fillingthegaps

There is no doubt about it – the realisation that my Wanderings were soon to come to an end, put a damper on my spirits. So much so that I could not raise the enthusiasm to write my last blogs while still in Italy. So here I am, almost a week later, sitting in my study in Titirangi, Auckland, New Zealand determined to tidy things up, and write my final blog.

Italian is such a poetic language and it’s words seem to have a rhythm quite unlike the rest of Europe. Consider the place-names we’ve encountered over the past day or so: “Masera Rutolo” the name of the farmlet we stayed at; “Alberobello” – the town with the “Trulli” (more of them later), then on to “Bari” . Maybe it’s because so many Italian words seem to end with a vowel, seeming to invite the rolling-on of more lilting words in a cascade of sound that defies separation into individual words. But for the Italians, the expressive language is not enough! No, the words need emphasis and expression through the flamboyant use of hands, arms and indeed the whole body! Watching Italians in conversation is indeed quite a show.

But I digress. Our last restful day at the farmlet was rudely disturbed in the late afternoon by the arrival of a rain storm, accompanied by most unseasonal gale-force wind. We saw it coming, but even so, the wind caught us by surprise and Rob and his team had quite a wrestle to prevent the awning from being wrenched out of the side of the van.

 Once that was under control they took the opportunity to give the vans a wash. As you can surmise, the temperature stayed warm, although the effect of being soaked and in a strong wind did cool the team down to an uncomfortable level. In the evening the storm had cleared, and R and R went to the restaurant for a meal. So overpowered by the quantity of food that Rob had to come and get me to help them finish it off. Needless to say, I was happy to help out.

The next day dawned bright and clear once more, and guided by the trusty GPS we meandered through some bumpy lanes,

 past lush vineyards

and on to the main road towards Bari. But thanks to the efforts of our researcher, we went via Alberobello, where we were to find the mysterious Trulli. We arrived in the town just in time to encounter the congregation streaming from the town’s cathedral – we were like a pair of cumbersome salmon valiantly struggling to swim upstream against the prevailing traffic.

But our drivers are getting hardened to this sort of situation and so took it more-or-less in their stride, until we reached a parking spot in the lee of of someone’s garden wall. A trullo had first appeared in isolation in a field, as we drove by. We were fascinated and stopped to take pictures.

But our researcher had assured us that there was a whole neighbourhood of Trulli, in the town we were approaching. And she was right. A single dwelling is a Trullo. More than one are Trulli. And we came across a hillside full of them!

 All in current use, although reportedly several hundreds of years old. I quote:

“The older dwellings date back in the 13th century although the majority of them are only 200 or 300 years old.”

“According to another theory, the construction style of Trulli is based on the standards of Syrian and Middle East residences; while the first Trulli were built in Apulia as houses or tombs of monks who settled there from the East. Later, the locals adopted the construction method, and adapted these structures to their daily needs. Another similar view claims that Trulli firstly built by soldiers returning to Apulia from the Holy Land Crusades.”

We spent an hour or two wandering around this intriguing township

 before driving on to Bari.  We had no set spot for the night, so we ended up in a very large and well-lit car-park next to a super-store for Home Products. Very safe.

 We did a quick trial run to the railway station before settling down for the night.

The next day was to be my last day with the family. As far as we could tell, this town had no special ‘must-see- features and so we elected to have a quiet day. Bari is quite a major port – but past experience had taught us that it would be futile trying to find a park for two motor-homes anywhere near the water front, so we drove to the super market instead and did some food shopping. We stayed in the car park for lunch – parked in the shade of the arches of a railway bridge. While the ‘littlies’ had a rest, Rob and I ventured off in the smaller van to look for a Hardware store and a bike shop we had seen on our way in. You could say we are slow learners: it was not until we had fruitlessly driven around for a while that it dawned on us: this was Italy! Siesta time! Nothing would be open until 4.30pm! The sight of a shuttered shopping area in midday is somehow quite depressing. All shops have steel pull-down shutters over their shop fronts – and the shutters are all liberally defaced with graffiti. Rubbish blows loosely along the gutters and not a sole is to be seen.The impression is one of a deserted ghost-town. Oddly enough as we drove past this area later in the evening, all the shops were open, lights were blazing, people were everywhere and the place was quite transformed. But in the harsh light of the noonday sun it had looked very different.

For our last dinner together we went into a Pizzeria next to the supermarket and had a good feast on Pizzas. Two middle-aged couples were intrigued by the sight of so many kids (shades of China) and plucked up courage to ask (by dint of many unintelligible words and much hand-waving) the usual questions: are they all yours? where are you from? etc. They were most friendly.

After the inevitable strictures placed on space, quietude, and diet consistent with living with a family of 10 in two motor homes, the past week in Canada has been almost surreal. In the most pleasant of ways!

Pre-conditioning for the time in Canada was achieved by spending 2 days alone with Eldest Daughter, zipping up to York (UK) and back to Heath Row, using a very swish hire car and staying in very comfortable accommodation. Then we flew to Ottawa and were met there by L’s old school friend, & whisked away to her parent’s spacious home in a delightful, tranquil, wooded and rather exclusive part of that city.

There I was given the exclusive use of a large bedroom complete with sauna and en suite and a large library to dip into! What luxury! Our hosts were erudite and entertaining; their hospitality gracious; their conversation wide-ranging and enlightening. It was a really relaxing and enjoyable time. And I even managed to get in a short bike ride, alongside a quiet bike path beside the river.

But that was just the beginning. From Ottawa we drove several hundred kms to the Grandparent’s  “seaside cottage”. We had been warned that this was not exactly a cottage in the British sense of the word – but the reality still hit us smack between the eyes and left us reeling in semi-dis-belief.  This ‘cottage’ turned out to be a beautiful mansion, part Mediterranean-Italian, part art-deco in appearance, set at the upper end of  gracefully sloping farm and woodlands.

Well-manicured lawns, shrubs and flower beds gave the grounds a park-like appearance and the croaking of frogs from the nearby swimming swimming pond provided a rural soundtrack as a backdrop to this little corner of Paradise. We did not see them but we were told that the local wild life often drops by to keep an eye on things: fox, wolves, deer, an occasional moose, not to mention squirrel, chipmunk and moles.

And again I found I was assigned a large bedroom all to myself with a balcony overlooking the garden, the woodlands and stretching out to the Georgian Bay part of Lake Huron. This area is prime Vacation Land in this part of Canada, and it is easy to why. In the summer, sailing, windsurfing, fishing, golf, tramping and cycling are all available within a short distance. The facilities are superb and the people warm and welcoming.

Good coffee is to be had in cosy coffee shops and superb ice cream is also available!

Nearby orchards provide a plentiful supply of fruit in season: apples, pears, nectarines, cherries, strawberries  and blueberries. Local entrepreneurs bake these up into the most delectable pies. If I wax rather lyrical it is because this really is a blessed corner of the world and it was a joy to be immersed in it for a while.

And again our hosts showered us with blessings. I have been quite happy to sleep on the floor of a Mongolian Yert, a Kowloon couch, the hard bunk of a train in China, the seat of an all-night bus to Berlin, the floor of an attic in Estonia and so on – but who can deny the pleasure of having a large comfortable bed all to yourself and to be woken by sun streaming in across the walls of a large, beautifully-decorated room, with the prospect of descending to a sunny breakfast room replete with anything your taste-buds could desire? Yes we have really been blessed by this marvelous interval.

Now I have left Daughter: I am on the Trans-Canada train

heading for Vancouver (in 3 days time) and D is spending another week with OSF and then heading back to NZ (and WORK) I am just a day into this trip and am having a great time. I have a little one-man cabin – most ingeniously designed and very comfortable.

I have 3 meals provided – good meals too, I might add. And  as much tea or coffee and muffins as I may care to eat in the interim! I have already met such interesting people at the dining table – what extra-orrdinary tales the most ordinary-looking people have to tell!

And so the journey continues. I am looking forward to the rest of this train trip, then a  few days in Vancouver, and then back to the UK to take up where I left off, with the Intrepid Travelers, back to the Motor Homes. Bye-bye luxury – hello more adventures!

in recent weeks we had become accustomed to moving seamlessly from country to  country: Germany, Switzerland, France, Holland, Belgium, England etc. with barely a pause in our perambulations. But a few days ago daughter L and I made a giant leap across a very big ditch and ended up in Ottawa, Canada. (reason for the visit: for daughter – to visit an old school friend. For me ; because I wanted to do the trans-Canadian rail trip)

We are being looked after by Linda’s long-time college friend, and in turn by the friend’s parents. Such a gracious, hospitable family – we are being overwhelmed with kindness. And I find myself allocated to a huge bedroom with en suite all to myself!

The arrival in Canada was routine until I went to pass through Customs. “excuse me sir, would you mind taking the left lane please?” I was happy to oblige, thinking that would be the ‘nothing to declare’ lane. Wrong! I had been ‘randomly selected’ for the full customs search procedure. Half an hour later I was declared clean and allowed to trail out to a deserted arrival lounge! Well it is all Experience I suppose, but I am beginning to think I must have a criminal appearance.

Back in Bangkok I was apprehended by the USA military after I took an innocent picture of  their Embassy. On that occasion I was detained while they checked out my passport and made sure I deleted the picture from my digital camera. Now here in Ottawa I am again treated as an undesirable. But wait-there’s more. The following day, after the airport incident I was again pounced on by security in Ottawa’s Art Museum.

My crime this time was to be carrying a small plastic bag into the gallery. This had to be deposited in the secure locker section. (as it happened, daughter came to the rescue and offered to carry the offending bag in her capacious handbag, which was apparently acceptable. Logic???)

So what is it about me? The beetling eyebrows? the scruffy clothes? the worried look as I try to decipher noises around me and turn them into sentences? Who knows = the fact is I am a marked man.

But as usual, I digress. Here we are in Ottawa Canada and ready to see and taste another country, another culture. Canada is rather similar to NZ in that it was populated by an indigenous people many hundreds of years ago, and subsequently ‘settled’ by Westerners much later – with all the accompanying historic baggage that goes with the process. And like NZ they are still dealing with grievances. But the settling of Canada happened a few hundred years earlier than NZ and so the Capital does not have the raw  edge that NZ has. There are many gracious old buildings and the city has many fine buildings to give it an air of permanence and prosperity.

The city was a delight to discover with majestic parliament buildings,

character-filled streets, a beautiful river with impressive bridges

and an intriguing mix of French and English cultures.

Across the river lies the province of Quebec – that fiercely independent region that insists on observing its French heritage.

Here we saw toffee-apples de-luxe,

 and sampled ‘beaver tails’ – an elongated pancake with an endless variety of fillings and flavours.

 We also had Frittes (chips) French style – mixed with clotted cheese and topped with brown gravy. An interesting blend, but I confess to preferring my chips ‘straight’ with plenty of salt.

The Museum of Canadian Civilization was a magnificent structure, and the displays and artifacts it contained, equally impressive.

I found the Art Gallery of equal interest and was rather surprised to find myself really enjoying the experience, ( however, my host and I found that we shared the saame attention span disorder: after about 2 hours in a museum the eyes start to get a glazed-over appearance, and it becomes more and more difficult to discreetly hide a jaw-cracking yawn)

We are being hosted by my daughter’s friend’s family and again I am struck by the good fortune that keeps following us. We have been hosted by some incredibly generous people and have been fortunate to stay in some superb places. The generosity of people continues to amaze me, and fills me with a desire to return the good favours we have received. I feel a little guilty in this respect because I am aware that not too many people will be dashing off to NZ and even if they do, our part of West Auckland is not the easiest area to reach.

Our hosts then left the parents home and took us on to an Aunts ‘sea-side cottage’ which turned out to be a genuine mansion set in rolling countryside overlooking Lake Huron. But more of that in a later blog. On the way to the cottage (about a 250km drive, I suspect) we drove through magniicent countryside – woods laced with hundreds of lakes. We stopped  off to stretch legs and take in the peace and tranquility of this enormous country.

Earlier we had stopped off at a church serving a Polish community – again an oasis of tranquility , seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Set high on rolling hills, it had a commanding view over the surrounding countryside.

more later……..

Well, a lot has been happening since my last post – and as is always the case, if you do not stick to a routine, before you know it you are in a shambles. And that is pretty much the way it is at the moment, Since the last post in Holland we have moved down through Belgium, got stuck in the mother of all traffic jams in Antwerp, caught the ferry from Ostend to Ramsgate, picked up Linda from Heath Row, over-nighted in Brighton and have then scurried Westward, spending some delightful time with long-lost ‘rellies’ and then Westward again. We are now in Cornwall and tomorrow head off to the Eden project and then on to Land’s end.

Somehow spare time to sit down and put finger to keys has been in short supply and time has just flown by. Many a picture has been taken en route, so maybe a few highlights will serve to give you some idea of what has been going on.

The traffic jam outside Antwerp was a sorry example of poor planning/communications. We drove up to the back of stationary cars, wondering why the hold-up. There was no apparent diversion in place: we were surrounded by truckies and if anyone would know what was going on, it would be them.  But there we were, stuck in bewildered stagnation – for seven hours!

And when we did finally drive through the cause of all the problems – a 4-lane tunnel shut down to a single lane, with a 4-lane and then 2-lane highway converging on it – there was not a sign of any work being done, Just cones closing off 3 lanes. We  were not too amused – nor were the 8 kids who had to endure stoically.

The trip across the Channel was very pleasant with a calm sea under a warm and sunny sky.

Nipping out of Ramsgate we shot through to Canterbury with Rach at the wheel, re-programming her brain to LH driving but now  sitting in the ‘wrong’ side of the Van. Just to test her adaptation progress she almost immediately had to negotiate a very fat camel through the eye of the proverbial needle in Canterbury! The narrow town gate into Canterbury was a real challenge, with just a whisker’s clearance either side of the mirrors.

From Canterbury (not possible  to get a good look at the cathedral due to lack of time and parking spots for the vans) we  headed further west and south. This was the day to pick up Linda from the airport and this involved some very tricky moves. Due to London’s anti-pollution regulations, we were not able to get to Heath Row with our aging vehicles. The answer was for me to be dropped off at Maidstone railway station, take the train to London,

 get a Tube from one London station to another, and then catch the connecting train to Heath Row. After which I would meet up with Linda and catch the Coach down to Brighton! Where the two vans would be waiting for us, having driven on while I did my train thing. Amazingly it all went without a hitch and connections clicked into place most conveniently. A couple of text messages in Brighton and we were all re-united! Amazing. Poor Linda had been travelling for well over 24hours and was decidedly groggy at the end of it all.  We were allowed to park on the Esplanade in Brighton, for Free, so that was most helpful.

The next day we were off again, and went on to visit a cousin of mine.

As it turned out, he had alerted several other cousins and rellies of our coming and so we had a very pleasant re-union.  We had asked them to try and find us somewhere to park the vans over-night, and there had been some encouraging talk of using the field of a friend. As it turned out, one of the rellies happened to be living in part of a Country manor and said there was heaps of room in the grounds for our vans.

What an understatement – and what a magical place that was!

The Manor had been converted internally into about 10 individual homes and our friends had the carriage house and stables –beautifully remodeled on the inside.

We all had the time of our lives there and we were all very sorry to leave.

The next day Cousin took the opportunity to show us around  Winchester Cathedral. Very different from the ornate cathedrals of Europe but a huge and magnificent building none-the-less.

Afterwards we went on, ever-westward and ending up in another cathedral city, Salisbury. It was a long drive, the streets impossibly narrow,

and our planned stop-over failed to materialize, and so we had to cast about for somewhere to park our vans for the night. It sounds quite vagabond-ish but we always park in legal over-night parking spots so it works out ok. Joist sometimes it takes a while to find a spot. Of course we like to stay in a place where there are all the camp facilities but they are not always available where we stop, and besides, some are not good value for money, and we choose to avoid them.

Onwards still from Salisbury via Stonehenge

to a lovely Cornish fishing port, Looe.

I remembered staying in Looe on more than one cycle tour, back in the  days of my youth. Physically the town has changed little in the intervening 60 years or so,

but inevitably, the march of Tourism has stamped its mark on the place, and it has lost some of its old-world charm. It is still a very pretty place, and we got to be the guest of a lady who owns a property high on the hills above Looe. We had a million-dollar view and all the facilities we needed.

The next day we had a long leisurely walk around Looe and had Cornwall’s famous Pasties for lunch. The last time I had a Cornish Pasty was on one of the afore-mentioned bike tours. On that occasion, the contents must have been ‘off; because I remember bringing the lot back up in the middle of the night! I’m pleased to report that trhis time the pasty was delicious – and stayed where it belonged!  After our walk we climbed back in the vans and we continued our westward flight, this time as far as St Austell. Again we found ourselves  in an overnight parking area.

We have galloped through most of the western counties and today we have gone about as fur as we can go – we are at Land’s End. The countryside has been quite beautiful

and the patch-work fields in various shades of green and yellow, divided up by hedge-rows, have a unique charm: so different from the huge paddocks and rolling pasture land of NZ. The only draw-back has been the incredible narrowness of the roads.

 Once off the main highways we found ourselves driving down lanes banked on both sides by truck0high hedges and trees, and with scarcely room for one vehicle. Passing is quite impossible in those cases and we quite often found ourselves at a standstill, wedged into the hedge on the side of the road as a car passed by, or waiting while someone backed a long way down the road to find a spot where we could pass. I had forgotten just how narrow these lanes are – and they a re a real stress factor for the drivers. All credit and heartfelt thanks goes to them.

Before we started off for Land’s End, Linda & I stole a few hours and took ourselves off to visit the Eden Project: an amazing project – transforming the ugly scar that remained after years of excavating for China Clay. Now it houses some enormous, futuristic ‘bubble’ structures that are environmentally controlled.

 In one are tropical plants, and Mediterranean plants in another.

 The scar has been terraced and planted to produce a truly delightful environment.

Land’s end is a picture: here we are high on a high hill overlooking a sandy beach,

the Atlantic gently rolling in under a blue sky, the green fields rolling away into the distance. We have found a great camp park, and  all is well!

-place names, not a company of solicitors.

We have been travelling through some delightful German countryside for the past few days and have seen a veritable kaleidoscope of cathedrals, castles, quaint old towns and peaceful parks and gardens.

We have also been tested with our driving skills – taking our ‘Vomos’ into places where none have gone before.

Rach had the toughest test the other day – we were hoping to stay in Gothenburg and were trawling around this ancient city designed for horse and cart, looking for the Van park. We (Rach driving) ended up crawling up and down the side of the hill, winding through impossibly narrow streets, doing hill starts etc and finding absolutely nowhere to park.

Where the streets were wider, they had ripped up half of the road just to keep you on your toes. Rach  (following Rob, driving the bigger vehicle) passed the Stage 4 test in great style. Disappointingly, we had to leave Gothenburg unexplored. The following day I had a ‘grade 3’ test when closed roads forced us to take to some back-country roads through some narrow village streets plus a session of reversing etc. So we are both getting more comfortable with the beast. Meanwhile Rob has been nibbling at the repairs and the damage is getting less evident each day.

All of which has nothing to do with the heading but needed reporting anyway.

Rather than spell out what each picture is, I thought I would just give you a selection of views. We have been inside some incredibly ornate cathedrals and churches.

The carvings, sculptures, statues and murals have been quite mind-blowing.

Although no doubt all done to the glory of God, I have uneasy thoughts about who paid for all this and how the raising of money glorified our God. Certainly a very far cry from the school hall where our church meets. But just looking at the magnificence of the buildings, one cant help but marvel at the workmanship of 3-500 years ago.

The kids found a spidery playground in the cathedral grounds,  

much to their liking and as we relaxed and had our lunch nearby, we listened to the strains of an Organ-grinder duo. Closer inspection of the music-makers led to some of the kids (including Rob) being allowed to have a swing on the handle.

 Also in the cathedral grounds we found a musician playing softly on a set of Vibraphones. Nearby a ‘statue-man’ posed as steady as a rock. All in the dappled sunlight filtering through huge chestnut trees. A tranquil setting that was a real treat.

Also on the fun side we came across a large grill in a town square which was blasting air upwards. An exhaust from who knows what. But it gave the kids some fun, feeling themselves ballooning up in the strong draught as they stood over the grill.

Another interesting few days…….

The day broke cloudy and cold – a brisk wind blowing which after a while, chilled to the bone. At least it chilled this old codger’s bones and I think a few more of the party were none too warm.

We had determined to take a hike from our van park in Kehl (which is in Germany) to Strasbourg, (which is in France) just a ‘short walk’ after crossing the Rhine, which at this point forms the border between the two countries. We packed a lunch, determined to not let the weather deter us, and off we went.

This happens to be a most well-endowed little township (maybe it is a city?) and where we were staying, we were right next to beautiful river-side parks and gardens, with copious sporting facilities and well-equipped children’s playgrounds. At the start of the walk one of the kids would ask “can we go to the playground?” but always came back the answer –“on the way home – let’s get to where we are going first”

On we walked, past a delightful Biblical garden – beautifully set out to depict important events in Biblical history in granite sculptures and appropriate plantings,

On and over one of the most ingenious and genuinely artistic bits of bridge engineering I have seen,

Past a circus and then a school for budding circus performers; still no sign of Strasbourg, and we were a little hesitant as to which direction to take next. Time to try out the 65-year-old French rusting away in the grey cells: ‘pardon m’sieur, mais parlez-vous l’anglais?” “Non!” came back the less-than-encouraging response. However after I manfully struggled on to enquire the way to the old Town, and the guy took pity on me and made it known that the Old Town was that-away and it would be a 40 minute walk. After a brief conference, we decided to press on, leaving the comfort of parks and circuses and hitting the hard pavements.

Eventually we came to a park and here was the Citadel – not in the Old Town but getting closer (so we thought) Anyway, a children’s playground, a park bench, and it was time to have a lunch break. Pity about that freezing wind……

Spying a lady on a park bench, and emboldened by my success(?) on the previous occasion I sallied forth to ask the lady in my best French if she could direct us to the old town. Quickly she established that she and her husband (who had a map but had gone for a walk) were  German, and her English was better than my French! But I did learn that our objective was still at least 1/2 hour’s walk distant. We had determined that we would do it, and when the friendly husband turned up with his map it enabled us to set our course once more.

Well eventually we did reach Strasbourg Old Town – and it really was worth the effort, a charming, graceful  , character-filled town that delighted us all.

In addition it had the most amazing cathedral that enthralled all but the littlest among us.

After that we decided that having already walked about 12km, we would catch a bus/tram or train back towards our home base. Diligent study of some excellent maps at the tram stop showed that we could catch a tram to the nearest bus stop. We were delighted: the trams and buses had impressed us with their swish styling

and I for one was itching to  take a ride in one (my legs were feeling it too!) We  discovered that we could get a group ticket qt reduced cost and joyfully advanced on the ticket-machine. Frustration! The machines only accept coins – and we needed 10 Euros. Off I  went to the nearest shop – a pharmacy- to get some coins. Explaining to the lady that I required some ‘medecin pour le mal de tete’ I then added that I would like some Euro coins to pay  for le Tram! She evidently understood my tortured words for the transaction was completed to everyone’s satisfaction and I came back with a pocket full of Euro pieces.

So away we went on the Super-Tram. More like a train than a tram, and when it dived into a tunnel, it just rocketted along-faster than a speeding bullet!

To add to the interest. we found ourselves getting off at Strasbourg’s main railway station –a really impressive bit of architecture,

Then to the bus. ‘Ou se trouve l’autobus nombre deux? I asked a bus driver. ‘La – devant vous’! and there it was right next to the bus stop where we were standing!

A good bus ride and we were back at the circus – still a long walk thorough the parks and over the bridge but these kids have an endless supply of energy and when we got to the playground they had a ball.

While Mum and Dad and J14 went back to the vans to prepare dinner I kept watch on the rest. After 1/2 hour we finished off the day’s activities by climbing the 199 steps up a magnificent wooden viewing tower to take a bird’s-eye view of our neighbourhhood. By the end of the day the sun had finally broken through and it looked beautiful.

A 14km walk – a bunch of exercise – lots of interesting things to see and do, A good day was had by all.

Here are on the Anak Ranch we are getting a bit closer to living as the early pioneers must have lived. True – we get served our 3 meals a day (albeit usually in a bucket!) which some other kind sole has cooked for us, and we do get to sleep in a Ger- which in fact would not be too much different from a covered wagon. We are so accustomed to sleeping on hard board beds that the occasional wire-wove springy base is quite uncomfortable. A hard base under a sleeping bag and a rolled up jacket for a pillow is our norm – not too unlike  a bed-roll and a saddle for a pillow!

At the gers we are quite accustomed to the ‘long drop’ toilet – and the middle of the night walk to it is none too pleasant with the temperature diving to somewhere below zero. If it is windy (not too often) the wind-chill factor around the exposed tail ensures that you do not linger about the task.

All the kids had a bath (a loose term in the circumstances) in a small tin bath which they found on the ranch. Usually we wash down with the aid of a basin of water so the bath was something of a luxury. Standing room only but at least they could wash themselves down without losing any precious water!

Water is stored in our ger in an old milk-churn, and each day a couple of us wheel it around the corral fences  in an old hand barrow to the hand-pump in the cattle yard. The water comes from a deep bore and has to be coaxed to the surface by vigorous use of a hand pump (which has to be primed before it will do the job)  So again we are learning of the precious value of hard-won water-just as the pioneers would have done.

This evening we had a major clothes washing session using the tin bath once more. We were in fact washing all our jackets, which. were getting in a frightful state. The reason for condition of our jackets was a mixture of much horse riding and the constant dusty Mongolian atmosphere. The dust is so fine it penetrates into everything and just loves our  polar-fleece jackets. The horses are a motley bunch of long-haired Mongolian nags.

As far as we can tell, these horses are never groomed. They do a day’s work and are then stuck into a corral to fend for themselves. Their long hair sheds itself over everything and in this dry atmosphere our polar fleece becomes charged with static electricity. The hair practically flies from horse to jacket and at the end of today’s adventures, our jackets looked more horse hair than polar fleece!

Which brings me to our other pioneer-like experience for the day. Today we went horse-trekking. We had a horse-drawn cart, plus three horses plus another mounted Mongolian ‘minder’ who led the  way and set the pace.

A variety of people rode the three horses, either solo or sometimes two or three up. The rest sat on the flat top of the cart being jarred, jangled and jolted unmercifully as we made our way across the  ragged surface of the plain. We trekked across this vast, seemingly limitless Mongolian landscape,slowly making our way up into the low mountains surrounding the plains we are on.

The cart could not make it up the steep slopes leading to the top so many of us walked.

The lucky ones stayed on horseback and arrived at the top quite fresh. The rest of us laboured on up in varying degrees of weariness. The view and the sense of accomplishment made it all worth while.

 As is normal  in our daily activities, something notable, often amusing, occurred on our trek.The first was not actually amusing: Rach was riding one of the horses and Lboy8 was transferred from cart to the back of the horse, for a change of scenery.  We have had the situation in the yard where 5 littlies sat astride one horse, quite safely. But this was another horse- one that objected to another passenger on the back. The horse did a couple of quick spins on the spot, the force of which launched Lboy8 into space. Naturally he grabbed something to stop the fall. In this case it  was Mama who was trying valiantly to steady the horse down. Her  efforts came to an abrupt end when she was dragged out of the saddle by the boy. Worse was to follow because Mama’s boot refused to release from the stirrup. So the horse took off, dragging Mamma alongside and leaving one shaken and wailing boy in its wake. The victims were duly cheched out and fortunately found to  have suffered no serious damage. Bruises and abrasions were the main points of pain. To their credit, Mama,a re-mounted and after a short while Lboy8 was back on horseback. The other, more amusing incident involved me. (why is it that I seem to be the butt of so many jokes?) I was on the cart, which was negotiating some really bumpy tussocky ground. As the cart leaped up and down I got propelled upward and outward, being ejected from the cart deck, fortunately landing at the run. The rest of the trek was without incident and we all quite memorable day.

this was a special day at the ranch: Egirl4 became Egirl5. Our hosts have become very familiar with this family and so they had become aware, several days ago, that this birthday was coming up. I think they had all been resigned to the possibility that this birthday was to be cakeless. In all their travels up to this point they had been able to get some sort of cake for the birthdays which in this family of 10, occur at regular intervals throughout te year.

But as chance would have it, two problems  occurred yesterday whjch requiired that our host would have to take a 40km trip to the settlement of Darkhan: one to get some drive pulleys for a gang-saw he is cobbling together. and the other to try and find a replacement  power-pack for Rob’s lap-top which blew up the other day.

So Rob and Host drove off and disappeared for most of the day. They found the pulley, but had to get someone to re-machine it to size. Rob had no luck in his search for a power pack BUT they did come across a bakery with a fantastic cake! So this morning Tgirl5 was delighted to find that she had a cake after all.

The rest of the day has been very quiet

I suppose one of the things that travelers fear the most, is getting sick when you are in a strange place : miles from the comfort of your own home and the proximity of your GP if required.

Well it has to happen if you are on a year-long sojourn, and right now our accommodation in this Guest  House resembles a sick-bay in the Crimea.

Oh we are not dreadfully sick, but enough to stop us in our tracks and opt for rest rather than expeditions. Still we have a room with a view:

We have traced the source of our discomfort to the “Horseshoes” we ate a couple of nights ago. Having run out of time to cook our own meal we opted for the extravagance of eating at a small restaurant nearby. As it happened they were about to close and all they had left were these ‘Horseshoes’ – a local favourite which resembles a Cornish pasty without the veggies. They were tasty enough, although on reflection we realised that they were quite oily.

During the night, Lboy8 decided to divest himself of the dinner – I guess his tummy was the most sensitive. The following morning we all awoke in varying degrees of well-being – all feeling decidedly jaded. Since then a few more have thrown up, some have a case of the trots and some are already recovering and the hardy ones are finally wilting. Not a happy troupe of warriors!

Actually I was rather hoping that we could have traced our ailments to a bug picked up in the Ger. Then I could have used that classic Toyota ad. expression – “Bug Ger!”, but that would have been stretching the truth a bit.

So here we are holed up in our ‘pension’

 and actually we are quite comfortable. As accommodation goes, this is one of our better spots. The view from our window is of the playground in our little square  We all have a bed each. (come to think of it, that isn’t quite true because RnR sleep on a couple of thick duvets on the floor!) We also have a small kitchenette with a small range-top cum oven. We also have our own toilet, bath and shower – and the toilet is a real sit-down job. How your appreciation of the basics sharpens as you travel!

We are very close to the city centre which has a large square as its focal point. It is flanked on one side by the Parliament building (or whatever it is called in this Communist state) and on the other side by ornate theatre and cultural buildings. All within easy walking distance.

The truth is, we are just a little wary of walking around in this rather lawless city. Oh we are not staying holed up in fear of venturing forth, but when you walk you are conscious of the repeated warnings from all quarters, to watch out for pick-pockets, don’t go out after dark etc etc. The Proprietor here spent half his time when registering us to warn to on no account open our door to anyone, keep doors locked at all times, don’t go out after dark and so on. Not quite the ‘Welcome to our country’ touristy thing you might expect.

This is the lock on our front door

We have had this unsavoury aspect of Mongolia re-enforced by practical experience. On our way back from the market, travelling on a very crowded bus, I lost my camera (out of it’s case) to a light-fingered pick-pocket. Later that same day a couple of fellow-residents got mugged in the main street in broad daylight. Just now Rach returned from a quick trip to the local ‘Supermarket’ and on the way back, observed a guy lift  a packet of cigarettes out of a street-sellers display, and move quickly on his way.

Rach thought about pointing out the theft to the stall-owner, but since he was busy urinating onto the side-walk from his sitting position) she felt the time was not quite right! So  these sort of things take the edge off free and easy exploring of the city.

Really it all boils down to local knowledge. I am sure the local, law-abiding citizens lead an untroubled life, knowing automatically the do’s and don’ts of the city; avoiding parts which could be troublesome and using transport means that they know are hazard-free. We in our ignorance blunder around, and sometimes have to learn the hard way. But it’s all part of life’s experience and the kids observe it all with varying degrees of understanding.

Well I started this off as a sick-bay report, but I am pleased to say that as I finish, there are only two resting in bed: the rest have bounced back to their usual boisterous selves. I am aware that there people covering us with their prayers, and we are conscious of His provision and protection on a daily basis. We are grateful to you all.

in my last post we had just arrived at the ‘GER” the Mongolian name for their circular felt-insulated, collapsible homes. 

Rach had found this place through the ‘Couch-surfing’ web-site. The original intention was that this would be a time when the kids could experience real winter conditions with heaps of snow and frigid temperatures. The kids were really looking forward to snow, but alas, it was not to be. Frigid temperatures yes. Iced-over river, yes. But snow? Only on the distant mountains. Never the less, this was to be one of the most unforgettable experiences of our lives.

As we made our way across the rocky section we noticed a quaint little shed in one corner. Gardening shed? No this is the toilet chaps, equipped with the very best traditional         2-plank squat facility. (a great incentive for learning the art of ‘hanging on’ in the middle of a minus 10C night!)

When we reached the Ger we wondered how we were going to get in. Rob was about twice the size of the door opening!

However our smiling hostess with limited English beckoned us in, and we struggled into the relative gloom on the inside. Now outside we have had clear blue skies since I can’t remember when, with the sun always dazzling our vision. And the air temperature has been hovering around 3 – 10 C. Suddenly we were pitched into the relative gloom of a windowless Ger with a room temperature around 28 C.

Let me take a moment to describe a Ger. It is circular, approximately 6-7m in diameter. The wall height is about 1.5 M and the centre is supported on two poles about 1 m apart, which are about 2.5 M high. The two centre poles support a timber ring (about 1.5 M diameter.) This ring is toothed like a giant cog-wheel and into the gaps in the teeth are slotted supporting poles that angle out to the outer wall.

The outer wall is made of a continuous trellis –like lattice. Wrapped around the lattice, and over the roof poles, is laid a heavy layer (or  more likely several layers) of felt. Holding the felt in place is a heavy cotton ‘sleeve – the size of the Ger. Holding the sleeve in place are several wide straps like a couple of belts around a rotund father christmas. Inside, the floor consists of timber layed on the ground (which has been levelled ) and then covered with felt and finally some more timber sheeting. In the centre of the Ger, between those two poles is a coal-burning range, the flue of which sticks up through the roof. The walls are hung with curtain-like material.  And this is where everyone lives together for the Winter months. t it can be blowing a gale, and 20 C below, inside it is a quiet, cosy 25 C or more!

But there was so much about living in this place that gave pause for thought. I have talked before about contrasts, but these two days were just staggering. Consider: our host has a degree in Computer Science, and works in the IT section of the City Library. This is a man who is passionate about the Environment; about progress for his people, about the value of families, Education and so on. A man who has a passion for lifting the level, not just of his family, but his Country! And this is no idle dreamer: he has his feet on the ground and he is doing something about his passion. He is heavily involved in producing a newspaper designed to provoke awareness, the need for change, respect for the values of earlier generations, the need to care for the environment, how to budget, how to live sustainably. Oh his ideas and words just flow!

And what are the circumstances of this modest but passionate man? He lives in a Ger. No piped water to the house. Where does the water come from? He buys it from the water-station at  the bottom of the hill. Then he drags the barrel of water uphill on a trolly, with his wife pushing from behind, just about every day. Try that when it is 40 below and everything is iced up, as it is in mid winter. Power is trailed from somewhere on a thin cable and lights 2 bulbs hanging from the roof. But note – one of the bulbs is a power-saving mercury vapour bulb. He is checking to see if it is all that it is said to be. And I have told you about the toilet facilities. Next year he plans to dig a 2-person facility for more convenience for his . No shower, no bath not even a wash hand basin. Just a tap in one corner, a small tank above filled by hand and ladle. Get rid of waste water? carry it in a big basin down to the cess-pit next to the dunny. Or if the weather is bad, scuttle a few feet from the door and chuck it into a convenient gully. On a fine sunny day, the cow dung is drying nicely.

 The wife has collected it from their two cows (oh, didnt I tell you about the two cows they hace in a shed a couple of metres from the door?) 

 Today she can go over her collection carefully, seeing which are dry enough to use on the fire to supplemnt the coal. Does she see this as degrading? No – it’s a very practical example of sustainable living. In this house (Ger) nothing is wasted. All the vegetable peelings, leftovers from meals etc are fed to the cows, to supplement the fodder they have too buy during the winter months. Which reminds me – in the summer they take their cows up the the hills behind them, to graze on the lush grass.

We went for a walk up there the other day. Right now at the end of winter, the hillsides are literally bare rock and gravel. But we were assured that in a moths time the hills will be covered in green and there will be lots of grass for the cattle and for making hay. It appeasers that any one can take their cattle to graze there. Of course you cannot leave them unattended because they will be stolen.

So this is the life for this young couple and their four bright, intelligent kids. The Library computer technician has been overseas 4 times. He has seen how life is lived in the West. Is he envious or despondent about his lot? Not in the least! He is convinced that things will improve, and he is going to be part of the process. He believes that Mongolia has much to teach the West, and he is confident that the day will come

He also has a sense of humour! He confessed that he accepted Rachael’s requst to stay because ‘he wanted to see how manny could be squeezed into his GEr! There wre 6 of them and 11 of us – that made 17 of us laid out like sardines in a tin when we ‘went to bed’ Bed by the way, was your sleeping bag on thee floor.

His wife, by the way, had studied dress design and cooking at Tech college. How did she feel about grubbing around in sloppy sweater and gumboots, sorting the cow-dung? I had occasion to ask her if she was happy and she she replied with a quiet smile on her face, that she loved looking after her family. End of story.