sunday lunch and to dry out. <br /><br />We drove down into the city of Brest hoping for some animation on a wet Sunday. It is really a very uninspiring place, just as deserted as the surrounding villages. As a badly bombed naval port during the Second World War it had been entirely rebuilt. It is one of the most ugly, purely functional modern cities we have seen. It parallels Plymouth in many ways, both being destroyed ports and both ending up rebuilt as architectural disasters. Plymouth however, is a far more interesting city and more of the older housing around the centre has been preserved than is the case in Brest. Along the promenade overlooking the commercial port and the citadel there are pleasant public gardens, but the rest of the town is really dismal. Even on a sunny day boredom would rapidly set in. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHw7r_vlfTFVl1p7gZabfcusT4PaSLwLlmSYxfEkPiPqg3-7-_qCllRY4nZATFmuBwzxj_RQKpI89unErpvHH9C2PDir2_i_UfetPNEXVVNt1sokz5zBVa-p5KNGibAiO43ldcdT-jWo/s1280-h/YIMG_3149.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHw7r_vlfTFVl1p7gZabfcusT4PaSLwLlmSYxfEkPiPqg3-7-_qCllRY4nZATFmuBwzxj_RQKpI89unErpvHH9C2PDir2_i_UfetPNEXVVNt1sokz5zBVa-p5KNGibAiO43ldcdT-jWo/s400/YIMG_3149.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095884572286214802" /></a><CENTER>Town Hall, Brest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTTUZ6PXSnaH95e2e2CANDab6rcqYMkeJIejmhTmqfyXEiKDk6wqnUKsVBfkfSGd26WkL7V3HelCGQKBHBKSvqAcL8bNeJsXksFLu3WwLItQwS6tlxzH_DOCN9o0gpm05RdicG8S-Mk0/s1280-h/YIMG_3151.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTTUZ6PXSnaH95e2e2CANDab6rcqYMkeJIejmhTmqfyXEiKDk6wqnUKsVBfkfSGd26WkL7V3HelCGQKBHBKSvqAcL8bNeJsXksFLu3WwLItQwS6tlxzH_DOCN9o0gpm05RdicG8S-Mk0/s400/YIMG_3151.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885233711178402" /></a><CENTER>A pity dogs cannot read, pavement graffiti, Brest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRC91nTi0MGnNBi-GeD_LbsNLfve23sQp6NA22HKxMC08WSnRIzw-mj21NfFvrrOoQ_9lJLFkCqlNzijn3tqB7v34hqXBIHbA0CgovTVRk4cvy4-Om8GMla8HFpeYL0Nto0tMLIICiaI/s1280-h/YIMG_3152.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRC91nTi0MGnNBi-GeD_LbsNLfve23sQp6NA22HKxMC08WSnRIzw-mj21NfFvrrOoQ_9lJLFkCqlNzijn3tqB7v34hqXBIHbA0CgovTVRk4cvy4-Om8GMla8HFpeYL0Nto0tMLIICiaI/s400/YIMG_3152.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885238006145714" /></a><CENTER>Rue de Siam, the pulsing heart of Brest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwmoG4Yfbd7VHI8hxp6VjfNMnVCB4OagNJ4m1YX8CTqlLp6_1KXxK7OVWT3jVVzkWIJKlFhlVTSqdgwrwt0ekZKzYkk8WRSwtYmi2vRBSJA2p61TQ5mCoIhPHg9yFc_H2TWwS5yPGxWk/s1280-h/YIMG_3153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwmoG4Yfbd7VHI8hxp6VjfNMnVCB4OagNJ4m1YX8CTqlLp6_1KXxK7OVWT3jVVzkWIJKlFhlVTSqdgwrwt0ekZKzYkk8WRSwtYmi2vRBSJA2p61TQ5mCoIhPHg9yFc_H2TWwS5yPGxWk/s400/YIMG_3153.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885246596080322" /></a><CENTER>Docks, Brest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApQjQll-URgOpEFXHnO-PhfS9mX6CRBCJpJOxnNgobBubEmrAMpqIBKBv6S4jNdrtWzbkiQnQqaYYqkKevq1NBsv94uN-mPEmvRLtQk74OfraVNa3709TRYX0-jMY7-9HFYeeg78Axc8/s1280-h/YIMG_3154.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApQjQll-URgOpEFXHnO-PhfS9mX6CRBCJpJOxnNgobBubEmrAMpqIBKBv6S4jNdrtWzbkiQnQqaYYqkKevq1NBsv94uN-mPEmvRLtQk74OfraVNa3709TRYX0-jMY7-9HFYeeg78Axc8/s400/YIMG_3154.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885250891047634" /></a><CENTER>Citadel, Brest</CENTER><br />On our way back to Guissény, still in the rain, we stopped at the little town of Landernau with its famed mediaeval bridge complete with houses and shops, the river running under low arches beneath the slate hung buildings. In the street crossing the bridge Celtic music was being played on a flute and there was the inevitable line of Breton dancers enjoying an impromptu concert. It was the liveliest place we had found all day.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibs99nycpJxtt9K71KiTwQ6zF7hXfeOxPjTThnfa4E8FxDJL76Qge_oo2EHjsySaCzFtA2rEKa-xGPAgF4ROR0FPjG_RoL8Qe8fKJh3y_6jrCIZWmiKiQ6ZxyR9dwzrOLAqRBZkhQnLQM/s1280-h/YIMG_3159.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibs99nycpJxtt9K71KiTwQ6zF7hXfeOxPjTThnfa4E8FxDJL76Qge_oo2EHjsySaCzFtA2rEKa-xGPAgF4ROR0FPjG_RoL8Qe8fKJh3y_6jrCIZWmiKiQ6ZxyR9dwzrOLAqRBZkhQnLQM/s400/YIMG_3159.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885255186014946" /></a><CENTER>Mediaeval bridge, Landernau</CENTER><br />Next though, we had to hurry back to Guissény for the second day of the fête at le Curnic. This is probably the reason we got confused about our return ferry as we had been excited to hear Joël would be playing the bagpipes at the festival. Would it still take place in the rain? Would we find the beach deserted? As we arrived the rain eased and we were just in time to hear the sound of the Celtic band as it made its way down to the sea, accompanied by dancers in traditional costume. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhbCWYncBH4Nc60CO2tVSh-CKNRjtB2k40osGg-vOgf85PbhH1tNxsmeqgtHLPfpu98C2LHqcOJU0A_MN-z40J4OSJm9JrMw0yOR85DwzmeAAIMPyki7lxYLdm64F1YuzIeHXwqis0kE/s1280-h/YIMG_3163.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhbCWYncBH4Nc60CO2tVSh-CKNRjtB2k40osGg-vOgf85PbhH1tNxsmeqgtHLPfpu98C2LHqcOJU0A_MN-z40J4OSJm9JrMw0yOR85DwzmeAAIMPyki7lxYLdm64F1YuzIeHXwqis0kE/s400/YIMG_3163.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885989625422674" /></a><CENTER>Breton dancers lead the band, Guissény</CENTER><br />The entire village seemed to have turned out again. People were drinking cider, eating Breton pancakes (crêpes) and the mobile canteen was cooking hundreds more sausages and chips. As the band arrived we all gathered around the stage where we were treated to a series of complex dances from ladies wearing lacy caps and men in black waitcoats and wide-brimmed hats. The Guissény band consisted of three sets of bagpipes known as binious and various wheezy clarinet-like instruments called bombardes. The players were smartly dressed in their cream and burgundy tunics and we felt very proud of our friend Joël, seeing him for the first time as he played in public. When we first knew him he was just starting to learn and we also recall him playing for us as we practiced our dance steps around the dining room table with Danielle after our memorable lesson in the village hall.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIrhtmHVSfjQlApuDM-1LskLbAEGh4qYFvzwXDbnWBFmlTiaQmrzEmJfD4BBMADbqzIsARiWV6WbgVzt-8UZNdP5oAO_8yUBhp7aZa7oh-2NOrsDsSpgo3ATvv0D1P-w88_JCt4EdFG0/s1280-h/YIMG_3167.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIrhtmHVSfjQlApuDM-1LskLbAEGh4qYFvzwXDbnWBFmlTiaQmrzEmJfD4BBMADbqzIsARiWV6WbgVzt-8UZNdP5oAO_8yUBhp7aZa7oh-2NOrsDsSpgo3ATvv0D1P-w88_JCt4EdFG0/s400/YIMG_3167.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885993920389986" /></a><CENTER>Breton dances, Guissény</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwqof_cltuTByEITyvSWqHNsfewIDFL0H9P7oYa1Apkzeid3g6eNBE7fhUX0yCHGsd1WPHHh9pNI8wgT9M_1NisO8-Kz902PmRPL86T37a9uQpvKKe_Gmen5xKvfgjJJpiOuHbZ3DP-Q/s1280-h/YIMG_3175.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwqof_cltuTByEITyvSWqHNsfewIDFL0H9P7oYa1Apkzeid3g6eNBE7fhUX0yCHGsd1WPHHh9pNI8wgT9M_1NisO8-Kz902PmRPL86T37a9uQpvKKe_Gmen5xKvfgjJJpiOuHbZ3DP-Q/s400/YIMG_3175.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885998215357298" /></a><CENTER>Joël playing the biniou, Guissény</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIwDsKnPKomOiQFwN6Tl44bY0TGqTY8dSdF_q9qNdulhwStUnS9fwHj_hHZk1ksJWT3S_siiEJ_Z080PxEWJoyBAb1_21tvMWkxJu05cfqQ3dfukHLfbv7zthDWAI_u2kRc0_fQ_ANQU/s1280-h/YIMG_3174.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIwDsKnPKomOiQFwN6Tl44bY0TGqTY8dSdF_q9qNdulhwStUnS9fwHj_hHZk1ksJWT3S_siiEJ_Z080PxEWJoyBAb1_21tvMWkxJu05cfqQ3dfukHLfbv7zthDWAI_u2kRc0_fQ_ANQU/s400/YIMG_3174.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886002510324610" /></a><CENTER>Guissény Celtic band</CENTER><br />It was time for us to leave. After hugs, bisous and farewells we left the entire family to enjoy their sausages at the fête and made our way through a sun-drenched countryside along the coast towards Roscoff. After the rain of the day, the sunlight and the sunset were particularly beautiful. It is still clear daylight at 10pm here and we were able to drive over to Morlaix to stroll around the town, admire the impressive viaduct across the river and find somewhere for supper. We returned along the river estuary towards Roscoff where the sun was sinking as a scarlet ball in one direction as the huge, orange harvest moon was rising in another.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYLG5-H4LKdgA0CXQFTS59TZEFsLuwCJWvGrTTbO2WuBYV8fnfV84qpTRNE5ZRs1y41ynww1a2ZVjWbaxZbZ7TvvHf6uXhlX2i7J5JiNDaf9ZQcvhrQCp7Dhbrz8OsZwA6oQ-10-WKB8/s1280-h/YIMG_3177.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYLG5-H4LKdgA0CXQFTS59TZEFsLuwCJWvGrTTbO2WuBYV8fnfV84qpTRNE5ZRs1y41ynww1a2ZVjWbaxZbZ7TvvHf6uXhlX2i7J5JiNDaf9ZQcvhrQCp7Dhbrz8OsZwA6oQ-10-WKB8/s400/YIMG_3177.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095886006805291922" /></a><CENTER>Nightfall near Roscoff</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50l5-2MPOdoHJ7lkU6sr6ROb2J47MTgbSG3V0heOMsgeZ2yMHPGsLR4XlVPcxljScGcZj02M4VN9VOy-9PgKac5hLqKsRXHh8eRDt6l3EC3xjPi5jOAJpcNOrZCIZpoUFOt81gEcgZZ4/s1280-h/YIMG_3178.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50l5-2MPOdoHJ7lkU6sr6ROb2J47MTgbSG3V0heOMsgeZ2yMHPGsLR4XlVPcxljScGcZj02M4VN9VOy-9PgKac5hLqKsRXHh8eRDt6l3EC3xjPi5jOAJpcNOrZCIZpoUFOt81gEcgZZ4/s400/YIMG_3178.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095885714747515714" /></a><CENTER>Looking out to sea at nightfall, Roscoff</CENTER><br />So that's it for now. We are at last heading home after four more months of travel. It's still an amazing and wonderful way to spend retirement and we appreciate how lucky we are. It is good though to know we have a home to come back to and another life beyond Modestine. Things are appreciated more when they are in contrast and after months of coping with the unexpected at almost every turn, it will be good to be back in our own home amongst family and friends for a while. No doubt there will be further travels but just now it will be good not to have our lives disciplined by maintaining this blog!!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-28959835377407034842007-08-07T09:46:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.169+00:00Southern Brittany<B>Sunday 22nd July 2007, Ancenis, near Nantes, Loire Valley</B><br />Having left Pocé with great reluctance this morning we are now making our way along the north bank of the Loire towards Nantes. Since we started our travels back in 2005 we have travelled much of the length of the Loire from its source right down to its estuary. During its travels from the Cevennes to Brittany it has matures from a lively, bubbling stream to a sedate, matronly river flowing lazily between islands and wide sand banks.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tM9I_3af1f_DPw0cqvUpGeS_F6PHIo57uCG4Ap5QRwK1lTQnOPQYwjW5YAiFNl6Dl-5ddgsH62i2LMT5LXxWc07_qymA6DR5kYKS0XHwBOWEySs2RfEJv6NB_CKSyafdWEG64jiFlqM/s1280-h/YIMG_2939.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tM9I_3af1f_DPw0cqvUpGeS_F6PHIo57uCG4Ap5QRwK1lTQnOPQYwjW5YAiFNl6Dl-5ddgsH62i2LMT5LXxWc07_qymA6DR5kYKS0XHwBOWEySs2RfEJv6NB_CKSyafdWEG64jiFlqM/s400/YIMG_2939.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095877863547297330" /></a><CENTER>The Loire at Montsoreau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni8Hk5nk_IbXKFks8LOTs5Olfq7mS_zPpFVFDoeuCK-J0GVk62BOl5d7kZMjLemi6t_Z3d2uo_jcsznRC8pKtAQLOEvGRUzz1tteat-TsIady-rsAAOXByL8VAN2Uo8yUghI0eSUdVg4/s1280-h/YIMG_2940.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni8Hk5nk_IbXKFks8LOTs5Olfq7mS_zPpFVFDoeuCK-J0GVk62BOl5d7kZMjLemi6t_Z3d2uo_jcsznRC8pKtAQLOEvGRUzz1tteat-TsIady-rsAAOXByL8VAN2Uo8yUghI0eSUdVg4/s400/YIMG_2940.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095877872137231938" /></a><CENTER>Cave dwellings along the Loire</CENTER><br />We are making our way towards Guissény to spend a couple of days with our friend Joël before taking the Roscoff ferry home next week. Never having seen Nantes we have decided to spend a night here at Ancenis as a convenient stop for the city. During the evening we took a stroll beside the Loire and around the town. It is pleasant enough but has nothing of outstanding merit as far as we can tell. It is the home town of the 16th century poet Joachim du Bellay, whose works Ian studied at university. (Jill's formative literary experiences in French started, and practically ended, with <I>Les recrées du petit Nicholas</I> and <I>Les aventures de Tintin!</I>) Following temperatures of 30 degrees for most of the day it has now suddenly decided to rain heavily and we have been driven inside for the night.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSdnfL4isZ2iTNA0r9VTvHlT9Ftyv0RI7gGkCjlpwqDgAPioYKHyqS9vVS5lRzxDMszFUMKIXFY6e939zVCZNpybeKfSBL04QTMPG8We4eQAMRktCGHHGM-wamqeAKjnSKh2cqJ92PZI/s1280-h/YIMG_2941.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSdnfL4isZ2iTNA0r9VTvHlT9Ftyv0RI7gGkCjlpwqDgAPioYKHyqS9vVS5lRzxDMszFUMKIXFY6e939zVCZNpybeKfSBL04QTMPG8We4eQAMRktCGHHGM-wamqeAKjnSKh2cqJ92PZI/s400/YIMG_2941.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095877880727166546" /></a><CENTER>Joachim du Bellay, Ancenis</CENTER><br /><B>Monday 23rd July 2007, La Roche Bernard, Brittany</B><br />Just occasionally during this series of travels with Modestine our route has overlapped with the one travelled last year. Today it crossed on a roundabout, entering and leaving by the two opposite roads that we used in April 2006 as we made our way from Brittany to the Loire! The two routes also converged near the entrance to our present campsite which last year we placed very near the top of a rather short list of good sites worth returning to. It is just as good this time and worth the drive from Nantes to find it again.<br /><br />We will not guide you around the delightful little town of La Roche Bernard on the estuary of the river Vilaine in southern Brittany as we did so during our earlier visit. You can take a tour and see our pictures for <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/04/from-quimper-to-vannes-in-camper-van.html">20th April 2006</a>. <br /><br />It rained very heavily all last night. The couple next to us had arrived on a couple of bicycles with a tiny tent that definitely did not look waterproof. They had eyed Modestine with envy even before the rain and we felt quite guilty being warm and dry this morning. We can just about pick up the BBC news now we are back within range of Britain and we have been horrified to hear of the dreadful flooding and rains in central England. We sincerely hope none of our friends have been afflicted. Attempts to phone Neil and Jeev have proved impossible but we picked up an email saying the landline isn't functioning because of the floods.<br /><br />Partly because of the rain we decided to drive into Nantes rather than walking to the station at Ancenis and returning to the same campsite after a day around the city. We are glad we did. Parking was straightforward and eventually we found out how and where to catch the tramway into the city centre – except that it wasn't running because of road works but a relief bus took us in instead.<br /><br />Almost the only thing we knew about Nantes until today is that there was an edict here in 1598 signed by Henri IV in an attempt to resolve the religious problems between the French Catholics and the Huguenots. Unfortunately it did not succeed as it was later revoked. We are now very slightly wiser about other aspects of the history of both Brittany and Nantes. <br /><br />French history of the 15th and 16th centuries is very complex with various dukedoms existing in parallel with the French monarchy. In Brittany the region was ruled first by François II and then by his daughter Anne de Bretagne, from the castle in Nantes.<br /><br />Nantes is regarded as the capital of Brittany, an honour it has sometimes shared with Rennes. It lies on the estuary of the Loire and since the river has silted up, making it too shallow for shipping, it is served by the naval port of St. Nazaire.<br /><br />The city was badly damaged in the Second World War and has been largely rebuilt, generally quite sympathetically. The old town around the Eglise Sainte Croix is still full of narrow streets with crumbling tenements and warehouses. Nearby is the late gothic Cathedral which internally is very imposing. Begun in 1434, high columns give an impression of great height as they soar, without capitals, straight up to the roof. To one side lies the beautiful marble tomb of François II and Marguerite de Foix commissioned by their daughter Anne de Bretagne in 1502. Marble figures representing various virtues stand at each corner. On the far side of the Cathedral is a 19th century monument to General Lamoricière surrounded by bronze allegorical figures. A modern bronze statue of Anne de Bretagne stands at the entrance to her magnificently restored and picturesque castle surrounded by a moat and pretty gardens. We crossed the courtyards and spent time between the bouts of rain exploring the ramparts which gave us a good impression of the city. From here we wondered about a curious building which turned out to have been a 19th century biscuit factory called LU producing the chocolate coated biscuits known as Petit Ecolier. Ian has always been addicted to them so was quite delighted to discover their origine. Today the factory has moved elsewhere and the original building is a cultural centre. LU now stands for Lieu Unique!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQq_KLmfJ_KVdNzbm4_r9MacAJ6p_RLasumPxUPdH3VEarhV2yeKJpjEzA2dyTbU3z_R-oMyV7akskPAlrpQxnKUghQROK3v24u0W9FY1FkofKebPD9A-XBqDoUBIOwHZLcGPqUirVgP4/s1280-h/YIMG_2967.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQq_KLmfJ_KVdNzbm4_r9MacAJ6p_RLasumPxUPdH3VEarhV2yeKJpjEzA2dyTbU3z_R-oMyV7akskPAlrpQxnKUghQROK3v24u0W9FY1FkofKebPD9A-XBqDoUBIOwHZLcGPqUirVgP4/s400/YIMG_2967.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095877885022133858" /></a><CENTER>Eglise Sainte Croix, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uJheuetDNWGAsXhskwL6d8lRaEjtTh5tMj74Xv7A_5tVeirlfAz7aq_1dEmYpYPeRmQEccJxYX7VFCKmGRvf4RyySzHfPb_6aAEV2-IgsmpkOFVBYRhkWYqihY2fAxi5TLjXaRjk6zM/s1280-h/YIMG_2949.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uJheuetDNWGAsXhskwL6d8lRaEjtTh5tMj74Xv7A_5tVeirlfAz7aq_1dEmYpYPeRmQEccJxYX7VFCKmGRvf4RyySzHfPb_6aAEV2-IgsmpkOFVBYRhkWYqihY2fAxi5TLjXaRjk6zM/s400/YIMG_2949.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095877893612068466" /></a><CENTER>Cathedral, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAaPPw-4At6lBnvnV3Q9cOGMxDANIHYZl4Bom8CErd1Cw7p_KQ6EqV62lAk20cQGhDVRah8lYsEWxteJF850dsOO4pur5mvIWdrKV47IoFF3fxOxsFsuDZQ1XuSeGj8CA2LerHzbvhu8/s1280-h/YIMG_2952.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAaPPw-4At6lBnvnV3Q9cOGMxDANIHYZl4Bom8CErd1Cw7p_KQ6EqV62lAk20cQGhDVRah8lYsEWxteJF850dsOO4pur5mvIWdrKV47IoFF3fxOxsFsuDZQ1XuSeGj8CA2LerHzbvhu8/s400/YIMG_2952.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878366058471042" /></a><CENTER>Tomb of François II and Marguerite de Foix , Nantes Cathedral</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ganbkhwlN_-DRi0jLZ4C9rRg2ca1I8VyI_hy5UtbMQSvIBqWPs58jpdGihFJVpThU3bl-CC0dXPnqpK16GcVnNu3apj1a5yCkIgA_2gn-MBL_jn9GTjSCuFEiQ67_kPBrQI5UBbSHjs/s1280-h/YIMG_2958.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ganbkhwlN_-DRi0jLZ4C9rRg2ca1I8VyI_hy5UtbMQSvIBqWPs58jpdGihFJVpThU3bl-CC0dXPnqpK16GcVnNu3apj1a5yCkIgA_2gn-MBL_jn9GTjSCuFEiQ67_kPBrQI5UBbSHjs/s400/YIMG_2958.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878374648405650" /></a><CENTER>Anne de Bretagne, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhMNe3kQMYr3CFbK5KmvhiM84FbndGvzp2xoOx7kcyDyW0k1BubO1wVvuzM5_zRn77ncO1g7q5frywu1AOr_agSnx9_dcuIApJtWULe509x7UhSdMZ4s6GALxHhgP6anybQ50tCd5848/s1280-h/YIMG_2960.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhMNe3kQMYr3CFbK5KmvhiM84FbndGvzp2xoOx7kcyDyW0k1BubO1wVvuzM5_zRn77ncO1g7q5frywu1AOr_agSnx9_dcuIApJtWULe509x7UhSdMZ4s6GALxHhgP6anybQ50tCd5848/s400/YIMG_2960.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878378943372962" /></a><CENTER>Cathedral seen from the castle ramparts, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5AHAMrloVdTJx9eB2O8UA3OUlS0bFyLLu_APz5Gf_tuKc6GUffF5VTcffB9TNw8Oj9yON1UqwZsV6sQpQHcJ75qBzRHhBEGTi23aGmkj3erPNBFuA1_a6w9CYpoFOhCuys4dkW_-SO8/s1280-h/YIMG_2956.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5AHAMrloVdTJx9eB2O8UA3OUlS0bFyLLu_APz5Gf_tuKc6GUffF5VTcffB9TNw8Oj9yON1UqwZsV6sQpQHcJ75qBzRHhBEGTi23aGmkj3erPNBFuA1_a6w9CYpoFOhCuys4dkW_-SO8/s400/YIMG_2956.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878396123242162" /></a><CENTER>Castle walls and moat, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE54Hk_14gHxat1QS91xQx3pBmgIHmQfTQWTAQSayEzgaIvN1nF8efLBSHD8LgBLr_H4DgcN-cl8lQsnwgPZWZ7RaPqSofFhBSKk68QEC_RVBKPec51-94FqYGERnHZhHjR2M-oTeqFA/s1280-h/YIMG_2964.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbE54Hk_14gHxat1QS91xQx3pBmgIHmQfTQWTAQSayEzgaIvN1nF8efLBSHD8LgBLr_H4DgcN-cl8lQsnwgPZWZ7RaPqSofFhBSKk68QEC_RVBKPec51-94FqYGERnHZhHjR2M-oTeqFA/s400/YIMG_2964.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878400418209474" /></a><CENTER>Castle courtyard, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsa-8uWaMsQ_wscnA7j3jf_odYbMvWXLRsuaVCqBHNSpFoN22CyE0uWvhw_7ZniPsMSXT-pw_KX7FvtTvMJp6i7jncs91kM64CHRCgZG4IH2NycEpBrJDa6Osx19fro90vyvXQxHu9SI/s1280-h/YIMG_2962.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsa-8uWaMsQ_wscnA7j3jf_odYbMvWXLRsuaVCqBHNSpFoN22CyE0uWvhw_7ZniPsMSXT-pw_KX7FvtTvMJp6i7jncs91kM64CHRCgZG4IH2NycEpBrJDa6Osx19fro90vyvXQxHu9SI/s400/YIMG_2962.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878761195462354" /></a><CENTER>Former LU biscuit factory, Nantes</CENTER><br />Across the main thoroughfare is the "modern" part of the town full of 18th and 19th century houses, commercial buildings, an impressive theatre and an attractive square – Place Royale - reconstructed after the war, with a fountain symbolising Nantes and its maritime history in the centre. We thought it was in process of restoration but apparently the scaffolding is some sort of art installation and people were queuing to climb up onto the platform constructed around the fountain to see the interior of a temporary hotel room and the top half of the fountain! It all seemed a bit weird and we couldn't be bothered to queue in the rain so instead went off to explore the delightful Pommeraye arcade built in 1843. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmoiq0ggckdWxAL5eQf5qMfySZJLhiN6vwR76FJ7kX1F34-iPGAZOgWEQeA9l5SlEffDwjomuE51lJdf541J1VAeWLhJRGnn8PlZBV5A-N0l-QnJCKugpH18x6ySoASP3sTwqKzMxOTE/s1280-h/YIMG_2968.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmoiq0ggckdWxAL5eQf5qMfySZJLhiN6vwR76FJ7kX1F34-iPGAZOgWEQeA9l5SlEffDwjomuE51lJdf541J1VAeWLhJRGnn8PlZBV5A-N0l-QnJCKugpH18x6ySoASP3sTwqKzMxOTE/s400/YIMG_2968.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878765490429666" /></a><CENTER>Art installation, Place Royale, Nantes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zO3RMV0R42KMzsbGboGwOnBncQkv10vIbDt5TZkmfSN3p1ql6cRjvcXEhn3Z70viyfGLAKdtCSwVGpBKIhL8nLkuhKpyZ8Kq1Txy7CsqyxPbi4H5CC2wri_fQUoxzbPk6z7rBnGkkBw/s1280-h/YIMG_2969.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zO3RMV0R42KMzsbGboGwOnBncQkv10vIbDt5TZkmfSN3p1ql6cRjvcXEhn3Z70viyfGLAKdtCSwVGpBKIhL8nLkuhKpyZ8Kq1Txy7CsqyxPbi4H5CC2wri_fQUoxzbPk6z7rBnGkkBw/s400/YIMG_2969.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878774080364274" /></a><CENTER>Arcade de Pommeraye, Nantes</CENTER><br />The public library was closed but outside someone had scrawled a grammatically incorrect graffiti message – "Culture is expensive, try ignorance." Speaks for itself dunnit? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n1DxGlI3ZM4Cko9fr17d0elIf40ta40g_giyX16iUzX7UOvOgKk_CjLFoprxT7_zS7QukyZdESRvDNEwwfRVjzrR7C_3BHv8mQZD8ky4jLsyd72o4AkGw15SmPpL4CKnKR6dG10OL-I/s1280-h/YIMG_2973.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n1DxGlI3ZM4Cko9fr17d0elIf40ta40g_giyX16iUzX7UOvOgKk_CjLFoprxT7_zS7QukyZdESRvDNEwwfRVjzrR7C_3BHv8mQZD8ky4jLsyd72o4AkGw15SmPpL4CKnKR6dG10OL-I/s400/YIMG_2973.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878778375331586" /></a><CENTER>Question - Who needs libraries? Answer – French grafitti writers, Nantes</CENTER><br />We walked down to the banks of the river by which time the rain had started again in earnest so we gave up on the botanical gardens and, pausing only for Jill to fall over on a slippery wet grating, bruise her posterior and get hauled back onto her feet by a gallant Breton, we made our way back to Modestine.<br /><br />In the past we have seen Nantes in the distance as we have skirted it in various travels around Loire Atlantique. Big cities are never easy to absorb and getting to their centre always takes planning. Certainly one wet day in Nantes was insufficient to get more than an impression. It is a pleasant city with a canalised river, the Erdre, running into the Loire. Boat trips and water buses take passengers through the city as well as the buses and trams. There are literary connections with Jules Verne who came from Nantes, and Alphonse Daudet, who set scenes from his novels in the city.<br /><br />We left Nantes along a very wet and congested motorway. Progress was slow and unpleasant until we eventually left it and followed departmental roads across country, through a large area of marshland from where salt used to be extracted. By early evening we reached La Roche Bernard to discover we were still in the campsite database from our last visit so all formalities were dispensed with. Later, the rain having been chased away at last by the sunshine, we ate a hot supper outside cooked in our tiny portable oven. An Englishman can to chat, telling us he now lived in France and had come here for his holidays. He sold up in Bedfordshire and bought a canal boat, moored near Calais, and a camping car. They live on the boat and travel around in the camper. They are sixty-eight and love every second of their new lives. They say they don't speak much French but would never dream of going back to England. We wonder if they will feel the same ten years from now!<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 24th July 2007, Pont Aven, Brittany</B><br />We have to say that last night we did not sleep well and last year's impression of the campsite at La Roche-Bernard has taken a knock. It is not really the fault of the campsite but we were permanently disturbed during the night by the hum of mosquitoes around our ears. How they managed to get through the insect screen we do not know. Ian lashed around with a fly swat, zapped a few and banged himself painfully on the nose, and we went back to sleep. This became a regular pattern throughout the night until we fell into an exhausted doze around 6am. At 7am the municipal lorry arrived to collect the bottles for recycling. We had inadvertently parked just on the other side of the hedge! Deciding we might as well count out any further chance of sleep Jill went off to the shower and slipped on the soapy remains left by the previous user! Not only did I land right on the same bruise as the one I got in Nantes yesterday, I managed to bruise my back on the glass shower screen as I fell! Feeling shocked and miserable I sat in the shower tray under the jet of tepid water and cried! I seem to have fallen, twisted ankles, stubbed toes and generally suffered personal physical damage so many times in France it seemed like the last straw!<br /><br />Crying is a bit pointless when there is nobody around to sympathise. Dry and dressed back at Modestine, Ian administered the necessary sympathy together with a cup of tea and breakfast. My multiple bruises are starting to turn pretty colours and if they are really spectacular my posterior may even appear on the blog in a day or two as a modern work of art!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCi3Iv_KMeRq290ZmAJ86TQ0Fpnhy7i_YcAlS-sMT2_MtMsKVgkbiZUpYxZUA77n4HwKAjQVqThHkWZSdGXaC9rdZZZnR-tC8SBdj73saPzTb_1A9vCgekKA7zuevaOOJ8Zbi_cW9jOY/s1280-h/YIMG_3029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCi3Iv_KMeRq290ZmAJ86TQ0Fpnhy7i_YcAlS-sMT2_MtMsKVgkbiZUpYxZUA77n4HwKAjQVqThHkWZSdGXaC9rdZZZnR-tC8SBdj73saPzTb_1A9vCgekKA7zuevaOOJ8Zbi_cW9jOY/s400/YIMG_3029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095878778375331602" /></a><CENTER>Candidate for the Turner Prize? School of Hard Knocks. Large research grant and eager models required to develop this new genre of human art. </CENTER><br />Looking at our road map there are not that many places of note we have not already visited along the coast of Southern Brittany. Lorient was an obvious exception but as 85% of the town was destroyed during the war and it has since been almost entirely rebuilt we did not think we would find much to interest us. Instead we followed minor roads around the Golfe du Morbihan and stopped at Port Louis, just across the water from Lorient. The little town was renamed after Louis XIII when it became a commercial port, established by Richlieu who set up the India Company there, to trade with the far East and bring spices back to Europe. It was not completely successful and was later re-established across the estuary at Lorient – hence the name. From then on Port Louis declined. Today it is an attractive little granite town with an economy based on tourism as well as tuna fishing. During the Second World War its 17th century fort was occupied by the Germans and across the sea at Lorient they constructed a large submarine base for their U-boats. There are several monuments in Port Louis in memory of its residents who were either shot or deported by the Nazis.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIb58M0iIbWyEYNCkIkO3E4YUDUcFakdrmFhFJihjlchNtCmb-aeGnF9UmuzHicuLnCM2vKfpf0mkNDYKDS0ZlqdUpEjdIbU38EUu2xTIs5NHjUm_gjAgDtchWhHteyprtgI-m7c1hStk/s1280-h/YIMG_2988.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIb58M0iIbWyEYNCkIkO3E4YUDUcFakdrmFhFJihjlchNtCmb-aeGnF9UmuzHicuLnCM2vKfpf0mkNDYKDS0ZlqdUpEjdIbU38EUu2xTIs5NHjUm_gjAgDtchWhHteyprtgI-m7c1hStk/s400/YIMG_2988.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879079023042338" /></a><CENTER>Entrance to the fort of Port Louis</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nsR_SpQhHpNkrh00R-DKDD3NIMmisNKeBf8L2xxp5igXtUJSic7WdDLnjtYBVpS5iQr8xvaounLmYJkjfdhdLk2Zl4y-S7fsBoAHf2GkZhof-iIscdnMypMwMD6u69rQeIedaWi_KH0/s1280-h/YIMG_2991.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nsR_SpQhHpNkrh00R-DKDD3NIMmisNKeBf8L2xxp5igXtUJSic7WdDLnjtYBVpS5iQr8xvaounLmYJkjfdhdLk2Zl4y-S7fsBoAHf2GkZhof-iIscdnMypMwMD6u69rQeIedaWi_KH0/s400/YIMG_2991.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879083318009650" /></a><CENTER>View towards Lorient from the ramparts of Port Louis</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwME0WS1A-_lKtqT6pPa0iCtGsoPTek89M0eKU4Ff8o0d_8Zz18jG0aGJoCa46bSO1wwa92c_AwIGWBgcAsIeaYJgS_D6GfMjoIRX5270w0tAh-O-b7TZ0kHdxRcKUBf21GgKUKo8DdTQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2994.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwME0WS1A-_lKtqT6pPa0iCtGsoPTek89M0eKU4Ff8o0d_8Zz18jG0aGJoCa46bSO1wwa92c_AwIGWBgcAsIeaYJgS_D6GfMjoIRX5270w0tAh-O-b7TZ0kHdxRcKUBf21GgKUKo8DdTQ/s400/YIMG_2994.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879091907944258" /></a><CENTER>German submarine base, Lorient</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN4P2dUQi6bX-JdoeBGh5x2-c_xvOJeDSS1VsVhw9u7q3jGceIc2i4SiOtgk-1twBqwQxjmC0lPMtYuCLveD8lZ6Ht-KQ6_LeJUqyOB7fcMQLWoPjeZ3NdZg4i_2mgCRp2MHykfSwvIE/s1280-h/YIMG_2993.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN4P2dUQi6bX-JdoeBGh5x2-c_xvOJeDSS1VsVhw9u7q3jGceIc2i4SiOtgk-1twBqwQxjmC0lPMtYuCLveD8lZ6Ht-KQ6_LeJUqyOB7fcMQLWoPjeZ3NdZg4i_2mgCRp2MHykfSwvIE/s400/YIMG_2993.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879096202911570" /></a><CENTER>In memory of residents killed by the Nazis, Port Louis</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkoiJHaGNMYEhX73YUNANbRnMcX1TMnFl-5t4XDW93GFr3D-HuWivxRyPvnv1BYv3H9gQZ6IDXESuyI13zKDuoUkXuPQRUDEN7lmvjdJ-UwNU57Pe5iRcvZFnyealkMZp0wo47gQac41A/s1280-h/YIMG_2986.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkoiJHaGNMYEhX73YUNANbRnMcX1TMnFl-5t4XDW93GFr3D-HuWivxRyPvnv1BYv3H9gQZ6IDXESuyI13zKDuoUkXuPQRUDEN7lmvjdJ-UwNU57Pe5iRcvZFnyealkMZp0wo47gQac41A/s400/YIMG_2986.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879100497878882" /></a><CENTER>A more happy aspect of Port Louis</CENTER><br />We walked around the impressive granite ramparts in the hot afternoon sun before exploring the port and wandering through the streets of the town where an evening market was being set up. From the bakers we shared a piece of far Breton – a cholesterol laden batter pudding loaded with prunes and sugar - enjoying the nostalgic taste of Brittany. <br /><br />Eventually we made our way back along the coastal footpath to Modestine and continued on to Lorient. As we expected, it is a large modern town. It looked clean but unremarkable as we drove through and we did not stop. The roads are busier in southern Brittany than anywhere else we have been in France but this is probably because we are now in the middle of French school holidays. Just outside of Lorient we passed through the seaside resort of Guidel-Plages. It was chaotic! Nose to tail traffic crawled slowly along the seafront and there was not a parking space anywhere. Campsites all along the coast are mainly full and quite expensive. We continued towards Pont Aven, a pretty fishing town famed as the home of the expressionist painter Paul Gauguin. Just before we reached the town we found a campsite that seems quite pleasant in the usual eccentric way of French campsites and are happily settled for the night. It has unisex showers, wash basins and toilets – including urinals surrounded by mirrors but no doors! It is nearly 16 euros for the night, rather than the 10 we paid last night. <br /><br /><B>Wednesday 25th July 2007, Châteauneuf-du-Faou, Brittany</B><br />This series of travels is fast drawing to an end and this may well be the last night we camp as tomorrow evening we will be with Joël in Guissény until we return to England.<br /><br />We left the campsite, which apart from the really inhibiting and strange sanitaires, was fine, and drove down to Pont Aven on the estuary of the river Aven. It is to Brittany what Newlyn is to Cornwall. It was a magnet for artists in the 19th century, the Pont Aven school making great use of vivid colour, influenced primarily by Paul Gaugin whose works include not only local scenes from southern Brittany, but vividly coloured scenes painted in Polynesia where he later travelled and died.<br /><br />The town is really pretty and therefore an obvious Mecca of tourism. We were there quite early, even finding time for a stroll through the lovely Bois d'Amour beside the river and the old mill featured by Gaugin in his paintings. In the town we browsed the little shops selling very attractive Breton souvenirs including cider, biscuits, Quimper pottery and butter cakes. We felt very contented as we enjoyed coffee in the sunshine and listened to the many different languages being spoken around us – Italian, Dutch, German and English as well as French.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH_mDN0lrQD8tic4Qy3toBRu69iAl1-KqeEtj-_rh_rWeSDmeM_j5GlKmCk7jYR7GizO8FONcoalAOlNURa2OYtIZULVKVOiLdnOuf_kw_609LuggSYNYir7SucphErqPCQ0EJvQHdoM/s1280-h/YIMG_2996.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH_mDN0lrQD8tic4Qy3toBRu69iAl1-KqeEtj-_rh_rWeSDmeM_j5GlKmCk7jYR7GizO8FONcoalAOlNURa2OYtIZULVKVOiLdnOuf_kw_609LuggSYNYir7SucphErqPCQ0EJvQHdoM/s400/YIMG_2996.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879422620426098" /></a><CENTER>Scene beside the river Aven painted by Paul Gaugin</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV4VQt08BV7Y5LMvqAVQJa_4f4Wfq7bkJRKOZmRfH24rCrugyJD4odLI7muFhW-g_ElUMhLQIexJoIZ_C5VzdvmG2jgvnR7hKrYFOfqMA-akW0g2md_8220Ummr-7fCYStwzgTGqT0AU/s1280-h/YIMG_3012.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV4VQt08BV7Y5LMvqAVQJa_4f4Wfq7bkJRKOZmRfH24rCrugyJD4odLI7muFhW-g_ElUMhLQIexJoIZ_C5VzdvmG2jgvnR7hKrYFOfqMA-akW0g2md_8220Ummr-7fCYStwzgTGqT0AU/s400/YIMG_3012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879426915393410" /></a><CENTER>Mill painted by Gaugin, Pont Aven</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOX7lIzCTSsmFxrKci7JioeCHVvtJOnmDeSh9icAo5YEBNyimd4sGaVY4sCpQni98YxS8bA-hZuarFVkUtmven5IkC_RakOElgeWSVl1JGHPZf1Een-70YFifr2TaXI525y_uPZAiwwI/s1280-h/YIMG_3008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOX7lIzCTSsmFxrKci7JioeCHVvtJOnmDeSh9icAo5YEBNyimd4sGaVY4sCpQni98YxS8bA-hZuarFVkUtmven5IkC_RakOElgeWSVl1JGHPZf1Een-70YFifr2TaXI525y_uPZAiwwI/s400/YIMG_3008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879431210360722" /></a><CENTER>Town of Pont Aven</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsqQjb4Xn7uK9cD-32nzR4PTgUIhcK98gKbVyBK4gX1eBAdGCfubBPx2zX_MnECcy2ncDpGDi44KuCivSL0kAAl8igfu9JkApVSI73Tj4c_etvoafAsd-Pfo0cpRsfuK6G5F5PaSD1dpo/s1280-h/YIMG_3009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsqQjb4Xn7uK9cD-32nzR4PTgUIhcK98gKbVyBK4gX1eBAdGCfubBPx2zX_MnECcy2ncDpGDi44KuCivSL0kAAl8igfu9JkApVSI73Tj4c_etvoafAsd-Pfo0cpRsfuK6G5F5PaSD1dpo/s400/YIMG_3009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879435505328034" /></a><CENTER>Public toilets, Breton style, overhanging the river at Pont Aven</CENTER><br />We continued around the coast to Concarneau with its fortified old town on an island in the middle of the harbour. There are several magnificently engineered fortifications along the coast of Brittany, apart from Concarneau and Port Louis there is of course the classic fortified town of St. Malo.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXT1BlAuik-noT-Rfe1rso2R9O7XVCVA98vklMzm_L4YayI-_Pz6B_XFc2yvFAapbJc_0oIguQTfD36U-V1SBUbALwzJJ2uU6ygWAqRo9lm2EGGN7fBa2IavzAQR5TJr8eW4UNIYrZI0/s1280-h/YIMG_3015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXT1BlAuik-noT-Rfe1rso2R9O7XVCVA98vklMzm_L4YayI-_Pz6B_XFc2yvFAapbJc_0oIguQTfD36U-V1SBUbALwzJJ2uU6ygWAqRo9lm2EGGN7fBa2IavzAQR5TJr8eW4UNIYrZI0/s400/YIMG_3015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879439800295346" /></a><CENTER>Ville Close, Concarneau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx9LfuVvO8rmQ6PBOYYOWlAsXbyQMMZXzLrazYx-069Am-UbdAcWvdxgvACbeb5yUsZvAXqJ9evY2Adg9IBCg2OT3yti2bAjFKlG6h6SWLex0hprSuiFnJXGF0H4XFimVRgSzED4R8Ko/s1280-h/YIMG_3013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx9LfuVvO8rmQ6PBOYYOWlAsXbyQMMZXzLrazYx-069Am-UbdAcWvdxgvACbeb5yUsZvAXqJ9evY2Adg9IBCg2OT3yti2bAjFKlG6h6SWLex0hprSuiFnJXGF0H4XFimVRgSzED4R8Ko/s400/YIMG_3013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879770512777154" /></a><CENTER>National marine research laboratory, Concarneau</CENTER><br />Most of the rest of the day has been spent around Concarneau, a lovely town with sailing and fishing boats crowding the harbour, and the narrow streets of the fortified Ville Close, devoid of traffic, thronging with tourists, restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, museums and even an open air theatre and a small park. We climbed onto the walls of the fortification with its high granite crenelations defending it on one side, and nothing on the other! It was quite unnerving at times to see an unfenced drop down into the streets or the waters of the harbour. Below, just inside the main entrance, musicians were entertaining visitors with traditional Breton music, using bagpipes and flutes.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7TrabSjCkMrqHLq-qSTgZ0P8W0CPcRikDyj6fb9FDP1TikI2d4S4qckYIUTrvmQ9HVs9YTlDLKrz2G19ycEkSZT5-uyHjXwmnvcYG5HSNI0dZaFDcxd6GZgvyZtHoZ6pHBiLTzFHuk0/s1280-h/YIMG_3017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7TrabSjCkMrqHLq-qSTgZ0P8W0CPcRikDyj6fb9FDP1TikI2d4S4qckYIUTrvmQ9HVs9YTlDLKrz2G19ycEkSZT5-uyHjXwmnvcYG5HSNI0dZaFDcxd6GZgvyZtHoZ6pHBiLTzFHuk0/s400/YIMG_3017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879774807744466" /></a><CENTER>Inside the fortified walls of the Ville Close, Concarneau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQMahqmzDhcr-0o1X-7brJeoUxaGnowl3JcC2iFqt_GSuMr8ZCJeEDp_AfTdcb_WIqaL2635NPQ0fDf_nxHNywbuGXxg3Oqvt7MZYobEiUkjun3mC-VaDAD8wXC9kmMPNEt0olOOE8PU/s1280-h/YIMG_3022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQMahqmzDhcr-0o1X-7brJeoUxaGnowl3JcC2iFqt_GSuMr8ZCJeEDp_AfTdcb_WIqaL2635NPQ0fDf_nxHNywbuGXxg3Oqvt7MZYobEiUkjun3mC-VaDAD8wXC9kmMPNEt0olOOE8PU/s400/YIMG_3022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879779102711778" /></a><CENTER>Walls of the Ville Close, Concarneau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZcIgyaaxwMijgYcTXP9tmfAjrPrqKLYd0RjYDxGyGOr0qI3TJF7nTUfKEBr-pJ76Jh4oM22qw_DgWhTShMZBCin_z3zDa8GdMgMaKs_uzFZyeVwpwc_RWnFSGY3F4Rb0fE1KxOe3dBg/s1280-h/YIMG_3025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZcIgyaaxwMijgYcTXP9tmfAjrPrqKLYd0RjYDxGyGOr0qI3TJF7nTUfKEBr-pJ76Jh4oM22qw_DgWhTShMZBCin_z3zDa8GdMgMaKs_uzFZyeVwpwc_RWnFSGY3F4Rb0fE1KxOe3dBg/s400/YIMG_3025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879783397679090" /></a><CENTER>Musicians entertain the holiday makers, Concarneau</CENTER><br />Our travels continued to the small town of Rosporden. Our son Neil once went on a school exchange here and we subsequently visited his hosts and spent a night in the town. We recognised very little and could not recall at all where we had stayed. It seemed rather a quite little place though the church, reflected in the lake was most attractive.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSnjYD1YZXKQlKgJhImaqrEwF97UpGm-9t9mZc9m88RvRwJ11F_cTTaWwqhL2PtZScJTejzffw5AemQ_FrAh_8rTiskUs2xrJWKCF6qyioxrqyDh-pVkKULDkvjtzpIEPAo1gnFiM7jY/s1280-h/YIMG_3027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSnjYD1YZXKQlKgJhImaqrEwF97UpGm-9t9mZc9m88RvRwJ11F_cTTaWwqhL2PtZScJTejzffw5AemQ_FrAh_8rTiskUs2xrJWKCF6qyioxrqyDh-pVkKULDkvjtzpIEPAo1gnFiM7jY/s400/YIMG_3027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879787692646402" /></a><CENTER>Church at Rosporden</CENTER><br />English friends of Ian's moved to Brittany some ten years ago and set up a business running holiday workshops in patchwork and quilting in the Montagnes Noires of Finistère. We have called on then several times over the years as we have passed by. We have recently been trying to phone them without success so called by this evening unannounced. We were shocked to discover the house deserted and up for sale, the garden looking sadly overgrown and abandoned. According to the lady in the village library one of our friends has died and the other returned to England. As we have been travelling for much of the past two years we have not always been able to stay in regular contact with people so this has come as a complete shock to us. It also underlines what we have always said about English couples who move to live abroad. It is fine until one is ill or dies. In this case it is particularly difficult. We know our remaining friend does not have family in England and as it is obviously proving difficult to sell the house, money is tied up in France rather than being available as capital to buy anywhere back home. Tomorrow we hope to contact the notaire responsible for the sale of the house to ask if he can put us in contact with our friend as we have no other way of finding him.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-4TU7CB9xUmQiEo1CV1JEfgEh3TPdyU9i1dmqcYm0tkjBGviD3P-DwS8YpTk3ThqPpGCUJivkOCBee7DH3jOm_u3Grh56fYU2dOCLt-5cteqOVKCGuIZRp1Hvpf1o8K4HrdQhgPLbaU/s1280-h/YIMG_3028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-4TU7CB9xUmQiEo1CV1JEfgEh3TPdyU9i1dmqcYm0tkjBGviD3P-DwS8YpTk3ThqPpGCUJivkOCBee7DH3jOm_u3Grh56fYU2dOCLt-5cteqOVKCGuIZRp1Hvpf1o8K4HrdQhgPLbaU/s400/YIMG_3028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095879899361796114" /></a><CENTER>Empty and overgrown, the end of a happy dream</CENTER><br />Because his office is in the vicinity we have decided to find a campsite nearby. The rain has returned and we are on a sadly bedraggled site in the deserted heart of inland Brittany as the rain patters ceaselessly on the roof. We have watched a video, eaten everything left in the fridge and as it is now black and muddy outside we may as well retire to bed for the night.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-68660614727042561802007-08-03T13:40:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.424+00:00Loire<B>Monday 16th July 2007, Pocé, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Ian and Jill left Caen during the morning leaving Geneviève to travel separately with her mother Germaine to meet up in the evening at Germaine's holiday house here on the Loire. The drive was not particularly pleasant, passing through countless little grey towns where speed limits were frequently reduced to twenty miles an hour, reinforced by road bumps – intentional and otherwise, and traffic lights that seemed permanently set to red. We stopped for lunch and fuel in Argentan and shortly afterwards the storms started adding to the difficulty of our drive. There was nowhere to pull off and the country roads were awash with water with visibility reduced by the slashing rain and blackened skies. We were lucky it seems. Despite thunder and lightning we were okay but overhead wires were hit on the railway knocking out the electricity and leaving passengers stranded overnight in the TGV from Rennes to Paris!<br /><br />We eventually arrived at Pocé around 6pm to find our hosts had taken the motorway from Le Mans and had been here for a couple of hours, having left after us! Supper was already waiting and after exploring the house with enthusiasm and delight we sat around the table with glasses of wine. As the rain continued falling outside we felt very snug. <br /><br /><B>Tuesday 17th July 2007, Pocé-sur-Cisse, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Today, by contrast to yesterday, the sun is out and it is a beautiful day. We have discovered that the house is large and rambling with a sunny enclosed garden behind and steps leading up into cool woodland. Across the road in front, but belonging to the property, lie a neglected rose garden and an overgrown vegetable patch leading down to a tiny river where the children all used to spend hours fishing and never caught anything. The domain is far too large to maintain but this morning Ian is out in the garden with a scythe trying to restore the lawn in time for lunch. The tools are all old with worm eaten handles. Along with the garden furniture they are stored in a couple of troglodyte caves cut into the cliff face in the garden. When we opened the old wooden door the cave was cool and dry without any of the spiders' webs one might expect. This we quickly discovered is because there are several lively bats flying around inside! They seemed happy enough to skim around us as we sorted through the tools.<br /><br />The house has belonged to the family since 1973 and is full of happy memories for them. Group family holidays were spent here with the children of both Yves and Geneviève, but as they have grown up and life has moved on it is visited less frequently. Germaine does not wish to be here alone without transport as there is nothing but a baker's shop in the village, so our desire to see the house we have heard so much about has been a good excuse for a shared visit. We will stay for a few days before moving on and next week Chantal will arrive to spend the school holidays here with her two girls. The house stands on the edge of the village near the privately owned château de Pocé where the grounds are open to the public without charge.<br /><br /><B>Wednesday 18th July 2007, Pocé, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Much of yesterday was spent clearing the flower borders, hacking back the grass and scraping up the accumulation of moss. The garden is now quite transformed and we have been eating meals outside under the shade of a parasol as we admire our hard work and look at the grapes ripening on the vine that stretches along the old stone wall. This could be paradise! We are not the only British to think so. Just half a mile down the road there is a Rolling Stone who employs the village gardener and definitely does not suffer from moss in his lawn! If Mick Jagger can find satisfaction in Pocé, so too can we! He has apparently owned a château here for twenty five years and is well known in the village. This is a different château from the one mentioned above and Germaine has agreed to show us the entrance gate. It is apparently well hidden.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedhikvn41UbAUUQ1YtYyKiamgaxPL4pHOdnswNIfIDJE0GmrgxFIzb69VuzcM_J6bi0bxULR7QKUQHsSSsW2FYWbMsF7qN8Duo7Gn9SMA-rw75QX3hhtkYTQxAFuZWPsCYMJ7AQtNr9A/s1280-h/YIMG_2785.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedhikvn41UbAUUQ1YtYyKiamgaxPL4pHOdnswNIfIDJE0GmrgxFIzb69VuzcM_J6bi0bxULR7QKUQHsSSsW2FYWbMsF7qN8Duo7Gn9SMA-rw75QX3hhtkYTQxAFuZWPsCYMJ7AQtNr9A/s400/YIMG_2785.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094453811305732770" /></a><CENTER>Ian at work, Pocé-sur-Cissé</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdymmw0p6KNeJpEpzuQVDDm_3b5qfFP7arfCUN89JkBf5byVmdu95GrVXW9PduaxDlGdzyaaRc_HnToBWvj3OSHGWUt8dNeoQSlUFnxygepRaULzVJMbRJuIEidr2lTlHcsZThP-ZLH6o/s1280-h/YIMG_2786.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdymmw0p6KNeJpEpzuQVDDm_3b5qfFP7arfCUN89JkBf5byVmdu95GrVXW9PduaxDlGdzyaaRc_HnToBWvj3OSHGWUt8dNeoQSlUFnxygepRaULzVJMbRJuIEidr2lTlHcsZThP-ZLH6o/s400/YIMG_2786.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094453824190634674" /></a><CENTER>Jill not at work, Pocé-sur-Cissé</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwW8A4NetTUHbsyPArfGOsu-eGMeWr4b8huHkLxyIOfgMwInmZlC5bM0yL56RW7fAxI60GyJb5Q_zEW7L06d7W6mAmyyTjwi7CTXJsxnHw-UZJr8ISaaf7JZ7DzMY_QFN_tPg-CSAu5Yg/s1280-h/YIMG_2787.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwW8A4NetTUHbsyPArfGOsu-eGMeWr4b8huHkLxyIOfgMwInmZlC5bM0yL56RW7fAxI60GyJb5Q_zEW7L06d7W6mAmyyTjwi7CTXJsxnHw-UZJr8ISaaf7JZ7DzMY_QFN_tPg-CSAu5Yg/s400/YIMG_2787.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094453832780569282" /></a><CENTER>After lunch, Pocé-sur-Cissé</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPu3ehJFaw16VA1_1sRNyDMrQnqcOJ5UZpTs6VxQDYsV2qHzuyz_2fS_M6mnLgUXSt5DDfzPa3kvPYtz4cYdhNX3CLWYyYwlOIo32eiLP1HXiiLj9qGYPXsFmwWvni2y9lGLCI1x1J3M/s1280-h/YIMG_2820.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPu3ehJFaw16VA1_1sRNyDMrQnqcOJ5UZpTs6VxQDYsV2qHzuyz_2fS_M6mnLgUXSt5DDfzPa3kvPYtz4cYdhNX3CLWYyYwlOIo32eiLP1HXiiLj9qGYPXsFmwWvni2y9lGLCI1x1J3M/s400/YIMG_2820.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094453841370503890" /></a><CENTER>Garden wall with vine, Pocé-sur-Cissé</CENTER><br />Apart from Sir Mick, the only other curiosity about Pocé is that it is the place where Viagra is manufactured! "Château Viagra" is almost certainly the ugliest château to be found on the Loire but it does offer employment to almost everyone in the village - except the gardener who is busy gathering moss for a Rolling Stone! Tentative discussions about a twinning link between Pocé and Pisa have so far come to nothing but if the tower inclines further it could provide a last ditch solution. The product is produced by the pharmaceutical company Pfizer and the factory is known locally as the Pfizeria!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBSNJbE8dhMxkwKXv3ExoMXOBZzhQnm89ETKow5mXeBi6jlz1VgRpJUGsWpNhtlE8vtWHlDhO-ysMlV-JWfQ3srmk663l7WyAB-YoPwoM-fhFhFaVamKqI482t1BeefACU7LkjfEVCIc/s1280-h/YIMG_2824.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBSNJbE8dhMxkwKXv3ExoMXOBZzhQnm89ETKow5mXeBi6jlz1VgRpJUGsWpNhtlE8vtWHlDhO-ysMlV-JWfQ3srmk663l7WyAB-YoPwoM-fhFhFaVamKqI482t1BeefACU7LkjfEVCIc/s400/YIMG_2824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094453845665471202" /></a><CENTER>Château Viagra, Pocé-sur-Cissé</CENTER><br />Yesterday afternoon we left Germaine reading the newspaper and drove along the banks of the Loire to the Château de Chaumont. We parked beside the river which after the rains is in full flood, swirling around, and frequently submerging, the little sandy islands that are scattered along its length. Generally at this time of year there are sandy beaches and swimming spots all along the banks and the many campsites and hotels are packed. We found we could park anywhere and the campsites looked almost empty.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzJSkYi21iTMCAn9H-wj0dWkDjTCyGjS5cn_APV7uOhmxLM7cLIbUvL9IBmNx76AbrW3yVTmxLbZxpklnFfawbVyIo5fZ9QgAmEGrxpEX_Ce0-vizvwWYCEhMjnupkDOCkfsz_B4pIz0/s1280-h/YIMG_2790.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzJSkYi21iTMCAn9H-wj0dWkDjTCyGjS5cn_APV7uOhmxLM7cLIbUvL9IBmNx76AbrW3yVTmxLbZxpklnFfawbVyIo5fZ9QgAmEGrxpEX_Ce0-vizvwWYCEhMjnupkDOCkfsz_B4pIz0/s400/YIMG_2790.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454253687364338" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chaumont seen from the Loire</CENTER><br />We walked up through the park to the château with its creamy stone walls and high pointed slate roofs. Inside we found a wide stone courtyard with lovely views of the wide valley of the Loire. On the wall was a carved porcupine, the symbol of Louis XII. It was to be seen again as a theme throughout the château, carved over fireplaces and doorways. There was much restoration work going on but we were free to wander the rooms at leisure and wonder at the luxurious lifestyle that must have been lived there. It had been greatly changed of course over the generations of ownership. Our ticket also gave access to the 19th century stables. Life looked pretty luxurious too for the horses, and the hunting and riding equipment, along with the collection of different carriages, were a reflection of the wealth of the owners. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUgBvCgqgp12Fh0xFmqs4_NXcAYPjeOpC2IBecN4BRZkLNN45uqVbBtu0510ykjdL45Y-tg52Qj6qlnpNDpMkVJKHRTooEYdUGGe_fCZZ5eGyYn6HWR2DiNJqhjP5fA5E2T9XfSb6R9A/s1280-h/YIMG_2793.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUgBvCgqgp12Fh0xFmqs4_NXcAYPjeOpC2IBecN4BRZkLNN45uqVbBtu0510ykjdL45Y-tg52Qj6qlnpNDpMkVJKHRTooEYdUGGe_fCZZ5eGyYn6HWR2DiNJqhjP5fA5E2T9XfSb6R9A/s400/YIMG_2793.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454262277298946" /></a><CENTER>Gatehouse, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBoT-HvT3K7S6rVty_uJpJ3hvkRwiYShlf7ncvWgsLCHroFr6d6DqdUI0FLbU0qrIefPNG92qssspA59zGRYd3CVnD3q6KPWt8B3Z8e0lw3gDZHIce5MiqsTzCPtnwJd5qbBKkb48DVM/s1280-h/YIMG_2794.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBoT-HvT3K7S6rVty_uJpJ3hvkRwiYShlf7ncvWgsLCHroFr6d6DqdUI0FLbU0qrIefPNG92qssspA59zGRYd3CVnD3q6KPWt8B3Z8e0lw3gDZHIce5MiqsTzCPtnwJd5qbBKkb48DVM/s400/YIMG_2794.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454266572266258" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_Xz-nsIIGFUewsxRooJ8cq5sQQ08YNDVGMU2jtDDHVb9CPLoW7jbQbXb3-t5Ip4-qCrIRG2b0su3NtTFu6g99keR8Nt7jLN06BP1ycm8qXjSoYL0zkRH2mRIBSF9AzpYgxpNR4_dXPY/s1280-h/YIMG_2801.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_Xz-nsIIGFUewsxRooJ8cq5sQQ08YNDVGMU2jtDDHVb9CPLoW7jbQbXb3-t5Ip4-qCrIRG2b0su3NtTFu6g99keR8Nt7jLN06BP1ycm8qXjSoYL0zkRH2mRIBSF9AzpYgxpNR4_dXPY/s400/YIMG_2801.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454270867233570" /></a><CENTER>Courtyard, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJcncaQeDvpZIM13DJ1d9PI6rgEpe1KD54ltx5vgp3H_MDU6k6trAmjxfyh_kQSKl457XwdfXdgrsqAvDW6kyEfcdSxLiDjHlvUCzRWQnU-Mm0WukmR6_KWnrgHPvVPnxefVCpCuGkQ8/s1280-h/YIMG_2797.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJcncaQeDvpZIM13DJ1d9PI6rgEpe1KD54ltx5vgp3H_MDU6k6trAmjxfyh_kQSKl457XwdfXdgrsqAvDW6kyEfcdSxLiDjHlvUCzRWQnU-Mm0WukmR6_KWnrgHPvVPnxefVCpCuGkQ8/s400/YIMG_2797.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454279457168178" /></a><CENTER>Symbol of Louis XII, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJutfo4tZg-Q_G1ReKrhuLb6qQ71AbrD2qeDd6Wa3QzK_c6aI1WTOAovN1udLfRn_heFxw9VrSHZWC5KfzqFdfAeo1O0I82YesNm33XTSub31Q2d8iyVLbci6Qj1-gvSWVLxzDC6rgTeA/s1280-h/YIMG_2798.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJutfo4tZg-Q_G1ReKrhuLb6qQ71AbrD2qeDd6Wa3QzK_c6aI1WTOAovN1udLfRn_heFxw9VrSHZWC5KfzqFdfAeo1O0I82YesNm33XTSub31Q2d8iyVLbci6Qj1-gvSWVLxzDC6rgTeA/s400/YIMG_2798.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454700363963202" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chaumont seen from the courtyard</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3FZRMbt83ry4SDlimUgt2vKh3ZsyUh8s2vlbj8EJeAEN0sdvfavOJSIwWT-rlCygUaDzo2cJ43GdVi84Mkcj9XCkVo48xkZcygFG_59c7Q6KtZLQdv1R8anIcQsQFrkvEYEZ4t5JTN4/s1280-h/YIMG_2799.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3FZRMbt83ry4SDlimUgt2vKh3ZsyUh8s2vlbj8EJeAEN0sdvfavOJSIwWT-rlCygUaDzo2cJ43GdVi84Mkcj9XCkVo48xkZcygFG_59c7Q6KtZLQdv1R8anIcQsQFrkvEYEZ4t5JTN4/s400/YIMG_2799.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454708953897810" /></a><CENTER>Goldilocks was here, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJ-o-qWNwUya_M_G7NRruCm_kTe-jG-qThg3tgDE2nKwj6Gjh59BMQlthLN-a5_MZB_K1oH4CLV_J6fkhwLSZRWnbQii1dqmqR2oiPP3dgX34h4yYoB22WMgZh8tzeIddc8jpDKRKRf4/s1280-h/YIMG_2802.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJ-o-qWNwUya_M_G7NRruCm_kTe-jG-qThg3tgDE2nKwj6Gjh59BMQlthLN-a5_MZB_K1oH4CLV_J6fkhwLSZRWnbQii1dqmqR2oiPP3dgX34h4yYoB22WMgZh8tzeIddc8jpDKRKRf4/s400/YIMG_2802.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454717543832418" /></a><CENTER>Window in the chapel depicting Thomas Becket with Henry II, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqsexFNKp3cEXOiDcLNM5u2vRAu3Le1zx8UdMEl9aXSgBPvEbV2jlcGHikSylOqvV27w93hNXauFe-nICsK59LNOdxvF39NrulDOhx_kV_33WC8Uhyphenhyphen3DWxMkh00j9pn_iT6f4RUhb1PM/s1280-h/YIMG_2804.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqsexFNKp3cEXOiDcLNM5u2vRAu3Le1zx8UdMEl9aXSgBPvEbV2jlcGHikSylOqvV27w93hNXauFe-nICsK59LNOdxvF39NrulDOhx_kV_33WC8Uhyphenhyphen3DWxMkh00j9pn_iT6f4RUhb1PM/s400/YIMG_2804.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454721838799730" /></a><CENTER>Stables, Château de Chaumont</CENTER><br />We drove back along the opposite bank of the Loire, stopping for a stroll around Amboise on the way. Here the picturesque streets, huddled beneath the heavy defensive walls of the château, were crowded with visitors. Situated on top of the castle wall, very much in contrast, stood the delicate chapel dedicated to St. Hubert, patron saint of hunters. We did not spend long in Amboise. We have seen it before many years ago but it would be nice during a future visit to explore it in more detail. We would also particularly like to see the nearby home of Leonardo da Vinci at Clos Lucé.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKzyHGkfh0yWWRdIMuq9xNbBlac7m7lajjlNrppPmwMmjeL_L1RaMMdeDhyphenhyphen0bdgPPYLHuAXFlP9W60XhaNIh7FnABB8E9Bx45oa5nMkciXg0tV-qJeD3eOmWXfrwHdZtasGewGIpoPGs/s1280-h/YIMG_2812.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKzyHGkfh0yWWRdIMuq9xNbBlac7m7lajjlNrppPmwMmjeL_L1RaMMdeDhyphenhyphen0bdgPPYLHuAXFlP9W60XhaNIh7FnABB8E9Bx45oa5nMkciXg0tV-qJeD3eOmWXfrwHdZtasGewGIpoPGs/s400/YIMG_2812.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094454726133767042" /></a><CENTER>Château at Amboise</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLE0zKPFwMEjj_WzcLp7YsD7PT4UEmlJuXkF14lJofBjfWu4X6NVkdYkoxQDIev6O_k1lqIMvrqjhY6o-H_yeEgb8Ze3AF2X4SnuOBTNzwuBV2aVu4ONKXCpCWs_3cY7FoJXND43akKiI/s1280-h/YIMG_2878.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLE0zKPFwMEjj_WzcLp7YsD7PT4UEmlJuXkF14lJofBjfWu4X6NVkdYkoxQDIev6O_k1lqIMvrqjhY6o-H_yeEgb8Ze3AF2X4SnuOBTNzwuBV2aVu4ONKXCpCWs_3cY7FoJXND43akKiI/s400/YIMG_2878.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455202875136914" /></a><CENTER>St. Hubert's chapel, Amboise</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SzDsGBUk9dYb02VzlcKAlpHNpUX0LnGxsLVDihCkAkBblADfb0ZqJM-jYqGlMYFG4ovEgHWFAYGT-urfq5RHuZYuNEcKkW8SLU62M8rgm5Vok2dmAnhbxv8SxuNo5K5HrgN0JTEl1Yc/s1280-h/YIMG_2818.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SzDsGBUk9dYb02VzlcKAlpHNpUX0LnGxsLVDihCkAkBblADfb0ZqJM-jYqGlMYFG4ovEgHWFAYGT-urfq5RHuZYuNEcKkW8SLU62M8rgm5Vok2dmAnhbxv8SxuNo5K5HrgN0JTEl1Yc/s400/YIMG_2818.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455207170104226" /></a><CENTER>Loire in full spate, Amboise</CENTER><br />This morning we left Germaine to walk down to the village for some postcards and to chat with her neighbour. We drove off after breakfast along the bank of the Loire, passing Blois, to the château of Chambord which none of us have ever visited before. It is one of the largest and most magnificent of the Loire châteaux and was started in 1519 by François I, successor to Louis XII whose château we visited yesterday. François constructed Chambord within a huge parkland, surrounding it with a wide moat. The building is heavily influenced by the Italian style of architecture and is typical of the splendour of the French Renaissance. It has an overall symmetry, with four linked towers forming a square around a central staircase constructed as a double helix. It is actually two circular staircases superimposed upon each other. Up at roof level fantasy takes over with belfries, towers and turrets that are never quite symmetrical. It is claimed that in silhouette it has the appearance of a mediaeval city. François I had as his symbol a salamander, believed to be capable of living through fire. It was to be seen throughout the castle, carved into the stonework.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxq21k4pFjA2ADcLgd4KT4a_I2lmW68FDCoC1UXtSByAlJ10vC5K55a1HnerIZxrI11MzKSmBxMs3Ud4yfCP75tbyWkpDk283w3hLYNhEKzl_wMOMgWmkFy-zMW3LEcRdEQYSuXewaeZk/s1280-h/YIMG_2826.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxq21k4pFjA2ADcLgd4KT4a_I2lmW68FDCoC1UXtSByAlJ10vC5K55a1HnerIZxrI11MzKSmBxMs3Ud4yfCP75tbyWkpDk283w3hLYNhEKzl_wMOMgWmkFy-zMW3LEcRdEQYSuXewaeZk/s400/YIMG_2826.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455211465071538" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxz6RW2BCMuENX3j_hZdCh3imM-lcNaLv_U0yoW6j4IPr1U9ALMb1T9XN78ieR2Jl8CkmvypKKY6Z6kQjQEjyBkZeSDNuap5f22S5_X23YaYnSfvcFblNeHfNl1TPui6KC85_QIgftbc/s1280-h/YIMG_2856.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxz6RW2BCMuENX3j_hZdCh3imM-lcNaLv_U0yoW6j4IPr1U9ALMb1T9XN78ieR2Jl8CkmvypKKY6Z6kQjQEjyBkZeSDNuap5f22S5_X23YaYnSfvcFblNeHfNl1TPui6KC85_QIgftbc/s400/YIMG_2856.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455215760038850" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBbr4evYPEYIdHTUmdC-SIcwKK0QY05Mp8_gnCLpibMOYJJbMcO_QIyNqJNTN1_ia_Pt3KMhHK8VVEy5ExfHyCH0JxsQ-45_qC5NRrvXNamwZNPRLWp1jBCy5hV865eTGUXCcw0MvIVY/s1280-h/YIMG_2833.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBbr4evYPEYIdHTUmdC-SIcwKK0QY05Mp8_gnCLpibMOYJJbMcO_QIyNqJNTN1_ia_Pt3KMhHK8VVEy5ExfHyCH0JxsQ-45_qC5NRrvXNamwZNPRLWp1jBCy5hV865eTGUXCcw0MvIVY/s400/YIMG_2833.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455220055006162" /></a><CENTER>Courtyard, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5mqhQyq5NdW8kH54WpfZ8xn6zEQWYbLMsE_xJPJByRogdNWIxDfLA9XRu7q_7Pj_2B9hYbGoJvIg9Z3qFEiTwQ5mU0Bqkbb5jgoR-IxVCzrd8sDBsWBz-lHppp7qLaGcXMO6K3zJtlE/s1280-h/YIMG_2837.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5mqhQyq5NdW8kH54WpfZ8xn6zEQWYbLMsE_xJPJByRogdNWIxDfLA9XRu7q_7Pj_2B9hYbGoJvIg9Z3qFEiTwQ5mU0Bqkbb5jgoR-IxVCzrd8sDBsWBz-lHppp7qLaGcXMO6K3zJtlE/s400/YIMG_2837.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455769810820066" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYyAZV8Ql425z_nkReYtae7AK5kzu4ejLuYtMwqPAOL_DASE4B8n6yMM16MuJt47OdwlW0Rh-iGkPP9QF7Bv88DzsoKkUA98O-n4VuT9aM_q6tyZhesO9A7e9ByGVaNb2OJ6uViHZAEc/s1280-h/YIMG_2839.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYyAZV8Ql425z_nkReYtae7AK5kzu4ejLuYtMwqPAOL_DASE4B8n6yMM16MuJt47OdwlW0Rh-iGkPP9QF7Bv88DzsoKkUA98O-n4VuT9aM_q6tyZhesO9A7e9ByGVaNb2OJ6uViHZAEc/s400/YIMG_2839.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455774105787378" /></a><CENTER>Central staircase, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56vTM4FbwGyrm18BdSexwxtyD_vElQfnm8Yb6UZ6DwW1BKBtfT0xHOq1C5qFyVSnSmzSU4ZSlvLNRJSTX2XTwb4rhbTHd93ck0XW-xX6Zs-Gc4w_WMJRL-qGlynW8uTf66scUKz5FCgo/s1280-h/YIMG_2850.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56vTM4FbwGyrm18BdSexwxtyD_vElQfnm8Yb6UZ6DwW1BKBtfT0xHOq1C5qFyVSnSmzSU4ZSlvLNRJSTX2XTwb4rhbTHd93ck0XW-xX6Zs-Gc4w_WMJRL-qGlynW8uTf66scUKz5FCgo/s400/YIMG_2850.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455782695721986" /></a><CENTER>At a window on the famous staircase, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tKQPlS8OB-Rg1X9j3j__jnFiIMQHd-WMkh341robzt2huUQh1nh0kxUyJ_6Q4_shV5-iOFaUYwRFlwOUxupQDk9nQt7iHuv3sfLH-WuWPY7pP9Ovmrv0CVQmKStWrMsVInYlGHbgrlQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2843.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tKQPlS8OB-Rg1X9j3j__jnFiIMQHd-WMkh341robzt2huUQh1nh0kxUyJ_6Q4_shV5-iOFaUYwRFlwOUxupQDk9nQt7iHuv3sfLH-WuWPY7pP9Ovmrv0CVQmKStWrMsVInYlGHbgrlQ/s400/YIMG_2843.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455786990689298" /></a><CENTER>Top of the staircase tower, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikecZLW1nOEJ6BQjWWkbtYpQ_SdVAt2qWSNcSwVR7qbZnleTD-cDihPU1bZq9Ru7Ktxj0AT-3HqqwCEtxaQatdNr7HTVCqTgZkLeuSKsrBYhuM6PBiC0SEEjjdyPqSLLG3IFyRoyj3mjs/s1280-h/YIMG_2841.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikecZLW1nOEJ6BQjWWkbtYpQ_SdVAt2qWSNcSwVR7qbZnleTD-cDihPU1bZq9Ru7Ktxj0AT-3HqqwCEtxaQatdNr7HTVCqTgZkLeuSKsrBYhuM6PBiC0SEEjjdyPqSLLG3IFyRoyj3mjs/s400/YIMG_2841.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094455791285656610" /></a><CENTER>View from the roof, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgU_Ho1-GukzZM9WMviXKB5FQ-mzrNit_AkKo_uJ_jpUiDeqI_72PGjyqnSNplmp65Bm37F303ayUt3bl1WtLEvoZx9LAKu8lNHWyl6TIyNA6Ws6PqP760Ec1lr337x52b4q_5Vh-gtc/s1280-h/YIMG_2844.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgU_Ho1-GukzZM9WMviXKB5FQ-mzrNit_AkKo_uJ_jpUiDeqI_72PGjyqnSNplmp65Bm37F303ayUt3bl1WtLEvoZx9LAKu8lNHWyl6TIyNA6Ws6PqP760Ec1lr337x52b4q_5Vh-gtc/s400/YIMG_2844.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094456246552190002" /></a><CENTER>Rooftop, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDTvqHafROgjNXSivHqIqdILHhMN7TJ-elmAlihpSS0m1Sn2jTZz77qnyjXHtRzjpVoh6Mi2ScfDjl2QRSi4Yh-WAWhn7Voaqt6NqYci8X8p5yu_GQp40nikitr3VBIMvPVeKZx5kcM0/s1280-h/YIMG_2845.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDTvqHafROgjNXSivHqIqdILHhMN7TJ-elmAlihpSS0m1Sn2jTZz77qnyjXHtRzjpVoh6Mi2ScfDjl2QRSi4Yh-WAWhn7Voaqt6NqYci8X8p5yu_GQp40nikitr3VBIMvPVeKZx5kcM0/s400/YIMG_2845.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094456250847157314" /></a><CENTER>Chapel seen from the castle roof, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbRbGevUOjau4ocamuWDbYqYkar3W9y9jaK8cjYar5n8BehfNxneCCM0Nm9qTAUEhtoxxP-ksqqGrhVIHiFAHWkqRWDMFYQ1SCuuvfIEk_K6iK78udZvF2mOT-uXwiW3A-WaW3L3jsec/s1280-h/YIMG_2849.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbRbGevUOjau4ocamuWDbYqYkar3W9y9jaK8cjYar5n8BehfNxneCCM0Nm9qTAUEhtoxxP-ksqqGrhVIHiFAHWkqRWDMFYQ1SCuuvfIEk_K6iK78udZvF2mOT-uXwiW3A-WaW3L3jsec/s400/YIMG_2849.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094456255142124626" /></a><CENTER>Salamander, symbol of François I, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br />There was much to see, many of the rooms were furnished and our visit took most of the day. There was also a curious exhibition "Made in Chambord" illustrating the use made commercially of the name Chambord to identify, particularly in America, with quality and beauty. Branded products ranged from ships, cars, kitchen cabinets and armchairs to restaurants, perfumes, coffee percolators, bedspreads, spirits and even a coffin!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUK5IDa8rA-KysAwxgrQ7eaJaoyYJAIqb8YoiT5B99ScL_1OOeXQ-uATXCl7dLtecqPIltHRngkaSEyNZgxDrsaahOZDkhmpj4RuKGUPxWFNFRi-iEinlb_BDAGahAKNb0Wn_3ibM_0yg/s1280-h/YIMG_2835.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUK5IDa8rA-KysAwxgrQ7eaJaoyYJAIqb8YoiT5B99ScL_1OOeXQ-uATXCl7dLtecqPIltHRngkaSEyNZgxDrsaahOZDkhmpj4RuKGUPxWFNFRi-iEinlb_BDAGahAKNb0Wn_3ibM_0yg/s400/YIMG_2835.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094456259437091938" /></a><CENTER>Interior, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br />In the 19th century, after the Revolution and the end of the Empire, Henri Duc de Chambord and last of the Bourbons was in direct line to the throne of France. It was accepted that the monarchy should return under the tricolour flag of the people of France. In 1871 carriages were made to carry the new monarch Henri V into Paris. But it was not to be. Henri refused to accept the monarchy under the French flag, insisting on a return to the white flag of the Bourbons. His intractability cost him his kingdom and he left for a life of exile, the Third Republic was declared and the new carriages mouldered at Chambord where they are currently being restored.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1Vjh77hZvRgjEpKAVWFpxge0bj2YBXW6UTKzgmZugZO9I_rJNEPhwxYaL2GwRd6lc2Tpg8_PK_V1NbN6kNpw5XGBlyXQHVmXu7FSD_vMz_5dvk8nCqWB6S7UeaXVjKA0Op0O8RI3Wp0/s1280-h/YIMG_2853.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1Vjh77hZvRgjEpKAVWFpxge0bj2YBXW6UTKzgmZugZO9I_rJNEPhwxYaL2GwRd6lc2Tpg8_PK_V1NbN6kNpw5XGBlyXQHVmXu7FSD_vMz_5dvk8nCqWB6S7UeaXVjKA0Op0O8RI3Wp0/s400/YIMG_2853.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094456684638854258" /></a><CENTER>Ian stages a coup to restore the monarchy, Château de Chambord</CENTER><br />We were all weary after a day on our feet and poor Geneviève was exhausted with trying to explain the intricacies of French history to us. So after a brief rest we took a refreshing stroll through the surrounding formal gardens and looked at the stables and the little parish church. We had already wondered about the shrapnel marks scarring the beautiful white stone walls of the château. In the chapel we found a plaque commemorating the bravery of the priest who, during heavy fighting here in August 1944 as the Allies advanced through France, had interceded on behalf of hostages held by the Germans, saving not only their lives, but also preventing the destruction of many of the treasures from the Louvre which had been moved to Chambord for safe keeping during the war.<br /><br />We sought out a different route for our return journey home, following the opposite bank through the sunny, green countryside of the Loire Valley. Near Amboise we stopped to investigate a wine cellar built into the cliffs. Inside it was dark and very cool. We were offered tastings of several Touraine wines to make our selection of a suitable gift for our hosts. For once Jill wasn't driving so could thoroughly enjoy the experience. During the conversation we were rather disappointed to hear that rumour is rife amongst the local businesses supplying his château, that Mick Jagger is actually selling up in Pocé! It seems that after all he "can't get no satisfaction" even in this tranquil corner of France! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXjuJ8qZWrNJ7oChyTQXJ1Y5lyCrKCdtCVW4E0qOLMDxyUUMSd7jIBvzB8As1w8eA3wDN8WWIRiDHyGrl05gDPaalR8EtEFNqw5DtXIUIPMH3UJ7NXmH-xMqc_OS9nJHOHfrdvSKNK8c/s1280-h/YIMG_2860.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXjuJ8qZWrNJ7oChyTQXJ1Y5lyCrKCdtCVW4E0qOLMDxyUUMSd7jIBvzB8As1w8eA3wDN8WWIRiDHyGrl05gDPaalR8EtEFNqw5DtXIUIPMH3UJ7NXmH-xMqc_OS9nJHOHfrdvSKNK8c/s400/YIMG_2860.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457148495322242" /></a><CENTER>In the wine cave near Amboise</CENTER><br /><br /><B>Thursday 19th July 2007, Pocé, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Today has been one of the laziest we have spent while travelling. This morning Ian pottered in the garden, Germaine did the crossword, Geneviève read her crime thriller and Jill prepared the blog, enjoying having a cool house and space to work. At lunch time we walked down to the village through the grounds of the château for yet another lunch to celebrate Geneviève's retirement and us all being together at Pocé after so many years dreaming of it. <br /><br />Lunch was in a troglodyte restaurant inside the white chalk cliffs. While the sun was glaring and hot outside, we sat in cool comfort at pretty tables with flowers, deep within a cave! Any similarity with our stone-age ancestors ended there. The cave was well lit with electricity and the Flintstones surely never enjoyed chilled kir aperitifs as they waited to be served with pâté maison or saumon fumé served with prawns and salad. To follow we variously selected duck, steak or trout with gratin dauphinois and fresh vegetables accompanied by a bottle of the local Touraine wine. French menus always have at least four courses so next we struggled manfully through plates of cheeses and salad. Just as we thought it was all over Mme Flintstone exited from the adjacent kitchen cave carrying dishes of nouvelle cuisine chocolate gateau decorated with melon, grapes and crème anglaise. As we staggered back into the glaring sunshine we positively ached with over indulging! We just hope Geneviève doesn't continue celebrating her retirement indefinitely!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIt1ILHEXCBnQ7EbDFuZtawcsz1p4-8XF-0yQCkkWCFB0J75zDuJhict3LKyb_nXD4bF7g-ADFpvqUYf1jalj_FoemYplikLyPf8PO2NIyqMEpMMsYNi6_NbN9D2o-XILs7s4NJ2ZRuhY/s1280-h/YIMG_2868.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIt1ILHEXCBnQ7EbDFuZtawcsz1p4-8XF-0yQCkkWCFB0J75zDuJhict3LKyb_nXD4bF7g-ADFpvqUYf1jalj_FoemYplikLyPf8PO2NIyqMEpMMsYNi6_NbN9D2o-XILs7s4NJ2ZRuhY/s400/YIMG_2868.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457152790289554" /></a><CENTER>Celebrating inside a cave, Pocé</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K7h-cAOOxVwfTv8EfSe5j7M1vpjY_Y45ZGZVjNqRe-ELBDT5O9LpjxCKZ-heJRigxGG1EpI1nfUJGou9Aqtd5qhU0ng-3Kh2lBKMeO3mHyqXUpLmMocCSNcu2tRUV0GYUb9A-YsgTqk/s1280-h/YIMG_2867.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K7h-cAOOxVwfTv8EfSe5j7M1vpjY_Y45ZGZVjNqRe-ELBDT5O9LpjxCKZ-heJRigxGG1EpI1nfUJGou9Aqtd5qhU0ng-3Kh2lBKMeO3mHyqXUpLmMocCSNcu2tRUV0GYUb9A-YsgTqk/s400/YIMG_2867.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457157085256866" /></a><CENTER>Edible art, Pocé</CENTER><br />Germaine, at eighty-six is amazing. Not only did she cope very elegantly with lunch, she strode ahead of us back through the village, and deciding we now needed a good walk, she lead us to the entrance to Château Jagger. There was little to see from the gate. It looks very unassuming and masked by trees. The photos we have seen from the air however show it to be quite splendid.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8vPtRRhCc7zn5E2KidzeBJ5PS4Jxy-OSLAo0y8-Cd_ZWzZQupBSCYw1xc8Wz4ECm0SPSdbdCIZOGANjl3hKoFewPY75Jh9j4o7rkVw4DJnPuDaGS6ir7o42cuvu7Za4qg5O6EFRsWvQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2870.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8vPtRRhCc7zn5E2KidzeBJ5PS4Jxy-OSLAo0y8-Cd_ZWzZQupBSCYw1xc8Wz4ECm0SPSdbdCIZOGANjl3hKoFewPY75Jh9j4o7rkVw4DJnPuDaGS6ir7o42cuvu7Za4qg5O6EFRsWvQ/s400/YIMG_2870.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457161380224178" /></a><CENTER>An inauspicious entrance gate, Pocé</CENTER><br />Along footpaths, through woodland, across exposed grassy meadows, Germaine lead us on a relentless ramble. She does not get to visit Pocé very often and she was revelling in showing us around. The sun was as bright as she was and we were all feeling uncomfortably hot. Eventually we reached home and with one accord, we disappeared to our cool bedrooms and fell asleep for two hours despite feeling uncomfortably tight around the middle!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYv49Zmlq41qmyAv6rgkaKzZlE9RUeX5f-Wavo6m0LE__oJQvooG5JA9wPTtpqFXKbNCxzXvJsPCVhGqIt3k1CbwTeyL-oQ6j1iIRxkAe_nPyWrmRzp5UAed7vgxyhhv0iSvxQc85atM/s1280-h/YIMG_2869.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYv49Zmlq41qmyAv6rgkaKzZlE9RUeX5f-Wavo6m0LE__oJQvooG5JA9wPTtpqFXKbNCxzXvJsPCVhGqIt3k1CbwTeyL-oQ6j1iIRxkAe_nPyWrmRzp5UAed7vgxyhhv0iSvxQc85atM/s400/YIMG_2869.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457169970158786" /></a><CENTER>One of several châteaux in the village, Pocé</CENTER><br />We were roused from our slumbers by a neighbour turning up to show us her latest grandchild who sat grinning at us from his push chair as we drank tea in a patch of shade in the garden. As the day turned cooler Ian returned to his gardening and Jill and Geneviève went off for yet another walk through the surrounding countryside.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzl0CjbljlYnmU6GInE9o3BAA896tFf9q_rKtl6-GlOfHIDElsp82ahk9UK9iL9OJwRCFoby47p9Ka9hVnJ58VpV-Uc2nBDJQtxQmSjKfUkuU6ZIAChEgRV7xq9z_e265eezvP5bERYlE/s1280-h/YIMG_2872.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzl0CjbljlYnmU6GInE9o3BAA896tFf9q_rKtl6-GlOfHIDElsp82ahk9UK9iL9OJwRCFoby47p9Ka9hVnJ58VpV-Uc2nBDJQtxQmSjKfUkuU6ZIAChEgRV7xq9z_e265eezvP5bERYlE/s400/YIMG_2872.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457633826626770" /></a><CENTER>Reflections on the river Ramberge at the end of the garden, Pocé</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_Wquc6j6HLvbAGHJfTDXOEFD5ebRS62wzD4IeZ6gu5BeT-hreysQLKLD8VAD1L9vgAT6td31vuYfk_UH3pZvxxtgRhnIiTzVa94ZXzU0Yjoa-pvw6O6VQWbPrYNUxZw6x2PYDrPGmk0/s1280-h/YIMG_2871.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_Wquc6j6HLvbAGHJfTDXOEFD5ebRS62wzD4IeZ6gu5BeT-hreysQLKLD8VAD1L9vgAT6td31vuYfk_UH3pZvxxtgRhnIiTzVa94ZXzU0Yjoa-pvw6O6VQWbPrYNUxZw6x2PYDrPGmk0/s400/YIMG_2871.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457638121594082" /></a><CENTER>A refreshing paddle in the Ramberge, Pocé</CENTER><br /><B>Friday 20th July 2007, Pocé, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />We went our own way today, leaving Geneviève and Germaine to visit an elderly relative in a nursing home nearby before Germaine caught the evening train back to Caen. Meanwhile we spent the morning in Amboise, mainly at a cybercafé sorting out emails, blogs and internet banking.<br /><br />We turned up at lunchtime at the home of Susan and Ray whom we first met in the Languedoc when we were staying at Ambre-les-Espagnolettes. They moved to the Loire last year and shortly afterwards recognised Modestine parked in the centre of Loches during several days of very heavy rain. On that occasion they made us welcome to their home and offered us accommodation for the night. Since then we have stayed in touch and as Pocé is not far from their village we have spent a very happy day together in their garden, eating slightly singed barbequed chicken and mirabelle crumble. Their garden is loaded with more fruit trees than they know what to do with so when we left it was with a box full of fresh mirabelles. Later we strolled around the village of sunny, white stone houses, surely a candidate for one of France's most beautiful villages, where every corner of the streets and gardens are filled with roses, dahlias, hollyhocks and various flowering shrubs. It was good to see their home now they have had time to settle. They have certainly found themselves a very enviable location and have begun to make friends locally and join in various activities.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQsU_UnrYIog8W7Ouem4qv7fLRMspy_Yfd049BBsTK9RftNFKQc6ySz1CgBsZFslTRFCPHpqtxZ26SLlV60S7ogfMCQSWGHP-EZInWw0Sq0Ak8ykGqYmaL5uTtxjoYixaCBZDKXfGeZM/s1280-h/YIMG_2873.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQsU_UnrYIog8W7Ouem4qv7fLRMspy_Yfd049BBsTK9RftNFKQc6ySz1CgBsZFslTRFCPHpqtxZ26SLlV60S7ogfMCQSWGHP-EZInWw0Sq0Ak8ykGqYmaL5uTtxjoYixaCBZDKXfGeZM/s400/YIMG_2873.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457642416561394" /></a><CENTER>With Susan Ray and Muffin, Chédingy</CENTER><br />It was already 7pm when we returned to Pocé to find Genevieve reading an article in <I>Le Monde</I> about the spiralling number of British buying second homes in France or moving here permanently. There are particular areas that they choose, mainly towards the west. Fortunately for us they have yet to discover the Jura, which will always have a very special place in our affections. <br /><br />We would be hard pressed to find an area of France to put down roots. Each region has its own attractions and charms. That is what makes the country so special. We have rosy memories of Nancy, the vineyards of Champagne and the Meuse. Just at the moment we really do no want to leave the Loire. Last week we were singing the praises of Calvados and before that we were captivated by the Cotentin. Next week we will be in Brittany with our friends there and we will most definitely not wish to leave to return to England. We are already planning our return to France to areas as diverse as Bordeaux, the Jura and the Languedoc, each so very different yet quite irresistible, full of happy memories and friends we have made over the years. <br /><br />Apart from having financial capital tied up in a property, buying commits you to one region. It seems better perhaps to rent in different regions for several months at a time, exploring the surroundings in depth. Modestine has been a joy to us since we retired and we hope we will continue to have happy travels together long into the future. It would be unrealistic though to continue living in such a tiny vehicle for long periods in all weathers, and travelling permanently can be very exhausting, as well as addictive. We would not have missed anything (except the trouble with our bank card) as we travelled through nine or ten countries over the past four months, but it has been wonderful recently to have Geneviève as a base to return to while we have been back in France. There is a lot to be said for a clean bathroom, a roof when it is raining, a washing machine, a table to leave the computer on for days on end, internet access from the next room, a telephone, a garage to dump our bikes in, and the conviviality of friends around a table with a bottle of wine by candlelight. It would be so nice too to be sufficiently long in a location to return the boundless hospitality so readily offered by all our fantastic friends across Europe. We are very aware of just how fortunate we have been over the past couple of years.<br /><br /><B>Saturday 21st July 2007, Pocé, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Today has been our last full day together here and the sun has continued to shine for us. This morning the three of us drove into Amboise to invade the cybercafé and sort through emails before settling at a sunny table overlooked by the castle walls for croissants and a jug of coffee. Nearby, in a little street lined with boutiques, coffee shops and charcuteries, we could hear the authentic, brilliant playing of a couple of itinerant Hungarian gypsies with a violin and an accordion. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQiBfbNmOnMSiCOB3aewIOo1d4hyphenhyphenoQRvzTMI0vkBQd_QnrkRdr8r6ZygLr8uirj80iQ7iTSGwKvEbPLbTNwDloqYinBIjSxAoKoSToLLyusgZMeKdNBxEqkxzHeSTAAJAuA9p0iIbOfs/s1280-h/YIMG_2877.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQiBfbNmOnMSiCOB3aewIOo1d4hyphenhyphenoQRvzTMI0vkBQd_QnrkRdr8r6ZygLr8uirj80iQ7iTSGwKvEbPLbTNwDloqYinBIjSxAoKoSToLLyusgZMeKdNBxEqkxzHeSTAAJAuA9p0iIbOfs/s400/YIMG_2877.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457646711528706" /></a><CENTER>Ian and Geneviève in Amboise</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovIPYEC1m8fj_4ShxA_1uPBd8mx3CPXvCmMIjsrcf6Tb1JgyxyNgu0T-GgVDkp0G7vahnjvbdxuG5ylFUENjsjvh37wT6eN6UL-SQjt4v6mQAdzIXMv2DkPb_nTIkTHI6a1f_nFiOUR8/s1280-h/YIMG_2879.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovIPYEC1m8fj_4ShxA_1uPBd8mx3CPXvCmMIjsrcf6Tb1JgyxyNgu0T-GgVDkp0G7vahnjvbdxuG5ylFUENjsjvh37wT6eN6UL-SQjt4v6mQAdzIXMv2DkPb_nTIkTHI6a1f_nFiOUR8/s400/YIMG_2879.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094457655301463314" /></a><CENTER>Hungarian gypsy music, Amboise</CENTER><br />We drove out of Amboise, intending to stop for a picnic lunch at the curious Chinese pagoda of Chanteloup overlooking the valley of the Loire just outside Amboise. However, as that and the grounds is all that remains of the original château we thought the admission charge disproportionately high so continued to Chenonceau on the river Cher for our picnic. Entry here was hardly any more expensive and there was so much to see we were there the entire afternoon. It was inevitably crowded inside the château but with an excellent printed leaflet to guide us round we could move through the château at our own pace. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gyHySv_Dz0e9U4n0_Gl_cgslbjieRB1CrQ5gtOR_p7RHsr5t2VIXeIzTOTYImSfPqHrcIQYl79U9KceRD7xLzu5aaUAo6KJR5xlef_Gg_J4AWiA0fU0Ph0S7K0USOsul8bflYsrMNQc/s1280-h/YIMG_2880.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gyHySv_Dz0e9U4n0_Gl_cgslbjieRB1CrQ5gtOR_p7RHsr5t2VIXeIzTOTYImSfPqHrcIQYl79U9KceRD7xLzu5aaUAo6KJR5xlef_Gg_J4AWiA0fU0Ph0S7K0USOsul8bflYsrMNQc/s400/YIMG_2880.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458157812636962" /></a><CENTER>Sneaky picture from the gate, Pagoda de Chanteloup</CENTER><br />Chenonceau is one of the most well known and most beautiful of the châteaux. It is built in the river Cher linked to either bank by a delicate arched bridge. It is a very feminine castle and has generally belonged to women throughout its history. The 16th century château was given to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, by King Henri II. Many years his senior she retained her charms and influence over him until his accidental death in a tournament. His vengeful Queen, Cathérine de Medici, ordered Diane de Poitiers to leave her beloved home and she in turn then continued to develop Chenonceau. In particular she developed the grounds and setting up a beautiful garden on a raised terrace beside the house to protect it from possible flooding of the Cher and also built the galleries on top of the bridge. Since then Chenonceau has belonged to various women, notably Mme. Dupin, grandmother by marriage to the writer George Sand. It is due to her lifestyle and generosity towards her staff and tenants that Chenonceau was spared from the excesses of the French Revolution.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwd3ZpFrZDF2VS8Q7glwR3XXI2eFBVvaHiErNmc-RFULkXzFdaZhdAdJKrEeHj5cjvAvI_uLt7e1XGGg6g50bPUozPu2TtalcVG8XXrz7YQxzMEa4FwnAUDBVqSCfI3xjdYobHuVMyS5g/s1280-h/YIMG_2882.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwd3ZpFrZDF2VS8Q7glwR3XXI2eFBVvaHiErNmc-RFULkXzFdaZhdAdJKrEeHj5cjvAvI_uLt7e1XGGg6g50bPUozPu2TtalcVG8XXrz7YQxzMEa4FwnAUDBVqSCfI3xjdYobHuVMyS5g/s400/YIMG_2882.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458162107604274" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMsT92RSX5RmMXjsZdZmC_74xIoxjxPrJ1fM3MfkB-8af42xdoV8XuHfQdoLmep1JAHa7MjmBVjNGL2xrKOiBDTr6jBnpJYr0kTmy3MnQFcMBKlxYBh1tu4T_-PTMdIj7lrT1VIpcgLU/s1280-h/YIMG_2883.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMsT92RSX5RmMXjsZdZmC_74xIoxjxPrJ1fM3MfkB-8af42xdoV8XuHfQdoLmep1JAHa7MjmBVjNGL2xrKOiBDTr6jBnpJYr0kTmy3MnQFcMBKlxYBh1tu4T_-PTMdIj7lrT1VIpcgLU/s400/YIMG_2883.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458170697538882" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGrq4qMGa_PD-F5RBEDwE1PVvaJ9enbOwRqOJsEbui0oQj2uKrnsghJKsWf7aKrNyOF2wKTLY9Tq_12pmbM8CgpbjPdcD5JodmEPYGDzZKWbqQKzjEWgS54JeeN2HFvOCskrProoZllU/s1280-h/YIMG_2915.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGrq4qMGa_PD-F5RBEDwE1PVvaJ9enbOwRqOJsEbui0oQj2uKrnsghJKsWf7aKrNyOF2wKTLY9Tq_12pmbM8CgpbjPdcD5JodmEPYGDzZKWbqQKzjEWgS54JeeN2HFvOCskrProoZllU/s400/YIMG_2915.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458179287473490" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chenonceau, west side, spanning the Cher</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3teW8AxrWa6n18GFuqOPlkHrVE9Y8k-_RtwQGcGFQtjZxKy0GFk473CyP9P3_OYPxf9Oujz4HVoa09rrRR4bFzkgc36Oq-zOcTfQ1hP6VJQXC8c5JE8TllBN58NNsUv3vPSPz5VB7I-w/s1280-h/YIMG_2923.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3teW8AxrWa6n18GFuqOPlkHrVE9Y8k-_RtwQGcGFQtjZxKy0GFk473CyP9P3_OYPxf9Oujz4HVoa09rrRR4bFzkgc36Oq-zOcTfQ1hP6VJQXC8c5JE8TllBN58NNsUv3vPSPz5VB7I-w/s400/YIMG_2923.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458192172375394" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chenonceau, east side, spanning the Cher, </CENTER><br />During the First World War the castle was used as a hospital while during the Second it found itself situated literally on the demarcation line between the free and occupied zones of France. Its main hall, constructed across the river Cher, provided a useful way of smuggling people across from one zone to the other.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBT_AsdAK10QlxMniFyMS1Yu-wOiA7rW4NAMdP0131dZZacLNN26c8h0uJHjweA53L-_QoEy2sg0qINQUYTIyq-jj5ad5MFP36_q_BmR_KE6nc4J6wnjkisJNpAkHv2-xXGbKI_zMOMA/s1280-h/YIMG_2889.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBT_AsdAK10QlxMniFyMS1Yu-wOiA7rW4NAMdP0131dZZacLNN26c8h0uJHjweA53L-_QoEy2sg0qINQUYTIyq-jj5ad5MFP36_q_BmR_KE6nc4J6wnjkisJNpAkHv2-xXGbKI_zMOMA/s400/YIMG_2889.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458698978516338" /></a><CENTER>Main gallery built on the bridge that crosses the Cher, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br />The surrounding formal gardens are a joy to walk through while the interior of the house is furnished with tapestries, beds, upholstered chairs, cupboards, chests, paintings, carvings and ornaments. They are not all contemporary and few originate from the château but generally the fireplaces and ceilings of the rooms have been preserved despite considerable restoration during the 19th century. On the lower floor, level with the river in which it stands, are the kitchens, furnished with mainly 19th century copper pans, meat hooks, cake moulds and cutlery.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtmIKeTEFKhVS8WpAe98yg7nrE43EuNDMCT1bY7VaQaViGD7fsFJ6REZb8kqqlHYCze_11Lve6Had4i3aWcV4Q9DJVEZUcktnjFriFGYfcYRBmXkxPmwQBdY9CeLnFFvvYLoFx-R3Hzk/s1280-h/YIMG_2902.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtmIKeTEFKhVS8WpAe98yg7nrE43EuNDMCT1bY7VaQaViGD7fsFJ6REZb8kqqlHYCze_11Lve6Had4i3aWcV4Q9DJVEZUcktnjFriFGYfcYRBmXkxPmwQBdY9CeLnFFvvYLoFx-R3Hzk/s400/YIMG_2902.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458711863418242" /></a><CENTER>Garden of Diane de Poitiers, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Yhhgzvgq4aNa904Mxi4fQV10vPktCsSeou2PzlFp0kR5rngBzccA0aQc8tgKB_V7OnIhjHVLUBSo6h4TED7JIV9t26VTxTzidP2ai_62YU-9edu_6g9aaTIt5IspXcBrD8QBpCpMVUU/s1280-h/YIMG_2917.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Yhhgzvgq4aNa904Mxi4fQV10vPktCsSeou2PzlFp0kR5rngBzccA0aQc8tgKB_V7OnIhjHVLUBSo6h4TED7JIV9t26VTxTzidP2ai_62YU-9edu_6g9aaTIt5IspXcBrD8QBpCpMVUU/s400/YIMG_2917.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458724748320146" /></a><CENTER>Garden of Cathérine de Medici and the Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaz2aJqKfY13DbW3h01re3cbZntOch5VhwfdCUd2zwVu8-IPVnTB3NqdDR8BVcTpJQNu1Fkl4YdDT0MCoypJzyihkY-TDuTEp1o3MMh7xLYFpCAz9jhIWx5WOevtSx1Ip_mcZhxXzoJRY/s1280-h/YIMG_2921.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaz2aJqKfY13DbW3h01re3cbZntOch5VhwfdCUd2zwVu8-IPVnTB3NqdDR8BVcTpJQNu1Fkl4YdDT0MCoypJzyihkY-TDuTEp1o3MMh7xLYFpCAz9jhIWx5WOevtSx1Ip_mcZhxXzoJRY/s400/YIMG_2921.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458737633222050" /></a><CENTER>Château de Chenonceau seen from the garden of Garden of Cathérine de Medici</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-IFx0Gav7vIjc81UDQVayEwThrphMwWiSwZlhrmNTGy4W5G4C9kh7xvaTCF6afjJq1QllqjE82ZbgWSsrDrie_9knxL8jWuHICeSTYLRU7NlZf5QN5nEGs17pqyIKxeAZQyFDa8_Hr8/s1280-h/YIMG_2900.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-IFx0Gav7vIjc81UDQVayEwThrphMwWiSwZlhrmNTGy4W5G4C9kh7xvaTCF6afjJq1QllqjE82ZbgWSsrDrie_9knxL8jWuHICeSTYLRU7NlZf5QN5nEGs17pqyIKxeAZQyFDa8_Hr8/s400/YIMG_2900.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094458746223156658" /></a><CENTER>François I bedroom, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJHlcRCutr9ffHxsgrYLGYYhpwyyvbfkfbx8XwwGkCjH_q5P7yvZJUs5nTk2zpyW3B5vqeZ2DwxjP6hjGhoJ0GfQXDn6vc7QIh5ypwvMk-1BjMDz9rWOqA-Zn33rHwBtTWZc_7RLWHRI/s1280-h/YIMG_2901.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJHlcRCutr9ffHxsgrYLGYYhpwyyvbfkfbx8XwwGkCjH_q5P7yvZJUs5nTk2zpyW3B5vqeZ2DwxjP6hjGhoJ0GfQXDn6vc7QIh5ypwvMk-1BjMDz9rWOqA-Zn33rHwBtTWZc_7RLWHRI/s400/YIMG_2901.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459248734330306" /></a><CENTER>Louis XIV bedroom, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2ZicoloIGFdZu2fQYM5INeqiVzJAJnf3i4Qm7IMCEjk0Ktaj7L1p4enG0iUpQDxLuMd-C4OvV3aVk7IezbYyCibeuisZwbF37T5EUY3x9z2zNlbCoco_r23zrCpqNOEhUvRvgaIu1Vo/s1280-h/YIMG_2906.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2ZicoloIGFdZu2fQYM5INeqiVzJAJnf3i4Qm7IMCEjk0Ktaj7L1p4enG0iUpQDxLuMd-C4OvV3aVk7IezbYyCibeuisZwbF37T5EUY3x9z2zNlbCoco_r23zrCpqNOEhUvRvgaIu1Vo/s400/YIMG_2906.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459274504134098" /></a><CENTER>Louise of Lorraine's bedroom, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ-jljGlW3RWkMtFnhmhtzaJu6s8e8FEmlcvPr0H7k2qkLldP_gzJyIRHgv33ufZGi5TLJZeD4QFBjX8xMbrNpCqu4F7-MJmuisWuRTpru3h4yTLpQjJdbVAe5d9cf_pacVQBnmmf3zo/s1280-h/YIMG_2893.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ-jljGlW3RWkMtFnhmhtzaJu6s8e8FEmlcvPr0H7k2qkLldP_gzJyIRHgv33ufZGi5TLJZeD4QFBjX8xMbrNpCqu4F7-MJmuisWuRTpru3h4yTLpQjJdbVAe5d9cf_pacVQBnmmf3zo/s400/YIMG_2893.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459295978970594" /></a><CENTER>Kitchens, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhDvmFeAD0nkaBSOpqvK9fhKiF6Z2Tyz5ufsoYQVwFG-nALGgom4Jd_dd9nAO61LfuSiqFewAJh8VFEuzR4sr22tQ5GzDMcSfj7CMwavbduV_VVex1uHGV2cQDHVCJh1IIs_O4HTAAQQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2894.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhDvmFeAD0nkaBSOpqvK9fhKiF6Z2Tyz5ufsoYQVwFG-nALGgom4Jd_dd9nAO61LfuSiqFewAJh8VFEuzR4sr22tQ5GzDMcSfj7CMwavbduV_VVex1uHGV2cQDHVCJh1IIs_O4HTAAQQ/s400/YIMG_2894.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459308863872498" /></a><CENTER>Kitchens, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhJLQ-UufYdQ81KMSBkxhR9ahwOT_YncgE973fAdWpczJB0syOPC_mgtJ1saVWQjymtZXPZmi1qTW5CBtgzHscCDeySeIZ7tY9n8-9CUwwNeby2GaBk5qSTy323JwgjxYfEOAFUqY6Bg/s1280-h/YIMG_2895.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhJLQ-UufYdQ81KMSBkxhR9ahwOT_YncgE973fAdWpczJB0syOPC_mgtJ1saVWQjymtZXPZmi1qTW5CBtgzHscCDeySeIZ7tY9n8-9CUwwNeby2GaBk5qSTy323JwgjxYfEOAFUqY6Bg/s400/YIMG_2895.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459326043741698" /></a><CENTER>Kitchens, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br />We spent far longer than expected looking around the castle and the grounds. On our way back to the car we discovered a 17th century restored farm complex and a huge fruit and vegetable garden. This was surrounded by walls and laid out very formally with low espalier apple trees lining the paths, pergolas hung with gourds, melons and pumpkins, individual beds of dahlias, marigolds, antirrhinums and sunflowers, with masses of sweet smelling roses in full bloom. Nearby we also discovered a formal maze laid out according to an Italian plan of 1720 and formed from two thousand yew trees. It wasn't very effective as a maze as we discovered the quickest way to the far side was to walk through it rather than round it but it was great fun for all the children.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIuDhm2vVw4S3-PFrzATod3CzzhYEA41tBX69VJZsXkFrAP8vpNexaMX0-MYdmJoiM17Ob3im7bKggItneSG7lTLo6bs-q3cHRgkKZjUp8-9t7c-eKN-W_pNuCrF0mDqQF8mQLEVXanQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2929.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIuDhm2vVw4S3-PFrzATod3CzzhYEA41tBX69VJZsXkFrAP8vpNexaMX0-MYdmJoiM17Ob3im7bKggItneSG7lTLo6bs-q3cHRgkKZjUp8-9t7c-eKN-W_pNuCrF0mDqQF8mQLEVXanQ/s400/YIMG_2929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459802785111570" /></a><CENTER>17th century farm with vegetable garden, Chenonceau</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM7LSWZ71ZyDwN3ZuwHMkpNXrg_oG_n-Ge6_WR5-mlpCZfVkeqjQ9WcKWpHrefDnPXTLMjTgkuXjrElV2-GDpnhR7emIfYYN3uQEw14Cu4yUINt58KPxaYcp5GRhk03pcmKk_nALBDFw/s1280-h/YIMG_2930.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM7LSWZ71ZyDwN3ZuwHMkpNXrg_oG_n-Ge6_WR5-mlpCZfVkeqjQ9WcKWpHrefDnPXTLMjTgkuXjrElV2-GDpnhR7emIfYYN3uQEw14Cu4yUINt58KPxaYcp5GRhk03pcmKk_nALBDFw/s400/YIMG_2930.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5094459815670013474" /></a><CENTER>Maze, Château de Chenonceau</CENTER><br />We returned to Pocé through spattering rain beneath threatening skies. Nothing daunted we lit the barbeque in the garden under the roof protecting the entrance to the caves. We spent a very cheerful evening annoying the bats with the smell of sizzling meat until the rain eased and it was dark enough for them to come out and flutter around our heads as they skimmed the garden enjoying their own supper.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-67129114736194698672007-07-27T14:40:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.558+00:00Calvados<B>Thursday 12th July 2006, Caen</B><br />We are back with Geneviève again with a roof over our heads for a night or two. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYbYDCh9xHIeNYbXzjK4s17yJe6vXvcQ6dHwZjMgmLK9guoWMFcHdvJCpRRk6nHMg5Gl3yGFxIt_U3aOOCmlf73H2hTZr5IMOqFOxwrdfty-s__v0zyU8dbnfLc4BgKLfsSksLbqsJ-0/s1280-h/YIMG_2701.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYbYDCh9xHIeNYbXzjK4s17yJe6vXvcQ6dHwZjMgmLK9guoWMFcHdvJCpRRk6nHMg5Gl3yGFxIt_U3aOOCmlf73H2hTZr5IMOqFOxwrdfty-s__v0zyU8dbnfLc4BgKLfsSksLbqsJ-0/s400/YIMG_2701.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091872527370901730" /></a><CENTER>An exceptionally handsome manhole cover! Domfront</CENTER><br />This morning we walked into Domfront which is a pretty little mediaeval town built on the summit of a hill and dominated by the ruins of an old castle destroyed in 1608 on the orders of Sully. It has since become a romantic ruin set in a peaceful park filled with flowers. From the ramparts there are extensive views over the surrounding countryside. The main street is filled with terraces of cottages in granite and schist interspersed with other, wooden framed, pain-de-bois properties. Behind the façade are several little courtyards surrounded by more imposing residences.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDFVJhvCqwQ1k7sF3gKgdxgVYp4rCho2I7PmDITPwBaVTxdetgkkJ6AktoeWsj0aaUGJlo3XgRSRWAuHoCwpa3Hj3edl27OejjmOvym8WpfrWBsOAXlA_SteWPz5YQEQs-Q_bzWPbNnk/s1280-h/YIMG_2711.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDFVJhvCqwQ1k7sF3gKgdxgVYp4rCho2I7PmDITPwBaVTxdetgkkJ6AktoeWsj0aaUGJlo3XgRSRWAuHoCwpa3Hj3edl27OejjmOvym8WpfrWBsOAXlA_SteWPz5YQEQs-Q_bzWPbNnk/s400/YIMG_2711.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091872540255803634" /></a><CENTER>Castle ruins, Domfront</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzk3dsPnOOrYKV1gJ0rCYnDeyyhFt-55vedlgqseQ03TkiNx0G17rBYYk3yfOETIMdza_Ppfy3xyYz7vLhESgo_7NMuiQIm0BkYW6li_-K3xBEEaWe0ANsivfAiVXm6G3EqgUD8UWfFMU/s1280-h/YIMG_2706.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzk3dsPnOOrYKV1gJ0rCYnDeyyhFt-55vedlgqseQ03TkiNx0G17rBYYk3yfOETIMdza_Ppfy3xyYz7vLhESgo_7NMuiQIm0BkYW6li_-K3xBEEaWe0ANsivfAiVXm6G3EqgUD8UWfFMU/s400/YIMG_2706.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091872548845738242" /></a><CENTER>Main square showing the town hall, Domfront</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNFQRM0eSVtp2o56gUINfepXMt5s0JuVAtKMsiSIkN1ZifdpqqA6fWqsnjbNE87psNzkKPP5ImdfG5vdSaHbQ5S7HBUFUA8MeS-vZDwMSUDSSAJJ-Ee0bRSBL6wVSx_YT211AIShX1dI/s1280-h/YIMG_2707.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNFQRM0eSVtp2o56gUINfepXMt5s0JuVAtKMsiSIkN1ZifdpqqA6fWqsnjbNE87psNzkKPP5ImdfG5vdSaHbQ5S7HBUFUA8MeS-vZDwMSUDSSAJJ-Ee0bRSBL6wVSx_YT211AIShX1dI/s400/YIMG_2707.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091872566025607442" /></a><CENTER>Typical street, Domfront</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTcn9TYJfP2H8gxd3MknN-bfnmNQNZteFaW1BqFM_pFRbngZ3rrRl8UvExsSJp4Y6hRsU8VgdQ4ZqvOC-cR-c_R_gPjY85fAKgGhR9-CHw9tVJ30QiELCjqRbQCDQ_-0vHWfIhxBn7sQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2709.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTcn9TYJfP2H8gxd3MknN-bfnmNQNZteFaW1BqFM_pFRbngZ3rrRl8UvExsSJp4Y6hRsU8VgdQ4ZqvOC-cR-c_R_gPjY85fAKgGhR9-CHw9tVJ30QiELCjqRbQCDQ_-0vHWfIhxBn7sQ/s400/YIMG_2709.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091872570320574754" /></a><CENTER>Hidden courtyard in the heart of the town, Domfront</CENTER><br />Completely out of keeping, right in the very centre of the town stands France's first reinforced concrete church constructed in1929 to replace one which was smaller, and most probably far more beautiful. The spire was swathed in green netting and when we tried to look inside the church we found a notice stating that it was closed on grounds of security. We later saw the headlines for the newspaper Ouest France and it seems the iron bars within the cement are corroding and the building is unsafe! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESL_5tH4wWnWYXGl5rDTnJDzOrXegO_72QPA-m2RivaC4rph1hgFxmzgr14GGe2Vc8kpLIsph4W45cTqC-RSbFOFe2gU6wRmAM2cYknjJcX7MHgGT8FrCWp2aqYPjXgZvYBnID8qknUw/s1280-h/YIMG_2708.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESL_5tH4wWnWYXGl5rDTnJDzOrXegO_72QPA-m2RivaC4rph1hgFxmzgr14GGe2Vc8kpLIsph4W45cTqC-RSbFOFe2gU6wRmAM2cYknjJcX7MHgGT8FrCWp2aqYPjXgZvYBnID8qknUw/s400/YIMG_2708.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091873613997627698" /></a><CENTER>Decaying 20th century church, Domfront</CENTER><br />We drove on to the spa town of Bagnoles-de-l'Orne, the only spa in this part of France. It is a very pretty little town filled with smart hotels, beautiful, flower-filled parks, a lake, a chateau, a woodland walk to a viewpoint overlooking the river valley, and of course the spa itself. It is reputed to be good for rheumatic problems. It all seemed very quiet however and the busiest place at lunchtime was the spa restaurant which was packed full with people who looked as if they had seen younger and healthier days. Bagnole in French is a term applied to an old, clapped-out car. The spa is there to deal with old, clapped out humans.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlYq6sH-3VrG3wx07-95Vc0_XZ4d-9PYHtQsMXndN0oD-gETl0YXTNH06qEddPlRX0RYN7Qf-PvryTvRZUqtvPfgdI0co3VPusc4o69VUX7gPAEuDBUIMZxK6Hpdb0Hz9zjjg8Af4RwI/s1280-h/YIMG_2712.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlYq6sH-3VrG3wx07-95Vc0_XZ4d-9PYHtQsMXndN0oD-gETl0YXTNH06qEddPlRX0RYN7Qf-PvryTvRZUqtvPfgdI0co3VPusc4o69VUX7gPAEuDBUIMZxK6Hpdb0Hz9zjjg8Af4RwI/s400/YIMG_2712.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091873622587562306" /></a><CENTER>Lakeside hotel, Bagnoles-de-l'Orne</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdV9V17etKsyQZTb3hb0a1iH_4hOxNyZWImoS7rgudUyv25zG7c4jS8MLqQQNtt5Oj0qlQGvz1qypp6einHqgzg3qIRILegzXHftY_FWgIUuCMTXAYdVGtL2ptM8Em91ofJTXuyYVYimw/s1280-h/YIMG_2713.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdV9V17etKsyQZTb3hb0a1iH_4hOxNyZWImoS7rgudUyv25zG7c4jS8MLqQQNtt5Oj0qlQGvz1qypp6einHqgzg3qIRILegzXHftY_FWgIUuCMTXAYdVGtL2ptM8Em91ofJTXuyYVYimw/s400/YIMG_2713.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091873635472464210" /></a><CENTER>Casino, Bagnoles-de-l'Orne</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGtmOl1Z8Rj-Av8VcaKGoSkTSgL9Jkk42qivQUkFdPgq5EpKOBbEOqOggVoUu9BMs6JPprdIaKfpo2gpOg-FUIvA5sPr23NjWw0loPFeYtOQ8vd1Nvh6vqPsUMQQkN2PWzLxkuTKDnZk/s1280-h/YIMG_2719.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGtmOl1Z8Rj-Av8VcaKGoSkTSgL9Jkk42qivQUkFdPgq5EpKOBbEOqOggVoUu9BMs6JPprdIaKfpo2gpOg-FUIvA5sPr23NjWw0loPFeYtOQ8vd1Nvh6vqPsUMQQkN2PWzLxkuTKDnZk/s400/YIMG_2719.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091873639767431522" /></a><CENTER>Spa complex, Bagnoles-de-l'Orne</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNQmJr-YzwAZKQFaoJBi1oLu2R8DgxgaS562o2Kn-Iy8ICDFEQmbawwtqekE36_1dnMO6LzUI30iDv0TpMW1NBu-pY61HEt9PPb9YToyrNrhIftvnDMFKISspcjq-hV3fXj93Hr8CpKM/s1280-h/YIMG_2721.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNNQmJr-YzwAZKQFaoJBi1oLu2R8DgxgaS562o2Kn-Iy8ICDFEQmbawwtqekE36_1dnMO6LzUI30iDv0TpMW1NBu-pY61HEt9PPb9YToyrNrhIftvnDMFKISspcjq-hV3fXj93Hr8CpKM/s400/YIMG_2721.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091873648357366130" /></a><CENTER>Chateau, now council offices, Bagnoles-de-l'Orne</CENTER><br />Legend has it that the spa was discovered when the king and his horse had both grown old together. Rather than have his horse destroyed, the king turned it loose in a deep, wooded valley to fend for itself. Imagine his surprise when it returned to its stable a few days later as young and fit as it had been at the start of their adventures together! The king investigated the valley, found the spring and was soon as rejuvenated as his horse! Word of the miracle spread and the king established the spa so everyone could benefit from its health-giving properties. We drank some of the water but cannot say it has rejuvenated us quite yet.<br /><br />On the outskirts of the nearby town of La Ferté-Macé we stopped for a very nice hot lunch at the Leclerc supermarket. Their restaurants are excellent value and make a convenient change when camping. Apart from another rather strange, modern church in the town centre we found little to detain us in the town so continued to Carrouges. Here we discovered a beautiful stone and brick castle with a wonderful cruet-set gatehouse with its two, round, pepperpot towers with their high slate roofs. The castle is set within a moat and has pretty, if rather overgrown, formal gardens. The castle courtyard and several ground floor rooms could be freely explored but the interior of most of the castle was only accessible as a guided tour which we had missed. Instead we explored the rose gardens and fed our stale bread to the truly enormous fish swimming in the moat. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vAyPWSVgeqylDhUO-BVhtVM5tcVm7sNCZWCy5kS-UsXHPo7tkX57yfdbZkuu2sVJh-96Yhu5HNm1QsZW_9aHaVJWCPZpvA5lGUcOMLIiRioRHe1dOzH01hXaSEUJATfFZEb7K3nDU7g/s1280-h/YIMG_2729.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vAyPWSVgeqylDhUO-BVhtVM5tcVm7sNCZWCy5kS-UsXHPo7tkX57yfdbZkuu2sVJh-96Yhu5HNm1QsZW_9aHaVJWCPZpvA5lGUcOMLIiRioRHe1dOzH01hXaSEUJATfFZEb7K3nDU7g/s400/YIMG_2729.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091874769343830402" /></a><CENTER>Gatehouse, Carrouges</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFZpiXY3fxdE5CowsShSs-KADqA1NP03CmJchWWblmf742TbKllKO6xfv6UtocbLTVbi1UnV-HBaNDu7oN29W2Vb4kHEQUVDms7lIIrChuBKQ9N7n8pN0wu7UyyaCVL2vTJHdlojFqYM/s1280-h/YIMG_2726.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFZpiXY3fxdE5CowsShSs-KADqA1NP03CmJchWWblmf742TbKllKO6xfv6UtocbLTVbi1UnV-HBaNDu7oN29W2Vb4kHEQUVDms7lIIrChuBKQ9N7n8pN0wu7UyyaCVL2vTJHdlojFqYM/s400/YIMG_2726.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091874790818666898" /></a><CENTER>Chateau, Carrouges</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznxRB1OeyOku2L53gCG87-eIqWo697hGBlWo5_4OcK6Ggxi5_pzttyjqqOQxfNuuNZstC3TrI3k1u0XI39THCUXKmrN97tSgLEQpp2zi3okdqR9OoD-aanuRuNMIoqGCZ59540lVYjQA/s1280-h/YIMG_2730.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznxRB1OeyOku2L53gCG87-eIqWo697hGBlWo5_4OcK6Ggxi5_pzttyjqqOQxfNuuNZstC3TrI3k1u0XI39THCUXKmrN97tSgLEQpp2zi3okdqR9OoD-aanuRuNMIoqGCZ59540lVYjQA/s400/YIMG_2730.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091874795113634210" /></a><CENTER>Gardens, Carrouges</CENTER><br />We'd rung Geneviève earlier to ask if it would be okay to return today as we were not far away. So from Carrouges we headed towards Caen, stopping on the way to visit the ramparts and courtyard of the castle at Falaise where William the Conqueror was born. There is a flamboyant equestrian statue of him in the main town square, just in front of the castle. He was known in France as William the Bastard. His father living in the castle looked down to the river flowing below the battlements and fell in love with a young girl washing linen in the river. He sent for her to live at the castle and she became the mother of the future king of England in 1027. Falaise seemed a busy and interesting town but as it was nearly 7pm we needed to hasten our way towards Caen.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_yTePFiMiODGL1DwVyGVYU6QbJX8f2RRbqeKUK1GLR00HrGRQJa2_e7F0LoYpOsO4gT71L9ffYRDDQKN7sM7dWe_6RCmvmODlIaQIHydgLCvudmNJnygZ7j5HG7vIJZCsrnILQ4pfEc/s1280-h/YIMG_2738.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_yTePFiMiODGL1DwVyGVYU6QbJX8f2RRbqeKUK1GLR00HrGRQJa2_e7F0LoYpOsO4gT71L9ffYRDDQKN7sM7dWe_6RCmvmODlIaQIHydgLCvudmNJnygZ7j5HG7vIJZCsrnILQ4pfEc/s400/YIMG_2738.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091874812293503410" /></a><CENTER> William the Conqueror, Falaise</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_Cq2TPnNHy6tPr8SsOBhVth2PhfputKqXGVlWnkV7aup7ik6I2UeC1YPzGCz5CkDgAqWzfhRN2Kw5d-axLvgFUku3YpE5I8eFAo03m0EY082e-ILkWRykdvgHzXCDv6W9zoVnAG38Ic/s1280-h/YIMG_2742.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_Cq2TPnNHy6tPr8SsOBhVth2PhfputKqXGVlWnkV7aup7ik6I2UeC1YPzGCz5CkDgAqWzfhRN2Kw5d-axLvgFUku3YpE5I8eFAo03m0EY082e-ILkWRykdvgHzXCDv6W9zoVnAG38Ic/s400/YIMG_2742.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091874816588470722" /></a><CENTER>Chateau where William the Conqueror was born, Falaise</CENTER><br />When we arrived we were greeted eagerly by the neighbour's cat Confetti who seemed rather pleased to see us back. Geneviève says she has had to lock our bedroom door as he has been very determined in trying to keep our bed warm while we have been gone. This evening he seemed equally determined to become a camping cat and take up residence in Modestine.<br /><br /><B>Saturday 14th July 2006, Caen</B><br />Yesterday was Ian's birthday and the sun shone all day. Ian celebrated it by losing a filling and paying an emergency visit to Geneviève's dentist who was available at short notice, carried out the repair and charged a mere 29 euros (£20), which is almost certainly less than he would have paid back in England.<br /><br />We were sent down to the Friday market to browse the food and vegetable stalls, returning with a basket filled with tomatoes, fresh parsley, peppers, courgettes and a selection of Normandy cheeses for a supper party. We felt very much in holiday mood as we enjoyed a beer on a nearby terrace watching the market activities. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOFdz-uIpGI0CpwRG80WmyJ35BuxKwIiRoD56FWqnJHUfoQMmP8p-URL_nklikyGBbWeqdx1WSxFr5eDx_GmnCaWj0c1OOGp-gEIrWyQrgvKQBwWwAp7ueX4gHBfrXcUkQphFqAL7RfE/s1280-h/YIMG_2746.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOFdz-uIpGI0CpwRG80WmyJ35BuxKwIiRoD56FWqnJHUfoQMmP8p-URL_nklikyGBbWeqdx1WSxFr5eDx_GmnCaWj0c1OOGp-gEIrWyQrgvKQBwWwAp7ueX4gHBfrXcUkQphFqAL7RfE/s400/YIMG_2746.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091876057834019282" /></a><CENTER>Ian in birthday mood, Caen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnFJNTtI_F08r-GDa8HREwxsEDzM_L-Sf4xsoBGNHJypqPkQm5qU6k50TyLXbO_F7EGDNY9rkF_wdmgtDBk2W8F9ns4OZ1EXw9UlRx127LXEuIxRozaNHNm5dOv0g4R2Y53PdBKXOdj8/s1280-h/YIMG_2749.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnFJNTtI_F08r-GDa8HREwxsEDzM_L-Sf4xsoBGNHJypqPkQm5qU6k50TyLXbO_F7EGDNY9rkF_wdmgtDBk2W8F9ns4OZ1EXw9UlRx127LXEuIxRozaNHNm5dOv0g4R2Y53PdBKXOdj8/s400/YIMG_2749.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091876066423953890" /></a><CENTER>View of l'Abbé aux Hommes, where William the Conqueror is buried, seen from the market place, Caen</CENTER><br />As we returned home we called off to visit our late friend Alain, Geneviève's husband, who lies in the cemetery near the house. He was also a specialist librarian – responsible for the local history collections of the Départment of Calvados, Ian being his counterpart in Devon. Alain was responsible for several noted works on the history of the book in Normandy. Ian and Alain worked together on an exhibition of Napoleonic caricatures which was shown in Caen in 1985. Had he still been alive it is very likely they would have collaborated together on a publication in their retirement. Their friendship has enriched the lives of both their families and we have been visiting each other's homes for over 20 years, enabling our children to have an early understanding into each other's language and culture.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-cJfS0FPrch3mdtHzM8bhn4W9Lyz2JM1a_btSjtf306eA5cZIoNleH_2C3RdUmF8mFMOY-QJSip8gI7n0oMz7Ig7eXYqIY6xmgAfNsMYd5O00pyUY2mNVS6T6pZ5VDQJ9ot0972vR0o/s1280-h/YIMG_2750.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-cJfS0FPrch3mdtHzM8bhn4W9Lyz2JM1a_btSjtf306eA5cZIoNleH_2C3RdUmF8mFMOY-QJSip8gI7n0oMz7Ig7eXYqIY6xmgAfNsMYd5O00pyUY2mNVS6T6pZ5VDQJ9ot0972vR0o/s400/YIMG_2750.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091876087898790386" /></a><CENTER>Alain Girard, still in our thoughts, Caen</CENTER><br />During the evening we spoke to Neil and Jeev, and Ian was overjoyed to hear over the telephone a recording of the heartbeat of our future grandchild. It was a very moving experience and amazing to receive such a birthday present from a baby yet to be born!<br /><br />We ate a celebratory supper outside in the warmth of the evening. It is well after 10pm before darkness falls here. During the night the rain returned.<br /><br />Today, Saturday, is Bastille day and we are here in Caen to celebrate with fireworks tonight. The local marches and military parades that have always been part of the French way of celebrating Bastille Day have been extended, since the election of Nicholas Sarkozi, with a huge display of European power in Paris. All the countries of the EU have sent troops, armed to the teeth with guns, swords and bayonets. On the television all of France watches as they march in perfect formation past Sarkozi who is standing, taking the salute with tear-filled eyes and a trembling lip. His power as the new president of France has been demonstrated in this massive spectacle. It has been rather a shock to watch it! It's the nearest we've seen to the parades of Russia and the Eastern block. Bastille Day is something for France alone and the rest of Europe should not become involved in this display of military bravado.<br /><br />When Jill was six she spent Bastille night in Paris with her parents. Then there was dancing and music outside the Bastille and a passing Frenchman swept me up and danced all around the square with me. I have always remembered the joy and fun of that night and expected in vain to find something of that atmosphere today. <br /><br />This morning the three of us drove to Port-en-Bessin, passing through Arromanches where the remains of the portable Mulberry harbour can still be seen in the bay. The massive concrete caissons were floated secretly from Britain to provide an incredibly effective emergency harbour to enable troops to land on the beaches on D-day, 6th June 1944. All along this area of the coast there is evidence of where the British and Canadian forces landed. There are small, carefully tended war grave cemeteries scattered throughout the countryside and of course along the cliff tops there are huge German block houses, gun turrets and trenches. Slightly further north at the Point du Hoc the cliffs have been left as they were, filled with craters much as at Verdun, where off-shore Allied forces bombarded the German defences in their attempt to land.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0T8MedfsD2dWOj2Qn9MfhTDSiDuQNw3V867PMNfjxNzkphMNzeb9owHAJ8VVtJFB-dOHROXSl1KNcRA88sK8I5H3udMm_nrkaP4rveG5qtqXHf-zpGOtQgb1sojvK-UytRVNhwXI2lQc/s1280-h/YIMG_2760.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0T8MedfsD2dWOj2Qn9MfhTDSiDuQNw3V867PMNfjxNzkphMNzeb9owHAJ8VVtJFB-dOHROXSl1KNcRA88sK8I5H3udMm_nrkaP4rveG5qtqXHf-zpGOtQgb1sojvK-UytRVNhwXI2lQc/s400/YIMG_2760.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091876096488724994" /></a><CENTER>Remains of the Mulberry Harbour at Arromanches</CENTER><br />Port-en-Bessin is an active fishing village. Today being a national holiday the quayside was lined with fishing boats and everywhere was busy with visitors enjoying the afternoon sunshine. We climbed up onto the cliffs and followed the footpath as it wound between the overgrown remains of trenches and bunkers with views over the water towards Arromanches. During the afternoon we visited a vide grenier in a nearby village. As usual the village was packed tight with cars. The French love a bargain as much as the British and the stalls were being enthusiastically turned over by bargain hunters. Generally it is unbelievable the rubbish people hope to sell in France and the prices are generally quite high. Typical was the moth-eaten stuffed fox with a bird in its mouth – a synch for four euros! Would anyone really want it on the sideboard? Or for two euros we could have bought a recycled marble plaque which could have been absolutely perfect for the right person. It read in French "Thanks to Our Lady of Lourdes for the miracle achieved 18th February 1945." On the back was an earlier message paying tribute to a lady who had died several decades earlier. We were also tempted by a couple of tea plates in memory of someone's first communion being sold as a bargain offer with a pair of frog flippers!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvd94FB1baZagG7xH5v9vvWTizyj0TrJIcyHz6YiDwDtw6XMloGEtuQEHVw61M92cRW87OPzEYzzxTJr2JaF5hK2qZUKitJu8MyTuqVJ20yFpFBT-65OropGMgS1uXYpEG0fprTfvgEmc/s1280-h/YIMG_2752.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvd94FB1baZagG7xH5v9vvWTizyj0TrJIcyHz6YiDwDtw6XMloGEtuQEHVw61M92cRW87OPzEYzzxTJr2JaF5hK2qZUKitJu8MyTuqVJ20yFpFBT-65OropGMgS1uXYpEG0fprTfvgEmc/s400/YIMG_2752.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091876113668594194" /></a><CENTER>Harbour lock, Port-en-Bessin</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MV2k1tvWdyxyZTmxipBc-8NZfljk4h3SB9SWtyhq56acWVJJ6dxnqE81PsQq6S8nDkkaChCpHoFb17h-0RE8R1Pa3ucChBhyZJjcgEfwfT-Z6Tfb7NBf1N8lcADym79VqGVM0HetB10/s1280-h/YIMG_2753.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MV2k1tvWdyxyZTmxipBc-8NZfljk4h3SB9SWtyhq56acWVJJ6dxnqE81PsQq6S8nDkkaChCpHoFb17h-0RE8R1Pa3ucChBhyZJjcgEfwfT-Z6Tfb7NBf1N8lcADym79VqGVM0HetB10/s400/YIMG_2753.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091877170230549026" /></a><CENTER>On the cliffs above the harbour, Port-en-Bessin</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWeOkfqymc8Y3CcL36bSEJwvMF2TWo99SKFZGmYbpJJMgc49avsVAZrxslCjb-MJgcZxGir6vBJ81bgi6V5wf4qaKqTohrbJVSbIy9gZPfX_t4ZQT3OxNAqmuAPbgUyXXLLn8TK333JI/s1280-h/YIMG_2757.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWeOkfqymc8Y3CcL36bSEJwvMF2TWo99SKFZGmYbpJJMgc49avsVAZrxslCjb-MJgcZxGir6vBJ81bgi6V5wf4qaKqTohrbJVSbIy9gZPfX_t4ZQT3OxNAqmuAPbgUyXXLLn8TK333JI/s400/YIMG_2757.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091877187410418226" /></a><CENTER>Port-en-Bessin</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobF1PVKh4b0BCtkGnpluFl_O32tF_0qYBrl2R6c1CzZi8Hj9YsH4_wCX5GHC0bYzrCtUMV1oLZVUlccocnaU5CCU5i0c3XUU7f_NFBOxltNH_qNAvhraw87GcMmIaA0htaE_sReEiZT0/s1280-h/YIMG_2761.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobF1PVKh4b0BCtkGnpluFl_O32tF_0qYBrl2R6c1CzZi8Hj9YsH4_wCX5GHC0bYzrCtUMV1oLZVUlccocnaU5CCU5i0c3XUU7f_NFBOxltNH_qNAvhraw87GcMmIaA0htaE_sReEiZT0/s400/YIMG_2761.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091877191705385538" /></a><CENTER>Wartime trench on the cliff top, Port-en-Bessin</CENTER><br />Back home in the evening Ian set the barbeque going, Chantal arrived from Bayeux with her two adopted Vietnamese daughters and we spent a happy couple of hours cooking and eating sausages with salad, our cheeses from the market yesterday and an apricot tart made by Chantal and the girls. Around 10.30pm, as dusk fell, we made our way down to the Prairie, a vast, open space near Caen city centre where the French equine sport of trotting usually takes place. Around the perimeter crowds were gathered and once darkness fell the fireworks began with the sound of rockets and bangers echoing over the city. It did cross Jill's mind that for some elderly people it must bring back memories each year of the bombardment of 1944, but this time it was fairly harmless and certainly very colourful. French safety rules are nowhere near as strict as in England and in the crowds around us people were setting off fire crackers which shot off in all directions with loud bangs and crackles. On the walk back home, as we passed the entrance to a subway, someone threw a giant banger down the stairs and it exploded right beside us. Our ears were still ringing when we reached home!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LMdFjBoIro6I_Jzkw3prdNQtqhRn83Ha5lgya4vSvHozo3xcMRG1UvzXb5FVD872IOmkWpiou8Nitpi_-rvKgdtrvlsFYI97piszrpCF_9NnYYjUE8bVc7yQA5zLvTwwwErLotKItis/s1280-h/YIMG_2764.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LMdFjBoIro6I_Jzkw3prdNQtqhRn83Ha5lgya4vSvHozo3xcMRG1UvzXb5FVD872IOmkWpiou8Nitpi_-rvKgdtrvlsFYI97piszrpCF_9NnYYjUE8bVc7yQA5zLvTwwwErLotKItis/s400/YIMG_2764.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091877208885254738" /></a><CENTER>With Geneviève, Zoe and Eva in the garden, Caen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p8J6HiojlaZt0x8NkSjytnJpTZ3u7zGOZY0gxpqFhACLiBBpwCscPoKCy_n-aSJEqJHQYemUaFHQ53iyZcqFQR2wJqZGZH6XgV5BaMY0nn8by2mhjnJo0Pr7ZzJBTTEK98BZigyGt0o/s1280-h/YIMG_2769.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p8J6HiojlaZt0x8NkSjytnJpTZ3u7zGOZY0gxpqFhACLiBBpwCscPoKCy_n-aSJEqJHQYemUaFHQ53iyZcqFQR2wJqZGZH6XgV5BaMY0nn8by2mhjnJo0Pr7ZzJBTTEK98BZigyGt0o/s400/YIMG_2769.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091877213180222050" /></a><CENTER>Hotel de Ville at night, Caen</CENTER><br /><B>Monday 16th July 2007, Pocé-sur-Cisse, Near Amboise, Loire Valley</B><br />Last Sunday we visited an exhibition at the Institut Mémoires de l'Edition Contemporaine in the Abbaye d'Ardenne, on the edge of the Caen. It covered the history of travel literature, based mainly on the archive's collection of travel guides produced by the French publisher Hachette. They covered 19th century phrase books and travel guides that were the forerunners of the Guides Bleu that are still produced today. While cataloguing the library of that indefatigable writer and traveller Sabine Baring-Gould at Lew Trenchard recently we found many Guides Joanne. It was interesting therefore, to see how they fitted into the long history of the publication of guidebooks by Hachette. These had started in the 1850s by supplying reading matter for railway travellers to be sold at the chain of kiosks set up on railway stations across France. Later the firm adapted to produce guides for motorists with maps of gradients and even photographs of road junctions to make up for the lack of signposts – a sort of early GIS! We were amused by a plea from the company not to purchase guides by Baedeker as it would only put money in the pockets of Germany.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3SXnYVlptKetccvpw4RawGrKWpWdnGQZBIAFQImqTIyFu6pIBpETB14GgGmMPLhn7bRqOClS6ggyOI3fzNXvpmGzfbDIxPTt9nTGQ3oGc-HUrSjAehsj6IdvdegbZiRv_c5LvIKNyA/s1280-h/YIMG_2778.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsq3SXnYVlptKetccvpw4RawGrKWpWdnGQZBIAFQImqTIyFu6pIBpETB14GgGmMPLhn7bRqOClS6ggyOI3fzNXvpmGzfbDIxPTt9nTGQ3oGc-HUrSjAehsj6IdvdegbZiRv_c5LvIKNyA/s400/YIMG_2778.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091878377116359282" /></a><CENTER>Exhibition room, Institut Mémoires de l'Edition Contemporaine, Abbaye d'Ardenne, Caen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgY5U-x2UwYU4KXMlaxadRqit5z1Y6TeiRiMtBXZIE062BACft3XSbUjpMozZwMuU8Th1SiZOqJLPkAGqgXB3Mt0LLUIoTU66_4eFJzROI7U8fl6IRRcxLif8UlSYESm77YR8n66tie0/s1280-h/YIMG_2779.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgY5U-x2UwYU4KXMlaxadRqit5z1Y6TeiRiMtBXZIE062BACft3XSbUjpMozZwMuU8Th1SiZOqJLPkAGqgXB3Mt0LLUIoTU66_4eFJzROI7U8fl6IRRcxLif8UlSYESm77YR8n66tie0/s400/YIMG_2779.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091878390001261186" /></a><CENTER>Travel posters and books, Exhibition room, Institut Mémoires de l'Edition Contemporaine, Abbaye d'Ardenne, Caen</CENTER><br />In the evening, the weather being perfect, we had a supper party in the garden with Geneviève's brother Yves and his partner Christine, and Marie Françoise, a former work colleague of Alain at the library. Over the years she has also become a good personal friend to Geneviève and to us. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLetCcQZJ7erHaSLEgrcQDLoGiZ4PM3rNENq0zWEBYOB1h1pjCVnBXThkYA-KfUFo0fiiXrPOwvOhY6UVSDOWZZUiiIvG0AwoeOIfsdBIIZPMO_GMnSBQEIizU7peqmCQI13MxjFYTOA/s1280-h/YIMG_2781.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLetCcQZJ7erHaSLEgrcQDLoGiZ4PM3rNENq0zWEBYOB1h1pjCVnBXThkYA-KfUFo0fiiXrPOwvOhY6UVSDOWZZUiiIvG0AwoeOIfsdBIIZPMO_GMnSBQEIizU7peqmCQI13MxjFYTOA/s400/YIMG_2781.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091878394296228498" /></a><CENTER>Supper in the garden, Caen</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-31957074975817278302007-07-20T10:21:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.727+00:00Cotentin and Mont St Michel<B>Sunday 8th July 2006, St. Sauveur-Lendelin, Cotentin</B><br />It has been another sunny day with just enough wind to make the day pleasant. We were early up but late leaving the campsite by the time Ian had processed yesterday's megacrop of photos. The site was so pleasant we were in no hurry to leave. Learning from yesterday's experience, this evening we made a point of seeking out an inland municipal campsite. It is green, peaceful and pleasant on the edge of the village. There is only one other vehicle here even in the height of the tourist season. We feel rather sorry for the mayor and the council really as the site is so well cared for and the staff seemed rather depressed when we told them how nice it was and how horrid the coastal campsites are with inflatable dinosaurs at the entrance, bars, saunas and electronic games rooms. <br /><br />Our first stop this morning was at Carteret, on the west coast of the Cotentin and one of the nearest points to Jersey which could be seen clearly from the cliff top above the town. We parked there for a circular walk followed by a picnic lunch overlooking the water, crowded today with smart yachts and speedboats making their way across to join in the Jersey maritime festival. Carteret is a pleasant seaside town devoted almost exclusively to boating. There are a few restaurants and souvenir shops but generally, apart from the boating fraternity, it is a quiet, rather empty little town though several fishing boats were busy alongside the quay preparing to return to sea. From Carteret there is a regular ferry service to Jersey. It is advertised as offering a taste of British eccentricity right on the doorstep! It is actually a more expensive crossing than going across to England! Beyond the headland with the lighthouse there are long sandy beaches and areas of sand dunes much favoured by glider planes. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZUFaEC3xYulcSAJFcpDDKXD96cARnHMyWRcV28n_qnge6RY0ddpzMdEeYsBQnuFu-BX4w-21MkddKP6NAwLv_7D1171Ah0B7XjGs5wEzeKoFG3miDHHXK0zVKpd71eSHgljgtg4zC_0/s1280-h/YIMG_2582.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZUFaEC3xYulcSAJFcpDDKXD96cARnHMyWRcV28n_qnge6RY0ddpzMdEeYsBQnuFu-BX4w-21MkddKP6NAwLv_7D1171Ah0B7XjGs5wEzeKoFG3miDHHXK0zVKpd71eSHgljgtg4zC_0/s400/YIMG_2582.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089207420570739346" /></a><CENTER>Estuary of the river Gerfleur, Carteret</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrvYJ3AbLgnd_xDbXFxyyHZFI98I1hmkidAQ-8rLlESPbxpJteOKT-x7YXLOm_1RFWkiogx3XvB9FWiU-zuSTNKsXayQXWWTkdwhzj5DM9IpaKspREHCAs62uyzHNm_la2TYtAQvdvEY/s1280-h/YIMG_2590.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrvYJ3AbLgnd_xDbXFxyyHZFI98I1hmkidAQ-8rLlESPbxpJteOKT-x7YXLOm_1RFWkiogx3XvB9FWiU-zuSTNKsXayQXWWTkdwhzj5DM9IpaKspREHCAs62uyzHNm_la2TYtAQvdvEY/s400/YIMG_2590.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089207429160673954" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cap de Carteret with Jersey on the horizon</CENTER><br />Some French people fell into conversation with us and were surprised we did not live here, saying they had recently sold their house to English people who had very little understanding of French and they felt they must be missing so much, being unable to integrate. <br /><br />During the afternoon we drove south, stopping to look at the beautiful Norman abbey at Lessay, harmoniously constructed in the local creamy white stone. It was one of the loveliest churches we have seen with its simple, unadorned rounded arches and beautifully proportioned exterior. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqodXSqXyGmD5gutPHd-Zw4mwvIdCaGyu0lrtcnqdC4g2A5xZufcXgvTy0Cw8-8sIBhGQPq1zggovxKfll2_CXX4OzXxYXAbKw2dlO35aQ8ezy2ACiOJF85g07OyDwpNkkkOGRG_vT4lc/s1280-h/YIMG_2596.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqodXSqXyGmD5gutPHd-Zw4mwvIdCaGyu0lrtcnqdC4g2A5xZufcXgvTy0Cw8-8sIBhGQPq1zggovxKfll2_CXX4OzXxYXAbKw2dlO35aQ8ezy2ACiOJF85g07OyDwpNkkkOGRG_vT4lc/s400/YIMG_2596.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089207433455641266" /></a><CENTER>Abbey church, Lessay</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F25kDYkmT_Npveai3NraN56y1Cgzr8cQmT5m2gqH-BnIDhLfRZNpGcgnQiywoLhTi1VtIoAhJAseB1tAjy-8V4ITo2xJwTXfgSzw9F7KxtnETPEVrthdHmmvlmJZoOb8m6rUZklQBac/s1280-h/YIMG_2594.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F25kDYkmT_Npveai3NraN56y1Cgzr8cQmT5m2gqH-BnIDhLfRZNpGcgnQiywoLhTi1VtIoAhJAseB1tAjy-8V4ITo2xJwTXfgSzw9F7KxtnETPEVrthdHmmvlmJZoOb8m6rUZklQBac/s400/YIMG_2594.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089207442045575874" /></a><CENTER>Interior of the abbey church, Lessay</CENTER><br />While we were the only people inside the abbey this warm Sunday afternoon, outside the streets of Lessay were thronging with people who had travelled from all over the area to join in the vide grenier taking up most of the streets in the centre of the town. A vide grenier is the French equivalent to a car boot sale and, believe us, the French have some weird junk in their attics! If you want a holy crucifix, a calendar for 1963, a knitting machine, a rusty skillet or a chain saw, this is where to look. Space being at a premium in Modestine we refrained from buying the bargain swede mincer and the lobster pot in favour of a collection of DVDs, almost all starring Gerard Depardieu, for ten cents each (6p). (Gerard Depardieu is to the French cinema what Vauban was to its military architecture. No film or fort has ever been created without them! )<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3Ad3UhVcdy4fcxTuHnNaU3q3RBS8dVlXMEt6R63Ntbo31OsmKi4KIW-RA5n29EIhFiheo6VIT3hOhK4Z-nt0kGxo7i2iiGeEmk7o0-A7sWOgeLkCHLU_7WctoGSVbRAWynqbxRiC8oU/s1280-h/YIMG_2592.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3Ad3UhVcdy4fcxTuHnNaU3q3RBS8dVlXMEt6R63Ntbo31OsmKi4KIW-RA5n29EIhFiheo6VIT3hOhK4Z-nt0kGxo7i2iiGeEmk7o0-A7sWOgeLkCHLU_7WctoGSVbRAWynqbxRiC8oU/s400/YIMG_2592.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089207450635510482" /></a><CENTER>Vide grenier, Lessay</CENTER><br />We have been talking for some time about plans to visit Sicily with Geneviève. Although we have been told there is a lot of Norman architecture in Sicily, Jill at least has never quite understood why. There is a museum on the outskirts of Coutances that we hoped would clarify this. In the village of Hauteville-la-Guichard, back in the 11th century, shortly before the Norman conquest of England, lived the nobleman Tancrède together with a dozen sons. For reasons of both finance and adventure a number of them set out as mercenaries to help fight the Muslims occupying southern Italy at the time. They gained honours and success in battle and gradually became rulers of the provinces of southern Italy, one of them eventually being crowned king of Sicily by the Pope. This family of Norman brothers and their descendants ruled southern Italy for several generations, establishing a kingdom in Antioch and campaigning against Byzantium and northern Africa. Most ended up being killed in battle. Very much a die nasty dynasty! Over the years they made their mark on the architectural style of Sicily and the toe of Italy, thus Norman churches are apparently seen throughout the region.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZsww878QFg273bE09ZAYB6hxbgDQnscL8QEq-ICXRmPFuzcKwqLLrJZBNS-K8bMHvw-UTMwCLJRoRHga5TF42VEbQ6yPfL-V3Z_rDtZ38HZYB7v-G0AUTwhEETzcja77LsnXOiIrKfA/s1280-h/YIMG_2601.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZsww878QFg273bE09ZAYB6hxbgDQnscL8QEq-ICXRmPFuzcKwqLLrJZBNS-K8bMHvw-UTMwCLJRoRHga5TF42VEbQ6yPfL-V3Z_rDtZ38HZYB7v-G0AUTwhEETzcja77LsnXOiIrKfA/s400/YIMG_2601.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208155010147042" /></a><CENTER>Musée Tancrède, Hauteville-la-Guichard</CENTER><br />At least we made it worth the while of the lady on duty at the museum and saved her sitting there all alone the entire afternoon, but it was all a bit heavy and complex to tell the truth. There was too much to absorb and understand in French on a sunny Sunday. So we went into the garden to explore the maze, play on the seesaw and listen to the bright green frogs noisily chatting each other up in the garden lake until the lady begged us to leave so she could go home.<br /><br /><B>Monday 9th July 2006, Montviron, La Manche</B><br />During the night the rain returned and we woke to a saturated world and a sky that resembled molten lead. At least the showers in the campsite were hot and we started the day with optimism. By the time we had reached Coutances, found somewhere to park and waited for the rain to ease enough for us to make a dash to the cathedral we were slightly less enthusiastic about the day. However, we explored the cathedral, which is quite lovely having fortunately been spared during the war so the pale stone and much of the stained glass windows are original and undamaged.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOxQOPgwBWKonhQvftnF1JamAA3yicDkFRTI-np9oEIeUA0WsNUV97N4lw7iwmrq6IfP95ZJ0jxAaVia5rp4BZqdHIrvxSMDfjG2ggP7u2PuvrwCu2_GXiOQtwQHJuODOYmuvvxlQwYg/s1280-h/YIMG_2604.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOxQOPgwBWKonhQvftnF1JamAA3yicDkFRTI-np9oEIeUA0WsNUV97N4lw7iwmrq6IfP95ZJ0jxAaVia5rp4BZqdHIrvxSMDfjG2ggP7u2PuvrwCu2_GXiOQtwQHJuODOYmuvvxlQwYg/s400/YIMG_2604.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208163600081650" /></a><CENTER>Cathedral, Coutances</CENTER><br />It was still raining when we emerged but right nearby was a delicious patisserie where we sheltered happily with coffee and croissants while we read the regional newspaper Ouest France. We are now knowledgeable on everything from Wimbledon to the cycling Tour de France and the fishermen's blockade of the port at St. Vaast-la-Hougue in protest at EU fishing quotas.<br /><br />Guess what the weather was doing as we finally emerged onto the streets again after the baker started making comments about us paying rent? We puddle jumped our way to the public gardens which twice already we have tried to visit in previous years but have always encountered heavy rain. This time we concluded it must always rain in Coutances so we'd just have to get wet. We discovered that the gardens are well worth a soaking, with beautifully arranged herbaceous borders, a flashing lighthouse made from rock plants, typically French walkways between carefully pruned espalier trees, and ornamental ponds. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpLBPc-TWwnE_AzgdQ9TwBMQ2hPqM_jo65IctsVGxRBUXSef60JiFW_3Zg_jzo7lrhjxHwDirLxPD7gQdxt_PIhGv_hTTcKVJU6GCHkXMUnx3odZh_aWzZCv-qqujWG1vrrOvXo4EnDI/s1280-h/YIMG_2613.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpLBPc-TWwnE_AzgdQ9TwBMQ2hPqM_jo65IctsVGxRBUXSef60JiFW_3Zg_jzo7lrhjxHwDirLxPD7gQdxt_PIhGv_hTTcKVJU6GCHkXMUnx3odZh_aWzZCv-qqujWG1vrrOvXo4EnDI/s400/YIMG_2613.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208172190016258" /></a><CENTER>Public gardens, Coutances</CENTER><br />After exploring some of the narrow cobbled streets and spending considerable amounts of time sheltering in shop doorways, we returned to Modestine who is looking wonderfully clean again, and continued our travels towards Granville. We once visited the town for an overnight stay several years ago and were surprised today to realise we had remembered so much about it. Above the town we parked near the former home of Christian Dior. He spent his childhood years in a wonderful 19th century house on the cliff tops overlooking the Baie de Mont St. Michel and the Îles Chausey. The beautiful gardens, some to his own designs, are freely open to the public and the house is now a museum with permanent exhibitions of his haute couture designs up until his death in 1956. On our previous visit we went into the house to see a display of his work dedicated to travel, ranging from costumes for air hostesses to hairbrushes and vanity bags for travellers. Around the garden today we discovered panels explaining the different perfumes he produced and the plants that inspired them. There were even little doors to open so the visitor could experience each of his acclaimed fragrances in different parts of the garden.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMdrG-CtLhGiXvQ7uaGmQBKBxOIPYL5KNG40LfZ5iEHErqD1zuoLh54G2XkCgPHiX-HY8CvbgdOcpGW4I2PFM4rx6TsqGZ0SQjjQVwtaBKY_IcF7GfSmr7z6PvPOG1lfWPU3ff2Dekb4/s1280-h/YIMG_2629.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMdrG-CtLhGiXvQ7uaGmQBKBxOIPYL5KNG40LfZ5iEHErqD1zuoLh54G2XkCgPHiX-HY8CvbgdOcpGW4I2PFM4rx6TsqGZ0SQjjQVwtaBKY_IcF7GfSmr7z6PvPOG1lfWPU3ff2Dekb4/s400/YIMG_2629.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208185074918162" /></a><CENTER>Bust in the Jardin de Christian Dior</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2jAwY8tCbJZQol0ls64-Vkd8wW6IHmroBIvI496_-6FYWNLMZw2mrAy352lMhVwrj1CNEk1caUzDjzFwLnnAqtq2FWh_EF9gXt3LU6B-8myT61UW1VwmUEZ7SHHwBAl7NNYjdfScy9w/s1280-h/YIMG_2625.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2jAwY8tCbJZQol0ls64-Vkd8wW6IHmroBIvI496_-6FYWNLMZw2mrAy352lMhVwrj1CNEk1caUzDjzFwLnnAqtq2FWh_EF9gXt3LU6B-8myT61UW1VwmUEZ7SHHwBAl7NNYjdfScy9w/s400/YIMG_2625.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208197959820066" /></a><CENTER>Christian Dior's home, Granville</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhGfH0E7rB7YEaIj8saQHppVu76ENHd_s0MLFizbXVVMtHC9EEwYvwq_2O2x99ZGNtn2sqAgSXUSmAph0lMUioxGhc1R0IN-cFo0kDTw2jgPsdMf_HP7HYW-Shma-AOQTlKrhuhuXWLw/s1280-h/YIMG_2627.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhGfH0E7rB7YEaIj8saQHppVu76ENHd_s0MLFizbXVVMtHC9EEwYvwq_2O2x99ZGNtn2sqAgSXUSmAph0lMUioxGhc1R0IN-cFo0kDTw2jgPsdMf_HP7HYW-Shma-AOQTlKrhuhuXWLw/s400/YIMG_2627.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208760600535858" /></a><CENTER>Perfume display in Jardin de Christian Dior</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0c9-vP83R6oe8DsxoxJR3m7Ejc9Ww6J3ZgqrIB6V02YhcoQG2ASGENHVQEl91nAIqonDIec1QJczQYUqH9LSqo60IzYim8fbrlUSJAIl_7vuoXHbEiXdJ2dFw9s0MMqxYcAIdmHVuRcE/s1280-h/YIMG_2626.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0c9-vP83R6oe8DsxoxJR3m7Ejc9Ww6J3ZgqrIB6V02YhcoQG2ASGENHVQEl91nAIqonDIec1QJczQYUqH9LSqo60IzYim8fbrlUSJAIl_7vuoXHbEiXdJ2dFw9s0MMqxYcAIdmHVuRcE/s400/YIMG_2626.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208769190470466" /></a><CENTER>Jill opens the dior and sniffs, Jardin de Christian Dior</CENTER><br />The rain had mercifully stopped though a strong wind had replaced it. We climbed down the high cliffs from the garden to the sea front and walked along to the town centre, past the casino and up into the historic old town with its narrow passageways and uncomfortable cobbled streets. We are on the edge of Normandy here and the architecture and building materials reflect Brittany rather than Normandy. Grey and black slate roofs, schist and granite have completely replaced the crumbling white stone walls and red, lichen covered tiles generally associated with Normandy. From the old town, high on the cliffs, there are excellent views over the harbour and across the water towards Jersey. From the quayside regular ferries cross to both Jersey and Sark. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtz6oj7-a4Yz9MCEzA_we1nTtaZ3VO9wAjcJQbGx742QnpF29uelpFSZy5VcmK06GNURwY3brSy5nIyUXTTfk_gsGPFpiyMaowXxl_UV28UsycsF1LUKPQ3f8u_bpPWY7uCZtjAaKgzM/s1280-h/YIMG_2630.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtz6oj7-a4Yz9MCEzA_we1nTtaZ3VO9wAjcJQbGx742QnpF29uelpFSZy5VcmK06GNURwY3brSy5nIyUXTTfk_gsGPFpiyMaowXxl_UV28UsycsF1LUKPQ3f8u_bpPWY7uCZtjAaKgzM/s400/YIMG_2630.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208777780405074" /></a><CENTER>Granville – fortified town and casino from the Jardin de Christian Dior</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaw9L-QfHxVWI6outSJohA89u1qSJuZHPl4DRnxJK0fZ18kmqjShlFToCSRKQwEOiFYHTs0S2XNe_GKwz6Qdq5Yt9LKS3pjlIAwXUSK4ecZBtfFUt_LwyZROKNTBKh43rEXa3To__snCQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2632.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaw9L-QfHxVWI6outSJohA89u1qSJuZHPl4DRnxJK0fZ18kmqjShlFToCSRKQwEOiFYHTs0S2XNe_GKwz6Qdq5Yt9LKS3pjlIAwXUSK4ecZBtfFUt_LwyZROKNTBKh43rEXa3To__snCQ/s400/YIMG_2632.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208782075372386" /></a><CENTER>Gateway to the fortified town, Granville</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKLthgEk5RoCLEEpnHX7oCmHqO1no8QSQv2V4zfbpSAMCYK6qvtRh27rfziUtx-D8K7d9Kk675LvcNWQQhhPxUEydSx9f83-j9FPSPdZcPJVUjEf5cp4TqZqaVV0ytYvQjWz86rShu2k/s1280-h/YIMG_2633.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKLthgEk5RoCLEEpnHX7oCmHqO1no8QSQv2V4zfbpSAMCYK6qvtRh27rfziUtx-D8K7d9Kk675LvcNWQQhhPxUEydSx9f83-j9FPSPdZcPJVUjEf5cp4TqZqaVV0ytYvQjWz86rShu2k/s400/YIMG_2633.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089208794960274290" /></a><CENTER>Harbour, Granville</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlQrYZqWY8U7uRu0EviP-JT60SjvkHhLz2oFhPyl_ObtTtlMPeJYpX-JhWZHmEVyNWQi0MKBkjk5BiHsMIOk5D5mG9_66KwKJ_1AChcou00LE5yhT77RX7bOyTi8CMvevTMtgaHxwm8U/s1280-h/YIMG_2636.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlQrYZqWY8U7uRu0EviP-JT60SjvkHhLz2oFhPyl_ObtTtlMPeJYpX-JhWZHmEVyNWQi0MKBkjk5BiHsMIOk5D5mG9_66KwKJ_1AChcou00LE5yhT77RX7bOyTi8CMvevTMtgaHxwm8U/s400/YIMG_2636.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209104197919618" /></a><CENTER>Granville from the old town walls</CENTER><br />It was nearly 6pm by the time we rejoined Modestine and set off in search of a campsite. The one we hoped to use had disappeared. Everyone we asked told us exactly where it was but all we could find was a field of overgrown grass and a padlocked gate, so we gave up and drove off in search of another one. At the last minute, on the outskirts of the village, we got caught up in a "deviation" that rivalled the German "Umleitung" for distance and complexity. Somehow, after driving for ages through country lanes, we arrived at this campsite which seems fine and again is almost empty. This is not surprising as most people do not have the same tenacity as us and would probably have given up and stopped off to spend the night in Paris as the "deviation" passed through the Place de la Concorde for the second time.<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 10th July 2006, Pontaubault, Baie de Mont St. Michel</B><br />It rained almost all of last night and this morning the campsite was a quagmire. Still in the rain we returned to the coast and continued around the bay of Mont St. Michel At one point we stopped for a walk along the coastal footpath to the lonely granite building known as the Cabane Vaubin perched on top of the cliffs from where we could see the Mount topped by the high spire of the abbey. It stood alone, far from the mainland amidst the treacherous sands of the bay. The tidal flow is amongst the greatest in the world with a difference between high and low water of about 15 metres. Although the bay can be walked across at low tide, it requires an experienced guide as the incoming tide arrives with terrific force and speed. All around the perimeter of the bay are oyster beds and on the far side lies the little town of Cancale, famed for supplying possibly the best oysters in France.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KSumhxHN3jD24khdn9SjJYqJyjMpzOvonXWl6Z9sZDDMzbXCNNM9vI2AES4h4Ag_wCotUBNM9hVclsbsd1TzrAYPJ0ZCeclY3apE52Fg7EQv5FUUk1y_y2LxIpffNQTiJgY2TVev9Ls/s1280-h/YIMG_2639.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KSumhxHN3jD24khdn9SjJYqJyjMpzOvonXWl6Z9sZDDMzbXCNNM9vI2AES4h4Ag_wCotUBNM9hVclsbsd1TzrAYPJ0ZCeclY3apE52Fg7EQv5FUUk1y_y2LxIpffNQTiJgY2TVev9Ls/s400/YIMG_2639.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209108492886930" /></a><CENTER>Cabane Vaubin, Baie de St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijT2bIdve-L4mDSvVeIjBCg3dsswvYVbDWYN-hRa0WefbQ4-N8GonGhH0bPFOZbU4hgCchge_11mqhO5WKrBGUU-XmJ3AxHIUuSCDFHbar3OfyTBqxoLMG-8zHvGrXQN2S_8a5Jjp_lTc/s1280-h/YIMG_2641.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijT2bIdve-L4mDSvVeIjBCg3dsswvYVbDWYN-hRa0WefbQ4-N8GonGhH0bPFOZbU4hgCchge_11mqhO5WKrBGUU-XmJ3AxHIUuSCDFHbar3OfyTBqxoLMG-8zHvGrXQN2S_8a5Jjp_lTc/s400/YIMG_2641.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209117082821538" /></a><CENTER>Mont St. Michel seen through the doorway of Cabane Vaubin</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77KLNKG1r3FZPkMFao-VUj3aDO8Vv3FZhdkXjtSqFlUBymqNNwS13feCxqafkK47C1lxfn8fSq-vQj1N64p9MVV-uF4Ms5_aAOTwXT4qRB2QuIjBD9Vc5p-p3aFNC8VAUII7SmKRo8d0/s1280-h/YIMG_2644.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77KLNKG1r3FZPkMFao-VUj3aDO8Vv3FZhdkXjtSqFlUBymqNNwS13feCxqafkK47C1lxfn8fSq-vQj1N64p9MVV-uF4Ms5_aAOTwXT4qRB2QuIjBD9Vc5p-p3aFNC8VAUII7SmKRo8d0/s400/YIMG_2644.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209121377788850" /></a><CENTER>Mont St. Michel from Grouin du Sud</CENTER><br />For much of the day we have followed the route of the bay, stopping at several of the little granite villages such as Genêts, typical of the region. Our target today was Avranches, still in Normandy but architecturally part of Brittany. It stands high on a defensive mount overlooking the bay and struck us as a very pleasant, if rather austere town. It is certainly the only one we have ever found that bases its entire tourist industry on an excellent exhibition concerning the history of writing and manuscripts! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUBfQvIEojhH3msBJe82dF699irXrfUzYR0nxkeeTCxxgI-yFznKiTUKRleulWE0SiSZJihHBaujps0tE2ROaQJ6YQAqdjkpMmSX0yrUDwPQNMfl1yc7W9UNOLWIm6Hr79cyuNH3Z4IpM/s1280-h/YIMG_2643.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUBfQvIEojhH3msBJe82dF699irXrfUzYR0nxkeeTCxxgI-yFznKiTUKRleulWE0SiSZJihHBaujps0tE2ROaQJ6YQAqdjkpMmSX0yrUDwPQNMfl1yc7W9UNOLWIm6Hr79cyuNH3Z4IpM/s400/YIMG_2643.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209134262690754" /></a><CENTER>On the edge of the village of Genêts</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtqDLlFxhnz0oLu4h4CIVdHim9Eb-kdMzh48PPTa1QuAtA4SuzQNjDFORE2ATlXS9r9oUMJMg2xI-_MpRw1WMbZDw8sL1mQx14dQz0bXC7gWQxBF1JN6gTYKcP_GA49JD65zgT5_E8QY/s1280-h/YIMG_2646.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtqDLlFxhnz0oLu4h4CIVdHim9Eb-kdMzh48PPTa1QuAtA4SuzQNjDFORE2ATlXS9r9oUMJMg2xI-_MpRw1WMbZDw8sL1mQx14dQz0bXC7gWQxBF1JN6gTYKcP_GA49JD65zgT5_E8QY/s400/YIMG_2646.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209963191378898" /></a><CENTER>Donjon at Avranches</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Vx7sly5IpNGvA0wUPY8zX2lufH8UlupPPQc361Y-OwK5RS0A3Z8UM8OevO3lbCdsXuazE6bObmsE3tD518RDsl0LncwuWNZ_coCrsR1p8ShKn8onXqaftXinHtCMG1KojMKafH9e7Xo/s1280-h/YIMG_2648.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Vx7sly5IpNGvA0wUPY8zX2lufH8UlupPPQc361Y-OwK5RS0A3Z8UM8OevO3lbCdsXuazE6bObmsE3tD518RDsl0LncwuWNZ_coCrsR1p8ShKn8onXqaftXinHtCMG1KojMKafH9e7Xo/s400/YIMG_2648.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209971781313506" /></a><CENTER>Avranches and the basilica of St.Gervais seen from the Donjon</CENTER><br />During the French revolution many churches and abbeys were sacked and their contents destroyed, much as happened in Britain during the civil war in the 17th century. The monastic library of Mont St. Michel survived but its contents, including more than 200 medieval manuscripts were taken from the abbey by the state and removed to Avranches. The scriptorium at Mont St. Michel had been a leading centre for the copying of texts and developed a distinctive style, influenced heavily by Anglo-Saxon manuscripts. Just last year the town opened its Scriptorial, a fascinating exhibition, particularly for us as librarians, on the history of books and manuscripts and their production. Each stage of the process of a manuscript was explained, from the use and preparation of parchment, inks, illumination and illustration of the text and finally the binding in leather and gold decoration of the boards. The exhibition also covered the early development of printing through to the digitisation of early texts before finally leading into an exhibition of some of the museum's greatest treasures with beautifully illustrated manuscripts, religious books of hours and items of particular relevance to the history of Avranches. We marvelled at the minute script of many of the volumes as well as the intricate decoration. To protect the precious originals only about fifteen are on display at any one time in a darkened room. <br /><br />As a special bonus our ticket gave us entry to an exhibition of the work of Salvador Dali. We were delighted about this as we visited his personal museum at Figueres in Spain in 2006 and found it fascinating. We have to confess however, that we didn't really understand today's exhibition at all. We console ourselves with the thought that it didn't look as if Dali had any more idea than us what it was all about! There is no denying however, his artistic ability or his fertile imagination. <br /><br />The town is also famed as the place where in 1172 Henry II of England, Duke of Normandy, did public penance to atone for inciting the massacre of St. Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. For this he had been excommunicated by the Pope and his penance paved the way to reconciliation with the Church. The spot at the former door of the cathedral - long since destroyed, can still be seen.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXijitFCw9JjI9bB-vrcVzvjwcp5CVQzZXXDk3KNB2QBX8R2Q8Zfs8qvkdPrzLI40HMV_Uq_vnNVPKi6WMA-bYDCQ8N0o4XD32ZjUNCZRWXY9p4KBZSQUCLj6KkB_Co9y9aMNLc7VECoY/s1280-h/YIMG_2647.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXijitFCw9JjI9bB-vrcVzvjwcp5CVQzZXXDk3KNB2QBX8R2Q8Zfs8qvkdPrzLI40HMV_Uq_vnNVPKi6WMA-bYDCQ8N0o4XD32ZjUNCZRWXY9p4KBZSQUCLj6KkB_Co9y9aMNLc7VECoY/s400/YIMG_2647.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209980371248114" /></a><CENTER>Where Henry II did public penance, Avaranches</CENTER><br />In the basilica there is a painting of St. Aubert, archbishop of Avranches during the eighth century. The archangel Michael appeared to him twice in a dream ordering him to build a Benedictine monastery on the top of Mount Tombe, at that time, according to the legend, well inland and surrounded by forest. Twice the Archbishop turned a deaf ear to such a seemingly difficult task, until St. Michael appeared again and, poking him in the head, ordered him to get on with it. Thus the abbey church of Mont St. Michel came to be built. This is all absolutely true and to prove it St. Aubin's skull is preserved in the basilica, complete with a hole about the same size as an archangel's index finger!<br /><br />We really were both very weary by the time we finally returned to Modestine. There remains much to see in Avranches but tonight all we were interested in was finding a campsite and drying out after a day of rain. The one we have discovered is run by an Englishman who seemed keen to talk and to tell us of the woes of running a French campsite when it never stops raining. He says he is already £4,000 down on his takings this year and has only a third of the number of campers he'd expect to have in July. We feel very sorry for all the campsite owners we have met who are really struggling to cope with their losses and the awful weather.<br /><br /><B>Wednesday 11th July 2006, Pontaubault, Domfront</B><br />This morning it was STILL raining. When we left the campsite owner thanked us for staying saying even the 15 euros we'd paid made a difference! He seemed really cheesed off.<br /><br />Driving peacefully around the edge of the bay, through the pretty countryside and granite villages we eventually arrived at Mont St. Michel and discovered where all the tourists from both Normandy and Brittany were. There was an entire city of white camping cars parked on the causeway at the foot of the mount and a huge car park filled with coaches and private cars. We left Modestine and walked with the hundreds of other "pilgrims" along the causeway constructed across the sands of the bay to the gateway leading into the narrow, crowded street that wound steeply up towards the abbey at the summit. Either side of this cobbled path were restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, museums and stalls selling takeaway food and drinks. Already at mid-morning the street was crowded and when we later returned it was packed solid.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8VBhyphenhyphenpIh0Gd64zbGKeyxTJ8D5kvGDMJcIAV0neKJldP_rDE320TQPIAOkL4hzBZhGlFuDLamXoQTdXAmkLa8o_hbTMIVxTn9E6ZIwFtywcwHGDAvliPBrYmTn-pT5QYZeY8TW4kjKg8/s1280-h/YIMG_2650.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8VBhyphenhyphenpIh0Gd64zbGKeyxTJ8D5kvGDMJcIAV0neKJldP_rDE320TQPIAOkL4hzBZhGlFuDLamXoQTdXAmkLa8o_hbTMIVxTn9E6ZIwFtywcwHGDAvliPBrYmTn-pT5QYZeY8TW4kjKg8/s400/YIMG_2650.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209988961182722" /></a><CENTER>Mont St. Michel from the causeway</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcHtOxhHThsl6Ov1LkTZfW2aWJj-EBsqDgaRgpw99btK319wADqHyEZBPDcvhOKLXvorD-AhyAVG0zJKdb4XZ3JElsW4mG_wtmqDiidk1nNmbDjlUClrTZv0Jf4gc-FAnDtpWKyqH7ZI/s1280-h/YIMG_2655.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcHtOxhHThsl6Ov1LkTZfW2aWJj-EBsqDgaRgpw99btK319wADqHyEZBPDcvhOKLXvorD-AhyAVG0zJKdb4XZ3JElsW4mG_wtmqDiidk1nNmbDjlUClrTZv0Jf4gc-FAnDtpWKyqH7ZI/s400/YIMG_2655.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089209993256150034" /></a><CENTER>Inside the defensive walls, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br />We made our way up the rock until we reached the abbey walls where we stopped to look out over the bay, back along the edge of the mainland we travelled yesterday and on round into Brittany, with the mound of Dol-de-Bretagne showing above the surrounding landscape, and right on to Cancale at the furthest point. The tide was out and small groups of people, looking like ants on the vast expanse of wet sand, were making their way across from the Mount to the island of Tombelaine.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOZPvGMWP3t7Vsb_pQyB9wWJZjJhG8N-WzEBPPZuc_mJdEKKjGvi2hLBwiG2lBamQGY76EPAyv0LkNUWCXjV_balH69ymPPz_eooDkWuojJY4A765VYmTeay-ir8y2e7kXqNmoFyALb8/s1280-h/YIMG_2656.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOZPvGMWP3t7Vsb_pQyB9wWJZjJhG8N-WzEBPPZuc_mJdEKKjGvi2hLBwiG2lBamQGY76EPAyv0LkNUWCXjV_balH69ymPPz_eooDkWuojJY4A765VYmTeay-ir8y2e7kXqNmoFyALb8/s400/YIMG_2656.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210474292487202" /></a><CENTER>La Merveille, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0naqaMRBvKHU8LuZWYEGVNVE2qIp9CbB9Hk_2JLtoNIgE2okY5TgGKEYUKp965YHpNJIrme_SvTKbci7W2FjD5z70SyRXqDPmRVNY4wC4JRMfuwzbQJ17w74ynPr4oDbhB63Y9YUZh2I/s1280-h/YIMG_2659.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0naqaMRBvKHU8LuZWYEGVNVE2qIp9CbB9Hk_2JLtoNIgE2okY5TgGKEYUKp965YHpNJIrme_SvTKbci7W2FjD5z70SyRXqDPmRVNY4wC4JRMfuwzbQJ17w74ynPr4oDbhB63Y9YUZh2I/s400/YIMG_2659.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210487177389106" /></a><CENTER>The bay at low tide seen from the abbey, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjPoxMYOiX9ERBUJcYpe1DCbgUg19ocDt94xdAvTwtIxz3Cl-jIDCARi1t0lyzP_Nawkxb-p2CsRJNA3z27IhYgsTLROZ8w5Qhv6vZGRskVYNj9nJ0jWuH1JyTIkQk4nXNHNTF8DDq8o/s1280-h/YIMG_2665.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjPoxMYOiX9ERBUJcYpe1DCbgUg19ocDt94xdAvTwtIxz3Cl-jIDCARi1t0lyzP_Nawkxb-p2CsRJNA3z27IhYgsTLROZ8w5Qhv6vZGRskVYNj9nJ0jWuH1JyTIkQk4nXNHNTF8DDq8o/s400/YIMG_2665.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210495767323714" /></a><CENTER>View towards the reclaimed polders, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br />We paid our eight euros each to see round the abbey and the attached buildings. The whole is a wonderful piece of engineering built on and into the granite rock, indeed the three storey range of buildings to the north of the abbey church, constructed in the 13th century, has always been known as the Merveille. The distinctive profile of the Mount is relatively recent as the spire topped by the Archangel Michael was only added in 1897. The 11th century abbey church was constructed on a platform 80 metres above the bay. Although it lost the westernmost three bays of the nave after a fire in the 18th century the nave with its heavy granite arcades makes a sober and impressive impact, contrasting with the lightness of the flamboyant Gothic chancel built after the Romanesque chancel collapsed in 1421. The great pillared crypt below the chancel shows that the builders were taking no chances of a similar disaster happening in the future. The missing three bays of the nave were replaced by a terrace with magnificent views over the bay. The cloisters with an elegant double arcade were designed to be light in weight as they were built above the refectory. This in turn is above the impressive guests' hall and the Knights' Hall, an airy room which originally served as the monks' study area and scriptorium where so many of the wonderful manuscripts in their library were produced. The abbey became extremely wealthy, having jurisdiction over many estates in Normandy and further afield. Beside St Michael's Mount in Cornwall, in Devon it owned Budleigh, Dotton, Harpford, Otterton, Sidmouth, Stoodleigh, Venn Ottery and Yarcombe.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkK9bt0BJSa4eFXn1AmgSrg5H1gBjzESk4kUQiZ3XXihQNgLV-dq6pu-L1dYtgyN8tMn-uJW3CkUctPD9DndmRBGOClz-OlGacM_rKqEnRIm7n29wITixqmaqTOgzTQ9Wu6flnVUCtIk/s1280-h/YIMG_2663.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkK9bt0BJSa4eFXn1AmgSrg5H1gBjzESk4kUQiZ3XXihQNgLV-dq6pu-L1dYtgyN8tMn-uJW3CkUctPD9DndmRBGOClz-OlGacM_rKqEnRIm7n29wITixqmaqTOgzTQ9Wu6flnVUCtIk/s400/YIMG_2663.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210504357258322" /></a><CENTER>Interior of the abbey showing the chancel, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBzWjq5sW9h-AI36TuLYjBKImDkqcYUn0FS2RUTGaqp2wQ7TzcalbpVE4NJGA7vK1QKCVRPBXB-mu7Ybq8c9wMbAeRh2wlB-z2eVbSqDnRFm7nz1b3YmhaL_xlvbgdYv1_rwBcxkEDUE/s1280-h/YIMG_2679.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBzWjq5sW9h-AI36TuLYjBKImDkqcYUn0FS2RUTGaqp2wQ7TzcalbpVE4NJGA7vK1QKCVRPBXB-mu7Ybq8c9wMbAeRh2wlB-z2eVbSqDnRFm7nz1b3YmhaL_xlvbgdYv1_rwBcxkEDUE/s400/YIMG_2679.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210512947192930" /></a><CENTER>The abbey crypt, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITfCVj5QWJe0nc0PH0QmXRyclDScCYUJ93i8wMJIfL47kReW9_9RTi_0BV12AiuYqXkkhKgZCwklU5oHbkL-xkl28FPi3D-r9bTjSK2AGxfaOm9jy1rQx2P4fnVNaeZPMQU5RbJfzRio/s1280-h/YIMG_2671.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITfCVj5QWJe0nc0PH0QmXRyclDScCYUJ93i8wMJIfL47kReW9_9RTi_0BV12AiuYqXkkhKgZCwklU5oHbkL-xkl28FPi3D-r9bTjSK2AGxfaOm9jy1rQx2P4fnVNaeZPMQU5RbJfzRio/s400/YIMG_2671.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210873724445810" /></a><CENTER>Cloisters, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49tq0z9vBQLxEhrrnGMKbhyIiY8uup6WUBai0tMzXmHRBKIsWmUi5rCdCpxWSmtjkUbDMOdn2zK30XSa5MbXEvL6cb4u8rmHEgTKL6pOZJjJvoxNKfKfuEKR8bybugLuVil7Gr6eHRws/s1280-h/YIMG_2674.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49tq0z9vBQLxEhrrnGMKbhyIiY8uup6WUBai0tMzXmHRBKIsWmUi5rCdCpxWSmtjkUbDMOdn2zK30XSa5MbXEvL6cb4u8rmHEgTKL6pOZJjJvoxNKfKfuEKR8bybugLuVil7Gr6eHRws/s400/YIMG_2674.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210886609347714" /></a><br /><CENTER>Refectory, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FKThAYeG3-9DFMa5Q_0F5f0ddehw3DmK0zcryMuhQg_J6tTmqU03KtZ3RZymGEUHZBFEVm5Lx80WPMotFNFOXRcF4t78HFTgrsoL_3ZT9nc0veyylyNVolv5DlKd3LHatsU8Y6Po3MA/s1280-h/YIMG_2681.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FKThAYeG3-9DFMa5Q_0F5f0ddehw3DmK0zcryMuhQg_J6tTmqU03KtZ3RZymGEUHZBFEVm5Lx80WPMotFNFOXRcF4t78HFTgrsoL_3ZT9nc0veyylyNVolv5DlKd3LHatsU8Y6Po3MA/s400/YIMG_2681.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210890904315026" /></a><CENTER>Scriptorium, Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3g2zozQOhAAIG4LBvUwNi0iKFilpxPEu48UxExP8zT4QYZ6GTkpvGJkyLFhwWadBlplYtLgmL1sRMZouov6vWn6lIYuSfO3qhnCLUs4Pja33JXBD7i9dIqnZIe3Xe_e44trpQwdoQhY/s1280-h/YIMG_2685.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3g2zozQOhAAIG4LBvUwNi0iKFilpxPEu48UxExP8zT4QYZ6GTkpvGJkyLFhwWadBlplYtLgmL1sRMZouov6vWn6lIYuSfO3qhnCLUs4Pja33JXBD7i9dIqnZIe3Xe_e44trpQwdoQhY/s400/YIMG_2685.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210899494249634" /></a><CENTER>Miniature groups of pilgrims crossing the sands to the island of Tombelaine seen from Mont St. Michel</CENTER><br />We returned down and continued to the nearby little town of Pontorsin for a lunch of moules et frites (mussels cooked with onions, herbs and white wine and served with tiny chips) in a small bar where everyone smoked, even the barman! European anti-smoking laws are completely ineffective in France and ignored by everyone. None of the other customers seemed to spend any money. They just sat around exchanging the odd comment, shaking hands, drinking on credit and drifting away. They all looked scruffy and rather bored. Pontorsin is a very pleasant granite town with a wide sunny main street full of estate agents selling properties to the British who seem to have discovered this particular area of Normandy in a rather big way. <br /><br />The sun returned for the rest of day, which has been really pleasant. We moved on to the American cemetery on the border with Brittany at St. James containing over 4,400 war graves of American soldiers who lost their lives in the early days of the debarquement from June to September 1944. It was beautiful and peaceful with a detailed wall maps in the chapel explaining the American advance and how their approach joined up with simultaneous attacks on other fronts made by the UK and Commonwealth. While the British and Canadians have smaller scattered cemeteries, the Americans have two large ones.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM6FnhqbFBvJnatZoqngQ-1ardGZDiFHAv0uxnRdA7wTMuT03Cvc40oYgn5UTvXOm8nTVZgV3yt4sJsrvHNyqy6N6KSIP02FUh_WECeI4eFN3m5JfKpgSdZ9BKG-SOpd60Ma2lRajpVY/s1280-h/YIMG_2690.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM6FnhqbFBvJnatZoqngQ-1ardGZDiFHAv0uxnRdA7wTMuT03Cvc40oYgn5UTvXOm8nTVZgV3yt4sJsrvHNyqy6N6KSIP02FUh_WECeI4eFN3m5JfKpgSdZ9BKG-SOpd60Ma2lRajpVY/s400/YIMG_2690.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089210903789216946" /></a><CENTER>American cemetery at St. James</CENTER><br />At the little town of Mortain we discovered La Petite Chapelle, built on the summit of a hill 314 metres high offering stunning views across a wide sweep of the landscape. From here we could see 47 km to the bay of Mont St. Michel with the mount clearly visible.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-0KmoByZrmA1KCip_1gXLprETJeN22oEl7WoET_h_9hCQGLxTeIeT2z4w8tXBsB8ma9JIz6wpVAyBFXyynJiVC4INbsCIfa_zsIP5P-rgethJ1rjC-kJkOSbf2gW4qz6UNoTIHFLcvI/s1280-h/YIMG_2692.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-0KmoByZrmA1KCip_1gXLprETJeN22oEl7WoET_h_9hCQGLxTeIeT2z4w8tXBsB8ma9JIz6wpVAyBFXyynJiVC4INbsCIfa_zsIP5P-rgethJ1rjC-kJkOSbf2gW4qz6UNoTIHFLcvI/s400/YIMG_2692.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089211148602352834" /></a><CENTER>La Petite Chapelle, Mortain</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzbhhAYPjSKvb0AZsdHlJWMEC2vShwgljzqXI4SKFxFwgd9f5DUg26wO-VjYBmmtE92UXcOTyKOsRxE-vJHXqOpv1-eWTMPvi6eK_CcU0k8ZFvDBwd7EBupLZOPqHcyIirnOOfa3_TYU/s1280-h/YIMG_2694.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzbhhAYPjSKvb0AZsdHlJWMEC2vShwgljzqXI4SKFxFwgd9f5DUg26wO-VjYBmmtE92UXcOTyKOsRxE-vJHXqOpv1-eWTMPvi6eK_CcU0k8ZFvDBwd7EBupLZOPqHcyIirnOOfa3_TYU/s400/YIMG_2694.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089211152897320146" /></a><br /><CENTER>View from La Petite Chapelle, Mont St. Michel on the horizon, Mortain</CENTER><br />Hill 314 as it was code named, is the site of one of the worst engagements the American troops encountered during the Normandy landings. Here the German troops ceased their retreat and fought back inflicting heavy casualties. The fighting is commemorated by an American monument near the chapel to those who died.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSIOjUc3_A9fSjWSCVAlNYPMrukcgQsohcHwzsl9iuuMzUI3tdlSXMBs5xuhcVOZKBnv7wJNA2FFF_v7AiIMdbEQG9fDGSv-x5FnNf2k9CFul9edAS1WHS3iojXEqtFnnWR22caVntLM/s1280-h/YIMG_2695.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSIOjUc3_A9fSjWSCVAlNYPMrukcgQsohcHwzsl9iuuMzUI3tdlSXMBs5xuhcVOZKBnv7wJNA2FFF_v7AiIMdbEQG9fDGSv-x5FnNf2k9CFul9edAS1WHS3iojXEqtFnnWR22caVntLM/s400/YIMG_2695.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089211161487254754" /></a><CENTER>In memory of those who died in battle, La Petite Chapelle, Mortain</CENTER><br />Finally we arrived at Domfront and found this wonderful municipal campsite. It is amazing value at less than 9 euros including electricity and excellent hot showers. It is peaceful, well managed, spotlessly clean and uncrowded. We have been able to enjoy supper outside and it has been warm and sunny. We have both felt very weary after the day's activity so after supper we moved inside and relaxed as we watched a video.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-35463475078131235132007-07-16T09:09:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:12.896+00:00Caen and Cotentin<B>Monday 2nd July continued, Caen</B><br />It was wonderful to wake up on Sunday morning in a dry, comfortable house, hear the rain teaming down outside and to know that this morning we didn't have to slither across a muddy field in the wet and queue for the communal facilities. We wallowed in the luxury of a lovely fragrant bathroom with hot water and dry towels followed by freshly filtered coffee and baguettes in Geneviève's kitchen as we chatted and watched the rain flooding over the lawn outside.<br /><br />Later the rain eased and we set off to walk to the Sunday market beside the river Orne. However, the plan was abandoned when Jill's foot suddenly decided to play up and we were obliged to return back home. We are now a day further on and it is gradually improving but will need attention once we are home. The cobbled streets of Europe have a lot to answer for.<br /><br />Our plans for a barbeque lunch were also abandoned when Rain made it quite clear he wanted to be invited too. Later we visited Geneviève's mother, Germaine who had invited us for coffee and cake, before taking a drive down to the coast to look at the sea.<br /><br />The coast along this part of Normandy is unlike anything we have seen in England. There are wide open vistas stretching empty to the horizon and as far as can be seen along the coast. From Luc-sur-Mer there are hazy views of the industrial waterfront at Le Havre with the oil refineries somehow looking remarkably picturesque as an indistinct line on the seascape where the Seine reaches the sea. It was along these flat sandy beaches the allied troops landed under heavy gunfire in June 1944. <br /><br />It was the colours that made the view so enchanting. They ranged from the pale cream of the shore with a line of green seaweed where sand and sea met, the ever-changing blue-green-azure colours of the water and the many different tones of grey in the sky, dark and ominous on the horizon. Brilliantly white against the sea was the cross-channel ferry as it left the nearby port of Ouistreham on its way to Portsmouth, the sky above flecked by wheeling seagulls. On the beach a lone fisherman with his rod and bucket completed the seascape that we longed to be able to paint. Ian's photos cannot remotely do it justice.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFXdSkiAkKBjkF6OVsIqgvcrF5AxmjmAiq83sU_ey19BZh2WzNK35yuMe4htv7x-r5YvxFfiSsmYJysUqJCu5wYtF0xvFaSLennrL3Kel5xYouFBbxFs16FaglvqueGFIkz8bve1K8tQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFXdSkiAkKBjkF6OVsIqgvcrF5AxmjmAiq83sU_ey19BZh2WzNK35yuMe4htv7x-r5YvxFfiSsmYJysUqJCu5wYtF0xvFaSLennrL3Kel5xYouFBbxFs16FaglvqueGFIkz8bve1K8tQ/s400/YIMG_2503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087704813377331266" /></a><CENTER>Seascape at Luc-sur-Mer, Calvados</CENTER><br />The sound of music in the gardens of the Hotel de Ville attracted us from the seafront back into the little town. Here we discovered people dancing the tango to music from a live band. We also discovered a mini zoo with goats, geese and chickens and the skeleton of a huge whale displayed amidst the herbaceous borders.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwingw1cH2sH_FsWqEgC2bW3fEc1WESaFTpXYntzjcFm4fDoUEgHXwQ9c4c7xjc4TCJr4Lk3eN1z0I_EWJIX8hM6cfAnQXWpl66e3WIEQsmDu9SA14GRIp6g7Xib2o74xHGeTbi8KHOqg/s1280-h/YIMG_2505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwingw1cH2sH_FsWqEgC2bW3fEc1WESaFTpXYntzjcFm4fDoUEgHXwQ9c4c7xjc4TCJr4Lk3eN1z0I_EWJIX8hM6cfAnQXWpl66e3WIEQsmDu9SA14GRIp6g7Xib2o74xHGeTbi8KHOqg/s400/YIMG_2505.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087704847737069650" /></a><CENTER>Whale in the gardens of the Town Hall, Luc-sur-Mer, Calvados</CENTER><br />Today, Monday, the rain has continued but we have spent almost the entire day indoors each working on a different computer as we struggle to catch up with the backlog of photos, emails and blogs. With the rain falling outside it's a really nice place to be. Between the showers Ian climbed the cherry tree in the back garden and relieved it of several bowls of fruit. It has more than enough for us and the entire bird population of the district. <br /><br /><B>Tuesday 3rd July, Caen</B><br />It rained solidly all morning and we spent our time comfortably around the house as far apart from each other as possible relishing the pleasure of having our own personal space and a computer each to work on. As a result we have reduced the backlog of blogs waiting to be loaded and Ian has developed the site for manhole covers which now includes images from Trindad as well as hundreds from across Europe. We know just how addicted you have all become to manhole cover spotting and realise that it is the main reason you look at our blog. Now though you can go directly to possibly the largest site of such photos on the internet! We've even set up a counter so we can see just how widespread interest in this newly revealed art form is becoming. So take a look at <a href="http://manholemiscellany.blogspot.com/2007/04/introduction.html">http://manholemiscellany.blogspot.com</a>.<br /><br />During the afternoon the sun came out and we walked – or in Jill's case hobbled – down to the city centre for a stroll around the shops and a very relaxed coffee at one of the sunny street cafés. In the evening, as Geneviève was still living in the rosy afterglow of her retirement lunch with work colleagues, Jill organised a simple supper which we shared together with wine while Geneviève recounted the rather moving events of her day. After thirty five years working with the same organisation there is a lot of emotion wrapped up with saying farewell.<br /><br /><B>Wednesday 4th July 2006, Caen</B><br />All morning we continued to make inroads into the accumulated emails, electronic banking queries, digital photos and blogs while the rain fell and Confetti, the cat from next door, made itself comfortable on our bed in the attic when we were not looking. A lovely ginger colour he seeks peace and refuge with Geneviève – rather like us – and gets annoyed if he is not always allowed immediate entry.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijD1MRlMsrcDwpY148GzXCJaCt6-9gFlCvDlca0yTjjgvaDYrGhdbDplyOPmpHCeGkjdVL4hgYfmg-whGvK00kjbKkd1q2EcTdYmM2OZudmn4r1vmjhud5J7FbyJf_rPmcueFD958xHok/s1280-h/YIMG_2514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijD1MRlMsrcDwpY148GzXCJaCt6-9gFlCvDlca0yTjjgvaDYrGhdbDplyOPmpHCeGkjdVL4hgYfmg-whGvK00kjbKkd1q2EcTdYmM2OZudmn4r1vmjhud5J7FbyJf_rPmcueFD958xHok/s400/YIMG_2514.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087704856327004258" /></a><CENTER>Let me in!</CENTER><br />During the afternoon we walked across the city to visit our friend Claire and in the evening Geneviève's brother joined us for a small family diner to celebrate Geneviève's retirement and to inaugurate the Bohemian crystal glasses we purchased in Prague.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYv1o925DiJ6HYHBr0pfUVB8Z_stN9R9O-IXOqJIlSJ4C8aB0JvfuCV-dT3-JEFhqm6XFTrIllUTBjxucuO8twbUmxYmGsq5FSTp25yuaP47-Vgwcnmn-noq-seBT2D9RIKDFiKFJMZj8/s1280-h/YIMG_2509.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYv1o925DiJ6HYHBr0pfUVB8Z_stN9R9O-IXOqJIlSJ4C8aB0JvfuCV-dT3-JEFhqm6XFTrIllUTBjxucuO8twbUmxYmGsq5FSTp25yuaP47-Vgwcnmn-noq-seBT2D9RIKDFiKFJMZj8/s400/YIMG_2509.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087704882096808050" /></a><CENTER>Jill and Claire with Meille</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EH63dD_Rt1gqN9zcaJHV2KvFlsp_3hkUzquM4C8C3_Jo6-XHpB2LrDhU6BVDj39keaxa1JVEZHOUhBvy1RFqd4gOiz-3IgukcwqobiZ034k49g0RcZQ2Kg2NDrXwaoh5CvFEbKTP5lo/s1280-h/YIMG_2508.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EH63dD_Rt1gqN9zcaJHV2KvFlsp_3hkUzquM4C8C3_Jo6-XHpB2LrDhU6BVDj39keaxa1JVEZHOUhBvy1RFqd4gOiz-3IgukcwqobiZ034k49g0RcZQ2Kg2NDrXwaoh5CvFEbKTP5lo/s400/YIMG_2508.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087704890686742658" /></a> <CENTER>Geneviève demonstrates the correct way to cook a soufflé </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7XGIn-j9o52LTmlRtZiSTN6B1KofaY0UqUHaFSguqfo2MtOmhvQk-UvHoKWNRl5-4xbs-vIXw86v2zYHuF0rJoFlxBONmVOAPuVQkZYUvmMZSeEJCJAj9L7ANmdxIGLOfRPwM0PGDcI8/s1280-h/YIMG_2512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7XGIn-j9o52LTmlRtZiSTN6B1KofaY0UqUHaFSguqfo2MtOmhvQk-UvHoKWNRl5-4xbs-vIXw86v2zYHuF0rJoFlxBONmVOAPuVQkZYUvmMZSeEJCJAj9L7ANmdxIGLOfRPwM0PGDcI8/s400/YIMG_2512.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087705376018047122" /></a><CENTER>Yves and Jill celebrate the start of Geneviève's new life</CENTER><br /><B>Thursday 5th July 2006, St-Vaast-la-Hougue, Cotentin</B><br />We have moved on before we became too cushioned against the privations of camping in the rain and we are now happy parked up on a clean, pleasant site from where we can see the tower of the Vauban fort on the offshore island of Tatihou. The campsite leaflet printed in English gives us lots of helpful advice, such as "the worn piles are to be deposited in the reception," (used batteries), and "worn water is not to be disposed in the WC." Ian's favourite is "…animations are proposed. Club children every morning from 10am…"<br /><br />We have taken ourselves off for a few days to investigate more closely the area of the Cotentin, that finger of land that sticks up into what we call the English Channel and the French call La Manche (sleeve). All along the coast are signs of the D-Day landings during the Second World War and beaches are known today more by their military codenames than their real ones. Thus there are the areas where the British landed – Sword and Gold; the Canadians – Juno; and the Americans, Omaha and Utah. The coastline is littered with the remains of blockhouses hidden amongst the sand dunes, several of which have been adapted to provide military museums and interpretation centres. Just back inland are the war grave cemeteries, quite as impressive and thought provoking as those we saw at Verdun. This area is already very familiar to us and as it was teaming with rain we did not linger. We have recorded our impressions several years ago in notebooks which one day we may edit.<br /><br />Normandy is a very pretty region and even in the rain it has a definite charm. We drove through the country roads of the bocage with its small fields and green hedges that caused such difficulties for the armoured tanks of the Americans. We passed pretty stone villages of neat cottages, their gardens filled with bright hydrangeas. Reaching the coast beyond Carentan we followed the road northward behind the sand-dunes of Utah beach where the Americans met such violent resistance as they tried to land that there are 9,380 white crosses in the nearby American cemetery at Colleville. Passing through the curiously named coastal resort of Quettehoe we decided to stop here at St-Vaast-la-Hougue for the night in the hope that the rain and wind will have eased by the morning and we can walk to the fort on the tip of the picturesque isthmus of land jutting out to the south of the tiny island of Tatihou.<br /><br /><B>Friday 6th July 2006, Omanville-la-Rogue, Cotentin</B><br />The rain did indeed leave us in peace today and our walk to the fort was brisk and very breezy, accomplished in bright sunlight. We have spent a lovely day, a real holiday amidst the sometimes quite tiring events of travelling and recording everything we have seen. <br /><br />We have developed a love affair with the north part of the Cotentin. It is a wonderfully peaceful area, devoid of heavy traffic with stunning seascapes that take you by surprise when turning a bend in the road or cresting a hill. It is like Cornwall and Brittany rolled into one. The scenery, after so long travelling through Europe, far from the sea, is pure delight. It is strange to have travelled for so many months and to discover the most wonderful place of all is just across the Channel around Cherbourg! <br /><br />This area of the Cotentin is granite. The big, crumbling stone houses of the villages around Caen have given way here to rows of granite cottages lining the village squares and streets, or set back slightly within stone walled gardens filled with hydrangeas. The spires of tiny village churches stick up against the skyline seen across estuaries and bays where oyster beds are tended at low tide. The harbours are filled with small fishing boats unloading their catch while local people wait on the quayside ready to purchase their crabs, langoustine and mixed fish – sole, mackerel and red mullet. On several headlands can be seen the tall granite towers of the lighthouses, their beams so powerful the one at Gatteville apparently crosses with the beam from one on the Isle of Wight! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1YfLcw8Vg3Y0XzUbue6SNWPqd-rcTq6woWhyDj13Wx_ZozMUpPqEOxK7HwSDw_YNPMvTbQGuZVH2cxRcuiCf-Yvy7999NANfAmkvLTHATHAaT4kI4jT6uXhoUxRCJrPd8SGjYx5rO4U/s1280-h/YIMG_2523.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1YfLcw8Vg3Y0XzUbue6SNWPqd-rcTq6woWhyDj13Wx_ZozMUpPqEOxK7HwSDw_YNPMvTbQGuZVH2cxRcuiCf-Yvy7999NANfAmkvLTHATHAaT4kI4jT6uXhoUxRCJrPd8SGjYx5rO4U/s400/YIMG_2523.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087705384607981730" /></a><CENTER>Oyster beds, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVxfPf8MPDpqcKDpoGV7CyA5N9kYlk6nnUptJ6Frdj03IO-CH8Ra3xoP_6BNVznBlUalMzS4mRIMkfAwSy_Pbhox3vb2qdg5laPHOepEzPM_x3bXhz-tcFntZW5JUxDQCY1rP1ihXW0g/s1280-h/YIMG_2537.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVxfPf8MPDpqcKDpoGV7CyA5N9kYlk6nnUptJ6Frdj03IO-CH8Ra3xoP_6BNVznBlUalMzS4mRIMkfAwSy_Pbhox3vb2qdg5laPHOepEzPM_x3bXhz-tcFntZW5JUxDQCY1rP1ihXW0g/s400/YIMG_2537.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087705401787850930" /></a><CENTER>Lighthouse at Gatteville</CENTER><br />Our day started with a visit to the fort on the tip of the causeway at St. Vaast-la-Hougue. The sea washed the granite walls of the defensive moat that surrounds it, choppy from the strong wind that whipped up a spray from the crest of the incoming waves. We walked around the fort along the top of the wall, too narrow for confidence and buffeted by the wind, to return along a wooded path leading to the fort entrance and back over the mudflats of low tide to the town of St. Vaast with its lively, active harbour where fishermen sorted their nets, washed down the decks of their boats and deftly gutted fish and dismembered crabs.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZJFm35JzOzJOa4nxCjGvKJ4v2D92tNU0GiAZ13QhC7wznRLUSezYPmGtYjt4mp1sAIr5aCQVVmVWnU2uUs-C_HYGoW5zOmKBTasEsSRkkVm1KgNlRoyF67vyW6cLCS8o-bUfptnwUJw/s1280-h/YIMG_2517.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZJFm35JzOzJOa4nxCjGvKJ4v2D92tNU0GiAZ13QhC7wznRLUSezYPmGtYjt4mp1sAIr5aCQVVmVWnU2uUs-C_HYGoW5zOmKBTasEsSRkkVm1KgNlRoyF67vyW6cLCS8o-bUfptnwUJw/s400/YIMG_2517.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087705410377785538" /></a><CENTER>Vauban Fort de la Hougue, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGi91tSqpA2pFftUJfw01R79BS8WpzER-IDYi4T6gbpSE4bht37K5dpthlA5qsOK0d1ufh4TflJ3CsTpVm4bVDzB5ldWTrCGkyOK76uwSey8kv58KX0poL79gTw2V86_DrgnIbaPal9I/s1280-h/YIMG_2520.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGi91tSqpA2pFftUJfw01R79BS8WpzER-IDYi4T6gbpSE4bht37K5dpthlA5qsOK0d1ufh4TflJ3CsTpVm4bVDzB5ldWTrCGkyOK76uwSey8kv58KX0poL79gTw2V86_DrgnIbaPal9I/s400/YIMG_2520.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087705423262687442" /></a><CENTER>Before the path became scary, Fort de la Hougue, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYiwTrobnWzPWnxELd-rR9RmqU8bBS8-t4ZCG7wYK3HzF1q7_GTWEc_MqrzeDaMIfiHxEXsk3p2HJIcy5awLZAHkWapWpHbWQOMTHaLWf9uEGXyntGQyHQkhUOaAeX81C392aQry3SO8/s1280-h/YIMG_2518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYiwTrobnWzPWnxELd-rR9RmqU8bBS8-t4ZCG7wYK3HzF1q7_GTWEc_MqrzeDaMIfiHxEXsk3p2HJIcy5awLZAHkWapWpHbWQOMTHaLWf9uEGXyntGQyHQkhUOaAeX81C392aQry3SO8/s400/YIMG_2518.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087706123342356706" /></a><CENTER>Entrance to the Fort de la Hougue, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGGaHMBIKaM4JVs22yKxNTm_ckLPCAO99hOf8uhUE8HlJldKJHlNnm1KExZeKmVyu8gd-1Wh5FAAsC1rpcoZaVZn18YoylYIKgkZ0cmyB1R2k_6TKOt_u2nRARXV3tdiJUPn9_m2CoF0/s1280-h/YIMG_2527.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGGaHMBIKaM4JVs22yKxNTm_ckLPCAO99hOf8uhUE8HlJldKJHlNnm1KExZeKmVyu8gd-1Wh5FAAsC1rpcoZaVZn18YoylYIKgkZ0cmyB1R2k_6TKOt_u2nRARXV3tdiJUPn9_m2CoF0/s400/YIMG_2527.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087706131932291314" /></a><CENTER>Fishing boats in the harbour, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCihpfUMqja3MvEz6M9RZiuJA1LEr5yuEdjtevKjyObno1J0Da8k3JOg4w5LQY9pGLfk_RFJAs2HyI7Xn7JSqWxv0n0MdGL8EI9a5Oh3xzJzQ4cvggqgXeuqbtuWFFUI3SUKA_LXzY09c/s1280-h/YIMG_2530.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCihpfUMqja3MvEz6M9RZiuJA1LEr5yuEdjtevKjyObno1J0Da8k3JOg4w5LQY9pGLfk_RFJAs2HyI7Xn7JSqWxv0n0MdGL8EI9a5Oh3xzJzQ4cvggqgXeuqbtuWFFUI3SUKA_LXzY09c/s400/YIMG_2530.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087706140522225922" /></a><CENTER>Fresh crabs for sale, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br />We have been coming to France for more years than we can remember but on the occasions we have arrived through the port of Cherbourg it has usually been at night and we have driven straight along the main road to Caen, passing through Bayeux and have never closely explored this area of the coast. The little granite towns of St. Vaast and Barfleur are real gems. We are not alone in thinking so. There are many English people walking the streets of both places, some obviously boating people who have their yachts moored in the marinas.<br /><br />A short distance from the port at St. Vaast, right on the sea shore, we discovered a picturesque eleventh century chapel with a grassy lawn, bright hydrangeas and a war memorial disguising the remains of a blockhouse. Just beside it, overlooking the sea, was our dream house! The one we have somewhere in the backs of our minds been searching for in France! And it was for sale! Our excitement and imagination were both unleashed and it was only after discussing everything over coffee and returning for a further look that common sense gradually took control and we began to notice the decayed state of the house, pockmarked from shrapnel fire and with ominous cracks that had been badly filled on the end walls, and a garden completely overgrown. It has obviously been standing empty for years. The position is perfect and with lots of money to spend it could be turned into a very valuable and beautiful property, but at our age, even if we could afford it in its present state, there is no knowing what it would cost to make it habitable and anyway we would want to enjoy it now not spend years restoring it!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDvJdsk0xo2AaL_4MUe4qOalv1klCkeqMiFOy7JAajDAY1r_4SLeIVIJDO0sWxaJnOY91cpSWf9xkChT3tQ2tVFwuzoXa8meBm3xLOguBUlLtUYOD47xXDnIydiDfwPplzDzNa-JgLnU/s1280-h/YIMG_2532.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDvJdsk0xo2AaL_4MUe4qOalv1klCkeqMiFOy7JAajDAY1r_4SLeIVIJDO0sWxaJnOY91cpSWf9xkChT3tQ2tVFwuzoXa8meBm3xLOguBUlLtUYOD47xXDnIydiDfwPplzDzNa-JgLnU/s400/YIMG_2532.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087706149112160530" /></a><CENTER>Fishermen's Chapel, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalhDBo83niPaPT5eTFvThCGg5frHD-wV-qTgt13C9kWwFxv5CSY534gyZs_lVH06hvHUrk2iCSSGEmJowcaMWS2xKwIdLRzV1sAkSB897bJc4KhgwzcRQx4gDaPtXpqw2zKokVP6TEVw/s1280-h/YIMG_2533.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalhDBo83niPaPT5eTFvThCGg5frHD-wV-qTgt13C9kWwFxv5CSY534gyZs_lVH06hvHUrk2iCSSGEmJowcaMWS2xKwIdLRzV1sAkSB897bJc4KhgwzcRQx4gDaPtXpqw2zKokVP6TEVw/s400/YIMG_2533.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087706174881964322" /></a><CENTER>Dream home or nightmare? Beside the Fishermen's Chapel, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br />So we tore ourselves away and continued along the coast to the small, pretty, coastal town of Barfleur with its granite church overlooking the sea surrounded by its maritime cemetery. One is constantly reminded of the power and danger from the sea to the village communities who even today still rely on it for their livelihood. All too often we have seen memorial plaques in the churches to those who have disappeared along with their fishing boats. Barfleur was the port from which the Normans sailed to conquer England and it was from here too that Henry 1st of England, Duke of Normandy and son of William the Conqueror lost both his children when the ship carrying them to England was wrecked off the coast in 1120.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pQIBrowWLgn6sAk8bx2_HgU-D5BzS5EGORPg9TP6cQPZ23n8iHpeyrI_E1fo5Q71Lmnf7BDlXp8lhFFdxCS9AU2EFq7VIn7R9Rxr__gxbAB0LkvolMMU1tfX0e6srVGSXRk7mzlKhik/s1280-h/YIMG_2531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pQIBrowWLgn6sAk8bx2_HgU-D5BzS5EGORPg9TP6cQPZ23n8iHpeyrI_E1fo5Q71Lmnf7BDlXp8lhFFdxCS9AU2EFq7VIn7R9Rxr__gxbAB0LkvolMMU1tfX0e6srVGSXRk7mzlKhik/s400/YIMG_2531.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707072530129202" /></a><CENTER>In memory of those lost at sea, St. Vaast-la-Hougue </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-09CpikScxffjaxcWIgvUNgWhYd2grnsIAFXWZh8E4rvOrFYPKds0Vl4lGaMit0WQVHzllxzBjMJX6N4To2Gwq95Rmz1mQSn0ZdPFbZRatGCuJ41aDY5oo-zk6LtYTdJ584B3S9NxiM/s1280-h/YIMG_2534.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-09CpikScxffjaxcWIgvUNgWhYd2grnsIAFXWZh8E4rvOrFYPKds0Vl4lGaMit0WQVHzllxzBjMJX6N4To2Gwq95Rmz1mQSn0ZdPFbZRatGCuJ41aDY5oo-zk6LtYTdJ584B3S9NxiM/s400/YIMG_2534.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707085415031106" /></a><CENTER>Barfleur</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgB4x7AzE04n22aZk2JdNBASrbgDNchiPDC0B5pQAFyEROcHg-o__zLgZcIbz_hKfKSnv2W7JhG_lYIeE8mh5qHLfRNxgrXaz__RE4PHqjZxSH6GIhoatnw4UfeFi-3HLkDu7ccxIv2k/s1280-h/YIMG_2535.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgB4x7AzE04n22aZk2JdNBASrbgDNchiPDC0B5pQAFyEROcHg-o__zLgZcIbz_hKfKSnv2W7JhG_lYIeE8mh5qHLfRNxgrXaz__RE4PHqjZxSH6GIhoatnw4UfeFi-3HLkDu7ccxIv2k/s400/YIMG_2535.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707089709998418" /></a><CENTER>Mediaeval house of Porte Ste. Catherine, Barfleur </CENTER><br />After a very windy picnic lunch on the rocks beside the sea we continued around the coast to Gatteville and Fermanville, both beautiful granite villages filled with flowers and surrounded by sea and small fields of vegetables or cattle. Beyond Fermanville is the lighthouse of Cap Lévy and also Fort Lévy, built by Napoleon to help protect the huge Rade de Cherbourg from attack by the English. The rade itself, at the time of its construction, was the largest artificial harbour in the world. Its granite walls stretching out into the sea across Cherbourg seafront seen from the fort on the cliff-tops across the bay are most impressive.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaH6KTDNC396DK4eDh_VUSKU5w0ECpaagHD-X_dg4GNAHUqc3ScIOqTFy-dEW3kBBHaK7EF7tvKEm2vvA48OHS7-D_LpQJ05KsLJF4V1guysf64QKQTS6rP5nq3jIaIs5ZPdchnhHjC7w/s1280-h/YIMG_2538.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaH6KTDNC396DK4eDh_VUSKU5w0ECpaagHD-X_dg4GNAHUqc3ScIOqTFy-dEW3kBBHaK7EF7tvKEm2vvA48OHS7-D_LpQJ05KsLJF4V1guysf64QKQTS6rP5nq3jIaIs5ZPdchnhHjC7w/s400/YIMG_2538.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707102594900322" /></a><CENTER>11th century chapel, Gatteville</CENTER><br />It was too late to do any justice to Cherbourg by this time. It has always struck us as a very pleasant town but today we simply passed through to continue around the coast on the far side until we chanced on this very agreeable campsite on the edge of a village near the most northerly tip of the Cotentin at Cap de la Hague.<br /><br /><B>Saturday 7th July 2006, St.Germain-le-Gaillard, Cotentin</B><br />This morning the wind had dropped and the summer weather was back at last. We breakfasted outside on the very peaceful, sunny campsite at Omanville-la-Rogue before driving through the narrow country lanes edged by high hedges of ferns, brambles and flowers that make it so very like Devon, to the neighbouring tiny picturesque village of Omanville-la-Petite. Here we parked beside the church where the renowned French poet and writer Jacques Prévert is buried. He spent the later years of his life here and a short walk up the road at the top of the village we discovered his home, now a museum. We are not familiar with his writing and as the house was not open until 11am we did not explore inside. The garden though is charming with flowering shrubs, shady pines and azaleas and attractive garden furniture. Back in the village we found our second dream home for sale. This time in far better condition and only a mile or so back from the sea. In dreams anything is possible so we fantasised for a brief while before facing the reality that the owners were unlikely to want peanuts for it and anyway we only had half a packet in Modestine's cupboard.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUtLT0aRPW2IWUIN60P3FBZtGVgrwH5_C5Z0339Gnm2AedU8ndKi8s94h_wCHHNpzHEXPfW0EnpeNs7w6-LJLwEnWGNYmeOK11tKB-_PLJjrirj37lmZQ239nBUldHlO029QHQs50boI/s1280-h/YIMG_2543.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUtLT0aRPW2IWUIN60P3FBZtGVgrwH5_C5Z0339Gnm2AedU8ndKi8s94h_wCHHNpzHEXPfW0EnpeNs7w6-LJLwEnWGNYmeOK11tKB-_PLJjrirj37lmZQ239nBUldHlO029QHQs50boI/s400/YIMG_2543.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707106889867634" /></a><CENTER>Home of the writer Jacques Prévert in Omanville-la-Petite</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmZ4z-JEcQjBckKhKj1Uzk_1oSjPkWLvqmmaXpsqVnLdQJwOeqIxLtyI1a4xgLEyvN3zCH8jGkiHzyCpWB48YGeHI3sGU-xCAOj3gqpfWiBbWpFPdHXTlPCweUBOwl8Fyl0OgVMxTi6E/s1280-h/YIMG_2546.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmZ4z-JEcQjBckKhKj1Uzk_1oSjPkWLvqmmaXpsqVnLdQJwOeqIxLtyI1a4xgLEyvN3zCH8jGkiHzyCpWB48YGeHI3sGU-xCAOj3gqpfWiBbWpFPdHXTlPCweUBOwl8Fyl0OgVMxTi6E/s400/YIMG_2546.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707682415485314" /></a><CENTER> Jacques Prévert in the churchyard, Omanville-la-Petite</CENTER><br />We have visited several of Europe's extremities during our recent travels so today we headed for the northernmost tip of the Cotentin Peninsula, Cap de la Hague with the tiny fishing port of Gourey. While the interior of the Cotentin may be remarkably like deepest Devon, the coastline is definitely like Cornwall. Here though, the picturesque tin mines of the Land's End Peninsula are replaced by the hideous remains of wartime German block houses. Somebody had scrawled across one "Nie wieder Krieg" (no more war), the only graffiti we've seen all week and something that turned a memorial to the wrongs of the past into a message of hope for the future.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPWweDxY6ucU2w0mgcGWads2SWaNQr2cW9t50kIBHqzAAypKrwt2XQVpO2h10gsdmU28wHK1HNg-O9JWD5uWbwKtj-9YihOAwpx_D9bf0pYxDJvINuQ3bljhVhtDrLCGxTLLXbZ58XVc/s1280-h/YIMG_2562.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPWweDxY6ucU2w0mgcGWads2SWaNQr2cW9t50kIBHqzAAypKrwt2XQVpO2h10gsdmU28wHK1HNg-O9JWD5uWbwKtj-9YihOAwpx_D9bf0pYxDJvINuQ3bljhVhtDrLCGxTLLXbZ58XVc/s400/YIMG_2562.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707699595354514" /></a><CENTER>German block house, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br />We parked Modestine well back from Gourey, overlooking the lighthouse and the Channel Islands with Alderney so clear on the horizon that we could discern its lighthouse with the naked eye. Down in the fishing hamlet we explored its harbour, and watched a fishing boat return from sea and unload its catch of crabs before we walked along a pebble ridge edged by the curve of the bay with the lighthouse off shore on one side, and long strip fields of cereals on the other. As in Alderney, fields are long and narrow, edged here by dry stone walls, protecting the crops from the force of the sea winds. We were intrigued to discover pebbles on the ridge of a type we have always thought were unique to those to be found at Budleigh Salterton in Devon. They are smooth and rounded by the sea, beautifully mottled and coloured. In Budleigh they have been washed out from the cliffs ready formed and examination of the land along the coast of Cap de la Hague shows the same phenomenon. A look at the map later also shows that tidal currents or the flow of a massive river way back in the earth's history may quite possibly have deposited pebbles in a line linking the two coasts. We are not geologists but it's a theory we will investigate on our return home. Certainly we have never seen these pebbles anywhere else. In the Cotentin though, they are mixed in with the rougher granite pebbles one would expect to find here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdvg0UDDD48VVtUXohwQWcMdwQazCwcgLJxTHSDpb1uK8zhfCClePZdgJjyTBGhBNB59w1jxw8aKm-pN1Do0l5D6DLHkJubNYP_z_J2iND41P2Nb_7RJjzDbN7zSBBaGNWKAgBJjGgGE/s1280-h/YIMG_2551.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdvg0UDDD48VVtUXohwQWcMdwQazCwcgLJxTHSDpb1uK8zhfCClePZdgJjyTBGhBNB59w1jxw8aKm-pN1Do0l5D6DLHkJubNYP_z_J2iND41P2Nb_7RJjzDbN7zSBBaGNWKAgBJjGgGE/s400/YIMG_2551.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707712480256418" /></a><CENTER>First attempts at a cross-channel rail link, Gourey<br /></CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiilDyVBWtxQurC14nX-M8sdDdEVBYSSj-3HOAX1imVajA_7sCRALCthP_L82a73W0SEQllFm2-od_6hj2MCSMxlVzwbpNRn3MNLJLcytGMy457cwVy9RXs9pLJBxtyJkMnTKKDWt-xnw/s1280-h/YIMG_2553.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiilDyVBWtxQurC14nX-M8sdDdEVBYSSj-3HOAX1imVajA_7sCRALCthP_L82a73W0SEQllFm2-od_6hj2MCSMxlVzwbpNRn3MNLJLcytGMy457cwVy9RXs9pLJBxtyJkMnTKKDWt-xnw/s400/YIMG_2553.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707721070191026" /></a><br /><CENTER>Bringing home the catch, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfFcMejjOIcvZMsDm3mmPY1JkV8bDP_KkRTtXV76LR3RaOmwABpV9tO6W27WVnKJcu3vZu_GwYusqiXa4bqS5sY3zFyxT-_nX69MvSgLHd1ZUd9EqeMcHzVvyzOdFisJT7Yi90sQEG7M/s1280-h/YIMG_2554.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfFcMejjOIcvZMsDm3mmPY1JkV8bDP_KkRTtXV76LR3RaOmwABpV9tO6W27WVnKJcu3vZu_GwYusqiXa4bqS5sY3zFyxT-_nX69MvSgLHd1ZUd9EqeMcHzVvyzOdFisJT7Yi90sQEG7M/s400/YIMG_2554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087707725365158338" /></a><CENTER>Unloading the catch, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCsvQ4ciR03zRsWsnN4y5X7lKYn0VngHlhht-EWEkL2q3mj3SjoaRAFsLZdu69-GbW_WvOBMqcKd0fQm3QX4c_hR1i3aoL8-uvxbWh9NMDTHR8yM2taYAv8817_SbWtZPES9RQx0c_dk/s1280-h/YIMG_2557.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCsvQ4ciR03zRsWsnN4y5X7lKYn0VngHlhht-EWEkL2q3mj3SjoaRAFsLZdu69-GbW_WvOBMqcKd0fQm3QX4c_hR1i3aoL8-uvxbWh9NMDTHR8yM2taYAv8817_SbWtZPES9RQx0c_dk/s400/YIMG_2557.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708292300841426" /></a><CENTER>Offshore lighthouse at Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN8ie_Zv740wXXmT7J90zxY6-ccroJG9uoQswp6voVtKtlnDQ1c13edCcFFOOaxM6sJBO6ZvlXphYd2MRjr1yDIXq2-mWSnAwS071XbX5XhrVdYHlAYY2hHpQP08moAFADaa_vTKD18A/s1280-h/YIMG_2558.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN8ie_Zv740wXXmT7J90zxY6-ccroJG9uoQswp6voVtKtlnDQ1c13edCcFFOOaxM6sJBO6ZvlXphYd2MRjr1yDIXq2-mWSnAwS071XbX5XhrVdYHlAYY2hHpQP08moAFADaa_vTKD18A/s400/YIMG_2558.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708313775677922" /></a><CENTER>Pebble ridge, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeX_MUqlxpVvt_snlB1s9OiNy_-YF_snY1qyyihRaGu5o03d_OH2CLBYrAgNFHeXXHi9E8uHKOSyHRbZ9C8B0-cc3t7AwKvbJGgdwzgPyyBl8M28bNe71W3xw1PRAPZPyFYO3VXUi5K_8/s1280-h/YIMG_2556.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeX_MUqlxpVvt_snlB1s9OiNy_-YF_snY1qyyihRaGu5o03d_OH2CLBYrAgNFHeXXHi9E8uHKOSyHRbZ9C8B0-cc3t7AwKvbJGgdwzgPyyBl8M28bNe71W3xw1PRAPZPyFYO3VXUi5K_8/s400/YIMG_2556.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708318070645234" /></a><CENTER>Budleigh pebbles at Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0Tvq_y0qxNcPBJaUNJ_Ehy6dqFjHasb2i0UaDdcYhAsnw2V6ap1FsMElVQbDr5dzYC0SZfVc5OtlGQKKjyfCdI4vS1VM87vxw-z281LupAr47YfcIT-olV_pR_YZ9LOwPAFNYTtXU9A/s1280-h/YIMG_2561.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0Tvq_y0qxNcPBJaUNJ_Ehy6dqFjHasb2i0UaDdcYhAsnw2V6ap1FsMElVQbDr5dzYC0SZfVc5OtlGQKKjyfCdI4vS1VM87vxw-z281LupAr47YfcIT-olV_pR_YZ9LOwPAFNYTtXU9A/s400/YIMG_2561.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708339545481730" /></a><CENTER>Strip-field system, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br />Reaching the semaphore station of the French coastguard service, as we turned inland we discovered a plaque commemorating attempts in 1902 to send telegraphic messages without using wires. Messages were successfully transmitted over a distance of 300 kilometres. The key figure and designer of the equipment was Edouard Branly (1844-1940) but work was halted for years through a dispute with the French government who claimed a monopoly of the telegraph service and impounded his equipment. It was not until the loss of the Titanic that the government realised the true value of such a system and development was allowed to continue. There are still traces of the equipment to be found on the beach and offshore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh185PkB6KKKSzkjcQ74QELrnATBo43gAKMrutou_W79yur5iYBVanUS0em-3BTvy4KgzgKImX8St81a6D6ejElAq0c53p4qFzK9W7MzieW-LVBX4LrkG7rteuC1NweSm8jXwdd1l9DOwU/s1280-h/YIMG_2564.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh185PkB6KKKSzkjcQ74QELrnATBo43gAKMrutou_W79yur5iYBVanUS0em-3BTvy4KgzgKImX8St81a6D6ejElAq0c53p4qFzK9W7MzieW-LVBX4LrkG7rteuC1NweSm8jXwdd1l9DOwU/s400/YIMG_2564.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708343840449042" /></a><CENTER>Monument to early wireless telegraphy experiments, Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br />We returned to Modestine through lanes bordered by dry-stone walls filled with foxgloves, pink campion, succulent rock plants, ferns and heather, where cattle in the fields raised their heads from munching momentarily to gaze as we passed. We continued towards Joburg, with its massive nuclear power station (Cogema) set on the cliffs overlooking Alderney. Against the skyline in this isolated, windswept area its white chimneys, tanks and turrets looked rather artistic, in the same way as the telecommunications centre does on Goonhilly Downs in Cornwall. There is nothing else on this bare moorland cliff top except the miniscule hamlet of Joburg with its 11th century granite church. The lady arranging flowers inside told us there would be a marine wedding there during the afternoon. In the mairie nearby we discovered an exhibition of local arts and crafts, similar to the ones our late friend Danielle used to organise in her village in Guissény with everything from oil paintings and decorated china to embroidery, hand painted silk, woven baskets, cushions, baby clothes and soft toys.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW1DVZ5A7blXGfGnY2_c1msblav6u7lkMFDIpiK1haHlReLxOZ7-tOoCLoVRpZFLh2QrlqZZ66pNu8yhfvp3lYnmlKL4Kep7-Ik5fI3bzLDQdckKajl5KPMBknJhjSWok1r4vkw71bu8/s1280-h/YIMG_2570.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW1DVZ5A7blXGfGnY2_c1msblav6u7lkMFDIpiK1haHlReLxOZ7-tOoCLoVRpZFLh2QrlqZZ66pNu8yhfvp3lYnmlKL4Kep7-Ik5fI3bzLDQdckKajl5KPMBknJhjSWok1r4vkw71bu8/s400/YIMG_2570.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708803401949730" /></a><CENTER>Church at Joburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDcR7nAiVQ3KToBIy4F9uc3z6KHp-kdKV0u-i4ZJlF4nKEtU8aR753VYdOmaXNb7PkxKFYch5zrT6QkQpLV8uCA7XnCPZlHHXthhhmeasXsLlkBAKuIEQSpPGGP_p1vrUwFEcjLa2C_0/s1280-h/YIMG_2569.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDcR7nAiVQ3KToBIy4F9uc3z6KHp-kdKV0u-i4ZJlF4nKEtU8aR753VYdOmaXNb7PkxKFYch5zrT6QkQpLV8uCA7XnCPZlHHXthhhmeasXsLlkBAKuIEQSpPGGP_p1vrUwFEcjLa2C_0/s400/YIMG_2569.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708820581818930" /></a><CENTER>Church interior showing mediaeval gravestones, Joburg</CENTER><br />We parked on the cliffs overlooking the Baie d'Ecalgrain with a view to the Nez de Voidries for our lunch. The sun was warm, reflecting from the white topped waves as they broke on the rocks at the base of the cliffs while overhead we were subjected to whoops of glee from a couple of hang-gliders sweeping almost silently through the air on the thermal currents that allowed them to wheel and dive there for hours.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUOWX-hUyyvUen5t7fkaykcaAUfouRPkoYmJ34zrhFXvICoMUsqk5BH6OP6ZBczD8CQ5kz7HZQyqDy6STh63k4ouYLQ7HXIERDhgSvSyLEuUG2ukrWv0KT6mXN5DnzbWwFuh4g9mmMxE/s1280-h/YIMG_2568.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUOWX-hUyyvUen5t7fkaykcaAUfouRPkoYmJ34zrhFXvICoMUsqk5BH6OP6ZBczD8CQ5kz7HZQyqDy6STh63k4ouYLQ7HXIERDhgSvSyLEuUG2ukrWv0KT6mXN5DnzbWwFuh4g9mmMxE/s400/YIMG_2568.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708824876786242" /></a><CENTER> Baie d'Ecalgrain and Nez de Voidries near Cap de la Hague</CENTER><br />After so much cold, wet weather the hot sunshine had released pollen and we were both suffering badly with itching eyes and perpetual sneezing. Poor Ian seems to have been sneezing ever since we left England in April! After walking over the clifftops to look down on the Nez de Joburg (almost as massive and wet as le Nez d'Ian) and to the misty outlines on the horizon of Guernsey, Jersey and Sark we drove down into the seaside village of Vauville. Here there is a famed tropical garden on the seashore where we spent a couple of hours wandering its pretty pathways through groves of palm trees through which we could glimpse the sandy beach and the sparkle of sunlight on the sea. It almost had us wondering if we were back in Trinidad or Sri Lanka! The garden surrounds a very English looking castle however with purple, heather covered moorland behind. Within the garden are streams, ornamental ponds, fountains, tropical vegetation, ferns, a Japanese garden and a wide lawn with a border of exotic lilies overlooking the sea.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrlWCnXZ3_OSDxgNrbF2JFsk74Yipoaji9zXrhF48EbPfjiQBToiOHC7pQSL_zTRY5d79ovQvhiLGOsnmrPzdrDwf22TypZgA8chnydraSSPSur2Ti5qnAx5HbuievNiralqHRDgLYOk/s1280-h/YIMG_2571.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrlWCnXZ3_OSDxgNrbF2JFsk74Yipoaji9zXrhF48EbPfjiQBToiOHC7pQSL_zTRY5d79ovQvhiLGOsnmrPzdrDwf22TypZgA8chnydraSSPSur2Ti5qnAx5HbuievNiralqHRDgLYOk/s400/YIMG_2571.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708846351622738" /></a><CENTER>Nez de Joburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIuBfBWXlT8HexGV_oZMH4UBJNAq3xmRWxRw5lXVL8rZS5rYW7EoGh__o06T0Bwv2xkgbjq8qUZYH3VcOQjVpi5rbwmxBK3k0WgSF2FcNNcq0G1xg_F-V_D3adbP_dIvZXUxnlqOfrFI8/s1280-h/YIMG_2578.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIuBfBWXlT8HexGV_oZMH4UBJNAq3xmRWxRw5lXVL8rZS5rYW7EoGh__o06T0Bwv2xkgbjq8qUZYH3VcOQjVpi5rbwmxBK3k0WgSF2FcNNcq0G1xg_F-V_D3adbP_dIvZXUxnlqOfrFI8/s400/YIMG_2578.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087708850646590050" /></a><CENTER>Palm trees beside the sea. Gardens at Vauville</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94wXuuV1gUDjOoKpNTxB6dIBh8Gl3xdmwx4Le60zlJe0pvjBBi8cb6aeTYqkJlvhSPgaggzWk1iw3SnqosHyChGYQGBjcRuCZvkk4TrEQi4xY9MEGxeLoB5cMIBzf49s8KmImnV1NZRY/s1280-h/YIMG_2580.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94wXuuV1gUDjOoKpNTxB6dIBh8Gl3xdmwx4Le60zlJe0pvjBBi8cb6aeTYqkJlvhSPgaggzWk1iw3SnqosHyChGYQGBjcRuCZvkk4TrEQi4xY9MEGxeLoB5cMIBzf49s8KmImnV1NZRY/s400/YIMG_2580.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087709065394954882" /></a><CENTER>Japenese garden at Vauville</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU1S7lo85BPrPJ9h035ywaySMz11usMNXevcqSX3-rRcaeEn9mxPY1a6EYyr4wTS-S-q1OaLvE1doZsgiStFVWzuIvZXS5wVaaFcO0f6tWa-LZ9a5vbnjbxERThg2q2FG7RSSxwy1lk6E/s1280-h/YIMG_2579.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU1S7lo85BPrPJ9h035ywaySMz11usMNXevcqSX3-rRcaeEn9mxPY1a6EYyr4wTS-S-q1OaLvE1doZsgiStFVWzuIvZXS5wVaaFcO0f6tWa-LZ9a5vbnjbxERThg2q2FG7RSSxwy1lk6E/s400/YIMG_2579.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087709056805020274" /></a><CENTER>Gardens at Vauville</CENTER><br />By the time we left it was getting late so we headed for the nearest small town on the map, Beaumont-Hague, to restock Modestine's fridge and fuel tank. This turned out to be a delightful place, clean and bright, just back from the sea with a wide main street, plenty of free parking and little traffic. There was excellent free internet access, spotless public facilities – as they have all been in this part of France, a modern library and swimming pool and a huge well stocked supermarket selling the cheapest diesel we have found outside Luxembourg. From the charcuterie shop we bought couscous with chicken and lamb to reheat for supper before setting off to find a campsite for the night. Continuing southwards along the west side of the Cotentin we found several sites, all on the beach. Here the granite rocks have given way to long beaches of golden sand which we saw clearly visible as a fringe along the shoreline from Jersey when we cycled around that island some years ago. This coastline is less dramatic and less to our taste but popular for family camping holidays. Thus, in July, campsite charges were 29 euros a night plus four for electricity. Nor were they to our taste as we gave up using bouncy castles some years ago now. So we turned inland and found the small, peaceful, spotless municipal campsite here at St.Germain-le-Gaillard which is costing us all of eight euros a night including electricity and hot showers! The local commune is hardly likely to get rich on it but it is a lovely, comfortable, simple site offering all we need.<br /><br />We have sometimes been rather critical of the places we have visited so it is only right that we record here that this area of France is clean, beautiful and friendly. It epitomises everything that one dreams of about the country with none of the things that at times can be so distasteful. If you want coffee and croissants you don't need a mortgage to buy them, if you fancy moules et frites on the quayside it will set you back a mere £5. The towns and villages are picturesque, the garden flowers beautiful, the inland countryside green and verdant and the coastline stunningly beautiful. There is no graffiti, no litter and no canine mess. Public facilities are easily found and as clean as you would wish in your own home. Everywhere is within easy reach of the port of Cherbourg, so why hasn't it undergone mass immigration by the British as have Provence and the Dordogne? In the unlikely event of us moving from Devon the Cotentin is where we would go!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-74068061678871425482007-07-05T11:10:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.030+00:00Beauvais Rouen Honfleur<B>Thursday 28th June 2007, Beauvais</B><br />We had thought we would spend some time exploring Châlons-en-Champagne this morning but we found parking completely impossible and the streets difficult to negotiate as went around in circles trying to find a way out. <br /><br />Today though we feel we have achieved quite a lot. We have travelled through the Champagne region, along beside the river Marne where many of the villages had memorials and small war graves cemeteries, as the Marne saw much of the carnage of the First World War. The region is also famed for a happier reason. This is where they invented Champagne and the hillsides are completely covered in the vines that produce the perfect grapes. It is quite an experience to drive along the hillside above the river with the bright green of the vineyards stretching like a patchwork of green corduroy as far as the eye can see. Each vine is already heavy with the hard green grapes that will ripen in the warm sunshine over the coming months. Every grape must be gathered and before that everything must be lined up ready for processing so the fermentation can start immediately. Considering the work and the risks involved it's small wonder Champagne does not come cheap! The hillsides were a complete contrast to the scruffy, muddy, crumbling untidy little towns and villages we passed through where cellars offer tastings, the grapes are processed and the business side of the venture is accomplished. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST238hej1fxQ9VE3pxSxjQ5luGGusifBm2DoMl6gqE-Cf6lgT7yQWhfN25ylM4MGMONdNYkZ8l97JbSYL_e4pQYmB32MScYqOXYlxG7G6TR65AGcNYxHOJbiVWg3ZgHqNqwRoOMYeQCk/s1280-h/YIMG_2430.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST238hej1fxQ9VE3pxSxjQ5luGGusifBm2DoMl6gqE-Cf6lgT7yQWhfN25ylM4MGMONdNYkZ8l97JbSYL_e4pQYmB32MScYqOXYlxG7G6TR65AGcNYxHOJbiVWg3ZgHqNqwRoOMYeQCk/s400/YIMG_2430.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654140706055026" /></a><CENTER>War memorial on the edge of one of the village bordering the river Marne</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyqlirzaJUcCcfz6ukRcHOVt6ecdj38ugqm2rYfU_MUw3izoq7syz9M5_yEKdB-S1CXjNteHgnHYzfL2pccUlmzKhO0oRG-NoCikdvZaiBY_1nR3HKj4GUAYzdoB-_4UXFpLSYxD4eRc/s1280-h/YIMG_2426.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyqlirzaJUcCcfz6ukRcHOVt6ecdj38ugqm2rYfU_MUw3izoq7syz9M5_yEKdB-S1CXjNteHgnHYzfL2pccUlmzKhO0oRG-NoCikdvZaiBY_1nR3HKj4GUAYzdoB-_4UXFpLSYxD4eRc/s400/YIMG_2426.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654149295989634" /></a><CENTER>River Marne seen from the vineyards of Champagne</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFLfhVLzlSCgzokJJn8BhohumF997aK_BgRF618zn4cYTG_IBCT664wRRqruCr4W14md1GPX0xPrBx_4gcil7MQm_PvsOhxjusLKn7HnBcBnl-Vaw89wOKWC59hQ7tToabidRHzZ7F7c/s1280-h/YIMG_2428.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFLfhVLzlSCgzokJJn8BhohumF997aK_BgRF618zn4cYTG_IBCT664wRRqruCr4W14md1GPX0xPrBx_4gcil7MQm_PvsOhxjusLKn7HnBcBnl-Vaw89wOKWC59hQ7tToabidRHzZ7F7c/s400/YIMG_2428.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654157885924242" /></a><CENTER>Champagne grapes</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5jLwlSKkYIdekdoiCPl2nwyExsvJaxtLIHRie5D8p_GQxWfYGDJle_H7uGh5g803jjNnG25-xzmNm3EjMkw6R2VBvMeqJf5oJm6WRbmvj_ZHLQ9aqosPukLpuRaz3MrqMIhzFD8i_s/s1280-h/YIMG_2432.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5jLwlSKkYIdekdoiCPl2nwyExsvJaxtLIHRie5D8p_GQxWfYGDJle_H7uGh5g803jjNnG25-xzmNm3EjMkw6R2VBvMeqJf5oJm6WRbmvj_ZHLQ9aqosPukLpuRaz3MrqMIhzFD8i_s/s400/YIMG_2432.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654162180891554" /></a><CENTER>Village set amidst the vineyards</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4wJOCw2LLLgNz989_ulNZDl7AvrXuvqhswtimrYXEDUzBHl0DW7RQXSK7ZBvX3U8bmam7E-O-dRmJJqkTbImd4Ie2JdSzMh5ASug1U-hiXEbKmei63VViks04wqd2pGV9S8Awy7J8NI/s1280-h/YIMG_2434.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4wJOCw2LLLgNz989_ulNZDl7AvrXuvqhswtimrYXEDUzBHl0DW7RQXSK7ZBvX3U8bmam7E-O-dRmJJqkTbImd4Ie2JdSzMh5ASug1U-hiXEbKmei63VViks04wqd2pGV9S8Awy7J8NI/s400/YIMG_2434.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654170770826162" /></a><CENTER>Machinery for trimming the vines, built high so that it can pass above the rows</CENTER><br />Winding through the countryside at such a slow pace becomes quite tiring so we were happy to stop at a pleasant spot amidst the vines for a peaceful picnic lunch where the sun graced us with its presence.<br /><br />Deciding that if we were to get anywhere today we'd best get a move on we transferred to the fast arterial route and made excellent progress until we saw a sign advertising the largest exhibition of camping cars in Europe. Confident that there would not be another Modestine, and in need of a replacement lock for one of her internal doors, we turned off to investigate. Sure enough, we'd been parked for all of 15 seconds before someone discovered her, delighted at her size and wanted all sorts of details. In the accessories shop we found exactly the closure we needed and repaired the door in no time. At last Jill can sleep soundly without the fear of the temporary rubber bands breaking and the door falling open on top of her! <br /><br />Next we phoned Debbie, the daughter of our friends Martin and Penny. She and her French husband live near Beauvais and we would be passing almost through their village. We'd not seen them since their wedding a couple of years ago so it was a great pleasure to be welcomed to their home and to meet their baby son. It has been the happy highlight of our day. We did not stay long, they were off to Metz this evening, a journey they estimate will take them four hours. We've just spent best part of a week travelling from Metz, which shows how much we sometimes linger and wander in Modestine!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvH_gy9YYN1E6axQlIvrznqcP6TsWY7HZ_xCr9-u3eOG5rWBttJkHlj6c8j9cDj6Ui2fYYtn2a4ufu1mtwgMzdn32REvKGqI1hFN4OgXyvhk8d7vRoMtNf1yTmcGLhOdggxLrCMuJbXYg/s1280-h/YIMG_2437.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvH_gy9YYN1E6axQlIvrznqcP6TsWY7HZ_xCr9-u3eOG5rWBttJkHlj6c8j9cDj6Ui2fYYtn2a4ufu1mtwgMzdn32REvKGqI1hFN4OgXyvhk8d7vRoMtNf1yTmcGLhOdggxLrCMuJbXYg/s400/YIMG_2437.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654621742392258" /></a><CENTER>Debbie and Thomas see us on our way</CENTER><br />We found the municipal campsite in Beauvais situated on a hill within walking distance of the city centre so we will explore it tomorrow. Ian's first ever trip to France was to stay with a school exchange pen-friend in Beauvais. All he can remember is the family's shoe shop opposite the Cathedral so he wants to know if it is still there!<br /><br />There is a label attached to the new trousers Ian is wearing. The brand name is Titanium and it claims they are "technical gear for people who push the limits and often break them". It even repeats it in French. He's being dying to find something more dynamic to do in them than trot off across the campsite to wash the supper dishes!<br /><br /><br /><B>Friday 29th June 2007, Rouen</B><br />It has rained pretty well continuously all day. This morning we walked down into the town of Beauvais to seek out the Cathedral and anywhere that Ian might recognise from his childhood visit to the town. Beauvais Cathedral is enormous! It has the highest choir in Europe. It has been ill fated throughout its existence and was in fact never even completed. What you see today is the choir alone. The spire, which at the time made it the tallest building in the world, collapsed, bringing down the nave as well during the 16th century. Then in the 2nd World War the city was very badly bombed, taking out all the stained glass and rendering what remained of the Cathedral unsound. Ian recalls walking around at roof level where the finials were loose and could actually be wobbled on their supports. Fortunately access is no longer allowed but iron braces support the buttresses and inside the columns are shored up with wooden scaffolding. The whole place looks in a sorry state and one wonders whether the money will ever be found to restore it. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bZBxl_tR74DKhTbeb9L7UHEofbUx2486r8SRJ1CYta4cYSysJA3dfusLp2HLASWwq3S5e6tWN5GVToJO5Yxh3AbjwY9euO9tTLC3xRnzUO26AAHtpBP9Y5MM5IhSffpdxwzP3MgY-u0/s1280-h/YIMG_2438.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bZBxl_tR74DKhTbeb9L7UHEofbUx2486r8SRJ1CYta4cYSysJA3dfusLp2HLASWwq3S5e6tWN5GVToJO5Yxh3AbjwY9euO9tTLC3xRnzUO26AAHtpBP9Y5MM5IhSffpdxwzP3MgY-u0/s400/YIMG_2438.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654630332326866" /></a><CENTER>Beauvais Cathedral</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyvz8679tRsdWUtz4jiPD7fCzrIihPtF3B4WDGiPqCMR5x8tdrXzhXMJZwcqaPc1GVSK0F54cO1AUujNpqD0sebYvTqXCSPhj6mxSZcdldkbM1s6NNQBjI6uS2BA9x35h4dCeSf1LouQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2440.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyvz8679tRsdWUtz4jiPD7fCzrIihPtF3B4WDGiPqCMR5x8tdrXzhXMJZwcqaPc1GVSK0F54cO1AUujNpqD0sebYvTqXCSPhj6mxSZcdldkbM1s6NNQBjI6uS2BA9x35h4dCeSf1LouQ/s400/YIMG_2440.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654643217228770" /></a><CENTER>Jill dwarfed by the size of the interior of Beauvais Cathedral</CENTER><br />There was no sign of the shoe shop facing the cathedral where Ian once stayed, but the lady in the tourist office confirmed that it used to exist though now there is a café on the site. So for old time's sake we went to the café and drank a couple of coffees.<br /><br />Because it was so badly damaged during the last war there is not a great deal to see in the town. There are pleasant pedestrianised areas of shops and cafés, a few surviving streets of older, half timbered houses – known as maisons en pain de bois, and a 1911 house originally owned by the potter Christoph Greber, who advertised his products by decorating the façade of his house with examples of his work. Thus it is covered in frogs and salamanders.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheed316UBt7qMQe5Jo0stxDRDef4s_EtIErzv_fjEoxxQXOCj0eFr_6yu2wTa38FC1zV1x6AOJBnhKTTGp-OYkf6AQSiPYF3GDFHAgx-ypSul2Wc9OI7rmksrYlM9zqce1Jx5Yq9CbMCQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2447.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheed316UBt7qMQe5Jo0stxDRDef4s_EtIErzv_fjEoxxQXOCj0eFr_6yu2wTa38FC1zV1x6AOJBnhKTTGp-OYkf6AQSiPYF3GDFHAgx-ypSul2Wc9OI7rmksrYlM9zqce1Jx5Yq9CbMCQ/s400/YIMG_2447.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654647512196082" /></a><CENTER>One of the few streets to survive the war, Beauvais</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9L5NhsIID2LL3dvFWWWWoiGkYx6ZapN8mUt5MzS8l2z33LHpV9VLv9xpeSDpP6F1zzZVC4Wwiu7MzDM-eOwlvbZU8OxocC2Hu2mVP_wc09MJI9sUuvZDzm5SP0Iu4GVRKairjpa1n4E/s1280-h/YIMG_2451.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9L5NhsIID2LL3dvFWWWWoiGkYx6ZapN8mUt5MzS8l2z33LHpV9VLv9xpeSDpP6F1zzZVC4Wwiu7MzDM-eOwlvbZU8OxocC2Hu2mVP_wc09MJI9sUuvZDzm5SP0Iu4GVRKairjpa1n4E/s400/YIMG_2451.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083654660397097986" /></a><CENTER>Greber House, Beauvais</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuI2oJ1TYjHe-arZB3QzLOX3Qu_24ZVE7SR9gkLJiP7unwQtMsJcVQo4r0B5o6QSTbRSb5eKbo5uuD_KT0SSeuAtqWmGder82lj6ErgSN1tNf6Er46MWpRmbYA17dlPn-VW27jVYZv5A4/s1280-h/YIMG_2450.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuI2oJ1TYjHe-arZB3QzLOX3Qu_24ZVE7SR9gkLJiP7unwQtMsJcVQo4r0B5o6QSTbRSb5eKbo5uuD_KT0SSeuAtqWmGder82lj6ErgSN1tNf6Er46MWpRmbYA17dlPn-VW27jVYZv5A4/s400/YIMG_2450.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083655502210688018" /></a><CENTER>Detail of the Greber House, Beauvais</CENTER><br /><br />Collecting Modestine from the municipal campsite we drove through heavy rain towards Rouen. When we saw a road sign to Lyons-la-Forêt we turned off to investigate as Jill was sure she had heard about it somewhere. It turned out to be well worth the detour as it is listed as one of the most beautiful villages in France – there are about 150 on the list. Nestling in peaceful countryside in the depths of woodland the streets are lined with pain de bois houses and pretty gardens. There is a huge old covered market in the centre of the village and a plaque stating that Henry I of England and Duke of Normandy, the eldest son of William the Conqueror, died at his castle at Lyons-la-Forêt in 1135.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02LVFKOYJpwRSXjQTgwiMtmr_N7OfYofDcxWta4_LNxm7hMdDW8rK-xAdXAPrxcjj_oPFWgUZi4usybvQ1p11cWlE-ckv0nm43qbQf5sBzDfHfBuJjiEw2WKuXe1RPFAWnywOQqVxPw4/s1280-h/YIMG_2453.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02LVFKOYJpwRSXjQTgwiMtmr_N7OfYofDcxWta4_LNxm7hMdDW8rK-xAdXAPrxcjj_oPFWgUZi4usybvQ1p11cWlE-ckv0nm43qbQf5sBzDfHfBuJjiEw2WKuXe1RPFAWnywOQqVxPw4/s400/YIMG_2453.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083655506505655330" /></a><CENTER>Lyons-la-Forêt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUPuXAFQtAVtjlLOn8gbDvJpC_7egWgxAahBgF3zK1IZGk9BJDvB6Ke14M6o4DH_cX99M1Ig59pAKY0XP_lPvwES8qyhcKv_pbU36B90Yry2Fol6yixlnfsA9b7Spihd-uaJ9CDgArh0/s1280-h/YIMG_2454.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUPuXAFQtAVtjlLOn8gbDvJpC_7egWgxAahBgF3zK1IZGk9BJDvB6Ke14M6o4DH_cX99M1Ig59pAKY0XP_lPvwES8qyhcKv_pbU36B90Yry2Fol6yixlnfsA9b7Spihd-uaJ9CDgArh0/s400/YIMG_2454.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083655515095589938" /></a><CENTER>Covered market, Lyons-la-Forêt</CENTER><br />After a picnic lunch at the belvedere overlooking the village we continued, still through the rain, to the outskirts of Rouen. This is one of France's larger cities and we didn't fancy driving through it on a Friday afternoon. Our AA campsite book listed a site on the outskirts from where we thought it likely we could get a bus into the city. The site looked rather unprepossessing when we arrived but the owner assured us it was ideal for the city with regular buses. He also assured us he had proper toilets facilities, and, assuming the AA would not have listed it unless it reached a reasonable standard, we gave him our 12 euros, left Modestine and caught the bus into town. It was not until we returned we realised just how unpleasant the site is. Not to dwell too much on it, it is quite unsanitary with inadequate, dirty facilities and no hot water. There are no lights at night and broken steps and wet grass to negotiate to reach the only useable toilet which just now we discovered had been left unflushed. Having travelled all over Europe in recent months, we feel we are reasonably aware of the vagaries of campsites, and country for country the French ones are in general the most unsavoury we have found. In Rouen this afternoon we saw countless hairdressers and shops giving manicures and gluing on artificial nails. The French have a word-wide reputation for glamour, charm, sophistication and chic, yet nationally, standards of public sanitation and hygiene, where they can be found at all, have too frequently remained unchanged since the 19th century.<br /><br />The bus into town dropped us beside the muddy waters of the Seine as it flows through the city. With dripping umbrellas we made our way to the old part of the city, now a pedestrianised shopping centre built into the pain de bois houses of the city. It is certainly picturesque with a wealth of such properties, the timbers frequently hung with decorative slates or painted in dark reds or blues. We visited the Cathedral with its famous façade, painted so many times by Monet in different colours to reflect its changing moods throughout the days and seasons. Inside it is quite austere, unadorned gothic, a contrast to the more elaborate exterior. We also visited St. Maclou, a very beautiful flamboyant gothic building with delicate tracery over the main door and a rose window. Inside an organ recital was filling every corner of the church with a vibrating cascade of sound.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGgI7I4LGQQtkrlA1wcgbQEB0Z1F46op2_d1dgJm395n2gIg9fQ4IVmOKgxv70qrCYQKzJjNnHrcUG7S6aqd4Hf5D70TXFSe-ZxH5ewBSzRzFJsEOBiqI7puliZfhJIAXCUHGiQCkrAo/s1280-h/YIMG_2457.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGgI7I4LGQQtkrlA1wcgbQEB0Z1F46op2_d1dgJm395n2gIg9fQ4IVmOKgxv70qrCYQKzJjNnHrcUG7S6aqd4Hf5D70TXFSe-ZxH5ewBSzRzFJsEOBiqI7puliZfhJIAXCUHGiQCkrAo/s400/YIMG_2457.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083655523685524546" /></a><CENTER>Entrance gateway with clock, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNGNUNmyCpCk8xZodvoQcNCgIY62BtU4xO_lgdQH_r0Mudd_-rsWyaCL5B7e68YU_DeOVDIyr7TwgWIHr3yKAzoAwB9AHy4NccLDIbm5ox2astgluwbbtS4dzM5dlI1775sftbicorC0/s1280-h/YIMG_2460.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNGNUNmyCpCk8xZodvoQcNCgIY62BtU4xO_lgdQH_r0Mudd_-rsWyaCL5B7e68YU_DeOVDIyr7TwgWIHr3yKAzoAwB9AHy4NccLDIbm5ox2astgluwbbtS4dzM5dlI1775sftbicorC0/s400/YIMG_2460.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083655532275459154" /></a><CENTER>Courts of Justice, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmN40oZC3ibpUONKXKM6SHcKayv4FHmsYpKxidmQS9lFelioogFIkgqow_az-KX2r__QjHYfTvF69VU5MTP14RT-U3V0QlWquSaZjc4X-JYPGc5Kb-2pf2s21-TlbIwQ-U9rs1SnBiOU/s1280-h/YIMG_2469.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmN40oZC3ibpUONKXKM6SHcKayv4FHmsYpKxidmQS9lFelioogFIkgqow_az-KX2r__QjHYfTvF69VU5MTP14RT-U3V0QlWquSaZjc4X-JYPGc5Kb-2pf2s21-TlbIwQ-U9rs1SnBiOU/s400/YIMG_2469.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083656524412904546" /></a><CENTER>Near the Cathedral, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlzsG0ygkHiVkbYdHDD-Z43J0S4Q3K2D2h2k8toFlpvH4k5eJB6rOL4WJJL4UlbTc3CXzNmPbMJNzcJq7KfR6rPvmFv0iaoN4-S5lSjvAR9fuDgHdoEMOQxL_UI5xQsBLo0lCPIhn5lgI/s1280-h/YIMG_2472.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlzsG0ygkHiVkbYdHDD-Z43J0S4Q3K2D2h2k8toFlpvH4k5eJB6rOL4WJJL4UlbTc3CXzNmPbMJNzcJq7KfR6rPvmFv0iaoN4-S5lSjvAR9fuDgHdoEMOQxL_UI5xQsBLo0lCPIhn5lgI/s400/YIMG_2472.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083656533002839154" /></a><CENTER>Monet's favourite view, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6lECcvE3eLPEPOZ1Ptw3WV0D2VwNEEAem-oWMgSbbqrd3bBSK9cocqCcGSyVsNQcryZC3CXeOxzgVO6vUU6Sub02rAzxrFxo3LtboDY0mfgrHvJhUwRE6j_JSnZzfW1ECLuyKmHNoWM/s1280-h/YIMG_2483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6lECcvE3eLPEPOZ1Ptw3WV0D2VwNEEAem-oWMgSbbqrd3bBSK9cocqCcGSyVsNQcryZC3CXeOxzgVO6vUU6Sub02rAzxrFxo3LtboDY0mfgrHvJhUwRE6j_JSnZzfW1ECLuyKmHNoWM/s400/YIMG_2483.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083656537297806466" /></a><CENTER>Catherdal spire, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNFaSIVu3guWQHvvZKa4hXaMHaUFoUjKHe9ME01rS5Vbh-8MGkhw5xvGRv4nEsiQkeYrW_e-zy9ITDccs5bx4-uaRxCIZTP4BpvSj3Y9k4LuSafOj1ED9cYrKxxBgMy7BrNFoBl7YTtw/s1280-h/YIMG_2470.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNFaSIVu3guWQHvvZKa4hXaMHaUFoUjKHe9ME01rS5Vbh-8MGkhw5xvGRv4nEsiQkeYrW_e-zy9ITDccs5bx4-uaRxCIZTP4BpvSj3Y9k4LuSafOj1ED9cYrKxxBgMy7BrNFoBl7YTtw/s400/YIMG_2470.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083656541592773778" /></a><CENTER>Interior of the Cathedral, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYUkJJ_WnvLfj5levYrNIvqhFGnrSx6wcFfDJVzNEmlD-YbdXJ2WQ9UB_K5XWMUqRLtHhwhrbbmJDpNHYa5ugvJPqCP3lWRw4yAy5cdbyGXlLxGKu6Qh1zFZTlel84ORgbnx7oJTWMAE/s1280-h/YIMG_2473.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYUkJJ_WnvLfj5levYrNIvqhFGnrSx6wcFfDJVzNEmlD-YbdXJ2WQ9UB_K5XWMUqRLtHhwhrbbmJDpNHYa5ugvJPqCP3lWRw4yAy5cdbyGXlLxGKu6Qh1zFZTlel84ORgbnx7oJTWMAE/s400/YIMG_2473.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657804313158994" /></a><CENTER>Façade of St. Maclou, Rouen</CENTER><br />There is much more to see in the centre but we were there for a specific reason. We had seen where Jeanne d'Arc came into the world in Domrémy, and Rouen was where she left it just twenty years later, burned at the stake in the centre of the town. There is a large cross to mark the spot and where the fire was built there is now a memorial flower bed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RzDxOixxnA4Wi13rliybbXM39jOS7KxZYkzaJ20-lHFEn66pPXYqwMXIYRRuPlgaenPF9N9LBQCpCE73zIiZ6IuX05s15gMIbkU-U4mFaaJVeCF7QrTI3pFSJwm5nILBB-11dYJZdVo/s1280-h/YIMG_2464.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RzDxOixxnA4Wi13rliybbXM39jOS7KxZYkzaJ20-lHFEn66pPXYqwMXIYRRuPlgaenPF9N9LBQCpCE73zIiZ6IuX05s15gMIbkU-U4mFaaJVeCF7QrTI3pFSJwm5nILBB-11dYJZdVo/s400/YIMG_2464.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083656550182708386" /></a><CENTER>Spot where Jeanne d'Arc was martyred, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqW-GKIU3CWYNasuWDTlP3bpqEZgf-RgXlDvHshImTlsSIeS0salMwk53AT4pJTk6AyCF2N8YCxRY7x6QmqM8V8J_f_PZ_ynYCDie6yP6A0UQNAw5xrIOSNGoppSERNjfoEwkRxIfNDig/s1280-h/YIMG_2465.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqW-GKIU3CWYNasuWDTlP3bpqEZgf-RgXlDvHshImTlsSIeS0salMwk53AT4pJTk6AyCF2N8YCxRY7x6QmqM8V8J_f_PZ_ynYCDie6yP6A0UQNAw5xrIOSNGoppSERNjfoEwkRxIfNDig/s400/YIMG_2465.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657014039176370" /></a><CENTER>Jeanne d'Arc, Rouen</CENTER><br />Before returning to Modestine we explored some of the streets slightly off centre and chanced upon Aître St. Maclou, a collection of pain de bois buildings from the 15th century arranged around a courtyard. It had formerly been used as a burial ground for plague victims and the carvings on the wooden timbers reflected this with macabre skulls, bones and tools of the grave digger – shovels, picks and axes. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQFccTsEYA6AtYI4GJOpQKrsK2lgjtCIdRxjD0sKBo9RhpFF_dYga8rdX09BjGQsjZGfW-2FxGkRQ7tTTBiwzPRuKHXZI-UaGOy-sfVZE-aNtELpV21N-mtS4_6x7KMPV_HvkgZUF_MQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2477.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQFccTsEYA6AtYI4GJOpQKrsK2lgjtCIdRxjD0sKBo9RhpFF_dYga8rdX09BjGQsjZGfW-2FxGkRQ7tTTBiwzPRuKHXZI-UaGOy-sfVZE-aNtELpV21N-mtS4_6x7KMPV_HvkgZUF_MQ/s400/YIMG_2477.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657026924078274" /></a><CENTER>Detail of Aître St. Maclou, Rouen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRweMoCIgU19RaqV3o9JIVGGE8q3N9NdEJL4WJ5znxQtnVq7KYzP0V-XNxOrX1IMffqsQwq2frFGTh2FhbgKmNkaV9cTnjDpHq2Q1uymCx-59KtoiybXItpJxQ_PwQ2N6fLUd4zMuSeWA/s1280-h/YIMG_2475.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRweMoCIgU19RaqV3o9JIVGGE8q3N9NdEJL4WJ5znxQtnVq7KYzP0V-XNxOrX1IMffqsQwq2frFGTh2FhbgKmNkaV9cTnjDpHq2Q1uymCx-59KtoiybXItpJxQ_PwQ2N6fLUd4zMuSeWA/s400/YIMG_2475.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657031219045586" /></a><CENTER>Typical street near Eglise St. Maclou, Rouen</CENTER><br />The bus journey home was a nightmare with everyone dripping wet and squashed into the bus so tightly a lady caught her hand in the automatic closing doors. By the time she was released her hand was badly bruised and she was in tears. Nobody offered her a seat however and she was lurched around the bus with the rest off us on the hilly, twisting, jolting ascent out of the town. It was interesting to see Rouen once, but it would be a very unpleasant town in which to live and we were glad to leave it behind. To cheer ourselves up back on the smelly wet campsite we finished our bottle of wine and watched a DVD on the computer. If the world outside changes and is temporarily unpleasant, at least Modestine stays the same inside and we can easily forget what it is like out there when we are snugly comfortable within.<br /><br /><B>Monday 2nd July, Caen</B><br />We have been back in Caen for a couple of days now but have been so busy we have not found time to continue the blog. The really good news is that our new bank cards were waiting for us when we arrived and the bank has replaced all the money that was taken from our account back in early June.<br /><br />On Saturday morning we left Rouen as quickly as we could and made our way through the rainy countryside towards Honfleur and our first sight and smell of the sea since we left Dubrovnik several weeks ago. Our route took us through the pretty Normandy countryside where picturesque pan de bois cottages nestled amongst the orchards, their thatched roofs planted with irises along the ridge to help keep them dry.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6XAuWsqXDa0uJ-qG960sTueI3aNMabBoqd1fHHgfyygvejkQN53FSJ3lAg9HhpbNUJqjSw58lxixFzMbB2_slxG-tE4BcNn8cKSViQNPTiPtp0MKZrrUjJq_EbNtRxkPNS7nIA0T4P0/s1280-h/YIMG_2484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6XAuWsqXDa0uJ-qG960sTueI3aNMabBoqd1fHHgfyygvejkQN53FSJ3lAg9HhpbNUJqjSw58lxixFzMbB2_slxG-tE4BcNn8cKSViQNPTiPtp0MKZrrUjJq_EbNtRxkPNS7nIA0T4P0/s400/YIMG_2484.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657039808980194" /></a><CENTER>Thatched cottages, Seine Maritime</CENTER><br />Just outside of the small fishing town of Honfleur we glimpsed the Pont de Normandy that crosses the Seine just before it enters the sea. In the meadows were the white cattle that are so typical of the countryside of northern France. No wonder Normandy produces such wonderful cheeses and butter. Throughout our travels the sight of animals grazing is something we have greatly missed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4j1YkHUuq92mZVpKWZWhYgELKUBErfCWmOQvX3EnKW_HZBu6UBqE-iq1BNgbgBkazVi998VwXu1b-SATdgeHBRMT8KkGA7Tv_DfVP-UQLLAg_NSg5BCIJOJWAp1WQO9SbmbDSPNuFahs/s1280-h/YIMG_2485.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4j1YkHUuq92mZVpKWZWhYgELKUBErfCWmOQvX3EnKW_HZBu6UBqE-iq1BNgbgBkazVi998VwXu1b-SATdgeHBRMT8KkGA7Tv_DfVP-UQLLAg_NSg5BCIJOJWAp1WQO9SbmbDSPNuFahs/s400/YIMG_2485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657044103947506" /></a><CENTER>Pont de Normandie near Honfleur, Seine Maritime</CENTER><br />Honfleur is a tourist mecca but as it is so very pretty it is hardly surprising. It is within easy reach of England and has become a popular place for second homes. So there was almost as much English as French heard around the harbour where a street market was in progress and the terraces of the bars and bistros were crowded with visitors enjoying a break between the showers. Despite the tourists however, the town has remained a working community devoted to fishing and the main menus on offer reflected this with huge towers of fruits de mer on many of the tables, while other diners enjoyed moules et frîtes. Honfleur has long been famed for its mussel pickers, supplying Paris with most of its requirements. For our own lunch even we selected fish, enjoying sea salmon cooked in cream and onions served with rice and sprinkled with parsley. It looked and tasted wonderful even if we were still hungry afterwards.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYsZlnMCTvPv7oHxv6i32pwQ3vH8mq5Rqy9EtfoJ19v60qTp3Gi4PVlysTLbnKMKYwqppZjNPz6YcKjleR7Fc_78PA9zVNXH_m-jA6Aj-ubgIg3kfiE2I3VoVNjuAJ_y5-6rMP5jQxNM/s1280-h/YIMG_2489.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYsZlnMCTvPv7oHxv6i32pwQ3vH8mq5Rqy9EtfoJ19v60qTp3Gi4PVlysTLbnKMKYwqppZjNPz6YcKjleR7Fc_78PA9zVNXH_m-jA6Aj-ubgIg3kfiE2I3VoVNjuAJ_y5-6rMP5jQxNM/s400/YIMG_2489.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657636809434370" /></a><CENTER>Harbour at Honfleur</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpqMVC0NRRjthwM4X2XRP6e7MuHrfixVMMr-bSitZaOryVYeCiMebXEbfkB6wyDomzoxkOV6F_YmVpWiG0R8iahur57BmRS17EIo6qWtxcsdBq6fmCgNoVAtOPwexUAxbkzvuntwWs2o/s1280-h/YIMG_2491.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpqMVC0NRRjthwM4X2XRP6e7MuHrfixVMMr-bSitZaOryVYeCiMebXEbfkB6wyDomzoxkOV6F_YmVpWiG0R8iahur57BmRS17EIo6qWtxcsdBq6fmCgNoVAtOPwexUAxbkzvuntwWs2o/s400/YIMG_2491.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657641104401682" /></a><CENTER>Quayside, Honfleur</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYdd7jbeDMPqcpPdBS8lypOHPZgkWQIiG0KXzxWhtERqjHaksG4B1yDHkRk3fvyPp85YWrG1CyihgtQ_O4pXN4Erb4F_MDDdDBGEPyQ-J_lJmjxKroAumd9ax0NHoaLcQ0ODjP_UZhIM/s1280-h/YIMG_2497.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYdd7jbeDMPqcpPdBS8lypOHPZgkWQIiG0KXzxWhtERqjHaksG4B1yDHkRk3fvyPp85YWrG1CyihgtQ_O4pXN4Erb4F_MDDdDBGEPyQ-J_lJmjxKroAumd9ax0NHoaLcQ0ODjP_UZhIM/s400/YIMG_2497.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657649694336290" /></a><CENTER>Honfleur honours its mussel pickers</CENTER><br />The main church in Honfleur is built from wood. Even the tiles on the roof and spire are made from wood. Indeed so are those of many of the tile hung buildings of the town. Others are attractively covered in slates. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-ICTSy4AczsjtcfbS81EW-x5Jby3BL7SmZGm2TbTxvN7FlwWabfnNX0DemG4KucLC7febxdTklyEJJDqYLv5b6N-XLlxU4qyH-LKK3LFIbQ_UpSa__JYNtI97qcXxYadUMUtpCeDI2E/s1280-h/YIMG_2492.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-ICTSy4AczsjtcfbS81EW-x5Jby3BL7SmZGm2TbTxvN7FlwWabfnNX0DemG4KucLC7febxdTklyEJJDqYLv5b6N-XLlxU4qyH-LKK3LFIbQ_UpSa__JYNtI97qcXxYadUMUtpCeDI2E/s400/YIMG_2492.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657653989303602" /></a><CENTER>Wooden church, Honfleur</CENTER><br />As we strolled around some of the quieter back streets away from the harbour we discovered the house where the composer Erik Satie lived and worked. By now though the rain had returned and it was time to press on for the final part of our return across Europe to Caen and the usual warm welcome that is the reason we are always drawn back here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhIAoPWxeFVJ6WvPEc9ZI_UstNuLknad3eMVevukBGoUxd-OEmz5lpGKONd7fVEOoIznbK_6QwH9BPX_xmCQbIgRgb_Ml_-x3rNIUIYuMsvCW2m_6ToWtnkZi_pdtpq64XaXoSsjlIFc/s1280-h/YIMG_2499.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhIAoPWxeFVJ6WvPEc9ZI_UstNuLknad3eMVevukBGoUxd-OEmz5lpGKONd7fVEOoIznbK_6QwH9BPX_xmCQbIgRgb_Ml_-x3rNIUIYuMsvCW2m_6ToWtnkZi_pdtpq64XaXoSsjlIFc/s400/YIMG_2499.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083657662579238210" /></a><CENTER>Home of Erik Satie, Honfleur</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-85378427832636262642007-07-05T09:58:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.095+00:00Verdun<B>Tuesday 26th June 2007, Verdun</B><br />Verdun was the epicentre of the very worst of the fighting between the French and the Germans during the First World War and we felt there was much to see and learn here.<br /><br />The countries of Europe seem to have been ripe for war when the Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo in 1914 but it takes a leap of imagination greater than we are capable of making to comprehend exactly how that act resulted in the living hell of the battles that took place in northern France over the following years. We are though, becoming all too aware of just how appalling it was for the soldiers on all sides fighting here. Essentially, in this area it was between the French and the Germans with the Americans joining the French towards the end of the conflict. British involvement was centred on the Somme.<br /><br />This afternoon we drove through the battlefields north of Verdun. The area is now a huge memorial forest that has been allowed to grow over the site. The quiet little roads passing through it have monuments, graves, batteries, destroyed villages, small museums and cratered and pitted areas of land where the most intense fighting took place. We stopped at the former village of Fleury-devant-Douaumont, which woke up one snowy February morning in 1916 to discover it was right on the front line of battle with German troops entering the village. They were ordered to evacuate and as they did they passed the French troops coming up to the front line to engage with the Germans. Over the following twenty months control of the village changed hands sixteen times, sometimes on a daily basis. Not a building remained and the human carnage is incalculable. The overall death toll for the fighting around Verdun up to October 1917 is 800,000! Today the site of the village is covered by grass and woodland, the ground upturned, broken and pitted with pieces of wall and rubble showing through the grassy covering. The layout of the streets has been retained and signs indicate where the individual shops and houses once stood. There are hollows in the ground that were either shell craters, filled with rain water, or the remains of cellars beneath the original houses. Although it no longer exists, France still recognises it, ninety years on, and it has its own mayor and all its civic rights. There are a total of nine such villages in the area of the battlefields that found themselves on the front line of the fighting and have ceased to exist<br />.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNUUhrEZm1dIFPaZmjRWPLc0rVNV90b51Y6_c3ZhdrxmKIBt8mzTYTxYqaS6U80XfUHUatLwM_6rwRfriim9MbWQ7UO51gIiuEQ1baopsLGTI-_KrDJgGewaNg7hfwB8_d7riDovfkqU/s1280-h/YIMG_2387.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsNUUhrEZm1dIFPaZmjRWPLc0rVNV90b51Y6_c3ZhdrxmKIBt8mzTYTxYqaS6U80XfUHUatLwM_6rwRfriim9MbWQ7UO51gIiuEQ1baopsLGTI-_KrDJgGewaNg7hfwB8_d7riDovfkqU/s400/YIMG_2387.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083635736771191394" /></a><CENTER>Verdun Memorial 1914-1918</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ChpUB7o18UGY2szDzKuknwujsvrGvW82h57T57gLvHevX8xbPtEhG49qRTSxgVORW-2Oc_cNjBCTAdkgSMOdU7OsvnZJo4rMtfzduNJzjqFUz8ouFgloxN6wR41H8kfwFpcuceFeFVM/s1280-h/YIMG_2390.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ChpUB7o18UGY2szDzKuknwujsvrGvW82h57T57gLvHevX8xbPtEhG49qRTSxgVORW-2Oc_cNjBCTAdkgSMOdU7OsvnZJo4rMtfzduNJzjqFUz8ouFgloxN6wR41H8kfwFpcuceFeFVM/s400/YIMG_2390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083635749656093298" /></a><CENTER>In memory of of Fleury-devant-Douaumont </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ63bu_wu8j8cqCdKYhQAXApiADoxmv5TNFGE3vWfA8wIhdsqce2pJXW-XGLBUoo2g7Qrg4u6CfTs-WGIh0UTFqZ9PCTsdcKRs0IFsEeqVRpu7Ttvz-NEuyS1qHolrGtXNRwcl2ciEXU4/s1280-h/YIMG_2392.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ63bu_wu8j8cqCdKYhQAXApiADoxmv5TNFGE3vWfA8wIhdsqce2pJXW-XGLBUoo2g7Qrg4u6CfTs-WGIh0UTFqZ9PCTsdcKRs0IFsEeqVRpu7Ttvz-NEuyS1qHolrGtXNRwcl2ciEXU4/s400/YIMG_2392.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083635753951060610" /></a><CENTER> Fleury-devant-Douaumont as it once was</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJIb1JRohI0rqGd1fBU3GvHft1_Qge3tUrxrfUEMFietmvyX2EEpw8rt8-Ud_HOJjHw-lSLQBHdUsatqTR1u61wGpQs_tIDppcMrCACiWX9wEAjOpNDdZiflnG90vSiBp-m_oRrOVqKs/s1280-h/YIMG_2393.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJIb1JRohI0rqGd1fBU3GvHft1_Qge3tUrxrfUEMFietmvyX2EEpw8rt8-Ud_HOJjHw-lSLQBHdUsatqTR1u61wGpQs_tIDppcMrCACiWX9wEAjOpNDdZiflnG90vSiBp-m_oRrOVqKs/s400/YIMG_2393.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083635775425897106" /></a><CENTER>The same street today, Fleury-devant-Douaumont </CENTER><br />It was getting late and we were freezing cold walking around the woods. We were also overawed by it all, frustrated at understanding so little about the causes of the war and horrified to imagine the incredible deprivation, misery, pain and loss of life on both sides. We decided there was no point in rushing to see everything this evening so found a nearby campsite for the night and we will return in the morning to see the rest of the battlefields and the cemetery.<br /><br />It has been really cold and unpleasant today and it is hard to believe it is late June. We are far enough north in Europe now to pick up the BBC and have gathered from the news that there has been serious flooding in parts of Britain, so it seems others are having it far worse than we are. We have actually been grateful for Modestine's heater as we travelled today and it is hard to remember just how unbelievably hot we were down in Dubrovnik just a few weeks ago.<br /><br /><B>Wednesday 27th June 2007, Châlons-en-Champagne</B><br />Our campsite last night was cheap and basic but very conveniently situated for returning to the battlefields this morning. So early in the morning there were few people around and for once the rain was not falling so we could walk peacefully through the woods and clearings, now full of butterflies, wild flowers and grasses, the ground beneath pitted by shells and mortar fire, the craters filled with clear rainwater and bulrushes rather than the mud, blood and carnage of 1916. Millions of rounds of ammunition fell here during the battle, thousands were killed and many thousands more injured. The noise of battle was continuous, day and night. For us today though, this was one of the most peaceful and in some ways beautiful scenes imaginable. The only sounds were of birds and the humming of the bees amongst the clover, vetch and coltsfoot that cover the mounds where the guns, bunkers and observation towers of Fort Thiaumont can still be traced from pieces of jagged metal, reinforced iron bars, broken concrete, gun turrets and even the barrel of a canon sticking up from the earth. Throughout the day the single question we kept asking was "why"? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsIakhBP-clF4JqVNxW7k5nCWu94cfB6XvdCjobGBny6AKq4gk59sdDaq7LVa1M2WJetixJOSv3UPgbGDfIQlPt_V7jiVBO5-P7JIeDpQ342JhuADNR94JV6vLo_Afi5ETQxHiJtCbP0/s1280-h/YIMG_2403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsIakhBP-clF4JqVNxW7k5nCWu94cfB6XvdCjobGBny6AKq4gk59sdDaq7LVa1M2WJetixJOSv3UPgbGDfIQlPt_V7jiVBO5-P7JIeDpQ342JhuADNR94JV6vLo_Afi5ETQxHiJtCbP0/s400/YIMG_2403.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083635788310799010" /></a><CENTER>A walk through the battlefields, near Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOl7Ru59dhatXBKC_6tFeo0bkY6WP6rsdlqgQeXM1aXnq1jxhTmFgZoWRrh8mnlz8gOx2uY6-RmN7fQbqzo8JgGQV-eOi3UU7Ozm8sn3qiiuk8ieOJPHq6t12vZbKAC_pGuXX2La4SbUo/s1280-h/YIMG_2406.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOl7Ru59dhatXBKC_6tFeo0bkY6WP6rsdlqgQeXM1aXnq1jxhTmFgZoWRrh8mnlz8gOx2uY6-RmN7fQbqzo8JgGQV-eOi3UU7Ozm8sn3qiiuk8ieOJPHq6t12vZbKAC_pGuXX2La4SbUo/s400/YIMG_2406.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636350951514802" /></a><CENTER>Smashed remains of solid metal, Fort Thiaumont near Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdsTo1nDUX3OOB8WTzl-8dHLlypyNc4WGBH7A65s17n8XtqUcU0UYHKuKrJwA1Ux6o5M0kYORdR6H-erDeLbKuMZTllRfNGtoWios_vCfffs1Rm1Iq4xBbJ06EO02rVbj091iVhJrp04/s1280-h/YIMG_2411.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdsTo1nDUX3OOB8WTzl-8dHLlypyNc4WGBH7A65s17n8XtqUcU0UYHKuKrJwA1Ux6o5M0kYORdR6H-erDeLbKuMZTllRfNGtoWios_vCfffs1Rm1Iq4xBbJ06EO02rVbj091iVhJrp04/s400/YIMG_2411.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636355246482114" /></a><CENTER>Shell craters softened by nature, near Verdun</CENTER><br />In the Tranchée des Baïonettes is a memorial to a group of soldiers, their bayonets fixed to their rifles, waiting in the trench for the command to advance. They were hit by mortar fire and died where they stood, buried upright as the trench caved in, leaving only the tops of a few bayonets protruding through the earth. They have been left there with just a few crosses and a concrete canopy to form the memorial.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizET2jgqKqzA83W5GdUjriNkzWlN5mjPjI2AfwPQ4BHoIsYbQ-bBOETmtT_i4IlzxqmxwHhC_iuuyUooMbsy7ALPScfGoR04XOnG5ih7vF6VMuApFxBFAWrRLOGb7ympc53o018Ipay0g/s1280-h/YIMG_2395.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizET2jgqKqzA83W5GdUjriNkzWlN5mjPjI2AfwPQ4BHoIsYbQ-bBOETmtT_i4IlzxqmxwHhC_iuuyUooMbsy7ALPScfGoR04XOnG5ih7vF6VMuApFxBFAWrRLOGb7ympc53o018Ipay0g/s400/YIMG_2395.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636363836416722" /></a><CENTER>Tranchée des Baïonettes, near Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupsGM3LVagz-fwlfqRrZgznKUmc_OqriUZeFTVn1qRh8RlcTe40NKRjvKLUYs-TFuwvCmaOhnp0DbW1Ig1pisE94Oh-uYyYsHlrchB08giPAa9Kb1_I31hlNkJdRC93pYaa1tm3P86RI/s1280-h/YIMG_2396.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupsGM3LVagz-fwlfqRrZgznKUmc_OqriUZeFTVn1qRh8RlcTe40NKRjvKLUYs-TFuwvCmaOhnp0DbW1Ig1pisE94Oh-uYyYsHlrchB08giPAa9Kb1_I31hlNkJdRC93pYaa1tm3P86RI/s400/YIMG_2396.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636368131384034" /></a><CENTER>Entrance to the mass grave, Tranchée des Baïonettes, near Verdun</CENTER><br />After the war, the bones of 130,000 unidentified French and German soldiers were gathered from the battlefields and placed in a huge concrete ossuary with a high tower shaped like an artillery shell while around it were placed the bodies of a further 15,000 young French soldiers, each grave marked by a white cross and a red rose bush. We climbed to the top of the tower from where we could look out over the rolling countryside of Lorraine and down onto the open page of death, where each paragraph was spelled out with crosses. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZsBQf5R1nKM5kPIOmHHS2psS0bUi1bSA962HdHjkU5PYfinJKadOuGTCwiqDUX6BZ0yaiNhrlZPnTdEe-9dUFOtuwErclzJhVrRdtdvCht_oRyyn73bU_7BdF7d7FNs-oH6g-59jexs/s1280-h/YIMG_2401.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZsBQf5R1nKM5kPIOmHHS2psS0bUi1bSA962HdHjkU5PYfinJKadOuGTCwiqDUX6BZ0yaiNhrlZPnTdEe-9dUFOtuwErclzJhVrRdtdvCht_oRyyn73bU_7BdF7d7FNs-oH6g-59jexs/s400/YIMG_2401.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636368131384050" /></a><CENTER>Cimetière Nationale with ossuary and graves, near Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRyhxL0ORH-mkUj1T7EKcRNs0w8fIwf9K0nMMZUkfgneAJW1cRG2bSCh7GWVKbXx5dFMBQwEznJt7YyCS8rQ4H4WCyJvIvNTI4DtXV7HK0jM3cBxJCnoLosmpxwitet1RwGkOHoMa4JI/s1280-h/YIMG_2412.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRyhxL0ORH-mkUj1T7EKcRNs0w8fIwf9K0nMMZUkfgneAJW1cRG2bSCh7GWVKbXx5dFMBQwEznJt7YyCS8rQ4H4WCyJvIvNTI4DtXV7HK0jM3cBxJCnoLosmpxwitet1RwGkOHoMa4JI/s400/YIMG_2412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636853462688514" /></a><CENTER>War graves from the tower of the ossuary, near Verdun</CENTER><br />There is only so much we felt we could cope with, though there are many more sites we could have visited. Returning down to Verdun we passed a monument to André Maginot, a hero of Verdun and later Minister of War, who proposed the construction of the Maginot line, a series of defences along the border with Germany in the 1930s. It was intended to hold back a possible German attack but in the 2nd World War Germany simply went round it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErpaYyZpF2yFRYJfEZv6cHecWVzm5KY8TFwUVUP_HyhrBlyNrbRiE1K4itk121h-77qXlvc38wn_yYKR08xFMf_JyGiSeA_2-k1YXhvYtV6UDoBmnh1-IjklroTdiIk4U-IlbWxHnx6I/s1280-h/YIMG_2414.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErpaYyZpF2yFRYJfEZv6cHecWVzm5KY8TFwUVUP_HyhrBlyNrbRiE1K4itk121h-77qXlvc38wn_yYKR08xFMf_JyGiSeA_2-k1YXhvYtV6UDoBmnh1-IjklroTdiIk4U-IlbWxHnx6I/s400/YIMG_2414.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636862052623122" /></a><CENTER>Memorial to André Maginot, near Verdun</CENTER><br />Verdun is a heavily fortified town with a massive citadel. After the annexation of Alsace and part of Lorraine in the 1870s Verdun became a frontier town and the citadel was constructed as France's front line defence. Germany determined to take the strategic centre of Verdun at any cost. Had it succeeded it would have broken the morale of France but, thanks in great part to the intervention of America on the side of the French, Germany's advance was eventually halted and driven back.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA4UBwvgobSRvzzPmdTyl-klSNqBE5tE8UcQxQ8zgh73tAhHhd2apJpO8YOTX7lZrMEZgmELgFmV5VGnygKeSB_UJNhljCODmgqlQBuCzOQ1X-19nr-Toh9pN-VTrSAcsRhnf4igX6jQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2423.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA4UBwvgobSRvzzPmdTyl-klSNqBE5tE8UcQxQ8zgh73tAhHhd2apJpO8YOTX7lZrMEZgmELgFmV5VGnygKeSB_UJNhljCODmgqlQBuCzOQ1X-19nr-Toh9pN-VTrSAcsRhnf4igX6jQ/s400/YIMG_2423.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636874937525026" /></a><CENTER>Entrance to underground passages in the Citadel, Verdun</CENTER><br />Everywhere in Verdun are statues and constant reminders of the past. It cannot be a very cheerful place in which to live but it is none the less rather a pleasant town on the banks of the River Meuse. Above the town stands the imposing cathedral dating from the 10th century with later alterations which was very badly damaged in the fighting. It has been restored almost exactly as it was though it is strange when looking at the capitals of some of the ancient columns to suddenly see, instead of angels, a soldier in a trench or a gun carriage. Near the cathedral stands the 18th century Episcopal Palace now housing the World Centre for Peace.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoFC7LkNv-_zrH-c_jj2NNH4U7YAIqLvBP9YE99sYfT_fOVT2UCFy2eD8pWlbb2DbvXw86_94lQKpwavdDqwZxzRpQfYggB46Y9ebySEQcn0clicqVsNsyZSTTBdCS-RQ3vu9rwB8BzQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2417.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoFC7LkNv-_zrH-c_jj2NNH4U7YAIqLvBP9YE99sYfT_fOVT2UCFy2eD8pWlbb2DbvXw86_94lQKpwavdDqwZxzRpQfYggB46Y9ebySEQcn0clicqVsNsyZSTTBdCS-RQ3vu9rwB8BzQ/s400/YIMG_2417.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636879232492338" /></a><CENTER>Replacement capital in the Cathedral crypt showing a cannon, Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPQXBkmFth8Xr22XtlrpupJ8Tx6Vj7QX1f5JrQsbXyNklbYpRkz3JhjSAuwaoYt8dJPlt0QSs7BlbQofXdXmgqwQEoYTA8VDmlOzXEulf1jl9Nr6b-3HT5x3cr3rsVKRqVHf8IeZn4Rw/s1280-h/YIMG_2416.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPQXBkmFth8Xr22XtlrpupJ8Tx6Vj7QX1f5JrQsbXyNklbYpRkz3JhjSAuwaoYt8dJPlt0QSs7BlbQofXdXmgqwQEoYTA8VDmlOzXEulf1jl9Nr6b-3HT5x3cr3rsVKRqVHf8IeZn4Rw/s400/YIMG_2416.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083636883527459650" /></a><CENTER>Episcopal Palace, Verdun</CENTER><br />We moved on from Verdun around 4pm, travelling along the Voie Sacrée, the route between Bar-le-Duc and Verdun where it entered the town through the imposing medieval Porte Chausée. This road was the umbilical cord for the French at the front line, bringing in supplies of food, medicines, ammunition and fresh consignments of soldiers, while in the other direction the survivors, shell shocked and wounded, were carried away from the field of conflict.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo1XoB9GX3pbqSSN250QDFgY_QN_bKKk5sJQ_jbqRiaWITHL0t_eX2WyRdeWx0CDEwC0zvzqReTQOaIlPj9n62Vc5Xn193UbSLXkQQsv8JAnZGi5N53hccJ3nwrZaxSsq-3P1b69tyDE/s1280-h/YIMG_2422.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo1XoB9GX3pbqSSN250QDFgY_QN_bKKk5sJQ_jbqRiaWITHL0t_eX2WyRdeWx0CDEwC0zvzqReTQOaIlPj9n62Vc5Xn193UbSLXkQQsv8JAnZGi5N53hccJ3nwrZaxSsq-3P1b69tyDE/s400/YIMG_2422.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083637124045628242" /></a><CENTER>Avenue de la Victoire, Verdun</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCWeRGjHGpDVJ2sg3eZtxmYjCoqsyFmcv_EO__5XetO6XPu7gMNIiTjevoKwFHBhXLWETxfP6UXGurl6B2OGoFLUJe7RRa9EIxckivJxILI60IYWhemS1kPv3k71Rr9lnkfA_g-vQmY4/s1280-h/YIMG_2421.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCWeRGjHGpDVJ2sg3eZtxmYjCoqsyFmcv_EO__5XetO6XPu7gMNIiTjevoKwFHBhXLWETxfP6UXGurl6B2OGoFLUJe7RRa9EIxckivJxILI60IYWhemS1kPv3k71Rr9lnkfA_g-vQmY4/s400/YIMG_2421.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083637132635562850" /></a><CENTER>Porte Chausée, Verdun</CENTER><br />Gradually the countryside changed as we drove west. It became empty and flatter with fields stretching to the far horizon without a single building in sight. Soon we reached Châlons-en-Champagne and the campsite we were seeking. It's not very nice but the only one around. It claims to offer everything and charges accordingly, whether we want to use the facilities or not.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-45882788086093754732007-07-04T10:21:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.182+00:00Nancy and Domremy<B>Sunday 24th June 2007, Nancy, France</B><br />It has been a really lovely day and we are now back in France, exploring the eastern region of Lorraine, an area which, like Alsace, has alternated over the centuries between France and Germany. <br /><br />It rained a great deal last night so it was with some relief that we left the campsite at Luxembourg as Modestine can be very difficult if her wheels start to spin on wet grass or mud. The roads were almost empty as we left the capital and made our way south, back into France for the first time in nearly three months leaving behind the clean, neat and tidy villages and countryside of Luxembourg and replacing them with the rather run-down, untidy villages of France with their broken road surfaces and vehicles parked just about anywhere except on the road. <br /><br />We rejoined the Moselle, which had gained a couple of final letters since we left Germany, and passed the remains of what would have been a Roman aqueduct to rival the Pont du Gard, had it survived more completely. Originally it must have carried water high across the Moselle to the town of Metz but now only a few overgrown arches remain, along with basins at the spring which was once the source of the water supply, set amidst vegetable gardens and orchards. Nearby was a monument in German to soldiers who had died in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGP_H8Mw2iwqv-DP5UHDrwKU6bHeI3NGaU9gu_26XMD_HtZBy1LEF8xO68qi191LCZ8A-LoYeqy_90evD2uRMqE4SeDXAq0OI__b-DPkotRQIxOBTlo1etK957NvsFES7sI3eHLWgQ84E/s1280-h/YIMG_2326.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGP_H8Mw2iwqv-DP5UHDrwKU6bHeI3NGaU9gu_26XMD_HtZBy1LEF8xO68qi191LCZ8A-LoYeqy_90evD2uRMqE4SeDXAq0OI__b-DPkotRQIxOBTlo1etK957NvsFES7sI3eHLWgQ84E/s400/YIMG_2326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270089025413250" /></a><CENTER>Remains of a Roman aqueduct near Metz</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpko6NLWP7UZC6Cecvqtq9BqgSOoMPOJwK0-CTVqVCNi6df1SJjKZzxhVguSDGo7dBsnbgvLfLtgHf0bU3t4H0xX0U1MfYB1OsXE6MxaSdcSh1f_3flZjQLq8DNWkhGpnNQNBBea0pEQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2322.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpko6NLWP7UZC6Cecvqtq9BqgSOoMPOJwK0-CTVqVCNi6df1SJjKZzxhVguSDGo7dBsnbgvLfLtgHf0bU3t4H0xX0U1MfYB1OsXE6MxaSdcSh1f_3flZjQLq8DNWkhGpnNQNBBea0pEQ/s400/YIMG_2322.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270114795217042" /></a><CENTER>Spring at the start of the Roman aqueduct near Metz</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJtm1h9-MtJ4hgxvxkOMumUdcJNc-1arARq2r_Hp1EVu3mFA2XS8FQ9WRjLdDTaj1KOFd6JsVgUXGiZRnmc9m0qGlad3ISJhVUh0p-Ad7F00FqnoZqHsbLdGQPbc4H6uPrBjg2I284-w/s1280-h/YIMG_2325.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJtm1h9-MtJ4hgxvxkOMumUdcJNc-1arARq2r_Hp1EVu3mFA2XS8FQ9WRjLdDTaj1KOFd6JsVgUXGiZRnmc9m0qGlad3ISJhVUh0p-Ad7F00FqnoZqHsbLdGQPbc4H6uPrBjg2I284-w/s400/YIMG_2325.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270131975086242" /></a><CENTER>Memorial to Franco-Prussian war dead, near Metz</CENTER><br />We stopped at the little town of Ars-sur-Moselle, where we joined a queue at the boulangerie for bread and croissants before joining the menfolk in the run-down PMU café overlooking the square for large cups of coffee which we drank with our own croissants. The sun had decided to put in an appearance and it was very pleasant just to sit and watch everyone shaking hands, patting each other on the back and smoking in the bar and at the terrace tables – in direct contravention of the EU directive issued just up the road in Luxembourg. Before moving on we went downstairs to use the facilities and realised we really and truly were back in France. How can a country pay such loving care and attention to what it takes into itself and so little to what comes out? Best not dwell on it!<br /><br />We have been on a pilgrimage on behalf of all our eager readers who through our blogs have become addicted to the hobby of manhole cover spotting! Throughout Europe you will find covers bearing the inscription PAM. This stands for Pont-à-Mousson, almost certainly Europe's main producer, working from a very dated and ugly looking foundry on the river Moselle on the edge of the town. We asked directions from the man working in the supermarket and a happy smile spread over his face as he told us that the foundry had existed for very many years and had brought employment to the town with contracts from all over the world and an order book that is completely full for the next four years! There was little to see at the entrance to the huge complex, other than several young Algerian men clocking on for the Sunday shift. We searched the streets for some unique examples but met with no real success except for one very early and handsome inscribed specimen. The town itself is more agreeable than one would expect of an industrial centre with an attractive arcaded square and several churches. The old bridge which features as a trademark on the PAM covers was destroyed in 1944 and replaced.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxpQaa29xNL6ijbGDPXkeRfTYI7D3mPNaqYVdSEDwcdDcQ-daJlU_kOeOMYDk4vtwaJd5CXr7eHESgNzWActJAnES-SaW12Y6w1BcKxvdh5_B2j5gMuGq-zlP1pl8ahWHI6wSg81S2og/s1280-h/YIMG_2334.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxpQaa29xNL6ijbGDPXkeRfTYI7D3mPNaqYVdSEDwcdDcQ-daJlU_kOeOMYDk4vtwaJd5CXr7eHESgNzWActJAnES-SaW12Y6w1BcKxvdh5_B2j5gMuGq-zlP1pl8ahWHI6wSg81S2og/s400/YIMG_2334.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270153449922738" /></a><CENTER>Manhole cover foundry, Pont-à-Mousson</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbHz7GnAfyEhAMJ1lZE711Kw1rzjrPXyaV0VWCst4DNs1Vr68WMgH5hVaweDJVdHZoBnZg34ECBnVFrTZJOMjsVAI7y2yaSH3SjlrvtzkeKc0jsGC59qTqsBkKCd3yr5nAXF-WfYIDCo/s1280-h/YIMG_2336.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbHz7GnAfyEhAMJ1lZE711Kw1rzjrPXyaV0VWCst4DNs1Vr68WMgH5hVaweDJVdHZoBnZg34ECBnVFrTZJOMjsVAI7y2yaSH3SjlrvtzkeKc0jsGC59qTqsBkKCd3yr5nAXF-WfYIDCo/s400/YIMG_2336.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270157744890050" /></a><CENTER>Early style manhole cover, Pont-à-Mousson</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgydkKGbL99_-RStk9RA9HqDr5x2GuV0X27URZq55Ijr0W2Wr3HAl4rd8rysTh0iwHO2iR83ZYkv6_yvjmWFOPLgb8ocijaxYAKp3s8ZeDw_IWl-9B3R8YH02yKZO6P4j1oi3AeCcmyo/s1280-h/YIMG_2329.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgydkKGbL99_-RStk9RA9HqDr5x2GuV0X27URZq55Ijr0W2Wr3HAl4rd8rysTh0iwHO2iR83ZYkv6_yvjmWFOPLgb8ocijaxYAKp3s8ZeDw_IWl-9B3R8YH02yKZO6P4j1oi3AeCcmyo/s400/YIMG_2329.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270926544036050" /></a><CENTER>Main square, Pont-à-Mousson</CENTER><br />By lunch time we were in Nancy, deep in the heart of Lorraine. Back at Lake Garda in April we met some English people who told us on no account to miss Nancy if we ever passed this way and gave us the address of a campsite. Our guidebook to France also sang its praises and not without reason as we soon discovered. It is a stunningly beautiful town and one that today was lively in the sunshine with crowds out enjoying the Parc de la Pépinière with its free zoo, or sitting at street cafes, or wandering the streets of the old town, or simply browsing the Sunday afternoon flea market and bookstalls in the Grande Rue outside the magnificently gothic ducal palace. Nancy should be high on every tourist's itinerary. It makes a wonderful place for a long weekend with so much happening. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppUQGKeXsVbHuv-wbSliYSyDgE01_7Og54MaJMR1Xz9Q0P0JKjJ3TsISR_PgdMgjq2abikBrPmAL6vNBTkIpc0BmwMaj-38zKGSBN-f3G9sk1hJ4XCP8lOfvLiQfR8f6b6crSeUBjsc0/s1280-h/YIMG_2345.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppUQGKeXsVbHuv-wbSliYSyDgE01_7Og54MaJMR1Xz9Q0P0JKjJ3TsISR_PgdMgjq2abikBrPmAL6vNBTkIpc0BmwMaj-38zKGSBN-f3G9sk1hJ4XCP8lOfvLiQfR8f6b6crSeUBjsc0/s400/YIMG_2345.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270939428937954" /></a><CENTER>Porte de la Graffe, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qD6EckjHIVyNyoR3S74nsgiCOE6RojTUoFx41_U_yeU_UpTNMQd0ZiOzkWUkBnpSbT4ILxJc11qlM1dSuTlLQJ3ti-m1xh53vZejppree1L9LQh96fBdcIjbnVZVsx2KjwJxJhL6Wb8/s1280-h/YIMG_2346.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qD6EckjHIVyNyoR3S74nsgiCOE6RojTUoFx41_U_yeU_UpTNMQd0ZiOzkWUkBnpSbT4ILxJc11qlM1dSuTlLQJ3ti-m1xh53vZejppree1L9LQh96fBdcIjbnVZVsx2KjwJxJhL6Wb8/s400/YIMG_2346.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270956608807154" /></a><CENTER>Grande Rue with Ducal Palace and street market, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtTZ_R3xcEsXrueMpjoaSsk8RpNluYHZFMsc-vtMtdJW0hw80Buw-U3BMpaHOIT5kbJcFPYU4s-fAyFgvFA_Awpj8tEiz94j3WxbU-6PO3WbPlLjOZuP-porEqlU659uYZgX7nFTUOCo/s1280-h/YIMG_2347.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtTZ_R3xcEsXrueMpjoaSsk8RpNluYHZFMsc-vtMtdJW0hw80Buw-U3BMpaHOIT5kbJcFPYU4s-fAyFgvFA_Awpj8tEiz94j3WxbU-6PO3WbPlLjOZuP-porEqlU659uYZgX7nFTUOCo/s400/YIMG_2347.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083270969493709058" /></a><CENTER>Main doorway to the Ducal Palace, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MJbEFNGzvN-QJdMbtE3D2e1ZszF1WM6vxnlBvslGnu4aHb_WZt7dsdK2YXjRd0ERz1JsKk0VMIuk57jky4r0aKCtql9LAoAm0xItIseISuXvlIqWQFxU5CeIjtgnwHgJbvlKuxRFd5M/s1280-h/YIMG_2349.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MJbEFNGzvN-QJdMbtE3D2e1ZszF1WM6vxnlBvslGnu4aHb_WZt7dsdK2YXjRd0ERz1JsKk0VMIuk57jky4r0aKCtql9LAoAm0xItIseISuXvlIqWQFxU5CeIjtgnwHgJbvlKuxRFd5M/s400/YIMG_2349.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271454825013538" /></a><CENTER>Gateway on Place de la Carrière, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzKR-sDS68wecTuHCTenrnatEcXUQ037tQMzp-x6OyUEMEg-ESXHCw6VAQJmeirUA-4zJs0RA-7Zh1pPXCNABACAsgRBtd7QfVisEg464nA_9bum-uSKC471js3Ui5DRTvD5Yfp6Mmwo/s1280-h/YIMG_2359.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzKR-sDS68wecTuHCTenrnatEcXUQ037tQMzp-x6OyUEMEg-ESXHCw6VAQJmeirUA-4zJs0RA-7Zh1pPXCNABACAsgRBtd7QfVisEg464nA_9bum-uSKC471js3Ui5DRTvD5Yfp6Mmwo/s400/YIMG_2359.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271983105990962" /></a><CENTER>Bandstand in the Parc de la Pépinière, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6d6Ng0CXVjZ6STkkbGRZ7s8eLSvTlkjsPT6kqA6I2wNun2fWTxOgeRW9kLJV2wArmw8Ea1nDwGo_beO4vCZTauA80WJGL8M76IZG7PYTRWjKMwXXDS4ighPf_zLdo2wHcPW-pGUo9dHQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2358.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6d6Ng0CXVjZ6STkkbGRZ7s8eLSvTlkjsPT6kqA6I2wNun2fWTxOgeRW9kLJV2wArmw8Ea1nDwGo_beO4vCZTauA80WJGL8M76IZG7PYTRWjKMwXXDS4ighPf_zLdo2wHcPW-pGUo9dHQ/s400/YIMG_2358.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083271995990892866" /></a><CENTER>Flags of the EU nations in the Parc de la Pépinière, Nancy</CENTER><br />The most beautiful square in Europe is probably Place Stanislas here in Nancy. It is complete perfection and has been justifiably listed as a Unesco world heritage site. The beautifully proportioned square of 18th century buildings with its gilded railings and huge wrought iron gates was commissioned by the Duke of Lorraine, Stanislas Leszczynski from 1736, along with many other wonderful embellishments to the city where he held court and encouraged the arts, lavishly entertaining his guests. He was the father-in-law of the French King Louis XV and also king of Poland until he lost his throne, when he was given the dukedom of Lorraine in consolation by the French king.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPNOlRc7iNvBWwXuy7dvosc3DC5lSEnoSacuHSrK6O7nIHhV0tX7NFhrUCrj7NVUcgzUU6aLSHZ-hdfau1i-vcEbfshUXNod5ixngew6iDWpKIfxnEZHV9Px8ABpqwmtvgOlMKBBCADo/s1280-h/YIMG_2351.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPNOlRc7iNvBWwXuy7dvosc3DC5lSEnoSacuHSrK6O7nIHhV0tX7NFhrUCrj7NVUcgzUU6aLSHZ-hdfau1i-vcEbfshUXNod5ixngew6iDWpKIfxnEZHV9Px8ABpqwmtvgOlMKBBCADo/s400/YIMG_2351.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272013170762066" /></a><CENTER>Triumphal arch leading to Place Stanislas, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQocK9mBBPFelkjC_p5UroBg7HxqmGH1hZ4F4pAcopXAjRa9k-1cuZ3lorm-Dkf3aeklfcffZ3tH4_1wRQAVwHqImYEHVpyHrFqArPMB8Dt9qT6YGjNfUw4KN1evN8eQP4IGWIsA9l49E/s1280-h/YIMG_2366.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQocK9mBBPFelkjC_p5UroBg7HxqmGH1hZ4F4pAcopXAjRa9k-1cuZ3lorm-Dkf3aeklfcffZ3tH4_1wRQAVwHqImYEHVpyHrFqArPMB8Dt9qT6YGjNfUw4KN1evN8eQP4IGWIsA9l49E/s400/YIMG_2366.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272021760696674" /></a><CENTER>Place Stanislas, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9L8WaC4gkJIqZsp1a-65QXlXLvbCuQq2HEstfUay6UTg4jJzNPsE_CkyjfLJIh8yJ0UtFFphyphenhyphenvw5d9AHiX9uGmVQTNYtZ4OlODhx0NMPJAC2cKDON-iQaMObMz4h-vxePnAmfy64i2wY/s1280-h/YIMG_2354.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9L8WaC4gkJIqZsp1a-65QXlXLvbCuQq2HEstfUay6UTg4jJzNPsE_CkyjfLJIh8yJ0UtFFphyphenhyphenvw5d9AHiX9uGmVQTNYtZ4OlODhx0NMPJAC2cKDON-iQaMObMz4h-vxePnAmfy64i2wY/s400/YIMG_2354.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272043235533170" /></a><CENTER>Place Stanislas, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzuvkbIZ2PSLcmNIZePGGA6_yoBuPf76gUQro2Xf4GQaBirEjJKHORSWNf7S6yK-QWfro0s2-toEVFgLiT7Lv2senZQJW9rnyK5_hjq5H1xvfFFP7b4_6eobvXMuoVG-OSL1OCTpEQNQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2355.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzuvkbIZ2PSLcmNIZePGGA6_yoBuPf76gUQro2Xf4GQaBirEjJKHORSWNf7S6yK-QWfro0s2-toEVFgLiT7Lv2senZQJW9rnyK5_hjq5H1xvfFFP7b4_6eobvXMuoVG-OSL1OCTpEQNQ/s400/YIMG_2355.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272635941020034" /></a><CENTER>Statue of Stanislas and Hotel de Ville, Nancy</CENTER><br />Near the square we found the cathedral, also commissioned by Stanislas. Built in the classical style with heavy embellishments, it at first seemed overpowering but it is certainly an impressive, perfectly proportioned building. It has a massive organ with over 4,000 pipes and as we wandered around the organist started playing at maximum volume that resounded around the cathedral, filling every space with an incredibly intense sound. He must really look forward to Sunday afternoon rehearsals, the power to make such a thunderous noise in exactly the space intended for it is awesome! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsymintCudJ0MbrSVOc9_iJ3dGu9ekf5kEEHVITGU9Rc5rQAeLTqK3wVoZKC0-pCxzsV9DzU0qqBzUzqNidkM1fIUalHe5qJQ2tWpu2qnwa1OqUL1-ZFeUfJYaC10U3shj1dhspMZdmD4/s1280-h/YIMG_2357.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsymintCudJ0MbrSVOc9_iJ3dGu9ekf5kEEHVITGU9Rc5rQAeLTqK3wVoZKC0-pCxzsV9DzU0qqBzUzqNidkM1fIUalHe5qJQ2tWpu2qnwa1OqUL1-ZFeUfJYaC10U3shj1dhspMZdmD4/s400/YIMG_2357.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272657415856530" /></a><CENTER>Cathedral, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXytKSeonbZgRdjhNye9Vg_iLCzbL6C6QOsGQwiO2IcqwT4TYBgidSa-nR6eQS0dTp2TIVPOQIvVjFpIGEjSn1UCDWMWJLujoYu5S9rtf9tgx3mjdGfbQUWLKPNaM8Pse_vJfmZIGuJMw/s1280-h/YIMG_2356.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXytKSeonbZgRdjhNye9Vg_iLCzbL6C6QOsGQwiO2IcqwT4TYBgidSa-nR6eQS0dTp2TIVPOQIvVjFpIGEjSn1UCDWMWJLujoYu5S9rtf9tgx3mjdGfbQUWLKPNaM8Pse_vJfmZIGuJMw/s400/YIMG_2356.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272678890693026" /></a><CENTER>Statue of Jeanne d'Arc, born in Lorraine, Cathedral, Nancy</CENTER><br />Nancy also claims to be the place where the Art Nouveau movement began with several early examples around the town. We have been so impressed with the beauty and vivacity of the city that we have decided to spend another day here and explore it in greater depth tomorrow. Today we scratched the surface and the city shone gold in the sunlight. Clean, bright, lively, happy and bursting with culture we cannot wait to return tomorrow morning. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr3TwJWY3SnmDdSLRCAQyLqYcKtbLhwWTjwVX4fVIKp7BlBUo0y8N1zIWlEmWfq6b0laAo3UD7h2jQmCNOjklpIAoDm_JrQbsBEAZMMI6kLlN-KiRFZGqH0VWEq_Ik4VqjL1CzjUdHVQ/s1280-h/YIMG_2363.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr3TwJWY3SnmDdSLRCAQyLqYcKtbLhwWTjwVX4fVIKp7BlBUo0y8N1zIWlEmWfq6b0laAo3UD7h2jQmCNOjklpIAoDm_JrQbsBEAZMMI6kLlN-KiRFZGqH0VWEq_Ik4VqjL1CzjUdHVQ/s400/YIMG_2363.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272691775594930" /></a><CENTER>Art Nouveau building, rue St. Jean, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1bDVbwunP0piHlb9rG0U95Qt6sP_iP7bVY4zs3SoE3MNaTE0BBQhIpq8LXQWwyJXmtZBS_9AaL1RVPBJLzjIuhbyeBS-MsYCDFiSvL2S9i9xRrlWzN5mnD3WdaVrOtdr_t9WS11dTAA/s1280-h/YIMG_2365.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1bDVbwunP0piHlb9rG0U95Qt6sP_iP7bVY4zs3SoE3MNaTE0BBQhIpq8LXQWwyJXmtZBS_9AaL1RVPBJLzjIuhbyeBS-MsYCDFiSvL2S9i9xRrlWzN5mnD3WdaVrOtdr_t9WS11dTAA/s400/YIMG_2365.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083272713250431426" /></a><CENTER>Iron framed Art Nouveau building, rue St. Jean, Nancy</CENTER><br />After browsing the bookstalls, wandering through the park where children were feeding the goats and geese and a chimpanzee was demonstrating the correct way to eat an artichoke, we were weary enough to look out the recommended campsite. It does seem very good with trees to provide shade as it has turned hot again. We sat outside with our wine, surrounded as usual by dozens of Dutch camping vehicles. We were forced inside an hour ago when the rain began again. Thunder and lightening have joined in and we are back to the usual soggy weather. The little guidebook to the campsite we were given at reception listed any possible problems that might be encountered. Under "Flooding" it mentioned that if it were to happen we wouldn't be half as surprised as they would! <br /><br />How Nancy managed to survive intact throughout the French Revolution, the Franco-Prussian wars and both World Wars we cannot understand, but thankfully it has, leaving Europe an architecturally richer and more beautiful place.<br /><br /><B>Monday 25th June 2007, Nancy, France</B><br />We gather that the weather has been dreadful in England too recently with serious flooding in Yorkshire. We did wonder after a night of torrential rain and thunder here whether we would find the campsite personnel wide-eyed with surprise and the campsite under water, but as we are on sandy soil on a hill high above the town, we just have lots of messy puddles that tread in and make the carpet oozy and unpleasant.<br /><br />We braved the weather to take the bus down into town where we have spent the entire day and still feel there is much to see. We started by seeking out some of the early Art Nouveau buildings of which the town is justifiably proud. Mid-morning we stopped for a coffee outside at one of the smart cafés on Place Stanislas. Suddenly the rain returned so violently that the square looked as if it had a covering of mist where the rain bounced up from the cobbles. Several of the huge parasols blew over, overturning tables as they fell and soaking everyone with the deluge of rainwater that had gathered on them. We hastily moved inside to finish our coffee but others were drenched before they had chance to move.<br /><br />As the rain was set for the day and the adjacent Musée des Beaux-Arts was open on Mondays we scuttled through the rain to next door where we shed our coats, deposited our bags and enjoyed a wonderful morning that only ended at 3pm when hunger forced us to leave in search of food.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuCo9R4PMYyMqnIgYOmwqvx21BlKfk1sqTmXCdDGhDnwjh5CpMhefNHbY7H1DtcA61K9VrKyzl76SJLBFxHQ31kRKckUA4vDSQeKNHopkP7UkPzkpspaa46jDUQbgdcO_Nzd4iK_dufc/s1280-h/YIMG_2367.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuCo9R4PMYyMqnIgYOmwqvx21BlKfk1sqTmXCdDGhDnwjh5CpMhefNHbY7H1DtcA61K9VrKyzl76SJLBFxHQ31kRKckUA4vDSQeKNHopkP7UkPzkpspaa46jDUQbgdcO_Nzd4iK_dufc/s400/YIMG_2367.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273228646506962" /></a><CENTER>Hotel de Ville seen from the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Nancy</CENTER><br />The museum contains some excellent works by artists of international renown including Tintoretto, Caravaggio, Rubens and Brueghel as well as French artists that include Delacroix, Courbet, Dufy, Doré, Monet, Manet, and Picasso. There is a separate museum of works from the late nineteenth and early 20th century School of Nancy but several excellent local artists were represented including Friant. There is also a good selection of sculptures including works by Rodin. The highlight in many ways was the discovery at the end of our visit of over 400 pieces of glass produced by the Nancy based firm of Daum. Pieces dated from the end of the 19th century, heralding the start of the Art Nouveau style, through the Art Deco period and on to modern contemporary items, amongst which were designs commissioned from Salvador Dali. Each item was individually designed and produced, usually in vibrant colours using a range of different techniques, decorated with scenes from nature - leaves, flowers, berries, brambles, fruits or vines. They were either fused into the glass, moulded onto it or etched into it. Items displayed included lamps, tall vases, dishes and pots with lids. None could have been intended for use though the company also produced a range of high quality domestic tableware decorated with a liberal use of gold.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8ue6BJllbFeCzk2CZBX2qFvuhQ7MoceDTxMHMcdIHDBQvsiXT_C6mR_KcNxmyiZQlxNO-0mZnkrQ0Fp2n9gcSAMMDNp4vY4WyNwGmrBASJP8Zj6sZmaiMWNdyzU9447R5NZC-VVyByU/s1280-h/YIMG_2369.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8ue6BJllbFeCzk2CZBX2qFvuhQ7MoceDTxMHMcdIHDBQvsiXT_C6mR_KcNxmyiZQlxNO-0mZnkrQ0Fp2n9gcSAMMDNp4vY4WyNwGmrBASJP8Zj6sZmaiMWNdyzU9447R5NZC-VVyByU/s400/YIMG_2369.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273241531408866" /></a><CENTER>Daum glass collecton, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Nancy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcXTpoeYzA0_178wRkG1UtC8vn27S7PE4rEkKt-x2oLLsklS9xvs6wuEP2tgX6TFTiSircHtX5EztMsu7eDWKMYYsngWQic7We-6C3gC8bUcn5hMTE4cV-Imwp0VEK5mZHP6rUsJ27hY/s1280-h/YIMG_2370.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcXTpoeYzA0_178wRkG1UtC8vn27S7PE4rEkKt-x2oLLsklS9xvs6wuEP2tgX6TFTiSircHtX5EztMsu7eDWKMYYsngWQic7We-6C3gC8bUcn5hMTE4cV-Imwp0VEK5mZHP6rUsJ27hY/s400/YIMG_2370.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273258711278066" /></a><CENTER>Daum glass vases, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Nancy</CENTER><br />After exploring a few more of the city streets we decided it was too wet to linger so took the bus back to the campsite and made use of the internet point in reception. We also cooked a hot meal in Modestine for the first time in ages. It is good to be back in a country where all food does not come sausage shaped and there is a good range of products that can be easily prepared in an extremely small camping car in the rain.<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 26th June 2007, Verdun</B><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5Yjw98EWcHFaLJWfudKFlZYbdDckBPEjdrwxyPpAocJF_DpXL0UHr37xXqAByMRdcB421pvfb_L-BIK9eU5OQr_yNDaKCT278wOTqB3IBxYRp4OVsZjnTV0QIWUZaQFH2zXApHnfuRI/s1280-h/YIMG_2371.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5Yjw98EWcHFaLJWfudKFlZYbdDckBPEjdrwxyPpAocJF_DpXL0UHr37xXqAByMRdcB421pvfb_L-BIK9eU5OQr_yNDaKCT278wOTqB3IBxYRp4OVsZjnTV0QIWUZaQFH2zXApHnfuRI/s400/YIMG_2371.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273271596179970" /></a><CENTER>No comment!</CENTER><br />The paragraph below is brilliantly contrived but will probably only be appreciated by those of you who either love or loathe the musical <i>The sound of music</i>. <br /><br />The region of Lorraine is very proud of its local heroine, Jeanne d'Arc who was born in the village of Domrémy on the banks of the Meuse in the department of Vosges. This morning we looked on the map and we didn't think <i>Domrémy far, so late to go</i> as it was, we finally set off in the rain. There was a <i>rising scale</i> of excitement as we passed a <i>female deer</i>, but it rained all morning and we saw not one <i>drop of golden sun</i>! We discovered it was <i>far</i>ther than we thought and was <i>a long, long way to run, sew</i> we didn't arrive until nearly lunch time when we had <i>tea, to drink with ham and bread</i> outside the basilica, just above the village. We then returned down the same road <i>which brought us back to Do</i>mrémy.<br /><br />Domrémy is a small rural village like hundreds of others in Lorraine. Here, around 1429 the seventeen year old Jeanne d'Arc heard voices urging her to unite the disparate factions of the French army in their campaign against the English in the One Hundred Years War. She achieved phenomenal success but became an acute embarrassment to the Church who had no wish for ordinary people to claim direct communication with the saints, bypassing the Church. She also became a problem for both the French and the English and because of her refusal to recant was burned at the stake in Rouen in 1431 and was eventually canonised in 1920. She has become something of a cult figure and her life has captured the imagination of writers and artists around the world with plays written by George Bernard Shaw in England, Friedrich Schiller in Germany and Jean Anouilh in France. She was also famously depicted in a painting by Dante Gabrielle Rosetti.<br /><br />The village was wet and deserted when we arrived and we were able to wander freely around the house in which she was born before exploring an exhibition of the European perspective on her life. At midday we had to leave as everywhere closed for two hours. So we drove up to the rather ugly Romanesque basilica above the village, built in dedication to her. It commanded lovely views of the valley of the Meuse and inside had huge wall paintings depicting major scenes from her life. In the crypt there was a chapel of remembrance to the soldiers of the Vosges who died in the First World War.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zGP36WQs7AOCPqlnrmSsGxNkJ1KaUapApymVFyexvirmdg4WOS33NokV59JiALyAjBUKRxEFGmuZmL5oAl1dKGQW3nMf2esC9GPKn7IY8g_151vXMy0e-dkSh4x5UMzOp2K6sgRiX5o/s1280-h/YIMG_2373.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zGP36WQs7AOCPqlnrmSsGxNkJ1KaUapApymVFyexvirmdg4WOS33NokV59JiALyAjBUKRxEFGmuZmL5oAl1dKGQW3nMf2esC9GPKn7IY8g_151vXMy0e-dkSh4x5UMzOp2K6sgRiX5o/s400/YIMG_2373.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273284481081874" /></a><CENTER>Home of Jeanne d'Arc, Domremy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9bxjPZv5S497LhVkqepW7uClICXPcsYabFLS_81iUEjZETsHshr3Fg5c6lK2-Df2SmoylymUlrxGdBxLY6R8RQkRWKxUtiQQBv1vw0791J3fJRnmL8_9nkO2heh0rg6wDKCgADlkqT8/s1280-h/YIMG_2374.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9bxjPZv5S497LhVkqepW7uClICXPcsYabFLS_81iUEjZETsHshr3Fg5c6lK2-Df2SmoylymUlrxGdBxLY6R8RQkRWKxUtiQQBv1vw0791J3fJRnmL8_9nkO2heh0rg6wDKCgADlkqT8/s400/YIMG_2374.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273628078465570" /></a><CENTER>Bronze statue of Jeanne d'Arc inside her home, Domremy </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbc6wrkUwHCqImA4000_wOrZ2sMhLsepXulw8UlExxyiQD0kFU35fe9P6kCKLkoURDeAvaqlZPBQqv2l7ZzCZqWiwoZq8NPaKunwrhoIyCptJ-rOXQj6FbVmBAEuoviuVcMKLt62v2NE/s1280-h/YIMG_2381.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbc6wrkUwHCqImA4000_wOrZ2sMhLsepXulw8UlExxyiQD0kFU35fe9P6kCKLkoURDeAvaqlZPBQqv2l7ZzCZqWiwoZq8NPaKunwrhoIyCptJ-rOXQj6FbVmBAEuoviuVcMKLt62v2NE/s400/YIMG_2381.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273636668400178" /></a><CENTER>Village church where Jeanne was christened, Domremy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjug0pYEM2ehiUfvaacWDnG6nIuEYKrI_nN6T4XwtS5GeA8qqw_bulHyAmmd4tXb9YMGRPyBYFtuErMBlTwTjKQkGitVJXk4CNjMJqsCtTdi7raf6HWT1Psac0fvL4bwXoAwX9WoP6SFpM/s1280-h/YIMG_2384.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjug0pYEM2ehiUfvaacWDnG6nIuEYKrI_nN6T4XwtS5GeA8qqw_bulHyAmmd4tXb9YMGRPyBYFtuErMBlTwTjKQkGitVJXk4CNjMJqsCtTdi7raf6HWT1Psac0fvL4bwXoAwX9WoP6SFpM/s400/YIMG_2384.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273653848269378" /></a><CENTER>Basilica, Domremy</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLsdlZ0hqxxne6EXswZkiO_Lz0JddaB91jfedJK8cjUri558cNOpM3PObQQHLvDadLuG_ap2mdVYRN4ehT4GChnbPXNhqLDwPdg93BdfTgCL4pqcqD6vvBqAMGfIiihirv_LSD1-_zkY/s1280-h/YIMG_2385.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLsdlZ0hqxxne6EXswZkiO_Lz0JddaB91jfedJK8cjUri558cNOpM3PObQQHLvDadLuG_ap2mdVYRN4ehT4GChnbPXNhqLDwPdg93BdfTgCL4pqcqD6vvBqAMGfIiihirv_LSD1-_zkY/s400/YIMG_2385.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083273666733171282" /></a><CENTER>Jeanne d'Arc sees a vision of Modestine, Domremy</CENTER><br />After a picnic lunch in Modestine we returned through the village and continued our journey northwards through a very pleasant countryside to Verdun.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-1318082823253566462007-07-03T13:21:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.302+00:00Luxembourg<B>Friday 22nd June 2007, Kockelscheuer, Luxembourg</B><br />We are on a very wet campsite on the edge of the city that is the hub of the European Community and also this year's European Capital of Culture.<br /><br />We left Saarburg this morning in the rain and it has continued wet for most of the day. At Nennig we stopped to visit the scant remains of a Roman villa where there is little more than a beautifully preserved mosaic floor to the main room. Dating from the 3rd century AD it depicts mainly gladiatorial scenes and is virtually complete. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEUM5KiQGxSJPU13w8qdYHAyUjjgdq8BddO6GjOcUqG-LhZjXXMYWezZGRc__6oHrVDe5lh5dBKq0izn9AfuYMJgfpdxL-eRyNEaBiiGQIa56YRc_B722DxVJV8DYQY2ZOiLGxwXTW0A/s1600-h/YIMG_2261.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEUM5KiQGxSJPU13w8qdYHAyUjjgdq8BddO6GjOcUqG-LhZjXXMYWezZGRc__6oHrVDe5lh5dBKq0izn9AfuYMJgfpdxL-eRyNEaBiiGQIa56YRc_B722DxVJV8DYQY2ZOiLGxwXTW0A/s400/YIMG_2261.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082945630016003858" /></a><CENTER>Mosaics of gladiators, Nennnig</CENTER><br />We crossed almost immediately into the country of Luxembourg, founded by Siegfried, Count of the Ardennes in 963. The Mosel at this point forms the boundary with Germany. We did not really know what to expect as this is our first visit to Luxembourg but were surprised to discover that French is definitely the dominant language. The transition was immediate, though in the capital German and English are heard almost as frequently as French. We've also heard people speaking Luxemburgish which looks and sounds very like Dutch to us.<br /><br />At Bettenbourg we bought a couple of quiches Lorraine for lunch and discovered by chance at the baker's that people quite happily switch languages without actually being aware they have done so. Having asked in French for our quiche, we then selected a coiled iced bun called a Schnecke (snail) and the conversation switched to German. Somehow we then ended up speaking English and as we left we went back into French. <br /><br />When we reached the campsite, about six kilometres from the city centre, we picnicked in the rain while we waited for the campsite to reopen after its statutory two hour lunch break! First impressions indicate that camping is considerably cheaper here than in Germany and diesel is only about 65 pence a litre.<br /><br />The country of Luxembourg is about 70 kilometres north to south and 40 east to west. It has around 450,000 inhabitants of which well over a quarter live in the capital. The little towns out in the countryside that we have seen today have been clean and well built but are too small and smart to seem particularly interesting. The capital makes up for this and with an excellent transport infrastructure it is within easy reach for everyone. Travelling into the city for a preliminary look this afternoon we were the only passengers on the bus. The driver told us the motorway was blocked and there were diversions all around the city as tomorrow is National Day with all sorts of things going on in the city. The bus route was diverted but he dropped us near the city centre with directions as to how to find the main commercial area.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBc1buuPq0nmMdYCbiUJhugjpp9PbhD-2xmYE5yafhM6CJri0E3ZIdeiC8NbxcBLP0Z73O_nNJHd1ZBOH_veBFP7ywsMlP3yu_UJ3ZP33ll7x8Tm70fUpa4KkPgHE3VbgVOYDpcC4Cz4/s1600-h/YIMG_2309.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBc1buuPq0nmMdYCbiUJhugjpp9PbhD-2xmYE5yafhM6CJri0E3ZIdeiC8NbxcBLP0Z73O_nNJHd1ZBOH_veBFP7ywsMlP3yu_UJ3ZP33ll7x8Tm70fUpa4KkPgHE3VbgVOYDpcC4Cz4/s400/YIMG_2309.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946927096127506" /></a><CENTER>Welcome to Luxembourg</CENTER><br />Luxembourg is clean, interesting, lively and beautiful. Today it was also very noisy. Apart from the hourly clanging of bells from various churches, there were street bands with amplifiers setting up at various points around the city and as we reached the Ducal Palace we encountered crowds waiting to watch the changing of the guard at 4pm. This is accompanied with a great deal of razzmatazz from the military band. Having marched through the streets the band and fresh consignment of guards march and parade up and down outside the main entrance, then, as the guards change, the band plays very unlikely military music, today's choice being an extremely lively rumba which had the crowds, but unfortunately not the guards, jigging to the rhythm.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_D2zcAciSu0Z96iZDaSYvXPqSdt3HaveOt2ebsQVANrCbOrE-POD4p2i_h7Ip54_mf61osi6XIz9LyGBfm6TTz-wGjpFsiQOs9ypnBWfNS1g-dVQNetJbCmgL-k3w34sZ5KabZSlU7Y/s1600-h/YIMG_2273.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_D2zcAciSu0Z96iZDaSYvXPqSdt3HaveOt2ebsQVANrCbOrE-POD4p2i_h7Ip54_mf61osi6XIz9LyGBfm6TTz-wGjpFsiQOs9ypnBWfNS1g-dVQNetJbCmgL-k3w34sZ5KabZSlU7Y/s400/YIMG_2273.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082945651490840386" /></a><CENTER>Ducal Palace with guards in need of changing, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfQ4qUVmW8fzrib-4ETRo08zHBkgqJ_RaNL5qentaIEuKAjul9PetVUMyavZsbpXGlKOz_mXOwM_ohS9BztdWNr61yNPCwbc01u5_f6hCMAH0bn0CHRbC3zqd6RqjUAaAWBx57Cw4lmY/s1600-h/YIMG_2271.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfQ4qUVmW8fzrib-4ETRo08zHBkgqJ_RaNL5qentaIEuKAjul9PetVUMyavZsbpXGlKOz_mXOwM_ohS9BztdWNr61yNPCwbc01u5_f6hCMAH0bn0CHRbC3zqd6RqjUAaAWBx57Cw4lmY/s400/YIMG_2271.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082945642900905778" /></a><CENTER>Changing the guard, showing Chamber of Deputies, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />It is a pity about the rain as a lot of activity is expected to celebrate the eve of the nation's special day. Restaurants were laying tables under dripping umbrellas with seafood menus starting at 50 euros a head plus 15 euros for drinks. At the other end of the scale, there were dozens of street stalls setting up to sell take-away filled baguettes, grilled sausages and chips and lots and lots of beer. It should be quite a party, and we can even hear the fireworks from the campsite as we write this!<br /><br />The pedestrianised streets looked smart with bright, fashionable window displays which were very pleasant to stroll through. In the Place d'Armes we stopped to watch some Polish folk dancers in colourful costumes - some of the EC's newest members invited to entertain the citizens of the Community's capital as part of its celebrations. <br /><br />Near the Place d'Armes we discovered a small square dedicated to Jan Palach, the Czech student who died by setting fire to himself as a protest for the treatment of his country following the invasion by Warsaw Pact forces in 1968. It struck a chord with us as there is a remembrance plaque to him in Wenceslas Square in Prague at the monument to the victims of Communism.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG2a9Jo5QnI2FedFPEN2EA1wZ0PnCNeGasl3WoZ-Cis0dP3c4YrymrcWEAhCg_3gb2BHXPAAnNwWrkN79aItou6HdugcpI14JsM16_RHYrII1GuT4g0FUXrbWIlFP_o0nqauctlrVIQ4/s1600-h/YIMG_2268.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG2a9Jo5QnI2FedFPEN2EA1wZ0PnCNeGasl3WoZ-Cis0dP3c4YrymrcWEAhCg_3gb2BHXPAAnNwWrkN79aItou6HdugcpI14JsM16_RHYrII1GuT4g0FUXrbWIlFP_o0nqauctlrVIQ4/s400/YIMG_2268.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082945638605938466" /></a><CENTER>Polish dancers on the Place d'Armes, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTFA96cMJCbs3QV2mMaOwoNSnQDrAjH7GFKPLkU5CPvJ0tfbYBMvAlkAHC03qjWMS1y2EyskOz7Wx8sVnQnmCo6TByUOo77dSdRkuaqdQIj-oiV_ctmQYNwCz4YDahQo8EdWwlIgjSuw/s1600-h/YIMG_2302.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTFA96cMJCbs3QV2mMaOwoNSnQDrAjH7GFKPLkU5CPvJ0tfbYBMvAlkAHC03qjWMS1y2EyskOz7Wx8sVnQnmCo6TByUOo77dSdRkuaqdQIj-oiV_ctmQYNwCz4YDahQo8EdWwlIgjSuw/s400/YIMG_2302.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946506189332450" /></a><CENTER>Plaque to Jan Palach, Place d'Armes, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />It being Friday afternoon we headed for the National Library as it will be closed tomorrow. Inside we found an exhibition from the library's collections on Humanist writers from Luxembourg in the 16th and 17th centuries. The main thing to emerge from the display was that it was very hard to be a humanist within Luxembourg because of the inflexible attitude of the Archbishopric of Trier, so they had to move elsewhere to write their works. We also explored the reference collections where catalogues, bibliographies, dictionaries and encyclopaedias have to be provided in four languages. We discovered the reading room with today's leading newspapers from all the major European countries and settled down to read the Times – it's a real treat when we can get our hands on an English newspaper. Unfortunately we were thrown out early today as everywhere was closing because of the national holiday celebrations.<br /><br />Just across from the National Library stands the Cathedral. Inside is a wide central aisle and a very pretty altar. What fascinated us though was that there was a large man gliding across the floor in front of the altar holding a huge white balloon on the end of a piece of string while bright floodlights have been suspended from the roof making normally dark corners glaringly bright. We have concluded that in recognition for outstanding service to the country, one happy Luxemburger is selected each year and permitted to float a balloon in the cathedral on their national day!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hQNETMOMdMl_I3V69R5zB1UGOewUzS39n3KHC5lfNj6capk_cZe_VHpl-esAvohAQb06Whtl3DcEfGpVczbMxcScR5fTuZHQGYRysvDdWpiqqAvufz5CqkW1q5lTmZX5TwgyYQQrDrA/s1600-h/YIMG_2284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hQNETMOMdMl_I3V69R5zB1UGOewUzS39n3KHC5lfNj6capk_cZe_VHpl-esAvohAQb06Whtl3DcEfGpVczbMxcScR5fTuZHQGYRysvDdWpiqqAvufz5CqkW1q5lTmZX5TwgyYQQrDrA/s400/YIMG_2284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946076692602738" /></a><CENTER>National Library and Cathedral, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcndnzZKh51gt0rLdIcBGR9Sy5HulTFN8DECrR6BoGdX5B6YmVSAS37lk0W9fVmTdUBkVRB8ShrCTov-zdhSPSljkb3FuVGAsJHBHL8DSz6jN-EXkjkCGOil2qG2euC1vIWrDOvhAoLY/s1600-h/YIMG_2275.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcndnzZKh51gt0rLdIcBGR9Sy5HulTFN8DECrR6BoGdX5B6YmVSAS37lk0W9fVmTdUBkVRB8ShrCTov-zdhSPSljkb3FuVGAsJHBHL8DSz6jN-EXkjkCGOil2qG2euC1vIWrDOvhAoLY/s400/YIMG_2275.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082945655785807698" /></a><CENTER>The balloon goes up in the Cathedral, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />Our wanderings took us through very pleasant gardens down to the older part of the town and to a promontory overlooking the deep gorge of the Pétrusse, spanned by a railway viaduct and a very attractive arched road bridge. Within the gorge lies a green, wooded park with footpaths through, right in the heart of the city, while on the far side are some splendid 19th century buildings as well as many recent buildings connected with the European Community. Tomorrow we will investigate everything further but our first impression has been very positive indeed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkXGPsCPMGgOEPuDx4sVkaLPfBuqAO0y1uRbi1vg2YFjK2ViDL2Ymt5nWi0uU9ed3G3cwQOL6ky_BK8CSCG62kw1LAyiF-AJGxqmkWMyS-Q7yEPrJnOVfQBVm-cjVDh7S7PeArFj-z5w/s1600-h/YIMG_2279.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkXGPsCPMGgOEPuDx4sVkaLPfBuqAO0y1uRbi1vg2YFjK2ViDL2Ymt5nWi0uU9ed3G3cwQOL6ky_BK8CSCG62kw1LAyiF-AJGxqmkWMyS-Q7yEPrJnOVfQBVm-cjVDh7S7PeArFj-z5w/s400/YIMG_2279.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946072397635426" /></a><CENTER>Pont Adolphe over the gorge of the Pétrusse, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><B>Saturday 23rd June 2007, Kockelscheuer, Luxembourg</B><br />It rained heavily all night and this morning the entire campsite was waterlogged. Imagine the mud as dozens of caravanners slithered about hitching their caravans to their 4x4s. At least they could get off their pitches but the mess they left behind was horrid.<br /><br />Leaving Modestine looking pathetic and wet in a sea of mud we stopped at the office on our way into the city to buy some more bus tickets – only to discover that because it is the country's National Day, it is a public holiday and there are no buses!! The thought of spending the day cooped up in Modestine in the rain lacked charm so we decided to risk driving into the city and trying to park. This proved far easier than we imagined as there was little traffic around, most of the Luxembourgeoisie obviously sleeping off the effects of last night's celebrations. The streets were clean and there was no evidence that crowds had been thronging the streets of the capital attending a massive firework celebration until 3am. <br /><br />We had expected lots of events and excitement in the centre today but everywhere was wet, the rain drizzled relentlessly and even the cafes and little food shops were closed. There were more police on the streets than tourists. Near the Cathedral we were cordoned off while men in morning suits ran through the rain carrying white umbrellas. Nearby we discovered the personal car of Luxembourg's Archduke Henri complete with chauffeur. Realising something that might just be interesting was going on, we hung around in the rain until he drove off round to the front entrance to the Cathedral. We followed just in time to see the Archduke himself and his wife Marie Terese shaking hands with the bishop at the end of a special National Day church service. It was rather exciting though to be in the right place at the right time and see Luxembourg's equivalent to the Royal Family at such close quarters! We bring you the cream of Europe's aristocracy - why it was only recently we presented you a first hand account and photos of Bratislava's resident President! They smiled and waved and Ian was so excited his hand shook so the pictures turned out all wobbly which is a great shame. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbngThQSPKCVM-RKlVPbYIn9yIg0u6sSTPpUdUcRma-Cp_sUwhpnjc9F7Se2WBLYLncDNlYaBRdZPTCx6Nq-guB_Brvuwv9dNZv8u-SZDxlmhqmN7Zizmv8oa9QL2DpZ75t1kNji6ZPg/s1600-h/YIMG_2285.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbngThQSPKCVM-RKlVPbYIn9yIg0u6sSTPpUdUcRma-Cp_sUwhpnjc9F7Se2WBLYLncDNlYaBRdZPTCx6Nq-guB_Brvuwv9dNZv8u-SZDxlmhqmN7Zizmv8oa9QL2DpZ75t1kNji6ZPg/s400/YIMG_2285.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946085282537346" /></a><CENTER>Grand Duke's car and chauffeur outside the National Library, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG36FaEmGoa9zDYXYNqaR53T9eQlK_woSByVHcaoYgAe-ySu1oe-9262F_IyRj-B4bG_Sz8-QI54CTe-GHZfwIdC_S88W9kOgxjG0pfaQfNH5zDECOpEAczOlohzob-QPkoMU0MJdg3e8/s1600-h/YIMG_2291.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG36FaEmGoa9zDYXYNqaR53T9eQlK_woSByVHcaoYgAe-ySu1oe-9262F_IyRj-B4bG_Sz8-QI54CTe-GHZfwIdC_S88W9kOgxjG0pfaQfNH5zDECOpEAczOlohzob-QPkoMU0MJdg3e8/s400/YIMG_2291.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946089577504658" /></a><CENTER>Grand Duke Henri with his wife Marie Terese outside the Cathedral, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_haVUmk74JaTrZlcq80tCLS20hlNCaf1C_eQ-9RZUR9znfR309Gy5pdz0b_-v7HBJ2gACZpjI_gFAznJQuomYlPN7Z-ndKOy9qjTuB6S5-TVU-YdmF75h8TFv28mVhVNgwO4wwKWuUo/s1600-h/YIMG_2318.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_haVUmk74JaTrZlcq80tCLS20hlNCaf1C_eQ-9RZUR9znfR309Gy5pdz0b_-v7HBJ2gACZpjI_gFAznJQuomYlPN7Z-ndKOy9qjTuB6S5-TVU-YdmF75h8TFv28mVhVNgwO4wwKWuUo/s400/YIMG_2318.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082947210563969122" /></a><CENTER>The official photo seen in many shop windows, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClcYs2R5ZhnkLsAbddROqYQB82zW2XhEk7f-x36FhyphenhyphenLzmXCth2sReQK52MlaEpBAHMoEYtIEKNi4L36ato8XBGQI1vg7oSLdbjOnStSXdxHjB6hrHbOvS7vBWjBFkFaB2kf1L11qHPfA/s1600-h/YIMG_2293.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClcYs2R5ZhnkLsAbddROqYQB82zW2XhEk7f-x36FhyphenhyphenLzmXCth2sReQK52MlaEpBAHMoEYtIEKNi4L36ato8XBGQI1vg7oSLdbjOnStSXdxHjB6hrHbOvS7vBWjBFkFaB2kf1L11qHPfA/s400/YIMG_2293.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946098167439266" /></a><CENTER>Even the dogs are patriotic here, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />By now we were in need of drying out and some restorative coffee at the Café de Paris on the Place d'Armes where the elderly waiters look like something from the era of Marcel Proust with bow ties, black waist coats, watch chains and silver salvers. The coffee was excellent however and as the rain teamed down we read the Luxembourg daily newspaper – in French so at last Jill can understand things again after weeks of Italian, Croatian, Czech, Hungarian and German! It was mainly about Luxembourg finance – this country must be SO rich! It did though include a heart warming account of a teenage hacker who had entered the Belgian police website and left them a message suggesting they tightened up their security!<br /><br />Outside we heard the thunder of a 21 gun salute echoing along the city gorge from canons fired from the military casemates. Archduke Henri must find the adoration of his citizens a mixed blessing when they insist on playing military rumbas outside his window every afternoon, ring carillons hourly, hold wild street parties and seize on any excuse to play with their canons. At first Jill simply thought it was a rather powerful pigeon deterrent but Ian scampered off through the steep cobbled streets of the old town down to the bridge with its casemates overlooking the river Alzette, the old military hospital and the remaining towers of the 18th century fort and walls built by Vauban who seems to have held the European monopoly on military architecture at that time. We couldn't actually locate the canons but the noise was pretty impressive. Next we discovered a special review of the forces and emergency services. Military bands, the army, the police, fire services and the Customs and Excise were moving in formation slowly across the Pont Adolophe, flanked by motorcycle outriders, past a grandstand where various dignitaries were assembled. Just beyond and out of sight they all abandoned their musical instruments in favour of cigarettes and mobile phones!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9_OdIVVZ8z8V1GvAvYdun_DbkmzmoyeOKYtrC2mAYITxnRJ4dJQOImSG3BLHsArgNVlCjLQY6pOIDjiVJ0Kzp-2I410Qm271NHLR8OuWOgM4BVxvXl6Y5GdNEKXlvuCse9jIDLLb1cE/s1600-h/YIMG_2297.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9_OdIVVZ8z8V1GvAvYdun_DbkmzmoyeOKYtrC2mAYITxnRJ4dJQOImSG3BLHsArgNVlCjLQY6pOIDjiVJ0Kzp-2I410Qm271NHLR8OuWOgM4BVxvXl6Y5GdNEKXlvuCse9jIDLLb1cE/s400/YIMG_2297.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946480419528626" /></a><CENTER>View from the casemates showing the church of St. John and city ramparts, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrBJ3owQQe3VU-hg7VLjhmTYOw87kslpTcJpdFhHl87hg47ytC-vFMAG1mOcBrVk7Ctl8jvM45g1t_dTzQulYeOmyIEDNtxner9qoXLWZTkk6CZs-jO2kQ5TQWEVwGhbDNsPdhA-5zyM/s1600-h/YIMG_2298.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrBJ3owQQe3VU-hg7VLjhmTYOw87kslpTcJpdFhHl87hg47ytC-vFMAG1mOcBrVk7Ctl8jvM45g1t_dTzQulYeOmyIEDNtxner9qoXLWZTkk6CZs-jO2kQ5TQWEVwGhbDNsPdhA-5zyM/s400/YIMG_2298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946489009463234" /></a><CENTER>Military hospital seen from the casemates, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEians9Ws6LQT50o5fc6l5aEwDjJNfxKqrteqzaezX2ObWiXF3ZY3c8oXVsPBe9lo9Wg6roaVzUfedY9qFlEvjaij4EAMH6r1Gss8BAe3N-I7VGV5xe5hcUVVMXSugFIyZdQdDwUnK5568o/s1600-h/YIMG_2301.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEians9Ws6LQT50o5fc6l5aEwDjJNfxKqrteqzaezX2ObWiXF3ZY3c8oXVsPBe9lo9Wg6roaVzUfedY9qFlEvjaij4EAMH6r1Gss8BAe3N-I7VGV5xe5hcUVVMXSugFIyZdQdDwUnK5568o/s400/YIMG_2301.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946501894365138" /></a><CENTER>Railway viaduct with European Centre behind, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdCzy_-7mwyZvYf1agmlipQs4x7x5eHjMpjwvdxaPkqzPRT4xZTm-puwFiPITEvMvvFAIbVnjwf3gMiJOSxUYGeD47O8_9Z44WaXMngqz918l9aLD9WD8GkzQCp07hpx3V0a7u9U_kus/s1600-h/YIMG_2307.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdCzy_-7mwyZvYf1agmlipQs4x7x5eHjMpjwvdxaPkqzPRT4xZTm-puwFiPITEvMvvFAIbVnjwf3gMiJOSxUYGeD47O8_9Z44WaXMngqz918l9aLD9WD8GkzQCp07hpx3V0a7u9U_kus/s400/YIMG_2307.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946514779267058" /></a><CENTER>At ease after the march-past, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />We found ourselves at the railway station, a magnificent building that resembled a baroque French chateau. By now we were feeling rather hungry so were overjoyed to discover the station restaurant was serving an excellent dish of the day – braised beef with potatoes and broad beans in a creamy herb sauce – for seven euros.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv36Iy2FMYyMF13-gAbXR_dCuvKwwUTZk82Z8jI9rO76Ow9Ou1jI92nm_0niBgVxh3V7hErpdANkn9lfZnLEJcW5TJN28R4kqchUWzsvw7YNMawCtcPMB5xrPXheIAZoQkJn0R7QdZfQI/s1600-h/YIMG_2308.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv36Iy2FMYyMF13-gAbXR_dCuvKwwUTZk82Z8jI9rO76Ow9Ou1jI92nm_0niBgVxh3V7hErpdANkn9lfZnLEJcW5TJN28R4kqchUWzsvw7YNMawCtcPMB5xrPXheIAZoQkJn0R7QdZfQI/s400/YIMG_2308.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946922801160194" /></a><CENTER>Railway station, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />Returning to Modestine we drove across the city to the centre of the European Community on the northern edge of Luxembourg. Here everything is new and architecturally very modern, being massive slabs of glass and concrete. Because all the buildings are set in their own campus it is very acceptable and we quite liked it. A similar building in the centre of an historic city (such as Exeter) however is as out of scale and aesthetically unacceptable as a row of semi detached houses would be constructed between the European Court of Justice and the European Investment Bank. <br /><br />The area was deserted. Eurocrats were more than happy to join in with the local celebrations if it meant a day off from legislating on the standard time for waiting at traffic lights – currently set at three times what is necessary. We parked outside the European Court of Human Rights and walked off to discover the Jean Monet building, returning soaking wet to Modestine who'd been watching a tent placed opposite the main entrance to the Court covered in protests demanding the right to euthanasia.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa74qPleF5iswNgKEUzZenj5pxE2hs7zSvflF9y7tOQf5Vv5jejBxTI7mk1xXL-Z1Mguk7mgdmNxR5c_CoJPeMsWuG2PI8fAgXrVT4c837zrN3s1XE1JkSJGiR2NvoE32gcA9n43UrAg/s1600-h/YIMG_2313.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa74qPleF5iswNgKEUzZenj5pxE2hs7zSvflF9y7tOQf5Vv5jejBxTI7mk1xXL-Z1Mguk7mgdmNxR5c_CoJPeMsWuG2PI8fAgXrVT4c837zrN3s1XE1JkSJGiR2NvoE32gcA9n43UrAg/s400/YIMG_2313.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946939981029426" /></a><CENTER>European Court of Justice, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofxfkAegWtKw_GMimHCOsL-gTdtDaN_ZuY2Dp_cAT55nhWNNtMfYtIXD9xqsLQ4MjyGJytvLKdmUGqVDCmpLhHdIRvA3at6D-RcxBRsdGO4d20GYnb8XnuMu2MMWxOWrTGJ85DtptKQA/s1600-h/YIMG_2310.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofxfkAegWtKw_GMimHCOsL-gTdtDaN_ZuY2Dp_cAT55nhWNNtMfYtIXD9xqsLQ4MjyGJytvLKdmUGqVDCmpLhHdIRvA3at6D-RcxBRsdGO4d20GYnb8XnuMu2MMWxOWrTGJ85DtptKQA/s400/YIMG_2310.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946935686062114" /></a><CENTER>Protesters outside the European Court of Justice, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREtGjulZQVm7x4lvXaoEEiN3my4COVd27ZnIrPyzWwyjdbmpzMPyigcqpDLJp9MPQu0ddb6d_esuBMC8AX7DT2dCyJpmQXPxBOGp8WTMvw2k3PJksbkuyBsuHTZddUD7zzadDhZTAvpg/s1600-h/YIMG_2314.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREtGjulZQVm7x4lvXaoEEiN3my4COVd27ZnIrPyzWwyjdbmpzMPyigcqpDLJp9MPQu0ddb6d_esuBMC8AX7DT2dCyJpmQXPxBOGp8WTMvw2k3PJksbkuyBsuHTZddUD7zzadDhZTAvpg/s400/YIMG_2314.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082946948570964034" /></a><CENTER>Jean Monnet building, Luxembourg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNutHUFVr9J_TyOgqfCJutAv_aSgRab3aqdFRXM7xLUYCg72-C8Nn2345BM25nBz1-D83dB98t18ZvZetE1iW4yItBYN7Mj6vVBxQg8dEPw1geifvzJXgIPIrb3AYTZqKuZ4WdIV8wQfM/s1600-h/YIMG_2315.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNutHUFVr9J_TyOgqfCJutAv_aSgRab3aqdFRXM7xLUYCg72-C8Nn2345BM25nBz1-D83dB98t18ZvZetE1iW4yItBYN7Mj6vVBxQg8dEPw1geifvzJXgIPIrb3AYTZqKuZ4WdIV8wQfM/s400/YIMG_2315.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082947210563969106" /></a><CENTER>Chamber of Commerce, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />During the afternoon we drove away from the city to explore something of the countryside of Luxembourg, making our way north to the town of Diekirch. This was a pleasant enough place if we'd happened to chance on it as we travelled through, but as we'd driven a round trip of 60 kilometres to reach it we found it rather a disappointment with nothing much there except the very pleasant mediaeval church of St.Laurence and a small pedestrianised shopping precinct that was completely closed up for the day.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtV42dogGZe-gpq_rWsV5_jvDq8Ro5DVLP5EG8cmKe8iD5xHOKnqetGOnSyoGKifYJknwlbOrwY5SZg4bvNrT6ePdqOVlbyPLTt4eWM_3V7PTR0bSXWgUY9xz5Oxq8lEEVgsvx9baEWg/s1600-h/YIMG_2319.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtV42dogGZe-gpq_rWsV5_jvDq8Ro5DVLP5EG8cmKe8iD5xHOKnqetGOnSyoGKifYJknwlbOrwY5SZg4bvNrT6ePdqOVlbyPLTt4eWM_3V7PTR0bSXWgUY9xz5Oxq8lEEVgsvx9baEWg/s400/YIMG_2319.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082947219153903730" /></a><CENTER>St. Laurence Church, Diekirch, Luxembourg</CENTER><br />Ian insists that we are not judging Luxembourg fairly as the weather is bad and it is a public holiday. Jill says Egon Ronay turns up unexpectedly to assign stars to restaurants and if it happens to be a bad day, then tough luck. So we are not quite in agreement about how interesting Luxembourg is as a country, but if Ian chooses to come again, he will probably need to find himself another chauffeur. <br /><br />The campsite we decided to head for on our way south towards France turned out not to exist so we have been obliged to return to the same one we used yesterday which is now even more wet and muddy. That is something the campsite cannot help however and generally it is well managed with clean facilities, free showers that really work and at 14 euros inclusive of electricity, so near a capital city it is really good value.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-19062445094104290362007-07-02T10:06:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.427+00:00Rhine and Moselle<B>Monday 18th June 2007, Cochem on the Mosel</B><br />We have added one more country to our tally – the Free State of Bottleneck. This morning when we bought a couple of bottles of wine from the campsite/vineyard owner he explained that we'd actually been staying in an independent state which for several years in the 1920s had led a separate existence from the rest of Germany! After WW1 it appears that, in order that the allied powers had a bridgehead east of the Rhine, three semicircles with a radius of 30 Km were drawn on the map centred on Cologne (British sector), Koblenz (American sector) and Mainz (French sector). What was not considered was that the arcs of the last two semicircles met but did not intersect, leaving a bottleneck shaped area centred on Lorch to the east of the Rhine which was completely cut off from the rest of Germany. An independent free state Freistaat Flaschenhals, was established with its own currency which managed to exist by selling its wines, by smuggling and on one occasion, stealing a train loaded with coal from the Ruhr Valley intended for France from a railway siding at Rüdesheim, bringing welcome winter warmth to the inhabitants of Flaschenhals. At night the French trained lights across the Rhine in an attempt to stop smuggling. The young men of "Bottleneck" on the opposite bank would line up along the riverside with their trousers around their knees making moonies at the searchlights as a sign of defiance.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtClSBh5cfKEyOQCiejVGpLqmN2bboaagQvn16pE8prtLNnRdqDVuV2dpUtbW8ylgg98CRJ_JCvAQ2ixCYGsVR3vP7CCIIh9QkUxAzqiRzK_BMkYr30Tri3GejFPdJ_bb6tlA9-VcmWvg/s1600-h/YIMG_2191.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtClSBh5cfKEyOQCiejVGpLqmN2bboaagQvn16pE8prtLNnRdqDVuV2dpUtbW8ylgg98CRJ_JCvAQ2ixCYGsVR3vP7CCIIh9QkUxAzqiRzK_BMkYr30Tri3GejFPdJ_bb6tlA9-VcmWvg/s400/YIMG_2191.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524358148775170" /></a><CENTER>Wine label of the revived Freistaat Flaschenhals, Lorch</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXdeAx0TsFnp40C8LdHVcWv6mW3tRIKRW76hELhjj86uBzzxJODGUHYB07uec7rD0qvple3IPHEJNx4LPZ5FAvT3owRW9tW5c8IBqQBLkR4sY9xM3C9YvFZg27hOBwTB9y2qpxVwMK3k/s1600-h/YIMG_2163.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOXdeAx0TsFnp40C8LdHVcWv6mW3tRIKRW76hELhjj86uBzzxJODGUHYB07uec7rD0qvple3IPHEJNx4LPZ5FAvT3owRW9tW5c8IBqQBLkR4sY9xM3C9YvFZg27hOBwTB9y2qpxVwMK3k/s400/YIMG_2163.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524366738709778" /></a><CENTER>The government buildings of the Freistaat Flaschenhals, Lorch</CENTER><br />After a breakfast of fresh rolls specially ordered for us we reluctantly left this wonderful campsite and made our way down through the steeply sloping vineyards to the riverbank. We intended to travel downstream on the far bank as we would be passing the Lorelei cliff, which can only be seen from across the river. There were no bridges until Koblenz but several ferries take cars across at different points. As we reached the ferry at Lorch we saw it pulling away from the bank. The pilot also saw us so turned the ferry around and came back for us! It turned out we were the only passengers but he runs to a timetable so crosses with or without passengers! Modestine stood small and alone on the deck as once again the ferry swung dizzily around, swept by the fast flowing current, and slowly struggled across the Rhine, passing behind an island to deposit us fifteen minutes later on the further bank.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOpDIsEuF5TciLevc1wjxH2959AdcvLlllaRkOkE1PCTwAuNIuBhgq_lXZToGMhAc2jcOvw9TsjuC_2hmhulGhXWsEHtX8MEudIsmu9w3kHbBy4f2sFMy0Fy1rsN9csAEmEVjkbwFue0/s1600-h/YIMG_2164.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOpDIsEuF5TciLevc1wjxH2959AdcvLlllaRkOkE1PCTwAuNIuBhgq_lXZToGMhAc2jcOvw9TsjuC_2hmhulGhXWsEHtX8MEudIsmu9w3kHbBy4f2sFMy0Fy1rsN9csAEmEVjkbwFue0/s400/YIMG_2164.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524371033677090" /></a><CENTER>Modestine crosses the Rhine, Lorch</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3V7wjMLde-bn_53hjDFA8FUIpUkHtKAg1U5_NGHqfg8_n6fWnNHq6aBjybo3L29c_CaYfLzD6-Qrot7U0Nk1BIR3icC95E71eneqZpB6dWQ7QPHgoFPcCeRpGOxniVTPHBWastkNXH4/s1600-h/YIMG_2167.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3V7wjMLde-bn_53hjDFA8FUIpUkHtKAg1U5_NGHqfg8_n6fWnNHq6aBjybo3L29c_CaYfLzD6-Qrot7U0Nk1BIR3icC95E71eneqZpB6dWQ7QPHgoFPcCeRpGOxniVTPHBWastkNXH4/s400/YIMG_2167.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524375328644402" /></a><CENTER>The vineyards round our campsite seen from the ferry, Lorch</CENTER><br />Our day has been very happy and relaxed. Although it is such an important thoroughfare, with many barges plying the river, and major roads and railways along each bank, the roads were almost deserted and we could take our time to admire the towns, castles and other sights along the Rhine. At Kaub there is a remarkable structure in the middle of the river, the Pfalzgrafenstein, erected in 1326 to exact tolls from shipping. At the Lorelei, the narrowest point on this section of the Rhine, the river flows fast and turbulent around the steep, projecting cliff where a beautiful maiden or siren was said to lure people to their death. We parked in the little town of St. Goar and walked back to watch the river as it flowed around the rock. With the recent rains the river level was high and the water muddy and brown. Enormous long barges struggled upstream against the flow, heavily laden and so low in the water we wondered how they stayed afloat. There were usually only a couple of people on board, fore and aft. We assume they communicated by mobile phone! They used the width of the river to navigate their way through the powerful currents around the rock. There were also many passenger ships taking visitors through and we remembered how many years ago we travelled this route by boat downstream from Mainz to Koblenz.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9yl4NpXpHToTOwDew_usTVAT7eIe4PbItdseZ83r9djdHE9l4BbH1n5V3JJHNgV5h6AzB7Hc5MqSRMzY0RnPqsWw8zRcRcX0hJ_3c0ufXHgf9v21eH5G8ok-lC8ya3ZCW4lCkoP1JEU/s1600-h/YIMG_2170.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9yl4NpXpHToTOwDew_usTVAT7eIe4PbItdseZ83r9djdHE9l4BbH1n5V3JJHNgV5h6AzB7Hc5MqSRMzY0RnPqsWw8zRcRcX0hJ_3c0ufXHgf9v21eH5G8ok-lC8ya3ZCW4lCkoP1JEU/s400/YIMG_2170.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524383918579010" /></a><CENTER>Pfalzgrafenstein, Kaub</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMYqyWcqDh8grP6yirRnJ4Zi_q5TacQKpjpyOIF1JJ3p5ful6tzQi7o-sMYd4i4QR1Q_Zyrj4tiyiF3lvqY4e6LHmAjrmBzFRsyp1dn7ebeI5SnZvZG3CZeqsc5yR7snXc3X-QmRipEY/s1600-h/YIMG_2175.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMYqyWcqDh8grP6yirRnJ4Zi_q5TacQKpjpyOIF1JJ3p5ful6tzQi7o-sMYd4i4QR1Q_Zyrj4tiyiF3lvqY4e6LHmAjrmBzFRsyp1dn7ebeI5SnZvZG3CZeqsc5yR7snXc3X-QmRipEY/s400/YIMG_2175.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524912199556434" /></a><CENTER>Lorelei, St Goarshausen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vxCmqiYokwGpn_d1bNK-b0T3MBAFJ25yJJz_TeNcVCV06iUY3AIh8igI_yktuxM5haiWm7FNXpNhQzUV31eiv5TP_IkXaJt_SKAXvAHwOQPHQwp05Ga4gAR8GKjOvNLgvOCVPYeg_HE/s1600-h/YIMG_2182.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vxCmqiYokwGpn_d1bNK-b0T3MBAFJ25yJJz_TeNcVCV06iUY3AIh8igI_yktuxM5haiWm7FNXpNhQzUV31eiv5TP_IkXaJt_SKAXvAHwOQPHQwp05Ga4gAR8GKjOvNLgvOCVPYeg_HE/s400/YIMG_2182.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524916494523746" /></a><CENTER>Barge struggling up the Rhine</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURXBb1HVKu7fkNkZSS5gc3IEKkA1ah_vUn1SQhrNyR11p90gylmOMJrJyR5UzVaOn-ArHv9CZskbrNxjIDuqOpemgLQ31iyJKfd2ROIsAyPGw0czTtUHBJ1KL-hJHf-0Nq2Cup5kgap4/s1600-h/YIMG_2177.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURXBb1HVKu7fkNkZSS5gc3IEKkA1ah_vUn1SQhrNyR11p90gylmOMJrJyR5UzVaOn-ArHv9CZskbrNxjIDuqOpemgLQ31iyJKfd2ROIsAyPGw0czTtUHBJ1KL-hJHf-0Nq2Cup5kgap4/s400/YIMG_2177.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524920789491058" /></a><CENTER>Burg Katz, a typical Rhine Valley castle</CENTER><br />We made our way along the riverbank down to Koblenz where the Mosel and the Rhine meet. We never discovered the campsite on the outskirts of the city before we found ourselves heading down the Mosel. We continued along this very beautiful, more tranquil river, the hillsides to either side covered in the bright green vines that create the famed white wines of the region. Our progress has been slow as we have stopped to explore several little towns and also to climb up the steep valley sides to the plateau above where a wide, gently undulating landscape of ripening cereals stretches to the horizon, a complete contrast to the deep, green gorge we had just left. The area between the Rhine and the Mosel is known as the Hunsrück. It was the setting for the epic German television production Heimat or Homeland. We watched much of this when it was shown on British television some years ago and the landscape was very much as we remembered it. <br /><br />Eventually we reached our destination, Burg Eltz, reputed to be one of the most beautiful castles in Germany, a country with a surfeit of stunning buildings. We parked in the woods above and walked steeply down to emerge on a track above the castle which rose vertically from a rock in the middle of a meander of the small river Eltzbach, surrounded by high hills. It would have been an excellent site for defence back in 1157 when it was first recorded. It was also spectacularly beautiful with turrets, towers and pinnacles.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59v12RS6-ygRtGsCxxO1YhZir9q9J_nHcArTb3uSe9mQC18Sk8TE7EzBYonGmE8JnTReMtYGzkkPkoEi9PoYKL8uRsig5WvkOVsRaJsnE5-vXuaY_aM18Z1HYg8dgANku-FRy95KZFLQ/s1600-h/YIMG_2186.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59v12RS6-ygRtGsCxxO1YhZir9q9J_nHcArTb3uSe9mQC18Sk8TE7EzBYonGmE8JnTReMtYGzkkPkoEi9PoYKL8uRsig5WvkOVsRaJsnE5-vXuaY_aM18Z1HYg8dgANku-FRy95KZFLQ/s400/YIMG_2186.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524925084458370" /></a><CENTER>Burg Eltz, Moselkern</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGiS7-HWkelm5cVU4PIjmw0IzwA-yONhjGTbeXbiKPnvB9LFUIc_z1MC-AMhOqcg0OhxAuqXJgdPVZN2eCkep2d5KcGD3oFhESXCUxtk5_Cryb2xaG0QUtmbm1UbNPRBmbLFMw7xPV1I/s1600-h/YIMG_2187.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGiS7-HWkelm5cVU4PIjmw0IzwA-yONhjGTbeXbiKPnvB9LFUIc_z1MC-AMhOqcg0OhxAuqXJgdPVZN2eCkep2d5KcGD3oFhESXCUxtk5_Cryb2xaG0QUtmbm1UbNPRBmbLFMw7xPV1I/s400/YIMG_2187.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082524933674392978" /></a><CENTER>The toilet block, Burg Eltz, Moselkern</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H2FRIE1rhePFPrpH09lvcJV6jytziI_eFhA-X0EPPnnrfTq-mBxw0Hubot-eOSwYE1DzIlJULVjgWgGv-YmOYkeUxDGTvt4Z0nvjnMkeJ7m-h32QiqhDYFqDNXRBw9vOC9Us2lAjUZI/s1600-h/YIMG_2188.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H2FRIE1rhePFPrpH09lvcJV6jytziI_eFhA-X0EPPnnrfTq-mBxw0Hubot-eOSwYE1DzIlJULVjgWgGv-YmOYkeUxDGTvt4Z0nvjnMkeJ7m-h32QiqhDYFqDNXRBw9vOC9Us2lAjUZI/s400/YIMG_2188.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525423300664738" /></a><CENTER>Courtyard, Burg Eltz, Moselkern</CENTER><br />Driving back down from the plateau to rejoin the Mosel valley was a slow, steep and winding descent but we could take our time as there was little traffic about. We'd expected the area to be packed with tourists but most travel by coach or river it seems. <br /><br />This evening we reached the little town of Cochem where we are staying on a campsite beside the river. Last night has spoilt us however and this seems mediocre by comparison. However, we have a couple of bottles of Riesling from the free state of Bottleneck in the fridge so the evening is unlikely to drag.<br /><br />We have just phoned our French friends Stéphane and Cathérine who live on the border between France, Germany and Luxembourg. Stéphane is the elder son of our friends Joël and Danielle from Guissény in Brittany and is in the French army, stationed in the eastern part of France. We had hoped to see the family before they set off on their holiday but we are not going to be able to make it in time. <br /><br /><B>Tuesday 19th June 2007, Saarburg</B><br />Our day has turned out differently than anticipated, due almost entirely to an unexpected road diversion that forced us up from the gentle level route running through the vineyards and little towns that lie along the banks of the Mosel, to the rolling fields, dark forests and views stretching to infinity that form the landscape of the Hünsruck. We are staying on a really lovely campsite with shaded pitches to protect us from the wicked sunshine which is again well into the 30s. Saarburg lies near the borders with both Luxembourg and France and we like it so much we are considering spending several days here. <br /><br />We left last night's campsite with few regrets. We'd been disappointed to discover that the price quoted for staying, which seemed reasonable, failed to mention extras such as an obligatory charge for rubbish disposal, even if you left no rubbish, an additional charge for electricity and a further charge for unlocking the electricity cupboard when you left so you could have your lead back. There was also a charge for using the showers and hot water was not provided at most of the wash basins. All told there was 6.50 euros of additional charges not included in the quoted price which Jill at least thought was dishonest.<br /><br />Cochem proved to be a pleasant little town bustling with tourists and crammed with souvenir shops and restaurants. The closely packed streets did offer welcome shade and apart from boat trips on the Mosel, there is also a chair lift to the cliff top to entertain the visitors. For us though, the most curious thing was a painting in the entrance to the town hall showing goats being squashed in a wine press, their blood flowing out and being used to make red wine! It was all rather macabre and we failed to discover its significance.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDSLui_kbl36ysflCdU81W46BYFyfozor10Vnx-_U0Fy5XD97o-azex_yx8B9z4G-N5k4qRD-wPQVWJs0JaBCiKBDJ7n5eF_7IG5ex4ELOGnYee3cMfyZ6iMfTFDD5cCPorgM5c3sQic/s1600-h/YIMG_2193.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDSLui_kbl36ysflCdU81W46BYFyfozor10Vnx-_U0Fy5XD97o-azex_yx8B9z4G-N5k4qRD-wPQVWJs0JaBCiKBDJ7n5eF_7IG5ex4ELOGnYee3cMfyZ6iMfTFDD5cCPorgM5c3sQic/s400/YIMG_2193.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525427595632050" /></a><CENTER>The coat of arms of Cochem</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTqdgyB9hyphenhypheny2y8HyC-yC63qu1ZG7NCjz58_hyphenhyphenS3Cgo2x7Z1PjbNH5IuobPDJVmV5HsxI68q2Xa_QTRfkdoYdpklfhAeO0WY12eHIppOPWdnwixtL8u0vy_h1VOjii-OTLiyRxMn8c62g/s1600-h/YIMG_2195.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTqdgyB9hyphenhypheny2y8HyC-yC63qu1ZG7NCjz58_hyphenhyphenS3Cgo2x7Z1PjbNH5IuobPDJVmV5HsxI68q2Xa_QTRfkdoYdpklfhAeO0WY12eHIppOPWdnwixtL8u0vy_h1VOjii-OTLiyRxMn8c62g/s400/YIMG_2195.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525431890599362" /></a><CENTER>Market place, gate tower and town hall, Cochem</CENTER><br />The landscape along the Mosel really is very beautiful with nothing anywhere to jar. The little towns are placed exactly where they should be to add beauty to a fold in the hills or a curve of the river. Such perfection is almost too much. We have been driving for much of the day and the landscape has been exactly the same – steep rugged cliffs covered in bright green vines planted at such a steep angle we cannot see how they can be harvested. Below runs the smooth silver snake of the river. Nothing seems to move. It is too hot for people to work on their vines and unlike the Rhine, the river is not used for moving commercial freight. Even the tourist boats seem quite rare on much of the river. The main sign of life is the doughty Dutch tourist on his bicycle. Holland really must be empty as there are hundreds of them slowly peddling their bikes along the river bank in the hot sun. Generally if you sat on a bench beside the water and took in the perfection of the view, there would be no real need to travel further as you would have seen everything the Mosel has to offer. For interest the Rhine must win but for beauty the Mosel almost certainly has the edge.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GqwZJ2107koD3HABkv9dknoi-ArDX2kWNVvK4ALYbeTBQi_5KEdvmLKihID0_vwj77SSayOBj68_ERdnd5v8oaYT6nev6UAfHIUBFWRhZEwTtf5_Je2Xn8QGzxAJSzErPrKpRsEb7fg/s1600-h/YIMG_2198.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GqwZJ2107koD3HABkv9dknoi-ArDX2kWNVvK4ALYbeTBQi_5KEdvmLKihID0_vwj77SSayOBj68_ERdnd5v8oaYT6nev6UAfHIUBFWRhZEwTtf5_Je2Xn8QGzxAJSzErPrKpRsEb7fg/s400/YIMG_2198.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525436185566674" /></a><CENTER>Picnic by the Mosel near Cochem</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-txdhFQKfsjJFcHmYoqTGwlXi3B5jEi2CDtRMcdcf9p-i11DvJQsTPit-UY0bWXWlbpr5B4fmSZsVdsDmJPlRHOoirghKm4cBkBkXWu1kMOoKNqEVd9HRhyphenhyphenirwdpd5YsSdI-YKfxpns/s1600-h/YIMG_2201.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-txdhFQKfsjJFcHmYoqTGwlXi3B5jEi2CDtRMcdcf9p-i11DvJQsTPit-UY0bWXWlbpr5B4fmSZsVdsDmJPlRHOoirghKm4cBkBkXWu1kMOoKNqEVd9HRhyphenhyphenirwdpd5YsSdI-YKfxpns/s400/YIMG_2201.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525440480533986" /></a><CENTER>Vineyards along the Mosel valley</CENTER><br />Germany is a European leader in devising the Umleitung or road diversion. They pop up everywhere, sending you off into the wilds of the countryside, sometimes for many miles. They are rarely properly signposted and it's easy to get totally lost. Being charitable it is possible we missed a warning sign, but somehow we found our way blocked at Bernkastel and were diverted through a steep tunnel which came out onto a very steep, twisting road with no possibility of turning round and with Modestine's temperature gauge rising rapidly. By the time we reached the top there was no way we were turning round to burn out our brakes going back down. In any case we had seen enough of the Mosel landscape for a while. So we readjusted our plans and continued across the Hünsruck countryside where from time to time we even saw cattle in the fields though mostly the landscape was given over to cereals and woodland.<br /><br />There was a campsite marked on our map but when we arrived it was expensive and isolated from anywhere, so we continued to this one at Saarburg. We've just been talking to one of the Dutch campers staying here who tells us we ought to visit Holland next as it will be really peaceful on the campsites as every Dutch camper is off seeing Europe using special concessions provided by the Dutch camping association.<br /><br /><B>Wednesday 20th June 2007, Saarburg</B><br />We are still at the same campsite. It is so pleasant and within easy cycling distance of the town centre and railway station so we have decided to give ourselves a little holiday from all the hard work we are doing! Last night there was a frighteningly violent thunderstorm. We were woken by Thunder and Lightening hammering at the door to see if Rain could come out to play at 5am. <br /><br />By breakfast time the trio had worn themselves out and disappeared to sleep off their hangover. At 8am the baker came up from the town with a van piled high with croissants, fresh rolls, sticky buns and a large pile of today's Dutch newspaper De Telegraaf. We joined the end of a queue of campers, all wearing clogs, patiently waiting to be served. We discovered we knew more Dutch in those few minutes than we'd ever realised. It really is a toy language being a mixture of German and English. We later picked up a Dutch romantic novel in the kitchen and were wiping our eyes with laughter at just how English it seemed to be. (They no doubt do the same with English books thinking how like Dutch they are!) Almost everyone on this site is Dutch and they are all lovely. Many of them chat in English, a few use German but often they simply talk in Dutch and we discover we are actually having meaningful conversations! This evening we risked everything and joined a Dutch couple to watch a football match on their portable TV. It was England versus Holland. After 15 minutes of extra time Holland won 13-12. It was fortunate for us as we are the only English here and we risked being drummed off the site if England had won! As it is they are all being very magnanimous about it. <br /><br />We spent the morning chilling out with a leisurely breakfast, sorting out a backlog of photos, answering emails and preparing another blog for the web. In between we drank lots of coffee and ate croissants. In the afternoon we unleashed Hinge and Bracket and cycled through the fields down into the little town of Saarburg. The town is the capital of the Saar winegrowing district and the neatly kept vineyards slope steeply down at the very edge of the town. There is more to see than we imagined with a castle overlooking the river Saar where pleasure boats carry passengers from town to town. The castle was built by Siegfried of Luxembourg in the tenth century and later passed into the ownership of the Archbishops of Trier. The top of the tower, reached by a spiral staircase, gives lovely views of the town and the surrounding hillsides covered in vines. Back down in the town again we discovered a 20 metre high waterfall right in the centre. In the 13th century the little river Leuk had been diverted to work mills and machinery in the town. Today it offers a picturesque location for street cafés where Dutch visitors park their bikes and enjoy ice creams or Kaffee und Kuchen. We also discovered a chair lift taking people up to the woods on the nearby hilltop. We however, had a huge pile of work to do so headed for the local internet shop where we spent nearly two hours on the computers. Although we are retired and are swanning about Europe, going with the flow and seeing where life takes us, recording all this takes a great deal of time. We said today that we felt we had both worked harder than if we had been at work! There is far more pleasure though when doing it for oneself. The blog will be a wonderful memory for us and the messages to and from friends are what makes it all worth while for us. They bring us so much pleasure.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrSOxyrVmwnFYDomy-D-2O-M6Q-vaOLh_yYB5_5-IA-kjQJxA5ACRmYhJHFf97vE2BT36WypUQfA5cIC-D_3KitWZ5zThWNJw-mSRGRLHbGjMyyGaxzWv6lNQuiKQWJhscNrNFbMLRBA/s1600-h/YIMG_2210.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrSOxyrVmwnFYDomy-D-2O-M6Q-vaOLh_yYB5_5-IA-kjQJxA5ACRmYhJHFf97vE2BT36WypUQfA5cIC-D_3KitWZ5zThWNJw-mSRGRLHbGjMyyGaxzWv6lNQuiKQWJhscNrNFbMLRBA/s400/YIMG_2210.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525977351446002" /></a><CENTER>Vineyards sweep right down to the town, Saarburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7vgGJSD6Wqu4N2pM_SX47qNgSN594zlgc-XBefYRnAsSS9DdYpBlE4YZ97sL_QnI3aHVrwH00a3ma83baNpO-1Y-1UlgPYtKT8B10siv5EzItj-00_1HRlDeKCsxh3oKJgX5LTLYRQU/s1600-h/YIMG_2214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7vgGJSD6Wqu4N2pM_SX47qNgSN594zlgc-XBefYRnAsSS9DdYpBlE4YZ97sL_QnI3aHVrwH00a3ma83baNpO-1Y-1UlgPYtKT8B10siv5EzItj-00_1HRlDeKCsxh3oKJgX5LTLYRQU/s400/YIMG_2214.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525985941380610" /></a><CENTER>Bell foundery and pleasure boat on the Saar, Saarburg </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7X-LkHJgsGk4DDqhEJ5nmcvfa39N84e-wwhj2byDUi6JjcjcUQXd4WUFnY4KF46UTpZUGO4blTZsdBdubs6pMk-zBIDrm8uJQ9IDu5LOpqx-q_gTjYYqasIHv7sghF7qx1yfZo47RQI/s1600-h/YIMG_2215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7X-LkHJgsGk4DDqhEJ5nmcvfa39N84e-wwhj2byDUi6JjcjcUQXd4WUFnY4KF46UTpZUGO4blTZsdBdubs6pMk-zBIDrm8uJQ9IDu5LOpqx-q_gTjYYqasIHv7sghF7qx1yfZo47RQI/s400/YIMG_2215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525990236347922" /></a><CENTER>Castle keep at Saarburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUDr2ikW5RIP4ijhHZBZ2GmNMjfCGBNeKOSEkoGvaiqqeZsi8NyTIuhrk_UISu4O8wxf4k4qIkr4FTxQSO_msBoLe0oVzRFxWSph3Od6koYjLkMwUcL0UsF9h_Dnl34EfQ_ReudETM9Y/s1600-h/YIMG_2219.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUDr2ikW5RIP4ijhHZBZ2GmNMjfCGBNeKOSEkoGvaiqqeZsi8NyTIuhrk_UISu4O8wxf4k4qIkr4FTxQSO_msBoLe0oVzRFxWSph3Od6koYjLkMwUcL0UsF9h_Dnl34EfQ_ReudETM9Y/s400/YIMG_2219.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525994531315234" /></a><CENTER>Waterfall and mill leat in the centre of the town of Saarburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_tCGyYkJyWmDSb6c-ldQgjlk9hc9ZMP_a__CckGwaYSlT75govG6j6tl5pMW2_8JDzMrcBxfrQrH6lO2Ivc3q6BYw-dOg267WSyFhoDlhJlcG5JEiyxspcrYw-G_7tPcg4AC3HkCqlA/s1600-h/YIMG_2220.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_tCGyYkJyWmDSb6c-ldQgjlk9hc9ZMP_a__CckGwaYSlT75govG6j6tl5pMW2_8JDzMrcBxfrQrH6lO2Ivc3q6BYw-dOg267WSyFhoDlhJlcG5JEiyxspcrYw-G_7tPcg4AC3HkCqlA/s400/YIMG_2220.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082525998826282546" /></a><CENTER>Peaceful riverside cafés just above the waterfall, Saarburg</CENTER><br />Finally we cycled across town to the railway station to find out train times for a trip to Trier tomorrow. We intended visiting it today as we passed along the Mosel but after being diverted yesterday we will have to make a special trip there tomorrow instead. We have been emailed by our friend Ralph ordering us not to miss it, and orders is orders. Apart from it being the birthplace of Karl Marx it is reputed to have Roman remains and there are currently three exhibitions on Constantine Ian hopes to visit. <br /><br />Back at the campsite this evening we decided to use the little on-site restaurant for the dish of the day. It was Schnitzel with asparagus wrapped in ham and topped with a cheese sauce, served with chips and salad. It would have been nice except that it arrived ready sprinkled with salt which quite spoilt it. Incidentally, there is an asparagus crisis in Germany at the moment. They are mad about it here and generally use migrant workers to cut it in the fields. Recent employment laws have made it prohibitively expensive to use imported labour so the asparagus is rotting in the fields while demand is being met by importing it from Poland.<br /><br />One of the things we like about this site is the animals. There is a little pond with large fish and very small, pretty ducks as well as a few large terrapins. There is also an aviary of parrots, budgies, canaries and quails, while several Dutch lop-eared rabbits (you can tell by their clogs) with an identity crisis, lollop around the floor wondering why they can't sing, fly or climb on branches.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBawY6sXu8avot2X3XkfzXaruapIP00vYDa7m0PoVIjQS0Y6lgf4FTF0wBmry9VBcwqc3wCZ3eSp5G_f4koNy7mFTjEtcz1AWZ3LhZlYLPWyGs3vBpjj_zKY2kAKDsnlKLX8S1OdUKpU/s1600-h/YIMG_2224.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBawY6sXu8avot2X3XkfzXaruapIP00vYDa7m0PoVIjQS0Y6lgf4FTF0wBmry9VBcwqc3wCZ3eSp5G_f4koNy7mFTjEtcz1AWZ3LhZlYLPWyGs3vBpjj_zKY2kAKDsnlKLX8S1OdUKpU/s400/YIMG_2224.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526492747521602" /></a><CENTER>All friends together, campsite, Saarburg</CENTER><br /><B>Thursday 21tst June 2007, Saarburg</B><br />Well, today saw us at the railway station in good time for the train. We double padlocked Hinge and Bracket to the railings and left them with slight misgivings. They have been eyed with so much envy here and someone told us folding bikes are very expensive in Germany. Our anxiety turned out to be well founded for when we returned we found someone trying the padlocks on all the bikes. Ian got riled and accosted him with a tirade in German and the man turned and slouched off. Our bikes were quite safe, he was just trying his luck, but the bike he was tampering with wasn't locked properly. The owner got off the same train just behind us and but for Ian would have lost his bike.<br /><br />We've had a mixed day. Although we set off in bright sunshine in tee shirts, shorts and sandals we were soon wet and shivering with heavy showers all day. The train ride along beside the river Saar between Saarburg and Trier is very pretty, passing along a steep-sided valley entirely dedicated to viticulture. Trier is a city of 100,000 and claims to be the oldest city in Germany, founded by Augustus in 16BC with Roman remains dating from the second to the fourth centuries. The Emperor Diocletian made Trier an important centre of the Roman world and when Constantine became emperor he ruled from Trier from 306 to 316. There are currently three exhibitions about Constantine in the city to mark Luxembourg and its environs currently holding the title of European Capital of Culture. Between the showers we visited the main Roman sites including two different sets of baths, the huge, blackened city gate, the massive brick-built Aula Palatina constructed as a palace for Constantine and a bridge across the Mosel, still in active use today. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nVXZGRLD5zG-NMNS1Cm2ZXsm6PgsiBoFsCIG-r9ZRgTIMpunrwOAPndCFIz-s_QepXJUkwLKIBYDsD9gqqdd58xefP1vVVF4854uEhqiCpW3XpV5Er6NDAfhLlyOuqs5QeXkYzz55mM/s1600-h/YIMG_2244.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nVXZGRLD5zG-NMNS1Cm2ZXsm6PgsiBoFsCIG-r9ZRgTIMpunrwOAPndCFIz-s_QepXJUkwLKIBYDsD9gqqdd58xefP1vVVF4854uEhqiCpW3XpV5Er6NDAfhLlyOuqs5QeXkYzz55mM/s400/YIMG_2244.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526497042488914" /></a><CENTER>Imperial Baths, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gqZ5nOxLdzdjWO400z-CFDEGe-Hs0AUizXIc-Z1OE5N8rp5bEcV-9ICxQKthWngaRSEkWIcmgbays2k6Gu4KFiKDqtnV1ETJKkIBGwG3Vl3XTJ628cvW8il7PZkFwMxLKdsTm2RUxbM/s1600-h/YIMG_2226.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gqZ5nOxLdzdjWO400z-CFDEGe-Hs0AUizXIc-Z1OE5N8rp5bEcV-9ICxQKthWngaRSEkWIcmgbays2k6Gu4KFiKDqtnV1ETJKkIBGwG3Vl3XTJ628cvW8il7PZkFwMxLKdsTm2RUxbM/s400/YIMG_2226.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526501337456226" /></a><CENTER>Porta Nigra dating from the second century, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPu0Z9kXjcuwOltPpp_niEh9n0QxlTcgOfwRu0_odT2q4MJhClAN7XcioXqjVrUpdXJQUdOZpNPUUkyvGHezx8PCU8MRdepxc2_2uuht5ThF41GXHdobJ0S2h9ZPKAuy6LIzJjIlc8sE/s1600-h/YIMG_2248.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPu0Z9kXjcuwOltPpp_niEh9n0QxlTcgOfwRu0_odT2q4MJhClAN7XcioXqjVrUpdXJQUdOZpNPUUkyvGHezx8PCU8MRdepxc2_2uuht5ThF41GXHdobJ0S2h9ZPKAuy6LIzJjIlc8sE/s400/YIMG_2248.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526505632423538" /></a><CENTER>Interior of the Aula Palatina, now a church, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicI5LEivkDZbifH_AvMPezRP-9A1nfxkIzBgHOeqFaYi3rvNo5z0M91kuPSyh3oBvDtAJ56sbsF-B58HDnn6-Akpa6squXHASBD1wDd0X2dVizpPQDX6VHYu5xZ1w1YLG1ac0iIm2FOA4/s1600-h/YIMG_2241.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicI5LEivkDZbifH_AvMPezRP-9A1nfxkIzBgHOeqFaYi3rvNo5z0M91kuPSyh3oBvDtAJ56sbsF-B58HDnn6-Akpa6squXHASBD1wDd0X2dVizpPQDX6VHYu5xZ1w1YLG1ac0iIm2FOA4/s400/YIMG_2241.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526505632423554" /></a><CENTER>Roman bridge seen through the rain, Trier</CENTER><br />Of course on the way we also took in the beautiful town square with its market cross, fountain and restored buildings dating from the 15th to the 20th centuries. In the old town baroque buildings were juxtaposed with those of the Art Nouveau period. It is a pleasant city, full of interesting architecture, but the weather did not really allow us to do it justice. Ian was delighted with the Roman aspect of the town and visited the main Constantine exhibition with 1,500 exhibits from a range of museums across Europe. Over the past few weeks however, Jill's interest in things Roman and ecclesiastical has waned rather. After paddling through the wet streets today, following Ian as he strode along, map in hand, searching for the remains of Roman bath houses, she decided she'd had enough. So while Ian went off to the special exhibition, Jill spent a couple of hours simply looking around the town at her own pace, pottering through shops for the first time in over two months, and enjoying not having to struggle with understanding German texts about topics in which she is far less knowledgeable or enthusiastic than Ian. At a practical level, it's possible to learn just as much vocabulary in a department store as in a museum and being able to ask where one can try on a garment is possibly of more practical use than understanding long academic texts about the archaeological and historical records of the Roman remains to be found in the town.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzWIDl00uj4-hQC_GwF8ONnLYff46giA7n9bNzMD85LoPdK3tAhyphenhyphenm4rJJ_hlY48iWPMnduJSNMlGzw6ZVJDYd7OCJ6KTfT2EH3ORnIG8qdbeo4fWa4cgQHlKcPcLH61xChHpqTK3mNdw/s1600-h/YIMG_2232.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzWIDl00uj4-hQC_GwF8ONnLYff46giA7n9bNzMD85LoPdK3tAhyphenhyphenm4rJJ_hlY48iWPMnduJSNMlGzw6ZVJDYd7OCJ6KTfT2EH3ORnIG8qdbeo4fWa4cgQHlKcPcLH61xChHpqTK3mNdw/s400/YIMG_2232.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526990963728018" /></a><CENTER>Market Square with Pythonesque foot of Constantine, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ2EeT7EHURxJWIXIFGLUsFWW78dvTzg2A5eR2nkDDxrobbhiX4QqbmIFQUgdYZ1vvJC0WzwxQeY1RCmBmywzuDRY8sDvLUfJvanmoGyN6fC_uVEAFz6WeZrYsqxZfuT0yJ89llvOPKc/s1600-h/YIMG_2234.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ2EeT7EHURxJWIXIFGLUsFWW78dvTzg2A5eR2nkDDxrobbhiX4QqbmIFQUgdYZ1vvJC0WzwxQeY1RCmBmywzuDRY8sDvLUfJvanmoGyN6fC_uVEAFz6WeZrYsqxZfuT0yJ89llvOPKc/s400/YIMG_2234.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526995258695330" /></a><CENTER>Fountain in the Market Square, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqD7f3vMfFNX576h06kOzjSK2XNUg1A28ScIpt7nUlkpA13wfJ62rAGhBFlLSPlsk12Xhq778c6rz9-VQv9keqjVqlEcJaz12iT0Su1Jf9kDVIlfdOjOCExaw9mpgGPrhH-AcTYzgS6E/s1600-h/YIMG_2237.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqD7f3vMfFNX576h06kOzjSK2XNUg1A28ScIpt7nUlkpA13wfJ62rAGhBFlLSPlsk12Xhq778c6rz9-VQv9keqjVqlEcJaz12iT0Su1Jf9kDVIlfdOjOCExaw9mpgGPrhH-AcTYzgS6E/s400/YIMG_2237.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082526999553662642" /></a><CENTER>Art nouveau façade, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTw4HjbqM0H5n8hqheZMXDokkm3Y-sceYeWvUHfKuWlTSQE98g3N7CpjL9IVy-S5u0q3Oh3ta6XcS5rLCuwUMzlTBJKN3m08sXskqUD6hCU2WyCRJ7Y627rzb1ZP3-S4TgNF3xqoc1cM/s1600-h/YIMG_2246.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTw4HjbqM0H5n8hqheZMXDokkm3Y-sceYeWvUHfKuWlTSQE98g3N7CpjL9IVy-S5u0q3Oh3ta6XcS5rLCuwUMzlTBJKN3m08sXskqUD6hCU2WyCRJ7Y627rzb1ZP3-S4TgNF3xqoc1cM/s400/YIMG_2246.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082527003848629954" /></a><CENTER>Electoral Palace, Trier</CENTER><br />Trier also boasts an impressive but rather unwelcoming cathedral with a strange mixture of architectural styles covering some 1500 years. Here we dutifully filed past a glass case set back in a flamboyant, heavy setting in which was supposedly the Holy Robe, made without any seams. It is supposed to have been worn by Christ but how or why, or even if, it was made in one piece, we don't know. Constantine's mother is supposed to have brought back various items of religious significance from her travels, including part of the true cross, so presumably she was responsible for it being there. The gothic cloisters were more traditional and very pleasing with a pretty garden at the centre where recent bishops and clergy are buried. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIt7GdJib08bQ13PQSeOoH1Qkq-m6dj-pMllH6AUTd5pS57iJGK7HSr1kaVRgXk7WvA88p2NPT2BCua-84oUlLUKAhNPPwyeIi7In8atUOx2Q8F6T6KU58KRYWrchuvkQP0CSQnkYtmYk/s1600-h/YIMG_2256.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIt7GdJib08bQ13PQSeOoH1Qkq-m6dj-pMllH6AUTd5pS57iJGK7HSr1kaVRgXk7WvA88p2NPT2BCua-84oUlLUKAhNPPwyeIi7In8atUOx2Q8F6T6KU58KRYWrchuvkQP0CSQnkYtmYk/s400/YIMG_2256.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082527008143597266" /></a><CENTER>Romanesque façade of the Cathedral, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6oqr9XSjQjfEKVDm5a5K7kqbrV-l-jX0qNAKa5Ub8GKoEBg6d7tGGM8-6VniW7iegCqE8SE5qcgmVLAL20nloDAh6hPn43-b-lZ9g84oifOMqZ0xD4-rFScRyU1eEC3dCQ6juRmtkvE/s1600-h/YIMG_2252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6oqr9XSjQjfEKVDm5a5K7kqbrV-l-jX0qNAKa5Ub8GKoEBg6d7tGGM8-6VniW7iegCqE8SE5qcgmVLAL20nloDAh6hPn43-b-lZ9g84oifOMqZ0xD4-rFScRyU1eEC3dCQ6juRmtkvE/s400/YIMG_2252.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082527295906406114" /></a><CENTER>In the Cathedral cloisters, Trier</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFfK6ZTkoiP1JuFs2KFvCou1nyyCUP1buiy0Zrhqp8xqMR3F6TgyrlxU9StRt5FypWIJrUizxCdw8cYOH8dFi18wCfE2lITAlTLBYD9oOyZWnAXx6CTDw0ym0SWYfN8XyG6eLVTnt7ow/s1600-h/YIMG_2253.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFfK6ZTkoiP1JuFs2KFvCou1nyyCUP1buiy0Zrhqp8xqMR3F6TgyrlxU9StRt5FypWIJrUizxCdw8cYOH8dFi18wCfE2lITAlTLBYD9oOyZWnAXx6CTDw0ym0SWYfN8XyG6eLVTnt7ow/s400/YIMG_2253.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082527321676209906" /></a><CENTER>Closing time in the library, monument in the Cathedral, Trier</CENTER><br />Of course we went in search of the birthplace of Karl Marx. The house is now a museum and is one of the prettiest houses in the town. It is very bourgeois and not quite the sort of home one expects for the father of Socialism. The town is almost as proud of him as it is of Constantine, and Karl Marx Wurst were selling in special vacuum-packed bags for easy transport across the world as souvenirs and gifts! The day seems to have passed very quickly despite the rain, and it was 6pm by the time we made our way back to the station each with our different impressions of the town.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHBHw-mvlHkX6y-zJUOx1pqMno9J09da9SPn9Ugz53aqGp7ygDxar-_inEV3P0LE-2QZiGp2t9DIKBh0M9vfV3dISvwHgF6_pJqp1JTKWoifFuxJyzIEdFSG0g6JiPFWjcZF2bOMaSbc/s1600-h/YIMG_2240.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHBHw-mvlHkX6y-zJUOx1pqMno9J09da9SPn9Ugz53aqGp7ygDxar-_inEV3P0LE-2QZiGp2t9DIKBh0M9vfV3dISvwHgF6_pJqp1JTKWoifFuxJyzIEdFSG0g6JiPFWjcZF2bOMaSbc/s400/YIMG_2240.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082527347446013698" /></a><CENTER>Birthplace of Karl Marx, Trier</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-44644295327274764382007-06-25T16:41:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.576+00:00Fulda and Frankfurt<B>Saturday 16th June 2007, Frankfurt am Main</B><br />This morning we visited the very pleasant town of Fulda, a place of 60,000 inhabitants. It has links with Devon which explains why we came. St. Boniface is the patron saint of the town where he spent much of his life and founded a Benedictine monastery. He was born in Crediton, Devon and educated in Exeter during the 7th century. He set out to convert the inhabitants of the Germanic area to Christianity and ended up being martyred in Friesland in 754 by being hacked about with an axe. To protect himself he held a copy of the Bible above his head. The actual book is preserved in the library in Fulda and our next mission should have been to find it. However, today is Saturday and we discovered that the library will not be open again until Monday. Our journey has not been wasted though and we have spent a really enjoyable day around the town. Boniface is buried in the crypt of the 18th century baroque cathedral so we have seen that, as well as the circular church of St. Michael, dating from the early ninth century where some lovely early wood carvings, probably dating from the 13th or 14th century can be seen. Unfortunately photography was not allowed, so no pictures.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yWL8C_AzNAtHhxJbrvldcAa7EQ7oQdrazUHm2BQEAVF6VN8FfYkOHFwzhxQPc5OpL69KIupeRpYurbEyYq5y3-CcxpY-e68PUa5zmC0ix0NlgPHA7fm7uEriIpxhMJeN_dDds0O-nwM/s1600-h/YIMG_2087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yWL8C_AzNAtHhxJbrvldcAa7EQ7oQdrazUHm2BQEAVF6VN8FfYkOHFwzhxQPc5OpL69KIupeRpYurbEyYq5y3-CcxpY-e68PUa5zmC0ix0NlgPHA7fm7uEriIpxhMJeN_dDds0O-nwM/s400/YIMG_2087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080028551440323522" /></a><br /><CENTER>Statue of St. Boniface of Crediton, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaXc0JfluVNaer477yHdS3hI_zdPQZgXgJPs0X6X3Vx-DtdyIcnelDr0U3HN_gdnzK8SAwY1OHfs30ej6HEwUVTPB_YgEqOUAeJ3TazMkoXk-9HsT4cVfOE2DIfHmXt1pna9Q8lzAyoM/s1600-h/YIMG_2088.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaXc0JfluVNaer477yHdS3hI_zdPQZgXgJPs0X6X3Vx-DtdyIcnelDr0U3HN_gdnzK8SAwY1OHfs30ej6HEwUVTPB_YgEqOUAeJ3TazMkoXk-9HsT4cVfOE2DIfHmXt1pna9Q8lzAyoM/s400/YIMG_2088.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080028568620192722" /></a><br /><CENTER>Martyrdom of St. Boniface, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit47ge9HvtEKuS5qvR9XNuYcDB0cim9mutfqJUzMlV1zRdSyAbw1fBcyZe5NtJPKRv0uL5UnZzIYcxKsjSQrURSUq2gUgvGYoTOEg10FSw9NbirxZAhdZoExVIY2twFWEHeCEMkiZH02k/s1600-h/YIMG_2105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit47ge9HvtEKuS5qvR9XNuYcDB0cim9mutfqJUzMlV1zRdSyAbw1fBcyZe5NtJPKRv0uL5UnZzIYcxKsjSQrURSUq2gUgvGYoTOEg10FSw9NbirxZAhdZoExVIY2twFWEHeCEMkiZH02k/s400/YIMG_2105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080028577210127330" /></a><br /><CENTER>Tomb of St. Boniface, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTV3OWx33XsR-9YcMtyL0xWeUpkzA5ONgM5sb6mDLHc5Dywum6VRaQnd7DtyHh8s9PgZzK-4O3ysKLlUOXMrF9YoWhPTujd9hG1wcWjp7FKNK4Q1PLZnOZ2fQNq6bnbnhuBf6Yhsi-KJ8/s1600-h/YIMG_2090.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTV3OWx33XsR-9YcMtyL0xWeUpkzA5ONgM5sb6mDLHc5Dywum6VRaQnd7DtyHh8s9PgZzK-4O3ysKLlUOXMrF9YoWhPTujd9hG1wcWjp7FKNK4Q1PLZnOZ2fQNq6bnbnhuBf6Yhsi-KJ8/s400/YIMG_2090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080028594389996530" /></a><br /><CENTER>18th century baroque cathedral, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUO6OerX5FrwNlawYKLdsA2flLbCFPa_gXIJd24yqO5mY_XQFe5sLZvHXqvB9xj6vDYUat8LtWZabi5oXUD13Zs8aiUR2Z1hk7zP9toYXgtWDE_AauDE9tEzNhBiRC2yH9LdFTJsYdq2k/s1600-h/YIMG_2091.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUO6OerX5FrwNlawYKLdsA2flLbCFPa_gXIJd24yqO5mY_XQFe5sLZvHXqvB9xj6vDYUat8LtWZabi5oXUD13Zs8aiUR2Z1hk7zP9toYXgtWDE_AauDE9tEzNhBiRC2yH9LdFTJsYdq2k/s400/YIMG_2091.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080028598684963842" /></a><br /><CENTER>9th century church of St. Michael, Fulda</CENTER><br />Fulda seems a very religious town. There were services taking part in every one of its churches as we arrived so our visits were restricted. Most were baroque and quite honestly we wonder whether Boniface would have approved of so much wealth and grandeur. We have to admit though that they were magnificent buildings, white rendered inside to offset the extravagant gold decoration of the altars and side chapels. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPICjPuqBC9clsPhXIEvv7Vm7y-BkNgEe8LTJSvj-xHPuSzxl2eBgpoCi8iiTstxEU9BKOoaRyateBg_-sXBsHYN0kIEcY5_roBNMoSC66ip6mxjnSrJggA3tDF9yIgfYetDQgdeQ2vg/s1600-h/YIMG_2107.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPICjPuqBC9clsPhXIEvv7Vm7y-BkNgEe8LTJSvj-xHPuSzxl2eBgpoCi8iiTstxEU9BKOoaRyateBg_-sXBsHYN0kIEcY5_roBNMoSC66ip6mxjnSrJggA3tDF9yIgfYetDQgdeQ2vg/s400/YIMG_2107.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080029307354567698" /></a><br /><CENTER>Interior of the Cathedral, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMcAGovTkDXi-Hp7oTVfNxsBTMkBwNWsuhfRXKJnuyt1AJ6piVgAoWtkHxuRF_yr2_YAOTA0QLamrwNCz4ARY9o4sGttZSrmyXRKEVmij3yF8RM0C1Mhe6jJQ7zWBHGXVqKvwPJr72UM/s1600-h/YIMG_2108.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMcAGovTkDXi-Hp7oTVfNxsBTMkBwNWsuhfRXKJnuyt1AJ6piVgAoWtkHxuRF_yr2_YAOTA0QLamrwNCz4ARY9o4sGttZSrmyXRKEVmij3yF8RM0C1Mhe6jJQ7zWBHGXVqKvwPJr72UM/s400/YIMG_2108.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080029320239469602" /></a><br /><CENTER>Seminary building, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PwYbooRa3WLyk4658nO5WKEzuWxlmPCSNUncTiBfVcKU2gyKdg9pnZWB-1zHwkesCoH7pPVZPgDXiCtHqBb2IDqKTVlYIpfZiIwy-q3xvwtTRGPmlWhCbdrUrIxEu_vUQgLjocUBM8Y/s1600-h/YIMG_2109.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PwYbooRa3WLyk4658nO5WKEzuWxlmPCSNUncTiBfVcKU2gyKdg9pnZWB-1zHwkesCoH7pPVZPgDXiCtHqBb2IDqKTVlYIpfZiIwy-q3xvwtTRGPmlWhCbdrUrIxEu_vUQgLjocUBM8Y/s400/YIMG_2109.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080029328829404210" /></a><br /><CENTER>Seminary doorway, Boniface holds the bible pierced by the weapon that killed him, Fulda</CENTER><br />Amongst the equally attractive secular buildings the baroque palace of the Prince Abbots is of particular note. We didn't see around inside but the gardens are lovely with statues, cherubs and several fountains sending magnificent water displays high into the air. Today the gardens were full of wedding couples with photographers recording their happy day. It is obviously the "In" place for newly weds and there were so many of them it has been impossible to completely exclude them from our photos! They will probably never know that they are on the internet!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2Zro2_xoljn5Je3graT1VcBoSEtBl_pIYywYTJx4hwxXNOM08yBUHzer6Fv8AEgW3BNXE13AScuMZW8scHF29olyO8TvMymgwDPVx3MH5dxJiLSB-6-aw_yTVhP5UdS_9Xx1gtr6fU8/s1600-h/YIMG_2089.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2Zro2_xoljn5Je3graT1VcBoSEtBl_pIYywYTJx4hwxXNOM08yBUHzer6Fv8AEgW3BNXE13AScuMZW8scHF29olyO8TvMymgwDPVx3MH5dxJiLSB-6-aw_yTVhP5UdS_9Xx1gtr6fU8/s400/YIMG_2089.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080029341714306114" /></a><br /><CENTER>Palace of Prince Abbots, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMBCwGdAPfOLNgBXDAoqybax6hdfvCgxHcmRUqbyPJBximqCGJUfRXbQJ1OfFQMhstgWhk_nJvPk5foPwn0O4cmXDSM5uQ57UcmNkkzQsmvcr3zEU9IekOSbV0fjCEziyPUFykqZCpOw/s1600-h/YIMG_2100.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMBCwGdAPfOLNgBXDAoqybax6hdfvCgxHcmRUqbyPJBximqCGJUfRXbQJ1OfFQMhstgWhk_nJvPk5foPwn0O4cmXDSM5uQ57UcmNkkzQsmvcr3zEU9IekOSbV0fjCEziyPUFykqZCpOw/s400/YIMG_2100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080029354599208018" /></a><br /><CENTER>Palace of the Prince Abbots seen across the gardens, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2npzIM5pUA0Wuzy9Vq4awAqwjBZup9-JOsbQsP3Xp7XjMOls4dnb9LKawRLZ_sn6AQYNqwirigGqxMuuxJSoC2xYUzWnfyqtSBet3NrCE-tJKZlfIYAFNHbNNmCGWTV8Zrco-gqXbWvc/s1600-h/YIMG_2101.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2npzIM5pUA0Wuzy9Vq4awAqwjBZup9-JOsbQsP3Xp7XjMOls4dnb9LKawRLZ_sn6AQYNqwirigGqxMuuxJSoC2xYUzWnfyqtSBet3NrCE-tJKZlfIYAFNHbNNmCGWTV8Zrco-gqXbWvc/s400/YIMG_2101.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080030011729204322" /></a><br /><CENTER>One rather pretty palace staircase, Abbots' Palace, Fulda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvweFzShsuZZrjrc-uQEdMkgOmVww5t1uETSOX1x4rz03XMd1Drk2_Bj77si9xnuOi9goJxLI25QKp7NpArcU1PXP9qv9v2sFyXQTiq5oLKB1nSxUfmrwIR22rmAktTVTdpFtjXwpnIDQ/s1600-h/YIMG_2098.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvweFzShsuZZrjrc-uQEdMkgOmVww5t1uETSOX1x4rz03XMd1Drk2_Bj77si9xnuOi9goJxLI25QKp7NpArcU1PXP9qv9v2sFyXQTiq5oLKB1nSxUfmrwIR22rmAktTVTdpFtjXwpnIDQ/s400/YIMG_2098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080030020319138930" /></a><br /><CENTER>Orangery in the Palace gardens, Fulda</CENTER><br />Last year in Graz (Austria) we discovered a very nice fish restaurant (Nordsee) that is part of a chain that also has a branch in Fulda. So today we enjoyed a lunch that was vaguely like fish and chips with lemon and tartar sauce except it also had yogurt coated mixed salad and instead of chips we were served crunchy fried potatoes with bits of bacon in.<br /><br />Around 3pm, having seen at least the main sights of Fulda we addressed the less agreeable task of navigating our way along the German motorways towards Bad Homburg. We felt we had a duty to visit this town as it is twinned with Exeter but it does mean we get sucked into the massive German conglomeration comprising the towns of Franfurt, Mainz, Wiesbaden, Offenbach and Hanau. We are now on a campsite where the only positive thing we can say about it is that there is a convenient train link into the centre of Frankfurt in one direction and Bad Homburg in the other. Jill has moaned and grumbled about the unpleasantness of coping with German motorways and weaving her way through countless sets of red traffic lights and urban sprawl while Ian has patiently coped by pouring out several glasses of the local Dornfelder Rheinhessen to pacify her. We've now decided to stop being disciplined about planning what we do tomorrow and watch a video instead.<br /><br /><B>Sunday 17th June 2007, Lorch an Rhein</B ><br />We are now camped on a really wonderful site on the slopes of the Rhine Valley south of Koblenz. From Modestine we can look down over the steep vine-clad hillside to the river where long barges chug their way slowly upriver heavily laden with crates and containers. Along either side of the river runs the railway line carrying passengers on intercity trains or long freight trains pulling up to 50 trucks as they snake along the water's edge, winding their way around the base of the steep wooded slopes of the far bank of the river.<br /><br />We have done an enormous amount today and things have not turned out at all how we expected. We woke early and by 9am we were in the centre of Frankfurt having bought an all day freedom ticket to the entire Frankfurt transport system. We can now officially announce that the dullest place in all of Europe is Frankfurt city centre on a Sunday morning. The silence of the city was eerie as we came up from the scruffy underground station to emerge into Willy Brand Platz dominated by the massive glass tower blocks of the European Central Bank, the Main Tower and several other multinational financial institutions. At first it was exciting. We walked through the empty streets expecting always to find the throbbing pulse of the city. However, we quickly realised that this was all there was. Frankfurt was virtually destroyed during the Second World War and has been rebuilt as Germany's main financial city. Monday to Friday the place may well be a centre of frenzied activity but at the weekend everyone spills out of the city until Monday morning.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTgYnQYV1_nUgAQZFoj77wyWfnnQ-V-GfMnKSecSPX2V85YUpMj2bV5rKXEPf6H6W7m6a0N0AqrIi3HIrdWOcU_1A4xvsQB2fMeESyyCrpbxY9MLqY7mxtddWtaQ9gFPGRdtlASh29Fg/s1600-h/YIMG_2112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTgYnQYV1_nUgAQZFoj77wyWfnnQ-V-GfMnKSecSPX2V85YUpMj2bV5rKXEPf6H6W7m6a0N0AqrIi3HIrdWOcU_1A4xvsQB2fMeESyyCrpbxY9MLqY7mxtddWtaQ9gFPGRdtlASh29Fg/s400/YIMG_2112.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080030046088942722" /></a><br /><CENTER>European Central Bank, Frankfurt</CENTER><br />It did mean we could see in comfort the exteriors of those few buildings of major importance. We soon found The Old Opera House and the Stock Exchange. Both are impressive buildings but have been largely reconstructed after the war. So too has the Old Rathaus with its stepped gables and most of the other buildings that surround the Römer as the main square is known. Nearby is the impressive gothic Kaiserdom where from 1562 until 1806 the Holy Roman Emperors were crowned. It, and most of the buildings surrounding it, were almost razed during the war. Generally, even if things look old they most probably are not. However, we had to remind ourselves that the reason Frankfurt is such a boring place is because we bombed everything it had.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIeJvjHKgaWHS0sX1r9n7Hs9k306MXZcNKB0gZmlQae_BblZkItxy_n2bkFLxrgtsNt8_CCKzjDUEh3aDRkaWrxVmkscCt-308A0z8CD6FnZ_TEEgROU-oZXTpxXxxBGjTF7geFE1B3g/s1600-h/YIMG_2137.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIeJvjHKgaWHS0sX1r9n7Hs9k306MXZcNKB0gZmlQae_BblZkItxy_n2bkFLxrgtsNt8_CCKzjDUEh3aDRkaWrxVmkscCt-308A0z8CD6FnZ_TEEgROU-oZXTpxXxxBGjTF7geFE1B3g/s400/YIMG_2137.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080030054678877330" /></a><br /><CENTER>Old Opera House, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvK2GKbeH1V6mWsp9v80853D8q9_GCKAIbxuHOA1qNzVRdTnGt5Uqi6bZV8QmmrVgKd95ySRIb4givGvQwWF3CKn9b27C9iGU5OfUdH4NLKGsF1NGX8kO0XXc2GG3eTWDmg-SByap2xA/s1600-h/YIMG_2118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvK2GKbeH1V6mWsp9v80853D8q9_GCKAIbxuHOA1qNzVRdTnGt5Uqi6bZV8QmmrVgKd95ySRIb4givGvQwWF3CKn9b27C9iGU5OfUdH4NLKGsF1NGX8kO0XXc2GG3eTWDmg-SByap2xA/s400/YIMG_2118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080030080448681122" /></a><br /><CENTER>Römer or main square, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04ND98NiGc6AkeHiC8nXlS8Ed49ybeWtZTSMGyMzL-XgjNLu89NPUmYBbOFDausiDJl_44e9ihFi-5ntHP2G2K73DG2r_ZBrtFDqcuK4S24ohpEO1xonUTaTxXGizsPBS3nNUt32dWiY/s1600-h/YIMG_2119.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04ND98NiGc6AkeHiC8nXlS8Ed49ybeWtZTSMGyMzL-XgjNLu89NPUmYBbOFDausiDJl_44e9ihFi-5ntHP2G2K73DG2r_ZBrtFDqcuK4S24ohpEO1xonUTaTxXGizsPBS3nNUt32dWiY/s400/YIMG_2119.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031068291159218" /></a><br /><CENTER>Town hall, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-hhFkj98DTwWRlvIvrIQDu2HTFRNJaHAJcibG6JOapoB5nqSWkSAwr6DyxYb3V_l0szakDxx2uu3CD4Wg_um2yQGCChmtO6aJzfU5GBu_vLRNhGhSPPdFpNBPI9oKTWSxwwT4KZkxOo/s1600-h/YIMG_2132.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-hhFkj98DTwWRlvIvrIQDu2HTFRNJaHAJcibG6JOapoB5nqSWkSAwr6DyxYb3V_l0szakDxx2uu3CD4Wg_um2yQGCChmtO6aJzfU5GBu_vLRNhGhSPPdFpNBPI9oKTWSxwwT4KZkxOo/s400/YIMG_2132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031085471028418" /></a><br /><CENTER>Kaiserdom, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhAKKA6b-rHOkq8QHVEdO28FFhcLtHAALTyg9Vs7GzkdL9ENBJWwJdNPv821l1oE0jTMZEH75bCIlIZN76gYaQHf2-6fZJBtnCUJ3n7_HuXW7CPUhyphenhyphenCEU57G-Av7Boe_62t8_76atzdc/s1600-h/YIMG_2133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhAKKA6b-rHOkq8QHVEdO28FFhcLtHAALTyg9Vs7GzkdL9ENBJWwJdNPv821l1oE0jTMZEH75bCIlIZN76gYaQHf2-6fZJBtnCUJ3n7_HuXW7CPUhyphenhyphenCEU57G-Av7Boe_62t8_76atzdc/s400/YIMG_2133.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031094060963026" /></a><br /><CENTER>Wartime devastation around the Kaiserdom, Frankfurt</CENTER><br />We eventually found Goethe's birthplace but it was closed and swathed in scaffolding with large crowds of happy Jappy chappies having their photos taken in front of it. We did discover a red sandstone figure of Charlemagne, who is reputed to have founded the city of Frankfurt in the eighth century. We also found the huge Paulskirche, built between 1790 and 1833, also heavily restored after the war. It was here that the first German National Assembly was held in 1848 and President Kennedy spoke there on his visit in 1963. (Whether he adapted his famous Berlin statement to say "Ich bin ein Frankfurter" we do not know.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndWheGfYpKebFQTZR0crELBnpp9m6vUMRUCN4HEgqPXHfMEkDIPn67mas7r4JUIUa04k9HTI3V4qtmdy89mlU3oQGOIv_pxYiBSu5uXugO1UdV1gff-X7Hhr6mbU8wQn98ZR61oeTwO4/s1600-h/YIMG_2114.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndWheGfYpKebFQTZR0crELBnpp9m6vUMRUCN4HEgqPXHfMEkDIPn67mas7r4JUIUa04k9HTI3V4qtmdy89mlU3oQGOIv_pxYiBSu5uXugO1UdV1gff-X7Hhr6mbU8wQn98ZR61oeTwO4/s400/YIMG_2114.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031106945864930" /></a><br /><CENTER>Goethe's birthplace, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGECerJnr4lZsT4YfGWjgDyjQ40Et-yQP1ra8Yi5JfYE9i4phRoI-5yCTVibo2WitaonlsFgyq40bMxsTyOI9GQY2V2aIssGq9GaoYz1GBGVd0Nle93NAeb5o3uUwHvNbCqJn06NLBdQ/s1600-h/YIMG_2120.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGECerJnr4lZsT4YfGWjgDyjQ40Et-yQP1ra8Yi5JfYE9i4phRoI-5yCTVibo2WitaonlsFgyq40bMxsTyOI9GQY2V2aIssGq9GaoYz1GBGVd0Nle93NAeb5o3uUwHvNbCqJn06NLBdQ/s400/YIMG_2120.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031111240832242" /></a><br /><CENTER>Emperor Charlemagne, founder of the city of Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLtpBz3Fq5RXGiv_CMrPKIWhEmHiQa-i62TGr2Oc2qxB-BNrax2DVvSq_DUaWfyGc6VdFP5yEKz_I2iPQYFRes9yJRQWWgJr66124wcMGxwyj4UgBO5p_3s-6kKVVDbX-o5AmMTyAd5E/s1600-h/YIMG_2117.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLtpBz3Fq5RXGiv_CMrPKIWhEmHiQa-i62TGr2Oc2qxB-BNrax2DVvSq_DUaWfyGc6VdFP5yEKz_I2iPQYFRes9yJRQWWgJr66124wcMGxwyj4UgBO5p_3s-6kKVVDbX-o5AmMTyAd5E/s400/YIMG_2117.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031931579585794" /></a><br /><CENTER>Paulskirche, Frankfurt</CENTER><br />We crossed the River Main by an iron footbridge from where we watched the national dragon boat racing championships. This was the best fun of the morning with teams from all over Germany participating. We bought a plate of chips and mayonnaise and joined others on the far bank to cheer them all on. There was a lovely atmosphere. From the other side of the River Main the huge towers of the various financial organisations dominate the skyline. Not for nothing is Frankfurt on Main nicknamed Mainhatten!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOe4zsUsUex08MisLrepo9POtp8EvoH8Xw6kv2DcsFlEmjTlo9gzTjXtuNbxHmdMQ4ue1vA0A_7dP3lrXibeXhj-Usgy8D2h6RHYWo4k5Hj2jOB2Lmwtwml5Rcl6PVisSlw8myB-ERc0c/s1600-h/YIMG_2124.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOe4zsUsUex08MisLrepo9POtp8EvoH8Xw6kv2DcsFlEmjTlo9gzTjXtuNbxHmdMQ4ue1vA0A_7dP3lrXibeXhj-Usgy8D2h6RHYWo4k5Hj2jOB2Lmwtwml5Rcl6PVisSlw8myB-ERc0c/s400/YIMG_2124.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031948759454994" /></a><br /><CENTER>Dragon boat racing on the River Main, Frankfurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVgqJrzA5gIuqoWvBYNvOLcYdnFofyne9OQPxmpyDK4TnzFV4okDWXzePXj3TbkTDHgQPdqqL4b3wm0t9Mv4KqYFz9Qz95JoSGHParFHLzhB33UD2TuUd3UFTzST2MwDuc_lJV5yiS24/s1600-h/YIMG_2131.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWVgqJrzA5gIuqoWvBYNvOLcYdnFofyne9OQPxmpyDK4TnzFV4okDWXzePXj3TbkTDHgQPdqqL4b3wm0t9Mv4KqYFz9Qz95JoSGHParFHLzhB33UD2TuUd3UFTzST2MwDuc_lJV5yiS24/s400/YIMG_2131.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031957349389602" /></a><br /><CENTER>Iron bridge with Mainhatten behind, Frankfurt</CENTER><br />We walked back through the deserted but excellent shopping malls to the Stock Exchange, the financial heart of Germany. Outside were a brass bull and a brass bear, representing the rises and falls in share prices. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qrVDZUhFFSy2Ni3jItZNrPP1_uCvI-UVxxysdUHoT5IjtA3SbVQHybRUE-0jmVnrtAj81AP1DxfyFVfE-GdNwv35AcB1sXeVBCstA3i0RMxoU9orEEipJarawpO8WXOeMHaEGfl6Vus/s1600-h/YIMG_2136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qrVDZUhFFSy2Ni3jItZNrPP1_uCvI-UVxxysdUHoT5IjtA3SbVQHybRUE-0jmVnrtAj81AP1DxfyFVfE-GdNwv35AcB1sXeVBCstA3i0RMxoU9orEEipJarawpO8WXOeMHaEGfl6Vus/s400/YIMG_2136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031965939324210" /></a><br /><CENTER>Bull and Bear outside the Stock Exchange, Frankfurt</CENTER><br />We felt generally rather disappointed with Frankfurt and disinclined to spend the rest of the day walking around in a ghost town. We took the train back to the campsite, gave our transport tickets to some newly arrived campers as they are valid all day, packed up and drove north to see Exeter's twin town Bad Homburg.<br /><br />This is a pleasant spa town with a small historic quarter of half-timbered houses and a mediaeval castle surrounded by beautiful gardens. There was far more life in Bad Homburg than we had found in Frankfurt and we spent a pleasant couple of hours exploring the town. Exeter Weg was a long way out, probably on a trading estate if they are as enthusiastic about twinning as Exeter is, so we gave it a miss. Outside the entrance to the Kurhalle we discovered an English phone box given as a twinning gift by Exeter in the 1990s. It was in working order – which it almost certainly was not when it was located in Exeter High Street. As we used it to phone home we wondered whether we'd ever been in it before!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDit7vIl8XdTC0HImlCrQOj7BERCSqoiEpyKzsBTOAW_ra67n2mXYVO8fGIdhK3-OstxRU40vZkWV27jEygAKhubbsxRuMS0DKFEKHpaD4q_DYgBVPDoIsXqZxPXS1DV2_3WufCk8RstA/s1600-h/YIMG_2140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDit7vIl8XdTC0HImlCrQOj7BERCSqoiEpyKzsBTOAW_ra67n2mXYVO8fGIdhK3-OstxRU40vZkWV27jEygAKhubbsxRuMS0DKFEKHpaD4q_DYgBVPDoIsXqZxPXS1DV2_3WufCk8RstA/s400/YIMG_2140.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080031974529258818" /></a><br /><CENTER>Old Exeter phone box in Bad Homburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1b0JsdS2q_J8_b5M661eN9vocg4dEe9omA4331kYlOP8ELcwdSaynuL2vaAVT0kd3B2Q6kyuJm4iV1Aml-ddkFK1ifXjX5HSo4Iep4PrVIy7uoQa1ye-rLPe3MnroKhr5e2v-N44C6Q/s1600-h/YIMG_2141.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1b0JsdS2q_J8_b5M661eN9vocg4dEe9omA4331kYlOP8ELcwdSaynuL2vaAVT0kd3B2Q6kyuJm4iV1Aml-ddkFK1ifXjX5HSo4Iep4PrVIy7uoQa1ye-rLPe3MnroKhr5e2v-N44C6Q/s400/YIMG_2141.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080032833522718034" /></a><br /><CENTER>Kurhalle, Bad Homburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwTt69_b1bs_Gd2qUztiVPXLqERho95WTRTanibn5KvXFR8bimpUrNwFicmlAl6rX5jowu2sb3yXXfugtQmBPsFF0rvAFXAXFCmcmEhnOoiLlmUjncYPlEYzYe7gvCZ-StY0blfQmu_4/s1600-h/YIMG_2143.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwTt69_b1bs_Gd2qUztiVPXLqERho95WTRTanibn5KvXFR8bimpUrNwFicmlAl6rX5jowu2sb3yXXfugtQmBPsFF0rvAFXAXFCmcmEhnOoiLlmUjncYPlEYzYe7gvCZ-StY0blfQmu_4/s400/YIMG_2143.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080032842112652642" /></a><br /><CENTER>Spa of Kaiser Wilhelm Ist, Bad Homburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Gx2tBo-aSBlEJO2DJ4EKx7FKWz5mEDkROccjgMX5UEBl6aKyD9psrxiw1TNFsNoKcNmhyphenhyphenepCsn0haOQ_39y29bbsCJRgxZ9yIvyu6Bg19aA5gvKJmCsSR_UetCIjy3whu4408NKCXnA/s1600-h/YIMG_2145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Gx2tBo-aSBlEJO2DJ4EKx7FKWz5mEDkROccjgMX5UEBl6aKyD9psrxiw1TNFsNoKcNmhyphenhyphenepCsn0haOQ_39y29bbsCJRgxZ9yIvyu6Bg19aA5gvKJmCsSR_UetCIjy3whu4408NKCXnA/s400/YIMG_2145.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080032854997554546" /></a><br /><CENTER>Siamese temple in the Kurpark, Bad Homburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d8ClV5gPIW6dP3SBDS6IuXAzvlDqna6GuZiqrWPMQkn4TSv-r2xR9ky_9kdrHhF3SlIciwP6N8KbikRFAhWfu2VZup77iRLkqT7T-xpFkbgGb2tDmN0dAkyzjx1AQDAkwHnegbOzgOI/s1600-h/YIMG_2147.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d8ClV5gPIW6dP3SBDS6IuXAzvlDqna6GuZiqrWPMQkn4TSv-r2xR9ky_9kdrHhF3SlIciwP6N8KbikRFAhWfu2VZup77iRLkqT7T-xpFkbgGb2tDmN0dAkyzjx1AQDAkwHnegbOzgOI/s400/YIMG_2147.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080032863587489154" /></a><br /><CENTER>Castle, Bad Homburg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdepwKt8FmlKiKeCvBmTYRytxpg0XSJmL9W6q3zZtaglgvZXaXVB2pjRidqHCEwQjh-PiXyK5QsxF4g2izdprGww4enhSk5VFhKgh7wgvnq8bCfkpV5lgqEZatSI311V8yoC7y6tUoPlM/s1600-h/YIMG_2153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdepwKt8FmlKiKeCvBmTYRytxpg0XSJmL9W6q3zZtaglgvZXaXVB2pjRidqHCEwQjh-PiXyK5QsxF4g2izdprGww4enhSk5VFhKgh7wgvnq8bCfkpV5lgqEZatSI311V8yoC7y6tUoPlM/s400/YIMG_2153.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080032872177423762" /></a><br /><CENTER>Some bad Homburg hats</CENTER><br />After several abortive attempts to leave the town and a couple of diversions that sent us round in circles for a while, we eventually succeeded in leaving the large, urban conurbation behind and headed across country towards the Rhine. The route eventually turned out to be very pleasant taking us along winding roads through the Taunus region of steep, wooded hills and deep valleys. We had to be very controlled not to divert to Katzenelnbogen (cat's elbow) when we saw it signposted and reached Lorch still singing a silly song from our childhood with the chorus line "In Gillygillyochsenpfefferkatzenelnbogen by the Sea". (Don't worry about it if you are not from our generation.) We'd never realised such a place actually existed!<br /><br />The campsite we were seeking turned out to be several kilometres up the Rhine from Lorch. Instead of following beside the river we were directed up a steep narrow route used by growers attending their vines. This gave us wonderful views down onto the river. It was still warm and sunny when we arrived so we were able to sit overlooking the vines as we drank chilled white Thuringian wine, a greatly appreciated present from our friend Hubert. Tomorrow we will buy some wine from the banks of the Rhine before we move on from here. It is now 11pm and the rain has started again. Temperatures have become so much more comfortable over the last few days.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCq2qI0bd0cbDH_kFYe-sqOpyv56T-e7r_YGFD4XcsYDNfs0qgpIj8YLfI9TjZZdIwgaRibMoiMOjQRUcONj96bpXQhuCA73JKNlQVTxugC2MseW4NiGBdmWL_c2eVNF2v5nENq6rDOA/s1600-h/YIMG_2155.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCq2qI0bd0cbDH_kFYe-sqOpyv56T-e7r_YGFD4XcsYDNfs0qgpIj8YLfI9TjZZdIwgaRibMoiMOjQRUcONj96bpXQhuCA73JKNlQVTxugC2MseW4NiGBdmWL_c2eVNF2v5nENq6rDOA/s400/YIMG_2155.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080033168530167202" /></a><br /><CENTER>The Rhine from our campsite south of Lorch</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-53315990720062563492007-06-20T16:09:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.670+00:00Goslar and Gottingen<B>Monday 11th June, Bad Harzburg, Germany</B><br />Today we drove north, our intention being to visit another friend, Ethe, living in the area of the Harz mountains at Salzgitter Bad. If you read last year's blog of our time in <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/08/north-friesland.html">Friesland and Schleswig-Holstein</a> you may recall our visit to the family home of the Feddersen family near Niebüll where Ian's mother had worked during her teens, helping to look after a young girl, Ethe. This young girl is now an elderly retired psychiatrist but remembers Ian well and has been eager to retain the family friendship since Ian's mother died several years ago.<br /><br />Our journey took us through the pretty village of wooden framed houses at <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2005/09/weimar.html">Stolberg</a> where we stopped for a stroll and a simple lunch. Nearby at Bad Frankenhausen is the Panorama Museum that overlooks the surrounding countryside from an imposing position on a hilltop surrounded by poppy fields. Of course we had to visit the museum on behalf of our friend Ralph, whom we mentioned recently as an enthusiast of panoramas. The museum contains a massive panorama of the Peasant's War of the 16th century. Disappointingly the museum was closed on Mondays but the views from the massive, circular building – known locally, rather appropriately, as the "Elephant's toilet" - were magnificent. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIGVhjaUtcMOwhDBFJX83c5qVkbqDUM-MZfdCeiELMiL_ZG4_iWlWOYEunlPkyIAVany3S2Ck-NYjVLqu3DnENEaq6Adj0NLz8XHcklVo3Xa3sLwyr17kJzc64vT9sd-AhIzpWUaDKCk/s1600-h/YIMG_2004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIGVhjaUtcMOwhDBFJX83c5qVkbqDUM-MZfdCeiELMiL_ZG4_iWlWOYEunlPkyIAVany3S2Ck-NYjVLqu3DnENEaq6Adj0NLz8XHcklVo3Xa3sLwyr17kJzc64vT9sd-AhIzpWUaDKCk/s400/YIMG_2004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078166567153390066" /></a><br /><CENTER>Panorama Museum, Bad Frankenhausen</CENTER><br />We stopped to look at the typical little town of Wernigerode with its half timbering, cobbled streets and lovely town square. Street after street of unspoilt little wooden houses crowded in around us as we wandered through the town searching for a baker's shop. Shortly afterwards we reached Bad Harzburg and found the campsite we had been aiming for. The sun has remained unpleasantly hot all day and during the evening we cowered in the shelter of the hedge to escape being burned as we gradually relaxed after a busy day of driving.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4GxB4bcGALaA-Oj8l4LGPgimctwZwOLcmRq83JW3cL4Ohex0Z4yEIuui3IO0U4brDw1RtwwQp5gsFxuhFxsYpAhJ9vDbeex5iwqH8qM-RLvOnhyZCZgdTTGqxNeHcOdMKZiQJOc8wEA/s1600-h/YIMG_2006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4GxB4bcGALaA-Oj8l4LGPgimctwZwOLcmRq83JW3cL4Ohex0Z4yEIuui3IO0U4brDw1RtwwQp5gsFxuhFxsYpAhJ9vDbeex5iwqH8qM-RLvOnhyZCZgdTTGqxNeHcOdMKZiQJOc8wEA/s400/YIMG_2006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078166580038291970" /></a><br /><CENTER>A manhole cover worthy of the beautiful town of Wernigerode</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nps-V5ywL8WeIk96fuTWcoriphyphenhyphenCVLlubdFQbNiKVJPkENZ3a37-NtQgij1KcyJdq_M0scf1AmbIXBCdpLzbV_sjpwXsRdBe3aAuZ7DIfpTSjepcyoYJycrewAaM2fYtKRwDy0V5Xpg/s1600-h/YIMG_2008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nps-V5ywL8WeIk96fuTWcoriphyphenhyphenCVLlubdFQbNiKVJPkENZ3a37-NtQgij1KcyJdq_M0scf1AmbIXBCdpLzbV_sjpwXsRdBe3aAuZ7DIfpTSjepcyoYJycrewAaM2fYtKRwDy0V5Xpg/s400/YIMG_2008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078166592923193874" /></a><br /><CENTER>Town Hall, Wernigerode</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-piugVhIfTPdDIe8YDDd1jWilrwC_039ZKm2XIC5tmx9jq1Uef1_DLZa6IWAmaB0e6SHwuMboG8uPJJ5RDpJDvrS3zaUZkYOstUTA77UqEhCr2e87P9O9Ss1GwFnvNLR098hhRukjzQ/s1600-h/YIMG_2010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-piugVhIfTPdDIe8YDDd1jWilrwC_039ZKm2XIC5tmx9jq1Uef1_DLZa6IWAmaB0e6SHwuMboG8uPJJ5RDpJDvrS3zaUZkYOstUTA77UqEhCr2e87P9O9Ss1GwFnvNLR098hhRukjzQ/s400/YIMG_2010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078166627282932258" /></a><br /><CENTER>Half-timbered houses, Wernigerode</CENTER><br /><B>Tuesday 12th June, Goslar</B><br />This morning we drove on into Goslar, where we found a quiet road outside the town to park and were wandering the streets of the little town by 10am. We were last here 33 years ago and both had memories of a beautiful old town crammed with wooden framed houses, either infilled with bricks or nogging, or hung with slates. Our memory had not failed and the town is every bit as beautiful as we had found it then. The streets are cobbled and traffic is banned from the centre, so there was an eerie calm as we made our way on foot into the town, passing along streets of beautiful, steep roofed houses, slate hung with brightly painted window frames and decorated entrance doors with ornately carved lintels. In the main town square the 15th century gothic town hall dominates. Here too is the Kaiserwörth with its painted carved wooden figures of Emperors, built in 1494. This was originally intended as the hall of the Draper's Guild but is now a hotel. Tourists crowded the square and horses and carriages offered guided rides around the old town. The tables on the shady side of the square were filled with visitors enjoying coffees and ice creams. It was a very pleasant, relaxed and picturesque scene.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimO3rFxPoj7PALPoh7SrtYOqLDPACbxEFYM5E4nPhusbrJ4d6RI4qoUghm5eiE6AH9EArfLLzVvqygbczy1tQGIC0EP5p1IUJoAYv2XqGEF2ID137-AG2ag9aLuIZK3HZF69CUotWCRJk/s1600-h/YIMG_2021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimO3rFxPoj7PALPoh7SrtYOqLDPACbxEFYM5E4nPhusbrJ4d6RI4qoUghm5eiE6AH9EArfLLzVvqygbczy1tQGIC0EP5p1IUJoAYv2XqGEF2ID137-AG2ag9aLuIZK3HZF69CUotWCRJk/s400/YIMG_2021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078166653052736050" /></a><br /><CENTER>Slate-hung houses, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DoI8SkAxVgjVhJ5p1axnZr0k5UxrgiW_YptMCBDVwUEyEjwEdYJKSJavR_121Gb3whkxPt-r8eHyOP1XrsHwRl8WAU9Xd6czkr74WCq2h2LKblJQ6TXb0RZK3I12Qy3pzCHn3gTgrIs/s1600-h/YIMG_2022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DoI8SkAxVgjVhJ5p1axnZr0k5UxrgiW_YptMCBDVwUEyEjwEdYJKSJavR_121Gb3whkxPt-r8eHyOP1XrsHwRl8WAU9Xd6czkr74WCq2h2LKblJQ6TXb0RZK3I12Qy3pzCHn3gTgrIs/s400/YIMG_2022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078165755404571042" /></a><br /><CENTER>Half-timbered houses, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4lEKvfH6RXEby-gkM6Ei5ejnz37hBwMlGpC0X7Lg9hQeEZwSUU1ur4ZC_GgJ7lcDZ3z7M9q-fnSyE8ojCa_DOURpwpBv7y3WiUJDRwu265QjQNbUDbmkWq7T1208F6xeu_u2j8s9ffU/s1600-h/YIMG_2013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4lEKvfH6RXEby-gkM6Ei5ejnz37hBwMlGpC0X7Lg9hQeEZwSUU1ur4ZC_GgJ7lcDZ3z7M9q-fnSyE8ojCa_DOURpwpBv7y3WiUJDRwu265QjQNbUDbmkWq7T1208F6xeu_u2j8s9ffU/s400/YIMG_2013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078165763994505650" /></a><br /><CENTER>Kaiserwörth on the Market Square, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYDFg84cvVxsItQElAqjD6-gSgxL31K3M5whLDycgNbTUeLVlS_hK7zAKojbGkKhZrTxJ7tuS4JBz2WSRW-Uow7QPzOHu8Dba6B5sDFaTrmro5mDH9-Km2BsgLBlw49zGMdWKglMbOnY/s1600-h/YIMG_2016.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYDFg84cvVxsItQElAqjD6-gSgxL31K3M5whLDycgNbTUeLVlS_hK7zAKojbGkKhZrTxJ7tuS4JBz2WSRW-Uow7QPzOHu8Dba6B5sDFaTrmro5mDH9-Km2BsgLBlw49zGMdWKglMbOnY/s400/YIMG_2016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078165781174374850" /></a><br /><CENTER>Town Hall on the Market Square, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwDgcgrG3MdPg42R8U1jx35fU88yt6A-3sDNCRanoGu66hgqScd48zXLdsY11qqiGLTqgdS94XXXO9E2rTQNPIGkqQwhF8-7QTzX-xDX0WL-AjitSM2KuieEXgNF6e1UYRIDPIEZDFwM/s1600-h/YIMG_2068.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwDgcgrG3MdPg42R8U1jx35fU88yt6A-3sDNCRanoGu66hgqScd48zXLdsY11qqiGLTqgdS94XXXO9E2rTQNPIGkqQwhF8-7QTzX-xDX0WL-AjitSM2KuieEXgNF6e1UYRIDPIEZDFwM/s400/YIMG_2068.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078165789764309458" /></a><br /><CENTER>14th century imperial eagle on the Market Square fountain, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03-dAcNz3qZhogWUqLb7KMNKCSRY7dMAbmAU-1l5FfpGspsIT2Fj-HuaJI7siErCUb6tiyC2LrShhaYKh_TIN6NKuaOZYt3OAL7QBYI3Fk1cNIjbWwGCzk7REXXA63R8Oxf5gopzj4Dw/s1600-h/YIMG_2023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03-dAcNz3qZhogWUqLb7KMNKCSRY7dMAbmAU-1l5FfpGspsIT2Fj-HuaJI7siErCUb6tiyC2LrShhaYKh_TIN6NKuaOZYt3OAL7QBYI3Fk1cNIjbWwGCzk7REXXA63R8Oxf5gopzj4Dw/s400/YIMG_2023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078165811239145954" /></a><br /><CENTER>All that remains of the Cathedral, Goslar</CENTER><br />We bought Harzwurst with bread and Senf, followed by Pflaumentorte and coffee for lunch which we ate in the market square before buying flowers for Ethe. As we were about to return to Modestine there were rolls of thunder and lightning flashed in jagged streaks. The rain then cascaded down in torrents onto the town. We dived for the nearest coffee shop where we watched the water deluging from the sky for thirty minutes without easing. In no time the square was under water and when it eventually cleared we paddled our way back to Modestine to continue for 16 kilometres north to Saltzgitter Bad where we were already very late for our visit to Ethe. <br /><br />As we left Goslar the storm returned, directly overhead. The roads could not cope with the torrents, the sky was black, and bolt after bolt of lightning smashed onto the fields around us while the thunder crashed and roared around above. Visibility was reduced to a few yards but as there was nowhere to pull off the road we drove slowly on, the wheels raising a wake as we went.<br /><br />Last year in Spain someone gave us a CD road atlas of Europe for our computer. It has proved really useful so today we were able to find Ethe's house straight away. She was waiting anxiously at her window and quickly welcomed us inside where we dried off over tea and quark cake while she and Ian chatted about the past and what was happening to the various members of Ethe's family. Although well into her eighties, she still keeps busy peer reviewing articles for a leading German psychiatric journal and preparing a revised catalogue of the paintings of her grandfather Hans Peter Feddersen. The welcome we were shown was really warm and we were even offered accommodation for the night. However, the storm had abated and we thought it best to return to Goslar and seek out another campsite suitably located for tomorrow's planned activity. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GqzCXSO7iVyINKzpW6PjrlapWIqiAQJOCLDfjtYXDttY7N8AEbiWM803m7vdeB6xPf10IG3bYY_PJwEholreG_88fjb76uLF1D7oRulIaqgxOuFun7OSWkoUjhGD_xtpTnQTlLbCj7A/s1600-h/YIMG_2035.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GqzCXSO7iVyINKzpW6PjrlapWIqiAQJOCLDfjtYXDttY7N8AEbiWM803m7vdeB6xPf10IG3bYY_PJwEholreG_88fjb76uLF1D7oRulIaqgxOuFun7OSWkoUjhGD_xtpTnQTlLbCj7A/s400/YIMG_2035.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078167469096522306" /></a><br /><CENTER>Ian with Ethe, Salzgitter Bad</CENTER><br /><B>Wednesday 13th June 2007, Goslar, Germany</B><br />We've had a really lovely day with no driving or commitments or worries of any sort. It has been rather stressful one way and another recently so we have enjoyed simply walking in the cool, wet, forested slopes of the Rammelsberg, in the Harz Mountains, on the edge of Goslar.<br /><br />The day started with a couple of Dutch people recognising Modestine from the campsite near Prague. Several times now Modestine has been recognised, usually in a completely different country from where she was first seen! <br /><br />Next an Australian couple from Adelaide came for a chat as they have been in Europe a couple of weeks and haven't spoken to anyone in English yet. They have just purchased a motorhome and a couple of mountain bikes and are touring Europe for a few months. They say they come every year so this year decided to make a definite commitment and store the vehicle in France when they go back, so it is waiting for them next year. He tells us if we think of visiting Australia we should go in April to June, otherwise it will be too hot. On the other hand, why go? He adores Europe and would love to move to France permanently. So many of the reports we hear claim nothing beats Europe and there is so much still to explore here.<br /><br />Dusting the cobwebs off our hiking boots we walked four kilometres along unmarked woodland paths seeking out the old mining museum that is on the Unesco listing of world heritage sites. Already, outside the forest, the day was becoming too hot for comfort. Underfoot the woodland paths had been swept away in places by yesterday's rain and small rivers and waterfalls had developed and were cascading down the hillside over the path. Eventually we arrived at the lake above the mine from where the water was taken to run the waterwheels that provided energy to the underground workings.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKkIguyutU_twS6EGaYjfbwppHheXCNM7vAYAlOm9VA3ggael6GLm1zs-2FQpSLM1OaOy4NYdrR01talO1bLLeW_aRsT5c2o521CyeE3eb_fo4BwiplaF0lWbyt3oAqOLerv65PZvcbE/s1600-h/YIMG_2039.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKkIguyutU_twS6EGaYjfbwppHheXCNM7vAYAlOm9VA3ggael6GLm1zs-2FQpSLM1OaOy4NYdrR01talO1bLLeW_aRsT5c2o521CyeE3eb_fo4BwiplaF0lWbyt3oAqOLerv65PZvcbE/s400/YIMG_2039.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078167520636129874" /></a><br /><CENTER>Woodland stream near Goslar</CENTER><br />Goslar and the Harz form a very beautiful area but the town's prosperity is based very much on industry. The Rammelsberg is an area rich in various different ores, mainly lead, copper and zinc but also having veins of silver and even gold. Its importance to Unesco is that there is documented evidence that it has been continuously mined since 968 until 1988, the longest recorded period for any mine in the world.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNtHoy0s-N8MG-HFY2e_jdO7xje-5LVyEA3PraYZGiegIm2D_lBrXJy1-pzHl-gTstp9RSDmcRFmnElyi3D3Ayy1d9PO-ZH6ku829V_wywgDqezh-8eusP2yKUzUiF7TR-UMpgK3NgoA/s1600-h/YIMG_2037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNtHoy0s-N8MG-HFY2e_jdO7xje-5LVyEA3PraYZGiegIm2D_lBrXJy1-pzHl-gTstp9RSDmcRFmnElyi3D3Ayy1d9PO-ZH6ku829V_wywgDqezh-8eusP2yKUzUiF7TR-UMpgK3NgoA/s400/YIMG_2037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078167554995868258" /></a><br /><CENTER>Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuh8BLT9FvORU35mCOE4mncDp1VLYzPw7Pp_Mm57IXtUcrFFn6KVqppB6dTE-ThI0ZgqERwPLc94WD67Mhy6-IvikhHa1Fz9LpE8eqfd9efe1TqQ97A5BCZqAsGBUGzsX8V0PE2n05KtM/s1600-h/YIMG_2042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuh8BLT9FvORU35mCOE4mncDp1VLYzPw7Pp_Mm57IXtUcrFFn6KVqppB6dTE-ThI0ZgqERwPLc94WD67Mhy6-IvikhHa1Fz9LpE8eqfd9efe1TqQ97A5BCZqAsGBUGzsX8V0PE2n05KtM/s400/YIMG_2042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078167580765672050" /></a><br /><CENTER>Self photography through a mirror by a couple of miners, Rammelsberg near Goslar</CENTER><br />Most visits to sites in Germany are guided. This is fine for Ian but Jill's German is limited and she misses too much, particularly when it's technical. We were told there was a tour for some Canadians at noon and we could join that if we liked. When they arrived they turned out to be youthful French Canadians and we could hardly understand a word they said! It sounds so different from French French! The German guide spoke in colourful English however and the Canadians were obviously bilingual.<br /><br />Donning our hard hats we were taken underground along tunnels where we were frequently bent double, climbing up and down steep metal steps from one level to another and entering huge areas where giant wooden water wheels activated pulleys and cables to operate the workings. All the levels were running with water and the huge wheels would have been necessary to operate the pumps. (Strange that water was used to drain away the water.) Along with the ore that was extracted were many by-products known as vitriols such as ochre and verdigris, produced by the effects of water on the ores, which were once used in paint manufacture and medicines. The visit was fascinating, lasting about an hour by which time we were actually feeling very cold! Exiting from an adit into a main tunnel with a narrow rail track running through we had to move quickly back again as one of the old mining trains trundled past with some visitors on a different tour. A strange experience in the darkness 135 metres below the surface!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dVC2K8SjEfJYxY2pXQRPIDrrZe_gdWgR4UTXaWemBexgstIF_l14gB7YhqS0Votblguf5A8gwrELwIbEnVq-KJHbyN9m7jBsrErRnS8Qg48BinyTDktpuccjnXP73lQtWinm6k8oMJs/s1600-h/YIMG_2043.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dVC2K8SjEfJYxY2pXQRPIDrrZe_gdWgR4UTXaWemBexgstIF_l14gB7YhqS0Votblguf5A8gwrELwIbEnVq-KJHbyN9m7jBsrErRnS8Qg48BinyTDktpuccjnXP73lQtWinm6k8oMJs/s400/YIMG_2043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078167615125410434" /></a><br /><CENTER>Underground workings, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgglrXORPY-OGtKgZ_jwvG9MaQPG53mrrKt5mlb_CogZ4_rbxJvYFCHl5-ojPQatu3xZVPKb3vwbOyw4NNk6pExP_wfmo_U_bgwnkMNFNKpI_CV4JFXzFa8SKLGBXEdpKoLgHLn4KoQRw/s1600-h/YIMG_2044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgglrXORPY-OGtKgZ_jwvG9MaQPG53mrrKt5mlb_CogZ4_rbxJvYFCHl5-ojPQatu3xZVPKb3vwbOyw4NNk6pExP_wfmo_U_bgwnkMNFNKpI_CV4JFXzFa8SKLGBXEdpKoLgHLn4KoQRw/s400/YIMG_2044.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078168461233967762" /></a><br /><CENTER>Formation of vitriols, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJ3MugvcNz7Gk_y8C6Z0gH6qzhWDy_VhaNM5ZxNEITaNtZfuSntcIP_PFlVtkt5bCe6jrtWytzVy0zJn5LuXEYVB5j0UEGxeezd3qxN2_8xrSoiAlhRRJkeuhQivzND8G5OtnSNaugvk/s1600-h/YIMG_2047.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJ3MugvcNz7Gk_y8C6Z0gH6qzhWDy_VhaNM5ZxNEITaNtZfuSntcIP_PFlVtkt5bCe6jrtWytzVy0zJn5LuXEYVB5j0UEGxeezd3qxN2_8xrSoiAlhRRJkeuhQivzND8G5OtnSNaugvk/s400/YIMG_2047.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078168487003771554" /></a><br /><CENTER>Adit with stalactites, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHmHoB64DMq3hm_XBSgJW16cbrK-6POvlbDtxsY2wqMo-WRNcm2jGN5Eaa2kRUGQyXb192wBWFnR2wtIYSTq-Bi6-COj693XHif7gOXRwSTjvgz6fnK_ai6n7hVzTvyfRAVgRpVQ8scw/s1600-h/YIMG_2050.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHmHoB64DMq3hm_XBSgJW16cbrK-6POvlbDtxsY2wqMo-WRNcm2jGN5Eaa2kRUGQyXb192wBWFnR2wtIYSTq-Bi6-COj693XHif7gOXRwSTjvgz6fnK_ai6n7hVzTvyfRAVgRpVQ8scw/s400/YIMG_2050.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078168512773575346" /></a><br /><CENTER>Giant waterwheel, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmyfl2A6wwu5wLL_TV7VgTY-TDimQ4WJc5zojfOytD5PIVd8CioFems00zue6wHmEx9QVf5pHk3AHrQlqoz3ry5MKqlandDMrkWcsBYNsxSkmTYGi0PGroDHkaNOnb8Vjin2MKeqfsyU/s1600-h/YIMG_2051.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmyfl2A6wwu5wLL_TV7VgTY-TDimQ4WJc5zojfOytD5PIVd8CioFems00zue6wHmEx9QVf5pHk3AHrQlqoz3ry5MKqlandDMrkWcsBYNsxSkmTYGi0PGroDHkaNOnb8Vjin2MKeqfsyU/s400/YIMG_2051.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078168547133313730" /></a><br /><CENTER>Beware of the train, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br />Our ticket included access to the above ground workings, the crushing machines, the settling tanks, the history of mining in the Harz and much more. We have spent the entire day at the mine and still missed so much. One area of particular interest was the testimony of survivors, usually from Poland and the Ukraine who were brought to Germany as forced labour to work at the Rammelsberg during the war. We never cease to wonder at the resilience of human nature to survive under such appalling conditions where they were also subjected to the tyranny of Nazi oppression.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSFfucrGbV47LWnhE9RhGtkxOqw2sGNxXajSz1fZSTiyg_dCFdSDnuHF250T42ulJD2MYhZyE62YHl-qI58fi6lzPYHmQZxKMCY3hB_oQqGpVZlJu7vJ0nCa-6fFYUsasIQFL1Jkln4A/s1600-h/YIMG_2057.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSFfucrGbV47LWnhE9RhGtkxOqw2sGNxXajSz1fZSTiyg_dCFdSDnuHF250T42ulJD2MYhZyE62YHl-qI58fi6lzPYHmQZxKMCY3hB_oQqGpVZlJu7vJ0nCa-6fFYUsasIQFL1Jkln4A/s400/YIMG_2057.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078168585788019410" /></a><br /><CENTER>Ore processing plant, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cLVmjPDaJpft1CVwnWZI1iSnDFho5TjscTzAK_SPVs2pLbVBKkvX-jTHwPjTJONlor3Pule59M4AhBnFSicGQ2eIa0cF7oYFCa6wFqN1hz91dTf8KAO_ac4sMPgdbIBAiSy7JfaA-C4/s1600-h/YIMG_2059.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cLVmjPDaJpft1CVwnWZI1iSnDFho5TjscTzAK_SPVs2pLbVBKkvX-jTHwPjTJONlor3Pule59M4AhBnFSicGQ2eIa0cF7oYFCa6wFqN1hz91dTf8KAO_ac4sMPgdbIBAiSy7JfaA-C4/s400/YIMG_2059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078169367472067298" /></a><br /><CENTER>Power hall, Rammelsberg mine, Goslar</CENTER><br />There were special exhibitions about the history of two firms that still flourish in the town. One is a lead processing plant and the other, H.C.Stark had its origins in the early 19th century recycling by-products of the mines, such as the vitriols. From these beginnings it has developed to become one of the leading manufacturers of tungsten products. <br /><br />We walked back through the woods again to our campsite where our feet are slowly recovering from an entire day in hiking boots to which they have become quite unaccustomed.<br /><br /><B>Thursday 14th June 2007, Seeburg, near Göttingen</B><br />We returned into Goslar this morning to use the facilities of the really good internet shop, sorting out further bank difficulties, emails and blogs. By the time we had finished it was lunchtime and then we discovered some more beautiful corners of this wonderfully preserved little town, so we didn't leave Goslar until mid afternoon.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oYOIYnqiiPAoVHhma8VXDGKqtH4KemievP5zfCsN9COeXEmnrMAqzD2qGzoPnJstampq1d6-xSYOG58BvuW5e4wKoq1EqtYazrIZ-D99Kujcenka53qtsJdRlWNf0ZzuwV5_ehU6UVU/s1600-h/YIMG_2063.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oYOIYnqiiPAoVHhma8VXDGKqtH4KemievP5zfCsN9COeXEmnrMAqzD2qGzoPnJstampq1d6-xSYOG58BvuW5e4wKoq1EqtYazrIZ-D99Kujcenka53qtsJdRlWNf0ZzuwV5_ehU6UVU/s400/YIMG_2063.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078169384651936498" /></a><br /><CENTER>Decorated 16th century house, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8OLe3rqxgXYOS7jUMjrxYfiLV_Z_H0MRltlOMMNtHPLlRr7s2XGMLw9D_1fa_vvIoAoWcHccRRFqRgMSVwyVlRsHuUBkYoFr0LWsic8LDa30ouBFQxZcPwtdeZvNbSyolCTOjWe9xJk/s1600-h/YIMG_2064.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8OLe3rqxgXYOS7jUMjrxYfiLV_Z_H0MRltlOMMNtHPLlRr7s2XGMLw9D_1fa_vvIoAoWcHccRRFqRgMSVwyVlRsHuUBkYoFr0LWsic8LDa30ouBFQxZcPwtdeZvNbSyolCTOjWe9xJk/s400/YIMG_2064.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078169410421740290" /></a><br /><CENTER>Carved doorway, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaptPdrJJE3UewKBapV9rpgRzW5HBsV4_gm0412VT0C4kzRT0gYAO_3ZaSfjeRdUwtTDyn9V7F5Q1MDrbLpf6ukT10gIS7kflTwuYhH_w7jBrSnxn0zZ23TT66-xYwVBrKQt3YTDXgH3s/s1600-h/YIMG_2065.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaptPdrJJE3UewKBapV9rpgRzW5HBsV4_gm0412VT0C4kzRT0gYAO_3ZaSfjeRdUwtTDyn9V7F5Q1MDrbLpf6ukT10gIS7kflTwuYhH_w7jBrSnxn0zZ23TT66-xYwVBrKQt3YTDXgH3s/s400/YIMG_2065.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078169419011674898" /></a><br /><CENTER>Decorative slate hanging, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahq-1XSaHmO7yW5mpsnS4zQVHnOjnkVb2YjHUTvpPiY8IswVJmW1fRN7Xc_X2JzAxPQwZhHjOwRdTjCvEHLrIuILRYEOeoKwbDHngzoXOIMxHkASnxKg2ntYlOg6TT-hX74vrUFMlm2k/s1600-h/YIMG_2069.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjahq-1XSaHmO7yW5mpsnS4zQVHnOjnkVb2YjHUTvpPiY8IswVJmW1fRN7Xc_X2JzAxPQwZhHjOwRdTjCvEHLrIuILRYEOeoKwbDHngzoXOIMxHkASnxKg2ntYlOg6TT-hX74vrUFMlm2k/s400/YIMG_2069.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078169440486511394" /></a><br /><CENTER>Beside the millstream, Goslar</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoYxfpp1TzPx2bs9c88SizHnesc2nAxLQXMMKM4oO_kNh2DZTxJXacxYDT120y4m49c6q6K-VlsHWvEY2FnT9WcavWBhOzIFBrpA-DanwwKH5hGZqlP763E6sEBIyJKtqWye-ddFWD9g/s1600-h/YIMG_2070.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoYxfpp1TzPx2bs9c88SizHnesc2nAxLQXMMKM4oO_kNh2DZTxJXacxYDT120y4m49c6q6K-VlsHWvEY2FnT9WcavWBhOzIFBrpA-DanwwKH5hGZqlP763E6sEBIyJKtqWye-ddFWD9g/s400/YIMG_2070.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170222170559282" /></a><br /><CENTER>Just one last ordinary street in Goslar</CENTER><br />We took the winding road up through the Harz mountains, stopping at the Okertalsperre, a massive dam that created a huge reservoir from a drowned valley back in the 1950s. Certainly the scenery was lovely and reminded us of the wooded hills of Devon and the reservoirs on Dartmoor.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7NkHJgW88l6l2QnP_6K8tDBOnFoZVCvx82_ALfqikzc7927bvCeJrJoB6oAlBEwiX59UeTcmu8TezF3v4aAQoL5MIX8jfiZW0lZSVW9LKseDhXKLKSEn1lQUF1wnPhgnX2ZMxSdVriY/s1600-h/YIMG_2073.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7NkHJgW88l6l2QnP_6K8tDBOnFoZVCvx82_ALfqikzc7927bvCeJrJoB6oAlBEwiX59UeTcmu8TezF3v4aAQoL5MIX8jfiZW0lZSVW9LKseDhXKLKSEn1lQUF1wnPhgnX2ZMxSdVriY/s400/YIMG_2073.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170247940363074" /></a><br /><CENTER>Okertalsperre</CENTER><br />About 20 kilometres from Göttingen we stopped at a campsite where we hoped to be able to get a bus into the city tomorrow. It looks as if we will have to drive however but it has been a pleasant place to stop, located in a typically tidy German village of smart wooden framed houses with immaculate gardens where not a single blade of grass is misplaced. It is visually lovely but strikes us as rather a dull place in which to live. Nearby is Seeburger See, a lake for swimming, boating and leisure activities. It is attractive with nature trails and plenty of bird life. Soon after we arrived however we were joined by the inseparable trio, Thunder, Lightning and Rain who have been behaving like hooligans outside ever since. Sitting in the centre of a treeless field with bolts of lightning hitting the ground all around we feel we are a sitting target. We just hope our circuit breaker works okay if we get hit. After the heat we have experienced lately storms are inevitable and the countryside certainly needs the rain.<br /><br />Some years ago Ian enquired about a post working with the 18th century book collections at Göttingen University Library. Nothing came of it and at the time we were very disappointed, but it probably worked out for the best. We thought that tomorrow we might seek out the library and see just what we missed out on.<br /><br /><B>Friday 15th June 2007, Fulda</B><br />This morning we drove to the little village of Ebergötzen a few kilometres from the campsite, our mission to discover the mill where in the 1840s the German cartoonist, writer and poet Wilhelm Busch spent part of his formative years and developed a life-long friendship with the son of the miller. Their childish antics together inspired Busch to create his mischievous characters Max and Moritz which have remained perennially popular in Germany and their adventures have been translated and published in countries all around the world. We found the mill, complete with wooden millwheel and leat, a pretty timber-framed structure in the heart of the village.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5u7gFBvjmYBuoJniwxr5SPYCHfVFwbEKrLj3NsAJdMS5J4llFsh85dRnImt6RSnbtZDI_QtJnA1ICwA01dM-0GRkK9A0I9KNyzgfRpVYg1F6WwqiEUB2iuyaM7uHLSbgbXkjkhN21b1k/s1600-h/YIMG_2074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5u7gFBvjmYBuoJniwxr5SPYCHfVFwbEKrLj3NsAJdMS5J4llFsh85dRnImt6RSnbtZDI_QtJnA1ICwA01dM-0GRkK9A0I9KNyzgfRpVYg1F6WwqiEUB2iuyaM7uHLSbgbXkjkhN21b1k/s400/YIMG_2074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170269415199570" /></a><br /><CENTER>Max und Moritz, Ebergötzen</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf4JI_tA_9J5Hxa9jxUNtoEC4bPmbmm_ztdYM1891l-LbPHEwzsIhkAXavE7vvsGtGGY0Oxdr9wqmuCc3gmE0xwpY5yMdHQahhfh-jYy9ssfIgFOGOCdwSgpSQixqBuahLJiJjvDL55U/s1600-h/YIMG_2075.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf4JI_tA_9J5Hxa9jxUNtoEC4bPmbmm_ztdYM1891l-LbPHEwzsIhkAXavE7vvsGtGGY0Oxdr9wqmuCc3gmE0xwpY5yMdHQahhfh-jYy9ssfIgFOGOCdwSgpSQixqBuahLJiJjvDL55U/s400/YIMG_2075.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170286595068770" /></a><br /><CENTER>Wilhelm Busch museum in the mill at Ebergötzen</CENTER><br />We continued to the edge of Göttingen where we stopped to buy some more wine we'd recently discovered at one of the Aldi supermarkets. Only 1.5 euros a bottle and it tastes really warm and rich. We have become the European experts on cheap red wines since we retired and this is definitely one of the best. Aldi can now be found in England so look out for Dornfelder Rheinhessen.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpAo0SM6y29WOLYZXBZzq-kJeEJEdHDpfN-2shyphenhyphenH1d-kPKwG8UIkle_dByeMRiG_PGFX0ri1Q5T3QFftd-Vx27y8DRhLb9wWpYgCNKwgSIjCQNzOFkdLVbpmjbg8I3HyKTgH6GQeObyo/s1600-h/YIMG_2079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpAo0SM6y29WOLYZXBZzq-kJeEJEdHDpfN-2shyphenhyphenH1d-kPKwG8UIkle_dByeMRiG_PGFX0ri1Q5T3QFftd-Vx27y8DRhLb9wWpYgCNKwgSIjCQNzOFkdLVbpmjbg8I3HyKTgH6GQeObyo/s400/YIMG_2079.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170299479970674" /></a><br /><CENTER>Welcome to Göttingen</CENTER><br />Leaving Modestine to snooze in their car park we took the bus into the town centre. It proved to be a very civilised town with everything one would expect from a prosperous German city – clean, smart and largely pedestrianised with sunny street cafes and ice cream parlours. It also has a wealth of mediaeval and baroque architecture, all in an excellent state of restoration with many timber framed buildings. It is a university town, established in1737 by George Augustus of Hanover – George II of England - which brings its own relaxed, cosmopolitan atmosphere to the town where there are a host of cultural activities available to the residents.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAJYSIojemhJcif3jdCGKscQuaJDH9l7VsVlk2AlhCCyzp2VDzEPFNoJH4pqXMHk2BSw9WslB7lxxyi-ZBBUeTdjaxCULcN4eG8wKWX7IFpL2ET-zDu8sPEeZMhu3Jf6a4zQetADPvbs/s1600-h/YIMG_2084.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAJYSIojemhJcif3jdCGKscQuaJDH9l7VsVlk2AlhCCyzp2VDzEPFNoJH4pqXMHk2BSw9WslB7lxxyi-ZBBUeTdjaxCULcN4eG8wKWX7IFpL2ET-zDu8sPEeZMhu3Jf6a4zQetADPvbs/s400/YIMG_2084.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170943725065090" /></a><br /><CENTER>Typical street view, Göttingen</CENTER><br />In the Jakobskirche a loud and boisterous organ recital was taking place while in the gothic town hall we got swept up temporarily with a wedding party as we strolled in to look at the painted ceiling and wall decorations. In the main market square stood a pretty statue of young goose girl in the centre of a fountain. It is the custom for every student on gaining a doctorate at the University of Göttingen to climb up to kiss her cheeks, making her probably the most kissed girl in Germany – and Göttingen graduands the dampest doctors.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJsJcTZjW077oWaXMeaahNJ04zuxEvpzDkYgBoCwhhQ4GDggQeOMu0b6-fMb-SGcUr9vI8xPUAZO6wv9JXBcRfrw95lJh5KhiLoBriXKNTT57ATPXg9YE93JWsmYYX33Ivgs9hTfUh7A/s1600-h/YIMG_2077.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJsJcTZjW077oWaXMeaahNJ04zuxEvpzDkYgBoCwhhQ4GDggQeOMu0b6-fMb-SGcUr9vI8xPUAZO6wv9JXBcRfrw95lJh5KhiLoBriXKNTT57ATPXg9YE93JWsmYYX33Ivgs9hTfUh7A/s400/YIMG_2077.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078170969494868882" /></a><br /><CENTER>Goose girl fountain, Göttingen</CENTER><br />Around the corner we found what we were seeking – the Paulinerkirche which now houses the historic collections of the University Library. The security to enter is daunting but after so many years wondering what it might have been like if Ian had come here to work we were determined to see inside if possible. Having been told it was only for researchers, we eventually persuaded them to issue us with temporary swipe cards to operate the internal doors in exchange for our passports. As the catalogue shows they hold copies of several of Ian's publications he could probably have convinced them he was a researcher if all else had failed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZP1tgcOSS4PW2AOI27W39KsTzz9bRvRIRCGqohP8K6Pa7Ni8LIkFF51K3OB0RduGn99GWhUhAzU97aXGy8MPHrRtJdTDRJ_6IXcKyZ4tfY2JsGh1Ghn2XDLYV7bg9SjXycSB2VOwNbdI/s1600-h/YIMG_2080.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZP1tgcOSS4PW2AOI27W39KsTzz9bRvRIRCGqohP8K6Pa7Ni8LIkFF51K3OB0RduGn99GWhUhAzU97aXGy8MPHrRtJdTDRJ_6IXcKyZ4tfY2JsGh1Ghn2XDLYV7bg9SjXycSB2VOwNbdI/s400/YIMG_2080.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078171003854607266" /></a><br /><CENTER>Library exhibition room, Göttingen</CENTER><br />Inside we realised why security was so tight. The University Library was established in 1734 before the University was fully inaugurated, and there was a systematic attempt made to build up the collections, with agents in many major cities in Europe. Thus its collections of 18th century English imprints are so complete that it was used as the German base for the British Library's Eighteenth Century Short Title Catalogue Project in the 1970s. The librarians at Göttingen were leading scholars and in the 1840s included the brothers Grimm, whose manuscript entries can be found in the hundreds of massive leather bound catalogues which are housed in the 18th century reading room. In their time the library was housed in the former Dominican Paulinerkirche, founded in 1294 but secularised during the Reformation. The library was frequented by a galaxy of scholars. Goethe described its collections as a capital asset from which an incalculable interest accrues. The church was badly damaged in 1944 but has recently been restored as an exhibition gallery. Although it was closed, we were allowed in for a brief look. The library has wide-ranging Asiatic and African collections and is especially proud of its Curtis Collection on American Indians, a set of which Exeter University Library recently discarded. Even more impressive was the Heyne reading room for early printed books, named after a scholar librarian of the 18th century. Our swipe card let us into massive stacks lined with more than 200,000 volumes dating from the period between 1600 and 1900. There were many early English imprints including, picked at random off the shelves, an account of a voyage round the world in about 1705 by an earlier Captain Cooke, which included the account of Alexander Selkirk which Defoe must have used as the basis for Robinson Crusoe. Jill's eagle eye also spotted an 1852 catalogue of the manuscripts in Plymouth Library which Ian had not known of. Being surrounded by so much learning was almost oppressive. The stack was much hotter than was desirable for the storage of early printed materials and it was almost a relief to escape into the streets of the university precinct where the names of noted university residents were placed above almost every door of the half-timbered buildings. A little further on was the classical building of the University Aula or main hall and administrative buildings, erected in the reign of William IV of England and Hanover whose statue faced the portal across an attractive little garden. The building was formerly used to imprison naughty students, including Bismark, locked up for taking part in an illegal duel. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideGu4BUqdHO7ucJpHDuRkk_Yi3DRInqX0lczNKp6HCx62dXY2XKVghPvAG270gLM-D4z1KZK_KXEeWf9DLKvwibtcPAuK8xYhToDbQqUbTJ92qQjjB9bVdHmoACMmMXVUDATYiN3DBDo/s1600-h/YIMG_2085.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideGu4BUqdHO7ucJpHDuRkk_Yi3DRInqX0lczNKp6HCx62dXY2XKVghPvAG270gLM-D4z1KZK_KXEeWf9DLKvwibtcPAuK8xYhToDbQqUbTJ92qQjjB9bVdHmoACMmMXVUDATYiN3DBDo/s400/YIMG_2085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078171021034476466" /></a><br /><CENTER>Entrance to the University Aula, Göttingen</CENTER><br />Mid afternoon we returned to Modestine to continue our journey to Fulda. Having a long and awkward journey ahead of us we decided to take the motorway. This was not really a good move as we discovered too late that an accident and a lorry shedding its load had closed the motorway in both directions for a while and we were caught in a huge tailback while a doctor arrived by helicopter and police cars created even more chaos by tearing to the scene along the hard shoulder. Eventually we passed the holdup and spent the rest of the afternoon driving through heavy rain with huge lorries thundering past. There are no speed restrictions on German motorways and drivers make the most of their freedom. It is quite scary to see how close they drive to each other at high speeds.<br /><br />The campsite we had marked on the map turned out to be a long way from Fulda and very expensive indeed, so we drove on to find the one where we are now staying on the other side of Fulda. It is still raining but the site is pleasant and friendly and only half the price of the one we saw earlier.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-11983343574831895892007-06-19T10:55:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.732+00:00Down but not out in Germany<B>Wednesday 6th June 2007, Gera, Germany</B><br />We are back in the euro zone again and somewhere where we can at last understand all the signs and what people are saying to us! <br /><br />Before leaving Karlovy Vary we went to the supermarket in a shopping complex that rivals the best that France or Germany can offer, where we spent the remainder of our Czech money restocking the fridge and buying baguettes for lunch. Having calculated our shopping to the exact amount we had in our purse we headed for the border with Germany driving through the wooded hills along empty, broken roads. As we reached the border we found ourselves in the middle of an oriental bazaar. The streets of the little Czech village of Potucky were packed with stalls selling clothes, beer and cigarettes to hundreds of Germans who had walked across the border from the town of Johanngeorgenstadt for the express purpose of buying up cheap goods. All the notices and street signs were in Czech and Vietnamese and there were queues of pedestrians waiting to cross the border in either direction. When we arrived however we were told we could not cross with a vehicle and would have to drive 30 kilometres further on, cross into Germany and return along the German side of the border to reach the same road we were travelling on the other side! Czech mate!! You cannot argue with the customs officials. All they needed to do was to glance at our passports and take the chain away from across the road. Traffic was streaming happily along the far side and in thirty seconds we could be continuing our route, but it was not to be. Why couldn't it have been indicated on the map that cars couldn't cross? Aren't we all part of Europe now? What about open borders? We turned around and made our way back into the village where the tourist information office confirmed that we couldn't cross but directed us to another crossing point only 15, rather than 30, kilometres away. There was compensation in that although the roads were rough and pitted, the countryside was deserted and similar to Dartmoor as we drove through hills covered with pine forests beside a mountain stream tumbling over boulders. We stopped for a picnic lunch in a peaceful, grassy meadow and eventually reached the crossing point into Germany where the guards were more than a little surprised to see an English camper van emerging from the deserted woodland along the border.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESJt9t7Hdhv2EypHsQJ_a2CwQdX4y_t-j4WidlM7TnBN669DFBDQ0WnDy2mSrb9m9zgI4IBOKn9oGpqNSe36I4faMrQqPbUzhEAG7g9oyQUnnY8KeboKuFeWzjnML84sLCB8D7yeSZyo/s1600-h/YIMG_1953.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESJt9t7Hdhv2EypHsQJ_a2CwQdX4y_t-j4WidlM7TnBN669DFBDQ0WnDy2mSrb9m9zgI4IBOKn9oGpqNSe36I4faMrQqPbUzhEAG7g9oyQUnnY8KeboKuFeWzjnML84sLCB8D7yeSZyo/s400/YIMG_1953.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077713598427517106" /></a><CENTER>The non-crossing point at Potucky</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHBixh0q8fFhQYoMkeZSQcM88SOd01_zpL7urfVXr72iCmw0wGbOsaqs7uylGnws4T2xcDZekygYQ6nsK7Ur8B9nIKHs36Ti01uJnlu6iGfGzJhCyL0IsARvMKFoEI0tHaCYNADdT_so/s1600-h/YIMG_1955.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHBixh0q8fFhQYoMkeZSQcM88SOd01_zpL7urfVXr72iCmw0wGbOsaqs7uylGnws4T2xcDZekygYQ6nsK7Ur8B9nIKHs36Ti01uJnlu6iGfGzJhCyL0IsARvMKFoEI0tHaCYNADdT_so/s400/YIMG_1955.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077713607017451714" /></a><CENTER>Meadow flowers near Potucky</CENTER><br />Once into Germany the roads and the road signs improved. Everywhere seemed so clean, neat and tidy after weeks in Eastern Europe and although we are now in the area that used to be East Germany, it has improved beyond measure since reunification. The smell from the intensive farming sheds on the outskirts of some of the Czech villages had been very unpleasant and it was good to see animals in the fields again and to see farming on a more human scale rather than fields of wheat stretching to infinity.<br /><br />We made our way to the town of Zwickau where we visited the motor museum. Our main interest was to see where the East German Trabant had been produced but it turned out to be an excellent museum on the history of the German car industry with some beautifully preserved early Horch limousines from the 1920s as well as cars used by the German military, state vehicles and early vans and lorries. The star of the exhibition was however the Trabie. One of the guides started talking to Ian and asked if he had lived in East Germany! She said she used to work on the production line in the factory producing the Trabant. This funny vehicle symbolises so much that was wrong about the DDR. Today it appears quaint and functional. It had a two stroke engine, useless suspension, was cramped and uncomfortable and was the regulation "one size fits all" vehicle the state said people could own. They had to wait up to twenty years after placing their order before they could actually buy their car. (Our own friends were on the list for over eleven years!) Many ordered one and then sold their place to someone willing to pay to queue-jump. The basic model didn't really change greatly over the thirty years of its production, which only ceased after reunification when the factory was taken over by Volkswagen. It was rather nostalgic looking around the museum and there were several prototypes that were never mass produced. Trabants are rarely seen in Germany now but we saw hundreds of them on the roads of Hungary where they are nurtured with respect.<br /><br />They actually had a lot to recommend them and the fact that there are still so many running today proves they had staying power. The bodywork was produced from home grown flax impregnated with a phenol resin compound and compressed between sheets of foil under enormous pressure to produce a preformed resilient shell that unlike metal, would never rust. It also meant there was no need to import expensive raw materials.<br /><br />We were eventually thrown out when the museum closed for the day but left with our very own miniature Trabant in a little box as a souvenir. <br /><br />We are making our way towards Weimar to spend a few days with our friend Hubert. We plan to arrive on Friday so tonight we are camping in the countryside outside of the town of Gera which we will visit tomorrow.<br /><br /><B>Friday 8th June 2007, Weimar, Germany</B><br />We are not writing much about the town of Weimar here as we wrote in some detail last time. Our account can be seen <a href=" http://modestine.blogspot.com/2005/09/weimar.html">here</a>.<br />We are now safe with Hubert and recovering from the most worrying and stressful day yesterday that we have so far encountered on our travels. We were far too exhausted and preoccupied to even remember about the blog last night. Briefly, our debit card was cloned in a cash machine somewhere in Europe recently, possibly Bratislava, and our account has been hacked into with varying amounts stolen over the past few days from cash machines in and around Rome – rather a long way from where we have been travelling. We only discovered this yesterday afternoon when we logged on to electronic banking in the town of Gera for the first time since 29th May. We have lost over £2,000 in total. Having just arrived in Germany we then had to find out how to buy a phone card and then a phone that would take it. We asked for help in one of the banks but they simply told us they couldn't link to an international line and we'd need to use a call box or our mobile – which we'd left back at the campsite in Modestine. The so called free-phone number cost us almost ten euros because we were calling from abroad and we were terrified it would run out before the music on the helpline, where we were in a queue, finished playing. Ian speaks good German. How would we have coped had we discovered the theft in the Czech Republic? Once our cards were cancelled we were left with very little money as we had not yet had time to get out any euros since we arrived in Germany. We've cashed our emergency traveller's cheques and today have ascertained that our standing orders will still be paid which is fortunate as our car insurance payment is due this week and we'd feared being stranded here unable to drive.<br /><br />Last night on the campsite we had to prepare a letter to the fraud investigation team and the Visa dispute team to try to get our stolen money replaced. Today we had to search for somewhere to get it printed and then failed to find anywhere in Weimar with a fax machine that worked. Every second of our waking day has been frustrating and we still have only our £200 emergency money to last us indefinitely. As we have no fixed address our current headache is how to get hold of the replacement cards. The bank tells us it cannot send them to us here in Germany at our friend's home and has sent them to our home address despite us saying we would not be there for weeks! We have a credit card which we have never used so will have to discover if and how it works. For those of you who have envied us what we are doing, this shows that there can be horrors as well as delights. The important thing though is that we are both fine and so is Modestine. We are so lucky to have friends scattered around Europe and to be near enough to one of them to get here without needing to buy diesel as this morning we didn't have enough money with us to do so! <br /><br />Even before we looked at our bank account yesterday the day was being difficult. We used the washing machine on the campsite and were told off for using it after 10am as they wanted to clean the toilets. They told Jill to come back at noon and Jill summoned up enough German to tell them she had no intention of hanging around for two hours and if they didn't like it they shouldn't keep the washing machine in the ladies loo. Next we were told we couldn't buy bus tickets into Gera from the campsite which lies by a lake about 10 KM to the north of the town. On the bus we didn't have the right coins for the vending machine. None of the passengers could change a bank note. Eventually an elderly lady with initiative sold us a couple of her own spare tickets. And so the day continued. Everything we undertook posed a problem and, with the exception of the bus lady, people were not very helpful. We felt very lost and wretched.<br /><br />During the morning, before things went completely pear-shaped, we visited the caves that had been dug out deep under the hill within the town. This was the best place to be in the great heat we are again experiencing. They were dug to create caves for storing Gera beer which used to be made here. It kept the beer at a cool temperature and for an hour it did the same for us before we came out into the stifling heat again.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRkauv9WrWbnlNe5YdWwavu9cT64ZFCUR6Vb_LbokZBGs990foDH06vEVR8WYQWQ_IHKXwn6WSySRXyEWl4iDKuZBXKLq2qjNc954DNvu-7xpLCDVcjKrPkwhwNeI-FuySX9iGDnQAfw/s1600-h/YIMG_1963.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRkauv9WrWbnlNe5YdWwavu9cT64ZFCUR6Vb_LbokZBGs990foDH06vEVR8WYQWQ_IHKXwn6WSySRXyEWl4iDKuZBXKLq2qjNc954DNvu-7xpLCDVcjKrPkwhwNeI-FuySX9iGDnQAfw/s400/YIMG_1963.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077713611312419026" /></a><CENTER>Caves beneath the town of Gera</CENTER><br />Unfortunately we don't have a clear impression of Gera as we ended up too worried to notice much about the town. It did have an awful lot of exposed, open space without shade on such a hot day, the result of being very badly bombed during WW2. The town square with its market is reputed to be the most beautiful in Thuringia but personally we think Weimar's is far nicer.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5qJPt38WEWewucYaUKXzO6rs2lVcvKmuRW4bG8dnzopetA_VW8XorNaK4NYLsvzLjywOnxrL6yxE2Mb-O5BocYD_rMNy8cq70wJH_E_n9iPeRamkpAAnQT973SJ6nOzJBNJc91A1GX4/s1600-h/YIMG_1959.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5qJPt38WEWewucYaUKXzO6rs2lVcvKmuRW4bG8dnzopetA_VW8XorNaK4NYLsvzLjywOnxrL6yxE2Mb-O5BocYD_rMNy8cq70wJH_E_n9iPeRamkpAAnQT973SJ6nOzJBNJc91A1GX4/s400/YIMG_1959.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077713619902353634" /></a><CENTER>Fountain with Samson and the lion, town square, Gera</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAG21lebQeMoeTE6QjBBM_u7bUXAauK_KWl8ovEcc03rZXcwyiZlg808PK1NuMRSECBtFYm_zTObnBZjBWJ9S9FyQFErdwpzvPscrZbQPflbU2LuyXnFgXCm31zkCdiipFdtiPwRAdnI/s1600-h/YIMG_1960.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAG21lebQeMoeTE6QjBBM_u7bUXAauK_KWl8ovEcc03rZXcwyiZlg808PK1NuMRSECBtFYm_zTObnBZjBWJ9S9FyQFErdwpzvPscrZbQPflbU2LuyXnFgXCm31zkCdiipFdtiPwRAdnI/s400/YIMG_1960.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077713624197320946" /></a><CENTER>Entrance to the Town Hall, Gera</CENTER><br />This morning we reached Weimar by lunch-time but before bothering Hubert with our worries we went to the Anna Amalia library to check for messages from our bank. We have a library membership card from our last visit but our internet password wouldn't work. The staff told us we'd need to reregister and it would cost us nine euros for a year's membership. Our finances were so dire we dare not spend it and were obliged to walk across the town in the midday heat to find somewhere less expensive. (We were later charged twelve euros commission to cash our traveller's cheques but there was no choice but to pay.)<br /><br />When we eventually reached Hubert's home we were welcomed with a cold beer. The temperature in the sun on his balcony at 5.30 this afternoon was off the top of the thermometer which goes up to 50 degrees so we were all melting! It was good to see him again and we were made so welcome. Shortly after, his friend Antje joined us from Apolda where she lives. It was a happy reunion over a supper of salad with assorted cheeses and cold meats with white wine. Together we then drove to Hubert's garden allotment to water the wilting seedlings and to watch the sunset over the hillside beside the memorial at the Buchenwald concentration camp.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKabQcvx6fD-DWIwxZVaBseKR3GKd8KTfU5OMLY9sYWD_eLZ8OR_d_duGjmt2MNXV2vIKZjw9ARmdycKWvbyZ58V9YUyJ7wx2A_SMMGBsuJgFaqDRpT-eQeWbUFteQUqQUd_7eMpz364/s1600-h/YIMG_1968.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKabQcvx6fD-DWIwxZVaBseKR3GKd8KTfU5OMLY9sYWD_eLZ8OR_d_duGjmt2MNXV2vIKZjw9ARmdycKWvbyZ58V9YUyJ7wx2A_SMMGBsuJgFaqDRpT-eQeWbUFteQUqQUd_7eMpz364/s400/YIMG_1968.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077714831083131138" /></a><CENTER>Sunset from Hubert's garden house</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HHw2apYnaAXPcGS0FTVjFG6SJgMQ2GP3oeTioTHZrEHsB5x28v24-MsLai86rtgpso7iEk_5aVTsP1iuhNLGEAxwnBOoI4aDfo8Ca4yFSHFkYHqLjdvh1XWCPmYkRfADWziwvWGDXhk/s1600-h/YIMG_1967.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HHw2apYnaAXPcGS0FTVjFG6SJgMQ2GP3oeTioTHZrEHsB5x28v24-MsLai86rtgpso7iEk_5aVTsP1iuhNLGEAxwnBOoI4aDfo8Ca4yFSHFkYHqLjdvh1XWCPmYkRfADWziwvWGDXhk/s400/YIMG_1967.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077714839673065746" /></a><CENTER>Hubert, Ian and Antje in the sunset</CENTER><br /><B>Sunday 10th June 2007, Weimar, Germany</B><br />We have now ascertained two very important things. Our bank account is no longer blocked so standing orders can be paid and our salary has been paid in –though it is immediately being withdrawn by a thieving Italian who has again removed over £300 from the account since we notified our bank! It must have been already taken but not processed. The second thing is that, having dusted the cobwebs from our credit card, it works and we can get money even if it will be an expensive way of living. So we are not destitute and can move on, leaving Hubert in peace as he shelters in his darkened flat from the unbelievable heat here.<br /><br />Yesterday we met Hubert after he had finished giving a guided tour of the town - something that since he retired as Weimar's chronicler he does on special request. We then went by train to join Antje in Apolda where she has her flat. The weather was draining and the sunlight unremitting but we braved it all to take a look at a curious salt water spa where enthusiastic Germans dressed up in white robes and stood sniffing piles of twigs through which naturally salty spring water filtered. It's amazing the cranky things they think up here to improve their health but, being charitable, it probably makes them feel good just as a walk along the sea front might do, were it not hundreds of miles away.<br /><br />In a small village that slept in the afternoon heat we parked in the little shade we could find and foolishly walked a couple of kilometres through meadowland and vines to a Weinstube beside the river Saale. Hot and sticky, we sank into chairs on the terrace overlooking the river, shrinking against the wall for protection from the furnace of sunlight. The next couple of hours were a delight as we shared a bottle of chilled white wine produced from the surrounding vines, along with a couple of bottles of cold spring water. Canoes and rafts with musicians passed us on the river and we all exchanged cheerful waves and greetings. By the time we had struggled back to the car it was a little cooler and we returned to Antje's flat for ice cream, cold showers and beers on the balcony followed by mozzarella salad and pasta. We finished off with strawberries and champagne. (So you see for destitute Eurotramps of no fixed abode we are living rather well!) Hubert gradually developed a splitting headache and staggered off to sleep while we walked back through the deserted town to catch the last train back to Weimar for more cold showers. We have really appreciated the luxury of living under a cool roof these last two days and are hoping the weather will cool before we move on tomorrow.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1FmqxgZVEsKSVVtUdZVZgld_eqycGKt36miXK0pJQTRbYg0QHlCIXVBOtSm9W_PcV9N-D_LulJaAoPYJd-2dMcxzng-pdoy247I4bGJoEI0SpbA12syReVsIeoomOgjPMDvV6sGVQ5w/s1600-h/YIMG_1978.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1FmqxgZVEsKSVVtUdZVZgld_eqycGKt36miXK0pJQTRbYg0QHlCIXVBOtSm9W_PcV9N-D_LulJaAoPYJd-2dMcxzng-pdoy247I4bGJoEI0SpbA12syReVsIeoomOgjPMDvV6sGVQ5w/s400/YIMG_1978.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077714843968033058" /></a><CENTER>At the Weinstube, 1</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1i3mzfcZJTGCfVKWdGzcCye7bhnfOAa5u8Cb3gd4PMQjw_tUDTTlZKRPxZjL-nbbrf35eqjfap-8Q_QyTo_zTzKUkG8hYlBqRLwCgzpTHXIDMJwKnJRSmOgeZwDVHbgKBKC_lKsqk94/s1600-h/YIMG_1982.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1i3mzfcZJTGCfVKWdGzcCye7bhnfOAa5u8Cb3gd4PMQjw_tUDTTlZKRPxZjL-nbbrf35eqjfap-8Q_QyTo_zTzKUkG8hYlBqRLwCgzpTHXIDMJwKnJRSmOgeZwDVHbgKBKC_lKsqk94/s400/YIMG_1982.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077714861147902258" /></a><CENTER>At the Weinstube, 2</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zZ7FKTafWvTovEx9MOUZyHo5EymA13VIXU2reHR51RK_UpJQ538ufmTGiN_zyTUFyGboOF1Mdd_ZJHHJVtXZgmAujRb-vBLFHhRYLOzqLduuqmoDU4KgvUe8XcOW7glboTYrQXz8gbY/s1600-h/YIMG_1980.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zZ7FKTafWvTovEx9MOUZyHo5EymA13VIXU2reHR51RK_UpJQ538ufmTGiN_zyTUFyGboOF1Mdd_ZJHHJVtXZgmAujRb-vBLFHhRYLOzqLduuqmoDU4KgvUe8XcOW7glboTYrQXz8gbY/s400/YIMG_1980.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077714865442869570" /></a><CENTER>A passing raft on the river Saale</CENTER><br />This morning Hubert rang from Apolda to cancel our planned meeting this afternoon. Instead we will meet for supper at a restaurant at Tiefurt, by which time he will hopefully be feeling better.<br /><br />This morning we made our way from patch to patch of shade down to the beautiful cemetery where our friends Sigrid and her mother are buried. Since our last visit they have been joined by Hubert's elderly mother who died in her nineties a few months ago. Their shared headstone beneath the yew trees was a small haven of cool peace with blackbirds singing and hopping in the surrounding undergrowth.<br /><br />Nearby we passed the Russian Orthodox church with its gold onion dome just behind the tomb housing the bodies of Weimar's literary giants Goethe and Schiller. The nearby Park beside the river Ilm offered us a beautiful and shady walk which took us up to the Anna Amalia library which went up in flames while we were here in 2004. It is amazing how they are restoring it. Already the outside looks perfect, the salvaged books have been returned and many of those damaged by fire and water have also been repaired and returned. How sufficient money has been raised in so short a time we do not know but it is indicative of how important the library is to Germany and to Weimar in particular.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuL_l4IK3XECxiC1G7oAvCdzLon136zplRCMSTk633H9KEoccqhokV_3VfWRWB2nmiRuBa8HCQCQEfNmY4w8gR8G7rSSGzVpGzS-6NUEE_prkVORTDp4wFQ0Al7wa9AjnPh7mGzDrI20/s1600-h/YIMG_1991.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuL_l4IK3XECxiC1G7oAvCdzLon136zplRCMSTk633H9KEoccqhokV_3VfWRWB2nmiRuBa8HCQCQEfNmY4w8gR8G7rSSGzVpGzS-6NUEE_prkVORTDp4wFQ0Al7wa9AjnPh7mGzDrI20/s400/YIMG_1991.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077721243469304210" /></a><CENTER>In 1964 Ian was photographed on this spot on a University Summer School</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib609KWEjWGZzbeAhP_4wzxCaJHbsXfmYMKYLM6BAfLHPd9cPL1jGDT9M8oMb7sJrfuOK0Dh9QPt1E8ukt-CkL79LDhl8gQBXIZsdClhV8kW1G45ZCvGBCE7G4YGp-VVtFUnixX0Jt_uk/s1600-h/YIMG_1995.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib609KWEjWGZzbeAhP_4wzxCaJHbsXfmYMKYLM6BAfLHPd9cPL1jGDT9M8oMb7sJrfuOK0Dh9QPt1E8ukt-CkL79LDhl8gQBXIZsdClhV8kW1G45ZCvGBCE7G4YGp-VVtFUnixX0Jt_uk/s400/YIMG_1995.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077716089508548962" /></a><CENTER>The Anna Amalia Library risen from the ashes</CENTER><br />In the market square we sat on a bench with the crowds of tourists to eat a Thuringian sausage with mustard in a roll. They are the epitome of Weimar and Thuringia for us and we look forward to one on every visit. Before returning to the flat to shelter from the afternoon heat of 42 degrees we explore the Ost shop filled with nostalgic memories of the bad old days of the GDR where you now pay capitalist prices for mugs and tea towels with Communist slogans.<br /><br />This evening we spent a very happy evening with Hubert and Antje at Tiefurt, first taking a walk in the sunset beside the river Ilm as it wound its way through the beautiful parkland that surrounds the little palace where the Duchess Anna Amalia lived and kept one of her literary salons during the 18th century. Goethe, Wieland, Schiller and Herder were regular participants at her Tiefurt soirées. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKGN8PKWIBZobQvMnJTj_GESqHj4EqX3DjTBKLZtkp7Ox37Y83BfCDOUsG0IiXpQIvp0VbmT1vkZ0xSClDg5LW_vUsn7PgSRMFRhtVpUmZN7aAqJKj_jpEqbxUC3huTr1hfV6aQjeCbk/s1600-h/YIMG_1999.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKGN8PKWIBZobQvMnJTj_GESqHj4EqX3DjTBKLZtkp7Ox37Y83BfCDOUsG0IiXpQIvp0VbmT1vkZ0xSClDg5LW_vUsn7PgSRMFRhtVpUmZN7aAqJKj_jpEqbxUC3huTr1hfV6aQjeCbk/s400/YIMG_1999.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077716093803516274" /></a><CENTER>Hubert and Antje in the park at Tiefurt</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTL5HgRkdNy6y0Wk9vuIB0t5bnOKOF1Y-jNTv5FRLY2sfu0pYdujNigmXo0a-TqDcjQ-MKhfpO9uhf6CU17MfU_oiq2hitgqeMrzAGqV_O-bpTEC51tVxq8WpzU0-8YGvUX1x-2hOajk/s1600-h/YIMG_2002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTL5HgRkdNy6y0Wk9vuIB0t5bnOKOF1Y-jNTv5FRLY2sfu0pYdujNigmXo0a-TqDcjQ-MKhfpO9uhf6CU17MfU_oiq2hitgqeMrzAGqV_O-bpTEC51tVxq8WpzU0-8YGvUX1x-2hOajk/s400/YIMG_2002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077716102393450882" /></a><CENTER>The recently restored palace at Tiefurt</CENTER><br />After supper at the outdoor restaurant in the evening, where the raking rays of the sun were still too hot and brilliant for comfort, Antje dropped us back at Hubert's flat while they went on to Apolda. It was our final goodbye for this visit. Tomorrow morning we will leave Weimar behind, feeling as always, so much regret to be leaving and frustration at the number of things we still wish to do and see before moving on. It is always hard to leave friends and Hubert has been Ian's good friend now for over forty years.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-10452526890873389042007-06-14T10:20:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:13.897+00:00Prague and Karlovy Vary<B>Saturday 2nd June 2007, Jesenice, near Prague</B><br /><br />(Jill writing) Most of today's account has been written by Ian. I was too weary to think straight this evening and felt quite bemused by the history, culture, architecture and language of a country about which I feel woefully ignorant. My knowledge of Czech history starts and ends with the curious custom of throwing a couple of Catholics out of windows every few hundred years. This happened in both the 15th and the 17th centuries and is known as the Defenestration of Prague. <br /><br />The city was crowded with both splendours and tourists. Too much of our time was spent elbowing through crowds and hanging on to bags. There were too few notices explaining what we were looking at and far too many advertising exchange rates, meal deals, souvenirs and guided theme tours of the city. <br /><br />Fortunately most visitors arrive in Prague straight from the airport and do not see the unsightly suburbs. These struck me as exceptionally ugly as we took the tram in to the city from the suburban interchange. Blocks of purely functional flats line the route, there are weeds along the tram tracks, and the hoardings and shelters at every stop are smashed, the glass broken and the framework thickly covered in luridly painted graffiti. <br /><br />Compared to London, prices for food and drink in Prague are very similar. Compared to the rest of the country, most of Croatia and all of Slovakia, Hungary and Bosnia, they are about four times higher.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SCQswiEhx9QT5iVITBbvF6afmNvG_NwW6cJGXLZpPqenlEkbFA_OwLguM_8O-ro1W25TEZTGlaJEQNUGO9jwEKGwdhW0V0fAAcc5cQYhCBtkkge8ZEy9nwHB5p-IZm3umjpBSwo6hlo/s1600-h/YIMG_1852.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SCQswiEhx9QT5iVITBbvF6afmNvG_NwW6cJGXLZpPqenlEkbFA_OwLguM_8O-ro1W25TEZTGlaJEQNUGO9jwEKGwdhW0V0fAAcc5cQYhCBtkkge8ZEy9nwHB5p-IZm3umjpBSwo6hlo/s400/YIMG_1852.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848994210532882" /></a><br /><CENTER>First impression of Prague</CENTER><br />(Ian writing) It is difficult to approach a large city about which one has heard so much but knows so little. We had received glowing reports of the beauty of Prague, its magnificent buildings and its rich history. We had also heard how crowded by tourists it was and prone to crime. However we knew very little of the history of the city, why it was there, and what nations had made it into such an important place. Our start was somewhat inauspicious. The campsite is some way out of Prague on the southern side and at weekends transport is infrequent. The morning bus from outside the campsite only left at 10.47 and, after a slow journey through quiet villages, landed us at a graffiti-ridden interchange to the tram. After another twenty minutes jolting along by the Moldau (Vltava) we eventually reached the National Theatre and alighted into the swarming crowds of tourists.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieL8cT6icbgItC1IdayhjYxGlakFNAx3pKGtxaHfnPDngTPG5LW8V1aSgX5Arlr9qI44P1A3kzVNBntFSRxXuA1i74b91iv8hvAE_KOooFsNmrqImd4M9WacsGW-luwLXPJ4XPG-3kfI/s1600-h/YIMG_1884.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieL8cT6icbgItC1IdayhjYxGlakFNAx3pKGtxaHfnPDngTPG5LW8V1aSgX5Arlr9qI44P1A3kzVNBntFSRxXuA1i74b91iv8hvAE_KOooFsNmrqImd4M9WacsGW-luwLXPJ4XPG-3kfI/s400/YIMG_1884.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848998505500194" /></a><br /><CENTER>Second impression of Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczEptOCNI_q398KmW3roDNVYLWCFpV9EHA6wqOjdZiTzEsGi7gz5vnj-051srdExgMZ9CckoHZ9snaEud7v9LLPgyeV8vaIhj-2Ktk4PDNJWK1wRRJJ13db2rW9LqW5PuIMc55CRRerc/s1600-h/YIMG_1885.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczEptOCNI_q398KmW3roDNVYLWCFpV9EHA6wqOjdZiTzEsGi7gz5vnj-051srdExgMZ9CckoHZ9snaEud7v9LLPgyeV8vaIhj-2Ktk4PDNJWK1wRRJJ13db2rW9LqW5PuIMc55CRRerc/s400/YIMG_1885.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849002800467506" /></a><br /><CENTER>National Theatre, Prague</CENTER><br />A short walk along the embankment saw us at the gated entrance to the Charles Bridge, erected by Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia, Charles IV. He had intended to make Prague into the capital of the Holy Roman Empire and enlisted a team of architects on ambitious building projects influenced by France, Italy and other places with which he had come into contact. The resulting bridge, built by him in 1357, with the impressive gateways at each end and the numerous statues that had been added over the centuries was best appreciated from the embankment or from a boat on the Moldau. Once on the bridge one's attention was absorbed by navigating a way through the milling throng of tourists, caricaturists, buskers and vendors of all types of souvenirs, individuals offering to change money and no doubt pickpockets, which we have managed to avoid so far.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM7h8OVmAeP8KYCeRpK1HyWiXghhEkTravxfGzjlA31qf9SPEMOocQ8UtJHmK4a1R6icMY50AST8qIK6d3eS5es9TOTGOP-bZ3P1dSNf_EkjpZ7jLhMbSdORxn-H3E_wXjGWsk658r0A/s1600-h/YIMG_1854.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM7h8OVmAeP8KYCeRpK1HyWiXghhEkTravxfGzjlA31qf9SPEMOocQ8UtJHmK4a1R6icMY50AST8qIK6d3eS5es9TOTGOP-bZ3P1dSNf_EkjpZ7jLhMbSdORxn-H3E_wXjGWsk658r0A/s400/YIMG_1854.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849007095434818" /></a><br /><CENTER>Charles Bridge across the Moldau, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3Lt9ewRpkGPnd42jcVWtqlZcEokovdXdpbabuUfFnwYGqsm9-97RxUcKi-LMje2jtJcViV_4vO2ZNPBB0yevTj5GbkGw3ohsbhsEaapymKDGgu4EqA5fLXaT9vnOOpiiMbSxUGTjpiw/s1600-h/YIMG_1856.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3Lt9ewRpkGPnd42jcVWtqlZcEokovdXdpbabuUfFnwYGqsm9-97RxUcKi-LMje2jtJcViV_4vO2ZNPBB0yevTj5GbkGw3ohsbhsEaapymKDGgu4EqA5fLXaT9vnOOpiiMbSxUGTjpiw/s400/YIMG_1856.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849015685369426" /></a><br /><CENTER>Statue of Charles IV by the town gate of his bridge, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFr3fLDagZOi55PZuR2epMB17QM-d1cvzXH2J2_Gq-nkuvpPyGwBj6_yYqZVJIPWAJqY1Zf1mEzuJZfX1pBJnYhelFNuqJfaYERdi-2LZIYfit9K0fceomCFau9V9dKna4idRTHU5rGY/s1600-h/YIMG_1858.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFr3fLDagZOi55PZuR2epMB17QM-d1cvzXH2J2_Gq-nkuvpPyGwBj6_yYqZVJIPWAJqY1Zf1mEzuJZfX1pBJnYhelFNuqJfaYERdi-2LZIYfit9K0fceomCFau9V9dKna4idRTHU5rGY/s400/YIMG_1858.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848478814457282" /></a><br /><CENTER>West gateway to Charles Bridge, Prague</CENTER><br />There were impressive views from the bridge of the castle complex high on a hill on the left (west) bank with the twin spires of St Vitus Cathedral. The castle was first built by the Przemyslid monarchs of Bohemia in the tenth century but was extended in the 14th century by Charles IV and later recast in rococo mode. We struggled our way up through cobbled streets and squares lined with ornate baroque and classical houses, a celebration of the art of the plasterer and gilder – and also of the graffiti artist – this time properly commissioned to adorn facades with trompe-l'oeil decorations of stonework or allegorical figures.<br /><br />After much climbing we emerged in the spacious square in front of the rococo palace guarded by soldiers in dapper pale blue uniforms, to one side the Renaissance Schwartzenburg Palace with its sgraffito decoration and on the other the Episcopal Palace. We explored the series of courtyards which made up the castle complex, in one of which is the magnificent Gothic cathedral of St Vitus - another of Charles IV's undertakings, whose construction was started on the site of a Romanesque basilica in 1344. The mosaic of the last judgement above the main south door provides a fine example of the international influences that Charles absorbed – an Italian technique but in a style very reminiscent of French miniature paintings.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgHX6qQJdyKLr5wjCnkyTb4N5000bu-Mdkp0Hp_VFNyMsDycsLJMm8nZxPqF_mSHvrSm1qeY6TjC1ZJORzHQIWwrhAyfaq1TGVRprj05g3oN7ynnVKyFtm8QyfwvP3X9qcO8lGcUvWvA/s1600-h/YIMG_1860.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgHX6qQJdyKLr5wjCnkyTb4N5000bu-Mdkp0Hp_VFNyMsDycsLJMm8nZxPqF_mSHvrSm1qeY6TjC1ZJORzHQIWwrhAyfaq1TGVRprj05g3oN7ynnVKyFtm8QyfwvP3X9qcO8lGcUvWvA/s400/YIMG_1860.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848487404391890" /></a><br /><CENTER>Square in front of the Castle, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q_KNMBBTb6kccxEADFWF_6MgIyIari3Z-VgsW3MnVqxcdGMxbdpkQ0mcgpfadyXq5wqztfA8UfRpNJv2Ce_vsJVyazMe3mDTaup0pn3Hj3d0F1IvyZhh2iYiz8mDEaIUsX_k2wkyj_w/s1600-h/YIMG_1862.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q_KNMBBTb6kccxEADFWF_6MgIyIari3Z-VgsW3MnVqxcdGMxbdpkQ0mcgpfadyXq5wqztfA8UfRpNJv2Ce_vsJVyazMe3mDTaup0pn3Hj3d0F1IvyZhh2iYiz8mDEaIUsX_k2wkyj_w/s400/YIMG_1862.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848495994326498" /></a><br /><CENTER>Schwartzenburg Palace with sgraffito decoration, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuBzQg4hVbmYoDenGaZFx42B_0Vf6QhgrDqXfRjpUCSjKLekYkoG5UnwmM28ntAcb9iobT8-X_npNgA-2TwKEhYsChYUc17Xx8QP7EF7s3oOEusZ06lgSBUlmc0gsVAjLtOLcxbnPNLo/s1600-h/YIMG_1865.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuBzQg4hVbmYoDenGaZFx42B_0Vf6QhgrDqXfRjpUCSjKLekYkoG5UnwmM28ntAcb9iobT8-X_npNgA-2TwKEhYsChYUc17Xx8QP7EF7s3oOEusZ06lgSBUlmc0gsVAjLtOLcxbnPNLo/s400/YIMG_1865.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848504584261106" /></a><br /><CENTER>Mosaic on St Vitus Cathedral, Prague</CENTER><br />A gateway brought us out of the castle precincts across the deep moat on the north side into a series of parks and gardens with wonderful views back across to the Cathedral, reminiscent in some ways of views across the river at Durham. Here we found an orangery, another fine example of sgraffito decoration with allegorical figures representing the virtues and the sciences, and also a belvedere with extensive views down onto the city with red tiled roofs, spires, towers and bridges spanning the river.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkm0jNj_S9leTq2xipT0WNnHHl_ioZA-u1FcmeASuhzJuAXaAJFRAz5_qggSvDXOQ7r19CfE2szUHIVQk3HjB0Nl059Sx239qp4aqUk8kK8bXgNdsf32ASUAXB9vmyAQB3liCQWUo6jY/s1600-h/YIMG_1870.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkm0jNj_S9leTq2xipT0WNnHHl_ioZA-u1FcmeASuhzJuAXaAJFRAz5_qggSvDXOQ7r19CfE2szUHIVQk3HjB0Nl059Sx239qp4aqUk8kK8bXgNdsf32ASUAXB9vmyAQB3liCQWUo6jY/s400/YIMG_1870.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075848508879228418" /></a><br /><CENTER>St Vitus Cathedral from the palace gardens, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14W9tL6x4YLaIUlYefGQsEl_d5jtK0Vg7ycO4Z6Iujo1ey3BKFcdWxan7clwxKJ9S7YxHAu91Qf9S7IaCtOPrmbRH7tM-4bHxABi07uMFDHTd1rQCNluMB2YgZlLQk6SzqQ_pBJ93qkI/s1600-h/YIMG_1869.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14W9tL6x4YLaIUlYefGQsEl_d5jtK0Vg7ycO4Z6Iujo1ey3BKFcdWxan7clwxKJ9S7YxHAu91Qf9S7IaCtOPrmbRH7tM-4bHxABi07uMFDHTd1rQCNluMB2YgZlLQk6SzqQ_pBJ93qkI/s400/YIMG_1869.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849367872687714" /></a><br /><CENTER>Orangery, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWxNrcWtNUPuYajrpp3vOfjfqK7PmxWMoXkYBDYwCUX-0-8UlDfkxLgTsVVnBDEFdetTqDPlwmWZYxwNeFekN559lq5iiPOy_QHHmTC9JvdFz6Hv5bBWKhSrGkdPb1y6hYsvIj48naXzY/s1600-h/YIMG_1872.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWxNrcWtNUPuYajrpp3vOfjfqK7PmxWMoXkYBDYwCUX-0-8UlDfkxLgTsVVnBDEFdetTqDPlwmWZYxwNeFekN559lq5iiPOy_QHHmTC9JvdFz6Hv5bBWKhSrGkdPb1y6hYsvIj48naXzY/s400/YIMG_1872.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849376462622322" /></a><br /><CENTER>Belvedere, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfuHdB1uZGOt_jWfJhqBogXkPJbxa8JnM9ImyPcb3DlXuikU6ttXzmpMDfi70I7d7cfQBUxpyjJsrXavq7nZy2BolhoU9az-NIP8KU1AMVqnJenH6UMhWlkahqSDi1IZBXpjx-Hr3B-ac/s1600-h/YIMG_1876.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfuHdB1uZGOt_jWfJhqBogXkPJbxa8JnM9ImyPcb3DlXuikU6ttXzmpMDfi70I7d7cfQBUxpyjJsrXavq7nZy2BolhoU9az-NIP8KU1AMVqnJenH6UMhWlkahqSDi1IZBXpjx-Hr3B-ac/s400/YIMG_1876.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849380757589634" /></a><br /><CENTER>View from near the Belvedere, Prague</CENTER><br />We crossed Charles Bridge again and strolled through the streets of the Stare Mesto or Old Town until hunger drove us into a café for a salad, coffee and cakes. We were feeling a little at sea, navigating only with the aid of a rough map in a free handout. We spent a little time looking round some of the shops which sold Bohemian glass and eventually procured a guidebook which will guide our steps more purposefully during the rest of our stay. <br /><br />In the time remaining before our trek back to the campsite we made our way to one of the few places we had heard of in Prague, Wenceslas Square or Vaclavske Namesti, the scene of so many demonstrations during the Prague Spring of 1977. This proved to be more of an avenue than a square, lined with smart shops and restaurants, including Marks and Sparks in a wonderful art nouveau edifice. The avenue rises majestically to the statue of king Wenceslas in front of the National Museum at the far end. It is rather like the Champs Elysée in Paris in its fashionable elegance, but there is still room in it for demonstrations. Today in front of the statue of Wenceslas, at the memorial for the victims of Communism, was a committed group of protesters campaigning against the Chinese oppression of the Falun Gong meditative sect, and the apparent use of organs of executed adherents for transplant surgery – a boom industry in China where there is virtually no waiting time for westerners needing organs. The source of organs for some 40,000 transplants in the period 2000 to 2005 are unaccounted for but appear to correspond to the number of prisoners interned in camps from which nobody has ever been released. See the <a href="http://organharvestinvestigation.net"> Organ Harvesting website</a> which Google has apparently agreed to block in China – we have a friend there who may be able to verify this. We signed the petition and returned to the National Theatre to catch our tram back to the bus stop where we rejoined some of the footsore campers who had shared our journey out this morning. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtg6heGCTjzEK5wvgnZQaSsphBo0iz1mNrM-qboCzXhhbywXLXbgojSuGXMBajdlzkCJkxuYaUMoOMJBJe8-G5Ay_Q5_TT2W-rsU4b5lpyKWvdqw-CZbL4XSHiAcixZE-SdLHNUfH-TA/s1600-h/YIMG_1879.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtg6heGCTjzEK5wvgnZQaSsphBo0iz1mNrM-qboCzXhhbywXLXbgojSuGXMBajdlzkCJkxuYaUMoOMJBJe8-G5Ay_Q5_TT2W-rsU4b5lpyKWvdqw-CZbL4XSHiAcixZE-SdLHNUfH-TA/s400/YIMG_1879.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849385052556946" /></a><br /><CENTER>Wenceslas Square, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlQvU5v6yV0rX9Ns-P4krUpYmdum4I3vIY9P3IhFVvhcdPz3o2BJs3Xigbh5TKtm4yZaendhY1mkmyzLY-9-E3ONL3RAtZpdVL1ViS8bvHkVnmsZ8ODyqhoFfda2EfeSAEG8SsMwqt4s/s1600-h/YIMG_1880.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlQvU5v6yV0rX9Ns-P4krUpYmdum4I3vIY9P3IhFVvhcdPz3o2BJs3Xigbh5TKtm4yZaendhY1mkmyzLY-9-E3ONL3RAtZpdVL1ViS8bvHkVnmsZ8ODyqhoFfda2EfeSAEG8SsMwqt4s/s400/YIMG_1880.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849389347524258" /></a><br /><CENTER>National Museum and statue of Wenceslas, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxv-LDY8MPo4FwHaGLw9Xcj3YBQ006VbmBftFkYeUxsn7QaVMFU_WqhJ8iRyrzPaxP4EvQoNT_eRlSZfCd2Ci485eWJ92eVgHgcG2HZtS-NKJ_Vw_7txRj4Kxbtp-ZPw-_BdQqrJWVZLY/s1600-h/YIMG_1882.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxv-LDY8MPo4FwHaGLw9Xcj3YBQ006VbmBftFkYeUxsn7QaVMFU_WqhJ8iRyrzPaxP4EvQoNT_eRlSZfCd2Ci485eWJ92eVgHgcG2HZtS-NKJ_Vw_7txRj4Kxbtp-ZPw-_BdQqrJWVZLY/s400/YIMG_1882.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849801664384690" /></a><br /><CENTER>Protesters in Wenceslas Square, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcTtRYjM0_arjnuOSf9BpTGgkdm8Z7sa5AuXK-h5q0IOXGM2vdCjXa5uX8l9l_z47gBwq9ed5Wanqh88j-MaaPcpsMmosLTrIp179291lkrdyWnigOT6XBdkecTeMnT45dQKIzxME9Vg/s1600-h/YIMG_1929.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfcTtRYjM0_arjnuOSf9BpTGgkdm8Z7sa5AuXK-h5q0IOXGM2vdCjXa5uX8l9l_z47gBwq9ed5Wanqh88j-MaaPcpsMmosLTrIp179291lkrdyWnigOT6XBdkecTeMnT45dQKIzxME9Vg/s400/YIMG_1929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849810254319298" /></a><br /><CENTER>Memorial to the victims of Communism, Wenceslas Square, Prague</CENTER><br /><B>Sunday 3rd June 2007, Jesenice, near Prague</B><br />We returned with the bus into the centre of Prague this morning, this time to discover the Jewish ghetto with its synagogues, cemetery and meeting hall. There were enormous queues however and anyway we hadn't realised it was a closed complex so we just visited those areas accessible from the streets and enjoyed the ambiance of the quarter with its Jewish bookshops and cafés and the picturesque members of the community as they passed by in their dark robes and curls of long hair. There are five synagogues, some of them dating back to medieval times, making it the largest surviving ghetto in central Europe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTOTH-PdbQ7BqzsxUhajmcZnFCSSwoJQHakfQAdKxMt0KGxyyqfymCHSGT-FW53F-P0W66ZmU1zwgGuLDMVRHolzrKIX766LWPNEU1X-J3A1pEBk1baNwVTsB3EuF7zYStRex3XFdoTU/s1600-h/YIMG_1912.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTOTH-PdbQ7BqzsxUhajmcZnFCSSwoJQHakfQAdKxMt0KGxyyqfymCHSGT-FW53F-P0W66ZmU1zwgGuLDMVRHolzrKIX766LWPNEU1X-J3A1pEBk1baNwVTsB3EuF7zYStRex3XFdoTU/s400/YIMG_1912.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849818844253906" /></a><br /><CENTER>Jewish Hall of Ceremonies, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt01uq0QiEvQ5N3jr3JPDIuKmHDHHliFdxN0uIbV5Nh2gef_3pmUZG5DyYVJGm9DxVuubAawu0_KQEfB1jsM7UPJtm3mhsiTw6cRQQXfSOAATG0K11_sA_GFCy6zxCtqyNJPLG9a6x_WU/s1600-h/YIMG_1913.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt01uq0QiEvQ5N3jr3JPDIuKmHDHHliFdxN0uIbV5Nh2gef_3pmUZG5DyYVJGm9DxVuubAawu0_KQEfB1jsM7UPJtm3mhsiTw6cRQQXfSOAATG0K11_sA_GFCy6zxCtqyNJPLG9a6x_WU/s400/YIMG_1913.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849823139221218" /></a><br /><CENTER>Medieval Old Town Synagogue, Prague</CENTER><br />We discovered the Kafka Café for a coffee near the home of the Czech writer Franz Kakfa. Ian has read some of his works, finding them deep, dark and complex. The café seemed suitably named as it was also dark and gloomy with wooden tables and battered chairs. The old spiral staircase descending to the loos was particularly appropriate. One had the feeling of going down for ever to some darkly sinister place never to return. Outside on the streets the architecture was stunning. Largely baroque, neo-classical and eclectic in style, there was also a splendid array of art nouveau buildings. There was a wealth of caryatids and carved figures, some allegorical, some representing signs of the zodiac, eagles, lions, saints or angels. Every street presented new splendours as we gazed up at these wonderful façades with their stuccoed windows, huge baroque doors and metal gateways. At street level there were generally antiquarian booksellers, antique shops, outlets for Bohemian crystal and porcelain and cafés. There were young men in 18th century costume selling tickets for various concerts taking place this evening in the churches of the city. (Mozart spent time here and his works are perennially popular.) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwujZ1yJkOvG_duGzWyDPzVnASlV81JrrQFTNR_RbAGXs7zNXBM5k9sQtEiKJOpijUJ4IUeTzpv7-vkf-Hpe2u01IjO5dxBQZir64djBGS4Y04G9MZsm8dKrKlzcOmIzudrf7Lxc2Fi-A/s1600-h/YIMG_1887.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwujZ1yJkOvG_duGzWyDPzVnASlV81JrrQFTNR_RbAGXs7zNXBM5k9sQtEiKJOpijUJ4IUeTzpv7-vkf-Hpe2u01IjO5dxBQZir64djBGS4Y04G9MZsm8dKrKlzcOmIzudrf7Lxc2Fi-A/s400/YIMG_1887.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075849831729155826" /></a><br /><CENTER>Menu in the Café Kakfa. Is Hemenex really Czech for Ham and Eggs! Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-C2105iMFKEha0YK20ccMxF151j5BGVxNdoTUnyStISgD0QoZfiAUXSbMtDqf06tPb5w6ya5nwCh5CrODOqZzMRZBkgSaHIHdPt7pnfKuMoya_mhE2RvZVIRuFjx3FLrop9sYkDnGLQ/s1600-h/YIMG_1890.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-C2105iMFKEha0YK20ccMxF151j5BGVxNdoTUnyStISgD0QoZfiAUXSbMtDqf06tPb5w6ya5nwCh5CrODOqZzMRZBkgSaHIHdPt7pnfKuMoya_mhE2RvZVIRuFjx3FLrop9sYkDnGLQ/s400/YIMG_1890.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850192506408706" /></a><br /><CENTER>Exterior of the Café Kakfa , Prague</CENTER><br />We found ourselves on the main town square housing the old town hall with its tower and astronomical clock dating from 1410. The square is magnificent and it is like walking around in a huge outdoor museum presenting the very best of the architectural splendours of the city. It is surrounded by palaces dating from medieval times to the 20th century. In the centre is a large statue of the 15th century reformer Jan Hus in process of restoration. There are two massive churches - the gothic Tyn church and the baroque St. Nicholas church. There is the beautiful medieval house of the stone bell and the Goltz Kinsky rococo palace. Just off this square is the Minute house with its sgraffito façade of mythological subjects, once the home of the Kafka family.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NsqgZ0qJFDpWdyoff4Li2TOdMsdcEosRKrSUzjf9tJ8oskNGrI0GkpZP-4qfxBx7890kRssM-hiKetfD0CFA64xFFrpvp2pkFhhr8FvbR7jAHnSKGr0hpDKBNuAp-3iKS8ilj9Y84QI/s1600-h/YIMG_1892.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NsqgZ0qJFDpWdyoff4Li2TOdMsdcEosRKrSUzjf9tJ8oskNGrI0GkpZP-4qfxBx7890kRssM-hiKetfD0CFA64xFFrpvp2pkFhhr8FvbR7jAHnSKGr0hpDKBNuAp-3iKS8ilj9Y84QI/s400/YIMG_1892.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850196801376018" /></a><br /><CENTER>Old Town Square with Tyn Church, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLvxcZRw6HyBmUXDxwok11qLv7QCjKkoP29tQWstAtiaZSQwJXM0iRM08Y1K-HqdLYt67jIlBKaAWt27HPSmvNY8UP_Ljg7y3gHwUBBmw1f9sRRXDNqkqe-2WIRQo3R0ezF4q5RH_UmQ/s1600-h/YIMG_1894.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLvxcZRw6HyBmUXDxwok11qLv7QCjKkoP29tQWstAtiaZSQwJXM0iRM08Y1K-HqdLYt67jIlBKaAWt27HPSmvNY8UP_Ljg7y3gHwUBBmw1f9sRRXDNqkqe-2WIRQo3R0ezF4q5RH_UmQ/s400/YIMG_1894.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850205391310626" /></a><br /><CENTER>Astronomical Clock, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwF-AHXrzo7fgm_VCF7A9sRW24G68SnHcfKQR2FhzxI5Vmo29eAqJjwehyphenhyphenKDORBWiV7tRMuCQK0BHy-DYYx8Om37katADlfxScuRurcLeD0tZMkEcXIaaWQKEz65TZkcUT0SERKLE0VPI/s1600-h/YIMG_1895.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwF-AHXrzo7fgm_VCF7A9sRW24G68SnHcfKQR2FhzxI5Vmo29eAqJjwehyphenhyphenKDORBWiV7tRMuCQK0BHy-DYYx8Om37katADlfxScuRurcLeD0tZMkEcXIaaWQKEz65TZkcUT0SERKLE0VPI/s400/YIMG_1895.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850209686277938" /></a><br /><CENTER>Home of the Kakfa family, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4gL9TsHsXUKBDoStSbKsSFbO1F4W7Z64Z_CVNMm2XDa9cqNcrSQhGEmzS_ahKggKH-W-StQ8fqRrBuj09-kdoheTil24WYdsUhTMwr-myPPDqwBeaxrb_vY0RUGq0ZnQaw2r2t_LwJc/s1600-h/YIMG_1901.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4gL9TsHsXUKBDoStSbKsSFbO1F4W7Z64Z_CVNMm2XDa9cqNcrSQhGEmzS_ahKggKH-W-StQ8fqRrBuj09-kdoheTil24WYdsUhTMwr-myPPDqwBeaxrb_vY0RUGq0ZnQaw2r2t_LwJc/s400/YIMG_1901.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850213981245250" /></a><br /><CENTER>Palaces on Old Town Square, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJy9GYNa97p5UrMgdoHYO9HCRbCl3OxhwYUqdwfynQb_mrs8G_QHyCadVUpgG-oroqv9YlqU6XX6feRVYuKMdh3hwORU5qbRSLmYPVsDT4ZMazeZXPjmMF1CrTRX3JTsmceBcIeXm5Ds/s1600-h/YIMG_1906.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJy9GYNa97p5UrMgdoHYO9HCRbCl3OxhwYUqdwfynQb_mrs8G_QHyCadVUpgG-oroqv9YlqU6XX6feRVYuKMdh3hwORU5qbRSLmYPVsDT4ZMazeZXPjmMF1CrTRX3JTsmceBcIeXm5Ds/s400/YIMG_1906.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850553283661650" /></a><br /><CENTER>Art Nouveau, Municipal House, 1911, Prague</CENTER><br />During the afternoon we sought out the National Library, housed in the Clementinum, a former Jesuit complex. The national library houses 4,000,000 volumes in beautiful rococo rooms. The rooms are available for viewing but only as part of a wider visit to the entire complex which we did not have time to do. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr_Vtc1YJn55h9ZeUl5lFZrozpUhQxxy-uX99WhQDsDfv-GmyhR5VUYVVbAbM8wPF1-q2iho9kp1Y6jKQkHUSlHHM4FgK806240CrZrcri8tHFtYjEAmSOjRxPAxTZabJtoZfq59q5N4/s1600-h/YIMG_1910.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr_Vtc1YJn55h9ZeUl5lFZrozpUhQxxy-uX99WhQDsDfv-GmyhR5VUYVVbAbM8wPF1-q2iho9kp1Y6jKQkHUSlHHM4FgK806240CrZrcri8tHFtYjEAmSOjRxPAxTZabJtoZfq59q5N4/s400/YIMG_1910.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850557578628962" /></a><br /><CENTER>Clementinum, Prague</CENTER><br />During our wanderings we discovered the impressive exterior of the State General Theatre where Mozart's Don Giovanni was first performed and the Rott House where the first bible in the Czech language was printed in the 15th century.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBivfZTjZaACbLxBb607vMaHg7ri5Zf9BlPp-Acr3V8LmVrDwZxwE7LOnpku845Xk5oJACaQvxn3fHZrY9cfIi7zsaDG-CwXiqpNP2Ee8sCL2T6lQ8pho3Sz8mqPnWWm1d7XA7_Uks_oA/s1600-h/YIMG_1908.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBivfZTjZaACbLxBb607vMaHg7ri5Zf9BlPp-Acr3V8LmVrDwZxwE7LOnpku845Xk5oJACaQvxn3fHZrY9cfIi7zsaDG-CwXiqpNP2Ee8sCL2T6lQ8pho3Sz8mqPnWWm1d7XA7_Uks_oA/s400/YIMG_1908.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850561873596274" /></a><br /><CENTER>State General Theatre, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFJI_2cS1CFcamhI67YPQhExJqRbUtwO_LSx757h29ePxcXmNzGsFyYlqcJ6wJZRpSw8bNRtPtMSn_qemtGKj4DhOBq9O72oYo6srdTb81OPgjNL5xfD6E5XqU9VMSNE1NB7Qdbs6JFI/s1600-h/YIMG_1909.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFJI_2cS1CFcamhI67YPQhExJqRbUtwO_LSx757h29ePxcXmNzGsFyYlqcJ6wJZRpSw8bNRtPtMSn_qemtGKj4DhOBq9O72oYo6srdTb81OPgjNL5xfD6E5XqU9VMSNE1NB7Qdbs6JFI/s400/YIMG_1909.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850570463530882" /></a><br /><CENTER>Rott House, Prague</CENTER><br />Finally we visited an exhibition of panoramic photographs by the Panhorama.CZ group established in 2002, displayed in the cloisters of the Franciscan Monastery. The photos intrigued us primarily because of the interest our friend Ralph (from Salies-de-Bearne) has in panoramas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlpv_mW8h_kjtC-gTnDchBgPVHTYzPCr9_dbJPXUM0LF5KeocONOn-B1c8hTGArMDqjRUAcvbfOcS4VzV4dY-fp-dc8Gg9zOVxbJJ7Gv2lLHLZmHzHShaZ_XJHu6VIVxBOxfwzwgxiD0/s1600-h/YIMG_1917.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlpv_mW8h_kjtC-gTnDchBgPVHTYzPCr9_dbJPXUM0LF5KeocONOn-B1c8hTGArMDqjRUAcvbfOcS4VzV4dY-fp-dc8Gg9zOVxbJJ7Gv2lLHLZmHzHShaZ_XJHu6VIVxBOxfwzwgxiD0/s400/YIMG_1917.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850570463530898" /></a><br /><CENTER>Panoramic photo-montage, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHslm0mwhXufEyTcCbyQoaOsekidzo4kpwDDrdU0NJswsuqHeivoCDCtyugyFzAZidp3ON7pPbVYNXVXcKlBy8n0rVmhOGyO9ytYuvsp53CT8sDS05pjJOWUdz5wlYqZtuRW6Lhcx-DOc/s1600-h/YIMG_1918.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHslm0mwhXufEyTcCbyQoaOsekidzo4kpwDDrdU0NJswsuqHeivoCDCtyugyFzAZidp3ON7pPbVYNXVXcKlBy8n0rVmhOGyO9ytYuvsp53CT8sDS05pjJOWUdz5wlYqZtuRW6Lhcx-DOc/s400/YIMG_1918.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850974190456738" /></a><br /><CENTER>The old and the new, Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpYOX3IQRVBRovkeaHOjpeTRpyDRnlDcGy0Fz4JTcY0RXB2H-jPYhineXUYGp_bRC5n7B8FbCQAPzqaS87pEm9VWFbmBqOib7wd0LFEBFWNVsdKYaCOZZ-m08fe1c4Sn9aFnJpucCVXY/s1600-h/YIMG_1919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpYOX3IQRVBRovkeaHOjpeTRpyDRnlDcGy0Fz4JTcY0RXB2H-jPYhineXUYGp_bRC5n7B8FbCQAPzqaS87pEm9VWFbmBqOib7wd0LFEBFWNVsdKYaCOZZ-m08fe1c4Sn9aFnJpucCVXY/s400/YIMG_1919.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850978485424050" /></a><br /><CENTER>Art Nouveau building with the name of the city, Praha, as window frames, Prague</CENTER><br />At 6pm we left the city for the hour's tram and bus ride back to our campsite where we have spent much of the evening recovering from cultural indigestion.<br /><br /><B>Monday 4th June 2007, Jesenice, near Prague</B><br />We felt there were still things to be seen in Prague, so decided to stay an extra day. Waiting for the bus outside the campsite this morning our French neighbours complained to us that President Bush is due in the city today and they feared many of the streets and tourist sites would be closed off. They also speculated on where he would be staying. This evening we were back at the campsite before them so put up a notice beside their camper van stating that the pitch had been requisitioned for President Bush! It caused them much amusement when they returned from a futile attempt to visit the castle – as they had anticipated, the area was closed to visitors. They invited us into their big motor home to join them for a pastis before supper and we had a very sociable evening. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigPJZVGmm7H9eG47FCW3mmeXIUeToSBHC1P8v7det2M3ulTjO8PzsLgQUM18R_1NSGngELSlO0mkwtJkoGa3DwATh02m5pjwJG0ZkSvu0BTKepjtM_qYexKYjukcZJK0o9O_QCR6Px6g/s1600-h/YIMG_1932.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigPJZVGmm7H9eG47FCW3mmeXIUeToSBHC1P8v7det2M3ulTjO8PzsLgQUM18R_1NSGngELSlO0mkwtJkoGa3DwATh02m5pjwJG0ZkSvu0BTKepjtM_qYexKYjukcZJK0o9O_QCR6Px6g/s400/YIMG_1932.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850987075358658" /></a><br /><CENTER>Reserved for President Bush, Prague</CENTER><br />Almost everyone else on the campsite is Dutch. They are a lovely nation but there are so many of them! There is a saying amongst campers that the last one to leave Holland in the summer turns the lights off before they go! Our French neighbour actually asked them who was back in Holland running the shop. Over the last couple of days the other nationalities here have all fallen victim to synchronised Dutch douching as they arrive en masse in their clogs and dressing gowns at the shower block. On the bus into Prague this morning we had to stand as it was so crowded with Dutch campers squashed three to a seat, all chattering happily together. Ian commented rather loudly that he didn't think this bus was actually going to Utrecht. Fortunately they are all very good natured and don't seem to mind being teased.<br />Once in Prague we all went our separate ways. <br /><br />To begin with we filled in the first entry in our "I-Spy defenestration" book by visiting the new town hall and photographing all the windows in the hope of getting the one through which the Catholic advisors had been tossed in 1419. Next we made our way up to Wenceslas Square where we visited the National Museum, it being free on the first Monday of the month. Its collections were good but as they covered geology, zoology, palaeontology and anthropology they were not collections unique to the Czech Republic. Our interest today was more in the building than the contents. And it is certainly a magnificent building, constructed at the end of the nineteenth century and worthy of housing the national collections. From its galleries, inlaid with lovely mosaic floors and lined with frescoes, it is possible to look down the full length of Wenceslas Square. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelX3dNgTreJ2DsnrQjQK5TJXziy16BUaNwxCC0tFPt1Gp-JWzoswmNU6dtWF78pW6T3uRtJpblK7uAtct8zkAysuVFR_qLibVrc7RFHTSwCU5Ft21fN5gz2tcBsbWS32lEoyWiWuD16c/s1600-h/YIMG_1925.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelX3dNgTreJ2DsnrQjQK5TJXziy16BUaNwxCC0tFPt1Gp-JWzoswmNU6dtWF78pW6T3uRtJpblK7uAtct8zkAysuVFR_qLibVrc7RFHTSwCU5Ft21fN5gz2tcBsbWS32lEoyWiWuD16c/s400/YIMG_1925.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850991370325970" /></a><br /><CENTER>New Town Hall (with windows!), Prague</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73KlhdR7BBtZR787hrymy78OTvNYSIb0rWOmFT42SzTGWlbbySh8jdOU4GVw-vmikK4iAc5wYhVYDPQlSsR15BTt1qfl5o7A2w4hyphenhyphen9vQs5LBMr0KTf45iBpfsdL5KyZ0D78hBgBCdroU/s1600-h/YIMG_1930.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73KlhdR7BBtZR787hrymy78OTvNYSIb0rWOmFT42SzTGWlbbySh8jdOU4GVw-vmikK4iAc5wYhVYDPQlSsR15BTt1qfl5o7A2w4hyphenhyphen9vQs5LBMr0KTf45iBpfsdL5KyZ0D78hBgBCdroU/s400/YIMG_1930.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075850995665293282" /></a><br /><CENTER>Interior of the National Museum, Prague</CENTER><br />We enjoyed a very nice lunch of chicken schnitzel and salad with a couple of beers in the museum restaurant before continuing our exploration of the city taking in the museum of Alphonse Mucha. We'd always assumed that he was French but he was actually Czech. He is famed chiefly for his brightly coloured, flowing posters of Sarah Bernhardt. He was also commissioned to produce similar advertising posters for various companies during the 1890s. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-X4eXqfGEORNebeRNnacmaimrqO-UFgKUfmiVkyjYy3uvgD2eEwG_rovGcggXTAK6e5yaFQGLe44_QDLS6siQhmJ3eeTsoPTU_1-fCbcCDkepT5pHBEaeLiQoVEVZaoHqh1BejL8PmI/s1600-h/YIMG_1891.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-X4eXqfGEORNebeRNnacmaimrqO-UFgKUfmiVkyjYy3uvgD2eEwG_rovGcggXTAK6e5yaFQGLe44_QDLS6siQhmJ3eeTsoPTU_1-fCbcCDkepT5pHBEaeLiQoVEVZaoHqh1BejL8PmI/s400/YIMG_1891.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851382212349938" /></a><br /><CENTER>Doorway reminiscent of Mucha, Prague</CENTER><br />Mid-afternoon we stopped for coffee at a street café attached to the Museum of Czech Cubism. The chairs and tables were in the cubist style and there were exhibits of household furnishings from the period. Upstairs the restaurant was appropriately fitted out in cubist style but the museum itself was unfortunately closed.<br /><br />Our visit was nearing its end so we gave ourselves up to the pleasure of strolling through the streets and taking in as much of the atmosphere and architecture as possible while searching for a suitable gift for the forthcoming retirement of our friend Genevieve in Caen. We decided on a set of Bohemian sherry glasses and are delighted with our purchase. We only hope we get them safely back to France. We know they will be useful. Before we left Caen we'd been reduced to drinking our aperitifs from water tumblers as all her small glasses had been broken. (You see what a hard life it is for us!)<br /><br />It has been a brilliant few days here and a relief not to need to drive. Tomorrow we plan to move on to Karlovy Vary (Karlsbad) the most renowned spa in CZ. It should surpass even our experience <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/07/this-year-in-marienbad.html">last year in Marienbad</a>.<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 5th June 2007, Karlovy Vary, Czech Republic</B><br />Perhaps distance lends enchantment. Karlovy Vary reminds us very much of Marienbad but does not really seem so very much superior. The town was founded by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV around 1350 and over the centuries has been frequented by famous names from more than eighty different countries including Peter the Great, Goethe, Dvorak, Paganini and Sigmund Freud. It is certainly a very beautiful town lying on the winding River Teplá within a deep wooded valley. There are several spas offering treatments and fountains supplying water of up to 73 degrees centigrade. Within the modern Vridelni spa complex a geyser shoots a permanent fountain of steaming hot water high into the air and the water running beneath the streets is so hot that warnings have to be displayed on the manhole covers! There is all the elegance and luxury one would expect from such a select thermal establishment, with smart shops and restaurants and over ninety hotels to accommodate the curists who were walking around the town, moving from spring to spring with their curiously shaped porcelain containers which they were filling from the steaming hot springs and drinking through a small spout on the side of the elliptical beaker. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmQleNdiPyDclWpENV98Wv91_QJlcFTpkR86tHgHIUVa7i6meQURhzvuhQyRvrvdirRR9XkL_NvYURUhoStGK-XGPIExKqTMeuXUB_G_vXUxkm-VSYnpRjl9PVGBHYcFJeFlwxC0x-C0/s1600-h/YIMG_1933.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmQleNdiPyDclWpENV98Wv91_QJlcFTpkR86tHgHIUVa7i6meQURhzvuhQyRvrvdirRR9XkL_NvYURUhoStGK-XGPIExKqTMeuXUB_G_vXUxkm-VSYnpRjl9PVGBHYcFJeFlwxC0x-C0/s400/YIMG_1933.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851386507317250" /></a><br /><CENTER>Thermal geyser in Vridelni Kolonada, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97nkmBi_-SN5JXMURWTqpe6zvIF4mqCn98SF5FTU0LYAOTf_upPSu9UYZiP8OsVRi1fiSu71MsgrSTZie7ar_CZOuGEJpNOu5bEtRNlsZWoHPPXCOvnDBc0Ul3Z06qZlMWi3ZbaWAjn8/s1600-h/YIMG_1947.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97nkmBi_-SN5JXMURWTqpe6zvIF4mqCn98SF5FTU0LYAOTf_upPSu9UYZiP8OsVRi1fiSu71MsgrSTZie7ar_CZOuGEJpNOu5bEtRNlsZWoHPPXCOvnDBc0Ul3Z06qZlMWi3ZbaWAjn8/s400/YIMG_1947.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851390802284562" /></a><br /><CENTER>Warning - hot water! Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijyisAaZ59j3N17o_28NzzTiSnhVKlMkonCLN4RrXieZuCZaYty9RDN-1ybdHJuBayxMfjQvIucp7_eMG8C8q2lgnoNU1tFIRgvMxHEuEeY_21W3do6WJoumGpoq2KzYN1nuf8jRvUVpU/s1600-h/YIMG_1949.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijyisAaZ59j3N17o_28NzzTiSnhVKlMkonCLN4RrXieZuCZaYty9RDN-1ybdHJuBayxMfjQvIucp7_eMG8C8q2lgnoNU1tFIRgvMxHEuEeY_21W3do6WJoumGpoq2KzYN1nuf8jRvUVpU/s400/YIMG_1949.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851395097251874" /></a><br /><CENTER>Manhole probably dating from the Austro-Hungarian period when Karlovy Vary was known as Karlsbad</CENTER><br />The buildings are simply wonderful and include a range of architectural styles dating from the late 19th and early 20th centuries but each style expresses the ultimate extravagance of its genre. The French architect Le Corbusier apparently said the town, built up the sides of the valley, resembled tiers of beautifully iced cakes. During the years of Communism the buildings were sadly neglected and fell into serious decay. There are still many on the edges of the town awaiting restoration, but in the centre the buildings have returned to their former state of flamboyant exuberance, their pink, lemon, white and apricot façades picked out with statues, mouldings and stucco.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIT9rSxgk4_9Subh52y85t2dz-jCUxQc6ZcqlzKdncqUTlEWcW1sCeLobCIBRBzlfLdbCYqBOodgPKqdYJ1prAvpEZUZmNvV-DkoaK1bA5LdgzFeXCD7l1sW_g0PghNnoprj4abwsTBrg/s1600-h/YIMG_1936.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIT9rSxgk4_9Subh52y85t2dz-jCUxQc6ZcqlzKdncqUTlEWcW1sCeLobCIBRBzlfLdbCYqBOodgPKqdYJ1prAvpEZUZmNvV-DkoaK1bA5LdgzFeXCD7l1sW_g0PghNnoprj4abwsTBrg/s400/YIMG_1936.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851403687186482" /></a><br /><CENTER>Sadova Kolonada, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoin5j26yK-40dmKLA8Co4DkXVrsjtQ50ecDmpPKNvvUAWSiQrEWe3nT6ZkH9cBgDbZkE4pRrfgMhbotr91vgWsZ2a5SztvQWd92xlP-ykWhkiB7B3AesFTbeBdurw4N-U8wKJSEGJyQ/s1600-h/YIMG_1946.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoin5j26yK-40dmKLA8Co4DkXVrsjtQ50ecDmpPKNvvUAWSiQrEWe3nT6ZkH9cBgDbZkE4pRrfgMhbotr91vgWsZ2a5SztvQWd92xlP-ykWhkiB7B3AesFTbeBdurw4N-U8wKJSEGJyQ/s400/YIMG_1946.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851807414112322" /></a><br /><CENTER>Art nouveau building, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYmHUDqryWoB9LdOdGrgJ5K6SLy-twTcQPbO9FFXpdYlmx7Ab255DefSxlMVSpor3HxPzdoREDF91LgZFYTPBnOkhR9WGf3CuJjkWDi8Gpvk-W55L8O7hEu7dz_xMdFa_mIac9QdZZ4s/s1600-h/YIMG_1950.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYmHUDqryWoB9LdOdGrgJ5K6SLy-twTcQPbO9FFXpdYlmx7Ab255DefSxlMVSpor3HxPzdoREDF91LgZFYTPBnOkhR9WGf3CuJjkWDi8Gpvk-W55L8O7hEu7dz_xMdFa_mIac9QdZZ4s/s400/YIMG_1950.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851816004046930" /></a><br /><CENTER>Theatre, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgiFg3i9-Jwe3yql7u4f7BMGt360r5EXpASlOz0PvytnldKGaLGu3sCAasFEfCWcWa3ZbB-jCujgWU_iKhqyuiKhGnOg9nD38XaSPu7CuqjxMyRPyzoX1ofp6yMxwreBC0nlnEpnP9Xg/s1600-h/YIMG_1951.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgiFg3i9-Jwe3yql7u4f7BMGt360r5EXpASlOz0PvytnldKGaLGu3sCAasFEfCWcWa3ZbB-jCujgWU_iKhqyuiKhGnOg9nD38XaSPu7CuqjxMyRPyzoX1ofp6yMxwreBC0nlnEpnP9Xg/s400/YIMG_1951.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851820299014242" /></a><br /><CENTER>Hotels along the River Teplá, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrSCLsuCaFbHkNjVlfzsf-8JNCyg7an3sIthq72IZFPlFH4qPjZpH_EdaEXlhMLFE0oR7Q79OvfmqlGF0LRBJxi3YPE4IKfHbd3DGFXP4wazq0ZAZiZxiDCLw93e57Uf1zSEFn4iPLHM/s1600-h/YIMG_1952.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdrSCLsuCaFbHkNjVlfzsf-8JNCyg7an3sIthq72IZFPlFH4qPjZpH_EdaEXlhMLFE0oR7Q79OvfmqlGF0LRBJxi3YPE4IKfHbd3DGFXP4wazq0ZAZiZxiDCLw93e57Uf1zSEFn4iPLHM/s400/YIMG_1952.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851828888948850" /></a><br /><CENTER>Grand Hotel Pupp, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br />Beside the river are pleasant gardens with beautiful trees and rose gardens and the shady arcades of the Mlynska Kolanada today offered a free concert by members of the Karlovy Vary Symphony Orchestra, featuring works that included light classics such as a Strauss waltz and one of Brahms's Hungarian dances. The acoustics beneath the colonnade were excellent and people walked around sipping their water as they listened, exactly as they would always have done when the spa first became fashionable. Strangely, signs around the town are all in Russian as well as Czech. Presumably, even during the Communist ere, the town was used as a health resort and the Russians are continuing to frequent the spas! (We have since learnt that the town has been practically taken over by the Russian "Mafia" and the nouveau riche who have become fabulously wealthy in recent times have bought up the properties in Karlovy Vary as investments.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwIb1nRCgFfSVB1t7pUR2Yr2Ppt4TboaY0eRlOPW2V224qTPnIpnQNpqiQwwS5zvlZUG6vHqq5bZ_cnZ5xDgzRkRF2XJwhxqZT0zTz-Wz-xNKuzVGUZDIBhCeM7WFzOs9n2jEFqfTg44/s1600-h/YIMG_1945.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwIb1nRCgFfSVB1t7pUR2Yr2Ppt4TboaY0eRlOPW2V224qTPnIpnQNpqiQwwS5zvlZUG6vHqq5bZ_cnZ5xDgzRkRF2XJwhxqZT0zTz-Wz-xNKuzVGUZDIBhCeM7WFzOs9n2jEFqfTg44/s400/YIMG_1945.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075851833183916162" /></a><br /><CENTER>Crossing the bridge to the Mlynski Kolonada, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NHCkaJIvV3otxRKaWflEeQ6adySTmz5wlwUTWeHZ6kLK70Z73FYyJ73IwJry5HInt8WJ9MJwuTXRZHn7hLfAlSLgddmzwjUVOgFmgpnCBsrD0qdkMurbYscaq28-pNaKUYpFXkc1nI0/s1600-h/YIMG_1943.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NHCkaJIvV3otxRKaWflEeQ6adySTmz5wlwUTWeHZ6kLK70Z73FYyJ73IwJry5HInt8WJ9MJwuTXRZHn7hLfAlSLgddmzwjUVOgFmgpnCBsrD0qdkMurbYscaq28-pNaKUYpFXkc1nI0/s400/YIMG_1943.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075852026457444498" /></a><br /><CENTER>Promenade concert in the Mlynski Kolonada, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="httphttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.photo.gif<br />Image hinzufügen:https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFhN8UoVEYAp7yZq8WYBX3s82pfFveJwM7Qt1_-d1z9dkpQw1F9AMYXIyHiWvqbYsoLYcyw6MXN5tQHw3HSvpGbSloqUW6TO5GsgOGjfYVdEBGf20HKwzWKIj3iNjbODPstvE6dOafRI/s1600-h/YIMG_1944.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFhN8UoVEYAp7yZq8WYBX3s82pfFveJwM7Qt1_-d1z9dkpQw1F9AMYXIyHiWvqbYsoLYcyw6MXN5tQHw3HSvpGbSloqUW6TO5GsgOGjfYVdEBGf20HKwzWKIj3iNjbODPstvE6dOafRI/s400/YIMG_1944.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075852035047379106" /></a><br /><CENTER>Water music at the spa, Karlovy Vary</CENTER><br />The town map indicated a campsite but we were informed by the tourist office that it no longer existed, so this evening we drove to the one they recommended. It is rather awful and very basic. Better than Bosnia and safer than Bratislava but very run down and neglected with missing shower heads, toilet seats and light bulbs. There is a German couple here with us, otherwise it's deserted. Everyone else is staying in the luxury hotels back in the town. The Germans came to admire Modestine and stopped to chat. They are here paying privately for a cure for the husband who has to drink the waters several times a day. We have the impression it is a matter of desperation and they cannot afford to stay in town. He told us that he is retired but his wife still has several years to work before they could ever consider travelling for long periods and in any case he does not know whether he will still be around by then. We've always been rather sceptical about the curative powers of the spas that are so important to the people of Central Europe, regarding them as an excuse for a nice little holiday paid by their health insurance provider, but we realised this evening just how psychologically important they can be for those who are really seriously ill.<br /><br />Apart from Karlovy Vary, our day has been spent travelling. We left Prague mid-morning and took the faster route here rather than driving across country on tiny roads all day. At one point our route joined up with the same one we used last year for a few kilometres, but in the opposite direction. We passed across boundless acres of wheat stretching to the horizon. Collective farming methods do create rather monotonous landscapes. Czech beer is considered among the best in Europe and from time to time we passed large fields of hops, where they are just starting to climb the wires along the high wooden frame that supports them. At lunch time we stopped at a roadside restaurant where we ordered dish of the day along with the various truck drivers who had also pulled in there. We were served a garlic soup with croutons and cheese followed by a sweet pepper pork goulash with steamed potatoes. With it Ian had a large beer and Jill a fizzy mineral water which we followed with a couple of coffees. Our total bill was 162 kroner (£4)! It would have been four times the price in Prague.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-47241830921188711362007-06-07T14:23:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:19.627+00:00Bratislava<B>Tuesday 29th May 2007, Bratislava, Slovakia, continued</B><br />The campsite we are using is the only one for Bratislava. While basic, Spartan even, it is very conveniently located with a tram at the entrance that carries us slowly but cheaply right into the heart of the city dropping us outside Macdonalds. For the return journey we simply wait for it outside the Bratislava 24 hour Tesco! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu9fUG4k11orH012HPsE20a1VKvGbweXnWexhu8vCLZeBxnuf7SPpg7EK_-kboAWsywqWC87jCvsIseXhnKgBfquMlYj9VMvYvG6tJ6ZZcly16X9CG0_Axhc6S-5BuUHloO0a8baW1mnw/s1600-h/YIMG_1774.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu9fUG4k11orH012HPsE20a1VKvGbweXnWexhu8vCLZeBxnuf7SPpg7EK_-kboAWsywqWC87jCvsIseXhnKgBfquMlYj9VMvYvG6tJ6ZZcly16X9CG0_Axhc6S-5BuUHloO0a8baW1mnw/s400/YIMG_1774.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131197801188258" /></a><br /><CENTER>A man in a bit of a hole! Bratislava</CENTER><br />Once a major city in Czechoslovakia, following the fragmentation of the country Bratislava is now the capital city of Slovakia. It must have been a difficult role to undertake. New embassy buildings, government offices and a Parliament would need to be created.<br /><br />Many years ago when meeting up with Hubert in Budapest, we had taken the ferry and train from London to Vienna. There we travelled by hydrofoil down the flooded Danube to Budapest. On the way we passed through Bratislava when it was still part of a united Czechoslovakia. We said then that one day we would visit the city which looked so attractive with its castle and impressive baroque buildings. It has taken nearly forty years but at last we are here.<br /><br />Once settled onto the campsite we went down into the city and wandered around the cobbled streets and magnificent squares. There is much of beauty to see in the historic centre which we will discover in more detail tomorrow. Much of the suburbs however, are industrialised and not at all attractive. There is the usual ugly graffiti, buildings look shabby, paintwork is peeling and railings are broken and rusty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEyc584X98J8qi4ts1R98yYZyOFG-Qko-3o7s3iEN7-lfQ9R1TOMuBDvYq0NSvwtro3CcIJo9GoavTkzBYoYIEpYcOrfiq2LaHdwEOLa9kgRJ37A7NpDTXCTmQD_cOY4f_T_zdDqnX1dY/s1600-h/YIMG_1780.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEyc584X98J8qi4ts1R98yYZyOFG-Qko-3o7s3iEN7-lfQ9R1TOMuBDvYq0NSvwtro3CcIJo9GoavTkzBYoYIEpYcOrfiq2LaHdwEOLa9kgRJ37A7NpDTXCTmQD_cOY4f_T_zdDqnX1dY/s400/YIMG_1780.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131206391122866" /></a><br /><CENTER>Primate's Palace, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHadvc3K0-z7LW917vRwex6GIQ3_gmoT-uOZRiqqLICswOTpc8J5NEsbhF4qvkpwqrFEvdV7W7C0PElQXrJavnhQAsmWWd2fyAj4EuIqKVJeDChv_pPJLq4tzAhVYiZfau1bDkMlAjqLm/s1600-h/YIMG_1783.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHadvc3K0-z7LW917vRwex6GIQ3_gmoT-uOZRiqqLICswOTpc8J5NEsbhF4qvkpwqrFEvdV7W7C0PElQXrJavnhQAsmWWd2fyAj4EuIqKVJeDChv_pPJLq4tzAhVYiZfau1bDkMlAjqLm/s400/YIMG_1783.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131210686090178" /></a><br /><CENTER>Opera, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjO0mvKw4TgWR5zJfit-YuvTF0HvmiYQiT9_V9GBeCxqiL5Mj5vJCEFZw5uDP6uvgb1Zzs7pG8z-QkIkJvVC4FD55zASM5iWqYv2mEiYfbFEQ8zk-Rh0GHq2FmfwwMbGkUbqhqmVKv_k9/s1600-h/YIMG_1779.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjO0mvKw4TgWR5zJfit-YuvTF0HvmiYQiT9_V9GBeCxqiL5Mj5vJCEFZw5uDP6uvgb1Zzs7pG8z-QkIkJvVC4FD55zASM5iWqYv2mEiYfbFEQ8zk-Rh0GHq2FmfwwMbGkUbqhqmVKv_k9/s400/YIMG_1779.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131214981057490" /></a><br /><CENTER>Rococo doorway, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQCIbBuAR9qYyY2gh-aME1FUk2TLswBxZ_VKN3GppEP3LBGAsKYWYEHz4LbOXn1Kl0zs_mGmXganRXv7tAvWphHH-7N9BBmEerKLloLTmTJmkldYvZISwlOjKB36zOWdMgsXCcuizL02L/s1600-h/YIMG_1785.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQCIbBuAR9qYyY2gh-aME1FUk2TLswBxZ_VKN3GppEP3LBGAsKYWYEHz4LbOXn1Kl0zs_mGmXganRXv7tAvWphHH-7N9BBmEerKLloLTmTJmkldYvZISwlOjKB36zOWdMgsXCcuizL02L/s400/YIMG_1785.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131219276024802" /></a><br /><CENTER>Redoute seen from beside the Danube, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Pj1nA2EsEP1glZjYhtBc_9qOj6ICp_SfCs4kqExCFzqG6PcuZEEJfoHpcqBkKz0N67HI41pG8y7l8ubGgscMBz-lIwfJzPyZzLNuhvZkJNLvi1MN6frKqscSeezjMgycJgKFx0EtmcDi/s1600-h/YIMG_1786.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Pj1nA2EsEP1glZjYhtBc_9qOj6ICp_SfCs4kqExCFzqG6PcuZEEJfoHpcqBkKz0N67HI41pG8y7l8ubGgscMBz-lIwfJzPyZzLNuhvZkJNLvi1MN6frKqscSeezjMgycJgKFx0EtmcDi/s400/YIMG_1786.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131614413016050" /></a><br /><CENTER>Danube, looking upriver towards Vienna, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifg6TQoaJ67c9LGViDmXHWwFXMdgrlYR8z1Mz5kUqeJ2iIfhvgHI-lYhpFOCDVdHQwYMCRRBz4G2FdSVvQvCqRsZxRIGAfVWs4jPPbnRk96HNtOWrcS2ZjGB68tqxBn4bxs8cDlGacz657/s1600-h/YIMG_1812.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifg6TQoaJ67c9LGViDmXHWwFXMdgrlYR8z1Mz5kUqeJ2iIfhvgHI-lYhpFOCDVdHQwYMCRRBz4G2FdSVvQvCqRsZxRIGAfVWs4jPPbnRk96HNtOWrcS2ZjGB68tqxBn4bxs8cDlGacz657/s400/YIMG_1812.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131618707983362" /></a><br /><CENTER>Main Square, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEC8uDhFwych_OXrcnnXCUq9SqILPLwpH9otBPdGhxx6sPKj-NZ9XwaQz1AjTSZvrl9isXkqziPqzGtjeE-orJQHc81EgjIHu6WNN-KgnhSAXz36XIzIR4TnA8FYtHRxqkHP1zjhRBfnk/s1600-h/YIMG_1813.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEC8uDhFwych_OXrcnnXCUq9SqILPLwpH9otBPdGhxx6sPKj-NZ9XwaQz1AjTSZvrl9isXkqziPqzGtjeE-orJQHc81EgjIHu6WNN-KgnhSAXz36XIzIR4TnA8FYtHRxqkHP1zjhRBfnk/s400/YIMG_1813.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131623002950674" /></a><br /><CENTER>Main Square, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><B>Wednesday 30th May 2007, Bratislava, Slovakia</B><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3877OlybmkIi-kFyEnIv65v7RNs0b45_4DOuuuuWSbzC39jdb6eVpMj7qygK829ZlLPB8w3H2Kh2v711qtrzqhAE7HO2gWicBWe4XBVSKdnRalL4cEjmb11muJ7X2hyphenhypheneFhTJR6Bl6eOB2/s1600-h/YIMG_1811.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3877OlybmkIi-kFyEnIv65v7RNs0b45_4DOuuuuWSbzC39jdb6eVpMj7qygK829ZlLPB8w3H2Kh2v711qtrzqhAE7HO2gWicBWe4XBVSKdnRalL4cEjmb11muJ7X2hyphenhypheneFhTJR6Bl6eOB2/s400/YIMG_1811.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131627297917986" /></a><br /><CENTER>Welcome to Bratislava</CENTER><br />This morning the temperature had suddenly plummeted from around 30 yesterday to 14 today. For this we are actually grateful! Sightseeing is so much easier and we feel less weary. However, after also finding that the campsite showers only provide cold water in short bursts so violent they are physically painful, we almost gave up and moved on from this rather unsavoury campsite. No doubt tomorrow morning we will regret that we didn't but generally we feel it has been a day well spent around Bratislava. <br /><br />We decided to stay on the tram beyond the city centre as it appeared from our map to go up to the castle, overlooking the Danube. We discovered too late that it actually goes into a tunnel under the castle and terminates in a rather desolate wasteland surrounded by ugly blocks of flats at an area called Chatam Sófer – or Chatham Sofa as we call it in English. This, we have decided, is to the Slovakian Republic what the Ottoman was to the Turkish Empire. It was easy to find once we got down from the tram as there was nothing else half so elegant in this part of the city. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44Cm5nMNUMPszoeuVRpcWVCXbb8PcSf5nCkbUEYtaXO-9bDNjyYuKowALSVTxBsfS1KWfikAPOuGpx8BTAJftT70TSq7acMX_vjJQK3Krk1KM3bWUj_JaiXc31Lts8VD_lIcVYmAwfh6J/s1600-h/YIMG_1790.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44Cm5nMNUMPszoeuVRpcWVCXbb8PcSf5nCkbUEYtaXO-9bDNjyYuKowALSVTxBsfS1KWfikAPOuGpx8BTAJftT70TSq7acMX_vjJQK3Krk1KM3bWUj_JaiXc31Lts8VD_lIcVYmAwfh6J/s400/YIMG_1790.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075131631592885298" /></a><br /><CENTER>Chatham Sofa, Bratislava</CENTER><br />Tightly wrapped in pullovers and jackets we climbed the hill to the castle where we arrived red cheeked and wind blown. There were excellent views of the city from the castle ramparts and it was strange to think that many of the modern buildings and bridges we were looking out over had not even been built when we'd passed by on the hydrofoil so many years ago! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjProF7VzX22Tk140yaboA6TtZCfgl1nszG7KA52g70uAuTGYOvHus-1n3poz77K7EyZjOAJVM_B-7iDbxp_i5GRwEIBHe0SChoGYjiperySodna99h61QMJSbHXNW8gj_eCuzVtgp5E7/s1600-h/YIMG_1791.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjProF7VzX22Tk140yaboA6TtZCfgl1nszG7KA52g70uAuTGYOvHus-1n3poz77K7EyZjOAJVM_B-7iDbxp_i5GRwEIBHe0SChoGYjiperySodna99h61QMJSbHXNW8gj_eCuzVtgp5E7/s400/YIMG_1791.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132018139941954" /></a><br /><CENTER>Castle, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzIvIhYSpA-H3dyw19pvp4lDjvY0Og8OCIwDeiubLDSSn8Ki5PIl511q7bFRK4gUwKKCTgHRO5crGHdEzczRAi4Ee6LwdEkTnx332998HJvKrsKySmCVb4w3vk6cNEGipoPDuEV_M4IXh/s1600-h/YIMG_1796.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzIvIhYSpA-H3dyw19pvp4lDjvY0Og8OCIwDeiubLDSSn8Ki5PIl511q7bFRK4gUwKKCTgHRO5crGHdEzczRAi4Ee6LwdEkTnx332998HJvKrsKySmCVb4w3vk6cNEGipoPDuEV_M4IXh/s400/YIMG_1796.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132022434909266" /></a><br /><CENTER>View of the Danube from the castle, Bratislava</CENTER><br />We made our way down into the city to the President's Residence to see if the present resident President was in residence. There was a ceremony taking place as we arrived and as nobody else was watching we thought we'd better offer some support. So we watched through the railings as the National Guard lined up beneath the country's flag, the red carpet was laid out and the band played the Slovakian National Anthem. Eventually front door of the palace opened and the present hesitant resident President himself walked out, accompanied by what we assume was a visiting president or head of state. As we watched, the guards presented arms and looked very smart while the present resident President and the present resident President's president friend (who is unprecedentedly resident) walked the carpet inspecting the guards. The resident Presidents then returned to the present President's residence and the guard marched off. It was all rather an anticlimax really.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XSSO1eSku2DgEk3FCVmiPlme-IXgt30O1wjHsKKa4rRlduUrTeIX6dCnR2x4TMDNBcKGzzRbv5OuvpWXdx2W_0E9SljAVTzqux9VgzOE0_hmuT1bPZnwW-ZJsVOevZcQmnnMv3n0PVWl/s1600-h/YIMG_1802.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XSSO1eSku2DgEk3FCVmiPlme-IXgt30O1wjHsKKa4rRlduUrTeIX6dCnR2x4TMDNBcKGzzRbv5OuvpWXdx2W_0E9SljAVTzqux9VgzOE0_hmuT1bPZnwW-ZJsVOevZcQmnnMv3n0PVWl/s400/YIMG_1802.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132026729876578" /></a><br /><CENTER>Inspecting the guard at the President's residence, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKx12sRQAvhcz3fUN__QnJyScPDhTrcEABKbWfxeFJ2QePMP0VmhxKRlww80ioQq6tNTaJtEZ8ddEbg5ICIyHzNDpVcxLr6BYn9fpc5KFQPJ13bp7nzR1wzniPcPZJuUTDP4eIQuPoSdoY/s1600-h/YIMG_1803.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKx12sRQAvhcz3fUN__QnJyScPDhTrcEABKbWfxeFJ2QePMP0VmhxKRlww80ioQq6tNTaJtEZ8ddEbg5ICIyHzNDpVcxLr6BYn9fpc5KFQPJ13bp7nzR1wzniPcPZJuUTDP4eIQuPoSdoY/s400/YIMG_1803.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132031024843890" /></a><br /><CENTER>Presidents in residence, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDQIHfkR-2PXoIWzGVUhdgYziAlcKNZnqXcdCSUDRp72ObTDIbKOZeUQcWX0hB4wJ16HrObtvNqrIFkidPdowpoxexHaBR6nyIKo_SKBY7u1Dnz_KJf7SC_BRPYb_caWv3b0cOYpAlS-j/s1600-h/YIMG_1806.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDQIHfkR-2PXoIWzGVUhdgYziAlcKNZnqXcdCSUDRp72ObTDIbKOZeUQcWX0hB4wJ16HrObtvNqrIFkidPdowpoxexHaBR6nyIKo_SKBY7u1Dnz_KJf7SC_BRPYb_caWv3b0cOYpAlS-j/s400/YIMG_1806.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132035319811202" /></a><br /><CENTER>President's residence, Bratislava</CENTER><br />After a hot coffee inside one of the city's pleasant cafes we visited the Cathedral of St. Martin where, from the 16th century after the Turks overran Hungary, the Hungarian kings and rulers of the Austro-Hungarian Empire were crowned. On the top of the spire is a symbolic gilded crown on a gold cushion while inside a list of all the Hungarian and Austrian rulers, including the Empress Maria Theresa, is painted on the wall. Internally the Cathedral is a particularly interesting building with a typically Hungarian statue of St. Martin, more a hussar than a centurion, sharing his cloak with a beggar and a treasury of ecclesiastical vestments, candlesticks and chalices. There are exquisite animal carvings on the altar pews and an icy crypt filled with walled-up bodies from the 18th and 19th centuries.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpZsI-AC0H9mPrz4cCiH8XLy-Up8ZpP3nTryvtFz3uAjCnvoi4-KKtfRarO_2iKN_2dULWWNXirNhd2pvIa6hv3n9Tba6OZHGCgj0FoRWfZVRzCqvSGZi-bEEjcEhyBD2q_1Whi5iD5fG/s1600-h/YIMG_1824.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpZsI-AC0H9mPrz4cCiH8XLy-Up8ZpP3nTryvtFz3uAjCnvoi4-KKtfRarO_2iKN_2dULWWNXirNhd2pvIa6hv3n9Tba6OZHGCgj0FoRWfZVRzCqvSGZi-bEEjcEhyBD2q_1Whi5iD5fG/s400/YIMG_1824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132559305821330" /></a><br /><CENTER>St. Martin cutting his cloak to share with a beggar, Cathedral, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn84hnbAd08KYOk-T2B9dWysSnDYYZq1OiLY8fIYRm5zIitYkK3B8xX-0r0etIo_Bqqi0vNoR1ccapQSFMISOsZ1mGla7aLPDoEMBv65uaElpfCf2UTykbb8gcR-UOFnkfZimWWUgMQlOJ/s1600-h/YIMG_1820.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn84hnbAd08KYOk-T2B9dWysSnDYYZq1OiLY8fIYRm5zIitYkK3B8xX-0r0etIo_Bqqi0vNoR1ccapQSFMISOsZ1mGla7aLPDoEMBv65uaElpfCf2UTykbb8gcR-UOFnkfZimWWUgMQlOJ/s400/YIMG_1820.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132563600788642" /></a><br /><CENTER>Hungarian monarchs crowned in the Cathedral, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0o-iyu54udb1t9wwMVajJxZfQUq4cSJhAqIpBzMAGCGWr9N8kOZSIPfUb998Dis9i5tBFLnaSsZ7evHaVpMjMekQbZW7EufXGrpjhfgx40rD0s7gAPVzz6UM3Dxy40UwhXNZqaUbBctw/s1600-h/YIMG_1819.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0o-iyu54udb1t9wwMVajJxZfQUq4cSJhAqIpBzMAGCGWr9N8kOZSIPfUb998Dis9i5tBFLnaSsZ7evHaVpMjMekQbZW7EufXGrpjhfgx40rD0s7gAPVzz6UM3Dxy40UwhXNZqaUbBctw/s400/YIMG_1819.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132567895755954" /></a><br /><CENTER>One of the carvings in the Cathedral of St. Martin, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_q079vxqhEFB1Zv8AmXmAw7KRCOHcD-oCMlqC_CJfIV9agquqfm-XYCm23bUHi2cbaV3O0Qqm7RCoV3HKqjrKJfFobkS9uG56q_6gP0kxZqoCv-lPw2JxTa2OYgMPeFRgj_2hcVrGNvk/s1600-h/YIMG_1821.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_q079vxqhEFB1Zv8AmXmAw7KRCOHcD-oCMlqC_CJfIV9agquqfm-XYCm23bUHi2cbaV3O0Qqm7RCoV3HKqjrKJfFobkS9uG56q_6gP0kxZqoCv-lPw2JxTa2OYgMPeFRgj_2hcVrGNvk/s400/YIMG_1821.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132572190723266" /></a><br /><CENTER>Floor tiles in the Cathedral, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NomeDXE4RBvzDpkDNmqUogHFQqdu3bbzLBY_ZmBym8DUuE2xbmCZf66KiNhHkTYZzcZUkjVQKC2vhMJgwIhuMS5DZV7AepSqNtQPUJrjwz3dG6_M4nzONptnMppwgTfk_SbESyPpjZ-o/s1600-h/YIMG_1823.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NomeDXE4RBvzDpkDNmqUogHFQqdu3bbzLBY_ZmBym8DUuE2xbmCZf66KiNhHkTYZzcZUkjVQKC2vhMJgwIhuMS5DZV7AepSqNtQPUJrjwz3dG6_M4nzONptnMppwgTfk_SbESyPpjZ-o/s400/YIMG_1823.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075132580780657874" /></a><br /><CENTER>Skeletons in the crypt of the Cathedral, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuhtA7h5SIIuOg3BKYjxm1RkkArziSnCh60VQm9PCkKck1mShyphenhyphenTIoYPWzcF21Mg7r5LZyf9G1fmPFTin2Ca0VOuNX4Bq4iFYw8AQw3Ey_HLEaMgZEhOTAfciVQypDc6_vsoho3Jz_Ri11/s1600-h/YIMG_1825.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuhtA7h5SIIuOg3BKYjxm1RkkArziSnCh60VQm9PCkKck1mShyphenhyphenTIoYPWzcF21Mg7r5LZyf9G1fmPFTin2Ca0VOuNX4Bq4iFYw8AQw3Ey_HLEaMgZEhOTAfciVQypDc6_vsoho3Jz_Ri11/s400/YIMG_1825.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133267975425250" /></a><br /><CENTER>Crypt of the Cathedral, Bratislava</CENTER><br />We tried to visit the University Library but were unceremoniously denied access and it was indicated that we should leave. Attempts to explain our interest to anyone who could speak any of the list of languages we offered to try to communicate in met with indifferent stares and we were forced to give up and leave. It was the most unfriendly experience we have ever encountered at a library, or indeed anywhere, during our travels. Round the corner we discovered the British Council where they were far more friendly and told us we were welcome to look around. It didn't take us long to discover cheap fish and chips was on offer in their café along with free copies of today's Guardian, Independent and Daily Telegraph. So we caught up on the British press as we ate. An oasis of Britain so far from home! We also took advantage of their free internet access for an unsuccessful search to discover what the country's President was up to today - difficult when we don't know his name.<br /><br />When we crossed from Hungary yesterday we still had some forints with us which we exchanged for Slovakian kronas at the border, so we've not really known how much money we have or what it's worth. After paying for lunch today and keeping back campsite fees we worked out we had about 80 pence left, not enough for some wine this evening! We don't want to take money out with us tomorrow as the Czech Republic has a different currency again, so we withdrew a minimum amount from our bank and after buying our wine had enough left over to blow on entry to the national art collection. This was really rather good. We explored the contemporary collections in the Esterhazy Palace before crossing to another, linked building where there were works by Slovakian artists (or whatever nationality they were at that time as the countries of central and eastern Europe have always been so fluid). These included 16th century religious paintings and some exquisite sculptures in wood, mainly of the Virgin and Child. Next we explored the European art collections with several works from the Netherlands and even some from England including one by William Hogarth. In France, Britain, Germany, Italy or Spain the galleries would have been crowded with visitors, and much of the work exhibited here is of comparable worth, but today we were the only visitors to the gallery all afternoon! We were accompanied from room to room by a whole host of attendants who found having something to do for a few moments relieved the usual boredom! It's such a pity the collections are not better visited and we are lead to wonder how the money is found to pay the salaries of the staff. All they got from us today was a couple of pounds and we were even given a discount as retired people!<br /><br />Finally, as we returned to catch the tram back to Modestine we discovered the "Blue Church". This is an Art Nouveau church painted bright blue inside and out. We were surprised at the large number of people calling in for a few moments quiet reflection on their way home from work. Nearby stands a building used as a school. It is of the same era and style as the church but has not been restored. It is crumbling, the paintwork peeling, with broken guttering and rusty railings. There is still so much to do in many of the former Socialist countries before their historic cities regain their full splendour, and they are reliant on European funding to provide much of the necessary financial support.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10djCtjqw96tQwgtGwM5Mr3h4UEb7qVpfA2q8JyKj90pDZT6rHVvGuvwAlC4sv6y1nCknccg6hsXyZs18VLtppBvtB0rVibGFY9XZiiF0Jx79xFR4nke6ADmzUDR6bMVFy56DTJk6OQ2m/s1600-h/YIMG_1830.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10djCtjqw96tQwgtGwM5Mr3h4UEb7qVpfA2q8JyKj90pDZT6rHVvGuvwAlC4sv6y1nCknccg6hsXyZs18VLtppBvtB0rVibGFY9XZiiF0Jx79xFR4nke6ADmzUDR6bMVFy56DTJk6OQ2m/s400/YIMG_1830.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133276565359858" /></a><br /><CENTER>Art Nouveau church, Bratislava</CENTER><br /><B>Thursday 30th May 2007, Trebric, Czech Republic</B><br />We were very weary by the time we arrived here and beginning to get desperately low on fuel for Modestine and somewhere to spend the night for us. That's the main disadvantage of travelling across country rather than following the main routes or motorways. We see more of the little villages, the vineyards, lakes, rivers and countryside with its wooded hills topped by romantic castles and the wide flat plains of arable crops and grassland where the fields glow red from the poppies crowded in with the grass. We also see the roadsides lined with ripening cherry trees and elderflower blossoms and get waved at by children as we pass through the villages. These routes take far longer and can be more tiring though our mileage is surprising. When we finally refuelled Modestine she'd travelled 480 miles on 39 litres of diesel. Even for a car that's very reasonable and she's been carrying our entire home!<br /><br />Without any regret we left the dirty, uncared for and rather creepy campsite on the edge of Bratislava this morning. It had served its purpose but we'd never use it again. Needless to say, neither of us tried the cold showers before we left though Ian did draw a felt-tip man on the gents' loos and showers to save other ladies from Jill's embarrassment when she used the gents, open plan showers yesterday by mistake! The only one that was labelled had Z for ladies on the door. Obvious if you are Slovakian but none of the campers were, although the tramps who were rifling the rubbish bins on the site almost certainly were.<br /><br />We stopped to look around the agreeable little town of Modra in the heart of the wine growing region. Adding all our bits of local money together we discovered we still had just over £3 left to spend before we crossed into the Czech Republic (CZ) and a local wine cellar was offering a daily menu for 75 kroners - about £1.50 We were served bowls of spicy meat and vegetable soup with slices of bread followed by four slices of savoury dumplings with lamb, onions and cabbage braised in a sweet white wine sauce. So ample was the meal we were unable to finish it! Ian also lashed out 9 kroners (18 pence) on a glass of sparkling white wine made on the premises. We were unable to find a common language with the staff so we emptied our purse onto the table and left. We hope the meagre few extra coins were not an insult.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQtij6EWm6x0gIAjDhPRtyz2y8RlKWsW5H0sR3SNzdxH6r9qBGnzoAMk1FeUErTIscl6EF3Y8f_F84jyl1sNv3J4KtkiTAX2FExbT1pXfD4FfxCoEoW2vWutPysLRUh39obsiwzfrJRg_/s1600-h/YIMG_1832.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQtij6EWm6x0gIAjDhPRtyz2y8RlKWsW5H0sR3SNzdxH6r9qBGnzoAMk1FeUErTIscl6EF3Y8f_F84jyl1sNv3J4KtkiTAX2FExbT1pXfD4FfxCoEoW2vWutPysLRUh39obsiwzfrJRg_/s400/YIMG_1832.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133280860327170" /></a><br /><CENTER>A nice place to empty our purse, Modra</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6L4xsGYD9LIW77UL4vpi1icQDj9jpVEEkRZmn7bWjKavndpx0S7nZsTQbnOBh3HCLzGX1ACTtl_g6LaOwUvKI23W5B3GVs2femHZHr8GMnGA6UtAnq8kX3dH9op6LZ-jhbH1kz64vSV7/s1600-h/YIMG_1833.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6L4xsGYD9LIW77UL4vpi1icQDj9jpVEEkRZmn7bWjKavndpx0S7nZsTQbnOBh3HCLzGX1ACTtl_g6LaOwUvKI23W5B3GVs2femHZHr8GMnGA6UtAnq8kX3dH9op6LZ-jhbH1kz64vSV7/s400/YIMG_1833.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133289450261778" /></a><br /><CENTER>Our last Slovakian kronas</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_qF_SKM1jz5iRX11ZHbnARvWVyYuWKCtfQDoOTx1GVzOb2hUE3TniynRLfKiK0eH2qdYG4L26Lb6K129dXLr-pMW3diE3ZoUzRGo0f4Lkgn2oQszluShIlbMVSeA1znbEIN-XWFZ6yxn/s1600-h/YIMG_1831.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_qF_SKM1jz5iRX11ZHbnARvWVyYuWKCtfQDoOTx1GVzOb2hUE3TniynRLfKiK0eH2qdYG4L26Lb6K129dXLr-pMW3diE3ZoUzRGo0f4Lkgn2oQszluShIlbMVSeA1znbEIN-XWFZ6yxn/s400/YIMG_1831.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133293745229090" /></a><br /><CENTER>A little French sophistication – or not quite, Modra</CENTER><br />At Senica we stopped in a side road to make a cup of coffee as the driving, the warmer weather today and the ample lunch had made Jill feel sleepy. Afterwards we took a stroll through the cemetery we'd chanced to park beside. It was a sea of flowers with every grave smothered. Closer investigation showed them all to be artificial and left there for months after the funerals with oil lamps still burning in front of many of the graves. What sobered us though was that almost without exception the dates on the graves showed the inhabitants to have been born considerably more recently than us! It's quite a shock to realise how brief the average life span is in this part of central Europe and does rather explain why we see so few elderly people about. We still feel cheats being retired, yet we are already five to ten years older than the majority of the recent burials in that cemetery!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDoMEGO5GO3K5nBEByv9j_HeKSu3WLKJqhsEK8FT7NXFCSkdN8PugRQQuEnMiVXkRsl3Lplyh7JnZg6oHtoLwnwDsuuluDVBTFJEhghjbOIXXZp5nSHz7VjlsjAyN7VRIOfsFvUjrCLH0/s1600-h/YIMG_1836.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDoMEGO5GO3K5nBEByv9j_HeKSu3WLKJqhsEK8FT7NXFCSkdN8PugRQQuEnMiVXkRsl3Lplyh7JnZg6oHtoLwnwDsuuluDVBTFJEhghjbOIXXZp5nSHz7VjlsjAyN7VRIOfsFvUjrCLH0/s400/YIMG_1836.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133800551370034" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cemetery in Senica</CENTER><br />Soon we reached the border with CZ and crossed into Hodonín. This seemed a more affluent town than those we'd left in SK but here too the lovely buildings were badly marred by ugly graffiti. All the towns of central Europe suffer from the same unsightly problem. After some difficulty and a long walk we managed to get some local money from a cash machine. There are parking charges in the town centre but as we had no money we couldn't park. Unless we parked we couldn't get any money! We have now ascertained that CZ and SK both use the kroner but the CZ one is worth slightly more (2.5 pence rather than 2 pence.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWkiNaJIg9PGR04OqGld4TuaUvDigdk0CgwHQazeDHC6k-UO-Ab9YTXIYtvpQ6wokS83dqfHy-ASaCotpXaxpLswSMdPFZJ5ytRkykSj2CHiU8awPNTgIuEUXR_N7wnZxwQKFUqPw_dwK/s1600-h/YIMG_1839.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWkiNaJIg9PGR04OqGld4TuaUvDigdk0CgwHQazeDHC6k-UO-Ab9YTXIYtvpQ6wokS83dqfHy-ASaCotpXaxpLswSMdPFZJ5ytRkykSj2CHiU8awPNTgIuEUXR_N7wnZxwQKFUqPw_dwK/s400/YIMG_1839.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133804846337346" /></a><br /><CENTER>And so we reach the Czech Republic</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt3mN6Qv45e27Qo_w00mTCIIxeNPNG-QLHsgVa1BFHsZlZgmha7p7NR0gzczEwIKyBHvP_3yoZZcr3UGejlnx78tJnSBSAme1MBTddR1iSBclU7dLJc0akD9IF-8HX9Wo1s8-hu5UC43D/s1600-h/YIMG_1841.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt3mN6Qv45e27Qo_w00mTCIIxeNPNG-QLHsgVa1BFHsZlZgmha7p7NR0gzczEwIKyBHvP_3yoZZcr3UGejlnx78tJnSBSAme1MBTddR1iSBclU7dLJc0akD9IF-8HX9Wo1s8-hu5UC43D/s400/YIMG_1841.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133813436271954" /></a><br /><CENTER>Our first Czech kronas</CENTER><br />It soon became obvious that we would never reach Prague today and the only map we have of CZ is on a minute scale. We continued across country for hours heading for Trebric where our outdated guide book said there had been a campsite ten years ago. When we stopped in the town for Modestine's fuel we were also directed to the campsite. It is as pleasant as last night's was horrid. Spotlessly clean it is little more than half the price and offers hot showers, a kitchen with all appliances including a freezer and cooker, and a dining room with electricity for anyone needing more space than a tent can provide. There is also a pleasant bar by the river and a barbecue where a group of young people are sitting around a camp fire cooking their supper. It is peaceful and feels safe and comfortable. So not all campsites in the former Czechoslovakia are as austere and dirty as we'd begun to fear.<br /><br /><B>Friday 1st June 2007, Jesenice, near Prague</B><br />Last night at the garage in Trebric Ian 's well trained eye discovered a road atlas of the Czech Republic which also marked on camp sites. It was £2 well invested and has made our travelling today far more enjoyable than it otherwise might have been. It enabled us to drive towards Prague along the tiny rural roads. We passed through villages which by now were quite different from those of Hungary that had continued in the same style right through Slovakia. Incidentally, most villages we passed through had a loud speaker system whereby messages could be transmitted to the entire community. Several were sending messages to every street and farmstead as we passed through. They seem to us to be extremely loud, anti-social and intrusive into personal privacy. We imagine that they are a legacy from former times when they were used as a vehicle for Communist propaganda to enthuse the comrades to work on behalf of the beloved Party. <br /><br /> The landscape changed too, becoming more hilly and wooded. The fields were still enormous, growing mainly arable crops and clover. We were pleased though to see a few cattle beginning to appear in the fields again. Their lives are very short and miserable so it seems only right that they should enjoy fresh grass and sunshine for part of it. Ever since we left Switzerland all the animals seem to have disappeared. We are left to conclude that they are housed permanently inside. This was borne out today by the sight of several long, low, miserable looking farm units where the smell indicated they were housing livestock. It must be a horrible existence for them. <br /><br />As we approached one village we found our route completely barred. The village was appropriately named Vokov!! They don't mince their words these Czechs! Whichever way you cared to read it (backwards or forwards) we were obviously not welcome! <br /><br />We followed a tiny country road through some very pleasant scenery of woods, hills and fields of wheat mixed with poppies, cornflowers, large white daisies, wild pansies and dog roses. Around lunch time we reached the town of Benesov. Its main claim to fame is that nearby stands Konopiste Castle. This had been the home of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand who purchased the estate in 1887. (Remember our report from Sarajevo where he was murdered on a state visit in 1914, precipitating WW1?)<br /><br />Although we did not go around the castle, we explored the grounds which are very pleasant with peacocks in the rose gardens, huge hot houses, a bear pit in the moat and the largest St. George and the dragon collection in Europe! There are 1,506 different pieces all personally collected by the Archduke! He was in competition with King Edward VII at the time so presumably there is another collection almost as large in England somewhere! The collection includes anything connected with St. George regardless of period or merit - worm eaten 16th century wooden statues, early icons, painted plates, engraved glass, a bed head and even a commode with the saint and the dragon on the lid! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34ajnQHJg4EsTbExiL67iSofT68bn3YhwBI_bENZSuAOCwN4T6SQdAjgEOnR0iBuQ-TFpCPbACi8ypjZ03Rb1RujbjsRDtlIv-TMBX2H4GPMsdEIoHhwj-8yO8ysAZVmwMqR5NAWPRdVP/s1600-h/YIMG_1847.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34ajnQHJg4EsTbExiL67iSofT68bn3YhwBI_bENZSuAOCwN4T6SQdAjgEOnR0iBuQ-TFpCPbACi8ypjZ03Rb1RujbjsRDtlIv-TMBX2H4GPMsdEIoHhwj-8yO8ysAZVmwMqR5NAWPRdVP/s400/YIMG_1847.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133817731239266" /></a><br /><CENTER>Konopiste Castle seen from the gardens</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VfBNm4y_1SqQCKIMrm4MqA3BbtOmkZwuIq-UjW29NqbJvaxSUnecnPcjlU-2vwS1wpnB3eQu2YJ2KtaHuxSeReMypf3aLPWm5nEsv7gc_1vhVffMdXCrTx1cdU5J03Wec0F0cjqrDxix/s1600-h/YIMG_1848.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VfBNm4y_1SqQCKIMrm4MqA3BbtOmkZwuIq-UjW29NqbJvaxSUnecnPcjlU-2vwS1wpnB3eQu2YJ2KtaHuxSeReMypf3aLPWm5nEsv7gc_1vhVffMdXCrTx1cdU5J03Wec0F0cjqrDxix/s400/YIMG_1848.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075133822026206578" /></a><br /><CENTER>St. George's gallery, Konopiste Castle</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8qgBl2Iv9giChJU3Q5P9oB1OwVrbq6W-KGp2Kmntup-7WFHoLNk1b5g9YivRI7b1r3wlh6xJnhWFmERa8Qbj9VhJhQbIy8CmIeIVKGTNc91xsTpXNM3F3fCEC8F36vjuS5_TsdwEh0_i/s1600-h/YIMG_1851.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8qgBl2Iv9giChJU3Q5P9oB1OwVrbq6W-KGp2Kmntup-7WFHoLNk1b5g9YivRI7b1r3wlh6xJnhWFmERa8Qbj9VhJhQbIy8CmIeIVKGTNc91xsTpXNM3F3fCEC8F36vjuS5_TsdwEh0_i/s400/YIMG_1851.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075134066839342466" /></a><br /><CENTER>Gardens at Konopiste Castle</CENTER><br />According to a display panel in English that we discovered, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was passionate about hunting and kept his woods stocked with peasants especially for this purpose!!! One is led to wonder whether it was altogether surprising he was assassinated if that was the way he treated his vassals!<br /><br />From Benesov we drove, still on minor roads, to the edge of Prague where we are camped on a site about 13 kilometres from the centre with transport links in. This place is such a contrast with Bratislava with CCTV everywhere around the campsite. It is the first place we have seen more than a couple of camping cars together on a site since we left Dubrovnik. We are surrounded by smart vehicles from Germany, Holland, Denmark and France so the bus into town tomorrow will probably be quite crowded!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-3016366362628900642007-06-03T13:52:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:19.685+00:00In north-west Hungary<B>Saturday 26th May 2007, Keszthely</B><br />It has continued to be unbelievably hot, making it impossible to do anything requiring energy. We read back to our visit here last year which, by sheer coincidence, turns out to have been exactly a year ago. Then it rained continuously and we were cold in Modestine. This year we would welcome back that weather with joy!<br /><br />We spent the morning comfortably enough, catching up on the blog and moving around Modestine to keep in her shade. A group of Austrian cyclists arrived and stopped to chat, asking us if we could take their photo as they set off to ride the 70 kilometres along the lake to Tihany. They all thought Modestine was wonderful and envied us the freedom to travel in our retirement. We walked down to the lake at lunch time where we ate fresh water fish with bread and a salad of pickled vegetables. Walking slowly up into town we sought the woodland for shade. Seeing a parked police car we considered breaking the window of one of the flamboyant houses that would not look out of place in the coastal resorts of Normandy, simply so we could get a free ride into the town centre in an air conditioned vehicle. Closer inspection however made us realise that we could commit any felony we liked with impunity as the two police officers had eyes only for each other! We presume they were on their lunch break.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92cPabEBkwfVl1YOP2eB1ZwKwFSeAYF8UCYfec-Z40NttXgOENHbS5-7Gq-x66mstFlPz7Z3NZYIq4fH9LiUVQIv6MkYIutFNQaUWmdGSGdvG-dOolhBPe8Ye2B9JJhD_8OdkOIcXptER/s1600-h/YIMG_1712.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92cPabEBkwfVl1YOP2eB1ZwKwFSeAYF8UCYfec-Z40NttXgOENHbS5-7Gq-x66mstFlPz7Z3NZYIq4fH9LiUVQIv6MkYIutFNQaUWmdGSGdvG-dOolhBPe8Ye2B9JJhD_8OdkOIcXptER/s400/YIMG_1712.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822003689300578" /></a><CENTER>Austrian cyclists setting off from the campsite, Keszthely </CENTER><br />The tourist office was shut until next Tuesday when we arrived and street maps were available only from there. So later we got hopelessly lost trying to remember the way back to the campsite from our previous visit. The only internet shop too was closed for the weekend so we dragged ourselves along to the castle park which is freely open to the public and provides woodland shade and cool fountains – if you climb into them! On our last visit the park was a quagmire and we had been disappointed not to be able to visit it. Today it was really beautiful, offering impressive views of the castle seen through the trees or across the lake and flower beds. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERDlC0Wy3ul8Vmcdyb44wBkt2530D4KRkJSCQIy6kzp-DHUZr1ypLKdVi9QMHM5e40f8hIBmWASsouvirpKJNv2TV0gaA5VWGfyk6MoMURkWIKzQO5dqUdTIV6anfVpo4sLCgmYFHHN60/s1600-h/YIMG_1716.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERDlC0Wy3ul8Vmcdyb44wBkt2530D4KRkJSCQIy6kzp-DHUZr1ypLKdVi9QMHM5e40f8hIBmWASsouvirpKJNv2TV0gaA5VWGfyk6MoMURkWIKzQO5dqUdTIV6anfVpo4sLCgmYFHHN60/s400/YIMG_1716.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071828867047039874" /></a><CENTER>Festecics Castle, Keszthely </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWKiiW1J0QpzeZgPav7aXqcsJR189roSJOIRbPA-FfvwOT_Pv0gP76y0YieONQKw287fPTlFC-aGV-Qi1Yng8GzFAmrlY13EqCGnw9-qNIYSlKoJwxIlyELnD1J-b1Us7kqXMKhAjvJSo/s1600-h/YIMG_1720.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkWKiiW1J0QpzeZgPav7aXqcsJR189roSJOIRbPA-FfvwOT_Pv0gP76y0YieONQKw287fPTlFC-aGV-Qi1Yng8GzFAmrlY13EqCGnw9-qNIYSlKoJwxIlyELnD1J-b1Us7kqXMKhAjvJSo/s400/YIMG_1720.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822025164137090" /></a><CENTER>Cooling off, Keszthely </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHK6XHkfDEd4YeYzoPyTsNmOd5F8dpVxPbXmnONWxHgSN0jGyn22sgDQOykm1jgq0t5UHK8iTnZytJZTnF6MzWi8R0akg0Fh8jwzJhuaHB2qkUno9gYmr__oRCxtL7tCWgTS-qHtsncQ_/s1600-h/YIMG_1724.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHK6XHkfDEd4YeYzoPyTsNmOd5F8dpVxPbXmnONWxHgSN0jGyn22sgDQOykm1jgq0t5UHK8iTnZytJZTnF6MzWi8R0akg0Fh8jwzJhuaHB2qkUno9gYmr__oRCxtL7tCWgTS-qHtsncQ_/s400/YIMG_1724.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822029459104402" /></a><CENTER> Festecics Castle from the grounds, Keszthely </CENTER><br />We accept that we are useless wimps when it comes to hot weather but it has been so frustrating to find ourselves in such a delightful town with so much to see and to be just too exhausted to move. We struggled back into town to the very pleasant coffee shop where last year we warmed ourselves with steaming cups of coffee and plates of cherry retes. Today we asked for chilled water with ice and couldn't do any sort of justice to the array of dreamy cakes.<br /><br />After getting lost on our way home we finally arrived, feeling utterly drained. There is a small swimming pool here and while Ian rushed for the shower, Jill enjoyed the icy chill of jumping in and swimming around for half an hour after which we both felt so much better. By 6pm shade was beginning to return around Modestine as we sat chatting with Sylvia, the daughter of the campsite owners. She is a charming young person who will soon qualify as a librarian here. Next week she takes her English oral exam so we hope our chat will have been of help to her. It was certainly most enjoyable for us and good to know that there are still young people eager to enter into the profession we have recently left.<br /><br />Our chat was cut short by a clap of thunder and sudden burst of heavy rain. Since then the storm has hovered around, neither breaking nor moving away. It will be too hot to sleep tonight unless the rain comes.<br /><br /><B>Sunday 27th May 2007, Köszeg</B><br />The rain never fully arrived overnight and this morning dawned as hot and sultry as ever. There was no way we could cycle across the fields in the heat to Hévíz for a swim in the naturally heated spa there. In any case, who wants to swim in water of 33 degrees when that's the air temperature anyway? We were even beginning to feel a bit queasy from the heat and were moving with the speed of arthritic snails. So we decided to move on. At least we'd be creating a breeze as we drove along.<br /><br />First though we drove to Hévíz as we'd found it a pleasant little place last year and anyway we needed to buy some bread and wine. (Sunday communion in Modestine.)<br /><br />The spa complex was busy curing Germans while in the town the coffee shops and bars were doing the opposite. The little shops were all open and all selling the usual assortment of holiday essentials – like rubber rings to float in the spa, china ducks with "A present from Hungary" (or its equivalent), strings of dried red paprikas, tiny bottles of palinka or Unicum, and dresses, jeans and tee-shirts so tight no German tourist would ever fit into them - but that didn't stop them trying. As we walked around we realised that absolutely everyone on holiday here was overweight and German. Spas are supposed to be health resorts but one would be hard pressed to find a less healthy population than we saw today! They all looked happy though and were obviously having a great time paid for by their German health insurance.<br /><br />Away from the eyes of the clinicians at the spa, beneath shady trees, wooden benches and tables had been set up and temporary kitchens were cooking huge quantities of food on the street. There were queues of hungry visitors waiting to be served with plates loaded with blood sausage, Schnitzel, deep fried chicken, Wurst, and enormous knuckles of greasy pork with crackling, accompanied by fried potatoes, chips, bread, pickled gherkins, red cabbage and mustard. All was washed down with litre flagons of beer. No doubt it was all needed to aid the recovery from a morning spent floating in hot spa water and being given a Chinese massage by Dr. Yang. We confess to joining them all. It may not be healthy but it was great food and a good atmosphere. Afterwards of course we felt bloated and wish we'd had one meal between us. You can read more <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/06/keszthely-and-lake-balaton.html">here</a>about our time at Hévíz spa last year.<br /><br />At the tourist office we found a free internet machine and a very bored information officer. Nobody came in during the hour we were there. They were having far too good a time enjoying their Eisbein. We phoned Erzsébet in Györ and arranged that we would join her and Gábor tomorrow afternoon and spend the night with them. Tomorrow there is a party in the village of Gyömöre where they live, so we have been told to arrive in time for that. Our attempts to contact another library friend of Ian's, János in Köszeg were unsuccessful but we wanted to see the town anyway so travelled here during the afternoon. First though we stopped at Szombathely, a pleasant enough place with an impressive neo-classical cathedral and a large, well restored square with fountains surrounded by several large stuccoed 18th century buildings.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IVYAOvSkWYx8DH50Zhj3VzIVXL6_AobvTAGDvzLrBxbpiyWBQw6rKm7sxXxBb4RhNKf6r_J_I8w1EXTbqcx801RzlzQ4w1VW7UNGGlB9_tQ8fPakIYB8MlwkoOGWNluUuIVK_1mJpCQy/s1600-h/YIMG_1731.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IVYAOvSkWYx8DH50Zhj3VzIVXL6_AobvTAGDvzLrBxbpiyWBQw6rKm7sxXxBb4RhNKf6r_J_I8w1EXTbqcx801RzlzQ4w1VW7UNGGlB9_tQ8fPakIYB8MlwkoOGWNluUuIVK_1mJpCQy/s400/YIMG_1731.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822038049039010" /></a><CENTER>Cathedral and classical buildings, Szombathely </CENTER><br />Our route took us across country on minor roads through typical, peaceful Hungarian villages with the main street lined by cherry trees and grass verges with a deep drainage ditch on either side. The countryside was silent in the afternoon heat and we saw almost no other vehicles until we reached Köszeg, not far from the border with Austria.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjj0WxzMbDjsGXLpNpGB-oznKYrHrIi8TpDptcyw_FoLG4JE8taPWUYAW76sgwo85Q78rcXD4Mdbb2PeAXBIpiCgMdf8oe7qJ4KFHBcQjIzPLB5HmfDoPlY7cgZMNNW6-Vy7w88lfz2yj/s1600-h/YIMG_1736.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjj0WxzMbDjsGXLpNpGB-oznKYrHrIi8TpDptcyw_FoLG4JE8taPWUYAW76sgwo85Q78rcXD4Mdbb2PeAXBIpiCgMdf8oe7qJ4KFHBcQjIzPLB5HmfDoPlY7cgZMNNW6-Vy7w88lfz2yj/s400/YIMG_1736.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822884157596338" /></a><CENTER>Manhole cover, Köszeg</CENTER><br />We easily found the campsite in this little old town of 15,000 inhabitants. It lies just outside the centre in the grounds of a small guest house. It's a holiday weekend and most of the rooms are occupied but there is only one other vehicle using the campsite. The owner was intrigued with Modestine and couldn't believe we intended to sleep in her. When he'd peered inside and we'd explained how the bed was made up he decided she was not big enough to charge 1,000 forints as a camping car so he's charging 400 as a car instead! He also says we can have breakfast with the other guests in the house tomorrow if we wish. <br /><br />Ian visited Köszeg for a couple of days on his library tour of Hungary some years ago and was pleased to recognise so many places around the lovely old streets. It's not a tourist town but is crammed full of 17th to 19th century buildings, generally on a modest scale and in varying states of repair. Some are freshly restored and rendered, others are crumbling slightly with an air of decayed elegance. As we wandered around Ian recognised the home of his librarian friend János in one of the blocks of flats. We rang the bell but there was no reply so we assume he has gone away for the holiday weekend. We left a message in the letterbox saying that by chance we were staying nearby overnight and would try to make contact again tomorrow morning before we move on. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFq0KS-zeiHP34C1mCnRMt1ylhad_P8pkm4YMFBn2f7y66VApZ_VgAtR8qnYNSZxnA1JewrApDgtqxiGdAYI7bWQU0CpGMe1O4uIhzZmxUj4HWmdb9eSCKPQeT_IhX0aYDtXliMPYlrip/s1600-h/YIMG_1737.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFq0KS-zeiHP34C1mCnRMt1ylhad_P8pkm4YMFBn2f7y66VApZ_VgAtR8qnYNSZxnA1JewrApDgtqxiGdAYI7bWQU0CpGMe1O4uIhzZmxUj4HWmdb9eSCKPQeT_IhX0aYDtXliMPYlrip/s400/YIMG_1737.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822884157596354" /></a><CENTER>Modest Baroque houses and cafés, Köszeg</CENTER><br />By the Heroes' Gate we found the Hungarian equivalent of an Armistice Day ceremony taking place with the town's brass band playing from a covered balcony on the top of a tower while army personnel carried wreaths which were laid outside the church at the war memorial. The Hungarian National Anthem was played and the service attended by young and old alike, each group with wreaths to lay. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpUJheQrsReb6E8uYO8O2ej0u-F5fpgRrWvtO0E5bvDTAG_xy84ONe9mmxTDUvtY1PUS7UqY9zSyhyIenXnACd_b_8cuZ9broTao6YG4Dlrb836cW2Slc-5SUiuF6MGmySsGn5pUrosR9/s1600-h/YIMG_1742.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpUJheQrsReb6E8uYO8O2ej0u-F5fpgRrWvtO0E5bvDTAG_xy84ONe9mmxTDUvtY1PUS7UqY9zSyhyIenXnACd_b_8cuZ9broTao6YG4Dlrb836cW2Slc-5SUiuF6MGmySsGn5pUrosR9/s400/YIMG_1742.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822892747530962" /></a><CENTER>Ceremony at Heroes' Gate, Köszeg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zT2OtcAZMPHXdkr1WgJKV8cBsfmxtx1XqXKptslEgO7dps8RlfGRkG0ijg5duAXczOhDqc-mMfgtlAWEWwYDcwEDcpE8x-iHFmxWovLI4W2YvcBdxZk8c_GYPpsVgbTJP5lYV4hh6hyphenhyphenV/s1600-h/YIMG_1746.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zT2OtcAZMPHXdkr1WgJKV8cBsfmxtx1XqXKptslEgO7dps8RlfGRkG0ijg5duAXczOhDqc-mMfgtlAWEWwYDcwEDcpE8x-iHFmxWovLI4W2YvcBdxZk8c_GYPpsVgbTJP5lYV4hh6hyphenhyphenV/s400/YIMG_1746.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822897042498274" /></a><CENTER>Castle, Köszeg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDwBatZ19yYWwlucDFi7t0D2D3g7qXEIwjDjedCeUkcgeUv9Ero8taHMPYyGHmzxX1PgmRUXTkev3kSHgUnOsWjHQkmkKZ9emPCwUUpqACuC8GM6tngXFV_OgBLzlUKktHzj39138iHrV/s1600-h/YIMG_1749.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTDwBatZ19yYWwlucDFi7t0D2D3g7qXEIwjDjedCeUkcgeUv9Ero8taHMPYyGHmzxX1PgmRUXTkev3kSHgUnOsWjHQkmkKZ9emPCwUUpqACuC8GM6tngXFV_OgBLzlUKktHzj39138iHrV/s400/YIMG_1749.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071822901337465586" /></a><CENTER>Town Hall, Köszeg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbCSy63AC2PFtxal54yYok6m0ZLqYAa5tBQhohZNV08Dkcn-8Dzb6VqkP3pUnJLZmrJiSqwFnx7njqDfTcOX5luyHO5E3KjNCVXtefn7h3Lz-2JY8IOtb8LOsPRASMr887i1kHIrr5qt8/s1600-h/YIMG_1752.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbCSy63AC2PFtxal54yYok6m0ZLqYAa5tBQhohZNV08Dkcn-8Dzb6VqkP3pUnJLZmrJiSqwFnx7njqDfTcOX5luyHO5E3KjNCVXtefn7h3Lz-2JY8IOtb8LOsPRASMr887i1kHIrr5qt8/s400/YIMG_1752.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071823854820205314" /></a><CENTER>Cooling off in one of the fountains, Köszeg</CENTER><br />This afternoon the weather has definitely turned cooler and a breeze has sprung up. It is such a relief and already we feel far more active and alert. The downside though is that the wind has stirred up so much pollen that Ian is sneezing for England and it's driving both of us mad!<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 29th May 2007, Bratislava, Slovakia</B><br />It has only been a couple of days since we last wrote in the blog but it seems so long ago it is already becoming difficult to remember everything that has happened.<br /><br />Yesterday morning we decided to discover what Hungarians eat for breakfast when staying in nice little guest houses in the provinces, far from the sophistication of Budapest. We were served jugs of hoszu kavé (the essential term we finally discovered to avoid tiny cups of espresso) with a large plate of cold meats – ham, spicy sausage and cured bacon, together with pieces of Hungarian cheese, raw paprika and slices of tomato. We could probably have had an omelette instead but there was a bit of a communication difficulty and our Hungarian wasn't anywhere near up to understanding what the nice lady serving us was offering, so we simply nodded and tried to look as if we understood. <br /><br />After paying our bill we left Modestine for a couple of hours and went off to finish our exploration of Köszeg which has to rank as one of the nicest little towns we have visited in Hungary - a country that for its size is blessed with far more lovely old towns than might be expected. We tried again to contact János. Someone answered the door and we managed to understand that he no longer lived there. We were given an address across town which we eventually found. His sister, who only spoke a few words of English, answered our knock but managed to explain that János was in Austria for the weekend and would be back tomorrow. She couldn't invite us into the house as her mother was ill but promised to tell János we'd called. She said she remembered Ian from his previous visit and that she now also worked in the library in the town along with her brother. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEMfhnygmPF2FNKfuUPAR7N8CYxrkIiDDnI0rF3o0mZRGsDxZrPcPWYNYQS3cjw3U46CHlR5stCQ6YFtTOdzitcZn4pDiHz-11Z61c3R3KyP4vm-yEOmRup7S2357SzVXfqhPwDH9j39Z/s1600-h/YIMG_1753.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEMfhnygmPF2FNKfuUPAR7N8CYxrkIiDDnI0rF3o0mZRGsDxZrPcPWYNYQS3cjw3U46CHlR5stCQ6YFtTOdzitcZn4pDiHz-11Z61c3R3KyP4vm-yEOmRup7S2357SzVXfqhPwDH9j39Z/s400/YIMG_1753.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071823859115172626" /></a><CENTER>Renaissance house with sgraffito decoration, Köszeg</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRla7k7fvDEg_uNLY6kMt4XKkWtaTtqeI2dWbkadm-RDJ9zCZ3Qms5elvu78dcPU8VKiw2jC-30rI0TDWtqlxiXxoVHM1OsjZvJdbpHJETxbYOxHsyovfA2bypKdruVK6wFM8pXaXZVD1b/s1600-h/YIMG_1758.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRla7k7fvDEg_uNLY6kMt4XKkWtaTtqeI2dWbkadm-RDJ9zCZ3Qms5elvu78dcPU8VKiw2jC-30rI0TDWtqlxiXxoVHM1OsjZvJdbpHJETxbYOxHsyovfA2bypKdruVK6wFM8pXaXZVD1b/s400/YIMG_1758.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071823863410139938" /></a><CENTER>Neo-gothic church in the main square, Köszeg</CENTER><br />We left Köszeg around midday and drove across the flat countryside towards Györ where we were expected by 2pm. The fields are huge, a legacy from the time of cooperative farming, and several farmers work together to produce a single, massive crop of cereal or flax. We passed through large areas of woodland, travelling along empty roads through long straggling villages along the roadside with their vegetable gardens, vines and chickens behind the houses. Several times we passed horse-drawn carts, piled high with grass, driven by country people who looked from another era. Time in the countryside passes at a very different pace than it does in the cities.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2Xr6iekXMHqn4am5E9RywS8MfQ8yYN9cTndibPik2Laq5YKOPBoqenfSmQu1lVWUZ3GItBg_44u-hdj_6ZT1ZOsYnH1pfk_sGoA5xVkPWRKbIL3OnHEq-k90mFnk1Ojs-vajnzoJcToG/s1600-h/YIMG_1760.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2Xr6iekXMHqn4am5E9RywS8MfQ8yYN9cTndibPik2Laq5YKOPBoqenfSmQu1lVWUZ3GItBg_44u-hdj_6ZT1ZOsYnH1pfk_sGoA5xVkPWRKbIL3OnHEq-k90mFnk1Ojs-vajnzoJcToG/s400/YIMG_1760.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071823872000074546" /></a><CENTER>Farming people on the roads of Hungaray</CENTER><br />Soon the roads became familiar and we found ourselves back in Gyömöre where Erzsébet and Gábor welcomed us into their sunny garden with chilled water and a bowl of cherries from their own trees. It was a delight to see them again and it seemed more like a couple of months since we were last together rather than a year. Gábor understands quite a lot of English but is shy to use it, whereas Erzsébet is happy to chatter and hold the conversation together for all of us. Her English is excellent though she says she has not used it at all since our last visit. Unfortunately her parents, who live in the village and grow all their own fruit, vegetables and flowers as well as making their own wine, could not be with us like last year as her mother is unwell.<br /><br />The party we'd been told to expect turned out to be for the village folk song group, held at the community centre. Erzsébet's father runs the choir, mainly older residents of the village and they meet regularly to sing, chat and swap village gossip. As Erzsébet's guests we were invited along. So, packing mugs, knives and wooden plates into a bag with a huge box of tiny savoury scones (called pogácsak) baked by Erzsébet, we sent Gábor on ahead with them on his new bike while the rest of us walked down through the lovely old village where everyone knows each other.<br /><br />At the community centre the thirty or so members of the folk group made us feel instantly at ease despite our being unable to speak more than the odd phrase of Hungarian. Most people were retired and one lady in particular befriended us, telling us that at eighty she is the oldest member of the choir. In the kitchen baskets were being unwrapped and huge pans of meat, bacon, sausages and leeks were frying. We helped set up tables and chairs in the garden and carry out plates of food and drink. Wine from the village was poured into our plastic beakers and there was a great deal of toasting and goodwill. Just as we were about to eat, the rain started and we had to carry all the food, tables and chairs into the hall. Nobody minded much and soon we were all tucking into piles of meat, pickled paprika and cabbage, large plates of home-made bread, Erzsébet's pogácsak and lots more wine. As the afternoon wore on and the food and drink disappeared, the desire to sing got too much for every one and soon we were sitting in the midst of these lovely friendly people, listening as they sang us unaccompanied Hungarian folk songs! They are very distinctive, powerful and rather strident but very attractive. Of course we cannot understand the words or the meaning but the obvious pleasure it gave the singers was a sheer delight for us. We felt so privileged to be there as their guests. It was an experience very few English visitors could expect to enjoy in a remote village setting. The nearest would be a specially arranged concert for tourists in Budapest which, while more spectacular, would lack the joy and community spirit that is the very essence of folk singing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_5cgQNz2N4NupIL510H_-_F4DsAuU_NyeoWzf5_X6jxTYM9nOU7iHoZiZM8a1i4GjvSQXj1IUhFONIigJCHCK36PQnkaoqKajUfvmyqxi-6LZylNvzWuxE3Dtw3BEKss0hyphenhyphenGH4zQKVHI/s1600-h/YIMG_1769.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_5cgQNz2N4NupIL510H_-_F4DsAuU_NyeoWzf5_X6jxTYM9nOU7iHoZiZM8a1i4GjvSQXj1IUhFONIigJCHCK36PQnkaoqKajUfvmyqxi-6LZylNvzWuxE3Dtw3BEKss0hyphenhyphenGH4zQKVHI/s400/YIMG_1769.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071823876295041858" /></a><CENTER>Village Hall, Gyömöre</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4Ki7q6rjJybIhpw-bPNpONNRMojta1iZEqJ7SVrsMwAqAMflMb1j5lZ0MlhumJlCL9VOI8svQkzfpfAUiv7HrmTQA8Huq-fHZp3L1DfqiRxC_hyhCtANfAwtAyni0IOFzXXoSJuROEbV/s1600-h/YIMG_1764.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4Ki7q6rjJybIhpw-bPNpONNRMojta1iZEqJ7SVrsMwAqAMflMb1j5lZ0MlhumJlCL9VOI8svQkzfpfAUiv7HrmTQA8Huq-fHZp3L1DfqiRxC_hyhCtANfAwtAyni0IOFzXXoSJuROEbV/s400/YIMG_1764.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071824176942752594" /></a><CENTER>Gábor supervises the cooking, Gyömöre</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2nKhnAd_Y76vbEeYmlBsB1X1uyEc7B56qNxgYwES2o5XVl_oZxu1fYf8ofWTOw0hH1fM4D2A2kNWQ0MjO4aNVNWzOkNzytmfFl84yAC2YsIsVyujIUFX-QEkH_X7mXFEE_lAb2FSGHU3/s1600-h/YIMG_1772.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2nKhnAd_Y76vbEeYmlBsB1X1uyEc7B56qNxgYwES2o5XVl_oZxu1fYf8ofWTOw0hH1fM4D2A2kNWQ0MjO4aNVNWzOkNzytmfFl84yAC2YsIsVyujIUFX-QEkH_X7mXFEE_lAb2FSGHU3/s400/YIMG_1772.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071824735288501090" /></a><CENTER>Party time, Gyömöre</CENTER><br />Eventually it was time to pack up our dirty wooden plates into the now empty pogácsa box and say farewell to our delightful hosts. They looked set to continue singing well into the evening. We made the round of the table thanking everyone individually and exchanging kisses. We are proud to say we managed to achieve it in Hungarian! As we finally left the room we turned to say our final goodbye which paradoxically is "hallo" in Hungarian!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyZyh6VYIdNTQNoLuh9UAAbboWqOVLyXZvted-NIAm7O0XAHBbTCX6L8Lf3BbS3UKFpiGT6SBqzCEZB3JFJRRvIcfdq8iIh1rb-jewQ_pGSieyV40wqVzhpE-2nI55H1GiSzSc8TmJFFe/s1600-h/YIMG_1773.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyZyh6VYIdNTQNoLuh9UAAbboWqOVLyXZvted-NIAm7O0XAHBbTCX6L8Lf3BbS3UKFpiGT6SBqzCEZB3JFJRRvIcfdq8iIh1rb-jewQ_pGSieyV40wqVzhpE-2nI55H1GiSzSc8TmJFFe/s400/YIMG_1773.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071824739583468402" /></a><CENTER>The oldest member of the folk song choir with Jill, Gyömöre</CENTER><br />Back at the house we chatted with Gábor and Erzsébet, catching up on family news and enjoying a bottle of her dad's red wine. It was interesting to learn that the Hungarian population in Transylvania arouses some resentment within Hungary. The financial and political situation here is currently unstable; many people are losing their jobs, pensions are very low and those in employment cannot afford to retire. Meanwhile, Hungarian communities living in Romania have the right to move to Hungary and it is widely felt that they are given preferential treatment over the resident population with regard to benefits, housing and employment. It sounded very like the misgivings in West Germany after reunification with regard to East Germany.<br /><br />We were intrigued to learn that a lot of Hungarian doctors reputedly fly to Britain for the weekend to work in British hospitals where they can earn more in two days than they can all week working in Hungary. Presumably this has happened since the "new deal" for British doctors whereby it is no longer compulsory for them to work at weekends.<br /><br />Too soon it was time to leave our friends and return to Modestine to sleep in the garden with the family dog. We declined their invitation to join them for breakfast at 5am this morning before they set off for work. They do work very hard indeed here and they are both at their desks by 6am, Gábor in the Györ regional authority offices and Erzsébet in the county library. Lovely as their home is in the summer months, they said during the winter they only ever see it in daylight at the weekends as they are rarely home before 6pm.<br /><br />This morning we locked up the house after breakfast and drove north out of Hungary and into Slovakia. As always it was with a sense of regret that we left Hungary behind. It is a small, warm, welcoming, friendly country, very individual, right in the centre of Europe. Once a huge empire the country has shrunk and is now surrounded by mainly Slav speaking countries that were once part of Hungary. As we travelled along the quiet roads across the fields of Slovakia it was obviously very like Hungary in the style of its architecture and villages. We had noticed the similarity too in Croatia south of Pécs, also once part of Hungary.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-1463706746206876872007-05-27T12:12:00.001+01:002008-11-18T20:36:19.790+00:00Balaton and Budapest<B>Tuesday 22nd May 2007, Székesfehérvár </B><br />We have not heard from Kati and Peter from Exeter to arrange a meeting in Budapest, so decided to give it one more day before moving westwards along the northern shore of Lake Balaton. We were interested to visit again the town of Székesfehérvár which we last visited about ten years ago, so we are camped on the municipal site next to the sports complex and walking distance from the town centre and the bus station from where we can reach Budapest within an hour if and when we receive the summons to do so. It is airless and very hot here at the moment so Budapest seems a bit daunting. This evening outside Modestine it was 30 degrees at 9pm and inside we are running our electric fan to keep cool.<br /><br />This morning we passed a wayside vendéglö (a sort of bar-cum-café-cum restaurant) which provided us with an opportunity to check our email messages. One from István and Ibolya in Debrecen suggested we may care to visit them again. We are so touched by their kindness but on this occasion they are too far east for our travels. What was really frustrating though is that the message was sent yesterday from Balatonfüred where István is attending a medical epidemiology conference. We were only a mile from there ourselves yesterday. If only we had known! <br /><br />On our last visit to Székesfehérvár we travelled here by bus from Budapest. We were shocked at the dilapidated state of the bus station and the drab blocks of graffiti-ridden flats around it. This time everything is very different. The bus station has only been open three weeks and is polished marble with blissful air conditioning and comfortable seats. The waste land has been turned into parkland and all the flats restored and painted in pastel colours. Everywhere is clean, bright, open and friendly.<br /><br />Within the old town it has always been beautiful, the streets lined with yellow rendered baroque buildings, frequently with elaborate mouldings picked out in white, and lots of shady squares with seats beneath the trees. As usual in Hungarian towns there are flamboyant statues, some of historical figures like St. Stephen, assorted Belas, Gezas and other Hungarian kings. There are also many more that are recent and obviously placed where they are for fun. They are lively and add amusement and colour to the streets. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUC5BPifJKjcb7S-OPB4rCbAGOGat6uBQQrGkwX52z9mwnE20hF9pUyNmjPpyiElESDlEY49T1d2Ws-8giqFJ2GM4tO5Fr6vxhvS7lhAW2uWcm9VyENE4zsvWsSax6Wwdw4Avx43dg2OIc/s640-h/YIMG_1623.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUC5BPifJKjcb7S-OPB4rCbAGOGat6uBQQrGkwX52z9mwnE20hF9pUyNmjPpyiElESDlEY49T1d2Ws-8giqFJ2GM4tO5Fr6vxhvS7lhAW2uWcm9VyENE4zsvWsSax6Wwdw4Avx43dg2OIc/s400/YIMG_1623.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069197799859394738" /></a><br /><CENTER>Statue of St Stephen, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br />We struggled through the heat up to St Stephen's Basilica where we gasped with relief as we went inside and were wrapped in the chill half-light. Such a contrast to the street outside.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_MjWn2tlFimgrSJSYaMCUo8Y3aUL4K86oj8WqkReHkabWs_kuTxI82zh9cQYr5jWUXx4dHtcE6kMDeGBxZYap1SWGbg1t49DzKY3ueh3c8hfWWEfrGs3BfbKpe-DdnqXKveF0uh-u5gz/s640-h/YIMG_1627.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_MjWn2tlFimgrSJSYaMCUo8Y3aUL4K86oj8WqkReHkabWs_kuTxI82zh9cQYr5jWUXx4dHtcE6kMDeGBxZYap1SWGbg1t49DzKY3ueh3c8hfWWEfrGs3BfbKpe-DdnqXKveF0uh-u5gz/s400/YIMG_1627.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069197817039263938" /></a><br /><CENTER>St Stephen's Basilica, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br />For lunch we found a little csárda in a side street where down at basement level a fan cooled is as we ordered the dish of the day. We were served large bowls of spicy sausage soup followed by chicken livers braised with paprika and onions, served with pasta and pickled gherkins. It was the first meal we've had here that was not too salty. Together with chilled mineral water our bill was about £4 for both of us!<br /><br />The tourist information office was very helpful, suggesting places we could visit in the town and directing us to this campsite where, as so often happens, we are the only people staying. We suppose an industrial town famed for its aluminium works is not likely to be high on a tourist's itinerary, but they would be missing so much. Historically it is very important. It is one of the first cities to be founded by the Hungarians, in the tenth century. Many Hungarian kings were crowned here and several are buried here. Originally it preceded Budapest as the country's capital.<br /><br />During our last visit we overheard a snatch of conversation in English that has always intrigued us. As we walked through the beautiful old town with its cobbled streets we passed a young couple and heard the phrase "then we could come back here to Székesfehérvár and get married." We have always wondered whether they did and if they are living a happy life together. We do hope so.<br /><br />We had left Modestine on the outskirts of the town in a side road by one of the high-rise blocks of flats thrown up during the communist era. It is something we don't really like to do if it can be avoided, though we have never yet been bothered by thieves or vandals. We collected her and found the campsite. As we were unloading our bikes we were approached by a lovely girl of twenty one who asked us in delightful English if her dad could take some photos of Modestine as he was besotted by camping cars and was dreaming of owning one when he retired. They were charming, friendly people and we spent some time chatting in a mixture of French, Hungarian, German and English. Katalin works as a French interpreter for the local aluminium company while her dad lectures on disaster management at the University of Pécs and works for the emergency services here in Székesfehérvár. The family were also keen hot air balloonists and promised us a flight if we were in Székesfehérvár next weekend. We do seem to get quite involved with local people wherever we go which is a great bonus.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtaoVkdBnpkC5WudYpvj7qjsfPqW0XgVktLHimydNkHp2FEY1YXYmQ2k9SPoq35gf2cLTvkN44O7zVzZNl_5zxaZ-d09TOV_8XB_8-yTFqI-tvOMCrOcpyop063LwvCXyljx71RGwyTFn/s640-h/YIMG_1629.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtaoVkdBnpkC5WudYpvj7qjsfPqW0XgVktLHimydNkHp2FEY1YXYmQ2k9SPoq35gf2cLTvkN44O7zVzZNl_5zxaZ-d09TOV_8XB_8-yTFqI-tvOMCrOcpyop063LwvCXyljx71RGwyTFn/s400/YIMG_1629.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069197838514100434" /></a><br /><CENTER>Street scene with Episcopal See, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5hyxd2uxGUHPdKMRHLvKwqLcHRyTbVE6CbpflYfmX34TFyrpdlifof7B6TyIKPUWPcpqCaz-hYQSFMnaz6pEQM_d8yXkuR0tnydzApLmhwCJHgkoWXzdD3IkeQpSKzeRUmaDna4xLI6I/s640-h/YIMG_1633.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5hyxd2uxGUHPdKMRHLvKwqLcHRyTbVE6CbpflYfmX34TFyrpdlifof7B6TyIKPUWPcpqCaz-hYQSFMnaz6pEQM_d8yXkuR0tnydzApLmhwCJHgkoWXzdD3IkeQpSKzeRUmaDna4xLI6I/s400/YIMG_1633.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069197859988936930" /></a><br /><CENTER>Main street with monument to Mátyás Corvinus, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br /><B>Wednesday 23rd May 2007, Székesfehérvár </B><br />Ian has gone off to find a phone box to arrange where to meet with Kati and Peter tomorrow. We found an email with their address and phone number this morning so it's looking hopeful.<br /><br />We have spent the day around Székesfehérvár seeking shelter from the heat. We've developed a great enthusiasm for church interiors where we wallow in the chill silence. We've even started grading them according to the cool relief they offer. So far the Carmelites have a slight lead over the Benedictines. <br /><br />This morning we visited the medieval garden of ruins housing the sad remains of the Royal Basilica of the Virgin Mary established by St. Stephen (Istvan) king of Hungary in the 11th century. Almost all Hungary's kings were crowned there and fifteen of them have been buried in the church until Székesfehérvár was overthrown by the Turks who used it as a mosque, destroying the rich tombs of the "evil idolators". There is little remaining other than the tomb of St. Stephen which was converted from an early Roman sarcophagus in the 11th century, as the Turks later used the church as an arsenal which exploded in 1601, destroying the entire building.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3J0_zZKU4_VIgUttJU-sKP6m4PcJ8urQjfEF2fDszl5gZ30rDfPSzADJYeAuVXkoWDwV9oA5cj_h4pjp5WxE4psIwvk1XTu_iHSBoKandn2JDgeJY7blh6dp-JLVVfuUsyyD8hgqoF8gI/s640-h/YIMG_1630.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3J0_zZKU4_VIgUttJU-sKP6m4PcJ8urQjfEF2fDszl5gZ30rDfPSzADJYeAuVXkoWDwV9oA5cj_h4pjp5WxE4psIwvk1XTu_iHSBoKandn2JDgeJY7blh6dp-JLVVfuUsyyD8hgqoF8gI/s400/YIMG_1630.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069197885758740722" /></a><br /><CENTER>St Stephen's tomb, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCo5_xPhLku_r-K3Sx-hUVeIcyQdSdq5cQJ7ic6PQ-4M1N9966mxozRBW1cB2noT-nGFuJ2vr9gciHSXPtG1s_WSAQUTQFrGvuE89wjFwqQwvpGrMpmlg0qmer-3b5A-RiQfPn0Zrkocf/s640-h/YIMG_1631.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCo5_xPhLku_r-K3Sx-hUVeIcyQdSdq5cQJ7ic6PQ-4M1N9966mxozRBW1cB2noT-nGFuJ2vr9gciHSXPtG1s_WSAQUTQFrGvuE89wjFwqQwvpGrMpmlg0qmer-3b5A-RiQfPn0Zrkocf/s400/YIMG_1631.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069198813471676674" /></a><br /><CENTER>Remains of the Royal Basilica, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br />We returned to the same place as yesterday for lunch. Today we worked out that the menu was lentil soup followed by ham, mushrooms and pasta. The second choice we guessed wrongly was vegetables in a quark dressing. It turned out to be a sweet mixture of vermicelli and quark wrapped in flaky pastry and covered in icing sugar. So we shared both of them making a large and heavy three course meal which we couldn't finish. It was really nice if rather too substantial in such hot weather and together with two large Hungarian beers still cost less than £5 for both of us.<br /><br />It cannot be that we always strike it lucky when we arrive in Hungarian towns and discover festivals in full swing, so we can only assume the Hungarians are a cheerful lot who are always celebrating things. Today there were stalls in the main square selling crafts, wines and spirits, children's toys, ice cream, cold drinks, sausages with mustard and all sorts of cakes. There was also a platform outside the church of St. Imre where ladies were folk dancing, men singing stirring patriotic sounding songs, a lady singing "Don't cry for me Argentina" in Hungarian and lots of young people using unbelievable amounts of energy in 35 degrees of heat, salsa dancing. They looked very professional.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6y-Net9XgnbquqEA5lsCQoGXTJ9mDbTxhBGLY0rqNW8svgUY8eXgWmK19bFVFPNrMTqrRDW921XRABiWe4kSt7yy_rJ4rchnpqxOn4ysmTi_TT6b3Ji2x3OwVHaYJ5zSv-OW9j0BqsMc/s640-h/YIMG_1635.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6y-Net9XgnbquqEA5lsCQoGXTJ9mDbTxhBGLY0rqNW8svgUY8eXgWmK19bFVFPNrMTqrRDW921XRABiWe4kSt7yy_rJ4rchnpqxOn4ysmTi_TT6b3Ji2x3OwVHaYJ5zSv-OW9j0BqsMc/s400/YIMG_1635.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069198843536447762" /></a><br /><CENTER>Folk dancing, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mC9moGZOdEpowJVNXpcjeP65xC6cNA0IzE-tToiptp2AntMM-y3WDY39RphSf2Aq_yYzJBkWWHQ_5BPCp9thSpqPw_efaaMfcFCERrrE3GcwnFDHGDjaNx9xejThGIDSe0jq1lAjZHuF/s640-h/YIMG_1638.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mC9moGZOdEpowJVNXpcjeP65xC6cNA0IzE-tToiptp2AntMM-y3WDY39RphSf2Aq_yYzJBkWWHQ_5BPCp9thSpqPw_efaaMfcFCERrrE3GcwnFDHGDjaNx9xejThGIDSe0jq1lAjZHuF/s400/YIMG_1638.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069198860716316962" /></a><br /><CENTER>Male voice choir, Székesfehérvár</CENTER><br />Around 5pm the sun suddenly disappeared and we felt the odd blob of blessed rain. We gradually returned across the town to the campsite and as we did so thunder rumbled ominously. Just as we reached Modestine, still standing alone on the campsite, lightening flashed and the storm finally broke. Within a few minutes we found ourselves surrounded by water. It's only the second time we've had rain since we left England two months ago. We even had large hailstones hammering on the roof despite the suffocating heat of the day! <br /><br /><B>Friday 25th May 2007, Keszthely, Lake Balaton</B><br />Yesterday we managed to meet up in Budapest with Kati and Peter despite the odds! We left Modestine at the campsite and walked down to the bus station through the parks. Already the day was threatening to be unpleasantly hot and the puddles from Wednesday's rain were drying up. <br /><br />By 9.30 we were in Budapest, the journey from Székesfehérvár taking an hour along the motorway. It was certainly easier than trying to drive in and park. We spent the morning revisiting Buda on the west bank of the Danube. This is the older and more touristy part of the city with the Fishermen's Bastion, the Mátyás Templom, the castle and spectacular views across the river to Pest and the Parliament building. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEZvOL168ZfTLRhLpyD3aFT21PZUUv1XFYa_2DCmhLIbv4MaLvWmWBgd20qOaZ_ijECi9jOBbwxdqCBj6va0_nxSRYqNhjmZiWOX9_cfILRQv3uEjJxmoeMukQi9g4I85sh58K4OcLFnQ/s640-h/YIMG_1641.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEZvOL168ZfTLRhLpyD3aFT21PZUUv1XFYa_2DCmhLIbv4MaLvWmWBgd20qOaZ_ijECi9jOBbwxdqCBj6va0_nxSRYqNhjmZiWOX9_cfILRQv3uEjJxmoeMukQi9g4I85sh58K4OcLFnQ/s400/YIMG_1641.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069198877896186162" /></a><br /><CENTER>Introducing Budapest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEalu38Ddy3lqIiZYKZfXdGnZ74EGlS47FPYNZxqSdQsTEvY1ArCHD_V9iU_ZG-VhfYYlELtLtcZnaLPH3Cbad4czl7_Fvix47NGEDd-kJQYr3Z9UlTGLP0cKNPvv5GqTcbufgaRFDgF_y/s640-h/YIMG_1644.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEalu38Ddy3lqIiZYKZfXdGnZ74EGlS47FPYNZxqSdQsTEvY1ArCHD_V9iU_ZG-VhfYYlELtLtcZnaLPH3Cbad4czl7_Fvix47NGEDd-kJQYr3Z9UlTGLP0cKNPvv5GqTcbufgaRFDgF_y/s400/YIMG_1644.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069198895076055362" /></a><br /><CENTER> Mátyás Templon with decorated tiled roof, seen from the Fishermen's Bastion, Buda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeYb8P7NfbHCtZDgT1XcSiPSIC99rykakvhFOo096znpe8G9baMpsWARbkVU01OFtcrRGIE697UYB1k_t90gRDvQVg3_QQ52zLr42IVsFPg5YCFon9Md1_YkaiszHximU9muO0XbhqJW_/s640-h/YIMG_1661.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeYb8P7NfbHCtZDgT1XcSiPSIC99rykakvhFOo096znpe8G9baMpsWARbkVU01OFtcrRGIE697UYB1k_t90gRDvQVg3_QQ52zLr42IVsFPg5YCFon9Md1_YkaiszHximU9muO0XbhqJW_/s400/YIMG_1661.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069199835673893202" /></a><br /><CENTER>Across the Danube towards the Parliament building and St. Margaret's Island seen from the Castle in Buda</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zNQN59zIERQ137qqaExNekeEyLxJyC7jhSnjEUvA6Jw9aCA4n1rwaDwyozie1QeT9fXWor75h_RaQDgyHLmDYYrwKGFjqkcT5LP64YDfPsR5JPvvfqKvmFMLMP1QRQQhoWbJxkumgnfq/s640-h/YIMG_1660.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zNQN59zIERQ137qqaExNekeEyLxJyC7jhSnjEUvA6Jw9aCA4n1rwaDwyozie1QeT9fXWor75h_RaQDgyHLmDYYrwKGFjqkcT5LP64YDfPsR5JPvvfqKvmFMLMP1QRQQhoWbJxkumgnfq/s400/YIMG_1660.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069199857148729698" /></a><br /><CENTER> Széchenyi Bridge linking Buda to Pest with Gresham Palace and St. Stephen's Basilica behind</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nG1O9YOWmNbSc_JJw8lZNwbEqeTODFmjyMO3C-5VnEniZEBVCSlrjsAwIE5scD1Emq_h0uqkKmFK1YxlCIFQcMD9_3fj9F5JzAvM69M1u49twuDIMkRq4k-4esktoKHVo2FVVfsBg2PY/s640-h/YIMG_1662.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nG1O9YOWmNbSc_JJw8lZNwbEqeTODFmjyMO3C-5VnEniZEBVCSlrjsAwIE5scD1Emq_h0uqkKmFK1YxlCIFQcMD9_3fj9F5JzAvM69M1u49twuDIMkRq4k-4esktoKHVo2FVVfsBg2PY/s400/YIMG_1662.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069199878623566194" /></a><br /><CENTER>Mediaeval castle with Gellert's Hill behind, Buda</CENTER><br />We will not describe the city here as we did so in some detail during our previous visit last year. <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/06/szentendre-and-budapest.html">This link</a> will take you there. We discovered that the hill on which Buda is built has an underground labyrinth of caves which were used during the Second World War when the city was under siege by the Nazis. <br /><br />It was very pleasant wandering the pretty streets of this part of the city, and satisfying to see how the baroque façades are gradually being restored. It was unbearably hot on the top and having been too mean to pay the extortionate fare for the funicular railway to the summit we decided to spend the money on chilled mineral water with ice at the Budapest Hilton! It was a very pleasant experience indeed. We relaxed in the air conditioned lounge overlooking the mediaeval church ruins that are actually within the Hilton complex. Two very different styles and periods of architecture within the same building! The water came with free nibbles, monogrammed serviettes and a free luxury wash room to freshen up, so we reckoned it was excellent value on such an unbearable day.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih282lmxVzRcX9foCxRJFF3C6oblG76N4PHPOiUXpS6E3-9pNnGDHG7CJs2PQFZhWpYUyqpVScNd3xka375patoRIiFuEmjP69GCwa0T_edQpUOJNWs5FyOu948NntQgh0_WfiYq35caHO/s640-h/YIMG_1646.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih282lmxVzRcX9foCxRJFF3C6oblG76N4PHPOiUXpS6E3-9pNnGDHG7CJs2PQFZhWpYUyqpVScNd3xka375patoRIiFuEmjP69GCwa0T_edQpUOJNWs5FyOu948NntQgh0_WfiYq35caHO/s400/YIMG_1646.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069199912983304578" /></a><br /><CENTER>Relaxing at the Budapest Hilton</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZTwVSJUzh8G4kbPL9iQWdxH3xhqgQbu56U2KsbO_hZgAMXw4NxLzOiAx460WEptaW5chxnMAoaYCvPVOePQmvXD-e8q3Hqr4ZncBUgYEO0snbHOziPM9jbykRhoArmmNjMEsHVYgSj3i/s640-h/YIMG_1649.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZTwVSJUzh8G4kbPL9iQWdxH3xhqgQbu56U2KsbO_hZgAMXw4NxLzOiAx460WEptaW5chxnMAoaYCvPVOePQmvXD-e8q3Hqr4ZncBUgYEO0snbHOziPM9jbykRhoArmmNjMEsHVYgSj3i/s400/YIMG_1649.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069199930163173778" /></a><br /><CENTER>Medieval Abbey seen from the Hilton lounge, Budapest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIIMFA7fWPrOxh9fUp94vxNbmz9vLua5Fpz9N4vXeb6tlQqoFoaqmB0z4ZIGEjaIgNNMLuyehyphenhyphenv_3Ea89EaR0P3vOrqTUZnpsP7hLJ5Ul4x4dkT3I75rcX099K9VudWRKYpHPKgWrM87K/s640-h/YIMG_1652.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIIMFA7fWPrOxh9fUp94vxNbmz9vLua5Fpz9N4vXeb6tlQqoFoaqmB0z4ZIGEjaIgNNMLuyehyphenhyphenv_3Ea89EaR0P3vOrqTUZnpsP7hLJ5Ul4x4dkT3I75rcX099K9VudWRKYpHPKgWrM87K/s400/YIMG_1652.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069201351797348770" /></a><br /><CENTER>A meeting with the Hungarian composer Kodaly, Buda</CENTER><br />We lunched in somewhat less auspicious surroundings on herring rolls and a shared beer before making our way down and courageously crossing the famous Széchenyi Bridge in the searing heat to the Pest side of the Danube. There are some wonderful buildings fronting onto the river on this side, including the secessionist style Gresham Palace built in 1907 by the London based Gresham Assurance Company. It is now a luxury hotel. Also nearby is the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Further back from the river is the smart shopping area of Váci ut. Raise your eyes from the level of Marks and Spencer and above are the most wonderfully ornate façades of buildings from the Belle Époque with glazed tiles, decorated windows, moulded carvings and statues.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-2aN0TQkKyYGOR9Y-U01ffV4ag15g9k0sNzuoQk14-bZBMOU0y6jkBXW9EZz2mMdJWO2LNHILXYVgBwazjyffRBAcmHkOv5aK-vMNv1IYLGprekM5Q-zBRHcJterm46fzjipUpFleahA/s640-h/YIMG_1669.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-2aN0TQkKyYGOR9Y-U01ffV4ag15g9k0sNzuoQk14-bZBMOU0y6jkBXW9EZz2mMdJWO2LNHILXYVgBwazjyffRBAcmHkOv5aK-vMNv1IYLGprekM5Q-zBRHcJterm46fzjipUpFleahA/s400/YIMG_1669.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069201377567152562" /></a><br /><CENTER>Gresham Palace, Pest</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4XlWjAtPsAw931PzBXvPeO61KP2KUbMOjHCJlrd7v-62GZsW0LT4xnl4jTnQB09Wc1t63_MK-Yl24Wj2pfrgz-mTFI-vp1Qe3WFSgRIZQsfTceFHdzUk9O1GpqcySnF4lx2I7XDN3Byj/s640-h/YIMG_1678.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4XlWjAtPsAw931PzBXvPeO61KP2KUbMOjHCJlrd7v-62GZsW0LT4xnl4jTnQB09Wc1t63_MK-Yl24Wj2pfrgz-mTFI-vp1Qe3WFSgRIZQsfTceFHdzUk9O1GpqcySnF4lx2I7XDN3Byj/s400/YIMG_1678.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069201403336956354" /></a><br /><CENTER>Interior of Gresham Palace, Pest</CENTER><br />We had arranged to meet Peter and Kati at the Café Gerbeaud where we met up with Hungarian friends of theirs last year when they so kindly welcomed us to the city. After two months of travelling around alone, it is a very happy experience to find yourself with friends again, far from home! We experienced it last year in Graz with our Exeter Library friends Mike and Vicki. Kati is also a work colleague from Devon Library Service and is responsible for Ian's interest in Hungarian, having helped him learn the basics. She and Peter are spending a few days at their flat in the city before returning to Exeter after participating in a ceramics exhibition in Holland.<br /><br />Peter decided, very sensibly, that we all needed ice creams to start off the afternoon and led us through the streets to his favourite ice cream and cake shop. First we chose ices and later selected an assortment of chocolate and cream cakes which we carried back through the city and across the river again to their flat which turned out to be just below the Fishermen's Bastion in old Buda. On the way we were shown where Kati studied Russian at University and where Peter still has links as an external mathematics lecturer at the University.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovj81hfM2ZobdKxevtd4GED370baDomHo5-9zD8HJgZTtvqQZzCRpCWfeR13NBvM0JsYqwyMV4B70Wh5NqKYGMTLYtKAyNbavG-xZ-R4MaMAhDHmNz38bDTG07TziM_zpxUpOwf_Tbt0k/s640-h/YIMG_1673.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovj81hfM2ZobdKxevtd4GED370baDomHo5-9zD8HJgZTtvqQZzCRpCWfeR13NBvM0JsYqwyMV4B70Wh5NqKYGMTLYtKAyNbavG-xZ-R4MaMAhDHmNz38bDTG07TziM_zpxUpOwf_Tbt0k/s400/YIMG_1673.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069201429106760146" /></a><br /><CENTER>Peter becomes a manhole cover enthusiast</CENTER><br />We were all exhausted by the time we'd crossed the bridge again and climbed the hill to their flat, but inside the 19th century building, the high ceilings meant the flat was deliciously cool. Over the cakes and coffee we caught up on news from Exeter and told of our travels through Bosnia. All too soon it was time to catch the underground across the city to the bus station for the return journey to Székesfehérvár where Modestine was waiting for us. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q-Hi98FWIBVuTd70pjc2KrdeWr2tW2X6ruB4y-gpTuxB0AvFaaBiXPFEngNU7DenlXDTJfScuYXdhncCwDvdmCpYNRh5pNY-J7w3GkwtW-BlsMtZA7FqW6Ouc9K5TP1f_F37tutz7xO7/s640-h/YIMG_1680.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q-Hi98FWIBVuTd70pjc2KrdeWr2tW2X6ruB4y-gpTuxB0AvFaaBiXPFEngNU7DenlXDTJfScuYXdhncCwDvdmCpYNRh5pNY-J7w3GkwtW-BlsMtZA7FqW6Ouc9K5TP1f_F37tutz7xO7/s400/YIMG_1680.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069201450581596642" /></a><br /><CENTER>Kati, Peter and Ian back in the flat</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaNk0SCEpReRgfU-WtnAPoFQrxXJSAcTJYFyotvV2NjqkQ9SyPYhhxRD3jSC03cSXL1pZqsL4P1zaQeLgFBg5LfFOw8C1WSRh9h5Y7UeRBkQrScoGtopgjH6FNkTQ1qHtdeA_pBMRfbH2/s640-h/YIMG_1681.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaNk0SCEpReRgfU-WtnAPoFQrxXJSAcTJYFyotvV2NjqkQ9SyPYhhxRD3jSC03cSXL1pZqsL4P1zaQeLgFBg5LfFOw8C1WSRh9h5Y7UeRBkQrScoGtopgjH6FNkTQ1qHtdeA_pBMRfbH2/s400/YIMG_1681.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069202562978126322" /></a><br /><CENTER>At last, a photo of both of us. As you see, all is fine</CENTER><br />This morning, Friday, we drove to Veszprém, a picturesque little town of around 65,000 people. It was severely damaged during the Second World War but has been very well restored. The castle was built by King Stephen in about 1,000. He also built a palace there for his queen, Gisela, and decreed that all queens of Hungary should be crowned there. The town was destroyed by the Turks and rebuilt in the 18th century in the Baroque and Rococo style. The street on the Castle Hill is lined with historic buildings, including the Bishop's Palace, the Neo-Romanesque Cathedral, the 13th century Queen Gisela's Chapel and the 19th century Fire Tower. Inside the cool Baroque Piarist Church we discovered an excellent small exhibition of Hungarian religious life as depicted in folk art. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFgQtm3DD8VuJkAnpWQFhldI7kXRMp3k5Aneu55t0hjsPu3DDQ1FM6tE6gXynPay3dGONF3hTtnQtmLSWEZIwWh9WG-iBilJNQGEehc12ykbBCYt5EHzVSlDaIkSHcFJtvfqKsvsaA82c/s640-h/YIMG_1689.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFgQtm3DD8VuJkAnpWQFhldI7kXRMp3k5Aneu55t0hjsPu3DDQ1FM6tE6gXynPay3dGONF3hTtnQtmLSWEZIwWh9WG-iBilJNQGEehc12ykbBCYt5EHzVSlDaIkSHcFJtvfqKsvsaA82c/s400/YIMG_1689.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069202593042897410" /></a><br /><CENTER>Bishop's Palace, Piarist Church and Plague column, Veszprém</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEkye1QCQ26yTNpozpCVetDUjQ6qFHCfU0Ibu04-fR2Yolca8oNNoPShmzcX3kFO1mBKGXwunzlccNsi2KNwSVeQVdaugd5Uf4Dd6C_u38nEceycw4RMCVx4wxnNsNss-ZNPAbAgFW9Wxn/s640-h/YIMG_1698.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEkye1QCQ26yTNpozpCVetDUjQ6qFHCfU0Ibu04-fR2Yolca8oNNoPShmzcX3kFO1mBKGXwunzlccNsi2KNwSVeQVdaugd5Uf4Dd6C_u38nEceycw4RMCVx4wxnNsNss-ZNPAbAgFW9Wxn/s400/YIMG_1698.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069202605927799314" /></a><br /><CENTER>Fire Tower, Veszprém</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkzu8_pSDsJ6EZjXojGbs13WKsgNEKFswJ82Hl_TztPpiE1WfOpQTMYao0VpLOoiDU_ojDxAssslpXus7fw33Ud8HBpypnNkfD4N0EhwMul0s335JuSQg6emWfeqO3ygmjnYeAuf93hYB/s640-h/YIMG_1696.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkzu8_pSDsJ6EZjXojGbs13WKsgNEKFswJ82Hl_TztPpiE1WfOpQTMYao0VpLOoiDU_ojDxAssslpXus7fw33Ud8HBpypnNkfD4N0EhwMul0s335JuSQg6emWfeqO3ygmjnYeAuf93hYB/s400/YIMG_1696.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069202640287537698" /></a><br /><CENTER>Óváros Tér from the Fire Tower, Veszprém</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKF_Jocwnz36ldABzunQ4cMX35SY_tPof28wy-uWjdOk9JcOxUdLPqG9Y-37plMdyK81MBruLtY5R6akZ9AYRcTffWJnI7Umb7tYgcfIeJHdvqfwKANn115wvvhznKQBXzfApDQftVs7e/s640-h/YIMG_1684.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKF_Jocwnz36ldABzunQ4cMX35SY_tPof28wy-uWjdOk9JcOxUdLPqG9Y-37plMdyK81MBruLtY5R6akZ9AYRcTffWJnI7Umb7tYgcfIeJHdvqfwKANn115wvvhznKQBXzfApDQftVs7e/s400/YIMG_1684.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069202674647276082" /></a><br /><CENTER>Christening scene, Piarist Church, Veszprém</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuENM-ac4wzbjotO9pFsZBO25jBmbXNihc4xj3vwOxLCvcjGUad4JykHh5tJF3_6FoWnF6-1vvuv3udJMko3hlrMBtCFlqSglsNdc3REVAS4axmvSw5BKTZ9xr6-Qls7lvcDtH_5pgUoR/s640-h/YIMG_1685.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuENM-ac4wzbjotO9pFsZBO25jBmbXNihc4xj3vwOxLCvcjGUad4JykHh5tJF3_6FoWnF6-1vvuv3udJMko3hlrMBtCFlqSglsNdc3REVAS4axmvSw5BKTZ9xr6-Qls7lvcDtH_5pgUoR/s400/YIMG_1685.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069203739799165506" /></a><br /><CENTER>Funeral scene, Piarist Church, Veszprém</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6Dp-TuJbyZvJmBPekOqHq7TwNPEjltLF8Y8DcvccYKnIRjhDYUEDQQXkfaaowOcTpNTxDNLJFr9snQMut8xoK7VFf-KF1PJ7Bb4c386k08DLOzBEpqEZHVvhNjfI6a0eHBBwNULbVldC/s640-h/YIMG_1695.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6Dp-TuJbyZvJmBPekOqHq7TwNPEjltLF8Y8DcvccYKnIRjhDYUEDQQXkfaaowOcTpNTxDNLJFr9snQMut8xoK7VFf-KF1PJ7Bb4c386k08DLOzBEpqEZHVvhNjfI6a0eHBBwNULbVldC/s400/YIMG_1695.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069203765568969298" /></a><br /><CENTER>King Stephen and Queen Gisela with friends, Veszprém</CENTER><br />Ian last visited Veszprém forty years ago when he was a student, with his friend Hubert. Then Hungary was under Socialist rule and the town was still suffering from the aftermath of the war. They had been befriended by several students from Veszprém University who let them stay in their rooms for a few days on condition they attended a basket ball match and cheered for the local team. On their last day one of the students gave Ian an LP of Hungarian gypsy music which we still have and play from time to time back in Exeter. Ian has very happy memories of his time in Veszprém but confessed that there is almost nothing he can remember about the town now.<br /><br />During the afternoon we drove on to Balatonfüred, a spa town on the northern side of Lake Balaton next to Tihany and almost opposite the campsite we were using a few days back at Siófok. We both have memories of our last visit to Balatonfüred with Hubert so long ago. Then we had hitched a lift on a lorry loaded with empty bottles to get to the town from our isolated half built summer house on the lake. The driver was stopped by the police and fined for having us on the back of an open lorry and Hubert paid his fine. The police then let him continue to drive us along the lakeside to the town! We tasted the spa water that ran from a fountain in the park by the lake. It was foul! We found the fountain again today and it is every bit as unpleasant now. The rest of the town though has changed beyond recognition since "The Change". It's now a large complex of health clinics and hotels with people standing around drinking the waters from plastic mugs or strolling along the shady tree-lined parade beside the lake. Everything is expensive and developments are proceeding apace with half finished streets lined with new shops. We were charged by the minute to park and it's the first time we have ever needed to use a bank note to pay to use the toilet! (It was actually about 50 pence but it sounds good!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrfpm9wiSfjaV4kkC2yHT7jreMYRJBLHdOWCb8NFqSpi5Tj_ki01EIrTwWcyNotkFADeHHhzPHItLiyRJH6DBR9MoEHiI5V8Y2a6oMEJ18wnJCC7gKjdWXBUf_6qiVynIy7M8idKpclvB/s640-h/YIMG_1700.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrfpm9wiSfjaV4kkC2yHT7jreMYRJBLHdOWCb8NFqSpi5Tj_ki01EIrTwWcyNotkFADeHHhzPHItLiyRJH6DBR9MoEHiI5V8Y2a6oMEJ18wnJCC7gKjdWXBUf_6qiVynIy7M8idKpclvB/s400/YIMG_1700.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069203782748838498" /></a><br /><CENTER>Shady promenade, Balatonfüred</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5NTvlxJRdNWhoU99HayR355uKDaiGPEhiT3sAgSZDv9SNUin3jJNLCQJyBdN2kF5TQ2cZcOLIXQKSRyoI6D_ZJE6MiYVRQiR6LiT8gYnKV4TZ299JTza7IBRJtNuMTdJwnQCNlef4ggo/s640-h/YIMG_1701.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5NTvlxJRdNWhoU99HayR355uKDaiGPEhiT3sAgSZDv9SNUin3jJNLCQJyBdN2kF5TQ2cZcOLIXQKSRyoI6D_ZJE6MiYVRQiR6LiT8gYnKV4TZ299JTza7IBRJtNuMTdJwnQCNlef4ggo/s400/YIMG_1701.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069203812813609586" /></a><br /><CENTER>Original medicinal fountain, Balatonfüred</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeYtmQbfm5MQwUDOK2QLYsciD9XJjG9O4fMPMiV9bDfsNORZrgtm49TJE5RdWID0l86b-aWJNhnc4GKm9iiV4NeJXxQtRlqF3TEXY9ZmGJ_FlgX9QehIgXQPL6C9jIXjA7lA6IbWfhLUU/s640-h/YIMG_1702.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeYtmQbfm5MQwUDOK2QLYsciD9XJjG9O4fMPMiV9bDfsNORZrgtm49TJE5RdWID0l86b-aWJNhnc4GKm9iiV4NeJXxQtRlqF3TEXY9ZmGJ_FlgX9QehIgXQPL6C9jIXjA7lA6IbWfhLUU/s400/YIMG_1702.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069203829993478786" /></a><br /><CENTER>Unfortunately not the fountain of eternal youth, Balatonfüred</CENTER><br />We left Balatonfüred with no regret and will almost certainly not return. Just outside the town we recognised the road we'd ridden the other day with Hinge and Bracket when we crossed to Tihany with the ferry, so our route has linked up. We continued along the northern shore, turning off at Badacsony, an area of volcanoes covered in forests and vineyards. We were searching for what our map referred to as basalt organ pipes - a geological curiosity. We saw a few bits of rock sticking up amongst the forested hillside but nothing very curious. We did discover a lovely Hungarian village though, Hegymagas, with chickens on the roadside, pretty little yellow painted houses with healthy vegetable gardens, roses over the front fences and vines shading the little wooden terraces. We walked around, stopping to buy an ice cream from the village bar. We helped ourselves from the freezer outside and pushed open a curtain to enter the dark, cool bar. Nobody was around and our ices were already melting so we started licking while we waited to pay. In the corner of the room the television was showing a rerun of Hercule Poirot dubbed into Hungarian! How surreal can things get? We were wondering what "Non, non, mon ami, it all depends on the little grey cells n'est ce pas?" would sound like, when someone finally appeared from the back room to take our money.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUOe2dVVjyS6IyHiMPdCMeenhEkTrgKlg0MnQzd8m8oprEn_zP3TOWK31XStIOXCJCLBvTJISki1Xa5ujMURVizIMU8aMvD95gRfdtaGZZV21EXn4xlqTe07Jykbc4AYeH7aLRyNoUtYd/s640-h/YIMG_1708.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUOe2dVVjyS6IyHiMPdCMeenhEkTrgKlg0MnQzd8m8oprEn_zP3TOWK31XStIOXCJCLBvTJISki1Xa5ujMURVizIMU8aMvD95gRfdtaGZZV21EXn4xlqTe07Jykbc4AYeH7aLRyNoUtYd/s400/YIMG_1708.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069204800656087698" /></a><br /><CENTER>Badacsony seen across fields of corn and poppies</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimu8SA4dqAYBehqY9TO3w515PRvLEU9lYaYEGQ2Hh5KplREV4U1t7ttzqhV_Jr-B6BBnGmt-SJs6PuxstRD826mLxYx4G0V09ZJEpnKPEEWjmUyNpw3Qqk6TbhTQwX1RqyX_6kX5SwjZpx/s640-h/YIMG_1704.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimu8SA4dqAYBehqY9TO3w515PRvLEU9lYaYEGQ2Hh5KplREV4U1t7ttzqhV_Jr-B6BBnGmt-SJs6PuxstRD826mLxYx4G0V09ZJEpnKPEEWjmUyNpw3Qqk6TbhTQwX1RqyX_6kX5SwjZpx/s400/YIMG_1704.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069204822130924194" /></a><br /><CENTER>Basalt rocks, Hegymagas</CENTER><br />As we strolled along to the little yellow baroque church we discovered a cottage for sale with a thatched roof, yellow walls and masses of red and pink roses. If we were ever likely to impulse buy a property this would be it! It was just so pretty and peaceful set in a lovely village amongst vineyards not far from the banks of the lake.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkx6rQBahGq55aNgPaqqlbGo_LJGdL5Cy-dZPjmX-swbjaeb1jhFhn8khHWwsZUvrxpy4gTEWU6uvib9K6R3k-xtoYWZdwh9fc4pLn9hQmouaDcKltWpt6XuSf8hTn22UN55XuLHWjCbp/s640-h/YIMG_1703.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkx6rQBahGq55aNgPaqqlbGo_LJGdL5Cy-dZPjmX-swbjaeb1jhFhn8khHWwsZUvrxpy4gTEWU6uvib9K6R3k-xtoYWZdwh9fc4pLn9hQmouaDcKltWpt6XuSf8hTn22UN55XuLHWjCbp/s400/YIMG_1703.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069204835015826098" /></a><br /><CENTER>Pretty property for sale, Hegymagas</CENTER><br />A little girl zoomed up the lane on her bike and called "csokalom" to us. We knew this word, (even if we are uncertain of the spelling) it means hello in a very friendly manner – "I kiss your hand." We cheerfully called "csokalom" back to her whereupon she stopped and chatted away happily to us imparting something of great importance, before waving and riding off. We've no idea what she said.<br /><br />Last year we discovered Keszthely on Lake Balaton and spent four very enjoyable if very wet days here. (See <a href="http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/06/keszthely-and-lake-balaton.html">last year's blog</a>)We never expected to come again but deciding you cannot have too much of a good thing we headed here and found the same campsite as last time. This is the third time during this trip we have returned to sites we discovered last time. Venice and Pécs were the others. At all three sites we have been immediately recognised, and not because of Modestine! It's a lovely feeling. As soon as we arrived here the owner met us saying "It's the German speaking English librarians back from last year." He is Hungarian but needs to speak German all the time as almost every visitor comes from Germany. After a chat his wife joined us and Ian asked after their daughter's studies. (She is studying librarianship in Szombathely.) It seems she has an English oral exam next week and is home for the weekend so we've been asked to give her some conversation practice tomorrow! It would seem we are very useful people to campsite owners around Hungary either for writing out translations of campsite publicity or giving English lessons! Not your average way of retirement!<br /><br />Once settled, we strolled down to the lake where it was still 33 degrees this evening. So far Keszthely is living up to our expectations and we are delighted to have returned here in somewhat dryer weather than last time.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-90496573830151924052007-05-23T13:19:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:19.901+00:00From Croatia into Hungary<B>Thursday 17th May 2007, Slavonski Brod, Croatia</B><br />After the experiences of the past few days, the driving across the harrowing landscape of Bosnia and the work of gathering together all the accumulated thoughts and images for our Bosnia blog, we were quite exhausted. Finding ourselves in this little town with a comfortable room we decided to chill out for a day, relaxing, catching up on emails and swinging a few cats about now we finally had enough space to do so. Modestine was happy in her parking place amongst the vegetables communing with the cabbages so we left her and spent most of the day simply wandering around the town to see what was here. Not a lot really is the answer. There is a Franciscan monastery and the remains of a huge, star-shaped fort built in the 18th century against the Turks, but otherwise the town has little to offer though is pleasant enough with a few shady parks and it is in a far better state of repair than its Bosnian counterpart across the river Saba, Bosnanski Brod. It even has its own attractively designed manhole covers! Throughout the day we have seen queues of lorries on the bridge waiting to cross into Bosnia. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyKecc1BVpRj4VTk-mIkVDAX5agaF2kPTcUT28c476R_Z4pJ-jnTHkrgqYA10K-ztRSLQIC88cYTUFzV7LyeR-NKLSRoHIAduIafWipj3sRAjHOToqJl-1GxqGySsA_TGc52GjC1MWJL2/s640-h/YIMG_1534.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyKecc1BVpRj4VTk-mIkVDAX5agaF2kPTcUT28c476R_Z4pJ-jnTHkrgqYA10K-ztRSLQIC88cYTUFzV7LyeR-NKLSRoHIAduIafWipj3sRAjHOToqJl-1GxqGySsA_TGc52GjC1MWJL2/s400/YIMG_1534.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733512364202082" /></a><CENTER>At last, a customised manhole cover, Slavonski Brod</CENTER><br />We spent ages at lunch time searching for somewhere to eat. It would seem nobody in the town eats but everyone drinks. All the terraces were occupied but when we asked for something to eat we were told we needed to use a restaurant. Eventually we discovered the only one in town and enjoyed a very nice lunch of Wiener Schnitzel with vegetables and salad plus a couple of huge Slavonski beers. Later in the afternoon our waiter, who'd been practicing his English on us telling us how great Manchester United is, passed us by the river as he peddled home on his bike, calling and waving cheerfully to us. It made us feel quite at home. <br /><br />We visited the public library but it wasn't very good, being stocked with multiple copies of a few titles that were often out of date and on rather unlikely topics – such as six copies of the life of Elizabeth Taylor translated into Croat. Around the town are a number of statues to the town's worthies - poets and a children's writer. There is also a bust of the country's first President Franjo Tudjman, 1922-1999. Candles and flowers had been placed in front of it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCbxKV6Np5eeCOwz1l4tOTG-yS5K0cqFnxsFx01OnfqOLYm3sHb6odVsCUvaHBV3vFFe2duR_pjgNmbyLidIbIkWPXpddm-T2xslZ43dmnKqmq5M4wDJiqr26WMOVxT_5W70sMkScgZkQ/s640-h/YIMG_1542.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCbxKV6Np5eeCOwz1l4tOTG-yS5K0cqFnxsFx01OnfqOLYm3sHb6odVsCUvaHBV3vFFe2duR_pjgNmbyLidIbIkWPXpddm-T2xslZ43dmnKqmq5M4wDJiqr26WMOVxT_5W70sMkScgZkQ/s400/YIMG_1542.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733546723940466" /></a><CENTER>Statue of Franjo Tudjman, Slavonski Brod</CENTER><br />We needed to spend time in the internet shop this afternoon. All the machines were occupied by young boys of twelve or thirteen and we were obliged to wait. It was worrying to see that they were all playing very realistic war games with guns, killings and destruction. In view of the dreadful recent traumas in the country it is astonishing that parents are happy to let their children spend hours each day fighting fantasy battles that are so like the ones they had fought for real while these children were babies.<br /><br />We hope to be in Hungary tomorrow so spent our last few kunars on a bottle of wine to see us through the evening. The remaining coins we gave to a little girl standing at the check-out with her mum. They must have thought us mad but we didn't have the vocabulary to explain.<br /><br /><B>Saturday 19th May 2007, Pécs, Hungary</B><br />Once out of Slavonski Brod the roads were very rural and empty as we drove north the seventy kilometres or so to Pécs in Hungary. The little villages we passed through in this part of Croatia, known as Slavonia, reminded us of Hungary with wide grass borders to the road along the sides of which the little houses are built, each standing in their own vegetable garden, frequently with chickens scratching at the gate. Most houses had a well in the garden and many also had open-sided wooden storage sheds, often half full of cobs of maize for animal fodder, similar to the horreos we have seen in northern Spain.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZff-3hJpsyj7ntgTAzbgzwk68kBK7kGnuqr4YGDbxQarLr49bGD2aCXKihyNrjGnSv3-zHB3BR6uwB6g3CYvXd8T-zplOV93RDEAxqusEKhhViF-FIcq-p3ZZ4Uj-D8IYQDGPOZyBI7ye/s640-h/YIMG_1543.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZff-3hJpsyj7ntgTAzbgzwk68kBK7kGnuqr4YGDbxQarLr49bGD2aCXKihyNrjGnSv3-zHB3BR6uwB6g3CYvXd8T-zplOV93RDEAxqusEKhhViF-FIcq-p3ZZ4Uj-D8IYQDGPOZyBI7ye/s400/YIMG_1543.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733572493744258" /></a><CENTER>Wooden storage shed, Slavonia</CENTER><br />The landscape became flatter with woodland and large fields of cereals. Ahead of us on the long, straight, empty road a police car was flashing its light. As we approached we discovered a huge, pink pig lying dead beside a rather dented car. Considering how few animals we have seen in this part of eastern Europe it doesn't say much for the motoring skills of Croatian drivers! <br /><br />At the Hungarian border we were asked to open up the back of Modestine. They seemed more concerned that we might be smuggling cigarettes than Balkan immigrants. Shortly afterwards we reached the spa town of Harkány where we stopped to get some Hungarian forints and to have lunch. It is so nice to be back in Hungary. It's a friendly, cheerful country with which we are already quite familiar – this is Ian's sixth visit – and one where Ian at least has some basic understanding of the language and even Jill has enough vocabulary to feel a certain confidence.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNvCeQAfyfgmd2PVKmpFZq_pQqicox3aiWkCDma9p53UCB4eMge_LnebbNKoYLqbnJHKaASwmqzKTPyHu8YzdsF3IkRn2UKseOPurQX869i8DmLMkgE-ultnlk0eOv-e9BMA5JvAij9-n/s640-h/YIMG_1552.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNvCeQAfyfgmd2PVKmpFZq_pQqicox3aiWkCDma9p53UCB4eMge_LnebbNKoYLqbnJHKaASwmqzKTPyHu8YzdsF3IkRn2UKseOPurQX869i8DmLMkgE-ultnlk0eOv-e9BMA5JvAij9-n/s400/YIMG_1552.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733585378646162" /></a><CENTER>Hungarian forints</CENTER><br />We dare not stay too long in Hungary. There are just too many good restaurants where huge, well prepared and interesting meals are served at prices that are unbelievably cheap compared to Britain. The only fault is that Hungarians love salt to the extent that their meals are sometimes almost unpalatable and we are permanently thirsty.<br /><br />In Pécs we found the same campsite as last year. It is deserted and Modestine nosed her way onto the same familiar pitch! The campsite lady got chatty with Ian when we were last here and she remembered we have friends who work in the town and county libraries. She asked us if we could write a comprehensible English translation of the campsite guide as the old one is out of date and in very peculiar English. She runs the site by herself and doesn't understand computers so this morning we typed out the guide on our laptop and took it into town where we got several copies printed for her to photocopy. The skills she lacks with computers are compensated for by her skills in jam making and fruit bottling as Modestine's fridge now testifies. She is so thrilled with her new English guide, which she cannot read but trusts us to have done a decent job for her, that she has given us a huge bottle of apricots and a jar of jam as well as a big bag of walnuts. All come from her garden.<br /><br />Yesterday afternoon we took the bus into the city and went in search of friends at the County Library. Unfortunately we've been unable to make contact and the emails we sent from Croatia had not been replied to. We rang another friend, Judit, at home. She works for the City Library and immediately asked us to come to her house. It wasn't until we arrived that we realised she'd not received our warning email but she showed us real warmth and friendship. She speaks excellent English and her husband, Ferenc, excellent German. They are a very cheerful, friendly couple and insisted we stay to eat with them. It turned into a delightful, happy evening filled with laughter. We mentioned about our travels north to Hungary through Bosnia and Croatia. They told us that at the time of the Balkans war they could quite clearly hear the bombing in Pecs, at least eighty kilometres north of the war zone! We left at 10pm to catch the bus back to the camp site. Unfortunately Ferenc and Ian were enjoying their chat and palinka (Hungarian brandy) so much we left it a bit late leaving their house and missed the bus. It was a long dark walk back into the city centre before we could find another bus that passed near the campsite, only to find everywhere in total darkness and the gate locked when we arrived. Fortunately Ian remembered from last year where the lady hid the key and around 11.30 we were safely back in Modestine where we slept with the sound of rain pattering on the roof.<br /><br />Today we have spent happily around Pécs, exploring shops, visiting the newly opened complex of Roman burial chambers in front of the cathedral – an EU funded initiative in preparation for Pécs becoming the European capital of culture in 2010. It has been lavishly presented and placed under cover for protection from the weather. It all looks very smart but there were so many groups crowded into a confined space, all eager to see the new attraction, that it felt claustrophobic and hot, and it was difficult to understand the complex layout of the different structures. The murals are considered to be the best Roman examples north of Italy, so have received a UNESCO listing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23q8KDAWrMZsk8eklYf6EcQ1gAy0tOPoW2cf77d8cK2HP8F2FpG9ByyyWJ8aJ1YvSFoXHKFTO2zaUbG9U1EDjGhJLwpOEE5r87bmQOx4QCQ2GY7naY7VfxhUdSzUeerOqYvY8LJcEIEBP/s640-h/YIMG_1560.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23q8KDAWrMZsk8eklYf6EcQ1gAy0tOPoW2cf77d8cK2HP8F2FpG9ByyyWJ8aJ1YvSFoXHKFTO2zaUbG9U1EDjGhJLwpOEE5r87bmQOx4QCQ2GY7naY7VfxhUdSzUeerOqYvY8LJcEIEBP/s400/YIMG_1560.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733636918253730" /></a><CENTER>Cella Septichora, Pécs</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-adgmS_71WtjcL0pVELfPzHJbOZOzHB2i1WK85R7PsenU1s-DkU2_An8GKCZD717yANPOvwcONOL1ozQzY1oACVdqfLV_XK1kL6y-hgwlFUoNkp32Fhl_Z8Y_zjopOjVCERlENbS6QR6j/s640-h/YIMG_1562.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-adgmS_71WtjcL0pVELfPzHJbOZOzHB2i1WK85R7PsenU1s-DkU2_An8GKCZD717yANPOvwcONOL1ozQzY1oACVdqfLV_XK1kL6y-hgwlFUoNkp32Fhl_Z8Y_zjopOjVCERlENbS6QR6j/s400/YIMG_1562.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067730961153627954" /></a><CENTER>Mural in the wine pitcher burial chamber, Pécs</CENTER><br />Outside on the main square things were much more lively, with free concerts offered by several youth bands of very high quality from Pécs, Denmark and elsewhere as part of an international youth festival of music. The youngsters of the town were crowded around, cheering, dancing and leading a conga around the streets. There was a delightful, happy atmosphere and after watching for a while we went off in search of coffee and delicious cherry rétes (a sort of strudel). <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDIBvhC7CJikMYBOXQNJMg-k2RBs4VajQ4HxVOmNXO4qDTiFYf2rXCgWgrLPLAOqTQGqmiucCRIf3AyYdhuWQzJTM6dW1C2zDVDq_mXW01_aBjZgUKA_Idjwlbj3UwUufnEyT9dzuLAtR/s640-h/YIMG_1558.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDIBvhC7CJikMYBOXQNJMg-k2RBs4VajQ4HxVOmNXO4qDTiFYf2rXCgWgrLPLAOqTQGqmiucCRIf3AyYdhuWQzJTM6dW1C2zDVDq_mXW01_aBjZgUKA_Idjwlbj3UwUufnEyT9dzuLAtR/s400/YIMG_1558.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067730986923431746" /></a><CENTER>Percussion in front of the Cathedral, Pécs</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ju-H_6HYw5cepDi_BqSayXBOZl_pDP1K5O1-vk_AAPEqHio0jlOzL9ndKMuZRct9JGrKTsTAH_2OMMT7WGt82FPlRGIkmw8O0hae0c_aOK9SByWGwQOds92U0s6Vllvcg3sZR04plmaI/s640-h/YIMG_1554.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Ju-H_6HYw5cepDi_BqSayXBOZl_pDP1K5O1-vk_AAPEqHio0jlOzL9ndKMuZRct9JGrKTsTAH_2OMMT7WGt82FPlRGIkmw8O0hae0c_aOK9SByWGwQOds92U0s6Vllvcg3sZR04plmaI/s400/YIMG_1554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731008398268242" /></a><CENTER>Singing in Széchenyi Square, Pécs</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOS-Tg6DiByI3KupAmZB9Ab3TU3qe4W4p4Om9UmX0eEdf077EqEBMvp52cmSHXwfS_JbsSkQnXeN1Pv_hSJ6n5mkIslGTUYA7IKdFcxpRatIimZb7lSXVFqkhh0eBl3sy_nLG3eRXMKGY/s640-h/YIMG_1571.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOS-Tg6DiByI3KupAmZB9Ab3TU3qe4W4p4Om9UmX0eEdf077EqEBMvp52cmSHXwfS_JbsSkQnXeN1Pv_hSJ6n5mkIslGTUYA7IKdFcxpRatIimZb7lSXVFqkhh0eBl3sy_nLG3eRXMKGY/s400/YIMG_1571.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731038463039330" /></a><CENTER>Conga around Széchenyi Square, Pécs</CENTER><br />This evening the rain has returned so we have been watching a DVD with a bottle of wine in Modestine. We have not written in detail about Pécs this time as we covered it in last year's blog. <a href=" http://modestine.blogspot.com/2006/06/pecs-and-library-friends.html">This link</a> will take you to that account.<br /><br /><B>Sunday 20th May 2007, near Siofok, Lake Balaton, Hungary</B><br />This morning as we were about to leave the campsite in Pécs the campsite lady presented us with a bottle of Hungarian wine made from her own grapes on the slopes of Villány! We felt quite guilty to see how incredibly grateful she is for our English translation of her guide. We accepted with exchanges of hugs, kissed and thanks in Hungarian. (We are getting pretty good at thanking people here as there have been so many incidents of kindness for us to show appreciation for!)<br /><br />During the day we have travelled north to reach Lake Balaton, the largest lake in central Europe. We were here too last year but at the westernmost end at Keszthely. This time we are about midway along the southern shore. It's not as nice as on the other side but we have deliberately camped near the little ferry that takes cars across the lake to the little peninsula of Tihany which juts out from the northern shore. From there we will be able to drive along to the popular resort of Balatonfüred. One reason we have chosen this route is because we have just received an email from our Hungarian friends in Exeter, Kati and Peter, who by chance have flown in to Budapest this weekend for a few days and wondered whether we could all meet up while they are here. We have no idea yet whether we will be able to arrange anything but are trying to find somewhere to leave Modestine in safety near a train or bus route into Budapest.<br /><br />Hungary really has a delightful countryside. The roads outside the towns are straight, quiet and rural, passing through pretty villages that sometimes stretch for kilometres along the roadsides. The countryside tends to be flat with huge fields of vegetables or cereals, or undulating and covered in woodland. The roadsides have trees, bushes and bright flowers providing both shade and beauty for the passing motorists. <br /><br />We stopped to visit Szekszárd, an agreeable, dignified little town of about 38,000 inhabitants. The tree-lined streets were empty this Sunday morning and we wandered through the parks and side roads enjoying the pretty yellow-rendered baroque churches with their onion domes, the town hall and the many statues - Hungarians are brilliant at statues! There is a certain verve about them, making them lively and attractive. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdhRF9p5TfC_Dn-GM4ZZ655k2XKvguRfTGu0QpSPC6-L28ftyyd8xryLJJmYBDvj28QJR848IK5qHLuHeevDnfqXr5bVPm7TquJIM21kC6zOjIfcu4IkCXYTG5qFpkbRTnP-qy-DzFVxi/s640-h/YIMG_1579.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdhRF9p5TfC_Dn-GM4ZZ655k2XKvguRfTGu0QpSPC6-L28ftyyd8xryLJJmYBDvj28QJR848IK5qHLuHeevDnfqXr5bVPm7TquJIM21kC6zOjIfcu4IkCXYTG5qFpkbRTnP-qy-DzFVxi/s400/YIMG_1579.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731072822777714" /></a><CENTER>Statue of King Bela I, Szekszárd</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wsMEoXXClsSWo0GZh4NVbjOQiS8hXLaA9-h57Y7FHxkFo4FhhyphenhyphenQ-Dc40PRbV4v0GCqi-QkUDCSaAXuFXUQTU6a3VYz_mXATJZD9_XYeW4lB5YfRB-pJm9ggX77yYeKFD_HSn39VduwDR/s640-h/YIMG_1582.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wsMEoXXClsSWo0GZh4NVbjOQiS8hXLaA9-h57Y7FHxkFo4FhhyphenhyphenQ-Dc40PRbV4v0GCqi-QkUDCSaAXuFXUQTU6a3VYz_mXATJZD9_XYeW4lB5YfRB-pJm9ggX77yYeKFD_HSn39VduwDR/s400/YIMG_1582.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731618283624322" /></a><CENTER>Don't know who he is, but he's very jolly, Szekszárd</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPSxNm8H2XDXCNE80De71-W8ZmqIvDlG-WalSvYkaql88Ja7UHVdB08WqQJd_2ubPm1MwMqmNg3CuVyK8ViEwJ9u1qLCm1bFqxJwwfSpPJ-G68HgNKmOuFUUp8_-AcpngvD1F6dU-E6ZL/s640-h/YIMG_1581.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPSxNm8H2XDXCNE80De71-W8ZmqIvDlG-WalSvYkaql88Ja7UHVdB08WqQJd_2ubPm1MwMqmNg3CuVyK8ViEwJ9u1qLCm1bFqxJwwfSpPJ-G68HgNKmOuFUUp8_-AcpngvD1F6dU-E6ZL/s400/YIMG_1581.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731644053428114" /></a><CENTER>Plague column and Secessionist style town hall, Szekszárd</CENTER><br />As we were about to rejoin Modestine we discovered a park around a tiny lake and it seemed all the town were there this Sunday morning. There was a special fête organised to celebrate 125 years of the Hungarian Red Cross. It centred around activities for the town's children but their parents were enjoying it all enormously too. Red Cross staff were creating horrific wounds on the heads and arms of the children with marzipan and strawberry jam. There were bouncy castles, abseiling, huge inflatable slides, a Formula 1 race track for five year olds who were not allowed to use it unless they could answer Hungarian highway code questions, and all kinds of craft activities. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRd-SLkLBl01oRTcRQK5x46sQQaKfPm-WeOiMMeBFDh_kVC75HBXanhiYFMAjOwYhflZ6QGQOTOitwi14YEZyUoc1DqNRLaQHaRdgNuC9iovczMXsTkbQvxn844N6DuxF7UWjAnuGOq0R4/s640-h/YIMG_1583.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRd-SLkLBl01oRTcRQK5x46sQQaKfPm-WeOiMMeBFDh_kVC75HBXanhiYFMAjOwYhflZ6QGQOTOitwi14YEZyUoc1DqNRLaQHaRdgNuC9iovczMXsTkbQvxn844N6DuxF7UWjAnuGOq0R4/s400/YIMG_1583.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731674118199202" /></a><CENTER>Learning the highway code, Szekszárd</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58p8dbEoGcqlMXKF4G_xQyRpMKhkvGza8j2lnBGdNoeqH_Cdp0SXdXui6V-2oqcG-uxpbRNDavO4g8V2fczhr_ebSF6p2x6crvq9S0mjmySQJr7cDP4ZBTgF9E_iEPvhlJ6zSV7rMkrnw/s640-h/YIMG_1584.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58p8dbEoGcqlMXKF4G_xQyRpMKhkvGza8j2lnBGdNoeqH_Cdp0SXdXui6V-2oqcG-uxpbRNDavO4g8V2fczhr_ebSF6p2x6crvq9S0mjmySQJr7cDP4ZBTgF9E_iEPvhlJ6zSV7rMkrnw/s400/YIMG_1584.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731708477937586" /></a><CENTER>Learning how to carve up English campervans, Szekszárd</CENTER><br />There were also stalls selling sausages, bread and paprika sauce, green candy floss, ice creams and lurid coloured sweets. For a snack we bought kürtös kalács, a typical Hungarian speciality. Dough is wrapped smoothly around a wooden rolling pin and is then baked so it becomes crisp on the outside. It is slid from the roller and dipped in sugar. Sold hot as it came from the oven it was deliciously soft and crispy at the same time, burning our fingers as we sat on benches with everyone else to eat our "lunch".<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3hPDqKK9r-NOGOmfClxfzUuNkEasSUAKCS7SX7diYwTUd8n7krq9FkB9BmHl49CMd8Jj6lNx2ec75VolbtEkpduULvN_VBxEEKWZiZyXn3cLaHKsJzE_b-lzmNT37Sxiq8Sm-TYkLa7A/s640-h/YIMG_1588.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3hPDqKK9r-NOGOmfClxfzUuNkEasSUAKCS7SX7diYwTUd8n7krq9FkB9BmHl49CMd8Jj6lNx2ec75VolbtEkpduULvN_VBxEEKWZiZyXn3cLaHKsJzE_b-lzmNT37Sxiq8Sm-TYkLa7A/s400/YIMG_1588.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067731755722577858" /></a><CENTER>Kürtös kalács, Szekszárd</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZbqhDCzrV9C64bxGIQYj0u1bB-eVUv2KxsOlTpk3xa-1u5E4YSOaMHEBmQy3gSHra974o3GKSNomTqA4chNFcxWmsM_SuzbUhQjS6hZxUwifjvCiauf9NTJzs1Vbq7DXkfhynNd6AJAS/s640-h/YIMG_1587.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZbqhDCzrV9C64bxGIQYj0u1bB-eVUv2KxsOlTpk3xa-1u5E4YSOaMHEBmQy3gSHra974o3GKSNomTqA4chNFcxWmsM_SuzbUhQjS6hZxUwifjvCiauf9NTJzs1Vbq7DXkfhynNd6AJAS/s400/YIMG_1587.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732455802247122" /></a><CENTER>Our very own kürtös kalács being prepared, Szekszárd</CENTER><br />We pottered on until we reached Siófok which is rather a disappointment being just a pleasant but straggling tourist resort on the side of the lake with hotels, restaurants, tennis courts and swimming pools. There doesn't seem much to do though we could probably have an enjoyable bike ride beside the lake.<br /><br />Heading for the ferry to cross the lake we found this campsite which is very well appointed and right on the lakeside. From here we can see the ferries crossing. Apart from ourselves there is a French motorhome – the only one we've seen since the Dutch travellers on the site in Sarajevo! We took our gift of Hungarian wine down to the lakeside with a candle and some glasses and watched the sun set over Tihany as we drank. Suitably lubricated we wandered off in search of a telephone and stopped for a complicated chat with the person in charge of the site who speaks a few words of German and voluble amounts of Hungarian. Somehow, with lots of laughing, we held a comprehensible if not highly intellectual conversation, the outcome of which is that he is impressed with Ian's Hungarian which, he informs us, is much better than his English. This is true but doesn't necessarily mean Ian's Hungarian is any good!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYaIJHM49uDPe3-_HzT-ugg92jDtZI9cMfmJqCCk7s9n0rWWqjkPUHSLLfYK7tC4IFfzkaUnt_lpIHBeUVjrY1f-Yz06tES3dszOtgPPtBJ7nfWdPvQ0GugcZNzlpjjqS3QMLqxc9XlHve/s640-h/YIMG_1592.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYaIJHM49uDPe3-_HzT-ugg92jDtZI9cMfmJqCCk7s9n0rWWqjkPUHSLLfYK7tC4IFfzkaUnt_lpIHBeUVjrY1f-Yz06tES3dszOtgPPtBJ7nfWdPvQ0GugcZNzlpjjqS3QMLqxc9XlHve/s400/YIMG_1592.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732485867018210" /></a><CENTER>Tihany Abbey from our campsite in Szántod</CENTER><br /><B>Monday 21st May 2007, near Siófok, Lake Balaton, Hungary</B><br />This morning we took over two of the campsite's washing machines to clear the backlog of laundry that has accumulated. Leaving Modestine in charge of our pitch, festooned with drying duvet covers, tea towels and assorted socks, we took Hinge and Bracket for a ride along to the ferry and across the lake to the little peninsula of Tihany. They've not really earned their keep so far this trip so all their pent up energy was called into use as they struggled up the steep hillside to the Benedictine abbey at the top. At one stage we were obliged to get off and push them, they were so exhausted. Once in the little, touristy village beneath the abbey we left them to recover under one of the many shady cherry trees while we visited the abbey and the village.<br /><br />We were last at Tihany almost forty years ago and our memories are very hazy. We came then with our East German friend Hubert as we had all met up in Budapest to spend our holiday together - in those days Hubert was not free to travel to the west but could visit other socialist countries such as Hungary. In Budapest Hubert had a friend who owned a very basic, partially built holiday home set amidst vineyards beside Lake Balaton, within walking distance of Tihany across the fields. Back in the early 1970s it was far from being the tourist Mecca we found there today with dozens of street vendors selling Hungarian lace table runners, embroidered cloths and ceramics. Compared with the lovely, genuine folk art things we saw then, many of these are not very attractive and we found them easy to resist. There were also lots of restaurants, ice cream vendors and little souvenir shops decorated with strings of dried tomatoes and tiny red paprikas, selling honey and wine. Despite this obvious commercialism the village was still an attractive place with thatched roofs, pretty gardens and sunny corners. The abbey itself, built on the highest point of what we suspect is the remains of a volcano, overlooks the lovely green lake with hazy views of the blue distant hills along the far side and the spa town of Balatonfüred a little further along. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hqXLgYxFeJHy1jVTmCKq9cHoiQf2nMiNvosiwQ0i4-cR8thwdFcPX8Lq9rC1wTsCRXLhahHiLgsDObyVoG93lDyXLmeLej-Y49BGdpcIyz-_0Z9nOqUIlhAAIxbc2ukQYN2YRDITmcnO/s640-h/YIMG_1600.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hqXLgYxFeJHy1jVTmCKq9cHoiQf2nMiNvosiwQ0i4-cR8thwdFcPX8Lq9rC1wTsCRXLhahHiLgsDObyVoG93lDyXLmeLej-Y49BGdpcIyz-_0Z9nOqUIlhAAIxbc2ukQYN2YRDITmcnO/s400/YIMG_1600.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732511636822002" /></a><CENTER>Tihany Abbey</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eGhX1ReWKUPYBGwjHntXRSIkDsm9DPwaYDgfIFVEE4eSC5lHz71ivDSJ6FLXHvH5bTwQQ_ucnnr0u5okNRmvVZ8iXa9725du18ejm-qYplpu5OfsIgQBQXB-TBInXZQmu9hGniHP1J_w/s640-h/YIMG_1601.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eGhX1ReWKUPYBGwjHntXRSIkDsm9DPwaYDgfIFVEE4eSC5lHz71ivDSJ6FLXHvH5bTwQQ_ucnnr0u5okNRmvVZ8iXa9725du18ejm-qYplpu5OfsIgQBQXB-TBInXZQmu9hGniHP1J_w/s400/YIMG_1601.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732533111658498" /></a><CENTER>View from Tihany Abbey towards Balatonfüred</CENTER><br />The abbey is justifiably one of the major tourist sites in Hungary. Apart from its wonderful setting, it also has almost a millennium of chequered history. It was founded as a Benedictine monastery by King Andrew I in 1055 and its charter, which we saw in Pannonhalma a few years ago, includes the earliest examples of the Hungarian language. At the time of the Turkish invasions its prominent site on the north side of Lake Balaton meant that it was fortified against the Turks and for a couple of centuries monastic life was in decline. After the defeat of the Turks the fortress was demolished and in the 1740s the present elegant baroque building was constructed with its two towers topped by cupolas and a splendour of ornament and gold inside. All that remains of the earlier buildings are the Romanesque crypt where King Andrew lies buried and a few fragments of masonry and sculpture in the excellent exhibition that tells the story of the abbey. Monastic houses were suppressed in the 1790s but revived soon after, and in the 19th century the extensive estates were run on modern lines, and the abbey even had a hand in developing the nearby spa of Balatonfüred. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7EEjwWSbRUIh6F8lfaa4wCgxCcllTaPqZYq8Q0vWnC4WBpXfFertC0_wruLDAvsiYbF3iTDE5QfEgQzG_aV9ZpqeawM9BJZ7qE_bbUhje8hAotzcyKp1pKzhlBse1Wy4e2GW_-vusokB/s640-h/YIMG_1606.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7EEjwWSbRUIh6F8lfaa4wCgxCcllTaPqZYq8Q0vWnC4WBpXfFertC0_wruLDAvsiYbF3iTDE5QfEgQzG_aV9ZpqeawM9BJZ7qE_bbUhje8hAotzcyKp1pKzhlBse1Wy4e2GW_-vusokB/s400/YIMG_1606.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732588946233362" /></a><CENTER>High altar, Tihany Abbey</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3MyK3wCaGcWXWoBI8FdzJlULvXCvoMNtmg7uiIQrR_AI4mPOZlN1_MwqD7bk_XsHiI2cculKhT4CkqVmCXvLMfxlPSZEu3LB3T7RLbpD161QF6TF56qNOO7mrmaxsh2Gb25dqFr1vFWM/s640-h/YIMG_1605.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3MyK3wCaGcWXWoBI8FdzJlULvXCvoMNtmg7uiIQrR_AI4mPOZlN1_MwqD7bk_XsHiI2cculKhT4CkqVmCXvLMfxlPSZEu3LB3T7RLbpD161QF6TF56qNOO7mrmaxsh2Gb25dqFr1vFWM/s400/YIMG_1605.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732949723486242" /></a><CENTER>Pulpit, Tihany Abbey</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNvAshKvvBhRsSp8WVp0jZWejUJxd3fm9Z5RLgysG2MUHviWmvWVxnmUWtNmloIGc_G2D29tx4I4QTd4qY3YbnhM2kORh-S-C_UELOTq5nLd32QKFmzGGGXYH5denQjC72b5sIG_IWKMV/s640-h/YIMG_1608.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNvAshKvvBhRsSp8WVp0jZWejUJxd3fm9Z5RLgysG2MUHviWmvWVxnmUWtNmloIGc_G2D29tx4I4QTd4qY3YbnhM2kORh-S-C_UELOTq5nLd32QKFmzGGGXYH5denQjC72b5sIG_IWKMV/s400/YIMG_1608.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732984083224626" /></a><CENTER>Tomb of Andrew I, Tihany Abbey</CENTER><br />In 1921 the last King of Hungary, Károly IV and his Queen Zita took refuge at the abbey for a few days during their last, unsuccessful attempt to regain the throne of Hungary. There is a room dedicated to their memory which, intriguingly, mentions that he was beatified in 2005 – what miracles had he performed, we wonder. In the 1950s the communists confiscated the estates, turned the abbey into a museum and scattered the important library, but since 1990, after "The Change" monastic life has revived. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_biwMC0my0qCCap9uywQDrC6m-KEWiL2ISFwI3gmEZulX7K53y_pclRIuv-Axn-PZbzC_YvSruvHfQ34flLPM3uiBZVOcfuEn73B3Nfx2jTkJefuplfR-bUupxUO_Fg8wgUblmDA6smjR/s640-h/YIMG_1609.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_biwMC0my0qCCap9uywQDrC6m-KEWiL2ISFwI3gmEZulX7K53y_pclRIuv-Axn-PZbzC_YvSruvHfQ34flLPM3uiBZVOcfuEn73B3Nfx2jTkJefuplfR-bUupxUO_Fg8wgUblmDA6smjR/s400/YIMG_1609.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067732996968126530" /></a><CENTER>Memorial to Károly IV and Queen Zita, Tihany Abbey</CENTER><br />After our active morning we were hungry by the time we left the abbey. Away from the popular main street of the village we found a restaurant with shady wooden tables covered with traditional indigo-dyed blue cloths in a tiny courtyard where we were served Hungarian meals of paprika beef stew with tiny noodle dumplings accompanied by a mixed salad that included pickled gherkins and very spicy fresh paprikas. Poor Ian couldn't drink water fast enough to cool his tongue! With our meal we were served glasses of chilled white wine from the locality. Regrettably here too so much salt was used in the cooking that we were left thirsty all afternoon.<br /><br />Hinge and Bracket had fully recovered by the time we found them again so we took them for a ride around the peninsula. This was most enjoyable being downhill whichever direction we chose. We skimmed through the pretty countryside of lavender fields, vegetable patches and elderflower bushes in full bloom. Even in this rural setting we never saw any animals and it is a mystery where they are all kept. <br /><br />Eventually our map told us we needed to turn right and follow the lakeside if we were to return to the ferry rather than end up in Balatonfüred. Along the lakeside, under shady trees, people were picnicking, swimming or fishing. Shortly before we reached the ferry the road climbed steeply before dropping down to the level of the lake again. While we were busy coaxing the bikes up the slope the ferry hooted and decided to leave five minutes early as it already had its full quota of cars. There was no more than a yard of water between us and the ferry when we arrived and ample space for us on board but we had to wait an hour while it crossed the lake and returned for us.<br /><br />By the time we finally returned to Modestine and sorted our clean, dry washing, the sun was beginning to sink behind the hill of Tihany. We took the remainder of our free wine from Pécs the few yards down to the water's edge where we enjoyed the sunset and watched the fish jumping, with nothing but the sound of the water gently lapping against the bank as the waves created by the wake of the last ferry of the day finally reached the shore. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS60YDd9r3OMYxRE_l0LQWipfMRWcnjZspe7dOjcOsY4NSnhZ1kOwJv3B-FoEmZl-iS7DqsV5i_RpOhs1PjjXPIdHTq2WVhkuYejBSvnIQBospKowUuwOJFxV-yNtGDPe_9rDx7GHNCP-L/s640-h/YIMG_1619.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS60YDd9r3OMYxRE_l0LQWipfMRWcnjZspe7dOjcOsY4NSnhZ1kOwJv3B-FoEmZl-iS7DqsV5i_RpOhs1PjjXPIdHTq2WVhkuYejBSvnIQBospKowUuwOJFxV-yNtGDPe_9rDx7GHNCP-L/s400/YIMG_1619.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067733022737930322" /></a><CENTER>Last ferry to Tihany seen from our campsite in Szántod</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-76226431985500874772007-05-17T14:41:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:20.367+00:00Bosnia<B>Sunday 13th May 2007, Konjic, Bosnia Herzegovina</B><br />As can be seen from our address this evening, we succeeded in obtaining a green card giving us emergency insurance cover for seven days in BiH. <br /><br />Because it is Sunday our route back along the coast road from Dubrovnik was far better than on our way down, with road building activity abandoned for the weekend. There was a perpetual stream of motorhomes flooding down the coast towards Dubrovnik and we wonder whether the campsite will be able to accommodate them all. We passed through the Bosnian ten mile coastal strip at Neum without incident and without insurance. Back into Croatia we turned off at Magistrala, the flat, fertile plain at the mouth of the river Neretva, and followed the river inland towards the only crossing point into Bosnia where we'd been told we may be able to purchase insurance. At Metkovic, the last town in Croatia, we spent our remaining kunas restocking our fridge. We confess to having popped into the local Lidl where we bought pretty much the same things we can buy in Lidl in England or almost any other country in Europe. At least we have some idea of what we are buying in Lidl. Otherwise, with labels written in Croatian we cannot tell the difference between paprika dips, yogurt, margarine or curd cheese!<br /><br />During our time in Dalmatia, apart from the one we saw in Krk, we saw only one more native dog, leaving us short changed by 99 Dalmatians! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSAeGHnES4aKlF8YqP7Wp0PgBPECgzn3chpnyVlDR28Z5niXsxiy_n9BS9LqeqnKOAheGVXBK26Mls1Y7ryGpjNFxCG6-9kg8s_k6uq5kwXo6kM-VccEGUw4sBoeW11FemldW1d2JmfYF/s640-h/YIMG_1418.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSAeGHnES4aKlF8YqP7Wp0PgBPECgzn3chpnyVlDR28Z5niXsxiy_n9BS9LqeqnKOAheGVXBK26Mls1Y7ryGpjNFxCG6-9kg8s_k6uq5kwXo6kM-VccEGUw4sBoeW11FemldW1d2JmfYF/s400/YIMG_1418.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065525714490463282" /></a><br /><CENTER>Fertile plains of the Magistrala</CENTER><br />At the border - a scruffy wasteland with a couple of uniformed young men in a wooden shack, and a shed for processing the documents of international heavy commercial vehicles - we showed Modestine's log book and handed over 30 euros – Croatian kunas were unacceptable. In exchange we received a handwritten scrap of blue paper, anomalously called a green card. We were the only non-Bosnian vehicle crossing over and since we have been here we've not seen a single camper van or motor home. <br /><br />The roads are rather better than we'd expected and very much like the rest of Eastern Europe. There is no comparison between the smart, affluent tourist strip of Croatia along beside the coast and the neglected, drab inland towns and villages of Bosnia. <br /><br />Mostar is as different from Dubrovnik as it is possible to be. It is very much a Muslim city with mosques, minarets and souks while some of the men and women wear muslim dress. The food is completely different too and far more interesting than pizzas and seafood, the staple diet of both Italy and Croatia.<br /><br />The city though is a shock. While the tourist area around the famous bridge has been restored and is full of the usual souvenirs and restaurants, just a street or two away the devastation of the war and the disintegration of Yugoslavia is all too apparent with bombed buildings, piles of rubble and areas of dusty wasteland where buildings once stood. We were both brought up in South London in the immediate post war years and as children took war damaged buildings and shored-up walls for granted but that was more than half a century ago. What we saw today is the result of the complex "Homeland War" that lasted here from 1992 to 1996 and left Bosnia with thousands dead, many thousands more as refugees and its beautiful Muslim cities in ruins. Huge block of flats and offices are just empty, bombed shells, while less damaged buildings, lacking doors and windows, the walls smashed by gunfire, stand on the main streets, partly reoccupied, side by side with recent smart coffee houses and shops.<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq92p5wwBDyFjsO4IxGsd1VOhwKy9CmtODyerTxKplFUSqS8gabQw2MUzlywnfDwuQ4OhJTJEOv5EDGz02s1oXU99BHKlVVBYt4F7MugKMbr0Fx_l3DV6MvfNfZfIc5DY-yjqtogB-W-ay/s640-h/YIMG_1459.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq92p5wwBDyFjsO4IxGsd1VOhwKy9CmtODyerTxKplFUSqS8gabQw2MUzlywnfDwuQ4OhJTJEOv5EDGz02s1oXU99BHKlVVBYt4F7MugKMbr0Fx_l3DV6MvfNfZfIc5DY-yjqtogB-W-ay/s400/YIMG_1459.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065525701605561378" /></a><br /><CENTER>Bombed out shell, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt1R2UMgXA4P7kP0zpClRVvDOxRJIhkWZoY-RDKWrGCJ8MMDhKT8h1Mb2kK22EYr8SP6whaJxDNidgoD0xDPArpVDaTkx6eXRlspttzLkYzV_T41v2BD6Ye0LGi9if1hvZKZASIFFabw_/s640-h/YIMG_1461.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt1R2UMgXA4P7kP0zpClRVvDOxRJIhkWZoY-RDKWrGCJ8MMDhKT8h1Mb2kK22EYr8SP6whaJxDNidgoD0xDPArpVDaTkx6eXRlspttzLkYzV_T41v2BD6Ye0LGi9if1hvZKZASIFFabw_/s400/YIMG_1461.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065525727375365186" /></a><br /><CENTER>War damage, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgbozpSses-SYy2oun7HPXEo_B8altNIP4s9_ilnU8dji1MreGEaXFr5jNAAsmqiTl1atX0Sf9MkY-TFQeffn3s4GBjl2o-RR-tKQgWq8xdfF_D9wCfpZ7pYVySgAq9bbRWd2RXyANj-g/s640-h/YIMG_1460.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgbozpSses-SYy2oun7HPXEo_B8altNIP4s9_ilnU8dji1MreGEaXFr5jNAAsmqiTl1atX0Sf9MkY-TFQeffn3s4GBjl2o-RR-tKQgWq8xdfF_D9wCfpZ7pYVySgAq9bbRWd2RXyANj-g/s400/YIMG_1460.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065525731670332498" /></a><br /><CENTER>War damage, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOtLM2T-HH0hefUSCAHv_ZIooxE0tkfzwguw7HDlnuKupsB6vSMpj9j2w0YeeAFWgspYAxVpMrogFbuS_Oepuo4Xfkh5J5oxRXQMtQrqF3zr_XevNi5dmQnQT-fmrSfTpDPJ4Ik136hIJ/s640-h/YIMG_1455.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOtLM2T-HH0hefUSCAHv_ZIooxE0tkfzwguw7HDlnuKupsB6vSMpj9j2w0YeeAFWgspYAxVpMrogFbuS_Oepuo4Xfkh5J5oxRXQMtQrqF3zr_XevNi5dmQnQT-fmrSfTpDPJ4Ik136hIJ/s400/YIMG_1455.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065525744555234402" /></a><br /><CENTER>Modestine waits amidst the ruins, Mostar</CENTER><br />The recent horrors this country has suffered are evident too in the occasional sight of young men moving around the streets on crutches with only one leg. Beside the Karadozbegova Mosque, the main mosque of Mostar and Herzegovina, built in 1557, we found a Muslim cemetery where every gravestone had 1993 as the date of death.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9Wp-Zz4dxBb5xWH5urnETQs0xAhpmYlcx9-XQ_zTgGrw48i3itIRFCn5OD3zofy24L7WuwwAwjKaN9igcN6-3-xB00ptunTBZPcYgD6L-6S0YsRAiarkdOvg6_3dnPHSEfkc7RwYeyuR/s640-h/YIMG_1452.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9Wp-Zz4dxBb5xWH5urnETQs0xAhpmYlcx9-XQ_zTgGrw48i3itIRFCn5OD3zofy24L7WuwwAwjKaN9igcN6-3-xB00ptunTBZPcYgD6L-6S0YsRAiarkdOvg6_3dnPHSEfkc7RwYeyuR/s400/YIMG_1452.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065526934261175410" /></a><br /><CENTER>Karadozbegova Mosque, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68TePcH_h7nxGmX4XdLNTgS_NAF_ZUzbrsKjeLTSZNSnch3IHRHvSHPG7qiyaoje8bXg1B1hdRk4bmt0vQfvI4MXc4Ga2ECnuf8D_pxL8SXScex7EsMM4FPUj4tm01sve1hCVCucFiaUw/s640-h/YIMG_1451.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68TePcH_h7nxGmX4XdLNTgS_NAF_ZUzbrsKjeLTSZNSnch3IHRHvSHPG7qiyaoje8bXg1B1hdRk4bmt0vQfvI4MXc4Ga2ECnuf8D_pxL8SXScex7EsMM4FPUj4tm01sve1hCVCucFiaUw/s400/YIMG_1451.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065526947146077314" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cemetery at Karadozbegova Mosque, Mostar</CENTER><br />There is also quite a heavy military presence on the streets but we haven't worked out whether they are local troops or peace keeping forces. We have also noticed vehicles with green NATO plaques instead of number plates. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaHPb6-tivIGKe278fvgaBRmSUr8P7_P0p7yUXrBq5ABnFPg6AKkvvu-Rgduzo39wLkD5gUEk2wrqTGZKdL5oR2EW8s-xz9f2swfFAvVQeFlZbcTHjiUN8fgv5KTH3uGD1uLxb2YUMfSO/s640-h/YIMG_1437.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaHPb6-tivIGKe278fvgaBRmSUr8P7_P0p7yUXrBq5ABnFPg6AKkvvu-Rgduzo39wLkD5gUEk2wrqTGZKdL5oR2EW8s-xz9f2swfFAvVQeFlZbcTHjiUN8fgv5KTH3uGD1uLxb2YUMfSO/s400/YIMG_1437.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065526955736011922" /></a><br /><CENTER>A military presence on the old bridge, Mostar</CENTER><br />Generally any tourists are bussed into the city and taken directly to the bridge, so see little or nothing of these streets and the ordinary people who live in them. Near the bridge we found a free exhibition of photos taken during the war showing its effect on the city of Mostar. The bridge itself has been on the Unesco list of World Heritage sites since 2005, but in fact it has been almost completely reconstructed. Photos showed it to have been totally destroyed by both Serbian and Croatian attacks. There is no doubt though that it is beautiful, spanning the fast flowing blue waters of the river as a high, pointed walkway. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D57EE1ho1YOiZfq3ipQhdvi2DRAdzaaKezX4jETa87q3dHyANMkDACmkx4d6jqpDyoklJkm87EuhW5XYDCAx6BdzS2NL_I2kGEBFGd5hY-gKppG0c0TyP4cIhyphenhyphenRizh56kmo0u7K6F853/s640-h/YIMG_1422.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D57EE1ho1YOiZfq3ipQhdvi2DRAdzaaKezX4jETa87q3dHyANMkDACmkx4d6jqpDyoklJkm87EuhW5XYDCAx6BdzS2NL_I2kGEBFGd5hY-gKppG0c0TyP4cIhyphenhyphenRizh56kmo0u7K6F853/s400/YIMG_1422.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065526964325946530" /></a><br /><CENTER>The old bridge, Mostar</CENTER><br />Nearby we visited the Koski Mehmed Pasha Mosque, built in 1618, where thick patterned carpets covered the floor and barefooted men joined together in prayer. We climbed the steep, narrow spiral stairs of the minaret. From the narrow ledge, high above the town, from where the imam traditionally calls people to prayer, we were able to look out over Mostar, at the splendour of its mosques, squares and bridges, but also at its war wounds and scars, the two facets of the city side by side. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLL5CWl4jaKfH6hKbC_hFF_bzeYz8_UCR3b3G2OxQwnBT-SOgJY_TiPcDQfmSShd5UhmMuDm4OPwAjuL7n97XFJ5kDXoJJfov2IYdOCUH7JPwVt0PsJl10RFtXWhEAdpjDh9KD8Q2G8as/s640-h/YIMG_1429.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLL5CWl4jaKfH6hKbC_hFF_bzeYz8_UCR3b3G2OxQwnBT-SOgJY_TiPcDQfmSShd5UhmMuDm4OPwAjuL7n97XFJ5kDXoJJfov2IYdOCUH7JPwVt0PsJl10RFtXWhEAdpjDh9KD8Q2G8as/s400/YIMG_1429.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065526968620913842" /></a><br /><CENTER>Praying in the Koski Mehmed Pasha mosque, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO93SXUfUx8PWZCT7C6NLHj9l2zTsx7PC1DW6gpLsYegF2TgtX30wcqP4CyUIVebwniM1WUUElrjNqinBOfRm8ZkFoyjHvuTPe6fOCsmITG0gLaa3jyC-MjzfiOvN39L9vaJ116iV-D0AC/s640-h/YIMG_1426.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO93SXUfUx8PWZCT7C6NLHj9l2zTsx7PC1DW6gpLsYegF2TgtX30wcqP4CyUIVebwniM1WUUElrjNqinBOfRm8ZkFoyjHvuTPe6fOCsmITG0gLaa3jyC-MjzfiOvN39L9vaJ116iV-D0AC/s400/YIMG_1426.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065527256383722690" /></a><br /><CENTER>The old bridge from the minaret of the Koski Mehmed Pasha mosque, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKZ1GpTIYuUWWh7xhAYUexLBVQzo30XXI-8Kx1TW_Nu-Gg-ovt30Mlym2CC_ygAC1O19acWbGxuUkqTdZ7_BBaDWVKQHr9z_mq1OS9Ivww760UDMQsRFoR-gbJqFab1yJ1SJaLYMazV4W/s640-h/YIMG_1427.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKZ1GpTIYuUWWh7xhAYUexLBVQzo30XXI-8Kx1TW_Nu-Gg-ovt30Mlym2CC_ygAC1O19acWbGxuUkqTdZ7_BBaDWVKQHr9z_mq1OS9Ivww760UDMQsRFoR-gbJqFab1yJ1SJaLYMazV4W/s400/YIMG_1427.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065527269268624594" /></a><br /><CENTER>View over the city from the minaret of the Koski Mehmed Pasha mosque, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzX5G6hC785Ueil8q70JyGJFfXR6m8h0oL-71pEN67cdjzs_K2I7VmtnENdZmr8FoZQBHxZe7GU1U3JEoSV9wuCi30rZUQBy9U8ry3a-6TAcEHzMnsm4vazY66UxZTDZSIbMRO-EiYvc0/s640-h/YIMG_1431.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzX5G6hC785Ueil8q70JyGJFfXR6m8h0oL-71pEN67cdjzs_K2I7VmtnENdZmr8FoZQBHxZe7GU1U3JEoSV9wuCi30rZUQBy9U8ry3a-6TAcEHzMnsm4vazY66UxZTDZSIbMRO-EiYvc0/s400/YIMG_1431.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065527273563591906" /></a><br /><CENTER> Koski Mehmed Pasha mosque from the old bridge, Mostar</CENTER><br />Beside the river we found a cool restaurant where we were served chilled water, a salad of white goat's cheese and what was described to us as "House food". This mystery was a delicious selection of peppers, vine leaves and cabbage stuffed with a savoury meat filling, served with rice. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VG9gaWcyMY6d5Y-sHFsTQFavH-cYKD1usnrTK74Lt6EbFxORsFKbWj8waADQKyytyjVX2ptpRkdE3uwb8AOoeAfj7fiEUaSTbACWbF4iKJ3F0Yx00qhV6-fsAmi05u9w57DiHaJJGEDO/s640-h/YIMG_1434.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VG9gaWcyMY6d5Y-sHFsTQFavH-cYKD1usnrTK74Lt6EbFxORsFKbWj8waADQKyytyjVX2ptpRkdE3uwb8AOoeAfj7fiEUaSTbACWbF4iKJ3F0Yx00qhV6-fsAmi05u9w57DiHaJJGEDO/s400/YIMG_1434.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065527286448493810" /></a><br /><CENTER>16th century Turkish bridge seen from our lunch table, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg49y2c98gbBULv8_12OvjSBNDa3b8mY51CFSFjmeGZXDE8h8vc_U2AE_YyzJwd-dkHhUi-o6fAaBPprmPbTgG01F-022V0E5eOzupABNCGhJfUMuvA4ofoz_sCSeHOIB2YGJHFh0kwh2pp/s640-h/YIMG_1436.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg49y2c98gbBULv8_12OvjSBNDa3b8mY51CFSFjmeGZXDE8h8vc_U2AE_YyzJwd-dkHhUi-o6fAaBPprmPbTgG01F-022V0E5eOzupABNCGhJfUMuvA4ofoz_sCSeHOIB2YGJHFh0kwh2pp/s400/YIMG_1436.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065527290743461122" /></a><br /><CENTER>Our lunch, Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7u3_aeHziIwM0wglAistigToRN2-tqZkjHD_k-xp8VfXL2sqwx22cgWDHp4P3tl-l_r3R56X_Nd87Ha3WYGcoeO1a0avd-RPwcLKEpjapSUSbYgrBxjH8NcRbQtHuUUznWPJgVt8hRe1/s640-h/YIMG_1433.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7u3_aeHziIwM0wglAistigToRN2-tqZkjHD_k-xp8VfXL2sqwx22cgWDHp4P3tl-l_r3R56X_Nd87Ha3WYGcoeO1a0avd-RPwcLKEpjapSUSbYgrBxjH8NcRbQtHuUUznWPJgVt8hRe1/s400/YIMG_1433.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528149736920338" /></a><br /><CENTER>Historic centre of Mostar</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ArB9N8rNP0JHTVsnfOVySLv1W-xbIrF5FHMqTwaSsw1uT-Cs-5Dz0y2asBhpmax9wbMYv6Qwc8NdXLTxhy1MDYzFyikPgq8R58S7ENe3QoXBjbZwrx-IHLpj6UWIULQUqIT14inpf0GH/s640-h/YIMG_1438.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ArB9N8rNP0JHTVsnfOVySLv1W-xbIrF5FHMqTwaSsw1uT-Cs-5Dz0y2asBhpmax9wbMYv6Qwc8NdXLTxhy1MDYzFyikPgq8R58S7ENe3QoXBjbZwrx-IHLpj6UWIULQUqIT14inpf0GH/s400/YIMG_1438.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528154031887650" /></a><br /><CENTER>Trader's stall in the historic centre, Mostar</CENTER><br />Returning to Modestine we discovered a 16th century Turkish house which had somehow survived the bombing. We left our shoes in the cobbled courtyard where a lumbering tortoise stood guard, and climbed an external wooden staircase into three rooms filled with elaborately carved fixed wooden furniture, colourfully woven rugs and cushions and a variety of traditional household objects.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpZ_-aaqQM3ZFZ905C1F_RZ7yIIYsyqAo0x-KJr7ozdZNJbdNCnkuWnQQqgnrCHI2hhYhFdx9e9iDkKkPdISy_su8SJgYRf8eZWtTr2Sw26ZTViV0BnIFEvsd9fVC961wqUEcPJaaAO6H/s640-h/YIMG_1444.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpZ_-aaqQM3ZFZ905C1F_RZ7yIIYsyqAo0x-KJr7ozdZNJbdNCnkuWnQQqgnrCHI2hhYhFdx9e9iDkKkPdISy_su8SJgYRf8eZWtTr2Sw26ZTViV0BnIFEvsd9fVC961wqUEcPJaaAO6H/s400/YIMG_1444.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528162621822258" /></a><br /><CENTER>Inside the Turkish house, Mostar</CENTER><br />Whereas in Croatia almost everyone we spoke with had an excellent command of English, here we have met nobody yet with more than a basic smattering. People are friendly and helpful though. There is no shyness and they do use what few words of English they have, interspersed with their own language – which is almost the same as Croatian. We have no guide books to Bosnia and as it is most definitely not a tourist resort there are few hotels and virtually no campsites. People with rooms to rent put signs outside but we'd be worried leaving Modestine on the streets all night. Having ascertained there was no campsite near Mostar we drove on towards Sarajevo along a very impressive gorge, the Neretva Canyon. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9o-SwqhhPoyF4FQG8WtlWHJA2lypFjCCOyl9OnE38FgHas7RzAJYy5GqLTq924CMtyHuNhEcZT-iII2W3Y1ScE-TM4Ii9epoMYcnS3zxNLAZUXGI3Bsc17NW9IcFZsfRbqjMXpsmkbrU/s640-h/YIMG_1465.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9o-SwqhhPoyF4FQG8WtlWHJA2lypFjCCOyl9OnE38FgHas7RzAJYy5GqLTq924CMtyHuNhEcZT-iII2W3Y1ScE-TM4Ii9epoMYcnS3zxNLAZUXGI3Bsc17NW9IcFZsfRbqjMXpsmkbrU/s400/YIMG_1465.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528166916789570" /></a><br /><CENTER>Through the Neretva Canyon</CENTER><br />A couple of sites marked on our map turned out to be works of fiction but eventually we discovered this little site. As usual away from the main tourist places, we are the only people, which is just as well as there is one Turkish toilet with a washbasin outside in the field and a cold water tap for washing dishes and that is it! The owner is painting everything in sight bright blue and showed us a very smart leaflet that makes the site look unbelievably attractive. He's fixing a rusty hand rail onto some broken steps down to the muddy lake full of croaking frogs so he can claim it is suitable for the disabled! He's really nice though and we communicate in a mixture of very basic German and Bosnian. He has shown us a booklet of campsites in Bosnia so we have some idea which route to take to avoid getting stuck overnight as we head towards Hungary.<br /><br /><B>Monday 14th May 2007, Sarajevo, Bosnia</B><br />All night long we were serenaded by the bright green frogs and around 3am were disturbed by fishermen on the lake shining torches to attract the fish.<br /><br /> Neither of us could face the Turkish loo this morning, but discovered a wonderful restaurant a few yards along the road outside the campsite with hot water, immaculate proper loos and paper towels! Feeling happier with the world we asked if we could have breakfast on their terrace overlooking the lake with the mountains behind. We were served coffee with hot milk and water in hammered metal Turkish jugs with long handles, along with hot rolls filled with a sort of delicious, very filling cream cheese. Our total bill was 6 marks (£2). The staff was friendly and laughed rather cynically at Ian's attempts to speak their language using a Croatian rather than a Bosnian phrasebook. However, all the words we needed were in there and just the same as in Bosnian. As we left they were starting to prepare for lunch the only form of meat they appear to eat here with half a dozen sheep roasting on spits in the restaurant.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3BEBdviON7KIU_uGhEJR1bteg9WdSfVgWM_e5IqilLy6sMlCPtV8ArkcTVm88Kdx4g35NRwFbWXe1kKblIGj-RiIdj9BlMxKjp7A195y4OHZYPbSXyyS_dzyupPKpP6ubCog-XaiFlb8l/s640-h/YIMG_1468.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3BEBdviON7KIU_uGhEJR1bteg9WdSfVgWM_e5IqilLy6sMlCPtV8ArkcTVm88Kdx4g35NRwFbWXe1kKblIGj-RiIdj9BlMxKjp7A195y4OHZYPbSXyyS_dzyupPKpP6ubCog-XaiFlb8l/s400/YIMG_1468.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528175506724178" /></a><br /><CENTER>Whole sheep being spit roasted</CENTER><br />We left the campsite around 9am and passed through the neighbouring town of Konjic without bothering to explore. It looked drab and pock-marked despite the bright sunshine. Our route then wound up into the hills, snow capped in places despite 35 degrees of heat in the valleys! Beside the road we passed people selling strings of cherries, bags of tomatoes and large, fresh water fish on poles. A lady in a headscarf sat knitting, waiting hopefully for someone to stop to buy her apple juice and honey. How can anyone make a living like that? Sometimes we were the only vehicle on the road.<br /><br />We passed through villages, each with its own mosque. All showed obvious signs of war damage with abandoned shells of houses and shrapnel scars on the walls. In the surrounding fields were Islamic cemeteries and occasionally a Christian one too. (The country is 44 percent Muslim, the rest made up mainly of Orthodox Christians, Roman Catholics and Jews.)<br /><br />It was not long before we were on the outskirts of Sarajevo where, thanks to last night's campsite owner, we found the only campsite in the area with little difficulty. Here we are not alone. There are a couple of Dutch camping cars on their way back from Albania. (And we thought we were adventurous!) Here we have hot showers but nowhere to hang anything. There are only Turkish loos again but we have ten each to ourselves as the Dutch contingent have their own on board luxury. Unfortunately there are no handy restaurants nearby so we'll have to learn not to be fastidious!<br /><br />We found a tram in the neighbouring suburb which rattled us into the centre of Sarajevo, a journey of 50 minutes in unbearable sticky heat past huge blocks of shrapnel scarred flats and bombed out buildings. There was hardly a building that did not show evidence of its past and all must have lost their windows during the bombardments. At least 11,000 citizens died in the city during the early 1990s. Amidst it all new blocks of offices are springing up, advertisement hoardings proclaimed Sarajevo as an Olympic City (Winter Olympics, 1984), and people are living out their daily lives. It looks colourless and very sad. <br /><br />The tram left us at the very spot where the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Archduke Ferdinand, was assassinated in 1914, thus triggering the outbreak of the First World War. Isn't it strange how one country can become a catalyst for human tragedy when it is not even remotely one of the major forces in the world? <br /><br />We spent a really enjoyable and interesting afternoon around the city, although really the heat and brightness of the sunlight made it impossible to get as much out of our time as we would have wished. Most of the old part of the city is a pedestrianised network of street markets and bazaars, with mosques, restaurants and shops crowded in. The streets are cobbled and narrow and goods are sold from wooden tables in front of the shops. These are mainly run by Islamic traders, selling leather goods, silk cushions, table cloths, metal cooking pots and coffee sets, spices, beans and lentils, lokum and halva. Everybody seems to smoke very heavily and long, brightly coloured wooden cigarette holders and hookahs were being sold. At the street cafes people were drinking Coca Cola and soft drinks rather than alcohol, and eating plates of very interesting food. We went into one of the cafes in the bazaar and selected a couple of meals that we'd watched others eating. They were a sort of savoury minced lamb wrapped in flaky pastry topped with yogurt, known as "burek s mesom". We ate them outside on the street with a couple of alcohol-free beers as that was the only kind available. At a table on the other side of the street several NATO soldiers were eating similar meals. There are lots of army personnel around the city and we noticed they have their own buses through the streets. At one point too this morning we passed a convoy of twelve army vehicles.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht31cGkii0SXCzW7ycLU77n82nXH6EswfZMEr4FeaUtaminD6UlFx4mZ6DMpOZPshFAW5TzWBSKHJOamMXG_PiOPBHywVpVnFs2WIka1qXP4cm3h2Jwu1kOKdLbtsWs7JPd0TWnxnOLBS3/s640-h/YIMG_1472.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht31cGkii0SXCzW7ycLU77n82nXH6EswfZMEr4FeaUtaminD6UlFx4mZ6DMpOZPshFAW5TzWBSKHJOamMXG_PiOPBHywVpVnFs2WIka1qXP4cm3h2Jwu1kOKdLbtsWs7JPd0TWnxnOLBS3/s400/YIMG_1472.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528450384631138" /></a><br /><CENTER> Brusa Bezistan, covered market 1551, Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmVwyVAb1yR11wXchvwEElt3F0zpnbFVfewLcinAUnILH1l9yy95Pz5KHJm0tBmCBddWeU6csHlsZZrXHBQEy6ClNgYkgLkZgzo_YlgvurkMTRgxVIAEscLSU4QgDYBPPsOLhSMx7KFZF/s640-h/YIMG_1473.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmVwyVAb1yR11wXchvwEElt3F0zpnbFVfewLcinAUnILH1l9yy95Pz5KHJm0tBmCBddWeU6csHlsZZrXHBQEy6ClNgYkgLkZgzo_YlgvurkMTRgxVIAEscLSU4QgDYBPPsOLhSMx7KFZF/s400/YIMG_1473.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528458974565746" /></a><br /><CENTER> Lunch places in the market, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />There are numerous mosques throughout the city, each with its shaded area either side of the entrance where Turkish carpets are laid out. On one side the women gather and on the other the men. We sought shade at the 16th century Emperor's mosque, built by order of Suleiman the Magnificent, where we watched as the young men arrived, washed themselves at the fountain in the courtyard, removed their shoes and socks and went up to the wall of the mosque where they knelt in prayer, their foreheads on the ground. Incidentally, although we have seen many young women wearing attractive headscarves and light tunics, we have not seen a single veil. The majority of young people wear ordinary western clothes though some older women prefer the more traditional robes and some men wear Islamic headgear. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYHT87A2uzO44G24bYJxE29KLpR3hvIsM366wFa1C1Nmc8Z3QS5FTy-nv3KkrHpT-SkaXeAJ9OUU7PZvdE3unX1RJrf2mokjeAW32aE1SF99-W9yC1Ed0mzWlJaoB6J_8Imd0JvX68uxQ/s640-h/YIMG_1471.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYHT87A2uzO44G24bYJxE29KLpR3hvIsM366wFa1C1Nmc8Z3QS5FTy-nv3KkrHpT-SkaXeAJ9OUU7PZvdE3unX1RJrf2mokjeAW32aE1SF99-W9yC1Ed0mzWlJaoB6J_8Imd0JvX68uxQ/s400/YIMG_1471.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528463269533058" /></a><br /><CENTER> Emperor's mosque, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />We crossed over the river to a shady park where we sat with chilled mineral water reading a guidebook in very curious English we'd acquired at the tourist office. For example, the area around the fortress reads "This is a unique place where so suddenly, without suburbs, one gets in or out the city. But interesting part is just about to follow. Whoever climb up to the little fortress … will be awarded with sensational experience. The award contains listening to fascinating ecumenist echo that Sarajevo transmits to the ether." Another leaflet we were given warns us to keep to the main routes and not to go walking alone in the more remote areas of the country where there are still many unexploded land mines.<br /><br />As we looked in more detail at a map of Bosnia, known here as the "heart-shaped country" we began to understand why there is such a great sense of unease and why the peace keeping forces are needed. We had naively assumed Bosnia was now one country but it is still virtually two different states. Ten cantons make up Bosnia proper, but up to a third of the country consists of the Serbian Republic. These two sections are held together in part by the presence of the NATO forces. <br /><br />On the rickety tram ride back to Ilidza we were touched to see a declaration of undying love painted across the lintel of one of the bombed-out buildings. It may not be as romantic as saying it with flowers but it's an effective way of getting the message across! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbw_eFkrHrKCwCbWUdwKsilSvRhoRSFpW2ZVLamU3sUIEzGmzKDYYhgqjUSOpW-SUdq8dRpIwyrDbLBjfaDz1QWnezze0ZwZmIKzqwzwuDa0aBiWoQ7V0gj5bbdu9QUd2S8X5F5kcC3nCV/s640-h/YIMG_1476.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbw_eFkrHrKCwCbWUdwKsilSvRhoRSFpW2ZVLamU3sUIEzGmzKDYYhgqjUSOpW-SUdq8dRpIwyrDbLBjfaDz1QWnezze0ZwZmIKzqwzwuDa0aBiWoQ7V0gj5bbdu9QUd2S8X5F5kcC3nCV/s400/YIMG_1476.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528471859467666" /></a><br /><CENTER>Volim te Edina, a message of love on a testimony of hatred. Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA0ExsB4cIlCYeDN6Z2_6UE4YAurXsoBJujHQUjIjAuT9LUPkUAjxZcMy2plWoe4kWR98E1FZQdjofAQosRKj2UrkLe1rsMeqzuS36JOQbXzCzMBWJehYbPPpZG8Bg41xqHH76oNeiS5m/s640-h/YIMG_1477.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWA0ExsB4cIlCYeDN6Z2_6UE4YAurXsoBJujHQUjIjAuT9LUPkUAjxZcMy2plWoe4kWR98E1FZQdjofAQosRKj2UrkLe1rsMeqzuS36JOQbXzCzMBWJehYbPPpZG8Bg41xqHH76oNeiS5m/s400/YIMG_1477.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065528476154434978" /></a><br /><CENTER>Our tram arrives in Ilidza, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />It was still 33 degrees at 6.30 this evening!<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 15th May 2007, Sarajevo, Bosnia</B><br />Walking to the tramstop this morning we discovered the thermal baths upon which Ilidza is founded. They stand in parkland near the river but do not appear to be in use though efforts are underway to restore the sadly damaged buildings, and several flower beds have been stocked with pansies. One day it will again be a very pleasant place but Sarajevo still has other major restoration priorities to deal with. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGi0DSZy9G0WhytdyAUItC4jyZbaBq-N37halUPr9GrHBj7RyfnpB4yOVFzMhZqkubR-pvqwwbc4AB1AuviKjj0PWRZjOFE11tNHWEoTVDR0P-loidxpIdJaIHQO9rrIb-uQfr-c4zxqvF/s640-h/YIMG_1479.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGi0DSZy9G0WhytdyAUItC4jyZbaBq-N37halUPr9GrHBj7RyfnpB4yOVFzMhZqkubR-pvqwwbc4AB1AuviKjj0PWRZjOFE11tNHWEoTVDR0P-loidxpIdJaIHQO9rrIb-uQfr-c4zxqvF/s400/YIMG_1479.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529571371095474" /></a><br /><CENTER>Ilidza Spa, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />Today has been at least as hot as yesterday though it does still get really chilly at night. We are, after all, quite high above sea level and this was once the location for the winter Olympics. By chance we got talking with a small group of English and American residents here who tell us the weather is most exceptional, being more like August than May. (Our conversation started when we saw one of them sporting a tee shirt advertising Chudleigh Rocks in Devon near Exeter! She told us she comes from there but has been teaching English in Sarajevo for several years now.)<br /><br />Today we have visited the new, free museum of the Assassination of 1914. Funded by the USA it only opened at the beginning of May. It also explains something of the history of the Austro-Hungarian period as background to the event. For four centuries Bosnia had formed part of the Turkish Ottoman Empire. In 1876 it was occupied by Austria-Hungary. This saw the start of the transformation of a Turkish town into a west European city. It also fuelled Bosnian and Serbian nationalism which led to the assassination of the heir to the Austria-Hungarian Empire, the Archduke Ferdinand and his pregnant wife Sophia while on an official visit to Sarajevo in 1914. This in turn precipitated the outbreak of the First World War with countries lining up to take sides.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMiy-k0GRibytmYr3mnMhswMR7yLoccVAcCIYVUIhzOAWxwJMv0bPv5qk52wZVAWDQPYRxgpWxBN1DJfP4b-jdpFs1g3xCUOg6U4crlvqKx3bHfAtb0plZcslESYQrlubdQhYGZI0X3BR/s640-h/YIMG_1482.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMiy-k0GRibytmYr3mnMhswMR7yLoccVAcCIYVUIhzOAWxwJMv0bPv5qk52wZVAWDQPYRxgpWxBN1DJfP4b-jdpFs1g3xCUOg6U4crlvqKx3bHfAtb0plZcslESYQrlubdQhYGZI0X3BR/s400/YIMG_1482.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529579961030082" /></a><br /><CENTER>Museum of the Assassination, Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zsTTQJqupd2_nGz8Cy3iRiFF74SwFK877MPy79PbUawodxu31GivAG4ibHFvIanMY83caANZIJz0p86EOIFy3UbwThdqdak05cP28pojU8XzYwNW2zM1zKYv3VLs7UtDDpGURfygpOT1/s640-h/YIMG_1481.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zsTTQJqupd2_nGz8Cy3iRiFF74SwFK877MPy79PbUawodxu31GivAG4ibHFvIanMY83caANZIJz0p86EOIFy3UbwThdqdak05cP28pojU8XzYwNW2zM1zKYv3VLs7UtDDpGURfygpOT1/s400/YIMG_1481.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529584255997394" /></a><br /><CENTER>Commemorative plaque to the 1914 assassination, Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6iQcR5taHHqiDGVq8QKwJtyZtTuKC7EzI4cvp0-sieNYn2WD8Lb1DP68YFOFPO8K_VZUMKXRYHjv239iugKtzFHPtpHulnVvTp-g7a9pwoJDLz_DwaYzvCl9R6Hf4xJkGsTCyeI-b2S9U/s640-h/YIMG_1493.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6iQcR5taHHqiDGVq8QKwJtyZtTuKC7EzI4cvp0-sieNYn2WD8Lb1DP68YFOFPO8K_VZUMKXRYHjv239iugKtzFHPtpHulnVvTp-g7a9pwoJDLz_DwaYzvCl9R6Hf4xJkGsTCyeI-b2S9U/s400/YIMG_1493.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529597140899298" /></a><br /><CENTER>Archduke Ferdinand and Sophia on their official visit to Sarajevo, 1914 </CENTER><br />We continued our walk around the city following the route of the Archduke's visit to the former City Hall. This had been a magnificent building heavily influenced by Turkish architectural style. Later it became the fitting home for the country's National Library. Now it stands as a shattered reminder of the futility of war. In 1992 it was bombed and burned by Serbian troops, destroying the building and its precious contents of millions of the country's most precious books, including its Islamic texts and the record of everything that makes Bosnia what it is. How has such a pointless act of destruction benefited the cause of Bosnian Serbs? We were not the only ones to feel this as there were wreaths laid below the memorial plaque.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllKbB25454CCG5HW0iU9tnKet1-WTK9i3Mh5XVmjzKtkgmuR5627ECOql_GH207JxALbvGsQYfAT3yCYm_7lmq1PxcliTdUOe1HPc3pyBErN3RAeBNM63II1s94du_XAg5jMB_fY_32ZG/s640-h/YIMG_1486.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllKbB25454CCG5HW0iU9tnKet1-WTK9i3Mh5XVmjzKtkgmuR5627ECOql_GH207JxALbvGsQYfAT3yCYm_7lmq1PxcliTdUOe1HPc3pyBErN3RAeBNM63II1s94du_XAg5jMB_fY_32ZG/s400/YIMG_1486.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529601435866610" /></a><br /><CENTER>Plaque on the ruined wall of the National Library, Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNp0cwrD_pGmTeaywf86Omxye0Mo1GlCcGDuQge1j0PNYIP6xTdsOPeou3oHn1_IZ8RNSxzkfidSy2yV5kmuN2h99o_t58Y5-P2izT_jpR2hOY1LcwjWHR1h8OU-aey9_08mBGwS3xiZHm/s640-h/YIMG_1488.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNp0cwrD_pGmTeaywf86Omxye0Mo1GlCcGDuQge1j0PNYIP6xTdsOPeou3oHn1_IZ8RNSxzkfidSy2yV5kmuN2h99o_t58Y5-P2izT_jpR2hOY1LcwjWHR1h8OU-aey9_08mBGwS3xiZHm/s400/YIMG_1488.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529820479198722" /></a><br /><CENTER>Gutted shell of the National Library of Bosnia, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />In the bazaar we browsed amongst the stalls of the metal workers searching for a small long handled Turkish jug. There were hundreds to choose from, all hand made and all slightly different. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihucMZezkB7YO5LFOiTBynLzSYbFCAMCWadw8TiuToUAOL2C2jvGiKK9HWXXg4nGFOag1XXIojflceVBIOg9Xj2l_1aEs_5ATdC80Z7HpYxZL-5gYWfoABXlOEjwRw6uNY8lrvcuph2P1t/s640-h/YIMG_1484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihucMZezkB7YO5LFOiTBynLzSYbFCAMCWadw8TiuToUAOL2C2jvGiKK9HWXXg4nGFOag1XXIojflceVBIOg9Xj2l_1aEs_5ATdC80Z7HpYxZL-5gYWfoABXlOEjwRw6uNY8lrvcuph2P1t/s400/YIMG_1484.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529824774166034" /></a><br /><CENTER>Browsing in the bazaar, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />By now it was lunch time so we used one of the cool bazaar cafes where we pointed at something interesting being eaten and asked for two of those. The dish consisted of ten small lamb sausages, called cevapcici (our computer can't do the diacriticals), tucked into a warm pitta bread and served with raw onions and optional yogurt. Most people were drinking glasses of milk with their meal but, remembering real beer is unacceptable, we asked for fizzy water instead. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOMXNShHI9fKopXhlvPR3p7TnpUlbSjlbUy4u1rYKpDNdIcGtwIJqgMwqwvIJyH7ZexGYtPb6t83sc0hm-lPLNPxVC98zwjoqPdyGGU2r1RTq72U28ch5zY83Q3fYRVi7Y29Ny6MOpnlL/s640-h/YIMG_1490.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOMXNShHI9fKopXhlvPR3p7TnpUlbSjlbUy4u1rYKpDNdIcGtwIJqgMwqwvIJyH7ZexGYtPb6t83sc0hm-lPLNPxVC98zwjoqPdyGGU2r1RTq72U28ch5zY83Q3fYRVi7Y29Ny6MOpnlL/s400/YIMG_1490.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529850543969826" /></a><br /><CENTER>Ian ponders the lack of diacriticals on his cevapcici, Sarajevo </CENTER><br />In the open streets the temperature by mid-day had become unbearable so we visited the museum of the history of Sarajevo housed in the 16th century covered market (bezistan). This extended the coverage of Sarajevo provided by the morning's museum. There was much about the Ottoman period with details of furniture, crafts, guilds and arts. Calligraphy and bookbinding were highly developed and the printing press was only introduced to Sarajevo in the later 19th century. <br /><br />Around 3.30pm we took the tram back to Ilidza where we had a Sarajevo beer – the city has its own brewery for its non-muslim citizens. One difficult thing to cope with is the number of beggars. Most stand beside you and look pleading while you try to eat or drink. Others chase after you in the street on their crutches while others hold up their babies or get their children to beg as well. We watched one person hand over some money, only to be told it wasn't enough and the pleading continued. As we sat with our beers we were approached by four different beggars within a few minutes of each other and throughout the day in the city we had been importuned countless times, either by direct appeal or by having a leaflet handed to us on the tram which was later collected for reuse. The hope is that it will be returned with some money. As we cannot understand the message we cannot assess how genuine the request may be. These people in particular look well dressed and it is possible they are collecting on behalf of the needy but we just don't know. It's quite obvious there must be countless helpless and homeless people in the city in need of help and we feel guilty being happy and comfortably secure, just being bystanders and ignorant of their troubles. <br /><br />Back at the campsite Modestine stood alone, the Dutch vehicles having moved on. We discovered with immense gratitude that during our absence our prayers had been answered and a proper toilet had been installed! You cannot imagine the delight of finding a pristine facility appearing, as if by magic, on a campsite in a city where even most of the restaurants only provide Turkish ones! We are the first people in Bosnia to use it! We have reflected that whereas on most European campsites toilet paper in not provided, here there is a plentiful supply in every cubicle. What is usually lacking is the toilet itself! (Yes, deprivation does lead to obsession!)<br /><br />We will probably be out of Bosnia by tomorrow night as there appear to be no more campsites along our route. So we paid our campsite bill and worked out that we could enjoy a really nice meal at the nearby restaurant, still leaving enough Bosnian marks for emergencies tomorrow. We sat outside and were served a salver of lamb Bosnia style, with vegetables and a bowl of salad. Slightly too greasy but authentic. Amusement was shown at our attempts to order in a mixture of Bosnian and English and as a reward we were given free slices of baklava which we were proudly told is a typical Bosnian desert. Very sweet and syrupy it was quite delicious, made from thin layers of pastry filled with crushed walnuts.<br /><br />We searched the city for manhole covers. Manholes we found aplenty and some had covers. We only discovered one with a Sarajevo cover, half hidden beneath a plant tub.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAHQY0PzlVeicMDKFTHMiJ0sigChto-p5Qh6JVbTInc84NeENsSqq8PW6AQZRwsg-QkMiHrJam3jBGWVGGePAq_ssO9d-Q2iuSoJj6hlthYyNgoAhwV259QlOoizl2-JNO3fB7B2GNplz/s640-h/YIMG_1496.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAHQY0PzlVeicMDKFTHMiJ0sigChto-p5Qh6JVbTInc84NeENsSqq8PW6AQZRwsg-QkMiHrJam3jBGWVGGePAq_ssO9d-Q2iuSoJj6hlthYyNgoAhwV259QlOoizl2-JNO3fB7B2GNplz/s400/YIMG_1496.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529854838937138" /></a><br /><CENTER>Possibly the only local manhole cover in Sarajevo </CENTER><br /><B>Wednesday 16th May 2007, Slavonski Brod, Croatia</B><br />Last night one of the camp site staff mentioned to us that there is a tunnel under the runway of Sarajevo airport that was instrumental in saving the lives of many thousands of people from the city during the three years siege that took place between 1992 and 1995 when it was completely surrounded by Serbian forces. The tunnel has not been mentioned in any of the tourist publicity we have seen but as the campsite lies very near to the airport we decided to investigate before leaving the city this morning.<br /><br />Attempting to following instructions from the campsite staff we were soon lost in a maze of little country lanes where we saw the first livestock we have set eyes on in Bosnia. A couple of cows were grazing on some wasteland, carefully guarded by two ladies. Obviously animals must exist but presumably because of fear of theft they are not put out to graze. The countryside has fields of long grass sprinkled with flowers. This is scythed by hand, loaded onto wheelbarrows or carts and taken back to the home where it is piled up into small, circular hayricks to be used as animal fodder. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVuEJbD9nSVPtu1t83TPU95UyINMJc-Iz81KO0RVF7T_0q3tLip5p5di9qWyc9cMZEDwNcN1Xx0VYLEQbsEEbnMgxrph1KrZ6NxVfZ8HPIvNkKhP614D6zbAU3a-iO0ZDzWwq-ewMS3Pn/s640-h/YIMG_1514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVuEJbD9nSVPtu1t83TPU95UyINMJc-Iz81KO0RVF7T_0q3tLip5p5di9qWyc9cMZEDwNcN1Xx0VYLEQbsEEbnMgxrph1KrZ6NxVfZ8HPIvNkKhP614D6zbAU3a-iO0ZDzWwq-ewMS3Pn/s400/YIMG_1514.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065529863428871746" /></a><br /><CENTER>Hayricks in the Bosnian countryside</CENTER><br />Eventually we ended up at the SFOR army camp of Butmir, right next to the airport. They redirected us along further country lanes until we eventually found a shrapnel splattered ruin of a house with a bullet-ridden metal garage door in front, a vegetable garden behind and the airport runway just beyond that. (Sarajevo is nowhere near as busy as Heathrow. From our campsite we've noticed very few planes taking off and landing each day.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnsD4x9l9glnwj9JQYU26lQyLsDxxTKIdjrSqBqPhRoKHJzgsxt6bY7bdBp7JhIbBaq_F9L4emn37ia8Y8RPPN3pN1GpLuaKjMLYz0hmzAEBbp_BtKyJR78AdWkbOqLqNM2fa7QEdCVZz/s640-h/YIMG_1499.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnsD4x9l9glnwj9JQYU26lQyLsDxxTKIdjrSqBqPhRoKHJzgsxt6bY7bdBp7JhIbBaq_F9L4emn37ia8Y8RPPN3pN1GpLuaKjMLYz0hmzAEBbp_BtKyJR78AdWkbOqLqNM2fa7QEdCVZz/s400/YIMG_1499.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531186278798930" /></a><br /><CENTER>House of the Kolar family, Butmir</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UUSM0Hl_vSalRO-W3TTayqgp71XQuO5ePQgB_B85lK9zIE51hEynAzudOQxF2A7s21FVjIL1dOGBc02vZ6eyk006o9bKaF5u04_4U9IuUxoOXvi6Ycyn2B2JxvwNGgju8LCMksgWmNKe/s640-h/YIMG_1507.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UUSM0Hl_vSalRO-W3TTayqgp71XQuO5ePQgB_B85lK9zIE51hEynAzudOQxF2A7s21FVjIL1dOGBc02vZ6eyk006o9bKaF5u04_4U9IuUxoOXvi6Ycyn2B2JxvwNGgju8LCMksgWmNKe/s400/YIMG_1507.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531199163700834" /></a><br /><CENTER>Garden of the Kolar house looking towards the airport</CENTER><br />Inside the garage we met a young man who explained in excellent English that during the siege his family, the Kolars, had been living in the house which was the nearest one to the airport. Sarajevo was completely surrounded by the Serbian army who were starving the citizens out, depriving them of food, medicines, fuel, electricity and water. On the far side of the airport lay free Bosnia but it was impossible for the inhabitants of Sarajevo to reach it, either to escape or to bring back supplies into the city, without being systematically picked off by Serbian snipers or blown up as they tried to cross the runway. The UN eventually negotiated an agreement with the Serbs to take over the airport which was to be used purely for bringing in humanitarian aid for the starving citizens. Thus some food and medical aid began to reach the city. What was needed though were weapons so that the besieged city could defend itself. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHyuYZXaiS3iivSEySEZP8YfANv2xeBKateJiKD_qgbQIsQ6YHr6PKDOjskOnM5VLcFoUmMHR66iTB8wEynxCb4Pzjz61JCN2mikKI9xFCVaKzsSi3pGxKtIz3WTQcH6qlWYzjzhEvJKa/s640-h/YIMG_1505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHyuYZXaiS3iivSEySEZP8YfANv2xeBKateJiKD_qgbQIsQ6YHr6PKDOjskOnM5VLcFoUmMHR66iTB8wEynxCb4Pzjz61JCN2mikKI9xFCVaKzsSi3pGxKtIz3WTQcH6qlWYzjzhEvJKa/s400/YIMG_1505.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531207753635442" /></a><br /><CENTER>Map of the siege of Sarajevo 1992-1995</CENTER><br />Under cover of darkness renewed attempts were made to cross the runway to collect weapons from free Bosnia on the far side. UN forces however turned them back whenever they were caught and many were killed by Serbian sniper bullets. The Bosnians decided to build a tunnel under the runway and work started in March 1993 from the Sarajevo side at Dobrinja, and from the side of free Bosnia at Butmir. It took four months to complete and its existence was soon known to the Serbians who subjected the workers to heavy shelling. The UN, aware of the work, seemed to turn a blind eye. Its role was precarious and it was necessary for it to appease Serbia in order to ensure some humanitarian aid to Sarajevo. This meant it could not allow weapons across the runway, but it was obvious that without weapons Sarajevo would fall. It was also obvious what the fate of the people of Sarajevo might be. These fears were fully justified by the result of the capture of Srebrenica by Milosevic's Serbian forces in 1995 where over 8,000 men and boys were massacred in a couple of days. It seemed that Serbia's aim was the complete annihilation of Sarajevo and its citizens. The UN had ensured food and medicines, but not weapons, at Srebrenica too. Once it fell UN forces was unable to prevent the massacre that followed. It would probably have been no more effective had Sarajevo fallen.<br /><br />The tunnel was 800 metres long and was shored up with metal beams at the Sarajevo end as there was no wood available on the hillsides surrounding the city. It had all been felled to provide fuel. Soon weapons and emergency supplies began to trickle into Sarajevo through the tunnel which was frequently flooded. As time went by a pump was installed, cables ran through it bringing a limited electricity supply back to the city. A metal track was laid to carry essential goods through the tunnel and a fuel pipe line was also passed through to supply vehicles that drove the food and medicines back into the city. Soon there were 3,000 people a day passing through the tunnel, an estimated total of 2,000,000 passages, until in 1995 NATO finally intervened against Milosevic's policy of genocide. (This is our understanding of what we saw today but we do not understand enough about the complexities of the war for this to be a truly reliable account.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea7aGxS0DCfNXhQQ3cJuX2VuZC-YFJnZa5IiJW3lTPXZ8qhE9l68QzeHi6QBqKCranug9M2XjSEsdi-NOGMq7ZGKEORcleC7XOqVdF3ilkVhBEGM2LVdhoDXmm4W1cA0-IFa7PGYdkdCw/s640-h/YIMG_1501.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea7aGxS0DCfNXhQQ3cJuX2VuZC-YFJnZa5IiJW3lTPXZ8qhE9l68QzeHi6QBqKCranug9M2XjSEsdi-NOGMq7ZGKEORcleC7XOqVdF3ilkVhBEGM2LVdhoDXmm4W1cA0-IFa7PGYdkdCw/s400/YIMG_1501.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531220638537346" /></a><br /><CENTER>The entrance to the Butmir end of the tunnel</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLE3pnEyA3ksdG-F71o7NfDG-H2HQdx3OPqLnvNhUoHWPNpyvfQ93wnm8wiFM5Peck9DnBt_q8ZHVBZkw5mtelUxsOHiMs-ay-9hyphenhyphenlm25EQfIXVU6OVn58YjFOHfJs7EhydnBWLMhgqzc/s640-h/YIMG_1502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLE3pnEyA3ksdG-F71o7NfDG-H2HQdx3OPqLnvNhUoHWPNpyvfQ93wnm8wiFM5Peck9DnBt_q8ZHVBZkw5mtelUxsOHiMs-ay-9hyphenhyphenlm25EQfIXVU6OVn58YjFOHfJs7EhydnBWLMhgqzc/s400/YIMG_1502.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531229228471954" /></a><br /><CENTER>Preserved section of tunnel,Butmir</CENTER><br />Only 25 metres of tunnel remain today. The Kolar family, owners of the battered shell of the house where they had once lived and helped in the construction of the tunnel, have preserved it, and many of the materials used in its construction as well as memorabilia of the Bosnian Army, as a reminder of what happened. They hope eventually that the museum they are forming will be more widely recognised to ensure that such things cannot happen in the future. Around the house are several trenches that were constructed to give protection to the thousands of people gathered there waiting their turn to pass to freedom through the tunnel while being permanently shot at by Serbian snipers in the hills behind.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYcyvu7GO4zDusqKa_8vF8jaiPZ2pdNps0kM0JcjT1mfJdEEIP-C6u4ZeI8wTYVv6m_diuMejbgTrROpktX8GzjpnskJQN2fSSzJMmZ7YbAzQAZ6rSrnPgneSLBiH4_VJGqWb3NLOwy0a5/s640-h/YIMG_1510.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYcyvu7GO4zDusqKa_8vF8jaiPZ2pdNps0kM0JcjT1mfJdEEIP-C6u4ZeI8wTYVv6m_diuMejbgTrROpktX8GzjpnskJQN2fSSzJMmZ7YbAzQAZ6rSrnPgneSLBiH4_VJGqWb3NLOwy0a5/s400/YIMG_1510.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531418207032994" /></a><br /><CENTER>Truck and memorabilia in Tunnel Museum, Butmir</CENTER><br />We saw a video, sitting on cartridge cases in the cellar below the house, about the siege of the city explaining the background to the building of the tunnel. We have already mentioned earlier just how battered and blasted the buildings are in the city. Blocks of flats more than 20 stories high are completely splattered with bullets, their sides ripped out with bombs. We had imagined them with every window broken, the debris on the streets below, winter time, no electricity or fresh water. What we hadn't realised until we saw actual film of the attacks, was that these buildings became raging infernos, burnt out by flames that lit up the sky above the city, night after night. Whatever the politics behind this dreadful, recent war, the courage of people under such a siege commands the greatest respect.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcplaSdabWYmoq6K4STGiPsYy16gvzRHIgy6GEm9kEFKlDf3WXzLYMEvWzz-UQ1MNvcHvpulHzg3UH1snxmS7T4iwcH5eqkaLje6KbNHkoOehL4NCAosx0WBs9zXQ8gUGWDg0nyz0qWrvA/s640-h/YIMG_1500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcplaSdabWYmoq6K4STGiPsYy16gvzRHIgy6GEm9kEFKlDf3WXzLYMEvWzz-UQ1MNvcHvpulHzg3UH1snxmS7T4iwcH5eqkaLje6KbNHkoOehL4NCAosx0WBs9zXQ8gUGWDg0nyz0qWrvA/s400/YIMG_1500.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531426796967602" /></a><br /><CENTER>Memorabilia in the cellar of the Tunnel Museum, Butmir</CENTER><br />We left Sarajevo with more questions than answers. Until we found ourselves here in the midst of the aftermath all we had were distant and frightening recollections of the nightly BBC news reports of civil war in the Balkans. Once that war ended reports faded from the news and it was easy to imagine the countries were gradually rebuilding their lives and putting the past behind them. This is far from the case. Travelling north through Bosnia is seems more like eleven months rather than eleven years since the fighting stopped. People still talk about the war almost as if it still exists. It is hard to imagine that Bosnian Serbs can easily co-exist with their neighbours. <br /><br />We drove north towards Croatia passing near to Zenica without stopping. It looked an industrial town surrounded by large factories, cement works and suppliers of building materials. The route, which for part of its length is a four lane highway – clearly the infrastructure is gradually being developed - is heavily used by international freight lorries. The road followed the river Bosna for part of the way, winding through the valley between the high forested hillsides. Each village has its own mosque and every building either shows the ravages of the fighting or has been recently built or reconstructed. The essentials have been done to provide homeless people with shelter. Jill has some understanding of this having spent the first thirteen years of her life living in a temporary "prefab" provided in Britain as emergency post war accommodation. In Bosnia holes in walls have been patched with breezeblock or red tile bricks. New buildings have been thrown up. Roofs are sound but externally the buildings are completely unfinished. It is as if nobody trusts that the war has really ended and they are afraid to spend money remaking a beautiful home only for it to be destroyed again. And of course there is almost certainly no war damage compensation in the case of a civil war. Where would the money come from? So people cannot afford to do more than provide immediate shelter, however ugly and incomplete. After what they have lived through, anywhere without bombs and bullets must seem like paradise.<br /><br />Just north of Zenica we stopped at one such village for a break from driving. Nearby was a bar where a young man was basting three chickens on a spit over a small charcoal fire outside. He watched us as we parked and we felt we ought to buy a coffee rather than make our own in Modestine. Besides, we still had a few Bosnian marks we needed to use. He spoke not one word of English but eventually understood from Ian's odd words of Bosnian that we wanted coffee. When it arrived it was presumably what the local people drink. Cups of thick black Turkish coffee with a sediment of sludge on the bottom and a brown scum on the top! It wasn't as strong as it looked but was like treacle it was so sweet! He also brought a tin can of hot milk and a jar of sugar! We drank the lot so as not to offend but would have preferred to have just given him the money and left. In the village we discovered a war memorial to the local young men who had died between 1992 and 1996.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkIK-L9SwGSsaxx3hqj-Y0IfKyeZX_41rsbmARKcBT6znNS2EKdrUjvcwMMUKPbic9Wg-PPJjvXEOajCfBu0XGWwnvBsNaOETaqa-sV0jfvC9316OpVvH9Kp2w4lr6X9ud4IGAPg0Bb4h/s640-h/YIMG_1512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkIK-L9SwGSsaxx3hqj-Y0IfKyeZX_41rsbmARKcBT6znNS2EKdrUjvcwMMUKPbic9Wg-PPJjvXEOajCfBu0XGWwnvBsNaOETaqa-sV0jfvC9316OpVvH9Kp2w4lr6X9ud4IGAPg0Bb4h/s400/YIMG_1512.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531443976836802" /></a><br /><CENTER>War memorial in village north of Zenica</CENTER><br />As we travelled north tall thin Islamic gravestones beside the road and minarets became fewer while churches and Christian cemeteries became more frequent. Eventually we crossed over into Republika Srpska, the Serbian part of Bosnia, and here the countryside, though beautiful, was completely desolate. Not a house had been spared. Whole villages were no more than burned out shells and broken, ravaged walls. It looked as if the area had been systematically "cleansed" of its inhabitants. Nobody could live there and long grass, bushes and young trees hid much of the rubble. We saw signs with skulls and crossbones warning that there were still landmines. It was unsafe to leave the main road. This was definitely the worst affected rural area we passed through. The people, although part of Bosnia, are Serbian and all the signs are in Cyrillic script. This made it very difficult following the road signs and at one point we thought we'd got lost until Ian managed to work out that the strange signs that were so confusing to Modestine actually said Bosnanski Brod and we were nearing the border crossing point into Croatia. We really do not understand why or how certain areas are affected as they are. Was the fighting in this area from Serbia, Croatia or Bosnia? We will need to do some reading when we get home.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg085mCAjIVh3x-dQC2arqcXSvHHzgZTIDS9X2cvcSe2jU2w929Mkl_q79LN83FcvsvJMusdwWztUsEobq5gI5KxkPCt-yqaQCOub1yTbkiX2hHYkL5lmIDWUVW_DV72nijYWy_gtQdmy44/s640-h/YIMG_1528.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg085mCAjIVh3x-dQC2arqcXSvHHzgZTIDS9X2cvcSe2jU2w929Mkl_q79LN83FcvsvJMusdwWztUsEobq5gI5KxkPCt-yqaQCOub1yTbkiX2hHYkL5lmIDWUVW_DV72nijYWy_gtQdmy44/s400/YIMG_1528.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531452566771410" /></a><br /><CENTER>One of the hundreds of burned out houses we passed in Republika Srpska</CENTER><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNErUleSze6PhKdisT1ThJoUkrGrYvTYuTWoz04Pw93pYSxv2VJxdkyoV2h-Z36jlOv-2K8VGomY3fYLayZCTIbqQ-82wg2_rhVqIHFGOrekeNpZkUM_DiG8b25tQSLb6PURaKQ1mrtis/s640-h/YIMG_1530.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNErUleSze6PhKdisT1ThJoUkrGrYvTYuTWoz04Pw93pYSxv2VJxdkyoV2h-Z36jlOv-2K8VGomY3fYLayZCTIbqQ-82wg2_rhVqIHFGOrekeNpZkUM_DiG8b25tQSLb6PURaKQ1mrtis/s400/YIMG_1530.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065531465451673314" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cyrillic road signs in a damaged village, Republika Srpska</CENTER><br />At the border we waited for over an hour for the slow queue of cars and lorries to be checked through. It is obviously always like this as several old ladies in headscarves were walking up and down the line of waiting vehicles with baskets of pumpkin seeds and hand knitted socks they hoped to sell.<br /><br />Eventually we crossed into Croatia and headed for the town centre of Slavonski Brod. Our map of Croatia doesn't cover this particular corner and we have nothing but a poorly produced free one we picked up somewhere. It shows there is a campsite somewhere near the town. It was 6pm by the time we found a place to park in the town centre and set off to search for the tourist office. Thankfully it was still open and the man spoke English. He told us the campsite had been bombed during the war and shouldn't have been marked on the map. There were no others remotely nearby. We asked for suggestions of what to do and he asked if we spoke German as his friend had a room we could rent for 200 kunas (about £18) a night with a place where we could lock Modestine in safely. We thankfully agreed and climbed into his friend's van to be driven back to where we'd left Modestine. We then followed him through the town streets and in through some iron gates to find ourselves amidst ruined walls and a vegetable garden. Two smiling children rushed eagerly forward and said in perfect English "Welcome to our garage. We learn English at school. We are nine years old." Neither of the parents speak English but good German so communication is no problem. We followed our host into his shop where he had hundreds of keys hanging up. Ian asked if he had loads of rooms to let which caused amusement as the man is a locksmith, key cutter, shoe mender and zip repairer. Our room has a separate entrance and a wonderful, clean, new bathroom with an excellent hot shower. On the wall beside the bed is an icon of the sacred heart and we noticed a crucifix hanging in his van. Although only a couple of miles from the border he says he has no desire to go into Bosnia. <br /><br />The Balkans is a place where we need to be very careful what we say and not to take sides or hold preconceived opinions. We don't understand it and the one certainty is that war and aggression benefit nobody in the end and civil war would seem to be the very worst.<br /><br />After crashing out for a few minutes with a glass of wine in our room we went off to find some Croatian money - sing praises to the cash machines of the world! On the way we discovered that today is the special day of Slavonski Brod! (Bet like us you'd never heard of the place until now!) Anyway, the streets were full of young people having fun with a glitzy free pop concert on the main pedestrianised precinct near the river. All the songs were in English, the presentation was wild but slick and very noisy with everyone enjoying themselves. After Trinidad we were well hardened to decibels and joined in with the clapping and cheering before wandering off in search of supper. It has been a very strange day, starting with blitz and ending with glitz!Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-23208560253148192032007-05-14T13:07:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:20.468+00:00Split and Dubrovnik<B>Wednesday 9th May 2007, Stobrec near Split, Croatia</B><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcefcDW8YxYtVH6BuFY5M2YsT7mZN906y6HVocwj99GE9Plz3Itxpj6skqHd2X79cRNeFZq0nTWa9FrpOLCh6CjWzheeGGKOfwbe8E8HVulTCnmwfvuonMN07E5ms5Aad1NxqPYZs9pkTo/s640-h/YIMG_1330.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcefcDW8YxYtVH6BuFY5M2YsT7mZN906y6HVocwj99GE9Plz3Itxpj6skqHd2X79cRNeFZq0nTWa9FrpOLCh6CjWzheeGGKOfwbe8E8HVulTCnmwfvuonMN07E5ms5Aad1NxqPYZs9pkTo/s400/YIMG_1330.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064387572486644978" /></a><br /><CENTER>General view of Split from the harbour</CENTER><br />It has been a hot and exhausting day around Split which, to our immense disappointment is not, as we always fondly imagined, included on the Unesco list of World Heritage sites as the place where ice cream, bananas and chocolate were combined to form a delicious desert. More prosaically, it was at Split that the Roman Emperor Diocletian, a Dalmatian by birth, built his splendid palace to which he retired after his abdication. It was constructed from 296AD on an impressive site looking out across the sea with the rugged, barren mountains behind. Today it forms the heart of the old town and is swarming with tourists. The remains of the palace have been completely integrated into the present day life of the city with restaurants and bars built into the lower arches and the walls themselves frequently forming part of the structure of the present day housing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Kn2_JOcn9P9pJZYzzMYUJwOsZgBNTwGE9oH6yyK1a434R1nUPdoRGBkvAKTqZ1FDeCjDvF4wS-e_uVdtM73IsU-ZO78ZZS41nc9e1dKQgLs5Q36L6XV_oHGrd89ymUGGIO_HztZfSjVT/s640-h/YIMG_1325.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Kn2_JOcn9P9pJZYzzMYUJwOsZgBNTwGE9oH6yyK1a434R1nUPdoRGBkvAKTqZ1FDeCjDvF4wS-e_uVdtM73IsU-ZO78ZZS41nc9e1dKQgLs5Q36L6XV_oHGrd89ymUGGIO_HztZfSjVT/s400/YIMG_1325.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064387581076579586" /></a><br /><CENTER>Peristil with vestibule to Diocletian's quarters and entrance to the Cathedral, Split</CENTER><br />Diocletian was the last Emperor to oppose Christianity and despite his own wife and daughter becoming Christians, he had thousands tortured and killed. These included the bishop of Salona who, after the death of Diocletian, came to be recognised as the patron saint of Split, Sv. Duje. It was his bones that we missed seeing paraded through the streets a couple of days ago. However, as they are on display all week we have now seen them in a reliquary laid on the altar in the Cathedral. <br /><br />At the centre of the palace complex is an octagonal mausoleum where the body of Diocletian was entombed following his death in 316AD. Later though, in fitting revenge for their persecution, the Christians turned the mausoleum into their Cathedral and threw out the tomb of the Emperor. The resulting building makes a rather small cathedral and it is strange to look up and see the classical sculptures around the top, including a portrait of the Emperor. The Cathedral treasury contained a collection of silver chalices, saintly remains of skulls and old bones, several 13th century icons, massive illuminated vellum service books and a late 6th century gospel book in half uncial script used by bishops to write official acts. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4wPGEE009W2Ckv4xBfjRpa4U1xTaUGY5__mFXToMWIbdlD5aWrnnAsIvyURcYWE8K5AGPBmsGOCKUCEYA_TA0FKs4AqyQJKN4YZag3DMWcxaglrF_Lnk1oPZtrgrMHkTuifXNgPMbioo/s640-h/YIMG_1326.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4wPGEE009W2Ckv4xBfjRpa4U1xTaUGY5__mFXToMWIbdlD5aWrnnAsIvyURcYWE8K5AGPBmsGOCKUCEYA_TA0FKs4AqyQJKN4YZag3DMWcxaglrF_Lnk1oPZtrgrMHkTuifXNgPMbioo/s400/YIMG_1326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064387589666514194" /></a><br /><CENTER> Diocletian's mausoleum, now the Cathedral, Split</CENTER><br />The Scottish architect, Robert Adam spent some time in Split during the 18th century drawing and recording the Roman remains, visiting people's homes so that he could trace the lines of the palace walls as they passed through, and eventually published his work Architecture of Diocletian's Palace at Spalato. His studies formed the basis for much of his later architectural designs. <br /><br />Alongside the palace walls the daily street market takes place with country ladies dressed in black and wearing headscarves, selling their garden produce, honey, cheeses and dead chickens or sitting in the shade making lace table cloths. There is also a fish market where shrimps, cuttlefish, sardines and assorted Mediterranean fish are sold by the wives of individual fishermen. The smell from this mixes quite pungently with the sulphur coming from the thermal springs close by housed in a strangely elaborate building of 1913 reflecting the Austrian Secessionist style.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-_8RICnuJyBGkFpRF9BoPe_jB8VN1GRgws7523qUrDZAMUAL14j_oVk1PSSz9YSb0hsMoXiZrFXGBGMWG_W7E0HmylPqT6j73ffnQh_MVuGYKGXiE2XucT3xEYiLrhfd9TR0pKVfDkLz/s640-h/YIMG_1327.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-_8RICnuJyBGkFpRF9BoPe_jB8VN1GRgws7523qUrDZAMUAL14j_oVk1PSSz9YSb0hsMoXiZrFXGBGMWG_W7E0HmylPqT6j73ffnQh_MVuGYKGXiE2XucT3xEYiLrhfd9TR0pKVfDkLz/s400/YIMG_1327.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064387598256448802" /></a><br /><CENTER>Vegetable seller in the market, Split</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimu6rIAVB2xUYgcqJs72gnN2Cp6ysjUPT9-H7XfgOMvhGs9rXQLAtCgDdy6kTyPPN9eiBUzHVkhdb2z2_28waK6K1oMCOX09sDyjE8zfWoDsu9k05QS7saCM4DYi1ugjNI-98WLPHlJVr1/s640-h/YIMG_1308.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimu6rIAVB2xUYgcqJs72gnN2Cp6ysjUPT9-H7XfgOMvhGs9rXQLAtCgDdy6kTyPPN9eiBUzHVkhdb2z2_28waK6K1oMCOX09sDyjE8zfWoDsu9k05QS7saCM4DYi1ugjNI-98WLPHlJVr1/s400/YIMG_1308.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064387602551416114" /></a><br /><CENTER>Market lady making lace, Split</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDtkgdDW8KPg5mCAIhP1_F3GFz3tMjFqfPZ6WguQWGjFKkMGGNHiC1XAJpkewqYOMSUR0PtQjhyphenhyphenb7FE78slFpl4hWJlPahO0ZUafFaq66N14-eE4UMe4BgZyFCxQedKE0bFZ6E6xEOMT8/s640-h/YIMG_1331.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDtkgdDW8KPg5mCAIhP1_F3GFz3tMjFqfPZ6WguQWGjFKkMGGNHiC1XAJpkewqYOMSUR0PtQjhyphenhyphenb7FE78slFpl4hWJlPahO0ZUafFaq66N14-eE4UMe4BgZyFCxQedKE0bFZ6E6xEOMT8/s400/YIMG_1331.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064388139422328130" /></a><br /><CENTER>Thermal baths, Split</CENTER><br />The palace faces out across the sea. Along the seafront below, beautiful gardens with palm trees and lavender bushes have been laid out. Much work is being undertaken to make the area worthy of its Unesco status with smart white paving and shining metal seats under the trees. From here we sat watching as the international ferry arrived from Bari in Italy. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vY58nQ69P-NvKYkNRHo4OgkICWYohz8pQ1tB0-dcpyJUK_Ud7Qcg6KwkI3SQD-Su6pxXbt7UPZ8wzuI7rG_rY2WFk3vpX6CwAmDcNSUtnQwQ4AVSzY6otY2CsU0l6_-pzdJEuhISxZfw/s640-h/YIMG_1329.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vY58nQ69P-NvKYkNRHo4OgkICWYohz8pQ1tB0-dcpyJUK_Ud7Qcg6KwkI3SQD-Su6pxXbt7UPZ8wzuI7rG_rY2WFk3vpX6CwAmDcNSUtnQwQ4AVSzY6otY2CsU0l6_-pzdJEuhISxZfw/s400/YIMG_1329.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064388148012262738" /></a><br /><CENTER>Waterfront with present day houses built into the walls of the palace, Split</CENTER><br />The streets of the mediaeval town surrounding the palace are narrow, cool and shady with little bars and pizza shops tucked into every corner. We bought slices of the best pizza we've tasted for years for 70 kuna each (about 60 pence) which we ate in the park opposite the Golden Gate entrance to the Roman city. Nearby was a gigantic statue of the ninth century bishop Grgur Ninski, the sunlight gleaming from his toe. Like Juliet's boob in Verona, it is considered to bring good luck when rubbed. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpf3h_P90N8zGI_QZCqjbF-SON7ObdhUo4AYQoaGn3cT5hzcoYciugMMfSXkUVH3zKwiIJxQ1cwqmYgnwGbM05TEwnWEsfjhyphenhyphen4eOzJrsifR52wSm2BIq7grOjPWLZWDCul4gTLdMu3AXs/s640-h/YIMG_1320.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpf3h_P90N8zGI_QZCqjbF-SON7ObdhUo4AYQoaGn3cT5hzcoYciugMMfSXkUVH3zKwiIJxQ1cwqmYgnwGbM05TEwnWEsfjhyphenhyphen4eOzJrsifR52wSm2BIq7grOjPWLZWDCul4gTLdMu3AXs/s400/YIMG_1320.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064388156602197346" /></a><br /><CENTER>Statue of Grgur Ninski, Split</CENTER><br />There is only so much culture one can absorb on a scorching hot day and we were starting to feel very weary as we sank gratefully into comfortable chairs on a shady terrace in Narodni Trg, the main town square, with a couple of chilled beers. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcSBQVlJSB3bxxm_w2Q_DqACAtwXJFtutEBgacRCb-znw3PFpP4oypgf78y-b7MqU4v0saAFA2VDbWh9-WiuoLcAQ39vIxCrgAFsiHObbJEqueeFlFog8ERwGZTh1JCfSmEOvnQPzrGxg/s640-h/YIMG_1322.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcSBQVlJSB3bxxm_w2Q_DqACAtwXJFtutEBgacRCb-znw3PFpP4oypgf78y-b7MqU4v0saAFA2VDbWh9-WiuoLcAQ39vIxCrgAFsiHObbJEqueeFlFog8ERwGZTh1JCfSmEOvnQPzrGxg/s400/YIMG_1322.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064388169487099250" /></a><br /><CENTER> Narodni Trg, Split</CENTER><br />Ian's enthusiasm for all things Roman finally exhausted us and we decided to head back to the cool of the trees by the water's edge at the campsite. Even at 4pm the buses were tight packed. Impossible to get seats so we clung to the rails as we were swept around the city suburbs at an alarming speed on a long articulated bus. Eventually we were out of the city and heading towards Dubrovnik. Just to finish us off we accidentally got off a stop too soon and were obliged to walk a kilometre alongside a busy four lane highway in the glaring hot sunshine. Fortunately iced water from Modestine's fridge and a rest in the cool soon had us recovered and we set off in search of some shopping. We discovered that we are on the edge of a little seaside town built along the side of the bay, full of restaurants for visitors but with a shady seaside park for the children and a pitch where we watched an animated game of Croatian petanque that looked as if it would end in blows as the old men of the town, playing or watching, gesticulated and shouted at each other. <br /><br />The campsite is near the local football stadium and a match was underway as we returned with our shopping. The campsite lady is charming and loves to practice her English on real English people. She rushed out of her office to ask if we'd like her to get us some complimentary tickets for the game. Sitting in the sun watching football was just about the last thing we fancied and gingerly made our excuses so as not to offend. She didn't mind at all and told us she thought it was a rotten game herself but thought we may be interested.<br /><br />She went on to tell us that the campsite, which is still very much under construction, was used as a refugee camp for displaced Bosnians during the civil war here. They lived in the camp for four years and when they finally left, gipsies moved in, also living there as stateless persons. Now, as the only campsite near Split, the managers are hoping the site will develop into a major camping resort. <br /><br /><B>Thursday 10th May 2007, Dubrovnik, Croatia</B><br />Well we are at last in Dubrovnik and it's the end of the road for Modestine! We can go no further. Down the road lie Serbia and Albania while inland is Bosnia. There are a couple of English motorhomes on the campsite here, the first we've seen since we left Italy. They have spent considerable time today phoning their motor insurance companies as they discovered their policies do not cover them to travel through Bosnia Herzegovina as it is still classified as a war zone! We've been happily assuming we could travel north from here through Bosnia, visiting Mostar and Sarajevo as we head towards Hungary or possibly even Romania as we rather fancied Transylvania. A check of our policy however has shown us that we are not covered for any of these places and as the other English here had no joy, there is little point in us wasting time phoning to check. We'll just have to think again. Actually we have already driven through the coastal strip of Bosnia to get here! It's pretty well the only way unless you cross from Bari in Southern Italy or manage a complicated route travelling on ferries from island to island. There is just a 10 mile strip of coastline that is Bosnia and only one route through. So we will have to travel through it again on our return journey, driving with our fingers crossed. It's a pity to have to retrace our route as it was far from pleasant driving today. There are heavy, slow moving vehicles and endless road works. The road will be excellent when it's done but in the meantime the surface is sometimes no more than white rock and clouds of dust as drills, diggers and road rollers hold up queues of traffic while they manoeuvre pipes into position or cut culverts. As we waited in the hot sun for one set of temporary traffic lights to change, they were loaded onto a steam roller and driven several kilometres further down the road at a walking pace, the traffic following behind. They were then placed on the road in front of us again, still set at red, and the steam roller trundled off leaving the tailback of traffic to wait a further five minutes for the lights to go green!<br /><br />Throughout the day we have travelled through beautiful coastal scenery, the clear blue sea lapping the continuous chain of islands off shore. Most are uninhabited but some of the larger ones have settlements and are served by ferries. They all look very empty though and frequently rather barren, though some are covered in green woodland. On the mainland the mountains seemed to become taller and even more barren as we moved south. The mountainous Croatian landscape with its many islands is a mixture of southern Italy and Greece. Only south of Ploce, where the river Neretje meets the sea, did we see a contrasting landscape. Here wide alluvial plains, known as the Magistrala, support vegetable gardens and orchards. The impressive view from the mountains as we drove up out of it was of a dense patchwork of crops stretching to the sea.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00nw1YDT1R0uxr-6lOAkeFk59Pq0rk70FNc2aF2r5KBizJPITBl9fXVwejnbsDxiBr4A4eOv4v-lu-kPHH1ss9i52XUzrtepFuUsAJKyigCxvZH0roQ1_eSKGawRsTa-ui6TsQ_UUcOZX/s640-h/YIMG_1337.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00nw1YDT1R0uxr-6lOAkeFk59Pq0rk70FNc2aF2r5KBizJPITBl9fXVwejnbsDxiBr4A4eOv4v-lu-kPHH1ss9i52XUzrtepFuUsAJKyigCxvZH0roQ1_eSKGawRsTa-ui6TsQ_UUcOZX/s400/YIMG_1337.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064388178077033858" /></a><br /><CENTER> Pretty spot for a coffee on the Dalmatian coast</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i5DGW-KpZb8rXwd6tYQP6fJrJibw_-irBPA1HywZbwVhJl4aY0LC_uJwQ4tgZtXQFQnVN8DyPRnhYkbyU5TGYVSOw0zdzAn4hJJRYTeyapSfYEL7jf9v2QsGJUO_ugRKulJ6qHrnPgWu/s640-h/YIMG_1338.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i5DGW-KpZb8rXwd6tYQP6fJrJibw_-irBPA1HywZbwVhJl4aY0LC_uJwQ4tgZtXQFQnVN8DyPRnhYkbyU5TGYVSOw0zdzAn4hJJRYTeyapSfYEL7jf9v2QsGJUO_ugRKulJ6qHrnPgWu/s400/YIMG_1338.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064389238933955986" /></a><br /><CENTER> Inland view of lakes near Ploce, Dalmatia</CENTER><br />We reached Dubrovnik around mid afternoon and found the only campsite within the city quite easily. It's very full, a contrast to most of the other sites we've used. It's also expensive and doesn't provide most of what it's supposed to - such as free wireless internet and a swimming pool. We were told we had the right to use these facilities at a nearby, rather smart hotel. When we arrived they were charming to us but insisted we needed to pay £5 an hour for the internet and £4 each for the pool. So we abandoned that plan and went for a paddle on the beach instead. The English people here say they are a little disappointed to find Croatia has jumped on the tourist bandwagon and is charging high prices for everything. They were particularly peeved to have been stopped by the police as they moved out of the picnic area they'd been using and fined 300 kuna for forgetting to turn their headlights on at 3pm this afternoon in bright sunlight! We are always forgetting to turn ours on! It's the same in Italy, Hungary and Austria, though we've never really fathomed out why! It is true though that prices in Croatia are almost on a par with Italy, one of the most expensive countries we've visited, but what it has to offer is top rate, in terms of both culture and scenery. Considering how war torn its recent history has been it has adapted well to its new role as a host to tourism, it has a relaxed feel and its battle scars are not obvious.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHFxgarZddg3r6HJkypzgEEWmTrHrk7Paxnrpvz0Ecv1RAXghbPqJZLgcSf9lD0gXZUDFF5WV85mDWfQtCz7YWZCl295Ez34Ln5-5CEFtvXj6GK8Wa6NiRNY5xxm1vD25rBTWjJf3Kbkg/s640-h/YIMG_1340.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHFxgarZddg3r6HJkypzgEEWmTrHrk7Paxnrpvz0Ecv1RAXghbPqJZLgcSf9lD0gXZUDFF5WV85mDWfQtCz7YWZCl295Ez34Ln5-5CEFtvXj6GK8Wa6NiRNY5xxm1vD25rBTWjJf3Kbkg/s400/YIMG_1340.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064389243228923298" /></a><br /><CENTER>Approaching Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />The national taste in music is dreadful. You hear it in supermarkets, cafés and on car radios. We assume it's not just the one same tune all the time but they all sound very similar and they all sound exactly like Croatia's entry for the next Eurovision Song Contest! No doubt music in Slovenia and Bosnia sounds much the same!<br /><br /><B>Friday 11th May 2007, Dubrovnik, Croatia</B><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1OOpszECoukjTaFygJJyqUhWMgdl5Ii-iO8VQUZiRaIYFPoOIxSJseLacwC0jAGsdQl51otrf2PGtejTQbB42XGE2tFbKXgvGuj0KK8VhNtFiCkUbr6zxXesJsPxgJPYjXDNDaCTmOq9/s640-h/YIMG_1396.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1OOpszECoukjTaFygJJyqUhWMgdl5Ii-iO8VQUZiRaIYFPoOIxSJseLacwC0jAGsdQl51otrf2PGtejTQbB42XGE2tFbKXgvGuj0KK8VhNtFiCkUbr6zxXesJsPxgJPYjXDNDaCTmOq9/s400/YIMG_1396.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064389247523890610" /></a><br /><CENTER>The old harbour, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />Dubrovnik is a fantastic city and a fitting place to end our travels south. Although we are frustrated at not being able to continue into Bosnia and Serbia, it was definitely worth travelling the length of Croatia to visit this stunning yet modest city set between the clear waters of the Adriatic and the imposing, grey mountains behind.<br /><br />Already at 7am the heat was beginning to penetrate Modestine's flanks so we were up, showered and on our way down into the city on the local bus by 8.30 this morning. Even the suburbs of Dubrovnik are attractive and the bus took us past pleasant residential areas, parks and gardens filled with fruiting orange trees, oleanders and bright bougainvillea. We passed alongside the harbour, overlooked by the city's impressive suspension bridge, and were deposited immediately outside the main gate to the city.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqAMaWy1eAYLCPNxARfMFeShBNHBRg89y8kqWCpFotFxk8MgotcR5D2LfANl3NnTEeOyc_pVK6Y5PeNT-kXoEW0AUkzcolAEcckLciLhTW0XZbMuNTqigTtIOPRu6qYrub6NTRXymKwtg/s640-h/YIMG_1402.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqAMaWy1eAYLCPNxARfMFeShBNHBRg89y8kqWCpFotFxk8MgotcR5D2LfANl3NnTEeOyc_pVK6Y5PeNT-kXoEW0AUkzcolAEcckLciLhTW0XZbMuNTqigTtIOPRu6qYrub6NTRXymKwtg/s400/YIMG_1402.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064389256113825218" /></a><br /><CENTER>Main city gate, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />During what is referred to here as the "Homeland war" Dubrovnik suffered terrible bombardment from land, air and sea by the Yugoslav army, Serbia and Montenegro. During 1991 and 1992 in particular the city was devastated by shells and mortar fire. Hardly a building survived undamaged. What the massive earthquake of 1667 left intact was ruthlessly destroyed by the civil war. Fighting continued spasmodically until 1995 but to look at the city today there are few obvious signs of the war that left this beautiful city with hardly a wall or roof unscathed. The most obvious signs are the pockmarked flagstones, damaged plaster and stonework on the facades of buildings and the new red tiled roofs covering the entire city, clearly seen from the ramparts. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZ90MttREQLUQCfZwaIEDTvmL7xeuajt3fv00FyaBewAVNEmhaolVl3Tf3P0OsYQr2C-K4ZQk1N7TgiJY9c9GvWzB6-tYWHITF5tFMataMn4_1UerzGKyoIXQZNGblKqz1hkPMeQYhOUY/s640-h/YIMG_1367.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZ90MttREQLUQCfZwaIEDTvmL7xeuajt3fv00FyaBewAVNEmhaolVl3Tf3P0OsYQr2C-K4ZQk1N7TgiJY9c9GvWzB6-tYWHITF5tFMataMn4_1UerzGKyoIXQZNGblKqz1hkPMeQYhOUY/s400/YIMG_1367.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064389264703759826" /></a><br /><CENTER>Roofscape, seen from the ramparts, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />In the town is a memorial room to those who died defending the city. Photographs of over 200 young men killed in 1991 and 1992 are on display. Particularly sobering for us is that so many of them were born around 1971 to 1974, making them much the same age as our own son – and they died fourteen years ago while many were still in their teens.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vcDVsAKBb7o5Au1Q4LUJBwwCnQ5HaNUchlfJgKTxK0da5Xzc5_5TAnVttJnFWE46MWsy-NWbN6VMF1luGB5oJPQBFhf3YUYQ4wX2UnUHOs1zI_vdzTizSxZOqhBZK7Q0uhfR4ul5VFI2/s640-h/YIMG_1388.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_vcDVsAKBb7o5Au1Q4LUJBwwCnQ5HaNUchlfJgKTxK0da5Xzc5_5TAnVttJnFWE46MWsy-NWbN6VMF1luGB5oJPQBFhf3YUYQ4wX2UnUHOs1zI_vdzTizSxZOqhBZK7Q0uhfR4ul5VFI2/s400/YIMG_1388.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390123697219042" /></a><br /><CENTER>Photos of some of those who died defending their city, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyT3YgBEJ4dk0zh4dWMA-RPJsEfJvoE4b5C1AIh1jeOu-ZJDv2q8IuGey1yxslo_w5w83CMi0meyvPAgP83pXzeqEUS0XfK_4ar5t7it5-Fb_Z_SG12ypTNvMSkPNw96dOS1KE5hXejCs/s640-h/YIMG_1395.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyT3YgBEJ4dk0zh4dWMA-RPJsEfJvoE4b5C1AIh1jeOu-ZJDv2q8IuGey1yxslo_w5w83CMi0meyvPAgP83pXzeqEUS0XfK_4ar5t7it5-Fb_Z_SG12ypTNvMSkPNw96dOS1KE5hXejCs/s400/YIMG_1395.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390136582120946" /></a><br /><CENTER>Map showing where bombs hit the city between 1991 and 1992, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />Dubrovnik is now justifiably recognised as a world heritage site. It is surrounded by huge defensive ramparts that sweep around in front to protect it from attacks by sea, and rise up, following the contours of the hilly terrain, to protect it from behind. Aware of the midday heat, a walk around the ramparts was the first and most spectacular thing on our agenda. There was a slight breeze off the sea and a number of points on the walls offering shade but it took two hours to complete the walk along the ramparts, stopping to take photographs as different vistas opened up. The main city is crowded in within the walls but later developments have spread beyond. On the walls we passed frequently very close to the homes of residents, where the big stone houses and flats spread up the steep hillside back from the sea. Many of the facades were festooned with washing or had window boxes filled with flowers and from time to time we glimpsed vegetable gardens, courtyards or monastery cloisters where fountains played, orange trees offered shade and rose bushes displayed bright splashes of colour.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgms_rZfuPAnqzIfsoR9qcrRi7ZNskWgA11v5Qsr0q2gRcYY1-dI4O8M5b_KD3EbJvO6NB3zYMlTT-wjsWK7VsdEvRZkanqf5IGAgR_l8EEaEj-OlQsDhT-1ZWcuP8QxlUz5QrmmpjWDFz_/s640-h/YIMG_1346.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgms_rZfuPAnqzIfsoR9qcrRi7ZNskWgA11v5Qsr0q2gRcYY1-dI4O8M5b_KD3EbJvO6NB3zYMlTT-wjsWK7VsdEvRZkanqf5IGAgR_l8EEaEj-OlQsDhT-1ZWcuP8QxlUz5QrmmpjWDFz_/s400/YIMG_1346.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390145172055554" /></a><br /><CENTER>Western ramparts, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1l6zIrZywu4e5UTEJqcKW2FAQmyQOWpsThcj5dI8lG5GnCuLZllHFhlf3PiKMdqeRfOBhtxOsBJYBwDUuH_o-iaSjcoF1ABRltZSWb6f_zJIH40tGwEyJ7GFETMtDgkJG8yly0FQkyQ2b/s640-h/YIMG_1351.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1l6zIrZywu4e5UTEJqcKW2FAQmyQOWpsThcj5dI8lG5GnCuLZllHFhlf3PiKMdqeRfOBhtxOsBJYBwDUuH_o-iaSjcoF1ABRltZSWb6f_zJIH40tGwEyJ7GFETMtDgkJG8yly0FQkyQ2b/s400/YIMG_1351.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390153761990162" /></a><br /><CENTER>Seaward ramparts, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDD82Fh2RT9gwxFYDeMJeA49fbDdWy_nwiS4tbXAh50YDBaaj5IkdGi2bozFJ9_B1wanwKzAh8vy4_xKhGxZ8B50268V4pjf-IufmZ4Dg4N-OjqODSuhbQ4cs-YFqMd-j3wuJqopi8vvDs/s640-h/YIMG_1376.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDD82Fh2RT9gwxFYDeMJeA49fbDdWy_nwiS4tbXAh50YDBaaj5IkdGi2bozFJ9_B1wanwKzAh8vy4_xKhGxZ8B50268V4pjf-IufmZ4Dg4N-OjqODSuhbQ4cs-YFqMd-j3wuJqopi8vvDs/s400/YIMG_1376.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390162351924770" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cloisters and garden of the Franciscan monastery seen from the ramparts, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToqUyuId7dbBfNzuOh0w4dTvP5rLTJOH4hMeTjNRwjOGkG5Fcw4BXovPxxjkMf7Jr_oLCP4v1s0WQ97Yfb0t9IrbVy0BgogaHSmp4noL6clBPizAMbxNGsjCZ2XaXQAY2pTY_KlktLIrV/s640-h/YIMG_1357.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToqUyuId7dbBfNzuOh0w4dTvP5rLTJOH4hMeTjNRwjOGkG5Fcw4BXovPxxjkMf7Jr_oLCP4v1s0WQ97Yfb0t9IrbVy0BgogaHSmp4noL6clBPizAMbxNGsjCZ2XaXQAY2pTY_KlktLIrV/s400/YIMG_1357.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390995575580210" /></a><br /><CENTER>Outside the maritime museum, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />The welcome shade of the cool streets awaited us when we eventually came down from the walls to join the main thoroughfare, Placa. This separates the two parts of the old town and was originally a shallow channel between the land and a small island. It was filled in during the 11th century. The nobility occupied the island side while on the landward side fourteen narrow, parallel streets struggle steeply up the hillside. Within the old city there is no motorised transport other than electric carts. Tourists from around the world were enjoying the sights and never have we seen a city with so many bars and restaurants, all offering chilled drinks, ice cream or seafood menus served under bright, shady umbrellas.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4nQXzTr_GoVmwugQH3GpLc0fPSA5Z4frAa9Z0Eyf1CQC32dxAOV-roqPY4Ksp0Xr7PIDAIoKLYzjkTShnpBzAnwIch1z3pnPp0OrrrkNDLW1AbKlGXeajpAPjZCtoEAWu2u1ZP-tONZ1/s640-h/YIMG_1400.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4nQXzTr_GoVmwugQH3GpLc0fPSA5Z4frAa9Z0Eyf1CQC32dxAOV-roqPY4Ksp0Xr7PIDAIoKLYzjkTShnpBzAnwIch1z3pnPp0OrrrkNDLW1AbKlGXeajpAPjZCtoEAWu2u1ZP-tONZ1/s400/YIMG_1400.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064390999870547522" /></a><br /><CENTER>Placa, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkD5Hmrr4fDMXeteDGBErmMkkI7jdkZTqXc3F0p0VbuJ9r8fZm4qQG2K9PKrwfddmc-fg280Z-WErglJid1lJa_mN8cff4jBg_Pq_Z6J37CmM6fMrJchXFbCZDX_6-SQKEChH4tUnqeIV/s640-h/YIMG_1379.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdkD5Hmrr4fDMXeteDGBErmMkkI7jdkZTqXc3F0p0VbuJ9r8fZm4qQG2K9PKrwfddmc-fg280Z-WErglJid1lJa_mN8cff4jBg_Pq_Z6J37CmM6fMrJchXFbCZDX_6-SQKEChH4tUnqeIV/s400/YIMG_1379.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391008460482130" /></a><br /><CENTER>Onofrio Fountain and Church of Our Saviour (1520) just inside the city walls, Placa, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiRkyguI2LtiiLPdAbHbbhMRxcVkwafREIiOgNHK2H1bZOTiY7K29-vlny2K6XgaS-N8WwIv6xnn4HvGXnUaS3S9x8msPAXSe0PzF_HX-KCoTAbZIgVYWJHdWYSMQWSslB3eqsaK-nfOf/s640-h/YIMG_1387.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiRkyguI2LtiiLPdAbHbbhMRxcVkwafREIiOgNHK2H1bZOTiY7K29-vlny2K6XgaS-N8WwIv6xnn4HvGXnUaS3S9x8msPAXSe0PzF_HX-KCoTAbZIgVYWJHdWYSMQWSslB3eqsaK-nfOf/s400/YIMG_1387.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391012755449442" /></a><br /><CENTER>One of the steep residential streets leading up from Placa, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98KqgC9z3uKg4Z4WKS7-edBJHYeX0s8KB5gmwSFZ0-aU_Fa-7YI-3Tp2aNQivZBFkIEyhv3LGYgoNoPp6cqH6SChhKw1m8SsZr6-C8uwCRsF8WLp8H5XgyhnvPTkZ-3P_Jtixxzlc7nXw/s640-h/YIMG_1392.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98KqgC9z3uKg4Z4WKS7-edBJHYeX0s8KB5gmwSFZ0-aU_Fa-7YI-3Tp2aNQivZBFkIEyhv3LGYgoNoPp6cqH6SChhKw1m8SsZr6-C8uwCRsF8WLp8H5XgyhnvPTkZ-3P_Jtixxzlc7nXw/s400/YIMG_1392.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391021345384050" /></a><br /><CENTER>Rector's Palace 1739 (right) and Sponza Palace, one of the only medieval buildings to survive the 1667 earthquake, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEurzgq0Rhct1cVvifzPQCdoJkH2AJRb0hyLzFgpKd0B6jZxXxxghg29NXrdG_D2RIMdST1lGke72B3G1f8-2cYhxMlOYheNUhiXt2QOsRH0boOm1KzuyHQHrKLHtZ9ohR9j0QuKoYs-N/s640-h/YIMG_1401.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEurzgq0Rhct1cVvifzPQCdoJkH2AJRb0hyLzFgpKd0B6jZxXxxghg29NXrdG_D2RIMdST1lGke72B3G1f8-2cYhxMlOYheNUhiXt2QOsRH0boOm1KzuyHQHrKLHtZ9ohR9j0QuKoYs-N/s400/YIMG_1401.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391674180413058" /></a><br /><CENTER>Shady corner with orange trees and well. Formerly the convent of St. Claire, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />We visited the Franciscan monastery with the wonderful cloister we'd noted from the walls. It also contains a reliquary museum and a pharmacy dating back to at least the 16th century and it is still in business today! Examples of incunables (books printed before 1501) and herbals from the monastery library were also on display. During the Homeland War the monastery acted as a hospital run by the Geneva Red Cross. It seemed to have been deliberately targeted by the hostile forces and suffered 52 direct hits during the fighting.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrAjrvhXANMb-mudZaLoHKH86DWSyOmlsbJ3jOTK7RiVnmSaT_vlp8_78yqSgI7yfcoGQSPq73piKxYQ_uTZBxbgE6J1yyJ2FSd4HjOhzDniFwHNYNxKChxHfmDuE9myxUXRGgaAbvWLz/s640-h/YIMG_1383.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrAjrvhXANMb-mudZaLoHKH86DWSyOmlsbJ3jOTK7RiVnmSaT_vlp8_78yqSgI7yfcoGQSPq73piKxYQ_uTZBxbgE6J1yyJ2FSd4HjOhzDniFwHNYNxKChxHfmDuE9myxUXRGgaAbvWLz/s400/YIMG_1383.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391678475380370" /></a><br /><CENTER>Garden in the Franciscan cloisters, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />The patron saint of Dubrovnik is St. Blaise. His statue stands over the entrance gates to the city. His church is in process of restoration so we did not visit. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXvf21ZFRgs9iKO2k2NrjQrlGo1G-2YGyvfMyUpZNewqIwvDV-tRZwRdDkZ_KVe9jK8a3A_E6uLLZwRUYeTbbg009qc7fbSNSzdvTeQXCkFtqiTgVmfWwqJrB0e0TlGUT6XY-9ieEt08Q/s640-h/YIMG_1394.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXvf21ZFRgs9iKO2k2NrjQrlGo1G-2YGyvfMyUpZNewqIwvDV-tRZwRdDkZ_KVe9jK8a3A_E6uLLZwRUYeTbbg009qc7fbSNSzdvTeQXCkFtqiTgVmfWwqJrB0e0TlGUT6XY-9ieEt08Q/s400/YIMG_1394.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391687065314978" /></a><br /><CENTER>St. Blaise over the Ploce Gate, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />During the afternoon it became so unbearably hot we headed for an air conditioned internet café we'd discovered earlier in a narrow old street just above the main pedestrianised route through the centre of the town. It was run by a couple of friendly young men who served us chilled beers as we worked. Another young man who ran a restaurant opposite lamented to us in halting English that the city was now regularly visited by cruise ships and everyone ate on board, just coming ashore to look around. He told us he'll be bankrupt by next year if he doesn't get some customers soon. We feel so sorry for him we are thinking of going back tomorrow so he can cook us lunch! He eventually shut up his konoba (Croatian bar) and joined us in the internet shop where he sat watching video clips from U-Tube about cats, calling us and the internet shop staff over from time to time to watch a cat doing cute things like playing the piano or using its owner's toilet! <br /><br />We'd survived six hours of heat around the town but feel there remains much to see. We have decided to stay here a little longer and return to the city again tomorrow. So we caught the bus home to Modestine where we are delighted to say we have invented an awning to protect us from the sun. Romahome told us her shape meant an awning would not be possible, but with a charity shop shower curtain, a couple of collapsible poles, some plastic suckers and a few yards of string we've proved them wrong! Other campers are almost as delighted with it as we are, especially as they ended up helping us fix it up!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooGt46MyAha5NYfAK7bvu6c6yestCpdKA-ooSesEcdWGOyhA-Rss_1Qk8vDsvaZJ_TzvurnhHUcLx31icgUjVCBaAW2HUXAw9e28vFIFKvbuf5jUpV6AnVbp0IYRIFxL-V5qWNkKLcIUy/s640-h/YIMG_1403.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooGt46MyAha5NYfAK7bvu6c6yestCpdKA-ooSesEcdWGOyhA-Rss_1Qk8vDsvaZJ_TzvurnhHUcLx31icgUjVCBaAW2HUXAw9e28vFIFKvbuf5jUpV6AnVbp0IYRIFxL-V5qWNkKLcIUy/s400/YIMG_1403.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391691360282290" /></a><br /><CENTER>Our £2 awning! Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><B>Saturday 12th May 2007, Dubrovnik, Croatia</B><br />We are still here but will definitely be moving on tomorrow. It's getting far too hot for us wimps and we are keen to gradually be making our way north again.<br /><br />We returned on the bus to Dubrovnik this morning and spent the day finding some of the corners we missed yesterday. It's not an enormous area within the city walls but it was crammed full with people today as at least a couple of enormous cruise ships were in the harbour. Tour guides led crowds around the city. What the large groups got out of it all is questionable as they milled around in the hot sun listening to the guide's frequently laboured explanations of the buildings and history. We got talking later with some American people who were on a cruise visiting 17 different ports around the Mediterranean. When we asked them where they had visited they said they couldn't remember the names of all the places but had started from Munich! They were eating an impressive seafood lunch that cost them 135 dollars, but didn't think they'd have time to go onto the city walls before returning to their ship. Not necessarily surprisingly, they didn't know what we were talking about when we mentioned the Balkan wars and Dubrovnik's recent history. They were off to do some shopping for souvenirs.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ3XaV6CSqijXM7ULJDxHCInGybjAMI11gaFpFWfZU9k6ugKXp0WER1bj9b_KD7EW1hsWDpLZMg47OGFoppuXlA19KF2Er_lHetVeeAtYzMrg1a3Tuq3BrNi0nt0iVRJul_xdj_9h-b9f/s640-h/YIMG_1408.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ3XaV6CSqijXM7ULJDxHCInGybjAMI11gaFpFWfZU9k6ugKXp0WER1bj9b_KD7EW1hsWDpLZMg47OGFoppuXlA19KF2Er_lHetVeeAtYzMrg1a3Tuq3BrNi0nt0iVRJul_xdj_9h-b9f/s400/YIMG_1408.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064391695655249602" /></a><br /><CENTER>Crowds from the cruise ships flood into Placa, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />This morning we visited a fort outside the city which enabled us to get some good photos of the ramparts of the town. We also visited the synagogue, very different from the mediaeval one we visited last year in Sopron, Hungary. Later we explored the back streets just inside the ramparts to the south of the town. Here we found an area we had presumed to be a rubble tip from the 1990s bombardments. In fact it dated from the earthquake of 1667 and was only now being cleared.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_sFGawZkKveZpYGHviuXc8wg-oEr5ZAJJ5DXRWWnBPhRHGp9lHJTz4oKRwd3qY-6vK2s6TkQgo_sJ09FNC35YvNDXugKHvWz2ROaDzp3i9CGqi6LZ0Pu9KGEzAUpptcWIB5kKVQ8DdcY/s640-h/YIMG_1405.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_sFGawZkKveZpYGHviuXc8wg-oEr5ZAJJ5DXRWWnBPhRHGp9lHJTz4oKRwd3qY-6vK2s6TkQgo_sJ09FNC35YvNDXugKHvWz2ROaDzp3i9CGqi6LZ0Pu9KGEzAUpptcWIB5kKVQ8DdcY/s400/YIMG_1405.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064392434389624530" /></a><br /><CENTER>Fort Lovrijenac, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ln77-FqibBNQeYCktyaNZ8JopMJRdyCUJScCx7nLiCPEBNLYyLiG67sbr2PKyxAiDcXRSulqoUlgitiz-hXJmMZVaZMFXQZ6cJvX_gdCo93OqJW3JmUTzlpY7kYr77lnmz3yIU_lQNkg/s640-h/YIMG_1406.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ln77-FqibBNQeYCktyaNZ8JopMJRdyCUJScCx7nLiCPEBNLYyLiG67sbr2PKyxAiDcXRSulqoUlgitiz-hXJmMZVaZMFXQZ6cJvX_gdCo93OqJW3JmUTzlpY7kYr77lnmz3yIU_lQNkg/s400/YIMG_1406.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064392442979559138" /></a><br /><CENTER>Ramparts seen from Fort Lovrijenac, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZjrnxW3aFEPRQUddOLRnNAEAztGoWYlXKjv2Gdo2J_yCJyvH6Mjvotc6vKLBV3V3cgFYuJ_GaB0JHBpw-0sl8KHeZ9I71gKP8TaIvB3mez-ZK8k15S7m2cENSKe81FNebSwwFfOe0vvZ/s640-h/YIMG_1410.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZjrnxW3aFEPRQUddOLRnNAEAztGoWYlXKjv2Gdo2J_yCJyvH6Mjvotc6vKLBV3V3cgFYuJ_GaB0JHBpw-0sl8KHeZ9I71gKP8TaIvB3mez-ZK8k15S7m2cENSKe81FNebSwwFfOe0vvZ/s400/YIMG_1410.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064392447274526450" /></a><br /><CENTER>List of Jews from Dubrovnik who died in the Holocaust</CENTER><br />At the tourist office we asked whether it was known if we could purchase car insurance at the border between Croatia and Bosnia. The young lady was really helpful, phoning to try to find out. All we know is that we cannot get it at the nearest frontier point but it may be possible on the route up towards Mostar. So tomorrow we travel 10 miles through Bosnia along the coastal strip hoping everything will be okay until we cross back into Croatia again. We then turn inland to the next border post and if we are lucky purchase temporary insurance so we can continue. If not we need to return to the coast and follow the route back through Croatia right around Bosnia via Zagreb. Either way, we hope to end up in Hungary.<br /><br />We decided to give ourselves a treat today and dine out at one of the street restaurants under a shady umbrella. Where better than the restaurant near the internet shop where the owner was so dejected yesterday he had to cheer himself up with cat videos? He recognised us and gave us chilled aperitifs on the house while our meal was prepared. We opted for a seafood platter as we rarely eat fish and we get told off for not doing so by all of you who say it's the best part of your Mediterranean holidays. As you see, it looked quite impressive with squid, octopus, mussels, prawns and fried fish accompanied by a bowl of salad. We still feel though that it is overrated. Tentacles and molluscs cooked with too much salt. Even the salad seemed salty. The chilled beer was good though and the restaurant owner was delighted we'd returned. He was a lot busier today and told us he'd probably not have time for looking at cat videos this afternoon. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPoa4xnvnIKn6A2Xip-2mzJVms2Xsg1deqkfqtkBQI9HgaJH3q7tNzKCvkyusdaylywzmxfGDjhh5P7FEYxQhFHeTjpe6JcQLGTrcDx5zPgV-1RmwBOY2fT3WWrYPDy02UF2zyKIznneX/s640-h/YIMG_1411.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPoa4xnvnIKn6A2Xip-2mzJVms2Xsg1deqkfqtkBQI9HgaJH3q7tNzKCvkyusdaylywzmxfGDjhh5P7FEYxQhFHeTjpe6JcQLGTrcDx5zPgV-1RmwBOY2fT3WWrYPDy02UF2zyKIznneX/s400/YIMG_1411.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064392451569493762" /></a><br /><CENTER>Food for thought, Dubrovnik</CENTER><br />The streets here are full of cats. They all look clean and healthy and are generally very small. They lie sunning themselves on doorsteps so people obviously look after them all. From what we've seen today in some of the side alleys, the cats are putting lots of effort into ensuring there is a plentiful supply of cats for the foreseeable future.<br /><br />By mid afternoon we'd exhausted Dubrovnik and it had certainly exhausted us. So we caught the bus back to Modestine, bought a bottle of chilled wine from the campsite shop and caught up on some of our correspondence protected from the sun under our brilliant Maxted awning. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRjwjXYc0fZZ2KcB41O6WnjKrMrLyUmoo23Jw2lCv2rXbzrP1bS4JuaA2SO76g7dksGDhJ0Rry0LXjsvdq32k3Zzvk4QIsGMLpFEKOTHIwWM88iaUEtG7ZX2l-SOg4u12HktKJo4jzjEw/s640-h/YIMG_1416.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRjwjXYc0fZZ2KcB41O6WnjKrMrLyUmoo23Jw2lCv2rXbzrP1bS4JuaA2SO76g7dksGDhJ0Rry0LXjsvdq32k3Zzvk4QIsGMLpFEKOTHIwWM88iaUEtG7ZX2l-SOg4u12HktKJo4jzjEw/s400/YIMG_1416.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064392455864461074" /></a><br /><CENTER>Bloggers do it in the dark</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-41764560361356089302007-05-11T12:57:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:20.601+00:00Down the Dalmatian coastDown the Dalmatian Coast<br /><br /><B>Sunday 6th May 2007, Vodice, Croatia</B><br />As we were driving the 26 kilometres back to the mainland this morning we passed a stranded car on the empty road with a worried young man waving his arms in supplication. He spoke less English than anyone we have so far encountered but we did work out that he was out of fuel and had no idea where there might be a garage. We have already ascertained that they are very few and far between and had commented as we passed one several miles back that it was the only one we'd seen on the island. We turned around and loaded our new Croatian friend and his empty petrol can into Modestine along with the bikes and drove seven miles back the way we'd come, waited while he filled his can and then took him back to his vehicle. Did we earn Brownie points for Britain? Using his entire command of English nouns, without a single verb, he told us his friend had lent him his car for the day and not mentioned that it needed petrol. He'd never been in a camping car before and found it great fun to sit as a passenger in what to him should be the driving seat. Modestine was a wonderful car, not like his. Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping him. (Hvala, hvala, hvala.) That's one word we've learnt anyway. He then explained that his mother was a Dalmatian. This surprised us rather but we think we disguised it well enough. Except for a friendly disposition commonly found in large canines, he bore no resemblance to a spotted dog whatsoever. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDVvAj145-sXBeKRhmCkPuJ8wuj_N-AvyLfd7V3g0coc27HT4HIrLpuXnF1QcCqhyphenhyphenqJOJAbiO-pKmDcvB7kxUB3383ktKgq-tPpFsMMqFfn5Vm9AAc0q9_EabhU4I47OC7gjjMsk4xA-9/s640-h/YIMG_1228.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDVvAj145-sXBeKRhmCkPuJ8wuj_N-AvyLfd7V3g0coc27HT4HIrLpuXnF1QcCqhyphenhyphenqJOJAbiO-pKmDcvB7kxUB3383ktKgq-tPpFsMMqFfn5Vm9AAc0q9_EabhU4I47OC7gjjMsk4xA-9/s400/YIMG_1228.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063271624019026610" /></a><br /><CENTER>One grateful motorist, Krk</CENTER><br />Eventually, after lots of handshaking, we left him to turn left to Rejika while we turned right on the mainland and followed the coast road down towards Split. To our relief it was nothing like the twisting, switchback nightmare we'd feared. There was very little traffic, the road was well engineered and the surface good. It followed the contour of the hillside as far as possible so was very twisty and winding but there were plenty of places to pull off the road to admire the truly stunning views. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rAOEWOR8jxQwNeL0QwKeex3DMcwMgky5oju63m5Wzf26DRZ-BiEzGh7xxeMx8tROXZ3RHTs35lNcfBfMraT_bvrpxmhsmYLYgKPnyQz76zqHAZHS5Qh_opJtKC6nYI_pDshF5asNqX5t/s640-h/YIMG_1242.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rAOEWOR8jxQwNeL0QwKeex3DMcwMgky5oju63m5Wzf26DRZ-BiEzGh7xxeMx8tROXZ3RHTs35lNcfBfMraT_bvrpxmhsmYLYgKPnyQz76zqHAZHS5Qh_opJtKC6nYI_pDshF5asNqX5t/s400/YIMG_1242.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063271632608961218" /></a><br /><CENTER>A stretch of our coastal route, north of Dalmatia</CENTER><br />The route ran parallel to the island of Krk we'd just left. It looked a very bare and barren place from this side without a tree or blade of grass to be seen. As our route continued, for well over 100 miles we ran beside island after island, all lying parallel to the mainland and each seeming more barren than the previous one. There are around 1,100 offshore islands of which about 60 are inhabited. Eventually we reached the ferry crossing point to the island of Pag. The ferry here was running and we considered crossing to continue along the island which at this point was no more than a long finger of starkly bare orange rock with a dust track winding along the top. There was no sign of life to be seen. The mainland route was so much better than we'd expected we decided not to cross and continued through a rocky, mountainous terrain thinly covered in sparse scrubland, the cracked and crumbling bare rock sticking up above the dwarfed trees and woody shrubs. The landscape is very Mediterranean, rather like the garrigue of Southern France or the maquis of Corsica. There were pretty flowers in amongst the rocks and wild almond trees on the hillsides. From time to time the route descended down to sea level to pass through tiny towns or hamlets with small harbours and people sitting outside the village bar. In one such place we saw a fisherman catch an octopus, its legs writhing and waving until he somehow managed to kill it. It seemed rather a tragic sight. Plates of fried tentacles with their little round suckers seem a very popular seafood dish but we've not really fancied eating it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHxF8WMA9yvq4nw1nb7GZx-icf3cUPI4MWRng5k2Cd_uiusNfVoodXEcJXHGEdiOSb-QbxLQRa7fPidWX7IvPGIMWGlcEeUUAkIlvJRLqUxSW1jm7lV-08UeAzlSwHDcukWUqu4f5IG1u/s640-h/YIMG_1229.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHxF8WMA9yvq4nw1nb7GZx-icf3cUPI4MWRng5k2Cd_uiusNfVoodXEcJXHGEdiOSb-QbxLQRa7fPidWX7IvPGIMWGlcEeUUAkIlvJRLqUxSW1jm7lV-08UeAzlSwHDcukWUqu4f5IG1u/s400/YIMG_1229.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063271649788830418" /></a><br /><CENTER>Krk from the mainland</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcf6wWloCgGEMehN9xzqzMmRNmWFPwwKxQJ63rXVErKyU1YKGfHKzQYoNCF0TKfpcfBJM2jRRcyJkLE3sjudz5fOq_O6m4aisWwTpEgg1ga4zSY7H7QQ8OrDvHwoM617KoHIz0Se8kfzU/s640-h/YIMG_1230.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcf6wWloCgGEMehN9xzqzMmRNmWFPwwKxQJ63rXVErKyU1YKGfHKzQYoNCF0TKfpcfBJM2jRRcyJkLE3sjudz5fOq_O6m4aisWwTpEgg1ga4zSY7H7QQ8OrDvHwoM617KoHIz0Se8kfzU/s400/YIMG_1230.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063271658378765026" /></a><br /><CENTER>Harbour at Povile</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJt7bFN3TshIokRr8mTUF0ETHoiWJeKvPyFl-nemEEbAuhX18W-Nzq2XsZgLfihpUGnwJZB55KtYIVDhPBTFvVQQtM2wNjZ3b1_pTeIEUxgVZTZUZDB1ZtodpH-GA2qlNrA5ONFCNsJtx6/s640-h/YIMG_1235.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJt7bFN3TshIokRr8mTUF0ETHoiWJeKvPyFl-nemEEbAuhX18W-Nzq2XsZgLfihpUGnwJZB55KtYIVDhPBTFvVQQtM2wNjZ3b1_pTeIEUxgVZTZUZDB1ZtodpH-GA2qlNrA5ONFCNsJtx6/s400/YIMG_1235.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063271666968699634" /></a><br /><CENTER>Typical village along the coast road near Senj</CENTER><br />In total today we've driven nearly two hundred miles of very twisting roads often with a sheer drop down to the sea on the driver's side. We stopped for a picnic lunch in the hot, bright sunshine. Hardly a vehicle passed us on the cliff top as we sat looking out across the blue sea towards the islands. Eventually we turned off the main road to the little seaside town of Vodice following a camping sign. It turns out to be a very pleasant little site under shady oak trees in the large garden of a private house. There is only one other vehicle here, from Germany. Some Polish people were just packing their tent to leave as we arrived. Polish people always travel with tents and we have irreverently taken to calling them "Tent Poles".<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaaiS9ppus2nB6RZZbMXpaU96W0OxXrfO3SBqPDX-nInRyzSuyYxnGTxzpVAWfWZdTExDqgQ9w4wknXhLfzGBiVW7t6ynatTqrKg2QnT5fdawMyQ7cu0mi2fdFD68DZQ0youCYkBHYPp6h/s640-h/YIMG_1236.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaaiS9ppus2nB6RZZbMXpaU96W0OxXrfO3SBqPDX-nInRyzSuyYxnGTxzpVAWfWZdTExDqgQ9w4wknXhLfzGBiVW7t6ynatTqrKg2QnT5fdawMyQ7cu0mi2fdFD68DZQ0youCYkBHYPp6h/s400/YIMG_1236.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063272478717518594" /></a><br /><CENTER>Pleasant spot for a picnic</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5IpIbK-732d7WoNypfKLoNHOznY243gJmxPsAi0jzhKyOXJ65oWjqeWncJPWY67S6apPUelVtkiA9l1kcZ5YnKmHs7cn51G6o3Cs4Rj9QPm_3tEGN5oWF69Ht3tO0lfO3vlBjPX43sJ-/s640-h/YIMG_1237.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5IpIbK-732d7WoNypfKLoNHOznY243gJmxPsAi0jzhKyOXJ65oWjqeWncJPWY67S6apPUelVtkiA9l1kcZ5YnKmHs7cn51G6o3Cs4Rj9QPm_3tEGN5oWF69Ht3tO0lfO3vlBjPX43sJ-/s400/YIMG_1237.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063272487307453202" /></a><br /><CENTER>Modestine waits patiently</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rrM6ig3V7UsSv-wRZXoqiCpv8GrnanH-AZYgpBZiSuXn4gBZRptiX3YthTllNUyvMXsz6-_KUh3JBKiLQq3EFvDZ5xjVRNd1DIuDUGB4qek97Bw2GMl-lTvt7rxaQUfkHoD4ReofRbDn/s640-h/YIMG_1240.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rrM6ig3V7UsSv-wRZXoqiCpv8GrnanH-AZYgpBZiSuXn4gBZRptiX3YthTllNUyvMXsz6-_KUh3JBKiLQq3EFvDZ5xjVRNd1DIuDUGB4qek97Bw2GMl-lTvt7rxaQUfkHoD4ReofRbDn/s400/YIMG_1240.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063272495897387810" /></a><br /><CENTER>Island of Pag seen from the mainland</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlC93ag53R7Gf58V3S4uhysKhilndUJZQt1W8QvJhbZK1_TDVE34328jp4yXtj_dACkHOrBj8XFQWCG_mgAY9NeDT8lEZMcGxWix7hyphenhyphenF8uDihjva8Plrn5YHihTV9J8ODJixzZ6k0M5Xn/s640-h/YIMG_1243.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlC93ag53R7Gf58V3S4uhysKhilndUJZQt1W8QvJhbZK1_TDVE34328jp4yXtj_dACkHOrBj8XFQWCG_mgAY9NeDT8lEZMcGxWix7hyphenhyphenF8uDihjva8Plrn5YHihTV9J8ODJixzZ6k0M5Xn/s400/YIMG_1243.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063272504487322418" /></a><br /><CENTER>Further down the inhospitable coastline of Pag</CENTER><br />After a rest to recover from driving and an early salad supper in the shade of the trees we walked down into the town. It is a really lovely place crowded with happy holiday makers strolling around the harbour eating ice creams or enjoying a drink or seafood meal on the seafront. The town itself, with its narrow streets lies just back from the sea. Attracted by the sound of singing we made our way to the church. It was packed with worshippers at the evening service and most of them were young people in their teens and twenties.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPy45wK0foI5GBeH3kSLL_BpliVU_sAKlFuUGuw5Y4KH-HIZi24iVtGE0Z8wNWLxRxfAkLt8vl4RJGTe2Sgx_6RY7e1gbS_kvCKZfoh9iKkpZPkSTpASsNqLP_LdwOSkP_zZnjeQlpRcm/s640-h/YIMG_1246.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPy45wK0foI5GBeH3kSLL_BpliVU_sAKlFuUGuw5Y4KH-HIZi24iVtGE0Z8wNWLxRxfAkLt8vl4RJGTe2Sgx_6RY7e1gbS_kvCKZfoh9iKkpZPkSTpASsNqLP_LdwOSkP_zZnjeQlpRcm/s400/YIMG_1246.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063272517372224322" /></a><br /><CENTER>Coming out of church after Sunday evening mass, Vodice</CENTER><br />At a seaside bakery, still open late into the evening, we bought apple strudel and returned to Modestine to enjoy it with mugs of tea by lamplight outside. The sweeping beam of the distant lighthouse just touched the edge of the trees as we sat in the darkness.<br /><br />We like it here so much we thought we'd stay another day. By chance though we have just read in our guidebook that the bones of St. Duja are to be carried in procession through the streets of Split tomorrow and ceremoniously laid in the church to be followed by lots of fun and celebrations. We are about 90 kilometres from Split and it might be interesting to watch the Croatians at play.<br /><br /><B>Tuesday 8th May 2007, Stobrec near Split, Croatia</B><br />Our German companions at the campsite at Vodice told us that they have visited the area for the past 25 years not even stopping during the war, when they brought convoys of aid to the Croatian refugees from Krajina who were lodged in the hotels in Vodice. They had heard the gunfire and were once stopped at a roadblock by soldiers, one of whom turned out to be the butcher in the local supermarket who recognised them and let them pass. Today all is peaceful and relatively prosperous, tourism is returning to the coastal settlements like Vodice but there is still high unemployment and in some areas bitter feelings remain. <br /><br />Yesterday we decided to visit Skradinski Buk, the waterfalls in the Krka National Park. Our route took us inland to the little town of Skradin, picturesquely set on the estuary of the Krke River. It is a community that has certainly seen more prosperous days. It is an ancient Roman settlement and was once the seat of a bishop. Along the main street the houses had once been elegantly covered in stucco and painted, but now most having crumbling plaster and fading paintwork. The Orthodox Church in the main street is in a sorry state with its roof collapsed. Many of the houses bear pock marks from the fighting back in the 1990s and some even lack roofs and windows. The place suffered badly during the war that tore Yugoslavia apart as it was on the edge of the Serbian enclave of Krajina. There have been efforts at reconstruction in the town. Many streets have been repaved, handsome street names and numbers have been carved out of the local limestone and in several places houses were being gutted and restored.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqf2OzEcibJOR8QCv-B3TZS2rS2V9TciDIVktxl5ULcDmp0jAMpk9sMbDm1vJ9cQMtKMyt4Q-ZVv-Zh_nv7ipVvLam7URaAWzt598VzxL8y5Fimwd_X80R8lHPpsLwmNJJ27U0vy5-ukh/s640-h/YIMG_1249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqf2OzEcibJOR8QCv-B3TZS2rS2V9TciDIVktxl5ULcDmp0jAMpk9sMbDm1vJ9cQMtKMyt4Q-ZVv-Zh_nv7ipVvLam7URaAWzt598VzxL8y5Fimwd_X80R8lHPpsLwmNJJ27U0vy5-ukh/s400/YIMG_1249.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063273543869408082" /></a><br /><CENTER>Battered and pockmarked façade in Skradin</CENTER><br />Around the marina were several yachts and the waterfront bars were filled with boating people who spent their holidays sailing around the islands, calling in from port to port as they go. From here we took a boat up the river, into a wide ravine to the lowest of the waterfalls from where we continued on foot. The falls really are most spectacular, cascading from numerous river tributaries hidden amongst the trees to fall as sheets of white and azure water into the river below. They show a clear example of travertines, produced over time from the calcite material precipitated from the water as it falls over the edge, forming thresholds and dams.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVDQC7IaadRrW_ZROrKR42M0sMJjHUk55r3wszPTUt_13aI_3KP896xntV7I5epFvd77jukaedQYhnFDPPDMlHJd7BMxcbFqJcMrLJBZ96spWztKZI-1Jbpjsf6SusVIB5l5X5Ff8Xv2k/s640-h/YIMG_1261.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVDQC7IaadRrW_ZROrKR42M0sMJjHUk55r3wszPTUt_13aI_3KP896xntV7I5epFvd77jukaedQYhnFDPPDMlHJd7BMxcbFqJcMrLJBZ96spWztKZI-1Jbpjsf6SusVIB5l5X5Ff8Xv2k/s400/YIMG_1261.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063273552459342690" /></a><br /><CENTER>View back towards the Krka estuary from Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitd5tq8U9M665IpZBTYXnzKtjnlO1NvPal0_z-IJVA-kHwKKvh8kPYs5iKHHD0TsWEOLtwLaG0ptPnkTqj2s3vNVb9V7QqhKs5_lFh34nPSqrqTLW-itd6P8TvCNokDRvUSKotlmgs1YGq/s640-h/YIMG_1254.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitd5tq8U9M665IpZBTYXnzKtjnlO1NvPal0_z-IJVA-kHwKKvh8kPYs5iKHHD0TsWEOLtwLaG0ptPnkTqj2s3vNVb9V7QqhKs5_lFh34nPSqrqTLW-itd6P8TvCNokDRvUSKotlmgs1YGq/s400/YIMG_1254.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063273556754310002" /></a><br /><CENTER>Waterfalls at Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XukbW769n8xhdI-eYWM7gZCIYylkeXGfYnZ6hYgqtSZWYFvJ4Jd4aAn3i-RdXE3Bmpy-PbR7ytzmqszAFTq0OIoloDD70XiTBHnzaCZZxbAdWWLYKEo-_shMf8f793BUFWOi5HnnGJx0/s640-h/YIMG_1262.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XukbW769n8xhdI-eYWM7gZCIYylkeXGfYnZ6hYgqtSZWYFvJ4Jd4aAn3i-RdXE3Bmpy-PbR7ytzmqszAFTq0OIoloDD70XiTBHnzaCZZxbAdWWLYKEo-_shMf8f793BUFWOi5HnnGJx0/s400/YIMG_1262.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063273565344244610" /></a><br /><CENTER>Waterfalls at Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr3gzNFZQAkLnVrbiQpG6N5SUTZpDhJ1kUC7xl_R5I8hq0eSC6YlQAJBL7gaeaaBRTOBXG2eG4I6wPNGBr_q8ulCTIcfma9ugrykqRUd4xAWk8BUPKY3DathJpU22cKU7Qqm7DjHIs2jg/s640-h/YIMG_1263.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr3gzNFZQAkLnVrbiQpG6N5SUTZpDhJ1kUC7xl_R5I8hq0eSC6YlQAJBL7gaeaaBRTOBXG2eG4I6wPNGBr_q8ulCTIcfma9ugrykqRUd4xAWk8BUPKY3DathJpU22cKU7Qqm7DjHIs2jg/s400/YIMG_1263.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063273569639211922" /></a><br /><CENTER>Waterfalls at Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98aLtoCrAukLSO3mL30Qip3TVnFqE3j-Bi5hoj6S6FMm-WJrhHQ2WyEHt5ZlgLHGxCCzKo3tWetFUdFHmpYOf6dGPxZqkWnCGfWU7admqJLIg_3Fg2kPGHYx_TFj-MGQ1jmueIaO5omBv/s640-h/YIMG_1260.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98aLtoCrAukLSO3mL30Qip3TVnFqE3j-Bi5hoj6S6FMm-WJrhHQ2WyEHt5ZlgLHGxCCzKo3tWetFUdFHmpYOf6dGPxZqkWnCGfWU7admqJLIg_3Fg2kPGHYx_TFj-MGQ1jmueIaO5omBv/s400/YIMG_1260.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063274441517573026" /></a><br /><CENTER>Travertines at Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br />From the boat as we arrived we had noticed a hydroelectric dam in the woods. Below the first of the waterfalls we now discovered the disused walls and huge turbine of an earlier one. Constructed in 1895 it was the first such power station in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and entered into use only two days after the first one in the world, constructed at Niagara Falls, also designed by a Croatian, Nikola Tesla. It supplied the town of Sibenik until World War One. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbn912BaGqV4IGf71yGKsCB8Y6OydM7L5WURjQxVxB1EYFkn6JtmKrYBm-GUYWkzJvMs6FmxQJ8r3sIdvvNUU5g8ZZMRHOv48b0yKJksOHlzLR0H5UlNFTgjEQL_6QQ3oeew5rJLfpoVD/s640-h/YIMG_1259.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbn912BaGqV4IGf71yGKsCB8Y6OydM7L5WURjQxVxB1EYFkn6JtmKrYBm-GUYWkzJvMs6FmxQJ8r3sIdvvNUU5g8ZZMRHOv48b0yKJksOHlzLR0H5UlNFTgjEQL_6QQ3oeew5rJLfpoVD/s400/YIMG_1259.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063274450107507634" /></a><br /><CENTER>Original turbine from the hydroelectric dam at Skradinski Buk </CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcJ-kajm09S2RS9KwvSsOmIRKTnGabkRnOm_J0qKNDvMMwXgQ8SBaDIytqZ7bw_0mZZGV4KXfsHTunOzaiwjxdJPyu6vskevBG_gZ3gVmlbYQUy8iw8zfsq2k9jS1raa9QsBFZGDBcTsA/s640-h/YIMG_1269.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcJ-kajm09S2RS9KwvSsOmIRKTnGabkRnOm_J0qKNDvMMwXgQ8SBaDIytqZ7bw_0mZZGV4KXfsHTunOzaiwjxdJPyu6vskevBG_gZ3gVmlbYQUy8iw8zfsq2k9jS1raa9QsBFZGDBcTsA/s400/YIMG_1269.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063274454402474946" /></a><br /><CENTER>Present day hydroelectric station at Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br />The hillsides around are heavily tree clad limestone rock with Aleppo and Alpine pines and oaks. Several falls higher up wooden walkways have been built across the river, weaving their way between the numerous fingers of the waterfalls as they tumble and crash through the woodland or over a precipice. The air is damp with the clouds of spray thrown up from the water. The forest park itself is a protected habitat for many endangered species including wolves, jackals and wild cats as well as smaller mammals that include certain bats, rodents and otters. There are several species of snakes and lizards, including the green Balkan lizard. It was a beautiful if tiring walk and there was still much to see when we realised the last boat back would be leaving in less than an hour and we still had to cross back over the head of the falls and scramble down to the main river. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48vAxeYxYmUPHkaTCq3U0OH1ahpq1ehZcv79_XSg940OvzxCNzy5D_Y8KlEMUKQ41b93vNSkywWUPPcCNzG630XD-FYpZO2zUrcQmovZjStl9_OV61xpYqtzckZ4jiSTnnqI3hwNnmBqP/s640-h/YIMG_1265.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48vAxeYxYmUPHkaTCq3U0OH1ahpq1ehZcv79_XSg940OvzxCNzy5D_Y8KlEMUKQ41b93vNSkywWUPPcCNzG630XD-FYpZO2zUrcQmovZjStl9_OV61xpYqtzckZ4jiSTnnqI3hwNnmBqP/s400/YIMG_1265.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063274462992409554" /></a><br /><CENTER>Walkway across the head of the falls, Skradinski Buk</CENTER><br />The boat took us down river passing a family of swans and cygnets and several herons in the reed beds, back to the quayside at Skradin. We then decided to retrace our route back to the same campsite we'd used the previous night rather than continue towards Split in the hope of finding another.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkVB6O9cVlQhzL-zZV-zG_NuDB3iE9QMXFT9RNJZbCDVnQBM65vKdNKg2aYTqwl2AbVHLOssKa99P-pM1UleMtBANpNpAqJsShUv0-so6em68N5zWAPp8I2IjdIondre8XlQYVzUqbKs9/s640-h/YIMG_1271.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkVB6O9cVlQhzL-zZV-zG_NuDB3iE9QMXFT9RNJZbCDVnQBM65vKdNKg2aYTqwl2AbVHLOssKa99P-pM1UleMtBANpNpAqJsShUv0-so6em68N5zWAPp8I2IjdIondre8XlQYVzUqbKs9/s400/YIMG_1271.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063274467287376866" /></a><br /><CENTER>Returning to Skradin</CENTER><br />This morning we drove into Sibenik which proved to be a very pleasant town once we'd fought our way through the busy streets and found somewhere safe to leave Modestine. None of the towns are particularly pleasant on the outside, many having disused or ugly outmoded factories and high, uninspiring blocks of flats with graffiti over the lower walls. Once into the old towns however, most are a lovely maze of cool shady streets and narrow passageways from which traffic is of necessity excluded as the streets are too narrow to accommodate them. So worn are the white flagstone streets that they shine like polish and they are really dangerous to walk on being as slippery as glass. <br /><br />There are street markets on most days in the little towns. Frequently they are for the local people by the local people. We have the definite feeling that not many food miles are travelled in Croatia. The produce all looks really fresh, be it strawberries, oranges or cherries, all of which are currently seasonal, or the day's catch of sea bass, cuttlefish or octopus. Every three shops you pass is a butcher with a queue of customers and there are almost as many bakers shops filled with mainly white bread and sticky doughnuts. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6jnlk7_zZeQMjxIgZbfSY1bkrAmxI8PIQsPv3Uaw2s8Iy2NU9NBGIL01vvSsKNH5WtRa2zchHBgKdIvBrmCUTX8uL9SrwY95UvbYJjA5078fFsD8VU_4HM8bX6yivqloYxOJsyOh64cF/s640-h/YIMG_1272.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6jnlk7_zZeQMjxIgZbfSY1bkrAmxI8PIQsPv3Uaw2s8Iy2NU9NBGIL01vvSsKNH5WtRa2zchHBgKdIvBrmCUTX8uL9SrwY95UvbYJjA5078fFsD8VU_4HM8bX6yivqloYxOJsyOh64cF/s400/YIMG_1272.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276039245407218" /></a><br /><CENTER>Market at Sibenik</CENTER><br />Around the town we passed numerous little churches, all very pleasant, rather shabby Baroque, frequently with wooden columns and altars painted to resemble marble.<br /><br />We climbed up to the castle of Sv. Mihovl (what a surprise! But there is hope for Jill - Ian's knee has been hurting him and he even decided against climbing a bell tower this afternoon!) The climb was worth the effort, even in 28 degrees of sunshine. From the ramparts we could see over the red tiled roofs of the town and the 15th century barrel shaped roof of the cathedral, out to the many islands just a few minutes boats trip from the mainland. Later we stopped for a cold drink and fruit tarts on a terrace beside the theatre where H.C. Andersen's Ugly Duckling was playing to crowds of enthusiastic young school children.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqta7-hfi1j4H9jWRAOxhmFhyWB-Bd76ko40oD4S9f94N453dC1U4DXyp0bCj-AQXcF6WvgvqSO4iVDu8mSv4sMyq9LjhLHr2tjMQmi9E-iBSKDvI1YVdkpxPbrf6l0wWPzzAsB82w5Jh/s640-h/YIMG_1275.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqta7-hfi1j4H9jWRAOxhmFhyWB-Bd76ko40oD4S9f94N453dC1U4DXyp0bCj-AQXcF6WvgvqSO4iVDu8mSv4sMyq9LjhLHr2tjMQmi9E-iBSKDvI1YVdkpxPbrf6l0wWPzzAsB82w5Jh/s400/YIMG_1275.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276047835341826" /></a><br /><CENTER>View from the castle over Sibenik, the cathedral and the islands</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy5OdpuJMhI5TF_8YIZZrQhCKgWt3LHI_rFHN026TS8u2PkjW7TLSEBKoXoYu3SABgaFAPg8Xkac5Gjdr-C2GJIA5bH1Ctxayl30hr52pQr1VVnemef72LGjpesQuTz_Hme2_VYeBbahU/s640-h/YIMG_1278.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy5OdpuJMhI5TF_8YIZZrQhCKgWt3LHI_rFHN026TS8u2PkjW7TLSEBKoXoYu3SABgaFAPg8Xkac5Gjdr-C2GJIA5bH1Ctxayl30hr52pQr1VVnemef72LGjpesQuTz_Hme2_VYeBbahU/s400/YIMG_1278.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276052130309138" /></a><br /><CENTER>Krka estuary at Sibenik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXMxE3XuEAX7ZiJv7L9E4ACpvqv7WpmvdUQRAckcKINHs9c6o1rjW9SHlZsxzvH8zE_X_AnqVA97Bi0c9DbEv7lowV4HZqzSHVJNo_iF0XSeln5SCJxUrXOWyQjNIscNkF_ygXtzcTrUx/s640-h/YIMG_1284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXMxE3XuEAX7ZiJv7L9E4ACpvqv7WpmvdUQRAckcKINHs9c6o1rjW9SHlZsxzvH8zE_X_AnqVA97Bi0c9DbEv7lowV4HZqzSHVJNo_iF0XSeln5SCJxUrXOWyQjNIscNkF_ygXtzcTrUx/s400/YIMG_1284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276056425276450" /></a><br /><CENTER>Children coming out of the theatre, Sibenik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJqHyXkR9AM3Ym_3a24cm7vysOApEGrLwpPLmDyS8SupUPacguVdLCJTKW1lmQTKa7yKJkiEG33b48xmv1m9lJM0fpa8BPprEI4dzrFH3IWn3ptrOqarAq592lfzv6dGua8bsq1eWHhlC/s640-h/YIMG_1285.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJqHyXkR9AM3Ym_3a24cm7vysOApEGrLwpPLmDyS8SupUPacguVdLCJTKW1lmQTKa7yKJkiEG33b48xmv1m9lJM0fpa8BPprEI4dzrFH3IWn3ptrOqarAq592lfzv6dGua8bsq1eWHhlC/s400/YIMG_1285.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276060720243762" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cathedral at Sibenik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpUNPr3hAmRk3R8psvkvqsFb4HHztw5NMCoE0drjh4AqHghlf-8bsmxgzs4uObgXKJnVRP6UlvUTwCavE5KZerlV1I6UMQhAtSGjgSkQk5jZ7yt2G2DS_G0rb787DlsateNGb6YRMdlva/s640-h/YIMG_1289.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpUNPr3hAmRk3R8psvkvqsFb4HHztw5NMCoE0drjh4AqHghlf-8bsmxgzs4uObgXKJnVRP6UlvUTwCavE5KZerlV1I6UMQhAtSGjgSkQk5jZ7yt2G2DS_G0rb787DlsateNGb6YRMdlva/s400/YIMG_1289.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276962663375938" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cathedral doorway with Adam and Eve, Sibenik</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvLgCLmLeJbEk2bEpFiFeDI_9JMFbmY7-3LvVsxlJeOgG-OGeMXj-nQ7Arxpi3-hGqhPdZoSKBiBlXsOIei4s0fAdeb75rbd9AHC3syGPiTjgpwRtwUncNs7G5WCXEOL1Pttq8qsCNHt1/s640-h/YIMG_1290.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvLgCLmLeJbEk2bEpFiFeDI_9JMFbmY7-3LvVsxlJeOgG-OGeMXj-nQ7Arxpi3-hGqhPdZoSKBiBlXsOIei4s0fAdeb75rbd9AHC3syGPiTjgpwRtwUncNs7G5WCXEOL1Pttq8qsCNHt1/s400/YIMG_1290.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276966958343250" /></a><br /><CENTER>Townscape, Sibenik</CENTER><br />We left Sibenik and continued along the coast to Primosten, a picturesque little town built on a small island linked to the mainland by a short causeway. Again the steep, slippery streets were unsuitable for vehicles. Many of the little gardens had vines growing and most had their own vegetable gardens where beans and potatoes were flourishing. Around the external walls of the church on the summit were garlands of pine fronds and it appeared to be decorated for a recent festival. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAX2IB7N0-3QGF4y3IYD8l77dwHKRFSpfTs229ho0KCaXlMP4F7ZDWafS5YidNkLJPGipFuGkgidPelVWe1SuZdmNeN9agrS2GzGq1gfdSs52ZVbzNKGKrxESEEBT68mEddOe3JLODRq-/s640-h/YIMG_1294.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAX2IB7N0-3QGF4y3IYD8l77dwHKRFSpfTs229ho0KCaXlMP4F7ZDWafS5YidNkLJPGipFuGkgidPelVWe1SuZdmNeN9agrS2GzGq1gfdSs52ZVbzNKGKrxESEEBT68mEddOe3JLODRq-/s400/YIMG_1294.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276975548277858" /></a><br /><CENTER>Gardens and stone covered roofs at Primosten</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrpmo3Q1FqGXGLTVVVxKq5OJqV7QWDYjhEt1IwlspI0lIVvWPsUE870OuOCExGyyzIi2nGMSGKPi4JSZwoYNaf2xUxEgbYO-oPkkOOZf3roBOtHunnTurMvp-1BavUaPLgNEiTPNaH3gb/s640-h/YIMG_1292.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrpmo3Q1FqGXGLTVVVxKq5OJqV7QWDYjhEt1IwlspI0lIVvWPsUE870OuOCExGyyzIi2nGMSGKPi4JSZwoYNaf2xUxEgbYO-oPkkOOZf3roBOtHunnTurMvp-1BavUaPLgNEiTPNaH3gb/s400/YIMG_1292.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276984138212466" /></a><br /><CENTER>Garlanded church at Primosten</CENTER><br />A little further along our route we stopped to explore Trogir. Set on the water's edge faced by offshore islands, it provides a safe marina for island hopping boats as well as fishing craft. The small cathedral, 1200-1598, is the most outstanding feature of this little town and the entrance porch is stunningly beautiful. Carved in limestone it is richly adorned in Romanesque style with saints, apostles, animals and grotesques. It is guarded by figures of Adam and Eve standing on lions. (This was also the case at Sibernik and is a popular motif in the area.) The porch was built about 1240. During our visit a male voice choir arrived unexpectedly and we were privileged to hear some very agreeable singing of klapa (traditional Dalmatian plainsong) as we wandered around looking at the paintings, tombs and side altars. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQXv5A6DEOtUXdzLc6YVhSPLCR-rbXSiLB67dGAezuguru-1gcrVLK0S8j9GgULDyqwgUrSi97epc4n2KxmME3csySFczAiKAMSzz-oL0c6YTRPhh6Oj-Ii0WiktoVXUj05KC-wTYmDvh/s640-h/YIMG_1296.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQXv5A6DEOtUXdzLc6YVhSPLCR-rbXSiLB67dGAezuguru-1gcrVLK0S8j9GgULDyqwgUrSi97epc4n2KxmME3csySFczAiKAMSzz-oL0c6YTRPhh6Oj-Ii0WiktoVXUj05KC-wTYmDvh/s400/YIMG_1296.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063276988433179778" /></a><br /><CENTER>City walls, Trogir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvMSd0f4Oa4YPYHEgVh4K2Vae4zxVrgDnJlAGFoqYVusuk7MUQczOSCxyW8okKD_LeJ_hqz7oAQpdQ0VYX5moFqVyLbzfeWstRATawSr0M5rbBvJe85wvt2nx3ebvr7vaUacqNij7wGr2/s640-h/YIMG_1298.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvMSd0f4Oa4YPYHEgVh4K2Vae4zxVrgDnJlAGFoqYVusuk7MUQczOSCxyW8okKD_LeJ_hqz7oAQpdQ0VYX5moFqVyLbzfeWstRATawSr0M5rbBvJe85wvt2nx3ebvr7vaUacqNij7wGr2/s400/YIMG_1298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063277821656835218" /></a><br /><CENTER>Main square, Trogir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSrmnT-rs3-vS7tf8rBmcJOBwKiw_kP1k4tFBLguXmN3aIw5MHKGbJz3LQQa-DJJY6-t4sy4iUzqXERer9Zf0eK2nZj0dK9-NFhCurQQwRXCNIZ7sYQOdQV9fceS9Oscwu018cJmlHWSk/s640-h/YIMG_1297.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSrmnT-rs3-vS7tf8rBmcJOBwKiw_kP1k4tFBLguXmN3aIw5MHKGbJz3LQQa-DJJY6-t4sy4iUzqXERer9Zf0eK2nZj0dK9-NFhCurQQwRXCNIZ7sYQOdQV9fceS9Oscwu018cJmlHWSk/s400/YIMG_1297.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063277825951802530" /></a><br /><CENTER>Cathedral, Trogir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOfccGru9olScYAAYQrtCVTWYTW8CexnTVrTwgegU9vf9Q6y0K-HGAlqUesBlABMIK8x7Kmg6z6CmZSO6hS4rLvLcCxLwGrdrUYNfgewzKHT3J0BwqBUEMOO_MsJW4goepMPaWytTj9mM/s640-h/YIMG_1300.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOfccGru9olScYAAYQrtCVTWYTW8CexnTVrTwgegU9vf9Q6y0K-HGAlqUesBlABMIK8x7Kmg6z6CmZSO6hS4rLvLcCxLwGrdrUYNfgewzKHT3J0BwqBUEMOO_MsJW4goepMPaWytTj9mM/s400/YIMG_1300.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063277830246769842" /></a><br /><CENTER>Detail of cathedral porch, Trogir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJd1gl8ChomzX4RBD07PZ5ODeIoap47ceVHfUCZNGOmrQonjQO5MFuFL7vZbcFJ5nkPfYPNwbK92dNr8xXtQdHKWoe2yYTRpa55boXyMUQexCcZYOcpxhBZSW96Q-9MVl4q8eWenoopmqs/s640-h/YIMG_1302.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJd1gl8ChomzX4RBD07PZ5ODeIoap47ceVHfUCZNGOmrQonjQO5MFuFL7vZbcFJ5nkPfYPNwbK92dNr8xXtQdHKWoe2yYTRpa55boXyMUQexCcZYOcpxhBZSW96Q-9MVl4q8eWenoopmqs/s400/YIMG_1302.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063277838836704450" /></a><br /><CENTER>Interior of the Cathedral with male voice choir, Trogir</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5O1IZO9t9htpK5EwlP0wCp0GCGIf62HjquzqpAPnUe_pEXsGAcJVKiVc0z1jcdFSx8G0DKh0rjm6TiVehkHpg1FiuDk7OfMU93PKnVP4S35hDPqdMgOCRxp4hSENExewVrQ_H35WHe1Gt/s640-h/YIMG_1306.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5O1IZO9t9htpK5EwlP0wCp0GCGIf62HjquzqpAPnUe_pEXsGAcJVKiVc0z1jcdFSx8G0DKh0rjm6TiVehkHpg1FiuDk7OfMU93PKnVP4S35hDPqdMgOCRxp4hSENExewVrQ_H35WHe1Gt/s400/YIMG_1306.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063277843131671762" /></a><br /><CENTER>15th century Kamerlengo fortress (and town cinema) Trogir</CENTER><br />By now we were looking for a campsite. We were almost into Split but the site on our map no longer existed and the route became increasingly busy, industrialised, dusty and run down. As an introduction to Split it could hardly have been worse. Ugly and sprawling the route took us further and further in to the centre. In the end we picked up the bypass and headed towards Dubrovnik, doubling back to Split from the further side seeking a different campsite. That too no longer existed but after untold hassles we eventually found one a few kilometres out on a bus route into Split. It looked like a builder's yard when we arrived but the lady assured us it was open, except that nothing was really working yet as it is new so we could have a discount. There are only three vehicles here on what will be a massive site when finished. Probably nobody else has found it as there is no sign post to it yet. It is on the water's edge and fairly peaceful. We tried to do some washing this evening. The hot water goes into the sink okay but too late we discovered the waste pipes haven't been connected up properly yet! What other surprises await us in the showers we wonder! We've been chatting with a Dutch couple on the site. They have travelled from Dubrovnik so have given us details of the site they used there which will be a great help. They were very friendly and even invited us over to their camper van for coffee with them this evening.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0fdW7kke38aAP6ecDqWLy8iLxp8il4p2qvVM4R8m7d9yMDW1EWdzBxOv6WfPZuGsEJYGRVzp2IL6TJ2PIjUQp9NCacOzuKZ3N_AAmnD_R0Gmku_EskcXYK-gfa9B0gbg0QJNqOcKTEDa/s640-h/YIMG_1307.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0fdW7kke38aAP6ecDqWLy8iLxp8il4p2qvVM4R8m7d9yMDW1EWdzBxOv6WfPZuGsEJYGRVzp2IL6TJ2PIjUQp9NCacOzuKZ3N_AAmnD_R0Gmku_EskcXYK-gfa9B0gbg0QJNqOcKTEDa/s400/YIMG_1307.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063278040700167394" /></a><br /><CENTER>Modestine's view from our campsite, Stobrec near Split</CENTER>Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1917689222551383312.post-602150183315373932007-05-11T12:46:00.000+01:002008-11-18T20:36:20.814+00:00Vrh to Krk<B>Friday 4th May 2007, Krk, Croatia</B><br />Or Hrvatska as they prefer to call it here. For some reason they find it easier to pronounce than Croatia!<br /><br />While trying to plan our onward route last night we realised that what the Balkans really lack are vowels. What a wonderful gift we could offer to our host nations! Fortunately we'd bought a huge, vacuum-packed supply of them with us as they are quite weightless, take up no space in Modestine and one never knows when a few vowels might come in handy. Take Krk where we are staying for example. With just a vowel or two it would be so much easier to pronounce - Kroak, Kork, Krak, Kreek. We have deposited enough vowels at the town hall here to be distributed to everyone, and are leaving it to the locals to make the finer adjustments of pronunciation. <br /><br />It has rained continuously all day, which is a great shame as we have passed through some stunning scenery but have seen very little. Our route took us along winding, badly metalled, steep and twisting roads up into the pine clad mountains and through tiny isolated villages of just a few houses. The mist hung low over the hills and the roads were slippery after two months without rain. At one point, as we twisted steeply down, Modestine's wheels locked on a hairpin bend when she skidded slightly on the accumulated wet gravel at the edge of the road. It was a frightening experience but a salutary warning. Fortunately what traffic we did encounter was driving equally gingerly. There are endless forests in the hinterland of Slovenia and Croatia and they are well managed. Huge trucks transport the felled timber up and down the steep, frequently unfenced, flooded roads, negotiating one hairpin bend after another. Our progress has been very slow but at least it allowed us ample time to distribute our largess of vowels to the natives of Vrh, Trsce, Crni and Mrzla as we passed through. <br /><br />At the border into Croatia we had to go through two lots of customs controls and for some reason, on this deserted, empty little road in the middle of the forest, both the Slovenian and Croatian border guards found it curious that two retired British librarians in a minute camping car laden with bicycles and vowels should be passing through. Both took our passports off to be examined but returned them with happy smiles and wished us a safe journey in the most lovely sounding English. We handed them a few extra vowels to help with their pronunciation and crossed into Croatia, where they definitely do not yet have the euro, using kuna instead. <br /><br />After a lunchtime picnic by a little mountain reservoir in the rain we finally came down out of the mountains to the coast at the island of Krk. We had originally intended following the coast of the mainland down towards Split, but our maps and guidebooks indicated that there were even less campsites than vowels along this stretch of the coast. The only ones we could find were on the islands, so we have decided to travel down by island hopping instead. The roads look less twisty this way and some German people we spoke to tell us ferries are cheap and easy. Hopefully you have all got your atlases out so you will see that there are many long, thin islands off mainland Croatia. No doubt they are stunningly beautiful when the sun shines, and we are praying it will do so tomorrow because so far we've seen nothing at all of the island we are currently on. <br /><br />We came down from the mountains and almost before we realised what was happening we were on the bridge that links Krk to the mainland. It was only as we reached the toll booth we realised we'd got no kunas as we'd passed nowhere remotely likely to have a cash machine! "Please let us through, we're on a mercy mission from Xtr with a cargo of donated "E"s to be distributed to the afflicted residents of Krk!" Although this didn't actually work, they did accept our proffered 5 euro note and give us six kunas change. So we still don't know what they're worth but think there are around 11 to the pound. <br /><br />Once on the island lightening began to flash, thunder rumbled and the rain slashed down. Impossible to see anything but the road of broken tarmac ahead, under a river of water. The nearest campsite was still 26 kilometres away at the farthest tip of the island and every time we passed a vehicle coming in the opposite direction so much water hit the windscreen we could see nothing at all! Eventually though we found this campsite above the tiny seaside town of Krk. We seem to be almost the only people here. The lovely man running the site eagerly agreed to our suggestion that we leave him a few vowels as surety until we can get some money tomorrow. His eyes shown with joy as we handed him an I.O.U. and we may have trouble getting them back again when we finally pay our bill!<br /><br />He is a very friendly man and speaks four other languages besides his own! In Britain if you can do that you wear a mortar board and gown, and live in an ivory tower. Here you wear a large green romper suit and push a wheelbarrow around a campsite. The site overlooks the sea and the old town. It is on sandy, rocky soil that reminds us of Greece. There are olive trees, vines, figs and cherry trees scattered around the site. <br /><br />It's been impossible to do anything this evening but hole up in Modestine with maps, guide books, another dvd and a bottle of wine while the rain thundered endlessly on the roof. It's now gone quiet so with luck we will see something of the island tomorrow.<br /><br />Apparently there has been no rain here for two months and it is badly needed. Those of you who followed our previous blog will remember our unwelcome travelling companion Rain, who loyally accompanied us to all eighteen countries. So far on this trip he has been absent, but today we moved into our nineteenth country. Loyal as ever, he immediately returned, so all we can do is accept him and make the best of it.<br /><br /><B>Saturday 5th May 2007, Kreek, Croatia</B><br />As you see from today's address, Exeter's donation of "E"s has not only been received with gratitude by the local populace, but following an overnight emergency meeting of the town council, they are already in use and Krk will henceforth be known as Kreek! <br /><br />We have spent a really happy day here. It's a pretty, lively little town with a fishing port just outside the city walls where visitors stroll or sit beneath the pine trees and tamarisks beside the blooming Mexican orange bushes eating ices as they watch the fishermen sorting their catch of the day. The clear water is a beautifully deep turquoise while on the horizon can be seen the outline of other islands. Behind the town rise the grey-green hills - a rather arid landscape typical of the east Mediterranean. With the narrow cobbled passageways within the old walled town, the many tiny cats hanging around the cafés and boats for scraps and the flowering shrubs and cactuses along the sea shore the island reminds us forcibly of Greece.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlTFIwtkYqPhgUexjD6tB2IG0aIjVAlS_gAVaRdQ56KBmh5kET4hI3HhyphenhyphenCZHhTntfWJ7zN65qvUlk0GlBYdtQEBpUzqkf1ONKCS1YO6rqfsZZpAR3DkW0UN7GbYliHTtOf53j0NMSHxir/s640-h/YIMG_1206.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlTFIwtkYqPhgUexjD6tB2IG0aIjVAlS_gAVaRdQ56KBmh5kET4hI3HhyphenhyphenCZHhTntfWJ7zN65qvUlk0GlBYdtQEBpUzqkf1ONKCS1YO6rqfsZZpAR3DkW0UN7GbYliHTtOf53j0NMSHxir/s400/YIMG_1206.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063268918189630034" /></a><CENTER>Quayside at Krk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6rN836zRLB-Yprf05AsSVKvMNxe82QgoR_putGAtvrQS-9xYxg429MKe9Y7Wns7zi5BUv-eDSDkK2FS3g2DAsyL0sQs5bFffXh2HVaNbrNk-24w3v6XKbEBLUewxG-iHSPteIZako2nE/s640-h/YIMG_1216.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6rN836zRLB-Yprf05AsSVKvMNxe82QgoR_putGAtvrQS-9xYxg429MKe9Y7Wns7zi5BUv-eDSDkK2FS3g2DAsyL0sQs5bFffXh2HVaNbrNk-24w3v6XKbEBLUewxG-iHSPteIZako2nE/s400/YIMG_1216.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063268926779564642" /></a><CENTER>Orange blossom along the seashore, Krk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW2AOp3-VI9iRgKQnfHo25r2d_71WiCYImiYe0o_pYsYHDKBcj3pkM6kYwkFfcTttF9v7Krvj5nS-Hp21gRwjTSMDlocT15mwL98UWViH6Z75Or7szlZHA30HKjq3hdMI-VWuDoN2nWBD/s640-h/YIMG_1218.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW2AOp3-VI9iRgKQnfHo25r2d_71WiCYImiYe0o_pYsYHDKBcj3pkM6kYwkFfcTttF9v7Krvj5nS-Hp21gRwjTSMDlocT15mwL98UWViH6Z75Or7szlZHA30HKjq3hdMI-VWuDoN2nWBD/s400/YIMG_1218.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063268935369499250" /></a><CENTER>Inlet near Krk</CENTER><br />After the difficulties we have experienced accessing the internet in Italy we were spoilt for choice here. There were no complex forms to complete, no need to show our passports and the cost was very reasonable. The machines worked as they should and within seconds we'd managed to successfully transmit our blog for Verona that we have tried to send at least four times from Italy! So delighted were we that we spent a couple of hours sorting out an accumulated backlog of internet queries and emails. We had a great sense of achievement as we left. Internet is probably the most amazing and the most frustrating thing we have contended with during our travels.<br /><br />So far the season has not really started here yet. There are several coach tours and guides taking groups of mainly Germans around but there are far more restaurants and waterside bars than there are visitors to use them. There is a tiny cathedral, a 14th century castle at the water's edge, and several Roman remains, chiefly tablets with inscriptions that have been built into the medieval town walls. The most important is a fourth century tablet referring to the town as "civitas Curictarum" - so there used to be vowels here in the past. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1s18L96-m2IxmqsfuacWtb3y1fMtzHExXpf3XBtMCttAq2dZChUf-dseI-Ht5xJgKvthgG_qPWYJXN94nK1UsD470MTAaN2C5UlQL0OIc061XgRy-ewyVx7aF1LndD_qDeEaBeFkAcM0/s640-h/YIMG_1214.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1s18L96-m2IxmqsfuacWtb3y1fMtzHExXpf3XBtMCttAq2dZChUf-dseI-Ht5xJgKvthgG_qPWYJXN94nK1UsD470MTAaN2C5UlQL0OIc061XgRy-ewyVx7aF1LndD_qDeEaBeFkAcM0/s400/YIMG_1214.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063268939664466562" /></a><CENTER>Castle and Cathedral, Krk</CENTER><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_iNt1VGJpSoVRVwuNFjFBBKoBFqIHdfui9AQBB7PdawctU5wPdCbbQIND7xL8ICO0NOt7d0mWfY4WV2dmlmBTpzz-ZffsAhZkZervdxxVHqBGVJaexzajj9LU9JZeaw6SD543BxqkJtm/s640-h/YIMG_1225.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_iNt1VGJpSoVRVwuNFjFBBKoBFqIHdfui9AQBB7PdawctU5wPdCbbQIND7xL8ICO0NOt7d0mWfY4WV2dmlmBTpzz-ZffsAhZkZervdxxVHqBGVJaexzajj9LU9JZeaw6SD543BxqkJtm/s400/YIMG_1225.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063268948254401170" /></a><CENTER>Roman inscription reading (lines 4-6) "… splendissima civitas Curictarum …", Krk</CENTER><br />When we arrived last night we almost went into a different campsite but realised, just in time, that FKK was not just another Croatian word without vowels but stood for Freie Körper-Kultur and meant it was for nudists! As it was pouring with rain and the temperature was only 10 degrees we'd probably have been able to keep our clothes on anyway but today the sun came out. We've decided to call such sites KFC (Krispy Fried Campers?), because the residents lie on the beach all day getting evenly cooked all over.<br /><br />As we walked around the far side of the harbour we encountered a deep gully where a new drain was being dug. To one side was an entire stack of newly minted manhole covers ready to be installed! Such a rare sight sent Ian into a frenzy of delight. Knowing how fascinated everyone has become in manholes we thought you may care to see these for yourselves!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ZCIYVSqGmrMXBH_dm07dkUigaH5hIlPn19I6srhgRfzmbhTDQ43HzuZvPLgT6k6hl2-E7q-COnOp7JSyyiMsfHbPHfWhsW0LDq-FF2IwHtk_B3tIhrohHy9k9FIkwS89lWczgCs7xV-m/s640-h/YIMG_1222.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ZCIYVSqGmrMXBH_dm07dkUigaH5hIlPn19I6srhgRfzmbhTDQ43HzuZvPLgT6k6hl2-E7q-COnOp7JSyyiMsfHbPHfWhsW0LDq-FF2IwHtk_B3tIhrohHy9k9FIkwS89lWczgCs7xV-m/s400/YIMG_1222.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063269180182635170" /></a><CENTER>Imported PAM manhole covers from France, Krk</CENTER><br />Our plan to island hop has been scuppered. We asked in the tourist office for the ferry times to the neighbouring island of Rab, only to be told that it wouldn't start running for another month! So tomorrow we must return to the mainland and follow the twisting mountain coastal route down towards Split instead and there are no campsites along the way. Some German people staying nearby have told us of one campsite on the route but it's a very long drive.<br /><br />A little further down the coast from here is Dalmatia and we have just seen our first Dalmatian! He was big and white with black spots. We got chatting with the lady in the bookshop where they have Winnie the Pooh and The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe in translation. We asked if they had Dodie Smith's 101 Dalmations as well. Apparently they do and it is very popular! <br /><br />Ian has just been looking at the map (again!) He declares us to be over 2,000 kilometres from home – as the Croatian flies.<br /><br />Time for bed I think, this blog is getting trivial.Jill, Ian and Modestinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04122859105828936321noreply@blogger.com