Beautiful guests and soon to be familiar faces...

I'm sorry I've been so quiet...

It's only because we are coming to the end of 3 awesome weeks with 3 awesome sets of guests. And it's been a real pleasure. After our nightmare guests a couple of weeks ago it was a real breath of fresh air and a bolster to our experience. We thought we were doomed to a season of guests who we had no connection with. Our manager received a formal complaint, 10 points long, about how incompetent Kerry and I were at our jobs.

I gave simple and honest answers to my management hierarchy. Every piece of feedback prior and after these particular guests was shining and it gave me a real boost in morale. I knew what I was doing was right and I was conducting my job to the fullest. My manager told me not to take things like this too highly. But I have real trouble with that. I want to thrive and excel at everything I do, whether that is clean a toilet, run a chalet, maintain an engineering asset or paint a picture! I take real pride in my work and get great satisfaction from knowing I've pleased a boss, client, friend, relative.

But that's all behind us now.

We have received 2 great snowboarding groups. People where the mountain and the snow is everything to them. People who have 2 winter holidays boarding and no summer holiday. And these are the kind of people I enjoy catering for the most. For them the experience is simply about the mountain and everything it offers. Not whether the toilet roll is folded in to a point or the croutons too big with the soup. It's all about the mountain.

They're probably the best kind of guests because they have the same mindset as me. Kerry hates it when I tell guests, but I am here for the mountain. Yes I take pride in my work, but my primary reason for being here is to ride my snowboard and have a good time. So when I can do both of those things with my guests, of course I'm going to love them!

Unless...

Unless I make a personal and meaningful relationship with the guests. Which I did with one set. A family of 8 ranging from Grandparent to Grandson and from a place not too far from my home town (Tonbridge Wells). And they shone to me. The epitome of family happiness, all out to enjoy a holiday together. And time together which they admitted they did not get much of at home. But now they were in the Alps, together, and loving it.

Some had skied before, others not, each took it in turns to look after the 2 year old while parents could shoot off over the mountain together. Kerry and I skied with them most days and enjoyed every minute. Conversation was varied and intelligent and I just warmed to them like I can imagine any good chalet host doing. These were wholesome, decent people.

And we are due more! Good friends of ours Alex and Claire are booked in to arrive this coming Sunday! They were initially the only two people booked in for next week. Imagine that! A whole chalet for me, Kerry and our two friends. No uniform, dinner when we want, one room to ... maybe... make. A holiday.

But alas, it wasn't to be. We had two more guests book mid week and then by Thursday the whole chalet was booked out! 10 full guests! So a panic trip down the mountain to the supermarket was needed and we are now prepared. It really will be awesome to see some familiar and friendly faces. I can't wait.

As far as boarding is concerned I am now a full on powder hound. I love the stuff! I like nothing more than that woooosh of fresh, deep powder under my board. (It also doesn't hurt when you fall!) The feeling of pulling off a lovely set of turns through an untracked powder field is second to none. I now know why the ski-bums come to Sainte Foy. The powder.

What a difference a day makes...

It's 5:25am and I've just said goodbye and good ridance to our worst set (yes of two) guests. They literally made my week a living hell. My only escape was when we got out on the mountain.

We hosted for a family of two adult siblings, their partners and numerous horrible children. The siblings were the worst if I'm honest. Both with mid-northern twangs to their voice that grated every time they spoke. I dreaded climbing the steps to the chalet to the shrill of Ella or Georgia with extended endings as if speaking on a rollercoaster. Ellaaaaaaaa..... come here Georgiaaaaaaa. As the mum beconed to her disobedient, messy and down right rude children.

Her brother may have topped the charts for the most glum person alive. Everything and anything we could have done or had done was wrong. I'd like to expand on the matter a little but I'll have to refrain from any expletives as my Grandparents are partial to a dose of Vagabonding Adam! (Hi G + G!)

Not only was the table wine an 'insult' but the bread was stale, the tart au citron too lemony, the choice of 5 cereals not enough, the stairs too steppy and the burnt chalet too burnt. Everytime Kerry and I whipped out our best conversation leading question he'd grunt a closed answer and turn back to shit-united playing on the TV. (Sorry Grumps!)

But of course he was the don on the slope. Stories of him breaking the speed of sound and 'smashing' every black run on the resort (of which there are 3, not very fun black runs) were plentiful. All while he shoved 2 slices of buttered bread in to the hole in his face.

It's a shame really as his wife was a pleasure to cook for. She appreciated every morsel we could have given to her, was a chef herself and gave constructive, appreciated criticism when it warranted it.

Their kids, and the kids of the other family were another question. Everything was 'not for them'. We tried to accommodate with pasta and a tomato sauce with cheese and sausage; but then had to individually dish out their meals as one wouldn't eat cheese, the other sausage. One would have sauce but not too much and all gave their plates back just as we'd given them to them, untouched.

What really got to me though was when they'd ask for decent food, like sausage for breakfast. Having quite a tight quota of 'English' goods like Heinz Baked Beans, sausages and bacon it meant that we could only cook enough for the guests. Any left overs or unwanted food was ours for breakfast, a real gem! So when one brat would ask for a sausage every morning, push it around the plate, stare at it intently and then leave it to cool down, not even trying it, really got up my goat. That was my sausage!

It spoilt the week, not only for us but for them. We payed no attention to their wellbeing, didn't do the finer touches and generally just didnt give a …. (Hey Grandma!) Yes we did the obligatory, we made poxy sausage and bacon sandwiches at 4am this morning because Andrew wanted them. We did everything the company asked of us, just didnt 'shine' as hosts.

So now we have 5 hours to turn the chalet around, all new linen, deep clean the rooms, windows cleaned, carpets hoovered, cake baked and dinner prepped for our new set of guests.

Please god. Don't do that to me again...

Self catering holiday and a fabulous Christmas week...

It took the chalet a good few days to warm up. The concrete inside it acts like thermal mass, taking a very long time to heat up, but conversely giving out heat for a long time after. This meant Kerry and I had to endure a few nights of near freezing temperatures, even inside! Luckily some early Christmas presents, namely a hot water bottle, were put to good use!

We picked up our seasonnaires lift passes on Saturday 22^nd but were unsure as to whether we could try them out and get a few runs in... we had been told that staff were only allowed to ski once they had guests and had finished their days duties. Throwing caution to the wind, counting on the fact we were the only staff from our company in Sainte Foy, I rushed to the equipment hire shop at 4:10 trying desperately to grab my board and get out to the lift for the last lift at 4:40. And I made it! I managed two lifts and the runs were brilliant. I took some very hard falls and it hit home just how little I seemed to remember, but those two runs were the start of my season, and I was happy.

A phone call later that night put a warm fuzzy feeling in our stomachs. We were told we weren't getting guests the next day, Sunday, because of the state of the burnt chalet and its crumbling demise being a 'serious Health and Safety risk' to guests. Our instructions were to eat all of the perishables and be ready if called upon to help in another resort.

Well I was fine with that! A luxurious chalet to ourselves, eating food that had been bought by someone else, and with nothing to do each day but snowboard, explore, drink the vino that was meant for the guests and generally chill! A holiday before we'd even started working!

A few days later and my boarding was back up to scratch, I hadn't caught an edge yet and I was getting a lot quicker. Kerry was advancing on every run. I'd get to the bottom, turn to face up the hill and wait a few minutes for Kerry to join me. By the end of the week those minutes changed to seconds until I turned around and she was there on my tail! She looks very good with it, mostly dressed in purple kind of like a Miss Penelope Pitstop of the slopes.

We practised everyone of the vegetarian options, freezing the expensive meat for next weeks guests, and decided on the 'Spicy bean burger' being the best vegetarian meal in the book. Each day, however, we tentatively watched as French builders put in 30 minutes of work a day to make safe the burnt chalet.

Friday came and it was clear we were about to get our first set of guests 2 days later. The builders had constructed a pathway and cleared old mattresses, books and other burnt posessions that used to litter the entry. Our first week of guests, and on Christmas week! Quite a daunting task, until we met our guests. They were the best set of guests a host could ask for, Christmas week or not.

2 families with some convoluted ties and some great kids who were down to earth, understanding, well behaved and clean. It was a pleasure cooking and cleaning for them for the week and I personally maybe made a slight mistake and really got attached to individuals. I was devistated one night when the chicken breasts for the main took 30 minutes longer than listed, delaying the meal. The adults were insistent that the delay was fine but, having formed this relationship, I felt I had let them down and was very disappointed with the meal.

Luckily Christmas Day went beautifully. We realised we had no stuffing or brussel sprouts on Christmas Eve and after a few phone calls rustled up some stuffing mix but sprouts were apparently a lot harder to find in the alps. Luckily a chalet couple we had met in the pub were able to give us a huge bag. I sneakily kept it quiet that we had secured the sacred sprouts from my guests until later on Christmas Day when I proudly asked how they'd like their sprouts cooked, holding the bag aloft!

Christmas Day had even more pressure loaded on it. The organiser of the party was having her 50^th Birthday on Christmas Day. Kerry and I used a little imagination and some engineering prowess to construct this monstrosity! It went down a storm.

Saying goodbye to our first week of guests was difficult. Not only because it was a 5:15 departure. We didn't know who we were going to get and had watched the 4 kids advance from crying before their lessons to bombing down the slopes with me and Kerry happy as larry.

Our first two weeks being seasonnaires has been good. The work is hard and sometimes stressful in the evenings, but rewarding when you see someone try a new dinner and enjoy it, or learn to ski.

Ski Season Training Week...

Sitting, sitting and more sitting.

Training to be a chalet host is loooong. And involves a lot of sitting, sitting through lectures, sitting at lunch, sitting in coffee breaks. Always sitting.

Every morning was an early rise, to prepare us for chalet host life I think, and something I'm used to thankfully. After breakfast we went straight in to lectures on a number of different subjects from Mountain Health including avalanche safety as well as protecting your package should you decide to do some serious Apre Ski activities of the bedroom variety, to Housekeeping and everything to do with making a bed and cleaning a bathroom.

Being a fairly large company there was the usual box ticking exercises of explaining the grievance policy should you do something wrong or decide to leave prematurely etc. Ski season operators have a notorious turnover of staff, with some people taking the job just to get a free ride out to the Alps!

The Fire Safety talk was fairly in depth and shocking including a video that was a little too graphic for my liking. It did re-enforce the importance of fire safety in the Alps with the chalets being built from lovely Pine wood and the realisation that, at altitude, it may take the fire department a number of hours instead of the usual minutes we are used to at home in the UK.

This point was bolstered when Kerry and I arrived at our chalet to find that the adjacent chalet had burnt down just a few weeks prior. There was no snow on the ground and the fire brigade were able to get to the scene very quickly. Even so the wood was so dry the fire spread and only a shell remains. Quite scarily we have to walk feet in front of the crumbling building to get to our Chalet and we have heard parts falling down during the night.

After all of our training we were called in to the main lecture hall of the hotel to have one final speech from the European Operations Director before we were let loose to hunt out A4 printed sheets that had been pinned up throughout the hotel. On them was the information everyone was craving, our resort and chalet placements!

We have met some amazing people, both from our cooking course in the summer and from the companies training course in the hotel, so I was a little upset that we were placed in a resort on our own. As it turns out our closest friends were all split up over the French resorts. What was a little worrying to start was that Kerry and I were literally the only 2 hosts to be placed in our particular resort, Sainte Foy.

We met with our Area Manager, a very French guy who immediately put our fears to rest. He explained how being chosen to run a chalet in Sainte Foy was a great compliment from the company. That the managers saw our potential over the rest to provide a premium, quality holiday and to run the whole resort without guidance (or interference) from management. This basically means that we run the resort ourselves, giving guests information and advice as well as maintaining the chalet to our standards.

So off we go! To Sainte Foy!

36 hour day, 700 miles, beer pong tournament and breakfast at 7!...

We are in the alps... and already loving it! We left for our ski season today.

The day had finally come. It seemed like an eternity and then it rushed up on us before we knew it. Kerry's Mum and both of my parents were there at the train station to see us off, and a good friend Sarah came up to Victoria with us and our stupidly heavy bags. Lugging them the short distance down the road to the coach station was a real mission! But we found a nice italian and sat down for dinner.

Charlie, jemima, Stef and Lucy met us just as Sarah left for University. We had all met on the Chalet cookery course and by some fluke were all now employed by the same tour operator. We had a good chat and met some of their parents before heading across the road to the coach station where alot of young, ski/board people stood around with bags as big as ours! We all piled on to two coaches. It was a nice touch that there were 50 people to get on 2 x 47 seater coaches meaning we had plenty of space to loll around and generally spread out.

The coach journey was murder, for me atleast. It wasn't too bad on the way to the ferry but after we'd hit france it seemed to go on for ever. And it seemed I was the only one having trouble sleeping. I remember sitting there staring blankly in to space, everyone around me asleep, even the reserve driver, as thick thick snow fell. And we were only 2 hours in to France!

 We pulled up at an Aire, a small area similar to a service station, to fill up with fuel at about 8am. I used an android app I purposefully wanted to try out before our driving tour of Europe called NavFree. It allows you to download an entire countries road network on to the phone locally so the maps can be used offline (Without using data) The interface is a little clunky but it pinpointed where we were quickly and informed me we'd only travelled 400km and still had another 400 to go! That and I had to poo in a hole ;(

Everyone was a little bleary eyed and we all piled on for the last stretch. I did actually manage a little sleep between the aire and the start of the mountains, waking up to snow topped peaks on either side of the bus as we trundled down the autoroute. A quick check on Navfree showed we were only 40km from La Tania, the moutain village we were to be staying at. Of course these 40km were mainly the mountain road with steep hairpin bends that the bus struggled to negotiate. As good as our 2 drivers were at manoeuvring the large coaches, they just can't compete with the excellent (and sometimes scary!) driving of the French coach drivers.

We were greated in to the companies flagship new hotel by some of the managers, reps and hosts/hotel assistants from the previous week. We hauled our bags up some steep stairs and I was reminded just how much thinner the air was up here! We were only at 1400m altitude but my chest heaved for air, struggling with the half tonne weight of clothes and electronics I'd brought.

The afternoon was used for settling in to our rooms, collecting and signing for uniform and finally some welcome drinks and a small speech from the companies French Operations Manager. We were encouraged to mingle and get to know everyone and sat down for dinner, looking weary. After dinner we moved in to the lounge area where a large fire place sat with a chimney extending up and around a set of stairs that look like they could have been taken straight out of Harry Potter (Thanks Jemima)

All of a sudden 4 tables appeared, cups were laid out, an easel with a tournament hierarchy on was erected and a a loud voiced rep declared the start of the first 2012/13 Beer Pong contest to begin. I grouped up with a nice girl from Cheltenham who ski'd and we decided on “Sticks and Trays” for our team name, promptly getting annihilated in the first round!

The noise was incredible, everyone seemed to get a new lease of life and games were played for 5 minutes or until someone lost, with any drawn games being decided upon by a 'Dance off' resulting in some very funny and acrobatic moves!

The beer flowed and come 11:30 I was knackered, Kerry and I retired to our bedroom (which I've subsequently found out is an 'Executive' room!) so we could get some sleep before a 6:30 rise and breakfast at 7.

We are in the alps... and already loving it!

Notice of Resignation...

Done and dusted ... one month of work and that's it.

I'd left it quite close to the wire too. I want my last working day to be on the 8th of November 2012 and my contract states I must give one months notice. Today is the 5th and I am not back in on shift until the 10th so today was my last chance. My boss had agreed to meet with me in Costa coffee.

I sat down to a large mocha and got off to a good start by asking he excuse me should my phone ring. I was expecting a call from the Police of all people, with regard to a complaint made by a neighbour about the Smurf van. Great! Luckily they rang later.

Handing over an envelope I hit right off the bat with "I've asked to meet with you so I can hand you my notice of resignation". Not something you say every day!

My boss seemed quite surprised. I haven't discussed my plans with this particular manager who is effectively my acting line manager. In the letter I stressed that my decision was not through wanting to resign but with the lack of a suitable sabbatical programme was a necessity. I explained I'd had lengthy talks with the Head of Engineering and we could not come to any sort of agreement.

I revealed our plans about working in the Alps for a ski season and then using the van to tour Europe. He was very supportive, echoing everything my parents and other 40-something adults say when I mention travelling. "Your at the right age... got any kids?" Which is usually followed up by "Then there you go" when I admit I haven't (atleast that I know of)

I believe he has children of a similar age so may have breached the subject of traveling within his family. He definitely seemed very comfortable and supportive of the idea. I urged that I really would like to work at the company again and he thought I'd have no problem if I was to re-apply for engineering jobs, even going so far as to imply that, having gained the personal skills associated with travel, may be suitable for a managerial job. Which was unexpected yet very welcomed.

He assured me that he would help in any way he could in my future career, giving a good reference whether I chose to re-apply within the company or for an outside company.

I thanked him, and the company, for the opportunities for personal and professional development. Afterall they had paid over £70,000 on my education!

I offered my assistance within this transitional process. I'm not quite sure what is involved in leaving a job after 6 years. So I've set the ball rolling. I've now got one month left at work (15 working days to be exact!) and I have a feeling I'm going to. strangely, enjoy them.

The Blue Smurf/Smartie Motorhome...

We've bought a Motorhome.

Whilst our plans may seem sporadic and ... well ... UN-planned they are far from it. We will definitely be working ski seasons during the winters whilst we are in Europe however our intentions during the summers are somewhat changeable. And that, I feel, is the beauty of vagabonding. There is always a choice.

We've toyed with cycling through Europe, but my cycle camp with Kerry's Dad soon dispelled the myth that we could carry it out. I found it very hard cycling with enough stuff for one night let alone an indefinite amount of time.

Many travelers backpack through Europe, using public transport and hopping between towns and cities. We contemplated whether backpacking would fit with our intentions for the summer. We are interested in the WWOOFING programme and invariably these farms are located in rural parts, as expected. We were unsure whether backpacking would make getting to these Wwoofing farms more difficult.

I've always been interested in motorhomes. I think they are a viable way of life and have been fascinated by stories of people who live in them 'Fulltime'. So we looked in to the costs associated with motorhomeing around Europe but soon hit a brick wall. It seems the majority of insurance companies want you to be aged 25 or over to insure a motorhome and there is a certain grey area over whether a motorhome can be classed as a van and insured on a van policy.

We've been looking at motorhomes on Autotrader and eBay since April and nothing seemed to fall in to our budget until the beginning of September when 4 or 5 potential vans popped up.

Alex, a very good friend and Auto Mechanic, agreed to come up to Swindon to view a 1995 Ford Transit that had been converted to a camper.

She's a basic van that's been Self Converted in her previous life but to a fairly high standard. The rear and driving compartments are totally seperated with a carpet covered bulkhead. Entrance to the living area is through the rear doors.

Upon opening the doors there is a gangway between two kitchen type units. The left houses a propane/butane gas bottle that powers a gas oven, grill and 3 burner hob. Alongside this is a sink and draining board that have an electrically operated water pump from a container that you place outside the van.

On the right are a row of low level cupboards under the work surface, one of which is big enough to house a simple porta-potty type camping toilet that we may invest in. Above this unit is a row of smaller high level cupboards.

Moving forwards towards the front of the van there is a U shaped bench seating area with table that folds away to the floor at night. Above the driving compartment is quite a large storage space that houses the centerpiece of the bench seating area to convert it to a comfy sized bed.

Structurally the van is quite a tidy example of a 17 year old Transit. The door sills have had work done to them but other than a few spots of surface rust the main steels seems to be in good condition. The chassis has covered 160,000 miles but apparently the original engine was damaged during a cam belt change and a re-conditioned engine sourced from the Royal Mail with 74,000 miles on. There is, however, no documentation backing this up so must be taken at face value.

Electrically the van has a 12 volt Leisure battery connected to the water pump for the sink and 2 fairly power hungry, yet lumen low 12v lights. I intend on completely changing the wiring and installing a new Surface Mounted Diode LED lighting system along with a number of cigarette lighter sockets and a rather stylish mirror with LEDs down the side.

Unfortunately the 12 volt leisure battery is wired directly to the starter battery with no automatic (Split Charge Relay system) or manual isolation. I found this out when Kerry and I were sitting in the van one night with the lights on and the next day she wouldn't start :(

There is also a 240 volt hook up system installed with Distribution board and a set of 240v lights and sockets. This is quite a good install and I intend on further expanding it with the addition of a trickle charger so that when hooked up to mains the leisure battery is charged and we can use all 240v and 12v appliances and lighting.

So There are a few things to sort out. She drives like an old Transit, which is to be expected, but after a good service, bleed the brakes and a few water tight problems she should easily take us around Europe.

I've already started on the Electrics and managed to pull out a massive amount of redundant wiring from the engine bay. I can only assume that an after market stereo head unit was installed and just the unit taken leaving the wiring behind. Some of the wiring I have no idea what was used for and I'm quite surprised there were no direct shorts resulting in a fire!

Andy and Debs, the people selling her, were very helpful, answering any questions they could. He had had it over the summer for festivals, camping trips and fishing. My kind of guy! However he wanted to move on to a trike so the van had to go.

Andy said he liked the idea that she would be used for her purpose and would see Europe. After a touch of haggling we were able to secure her for £2100 and collected her the following Monday with the help of a work colleague and friend Ross. We ate a KFC in the back at a service station on the way home!

Now I have a little project to be getting on with! Then, once she's tip top, we have to put her in to storage over the winter while we slip and slide on our ski season, ready for our return in April.

We are currently arguing over names for her. I'm all up for the Smurfmobile, or the Blue Smartie van while Kerry is adamant with Betty Blue Eyes.

Hitchventure 2012: Day 5...

I woke up and couldn't breath!

I was gasping, squinting in the dark. I seriously couldn't breath! I could slightly breath out but not in! Oh My God! Asthma attack!

I was so confused and scared. I was also boiling hot. Pepe's apartment was darn hot, nice but pretty hot. I think this coupled with the amount I've had to smoke recently made me freak out. I started breathing long but volumeless breaths. Trying to work all of this out in the dark.

I got my breathing under control and grabbed a glass of water. What was that!?

The next instant my alarm was going off at 9am. Lie IN! I checked to make sure my lungs would function properly and slunk off to the shower. Ah what a shower, just the right temperature, nice pressure, fresh cold water to brush the toothy pegs. Actual heaven on earth is Pepe's bathroom. Pepe's sofa was the first time I'd slept inside in 4 days.

We both got ready and I declared "Pepe! That was a lovely shower, now lets go and I'll get breakfast!" He took me to a cheap pub he knew of which turned out to be a Weatherspoons. Bloody old weatherspoons though. The building was older than Buckingham palace and the design for the Clifton Suspension bridge was decided in the same room as me tucking in to my bacon, sausage and egg.

We chatted a bit more over breakfast and walked around Nelson Street where the majority of the festival was conducted. Huge pieces were strung up at every turn. This  piece of a black woman holding a baby was formed using parallel lines. Pepe said that this gave it a sort of 'Japanese Garden' feel to it. I think he was right and I'd never seen anything like this before.

It was time for Pepe to leave and we bid farewell to each other. I really needed to get out to the road and start flying my sign. I didn't know whether I was going to hitch home, south towards Bournemouth or anywhere. I thought I'd let the road decide.

I walked about a mile out of town to a petrol station and instantly spent 2 hours standing at the side of the road. There were plenty of cars passing, and they were only going about 20 miles per hour. I'd chosen a spot with loads of space to pull over, but no one was playing ball.

A guy approached and said "Listen mate, used to do alot of this back in the day, you'll be better off just up 'ere" I walked with him for 15 minutes whilst he told me about his days hitchhiking and that the spot he was taking me to was a gold mine. Plenty of traffic, slow pace and lots of room to pull over... Sounded just like where I was.

We got to a subway under a flyover and he pointed to where I needed to be. He'd already told me directions for how to get to his house if I had no luck, wanted to sit down, or even stay the night. A pretty nice bloke. But one who was drinking 'Special Brew' at 11:30 in the morning. Damnit Adam. Why do you get sucked in to this stuff!?

I stood at the sparsely populated, fast flowing section of the M32 with no suitable place for cars to stop. Mr Special had no idea what he was talking about. This was the worst place a hitchhiker could try and solicit a ride from...Ever! I trudged the 20 minute walk back to the Shell garage I'd come from. Lesson Learnt.. look for open cans of +7% alcohol before taking someones opinion as gold.

I stood for another hour and a half. Absolutely no one was even taking a whiff. I was holding a rather ambiguous 'East' sign as well. Nothing too specific. I gave up. I was tired, lonely and I wasn't sure of where I was going to sleep that night. A Megabus drove past and I wondered how much their £1 bus advert was true.

I pulled up the website and plugged in Bristol to London. I wasn't surprised to find that the journey was not a pound but was surprised at its cheap price. £5. I booked the 15:30 from Bristol town center, kind of ashamedly. It is a Hitchventure afterall and this was the first time I was going to PAY for any sort of transport.

The hitchventure is more about the free travel though. It's about meeting people, hearing their stories and experiences. One of the Spanish guys had said to me the night before at the Board Game night, "You can get a bus for £10". It was as if even to these CouchSurfers, who, I'd have thought would share the same mentality, the IDEA of hitchhiking was alien. This surprised me.

I used the remaining 2 hours of my stay in Bristol to check out the shops in Cabot Circus and soak up the glorious sun on a bench. The bus was on time and boarding was simple. I cosied in to my seat with Bob Marley in my ears, frantically googling on my phone for places to stay in London.

It was no use... For couchsurfing to work you need to be prepared and know what your doing weeks in advance. Hitchhiking doesn't lend itself nicely to Couchsurfing. You can never tell where you will be at any one time. Never knowing when you'll arrive somewhere.

I got to London and walked around Pimlico, admiring all of the very regal buildings. Wondering what scandalous behavior was going on inside those of the rich and famous.

I checked in with a couple of nearby hostels. Every where was sold out of the Large mixed dorms at £12 a room and wanted £50 for a twin private. I gave up. I walked back to Victoria and bought a ticket to Littlehaven.

I'd been away for 5 days, covered hundreds of miles and enjoyed every minute. It was an apt time to go home. The road had told me to go home.

I let on to Kerry, my girlfriend, that I was staying in London. "Don't sleep on the streets!" she pleaded. I played along, not telling her I was on my way home. I asked for a hug just as I got to the front door and she asked how she'd do that! "Come and open the door and you can"

Hitchventure 2012: Day 4...

Rain rain go away. It woke me up... at 5:15!

I'd seen on the TV the night before that the rain was on its way but I atleast thought Id make it through the night ok. I dragged the tarpauline over me and rolled over. My hips always seem to hurt with these little foam camp mats and I couldn't get back to sleep. Baby wipe shower it was for me.

I trekked down the hill in the rain, bought a can of monster and a sausage roll from the Londis in Llanberis and sat waiting for the public toilets to get unlocked. That felt more laborious than waiting for hitches so I grabbed a bit of card from the Londis bin and set out. I was on the road and flying my 'East' sign by 6:45. Way too early. About 4 cars passed in an hour. Luckily Dug was in the 5th.

He was just on his way back from work. His friend had secured the civils contract of a stretch of road between Caernarfon and Porthmadog 6 years previous and the council paid them to conduct daily bat surveys on the local Hook Eared bat (?). It pretty much meant Dug had to walk a 3 miles stretch of road at sunrise and look for dead ones.

He was very informative. Apparently you can buy a bat detector! It works by picking up the sonar like sounds that bats use to navigate and, through their differing frequencies, the device then pops out a breed of bat. All of this was 'good for £140 a day!' or so I was assured. His Shiatsu Fall-apart told a different story.

Each town meant another tributary on to the A5 and more traffic and I was soon in Betws-y-coed. Hitching was slow. Drivers in Wales seemed to excuse them not giving you a ride by pointing in different directions and then holding their hands out through the windscreen . Then a G reg Golf rumbled past, slowed, braked and turned around in a car park. 

James and Gina turned around and shouted out 'Where you going?' I said 'whereva, England?'

They were going to Gloucester, just a few miles North of Bristol, my next destination. Awesome! I had considered hitching East to the motorways and then Service hopping back to the South East and home, but with a direct ride pretty much to my second option how could I decline?!

James played the most awesome compilation CD I think I've ever heard, I snapped a photo of the track listings for later. The reason they were driving from Wales down to Gloucester was that their friend, Tom, was on a walking adventure. He was walking around Wales, then hoping to go on to Ireland and Scotland, continually walking untill he raised £10,000. It was his 54th day and he'd raised about £200. Ouch!

To top it all off he had just had his pack stolen. The rats had been kind and un-tied his boots from it for him, but taken the pack and its contents. James and Gina were delivering a whole new pack with contents to him and were now on their way back.

I was knackered, sitting in the back of the car I started off my normal happy chappy self but I could sense I was starting to flake. We had a bit of a mad dash back as Gina had to be at work at 12:00. I suggested we jump on the M5 and James hooned it down the motorway dropping Gina off at 11:59! Just in time!

This is where Hitchhiking really does show people at their best. James was willing to drive 30 miles South to drop me in Bristol city centre and then drive back again. If you ask me that is humanity at its greatest.

I wandered round Bristol aimlessly for a few hours, surrounded by an enormous array of decent, well produced graffiti. Some were sprawled over 7 floors of office blocks and other high rise buildings. There was no way this was all done illegally. I later found out that this week was a festival devoted to Graffiti and that the best artists had been shipped in and had scaffolding erected to show off their skills.

The standard really was incredible. I've only really seen graffiti that is 'thrown' up in rushed minutes for fear of being caught.

This stuff was different. The artists had been drafted in, some paid, and time allocated without prying public or authoritarian interference. And it showed.

I still hadn't anywhere to sleep for that night. I'd seen on the map that there was a large green park just to the South-East but I didn't fancy another night under the stars, bat/sheep friends or not.

I sat in Maccy D's trawling the Couchsurfing listings for Bristol. I'd done the same the day before in Llanberis but I'd had no replies. I even posted in the 'Emergency Bristol Group' for people who arrived in Bristol and had no immediate accommodation.

I sent out about 30 'surfing' requests if you combine yesterdays and todays efforts. I didn't think I'd get a bite. I've never surfed before but I know from talking with the surfers I've had stay that it can be very hit and miss.

One profile stood out, a guy called Pat, and I sent him as humorous a request as I could, while still telling my plight. To my surprise he messaged back 30 minutes later saying that it wasn't ideal for me to stay and he was out of the house until 11pm at a dinner party. However he said that if push came to shove I wouldn't have to sleep on the streets.

This was encouraging and I continued to send request after request. I also clicked on the 'Activities' button. I've been invited to the Brighton and Hove CS Monthly Meetup and wondered whether Bristol organised similar events just on a whim. Voila! They DID. And it was tonite!

The Bristol Board Game Night was to be held at the Full Moon Backpackers Hostel. Perfect, Board games, company and a cheap(ish) bed if I could bare my wallet to stretch to it.

I sat in the garden of the bar staring down everyone who entered, eagerly expecting them all to be attending. Then Pepe strolled through and I instantly recognised his face as the organiser of the group from the site.

He walked over and extended his arm, obviously catching sight of my pack. Two others joined us shortly afterwards. Turned out all three were Spanish!

Now, when I read Board games I usually read Bored games. This night was not the case. We played such bizarre and interesting, thought provoking and skillful games that I wished I hadn't had the 2 beers before they arrived.

One involved a sort of snap competition coupled with a wooden Totem, another used little runes with numbers on and another a kind of pawn moving game but you could put up walls. It was awesome. I'm sure to buy the Totem pole one. 'Speed Jungle'

We played and laughed for a few hours until Pepe looked at his watch and said he had to leave for the gym at 22:30. I had succumbed to getting a room at the Hostel. £15, not too bad and it was the cheapest in town. I messaged Pat and thanked him for his offer but I was sorted.

Just as everyone was leaving the bar they all congregated at the end of the table and nattered in Spanish. I thought they were just chatting and supped on the half of cider that Hector had given me. Then Pepe came back. "I can't leave you here in the hostel. Will you come and stay at mine?" Sure. I'll stay, but I could sense some sort of hesitation in his voice. He explained that he was going to the gym and would call me in an hour.

He rang exactly an hour later and we walked to his apartment which was very nice. He explained his caution as he knew I was a hitchhiker. In Spain hitching used to be fairly common untill the 80's and now pretty much no one hitches. (Sounds a bit like England) This made him uneasy with my motives for being in Bristol and wanting to get a Couchsurfing host.

We chatted about politics, London riots, Spanish corruption and the importance of CSing untill about 12:00. I was knackered. Up at 5:15 with the rain and all. He offered the comfiest sofa in the world and I'm pretty sure as he said good night and shut his bedroom door I was out like a light. Good ... Night

Hitchventure 2012: Day 3...

I woke up groggy. I'd had a tough night.

When I was rigging my tarp up I didn't notice the little white clouds with black legs walking around. Now it was dark and I was trying to sleep I really did notice them. Sheep, everywhere. They were noisey, I could hear them pulling the grass out, a couple baaaa'ed all night and I swear one of them let out a prolonged, human sounding, fart. One tripped up on my guy rope and there was a large commotion as I shoo'd them away wearing my boxers and a head torch.

Shower was awesomsauce as per usual. Had to pay £1 for 7 minutes though. Then I was free. It was ascent time! I ate a huge breaky in 'Pete's Eats'. A caffi (Welsh spelling) but more like a hostel. Obviously taken up the slack of the official YHA property. Big, cheap food, communal areas to be used 'as and when' by scouts, groups etc. and showers at £3 a go.

Asking in a few shops, mountaineering outlets etc if they could look after my bag for a couple of quid revealed that the "No win, no fee, lose my stuff and I'll sue you" mentality had hit Wales. All I wanted was somewhere to leave my pack while I went up the mountain. A small hotel was obliging 'but if anything happens we accept no responsibility'. Yes, yes I gathered that was coming.

I'd read that there was an 80% chance of a clear summit today, and it looked like it was going to be true. Lovely fluffy clouds soared over, casting shadows on the  surrounding mountains.

I'd done it again though. with the big 'I am'. Snowdon. Pfft piece of cake. Far from it. I'd even taken the least steep route! Llanberis path runs from the town of Llanberis over a 4.5 mile route to the summit. But I was panting and sweating and spluttering. A sign of my bad fitness and the need to give up smoking!

My back was the worst. my shirt was drenched. I'd, sensibly, worn a non-wik-away super-duper mountaineering shirt. Some people call them I'm-going-out-on-the-town-not-a-mountain shirt. And this collected ALL of the sweat my body could produce. It was disgusting. As I was passing people they would wait a minute and then murmur, presumably to their comrades, about the big dark patch on my back.

Oh well, screw it, I'll never see them again. That's what travel makes you appreciate. Your not in the business of impressing, you don't really give two hoots what anyone thinks. It's pretty selfish business.

Then at about 800 meters in came the clouds. Big fluffy clouds that soaked anything and anyone in them. Luckily I'd bought the 'cheapest mac in the shop' and pulled it out of its stuff sack, tearing the sack in the process.

So now I was sweating on the inside and getting pretty much rained on on the outside. wonder if there was any point in the jacket... Wasted £24.99.

I was gasping for a drink when I got to the top. Gave the Cairn a hug and hurried in to the cafe to shelter from the wind. No cold tap to be found. None in the toilets and none of the staff would fill it up. I bought a snickers, ate it, then bought another one and munched that down.

If I'm really honest with you I was ready to get the train down there and then. I was shagged, 2 nights of sleeping rough, a party with a heard of sheep during one, and walking 1085 meters up a mountain in a cloud had sucked it out of me.

I queued for the ticket, plastic debit card in hand. 2.5 hours to wait and £10 to get down! Screw this. I huffed out of the cafe back in to the fluff and started down Llanberis path. I'm glad I did. It was no where near as hard as the climb up. I was using bizarre new muscles very rarely used. Walking-down-hill muscles. And I was facing the scenery. not a path of rock and gravel.

Grabbing my bag I spoke with the guy behind the counter of the hotel who was intrigued with what I was doing. I explained and urged him to grab a piece of card and try it. He told me about a hotel that served £2 pints with free internet. I ran till my little heart could pump no longer. Lager

I ended up pretty drunk off of my £10 in the bar. The sign of how little I was eating. I wandered around Llanberis and found a quaint old church with its gates locked. I scampered over the dry stone wall and noseyed round. Seemed like no one was there and what looked like the perfect hobo alcove in a side door to the right. Out of sight and out of mind. I fashioned a little bed as best I could, tarp at the ready incase it rained.

Then I just sat there, listening, watching the clouds and generally trying to take my mind off the fact that I was hunkering down in the grounds of a church with a graveyard!

I'm in no way superstitious or have any belief in the afterlife blah blah blah but something just didn't feel right. It was probably the thought of getting caught. But hey, what's the worst they can do? Ask me to move on?

I turned my netbook on to chill out a bit with a film. My choice: [Rec], The Devil Inside or Machete! Nice one Adam. Only horror films.

Then all of a sudden the organ chimed up inside the church! Not just random notes but whole scores of music. I was nervous as hell. I was now snuggled down outside a door with god knows how many people inside practicing the organ!

It was played well though. I have plenty of videos of it! They'll be coming later. They practiced for about an hour and then I heard shuffling, banging and finally a big ole lock turning. Phew.

I had trouble sleeping the whole night. The concrete wasn't particular comfortable, the temperature was alot cooler than the previous night and whenever I opened my eyes I could see 4 or 5 bats flying around the alley next to me.... Oh god