Getting ready to go - boy

Not sure there's that much to say about getting ready to go other than it's packing and packing is a right pain in the arse. Whether packing to go on a long trip or packing to leave your flat; both pains in arses. And we have the pleasure of doing both at the same time.

But now it's done I (we) can relax and we did so with a nice game of vodka Scrabble. Just like normal Scrabble only with shots of vodka; where you start to care less and less about who wins as the game progresses.

Getting ready to go - girl

It's been a long time coming, as some song said. But here we are, just one more full day in the UK. We're sitting in an almost empty flat, C's playing on his phone and I'm on the computer - I'm wondering if this is a bad sign before spending six months in each other's company!

C finished work around two weeks ago, I finished last Wednesday. We're both liberated now although I don't feel as if I have stopped running since I stopped working. A lot of nagging from me, some quality sitting from C, eventually some good organising from C and less nagging from me. We have both been injected up to the hilt (actually all injections were well above the hilt!), have both bought cold weather gear, wet weather gear, warm weather gear - when did travelling get a) so expensive? b) so heavy? I think the answer must be 'when we stopped being 19'. C21 travelling is also different to C20 travelling - iPod? Check. iTouch? Check? Cameras 2? Check. Computer? Check. The list appears to go on.

This weekend was all about family good byes - my family first. Parents, brother and sister-in-law. Different to saying goodbye as a teenager off on first travels. We've all done it before, we all go, we all come back, we stay in touch and know we're all loved. Nothing new. C's family next. Parents, his sister, our two month old nephew. Just miss seeing his brother and our other nephew - real shame. Hugs, discussions, computer problems and lots of dancing with new nephew.

Today, up, tidying, faffing and finally getting all our final stuff in to storage - it all seems to boil down to a few boxes. Reminds me of the old person who died with just some personal possessions in the bedside table. Good or bad? I have no idea.

Tomorrow, should be a bit calmer and then it's 'over and out England, come in world'. Now the excitement is building. We're really going, we really have left our stable jobs for the unknown. I'm proud of us.

Kohlfahrt - girl

It's a while since we actually were in Germany but I'm not sure I'll ever forget the weekend B, C and I joined a bunch of crazy (good crazy) Germans to run around the countryside is severely minus temperatures.

C has tended to take part in kolhfart without me for a variety of reasons but this year I was determined to clear my diary for those pesky little cabbages. For back up (and a ride to the airport!) I persuaded B to join us.

However, the ride to the airport was a severe misjudgment and malfunction. Traffic was atrocious leaving London and a c*ck up between C, B and Tom Tom (I take no blame at all!) meant an extra thirty miles of driving when time most certainly wasn't on our side. We were all convinced we would miss the flight but thanks to some expert speeding from B, some expert speeding from a random hotelier and some expert running from  us all, we made it to the plane with approximately no seconds to spare.

Wonderful K and S picked us up at the other end with the, now fully expected, beer box and we headed off down snowy lanes to K and A's home in Worpswede where the other fahrters were already assembled. The night began with large quantities of wine, moved on to food, vodka and a little smokey smokey before we all, eventually, passed out at 4am.

After an enormous breakfast on Saturday we wrapped up in every item of clothing we had and set out on the kohlfahrt. Minus 15 was the coldest but minus ten didn't feel much warmer. Everyone donned the fundamentals of kohlfahrt: shot glass on a string and pretzel on a string; everyone admired the wheelbarrow FULL of beer, schnapps, sausages and sweets and, after the first of many jagermeister shots, we set off.

Games, shots, walking, shots, walking, shots, shots, shots, games - you get the picture. After about three hours of walking/drinking and one wee stop (not fun in that weather), we upped our pace and headed to the finale destination - a great big restaurant/beer hall - for supper and partying. Supper followed tradition - sausage and cabbage, the music followed tradition - pure german cheese and the drinking was as drinking was.

Around 1am everyone was kicked out and we headed once more down icy paths to get home - this time considerably warmer as the drink fire warmed us all from the inside. The party continued back home but I seem to remember some sleeping time between snacks and breakfast on Sunday. Despite being convinced we'd never warm up again, on Sunday we headed out again for a couple of long, sober, walks.

Always a pleasure to spend time with C's friends in Germany and certainly a pleasure to have B with us.

As far as weekends go, it couldn't have been more fun, although next time we'll take the train!

Kohlfahrt - boy

To the airport there went three,

Wife C, me and Scottish B,

Took a car but didn’t see,

That every bugger in London town,

Would take their car and slow us down,

We arrived with barely time to spare,

And then fucked up royally by turning back onto the motorway for which I should probably take the blame since I was the designated navigator.

And I was using a GPS.

Long story short: 50 minutes left; no exit for 15 miles; realisation that we have to do an extra 30 miles; lots of disappointment; some profanity; sense of helplessness. After 15 miles in 12 minutes; some hope; umpteenth call to the hotel where we arranged “airport” parking to request a taxi primed to go; more hope; fast driving; arrive at hotel; throw keys at manager; no taxi but manager takes us formula one speed to airport; profuse thanks; throw tenner at manager; run through empty check-in; hop on flight; breathe. The hotel manager mentioned that “the best trips start out this way”. Couldn’t agree more; simply arriving felt fantastic.

It’s always great to see my friends in Germany and fortunately events and celebrations are frequent, meaning many people are gathered in the same place making it easy to see everyone at the same time. We were picked up at the airport by S and K who planted Becks into our hands and whisked us away in their beer chariot to the pretty village of Worpswede. K was this year’s Kohl Queen (J was King), which meant a lot of organising and rounding up of the loose Kohlfahrters while en route.

Kohlfahrt. To drink and eat from a cart while playing games with your friends in the freezing cold just within the outer limits of the Bremer countryside. Literally cabbage run or way of the cabbage, this green vegetable decorated the cart and provided the obligatory green in the meat fest that awaited us at the end of our cabbage run
.

We waited on the Saturday at midday in sub-zero temperatures for all the parties to congregate. This morning’s hangover was gone, multiple layers of clothing were applied and stomach was lined from a hearty breakfast. Once we were all assembled, self-inspections were made: Schnapsglas tied to string and hung round neck, check. Tissue in schnapsglas to mop up spillages, check. Pretzel tied to string and hung around neck, check. Bite out of pretzel, check. Becks in pocket, check. Finally, we warmed up our drinking arms with some Jagermeister and then made our way out of the icy car park to the start of our trail.

I don’t know exactly how far we ambled around the country lanes or for exactly what amount of time we were out (though I suspect around six hours), but we were never short of provisions or activities. K + J had done well. Large containers of sausage, cheese and sweets were passed around frequently; the mountain of beer slowly but surely became a mountain of empties. Vodka, schnapps and other spirits were slowly being depleted as the afternoon wore on; as did our coherence. We played a lot of typical Kohlfahrt games which involved footballs, teabags, potatoes and string though not all at the same time and the reward for winning was either kudos or drink (curiously English drinking games tend to have drink as a penalty). In my blurry recollections I see E with a potato in his mouth trying to speak (German tongue twisters perhaps?). I don’t remember understanding what he said but then again I don’t speak German.

The whole walk was an extremely pleasant experience and gave me a chance to catch up with friends I hadn’t seen in a long time; interrupted only by the odd food stop, activity stop or toilet stop. We managed to reach our destination before the sun had gone completely and were glad to enter the warmth of the restaurant where our meat feast awaited. The meal is always traditional; lots of sausage, pork, potatoes and the N German duo of Kohl und Pinkel, which is (aside from being a great name for a children’s tv double act) basically cabbage + haggis. A new Kohl King and Queen were chosen from a hat (P + V will have the honour next year) and we danced the night away to “traditional” music that we later agreed was probably 8/10 on the cheesometer. All in all a Knacken Wochenende.

Namibia - boy

Equipped with only a car and a SIM card (and our luggage) we set forth into the desert wilderness on the B1 where not a soul could be seen in any direction. After spending summer in the UK this was our first glimpse of the sun for a few months and it seemed to radiate heat as well as light. Our first stop was a desert camp equipped with pool and barbeques for each air-conditioned tent where we enjoyed a couple of cool beers while watching the landscape ripple in the heat. The nearby Namibian restaurant which sported a zoo of various seasoned marinated game ready to be thrown on hot coals proved to be the best we experienced. There, we could grade animals by their succulence; experience their inner quality with a glass red wine. Game drives would never be the same again as cervine beasts would elicit taste memories of differing qualities.

From the base pleasures of animal feasting we soared high into the skies on a Balloon voyage that took us over valleys and mountains. All is still in the air until there’s a breeze, a signal that the wind will take you on a different course, and if the air doesn’t take you higher then a propane blast will. Our pilot landed with ease of the back of a trailer and let the mass deflate. We had landed for breakfast where we enjoyed more game pleasures, this time mostly smoked with a glass of champagne.

Thus sated, we headed for a luxury government lodge. Not a contradiction in terms and not usually our thing but there was no room anywhere else. There’s lots of space in Namibia but few places to stay. However, the empty space does look amazing from these premium locations.

From there, we drove as far into the desert as out 2x4 would take us; a 4x4 taxi would then take us further and unbeknownst to us, not return. But more on that later. In the blistering heat we scrambled over dunes to arrive at the eerie Dead Vlei, a long since dried up lake that looks the size of a football pitch until you’re in the middle of it. After thirty minutes of walking we slowly began to appreciate its full size as the far side appeared to recede slowly in “dolly zoom” fashion. Not only did we have this acute sense of perspective distortion but there were exceptionally clear fake water mirages all around us at the lake’s rim. The whole effect was awesome - literally. We were enchanted by the place as hundreds of photos of cracked mud, sand, sky and dead trees will attest.

We made our way back, and waited for the 4x4 taxi to return. None did. So we followed some tracks that criss-crossed the dry river bed which we felt sure led to our 2x4, all the while taking pictures of the desert behind us so we’d know where we’d come from should we get lost. Hmmmm. Luckily, we were picked up by a couple in their 4x4 going in the same direction before the need arose to drink our own urine.

Our plans took our little Toyota 2x4 on yet more adventures up The Skeleton Coast where its suspension and grip would be tested to the max on extreme gravel roads, through dried up rocky river beds and over one particular dune that has been crossing a road for the last twenty years and had to be traversed at speed.

Space and scenery was the abiding memory, seemingly endless roads and endless photo opportunities of the “road disappearing over the horizon” cliché.

We breathed in the heady stench of a seal colony, stopped by a decaying hull of a small wooden fishing vessel, did walkabout on a home-made walking safari (we were assured by our guide book that lions were rare in this neck of the woods and hyenas would run away if encountered) and all with barely a human soul in site.

Etosha National Park is worth mentioning here as it’s not just another game park; the sheer quantity of animals is impressive. I guess when the main lake is dry, as it was, all the animals have to congregate by the two dozen watering holes dotted around the park. This leads to light confrontations, mainly between rhino and everything else; the former having a miserable disposition; or maybe charging is its way of saying hello. Astonishingly, we saw a lion up and about, doing some exercise for once. He was walking through herds of nervous looking animals, probably on his way to a watering hole. Most of the other lions behaved predictably enough though, doing what they always do on safaris, ie. sleep. A couple momentarily lapsed into hunting mode and failed spectacularly to catch some colourful but ungainly guinea fowl. King of the jungle my arse.

We managed to miss leopards by a whisker on one occasion, but caught a fifteen minute spectacle of a herd of elephants trooping single file to a watering hole and start bathing and according to C acting all emotional. There was one disappointment though, a night safari, where the only animals we saw were ones that only look interesting on a plate with sauce.

After some brief stops to see some petrified trees, dinosaur tracks the size of chickens feet and a rare Namibian vineyard we arrived back at what must take the prize for the most inactive capital in the world, Windhoek.

Namibia - Girl

Nothing about our wedding was traditional: from venue to clothing, from proposal to engagement ring we defied the norm. The ring with which Col presented me was actually a joint decision to go to Namibia.

So, in November 2009, we spent three incredible weeks in what can only be described as one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Everything about the trip was awe inspiring (Col pointed out that it's probably the first time I've ever used the word 'awesome' in its correct sense).

We had been led to believe that the roads in Namibia were good enough for a two-wheel drive vehicle. They were, just. There were times we were both scared the car wouldn't make it: from bumpy, potholed, roads to sand dunes creeping across an already sandy track, we inched our way around Namibia, holding our breath at every new obstacle. Thankfully, we made it out with no punctures (60% get at least one), no scrapes and no breakdowns.

The highlight for me came on day two: a hot-air balloon over the desert at Sessriem. I don't think anyone could invent a more serene method of travel than this. Once we were all aboard the balloon shifted on the sand once or twice and suddenly we were off; first one metre, then ten, then one hundred and then, suddenly, we were 1200 metres off the ground and 2000 metres above sea level. Looking down on uninhabited land it was sometimes difficult to understand how high up we were but the mountains and sand dunes stretching to the sea (around 600km away) gave a hint. Sunrise from the balloon was simply magical, all was silent except for the roar of the gas and the occasional chatter of the group. All too soon we were back on the ground and it was time for a champagne breakfast before heading back to our beautiful lodge.

The next day was also something of a highlight (day two was a highlight among highlights!). We drove into the national park to see the sand dunes. Who'd have thought sand could be either so interesting or so beautiful? After a mandatory (and impressive) climb up Dune 45, we headed over to Dead Vlei. This involved leaving the car and paying a 4x4 to take us to the end of the road. We walked for over an hour to see both Big Daddy (world's biggest sand dune) and Dead Vlei, an ancient, dried up river bed. No words can begin to describe the beauty of the brilliant white ground, the yellow sands and the pure blue sky. Dotted across the scene were ancient, dead, trees. The sense of awe experienced in this place is unrivalled. We were both slightly nervous to be so alone (there was no one else there) in 40 degree heat in a place that could (maybe) fill with water in a flash flood. None-the-less, we walked across this vast plane towards the mirages at the far end, taking in the sheer size of everything around us. Sadly, we were brought back down to earth with a sharp shock as the 4x4 never bothered returning to pick us up. Stranded. After an hour of waiting we began to walk the 12km back to the car-park. Thankfully, after 45 minutes, a car drove passed and gave us a lift. We weren't mean to die in the Namibian desert!

Driving up the Skeleton Coast we stopped off to admire the stinking throng of seals at Cape Cross. An incredible hotel where the restaurant did not meet the standards set by the rooms. It didn't appear to matter what was on the menu, they'd serve whatever the hell they fancied! The Skeleton Coast park was one of the most deserted places I've ever visited – fun for a day or two. Another scary period when we decided we'd do our own walking safari to the coast. This walk, around 3hours return trip, was spent breathing fairly shallowly and constantly looking around for the famed desert lion and elephant. Thankfully we saw neither.

Etosha Park is famed for being one of the best game parks in the world and we weren't disappointed. We saw a male lion walk through a herd of zebra causing quite a panic amongst the stripy horses, we saw a family of lionesses and cubs have a hunting lesson on a flock of stupid guinea foul and we watched thousands of birds float on the wind together whilst giraffe, zebra and kudu drank at the watering hole below them. We watched hyenas provoke angry rhinos and we watched a bull elephant banish a teenage male elephant from the herd.

On our way to Windhoek we stopped off in Omaruru to visit one of Namibia's only vineyards. A small affair run by a lovely couple who offer tours and tastings. We toured, tasted and bought before heading to the capital and the airport. After three weeks of 40 degree heat the first rains fell on our way to the airport.

A magnificent holiday in a magnificent location with my magnificent husband. Could a girl be any more lucky?

K+D's wedding and Rwandan guest - boy

Bit late for this entry and a long time seems to have passed now. Back then the UK was sunny and S France was shrouded in its seasonal one month downpour. Now the roles have most certainly reversed.

In the run up to our brief sejour Cassie had a colleague over from Rwanda. It's always interesting to hear what outsiders have to say about Europe (and the West in general) never having been and was surprised at the gusto our guest tackled a wide range of foods - with experimentation that even I would (possibly) balk at, such as buttered lettuce leaf (although that's essentially what I'm doing when I put it in a sandwich) and not shying away from more adventurous mixtures like a brie sandwich with Swiss roll. Of all the foods we tried, highest marks went to that regular British staple "the good 'ole fashioned Chinese", especially the number 52.

We watched Pelham 123 (not the most exciting remake) and he mentioned that when watching films like these he thought that the places portrayed in them, like New York or London were essentially fake, just mock-ups, where in reality these cities didn't have (or couldn't have) the quantity of roads, pavements, the metro system, buildings and general infrastructure that they showed on film. Well, I thought it was interesting anyway.

S France beckoned and on landing the first port of call was a restaurant to partake in that most French of national pastimes, the two hour lunch (how I miss it). Coincidentally, a couple of friends from Dubai (coming for the wedding too) were on the same flight, so the four of us headed to Albi (historic home of the Cathars - a people whose competing religion the crusaders eventually wiped out) for beer, wine and a fantastic lunch.

That pretty much set the scene for the whole stay; great wine and fantastic food (and a portion of guilt since most of the tastiest food came from Geese, Ducks or Calves having a truly unpleasant time for our pleasure).

The village of Puycelsi, where K's parents live is an idyllic little town of a few hundred people atop a hill with a couple of B+Bs and a small town hall. On the day of the official ceremony, I wouldn't be surprised if all the guests doubled the population for that day.

The wedding party was the night before and was the main event, where speeches were held, recitations were delivered and vows expressed in an emotional manner. The Chateau where the celebrations were held took 50 years to refurbish. It housed a zealous guide, who incidentally was the son of the owner, a painter that covered every inch of chateau space with every crayon drawing he did in his life, most of which appeared to be nudity expressed as an obsession. He also painted, over the past 50 years, many of the chateau walls and ceilings with painstakingly detailed pictures, as close to the original as possible so we’re told, with original dyes and egg whites, or something like that - I might have glazed over at that point. Oh, and it took approximately 50 years, his son managed to point out to us on our guided tour. I had the pleasure of this man's presence at the dinner table but with previous conversations being "50 ans monsieur!" et "pas de boisson ici monsieur!" I felt I held back with the informal chit chat. He seemed a bit moody and humourless but perked up a bit when Cass toasted “Death to the Queen”.

The wedding party was followed by some sleepy drinking into the early hours of the morning. Always nice when that happens.