Meribel and Tignes Le Breviere...

So here we are, lugging the same board bag and holdalls up to London...

We were invited back to run the same winter chalet that we did last year via a facebook message. And, running a little low on cash, decided another winter of boarding on a beautiful mountain wouldn't be much punishment for a few quid.

The coach journey from London to the Alps was not so bad this time. I managed to sleep fairly well and when we got to La Tania were divided up in to a few groups and shipped off to Meribel to settle in to a nice Chalet... not being waited on hand and foot in the companies hotel like last year.

This training week was different to last year. We were placed with 6 other wannabe chalet hosts and given a chalet, a manager and a chef. The next few days were spent learning to cook, clean and generally chatting about the practicalities of running a chalet. Our group were all couples, either people dating or friends who had decided to do a season so it was a really nice atmosphere.

We went out to the bar a few times in the evening, introducing the younger, unseasoned seasonnaires to Mutzig and Affligem, 7 - 8% lagers that seem to catch up on you!

Obviously Kerry and I knew which resort and chalet we were going to be put in. We chose to come back afterall. But the others in our Chalet had no idea where they were going.. and most no idea where they wanted to go. So everyone was excited, including Kerry and I, as Terry, our interim manager announced the selections. Everyone seemed pleased with their placements, some going to Les Gets and some staying here in Meribel.

After a rather boring morning doing the obligatory food hygiene course, we were pilling on to a bus and being taken to resort. The good bit! The bit everyone's been waiting for! Except Kerry and I, as we knew we wouldn't quite get to our resort just yet. We were destined for Tignes Le Breviere, a part of Tignes about the same height as our resort, just 20 minutes round the corner.

We always find this bit a touch annoying as you don't want to get properly settled in, only to move in a week or so, and it's always in the back of your head that your own chalet needs tarting up and organising before you get guests. One advantage was the apres though. We don't get much of a night life in our resort, so going to Tignes I took the opportunity to drink some beer... and drink beer is what I did.

I was out with all the lads from the chalets in Tignes. We had a few drinks in the chalet, then a few more in Vincents bar and finally ended up in the Underground bar The Vault. God knows what happens next, except for me waking up at 7:30, sat bolt upright in a big Chesterfield arm chair with a half played game of chess next to me. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like I'd been eating silica gel sachets. I gingerly got up and looked around the lounge I was in, finally making it to the front door and out on to the street. I was outside of a totally random chalet a 15 minute walk from the one I was meant to be sleeping in!~

Kerry wasn't pleased. She had been out looking for me at 3am, traipsing round the little town trying to find me. Every year a seasonnaire or two are caught out being too drunk and falling asleep outside where it gets to -25 C at night. But I was home safe... thanks to that random chalet.

Kerry and I were treated to a little night time soiree when Evolution 2 invited our manager and a few staff to a wilderness experience. We didn't really know what to expect. But turned up at the prescribed time to find 4 huge yurts setup in the snow. Massive flaming torches were everywhere and we were told to sit on the beanbags surrounding the big fire pit. It really was amazing. After a little while we were given cups of some sort of wine/spirit and paper bowls with hot soup in. It was nice to get to know our manager and the Tignes rep a little more... before we were called in to one of the yurts to sit down for dinner.

The food was good ole French Tartiflette and salad. One of my favourite French foods, and we had wine at the table. All around the yurt were tens if not hundreds of candles. There was no electricity up here on the side of the mountain and everything was powered by fire. Now we were sitting in, what I presumed to be, a very flammable wooden and cloth yurt, with one exit and hundreds of little flames for lighting. I expressed my concerns jovially with Kerry and the others.





Then my fear was realised. One of the girls serving the food had to move backwards to let a hot platter through and when she turned around her fur hood had caught fire! She'd inadvertently leant back in to a candle and now had a foot high flame roaring up behind her head. I heard a few people gasp... the girl was non the wiser... but no one moved! So I lept up and start twacking this girl like she was on fire. She WAS on fire.

The flame went out easily and she nonchalantly turned around and said "Was I on fire?" as everyone applauded. I felt like a superhero! And I sat back down to enjoy my dinner whilst keeping watch in case I needed to whip out my cape and come to another damsels rescue.

Pisa cake and a big long tunnel...

Driving through the tunnel at San Giuliano Terme and opening out with the city of Pisa infront of us was spectacular.

After a day recovering from the night before in Rome, Kerry and I drove through the misty, rainy region of Tuscany to get to a motorhome aire located just outside Pisa, famous for it's leaning tower. But as soon as we popped out of a fairly short tunnel under a hilly section, our spirits were brightened and the hangovers seemed to fade away. The setting sun shone in to the van and a picturesque countryside opened out to the seas in the distance.

Navigating around the Eastern part of Pisa was a little tricky as there was a huge viaduct traversing its way across the town. Unfortunately the arches had a height limit that we could not get under so we had to follow it until we found a broken down section with a road to get through. Getting to the Aire was a piece of cake and we were welcomed by happy faces, a map of the town and a large, fully functional aire with tens of vans in. Not like other parts of Italy!

It seemed this place had it nailed. I can only surmise that the authorities recognised and valued the custom that motorhomers can bring and invested a bit of money to welcome them whole heartedly.

We got chatting to the guy on the front gate and it transpired that his daughter lived just 20 miles away from our home town in Burgess Hill. He gave us a card for an Italian restaurant that she ran and also gave us his card and said to show it if we ate there to get a discount. His title was Colonel!

After a lovely dinner and a few bottles of wine from the nearby Carrefour we got our heads down ready for a day meandering through the streets of Pisa. The walk in to town was a pleasant, mile long, amble. Going through the walls of the old walled city changed the scenery from modern roads to almost medieval looking cobbled streets.

The sun was shining and the whole city felt warm. The streets were lined with soft hues of stone block work and then suddenly open out in to numerous squares. People cycled around and coffee shops were packed.. We are in Italy still!

I managed to get us a bit lost... of which I was quite disappointed. I pride myself in my magical navigatory skills, but Pisa broke me. We ended up walking straight passed the 'Leaning Tower' and out of the other side of the city! But after a quick re-orientation using the river as an aid we were back on track, walking down the same streets just in reverse!

Then it opened out in to the square with the leaning tower leaning at a very scary angle. I didn't realise just how much it lent over! Basically when they started building it they got Bodgit 'n' Scarper in to do the footings. Consequently it started to lean just a year in to construction. It took over 200 years to build because Pisa was constantly fighting Florence, Lucca and Genoa.

See the slight curve?

Half way through they decided to build the top portion at a corrected angle, making the tower actually curved. I thought this was a funny idea. It also means that the tower has either 194 or 196 steps, depending on which set you take.

What I didn't realise was that the tower was accompanied by two other very spectacular buildings, a cathedral and a baptistery. All religious in nature, and all lavished in elaborate masonry and even some gold leaf. The marble used to build them was very white and had come from the same mountains we had popped out of on our way to the city.

All around the plaza was a well kept lawn. There were signs everywhere saying 'Keep off the grass' in all different languages. The only trouble was that to get the best picture you HAD to go on the grass. So we watched for a good half an hour as 4 'grass police' chased and ushered people off of one section of the grassy area, only to turn around and find that 20 other people had just hopped the small, knee high fence 50 metres away. Quite why they couldn't pavement the best sections I don't know. I suppose it kept them in a crazy job of cat and mouse.


Another funny thing to watch was all of the poeple 'holding up' the tower. Except we chose to watch them from a totally different angle. This made it seem like they were at some sort of gym or aerobics class. Either that or training at a Hitler youth camp.

We, of course, couldn't resist, and followed suit with our own homage to holding up the tower. Ironically the tower doesn't need holding up. Engineers stabilised it in 2008, claiming that it would be stable for the next 200 years.

 

Kerry flexing her muscles

The sun was beating down and we had a nice cold beer and typical Italian pizza in Pisa! It was very nice. Again I made the mistake of asking for my Calzonni to be 'hot'. Forgetting that they came pretty darn hot to start with. I struggled through, quenching the burn with pint after pint of beer. Phew!

After another night in the excellent Aire we decided to make a trek home. The van was still making clunky noises and we were pretty tired. The first leg was up in to Northern Italy and passed Torino. Night time set it and we fueled had to fuel up again at an astonishingly high rate of 1.80 euro a litre. Then we noticed that there were lights high up in the distance ahead and decided to hunker down in a small town so we could see the alps during the day.

Upon waking up we were met with spectacular views of the peaks. We made our way up in to the mountains and towards the Mont Blanc tunnel.

The tunnel itself is an amazing 11.6 km (7.2 Miles) long. An astonishing feet of engineering. We paid our 50 Euro fee to use the tunnel and was met with a mutli-lane, gated entry where we sat waiting our turn. Once our neighbours had entered the tunnel the system waited until they were the obligatory length in to the tunnel and then our gate would open, allowing us to proceed. Inside the tunnel was a strict speed limit and we had to maintain 2 blue LED lights between us and the vehicle in front.

All of these precautions were because of a lorry fire in 1999 that showed just how dangerous the tunnel could be in an emergency. 39 people died. The ventilation system forced the smoke down the tunnel faster than the fleeing people and cars could go and the lack of oxygen stalled the engines in the cars. Drivers wound their windows up waiting for rescue but the fire crews engines has also stalled and the stricken vehicles meant they could not get to then truck.

Unfortunately the truck was carrying margarine and flour, two fairly flammable substances. It burnt for 53 hours, reaching 1000 degrees C. Some people say that the authorities compounded the situation by force venting the tunnel with fresh air from the French side, fueling the fire with oxygen.

Mont Blanc tunnel

After safely exiting the tunnel we gunned it for home. We were all Frenched out. Whilst France is a lovely, changeable and interesting landscape... We'd seen it all before and northern France can be a little monotinous with its constant rolling hills and plains. We made the journey from Torino, Italy to Dieppe, France in 12 hours including the tunnel, stopping only for fuel stops. We were lucky and grabbed the last available place on the ferry the next day. Our second stint in Europe was over and we happily, if also tiredly, drove in to Horsham late that evening

The Grand Civilisation of Rome...

Getting in to Rome after dark was a nightmare...

The quality Italian driving only intensified as we neared the city. Instead up here in Northern Italy it wasn't old people in their Panda 4 x 4's but swish looking young ladies wearing high heels carrying a labelled (yet known to me) handbag on their little scooters.

We were headed for a campsite called Camping Village Roma, situated on the street Via Aurelia, some 4kn from the centre of Rome. Well.... The very helpful Navfree app we so enthusiastically adore and swear by decided that the easiest route was through the middle of town. Driving through town in Rome isn't like driving through town at home. Driving through town in Rome is like battling a hoard of orcs with a toothpick whilst clad in a sumo outfit!

Via Aurelia is also a bit of a farce. There are at least 3 streets we found called Via Aurelia (god knows how many others we didn't manage to find!) all of which are a good distance apart. But, finally, after considering hunkering down next to a grand palace, we managed to find the campsite. It was about 11 at night and the price for the nights stay would have been 30 Euros, a fair sum for a pair of vagabonds so Kerry and I decided to park in the train station car park next to it and migrate over in the morning, avoiding an expensive outlay.

Train station car parks, particularly peripheral city ones aren't places to stay in a foreign motorhome. The next day we were disturbed twice by unscrupulous characters 'testing the waters' on our van. One even booted the front wing, leaving a mark, but was very apologetic as he sped off on his scooter. I'm sure, if we had not have been in the van, we would have come back to it and found a similar situation as Barcelona. City visits aren't conducive to van life!

Never the less we persevered and booked in for a couple of nights stay in the campsite, catching the bus in to Rome itself the next day. Rome is a mix mash of old and new. It's obvious that the city is proud of it's heritage. Every piece of architecture was cordoned off and had placards explaining what you were looking at, from huge decrepid religious places, with only the columns still standing, to the famous grand Colosseum. Yet all around was a modern, thriving city. Taxi's jostled for position, tourists looked around in amazement/bewilderment and the locals bustled past as if we were all just annoying moving obstacles.

We walked around looking for food in what was reportedly the food quarter, but only came across little quaint, expensive Italian restaurants or small takeaway pizza type places. So after a little more walking and some increasingly sore feet decided to grab a taxi and head over to our destination for the night.
We'd heard of a funky house night at a night club called AKAB. The tag line of "I fink U Freaky" did it for me! But before the mayhem that is a night out on the town we thought it best to grab a bite to eat. The restaurant we chose was a very swanky looking one. We went full bore on the food as well, having what ever we wanted, starters, desserts, lots of bottles of wine and came out full, and over 100 Euros lighter! So much for Vagabonding! We will put this down as another 'treat' then.

The club was next to a bar and we proceeded to get blind drunk after all the wine at dinner and now beers. The queue for the club was round the corner. Desperate to get in, as I'd just got in the dancing mood, we ambled towards the front to check out the door. It wasn't open yet, but as we walked nearer the doors opened and we just casually walked in front of everyone queuing and were first in the club! No entrance fees, no waiting... just two drunkards bimbling through the night! What happens next is anyones guess. But we landed back at the campsite at 6am still partying in the taxi!

The next day was a write off... I blame my better half! It's always good to have a blow out night... but my word do I feel it the next day. After two days in Rome it was time to move on. Cities aren't places for vans. However we'd researched a fantastic sounding aire located in Pisa and decided to set the compass...North

The Ancient City of Pompeii...

A strange thing... to walk on streets 2000 years old.

Colosseum with rare solid floor 

But that's what we found ourselves doing after a short drive North and towards the looming Mount Vesuvius. The Pompeii we all know and love is now a district of the modern city Pompei (notice the subtle difference?). Parking the van was comparatively easy and after a few minutes paying for tickets and we were met with a huge Colosseum type building and the slaves entrance through a few tunnels opening out in to the amphitheater.

This theater had a solid floor, unlike other Roman remains, and so gave the viewer an immense sense of immersion. If I blanked out the hoards of old and chinese people (Two seperate groups, sometimes combined) it really felt like I could have been there... doomed by my previous owner as he sold me to the slave master for the measly sum of 2 Denarius's (Roman coinage). Luckily I only had to fight off the urge to photo bomb the Chinese tourists as Kerry and I walked to and through the otherside of the arena.

All around Pompeii there are typical, stepped vineyards. All of the vines are orientated to a certain direction to give greatest exposure to the sun, and consequently increasing yield of grapes. Each yard was owned and operated by a well-to-do Roman aristocrat and produced their own seperate brand of wine with completely different grape varieties. By looking at the grape vines that were buried in the ash, archaeologists were able to determine over 400 totally different types of grape vine.

So what's all this about ash? Who's he? Mount Vesuvius is actually a comparably very active volcano. It's most notable eruption was in 79AD when it spat tons of rock, ash and gases 20 miles in to the atmosphere. It produced running lava flows consisting of 1.5 million tons of material per second. That's a lot of rock!

The result to the neighbouring cities of Pomepeii and Herculaneum was a deposit of ash and rock nearly 3 metres thick in places. This rock and ash was devastating to the cities. An estimated 16,000 people died in the initial lava flow and rock expulsion. Archaeologically, however, this layer protected the site, maintaining a whole Roman city in that one instant, when the volcano erupted. After excavating a large portion it is now open to the public.

Ruins of the Basillica used by Roman Pompeii citizens for prayer

We walked around the streets of Pompeii as if it was a sort of theme park. There was no sombriety shown by any of the multi-national sightseers. And I myself didn't feel like I do when I've visited war graves in Belgium, or any grave for that matter. Because this is what Pompeii is... A mass grave. Granted it's in quite an obscure setting, how many graves ARE a city as well?

Perhaps the whole place detaches itself from the reality of what happened? Maybe it's just too preserved. Walking around the streets and sometimes you could wonder what all the fuss was about. The infrastructure is still there, roads are very definable, kurbs, sewers, swimming pools, even obligatory modern water pipes to quench the thirst of today's unattached spectators.

What was actually quite disturbing to me was the few lost souls who were truly immortalised by the eruption. Some city dwellers met their end asleep such as this guy in the glass case. That is not their actual physical self mummified. The cast is made of plaster of Paris and is injected in to the void that the now rotted flesh left behind. It enforces the very speed in which events occurred.

I found it very vivid. Some buildings and rooms were open. Anyone could walk inside, there were spectacular pictures painted on the walls with barely any empty space. You could walk around the house, as if you were there before the eruption. Shops still had their frontage and pots for their wares. 

T
 There was also some interesting conservation work being done. This photo demonstrated how they use scaffolding systems to support falling sections of wall. It appeared that rainfall had dug away at the foundations.

As we progressed through the labyrinth of streets, some with massive 'speed humps', the landscape opened out in to a sort of square with the ruins of a respectably sized basillica. This was obviously the main congregation area of the city with decorative fountains and large open spaces.

It then transpired that we had come in to the city through the back entrance and we were spat out at the main entrance a few minutes walk around the walls of the city from our van and where we had entered.

Both Kerry and I were hungry when we got back to the van and having an hour left on the parking meter took the chance to grab some cheap food in the form of a kebab. Kebab, chips and a drink dented our pocket to the tune of 6 Euros a head and we were fully satisfied for the drive to Rome which we wanted to get done before night fall.

Vollo del Angelo...

Diego showed us an amazing video.. and it made us want to be in the video...

At dinner on the last night we were at Diego's farm talk turned toward where we would go and what we would do after leaving. We'd already planned to visit Kerry's Grandad, Vito's farmhouse in Contursi Terme but thought it couldn't hurt to ask for other ideas.

The woofer who was staying with Diego was called Rossella. She was in her 30's and had stayed with Diego and everyone else at the farm for a whole year! She had told me how beautiful the landscape was around Potenza and Matera where she came from. So when Diego showed us a video of him doing the Vollo Del Angelo, which is smack bank in the middle of the two towns Rossella mentioned, it seemed like the ideal thrill seeker activity and within minutes we'd booked ourselves a space.

Prepare....... Engage!

The Vollo del Angelo means 'Flight of the Angel' in English. It is a set of zip wires that shoot people 1.5km across a large ravine in the Dolomite mountain range at up to 70 miles per hour! There are two routes on two totally separate wires. Both wires connect the two mountain towns of Castelmessano and Pietrapertosa just in different directions.

When booking online it became apparent that their operational season was coming to an end and we booked on the last day they would run that year! Instant regret washed over me as I read the stats back after booking. 1.5km long 70 mph 400 metres up. uh oh.

I'm petrified of heights. I really am. You know when someone says they go weak at the knees. It's no bull shit. I've had it happen and physically had to sit down. I start to shake uncontrollably, even if I'm desperate to do what ever it is i'm at height for.

Getting to the first town Castelmessano was more eventful than we expected. Three Quarters of the van's exhaust system decided to leave us while we were on the motorway. Luckily all of the boxes were on the front part of the system and she doesn't sound or run any different! A small pit-stop had to be made in a lay-by to ensure everything was safe and to recover the hunk of metal off the road.

Save me oh holy helmet

We pulled in to Castelmessano and was inundated with traffic. It's obvious the Vollo del Angelo is a major tourist attraction, bringing people to an otherwise overlooked section of Italy. I say overlooked because the mountain range is really magnificent. Parking was a nightmare but eventually we were walking to the first platform. Kerry, bless her, found the 20 minute walk up the side of the mountain a little strenuous. The air was definitely thinner.

We got to the first station amid a clatter of Italian hollering and gesturing. I don't speak a word of Italian. We were told to wait a bit. After about 45 minutes no one had gone on the zip wire and I was getting more and more scared. All sorts of thoughts were running through my head. The last person to go had had an accident. They'd found a fault in the cabling. A helicopter had hit the wire. A meteor was scheduled to hit the mountain any minute. The world was just about to explode in to tiny space fragments.

What was more likely is that we'd got there just as lunch started and now they'd all finished it was time to 'fly'. Kerry and I were at the top first and so, naively, thought we would be going first. I always prefer to go first. Then I don't get to see the process, watch how it all works, see any of the mistakes that can be made. I'd already convinced myself that every bolt was tight and every weld was good and strong. Now I had to witness everyone who had turned up behind Kerry and I go on the bloody thing before us!

At long last they pointed at me, dressed to the nines in a sort of suspended sleeping bag. God knows what that tiny helmet is there for. If shit hits the fan I'm plunging 400 metres to the ravine floor, a bit of plastic clad polystyrene isn't going to help me.

I got hooked up and instantly felt more scared. They put on a small piece of material to act as a wind break. Dependent on the last riders landing speed and weight they then determine which size 'wing' to put on. I got a yellow one. I don't know what that means. Then with a little 'Enjoy your flight, Ciao' the woman pulled the release and I was set forth to my doom.

Kerry coming in to land

The first 7 or 8 seconds I was flying fairly low over a small field but then the floor literally fell away as I shot over the cliff and in to the ravine. Instantly I felt calm... I was totally removed from the situation. It was as if I wasn't there. I was simply viewing what was going on. As if through a television screen. In a video game maybe? And it was awesome! Every feeling of fear literally dropped out of me. I was able to simply enjoy the whole experience.

I looked in all directions, whizzing along the steel cable with a constant humming noise. To my left the ravine opened out to a vast pasture, to the right the ravine cut deep in to the mountains. Below me were sharp, stalactite like rock formations and then the road, weaving and winding it's way up the other side to the town of Pietrapertosa. Then it dawned on me. I've now got to 'land', and I have no idea how that works! I could see the platform rushing towards me, oh crap!

It was fine. I hit a small break and was sharply, but not violently, brought to a halt.The attendant unclipped me and I walked away, unscathed, unharmed and with a strong desire to do this all day long! Thank god there was the return journey!

The Vollo del Angelo is a spectacular experience. A must see for anyone in the area, and a worthy cause to travel for it if your not in the area. I've heard there is going to be a similar attraction installed on Mount Snowdon. If that's true... I'm there!

Enjoy the video below. It is filmed by Youtube user David Kilpatrick and shows both flights from each of the towns. It gives a good taste for what to expect, but does not in any way replicate the experience. For that your going to have to head over to Italy and strap yourself in! You won't regret it!

Contursi Terme...

Setting off from Diego's place on the side of Mount Etna was a difficult task.

I personally could have spent a long time there. I would sit and imagine what such a place would be like if I had all of my friends there around me. It all felt so free... liberal. But it was time to move on and we headed for the port of Messina to cross the short 20 minute ferry and land on Mainland Italy.

We drove up the A3 motorway, headed North, destined for Kerry's Grandfather's house. Kerry's family have deep seated roots in a small town called Contursi. Her Grandfather moved from Italy to Horsham just before Kerry's Mother and siblings were born, leaving behind an old farmhouse, nestled on the side of a small mountain.

The roadworks and tunnels on the motorway were both plentiful and suspect. Some tunnels lacked any lighting what so ever. Stalactites hung down from the top of the arch where water had managed to seep through. Most of the time the road was narrowed to one lane with small, 2 dimensional cones marking out the route. The seismic activity around the Dolomite range of mountains coupled with strong rains had caused tremendous damage to the infrastructure, washing away some of the road.

There are no road tolls in the Southern part of the country. The people live very much hand to mouth with little money. An agreement was made whereby the southern parts are helped out by the more affluent people of the North with regards to road tolls and other taxes. I found it quite incredible to learn that the Italian GDP had surpassed that of Great Britain in early 2012. Especially as I was driving through landscapes where people lived in basic accommodation and ran 25 - 30 year old Fiat Pandas down roads as potholed as some rally tracks.

Artisan checkers board! (might have enjoyed making it more than playing on it

The ironic thing is whenever I logged in to my Facebook I'd see huge threads of people complaining about how long a section of roadworks had been installed on a road near my hometown. If these people could experience these roads I'm sure their internet whinging would go through the roof! Sometimes people don't know when they have it good.

We enjoyed a pleasant lunch in a roadside cafe for under 5 Euros and set out on the last hundred miles to Contursi. Pulling off of the motorway and we were met with huge cracks in the road, causing steps of up to a foot deep. It was quite amazing to think the earth around here moved enough to cause these cracks.

We were met with alot of stares as we pulled in to town, immediately finding ourselves driving through the town square with, what seemed like, every resident sat around chatting or smoking. We headed up the main street and were met by a very old lady waving as she lept from a small Fiat Cinquecento with its horn blaring.

"Follow me... come come... you come my house!"

Kerry recognised the lady as her Great Auntie, sister of her Grandad, Zia (auntie) Maria. The driver of the car was her son, Kerry's second uncle, Mario.

The whole experience was very bizarre, to be driving through a quaint little Italian town and be instantly recognised and welcomed in to someones home. We followed the little green car for a few miles until we pulled in to the drive of a single story house belonging to Maria. We were showered in all sorts of foods and lovely fresh cafeteria style coffee only rural Italians know how to make.

It turns out Maria was expecting us. Kerry's Grandad, Vito, had telephoned to say we would be in Italy around this time and she took great pleasure in calling Vito in Horsham to let him know we arrived safe.

After a light lunch/dinner with Maria we drove across town to Vito's farmhouse to settle in for the week. The house itself is fairly basic. Of concrete construction, the interior was sparsely furnished with no plumbed gas and low grade electrics. It did, however, have running hot running water and a washing machine so we were in our element!

After our experience on the Vollo del Angelo (Flight of the Angel) the week was a very relaxed affair. The house is set on the side of a large hill and surrounded by arable land that Vito allows relatives and local farmers to use to heard their livestock and plant their crops. One lazy afternoon I was building a fire out near one of the fields and watched a shepherd at work. I didn't think there were such things as shepherds anymore. Not since baby Jesus graced his way on to the Earth. Yet here I was, watching a bloke watching sheep. For HOURS.

The abundance of wildlife was also quite incredible. Upon opening the front door to leave the house there was a disorientating amount of movement from and in every direction as loads of green lizards scurried for cover from their concrete sunbeds. They can stick to anything with their claws. Even scuttling along the ceiling upside down!

Kerry came face to face with a huge wasp type creature after hanging her PJs outside to dry in the sun. It was a strange flying beast about the size of a hornet but instead of having black and yellow marking was entirely black. Even it's wings were black instead of the usual translucent. It stung her 4 times in the leg before expiring on the floor. Luckily there was no adverse reaction!

Every evening brought a thunder storm and the rain would lash down. It was still very hot though. The storm would roll around the valley outside of the house, sometimes for hours, spitting out huge cracks of lightning and rumbling the windows. Storms are so much more massive and violent on the continent.

After a week of relaxing, reading, painting and soaking up the sun we were set to move North and in to the hustle and bustle of cities.

Sicily!...

The drive to the ferry terminal at Genoa, Italy wasn't particularly far distance wise but the journey seemed to take a long time. All the way the creaking and clunking noises from under the front of the van got louder and louder.

The work that had been done had not cured any of the noises. It had cost us in parts, labour at the garage as well as getting the gyometry done, which doesn't feel like its been done correctly, and we had to move the ferry crossing from Genoa to Palermo by 3 days for the extra sum of €90. And all for nothing.

To say I was annoyed was an understatement. I do expect our vehicle to have some teething problems. Its nearly as old as me. But I also expect a mechanic to diagnose and fix the problems. Instead of apparently pluck a solution out of the air and send me packing after doing the work.

The ferry journey definately was a long one! 20 hours in a seat slightly bigger than an aircraft seat. Granted we could walk around the boat but sleeping was tricky. We did look at getting a cabin for the journey but it was €200 more! Thats a meal out in London for two with a hotel at the end as well! We were on a ferry where the cabaret pianist singer wore sunglasses... inside! 

Arriving on Sicily just after dark we decided to drive a little but to save most of the driving for the next day so we could see the scenery. We drove right through the middle of Sicily which took on a strange terrain of semi-mountainous yet fairly fertile fields. Most of which had just been freshly ploughed.

We had directions to get to a farm run by Diego and pulled in to the near vertical track, leading to the farm perched on the eastern side of Mount Etna, at around midday.

The farm was beautiful, stretching up in to the hillside like a vine up a tree. We were introduced to Diego's girlfriend Cinzia, his business partner and girlfriend as well as a long term woofer who had her Mother visiting. They lived communially except for individual bedroom buildings. 

Every day we gathered round for lunch and dinner either outside on the terraced garden or in the communial space in the old winery. Diego had painstakingly restored the old winery from a crumbling ruin to the future well being center he invisages it functioning as in the future. The old stonework is matched seemlessly with modern technology. Solar Photo Voltaic panels line the roof as well as solar water heatgain panels. All of the lighting and power outlets are wired to a central bus setup so that everything can be controlled and configured on the computer rather than conventional hard wiring. 

After alot of chilling out over the weekend it was time to start the harvest of the olives. Diego said that this years weather had not been as expected, with more rain and less sun. Consequently the grapes in the vineyard tested way below their required sugar content and the planned grape harvest was put on hold. An adverse effect of the increased rain was that the olives had matured more quickly and had started to drop off of the trees of their own accord. So the planned harvests were switched. Olives first, grapes later, once theyd had more sun days to bring the sugar levels up.

It was hard work. We lay out big green nets under the trees and then simply ran our hands down the spindly branches to dislodge the olives and let them drop on to the net. Whilst the picking wasnt too strenuous,  holding yourself in one position either dangling from a branch or perched on a precarious ladder used muscles I dont think I'll ever use again. It did lend itself to a few funny instances as Kerry let out a yelp and came crashing to the floor under one particular tree. Luckily she wasn't hurt as the ladder twisted round and dumped her off. 

After two days we had finished harvesting the majority of the trees and Kerry and I took a day out to ride the small, 1 carriage, diesel train that circumnavigates Etna. We didn't go all theway round, opting for a 45 minute excursion to Randazzo, a fairly large town in comparison to most Sicilian towns. We strolled around looking at the old buildings where function seems to prevail more than form. The way it should be. Utilising space fpr its usefulness rather than to look pretty. Very disilimar to the Italian people where the police wear ray bans and white belts in a bid to look swish when accomplishing not alot. 

We sat in the town square just as hundreds of people descended on it. Kids riding bicycles in an infinte circle, grandads sat next to each other not saying a word, house wives bellowing orders over great distances at each other. Id read that Sicily was organised chaos, and this square proved that. 

Finding lunch was alot more difficult than I'd thought it would have been. We walked around looking for an open restaurant for what seemed like ages. Id grown accustomed to weird opening times from our French neighbours, but being unable to find a restaurant open at 2pm was a little silly. Eventually we stumbled on 'Sainto Georgio del Drago' hoping the patron saint of the Motherland could help us out in our time of need. 

Meat is a rare privilege at Diego's, reserved for festivals and other special occassions. Consequently I'd been deprived of protein for a week now and couldn't entertain another pasta dish for fear of losing some precious muscle weight.  Luckily Saint Georgio came good with a mixed grill of Pork, Beef and Sausage coupled with a side of fresh salad... and beer. Id been without a beer for a few weeks now, and it tasted gooood!

That evening at dinner Diego pulled out a large slab of what I can only compare to a hunk of dog food. When I asked Diego said of course it was dog food, but that it was also very good eating as he sliced a portion off and doused it with the juice from a lemon. I gingerly followed suit, squeezing every last drop out of my half lemon and tentively putting the piece in my mouth. Diego was right, it was good eating, I could tell it wasn't the prime cuts of meat in the jelly, but it didn't taste horrible. Then Rossella, the woofing lady, asked for some. She couldn't speak English and Diego said something to her as he passed her a slice of the dog food. She started laughing histerically as she squeezed her lemon over it. It wasn't dog food. Just a trick on Diego's part. And he had firmly got me. Its a kind of meat similar to pork pie filling with the jelly and everything. Still I guess I proved that I would infact be prepared to eat dog food!

Cinzia kindly gave Kerry and I a lift to the local beach the next afternoon. Id wanted to get one more swim in the mediterranean sea before the weather turned or we headed North and it was lovely. Being the end of September I guess it's the hottest time for the sea, having warmed up all summer. 

That evening was our last supper on the farm. We had to leave the next day so I bought a crate of beer from the shop on the way back from the beach. Diego had a friend over, Alessandro,  who eagerly showed me their bottle of Cactus liquor. Diego had let me have some earlier in the week and I liked it. It made your tongue go completely numb. But it wasn't until Alessandro told me it took 100kg of cactus fruit and 2 days to make this one litre bottle! Now I felt very guilty as I'd enjoyed quite alot of the mouth numbing drink and apologised to Diego, but he didn't seem to mind. 

Being a people person I've always loved communial living and often have a lodger or house shared in the past. I commend Diego's strive towards self sufficiency. I too would like to achieve the same. However, from my time on his farm, I don't think its an easy task to accomplish. We have developed a society where people specialise in things and we havea monetary system so we buy stuff from others. This stops everyone having to learn how to make toilet rolls, or mine for gas, and buying these things leaves you more time to do the other things you enjoy. A happy medium must be met...

Van troubles and silver linings...

After leaving Port Grimaud we took a slow meander along the coast of southern France. In my opinion one of the most spectacular coast lines in the world. (From what I've experienced!)

Every turn of the road yielded a new cove or lagoon to explore. Small beaches manifested themselves and a short jaunt down a steep cliff side was rewarded with the most beautiful and secluded section all to our selves.

The clunking noise we'd heard back in the Dordogne wasn't cured by replacing the wheel bearings. After a quick google I feared the worst and succumbed to taking the van to a garage. Luckily we found a local Brit who owned a garage not too far in Mouans Sartoux and after some investigative work it was deduced that the steering rack was worn on the outward bushes.

The part had to be sourced from the UK as we have a right hand drive van and so we were to wait for a few days for it to be delivered.

Mouans Sartoux itself is quite a pleasant little town with a particularly old section of narrow roadways and alleys. Some of the buildings here were 400 to 500 years old. Unfortunately we seemed to just miss the end of lunch at 2 oclock so had to resort to food in the van.

The part came a few days later and the mechanic Phil phoned to inform me, asking if I would do him a favor on the way. He had a car that he needed to move across town and he picked me up in his landrover as we finished a little walk on a strange derilict piece of land.

Phil pulled alongside this lovely white Toyota MR2 and asked whether I was ok driving left hand drive cars. Of course never having done so before in my life, but eager to drive the little sportster, I proclaimed that I was a professional! Toured year round in a left hand drive camper once! Fibbing to secure my place in the shit car. Because thats what an MR2 is in French. M - er - deux ... merde.

After I safely delivered the Toyota to Phillip's nice villa with infinity pool his mechanic set to work replacing the steering rack on our van. It was getting close to Mia's departure as she had a flight booked for the next day, Friday, and we had our van booked in for the tracking to be done the same morning so we drove the van towards Nice airport and enjoyed lunch in a roadside cafe.

10 miles later and there was a rattling under the van again. Further inspection showed that one of the retaining bolts holding the steering rack on had sheered. We couldn't move the van for fear of us losing the steering and plumeting off of one of the mountain roads to our deaths! Our new breakdown cover was to now come in handy.

After a few phone calls and about an hour and a half we were doing one of the strangest, and I suspect most dangerous, thing I've done in a long time. The recovery truck driver asked all 3 of us to jump in the back of the van whilst he whinched her up on to the flat bed and drove the 25 miles back to the garage. The combined suspension felt like we would tip over at any point. People on the pavements spotted the girls sitting in the driving and passenger seats and laughed or waved. All while I experienced the van from the back whilst moving along. Fellow motorhomers passing in the opposite direction would also greet us with the obligatory wave when they spotted the girls in the van. All while on a flat bed recovery truck!

Two new high tensile bolts and nuts were sourced from Ford and we had a 5 day wait before they'd get to us. The breakdown company, a German firm called ADAC, were fantastic. They took care of organising the recovery vehicle and advised us to get a hotel whilst we wait for the repair to be made. We had an allowance of €65 per person per night for a maximum of 3 nights as well as a €52 per day allowance for a hire car for up to 7 days.

We settled in to the hotel and its pleasures like running hot water, swimming pool and massive beds before sinking a bottle of wine with Mia and watching a few episodes of Breaking Bad.

We said our final goodbyes to Mia that evening as she had a taxi booked to the airport at 4:30am the next day. We have really enjoyed Mia's company on our jaunt through the Netherlands, Belgium and France. Now the time has come to head our own ways. It is exciting to hear of Mia's plans to build her own van and start touring. The days of questionable looks from fellow campers, bar owners, petrol pump assistants and mechanics as 2 girls and only one guy jumps out of the van are over.

Kerry and I enjoyed the hotel for the few days we were there, relaxing by the pool and using the internet to our hearts content. On the Saturday evening we took our little Toyota Yaris hire car out to crawl the streets of Monaco. The little car was a godsend. Id never dream of trying to pilot a motorhome around the small country so it gave Kerry a chance to see the decadence for herself as well.

We even drove through Monte Carlo, right infront of the famous casino with hundreds of people gathered round Lambo's and Porsche's,  their owners inside squandering their millions. It really is fascinating. Its a country in its own righr but only covers 0.78 square miles. 35, 000 people live there making it the most densily populated country in the world. And they all benefit from 0% income tax!

The bolts came in and it took literally minutes to replace them. We dropped the hire car back and headed out along the coast to a garage with a big enough ramp to do the Gyometry adjustments. Then a long drive up and in to Italy, aiming for Genoa or Genova (I'm not sure which is correct) for our ferry ride to Palermo...

Port Grimaud, Monaco and St Tropez... again...

After leaving Moto camping Dordogne at around 5pm we decided to drive till we were tired. We'd told David and Paul that we'd get there in 4 days, arriving mid-week on Wednesday.

Well the van engine ran alot better that evening. I think the cooler air helped the diesel so we drove until 11ish, stopping to find a place to stop for the night just after seeing Carcassonne all lit up from afar. The sat nav said that within an hours drive we could be in Montpellier and it was decided that we would wildcamp down on the beach and enjoy the sea the next day.

We had parked up to numerous other vans that seem to congregate on the spit of sand called Grand Travers and the next day I woke up needing the toilet quite desperately. Whilst I was doing my thing I smelt a faint smell of smoke but put it down to someone having a cigarette somewhere. Jumping back in to bed I could hear a peculiar noise like someone walking through the trees next to us on the sand dunes. The noise continued and I stuck my head out of the roof vent to investigate. The smell was stronger and I saw a haze in the air.

Fire plane

It was a fire. About 50 metres away in the bush by the sand dunes. We immediately packed up ready to move. The land around here was so dry and the wind was relatively strong. We were worried it would spread quickly towards us. Other van occupants were quickly packing up and we moved down the beach 100 metres and watched as the fire got bigger and bigger, seeing flames licking the tops of the trees.

Over the next hour and a half we watched as the fire brigade arrived in their trucks and a small plane circled over head before sounding a siren and dumping water on to the brush. It took the emergency services all morning to satisfactorily put the fire out and we took up our position on the beach after an eventful morning.

It was hot. Very hot. Much hotter than in the Dordogne and we had to take shelter in the van during the hottest part of the day. We knew that David and Paul were only 150 miles away and took the excuse of driving to get some wind through the van. 

Monaco by Motorbike!

4 hours later and we were driving through Grimaud and in to the aire which was conveniently located just outside Prairies de la Mar, the campsite the boys were staying in and the same campsite Kerry and I met my Dad at a few months ago.

A quick walk around the big site didn't shed any light as to their camping spot but we were determined to find them without giving away our location. It was Monday evening and we weren't due to meet them until Wednesday.  Another surprise!

Of course we found them sat in the beachside bar. I crept up behind them and asked "So does that wheel bearing job come with a warantee" to which they both laughed and turned around to welcome us. The evening was gorgeous with the setting sun illuminating the sky over the sea in purples and pinks.

David and Paul had planned a ride out on their bikes to Monaco the next day. Having one extra helmet they offered for one of us to go with them. Not being able to settle the decision amongst ourselves some straws were sought from the bar and I pulled the longest of the three.

We left the campsite around midday the next day and skirted north on the coast road, me riding pilion on Paul's Suzuki TS1000. I cant proclaim to it being the comfiest bike to sit on but I was appreciative of the opportunity to ride with the boys. As we pulled in to Monaco the Suzuki started to smell and feel very hot so I swapped over to Daves BMW and we blatted round as much of the Monaco Formula 1 race track as we could including through the world renound tunnel. All whilst dodging Ferrari's, Porsche's and other expensive cars all displaying their principality of Monaco number plates.

The sheer wealth of the place is only evident when you're there. The number and size of the boats was incredible. All of them were much larger than my 2 bedroom flat and most were the size of 6 story mansions!

Deciding against getting a €200 euro cheese sandwich we headed back to Port Grimaud and the girls for a spot of BBQd burgers and sausages until dark.

After a nice long sleep we all reconveined at the port around midday for an afternoon on the water. Dave has held a boating license for as long as I can remember, even having his own little vessel named "Boogie Nights" in Brighton Marina. So after a short orientation of our floating palace we were set loose in the Gulfe of St Tropez. Picking up speed and getting the boat planing above the water for 10 minutes until we slowed down and entered the port of St Tropez.

It was an especially novel way of viewing the world famous mooring. Posh and expensive cars lined the dock as tanned, balding 50+ somethings swanned around with an ungarish, more stately air about them. Here in the world of French wealth it seems less is more. Except for the size of your boat!

Shark!

We shot over the bay with extra speed this time as I joined Paul up on the bow of the boat (the front) and our combined weight helped the boat get up out of and on to the waves. We headed for a lagoon the boat rental guy told us about. We dropped anchor in a patch of beautifully crystal clear water and had a lark about, diving for the bottom, drinking the beers and eating the sandwiches we'd brought along.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and I feel very privileged David was there to take us out. I couldn't thank him enough but tried to make up for it with a dinner of chili con carne and rice.

After the meal we said our fairwells. The boys were headed through Italy and in to Switzerland the next day...

Moto Camping Dordogne...

Id heard all about the place before.

My Dad had been going on his motorcycle for years, my uncle David accompanying him on the last few trips. So when I received a message from my uncle asking if we were up for the end of season party in a weeks time, I found my curiosity too great to refuse.

Spicy ribs!

Moto Camping Dordogne is just that... a campsite for motorcyclists in the Dordogne region of France. Luckily they accept 'friends' of bikers so us and the van were welcome.

Pulling in to the campsite we found my Dad supping his beer at the bar. David had invited him along for the weekend but Dad made his excuses and declined, only to get the ferry crossing a day earlier than David and surprise him.

We met the American handyman Glen, the Dutch chef Peter and the owner of the Campsite, another Dutch national, Renska and her son Gabriel. The whole atmosphere was very appealing. Constant music, constant beer and constant sun with the people working there seeming more like friends than hosts.

Fun in hats

Dad told us about the renound ribs that come in 3 different sauces, sweet, spicy and garlic and I opted for the spicy version that evening as we chatted about Dad's ride down and our meandering trip over from the Alps. We had been disturbed at 10:30 pm the previous night by 2 of France's finest national police, the Gendarmerie. They were perplexed as to how we were parked in a 2.5 metre height restricted car park. That was until they asked us to leave and we simply drove over the grass next to the height barrier.

The campsite sold bar cards of 15 drinks at a time. When you had 6 completed bar cards you received a Moto Camping Dordogne t-shirt. Well that sounded like a challenge to me! And we made a good dent in a few cards that night.

All around the bar were biking memorabilia and paraphernalia. Old bike panels, oil pumps, chains and sprockets littered the walls and I could have spent all day just looking around. About 40 different styled hats were hung up as well and it made an amusing evening trying them out and taking on the persona of the previous occupant. That was until I tried to put a pink sequined one on one of the two campsite dogs, Ollie. He proceeded to grab it in his mouth and run around the bar and terrace area with me running after him in a desperate attempt to retrieve it. The burley bikers drinking their beers seemed to find it as funny as he did.

After going to bed at 2am that night I woke up quite late and cooked a bacon and egg roll for Kerry, Mia and my Dad. All of a sudden it was beer o'clock and I started plowing through another bar card whilst taking in the sun by the pool. The second campsite dog, Vincent, is fairly young. If I ever get a dog I'd like one the same as him, a German Sheperd. His fascination with sticks was funny, especially when he found one that was too long to fit through the door.

Guess why he's called Vincent?

In the distance we heard the distinct thud thud of a BMW and the beautiful pounding of a big V-twin. David and his friend Paul were drawing near and Dad quickly ran for cover in the bar. Kerry and I greeted the biker boys with a hug and a beer and introduced everyone to Mia and vica versa. I could see Paul looking confused in the direction of Dad's bike and tent further down the site. Then out strolled Dad with the smuggest grin I've ever seem. David had been well and truly stumped. A good surprise!

That night was full of more bar cards as I proposed an arm wrestling match between the big boys, Dad and Paul, only to get thrashed by both. I need to get down the gym!

The next day everyone was suffering. A combination of the heat and too many bar cards being smashed. But after a dip in the pool, Dad, David, Paul and I took a ride out to the nearest town, Gourdon, for a couple of rescue beers and baguettes for lunches. Riding on the back of Dad's bike was brilliant. I don't like riding pilion usually but the meandering roads and the warm air in my face reminded me of how much I enjoy riding.

 

That afternoon I decided to tackle the front wheel bearings on the van. There was a distinct click noise when we were going slow over bumps and round corners and I suspected they may need changing. This was also the perfect place as the campsite has a tool shop for use by the guests and it just so happens my mobile mechanic task force was present (my Dad and Uncle!). After a bit of poking around on my part they declared I was 'painful to watch' and delved right in to help!

I had another massive rack of 'extra' spicy ribs that night, needing a few glasses of water to quench the 'extra' part! Beer flowed and stories were told of biker festivals in Portugal by my relatives and some more hardcore ones in Germany where they give you a bail of straw to put on the snow before you pitch your tent, by Case who worked at the campsite.

Glen has pool fun with Vincent

Kerry looked over the table at me around midnight with very glassy eyes. The vodka measures had taken their toll and the walk back to the van was eventful to say the least! The next day I found her curled up in the shade of the van feeling a little worse for wear!

David and Paul left early that morning to get the 350 or so miles done to their next destination in the South of France. Myself and the girls were to follow them down, much slower I may add, but the lure of the pool, bar and conversation was such that we didn't end up leaving till the evening.

Biker campsites are the best. No rules, no NIMBY neighbours and good quality people. It made me want to run a campsite...