Without further ado, here is the non-stop-try-and-see-the-whole-country-in-a-month plan for our New Zealand trip…

Phew!

If you have any suggestions, tips or advice about any of the places we’re going to, please let us know.

(If you’re not sure where any of the places are that we’ve mentioned above, have a look at this Google map. You can zoom in to see more detail, etc.)

Not written anything for a while because not that much has been happening over here really. Apart from being REALLY REALLY EXCITED about New Zealand of course. My tummy keeps doing flips! The time is really whizzing by and I can’t believe it’s only 3 weeks til we are there!!! It is a strange feeling to be finally going somewhere that has been like a distant dream for most of my life. I wonder what year it was that my Grandparents visited our relatives there… (I’m guessing 1989 ish) because it’s since then that I have wanted to go.

This diary entry by Paul has made my desire to live there a bit more solid because how could there be a more amazing weekend??  Ok, so Daniel Craig in pants striding out of the waves would improve it somewhat but nothing’s perfect.

We have to make an effort not to get depressed when we think of how much we want to be living there instead of here and remember that we can only live there because we are doing time here. Sounds like a prison sentence! But that’s how it sometimes feels. It’s ok here but really we feel like we are wasting precious years. Of course the money can’t be saved up any other way, so unless some rich millionaire takes pity and chucks us a bone, here we are. It’s not really a nice feeling though to be living in the future and not the present.

One thing that puts me off is having to endure winters. I HATE WINTER!! Or rather I hate dressing for the cold. That time of year has come round again when I have to trawl shoe shops in vain search of a pair of warm shoes to fit my freakishly long narrow feet, one of which now seems to be bigger than the other. Kuwaiti women love shoes so there are plenty of shops, but really, stilletoes and sparkles are not my thing so I am out of luck, and footwear. I even ventured into Ecco today, out of desperation, but ran for it when the sales assistant waved a patent leather loafer at me. I would happily live the rest of my life in flipflops, bunion and sweaty sock-free.

Hopefully the weather will stay like it is now - cool early on but clear, sunny and warm later - for a few more weeks til we are flying south for summer.  Maybe Kiwi ladies are less fond of trying to make their toes triangle shaped so I might have more luck there. I have one day in Auckland to get a jacket and trousers for walking, some shoes and a do a quick dash round the second hand shops and then we head off to the Coromandel. We have finalised everything on the itinerary now so will post it up here asap.

We will be spending Christmas day in Nelson with Paul and Lisa so if you would like to send us a card or anything then you could post it there.

Their address is…

154 Westbrook Terrace
The Brook
Nelson 7010
New Zealand

Woo hoo

MarryOurDaughter.com

At first I was aghast… What kind of freaky parents would you have to be?!

Hang on… isn’t this basically pimping your daughter?!?!?!

As I read on, it got even worse…

“… we have made sure she is aware of everything she needs to know to be a good wife and mother.” At 14 years old… OMG! [shudders]

But then I read some of the testimonials…

It’s a Joke! Bwa har har haaaaaaaaaaar (I think!?!)

But, if it’s real, get your daughters listed - look at the cash you can raise! Think of the foreign holidays you could go on. Laying on the beach, relaxing, secure in the knowledge that your daughter was in safe, loving hands.

Oh, hang on… none of you have got daughters. Tough luck! Mind you, you could always set up MarryOurSon.com (the domain is still free - grab it quick!)

Even though all the results aren’t in yet, the media have called the race…

Obama Wins!

Now we get to see if he lives up to all of our expectations.

I think he will turn out to be one of the great presidents. I know a couple of people who are very cynical about the whole thing (you know who you are C&T! ). They think that he’ll be no better than McCain would have been - after all, all politicians are the same - but I have to disagree…

I believe, or rather I have faith (foolish and naive maybe), that someone who talks so passionately, who is so educated and who comes across as a decent, thoughtful human being, can’t be a complete knobhead!

He’ll have a huge battle ahead of him dealing with the US’s ginormous deficit, a screwed up global economy, and two wars (thanks for all that Bush - you moron), but I think, overall, he’ll make a positive difference for Americans and for the standing of America in the rest of the world. And hopefully the rest of us will have less crap to put up with if the US isn’t stomping all over the place, firing missiles into other countries, etc.

Fingers crossed…

…that when we wake up, the right man will be Mr President!’

You might have been thinking that it was just a matter of time until we caved in and got ourselves a feline friend to fill the gap left by Nobby. But we have been strong. We had no intention of it. An apartment is no place for a cat, we said. Not going through it again, we said. But, these were special circumstances… Honest.

There were a couple of stray cats hanging round the building next door - a very pretty silver tabby male and a tortoiseshell female. A few of us had been feeding them regularly so they had become really tame and friendly. To us, they were fine where they were and got enough food and attention to keep them happy. But to our colleague Eleanor, it wasn’t enough and she couldn’t resist taking them in.

A few weeks went by and we heard they were happy and had adapted to indoor life with ease. We were a bit disappointed that we wouldn’t see them to get our little cat fix anymore, but we could pop round to see them if we liked.

Then one day, Eleanor mysteriously left Kuwait leaving messages for us to please look after the cats, saying she would be back in 6 weeks. We debated it for a day or two - the cats were now living in a corridor being fed by the neighbour - then off we went with a cardboard box to fetch them.

It now seems that Eleanor might not be coming back. Since I haven’t had any reply to my emails we’ve started tentative arrangements to have them re-homed. This shouldn’t be too much trouble for the local animal shelter, PAWS, as these are the most friendly, adaptable, happy, chilled-out cats ever. Nobby was a lot of things but he was not particularly adaptable. He freaked when we moved house and disappeared for a whole day, whereas it took these two all of 5 mins to be happily sat on the sofa.

Apartment life is of course not ideal Having them in at night has been a bit annoying because they rampage about, knocking things over and chasing each other. One morning the female one woke me up at 3.50am by affectionately head-butting me in the nose. Really hard. Another morning we found all of the soil dug out of the plant pots. If they could go out and have adventures then they wouldn’t get so bored and naughty.

They are very entertaining in the evenings however, when they chase each other round the flat. The male one also has a funny habit of climbing onto your shoulders and laying, draped like a live fur stole. Will be nice in the winter!

So we have the pleasure of their company until late November when they go off to find a new home. We haven’t really named them because they are just temporary visitors. Though we think they may be called Elvis and Patsy!

Little bit of swedish goodness…

Just had to mention my favourite songstress of the moment, Lykke Li.
Not exactly sure how to pronounce her strange name but I know I love her.

My friend Em told me about her and sent me the link to this video.

I think the song is great and the video is just so odd and original

The other day I thought I would check youtube to see if there are any more videos and found these…

This one she just looks fantastic in…

And love this one too…

Our lovely friend Vicky has had her baby boy!

Apparently she had a tough time and had to have a cesarean so we hope she gets well soon. We don’t really know any more details because she only had him yesterday and presumably they are still in hospital.

If there was ever anyone made to be a mother it was her. She is so kind and caring and has so much love to give a child. He is a lucky boy to have her for his mum.

Can’t wait to see them both in December.

[Edit] And here he is!! Apparently his name is Benjamin and he is rather cute…

So, I’ve gotten through the first few weeks alive and things are looking good.

There have been bad days, tears (theirs), headaches (mine), a few violent incidents and a little bit of fist banging and foot stamping but now the days are more often good than bad.

As I have mentioned before I am lucky to have a small class and have 9 less children than the other classes. I also seem to have struck it lucky during the completely random sharing out of the children too. None of them are more odd or mad than the average three year old should be and they all have nice strong personalities. They are a lively bunch, far more so than the last lot. They are smart and easily bored and if they are not kept busy every minute then they get really destructive and trash the room in 5 minutes flat. Their favourite activity of the first week was putting EVERYTHING somewhere else. One day I turned around and two girls had filled a little shopping trolley with a handful of stuff from Every Single drawer. Insects, animals, fruit, counters, pegs, units, lego, paper, pens, you name it it was in there.

Now we have each other figured out things are running much more smoothly. I can trust them more now and they know what they can and can’t get away with.

On Thursday the weather was fantastic so I filled the big water trays for them to play in. Off came the shoes and socks and an hour later I had to call them in for lunch. I think they would have happily played there all day, washing the plastic cups and plates and watering the trees. Next week I will take the camera in to get some photos of them.

It’s great having a job you love! If you haven’t got one you should get one.

I have an aim, which is this…

How amazing does that look??!

Got the boots, the gym membership, and 8 weeks to get in some kind of shape to manage it.

Yes, I will climb the volcano!

We had the week off this week. Instead of spending it lazing by the pool at the beach club, I spent it shackled to my desk, slaving over a big essay. Alright, I could have had it done before the holiday, but I’m sure you know what it’s like… I really need the pressure to be on before I can physically make myself type essays.

It was the last assignment of this module, so I am now officially half way to my Certificate in Early Years Practice. Woo hoo!!!

I thought I needed a reward, so I ordered this little print from Etsy artist, Jessica Gonacha. It’s called Bird Lady. Not sure where her face is, but maybe its in the same place as the little girl’s mouth from my painting by Emma.

I like her yellow dress.

Steve: Happy birthday to you (and so on)
Me: (Looking puzzled at clock) I’m confused
Steve: (Laughing) Well, you are 30 now, you’ll be saying that more often!
Me: But… what time do we leave for work again?
Steve: Erm…oh shit, did I get the time wrong?
Me: Its an hour early you idiot, now shuddup!

So my 30 year old confusion was in fact Steve’s 40 year old confusion. If you think I was a bit harsh then try getting someone to wake you up at 5.20am on your birthday! All was forgiven though when I woke up to find lots of balloons and cards dangling from the ceiling and a lovely breakfast, flowers and presents on the table - most of them chocolate in some form or other.

The children were well behaved and lovely all day and we had pink cupcakes and balloons after lunch. After work I went to get my hair cut then went shopping for a party dress. That night Steve and I went to eat japanese food which was fab. We had miso soup, endamame beans, tempura and lots of sushi. Yum.

On friday we had a party. Invitiations had said ‘posh frocks a must!’ so we made a big effort to make the flat look sparkly and glamourous. Everyone came all dressed up and all that was missing was flutes of champagne! We had jugs of cranberry, lime and vodka-ish-stuff instead which went down very well with the canapes, mini cupcakes and chocolate birthday cake.

My birthday had actually begun on Thursday when our friends Racheal and Glynn told us to wear something smart and be downstairs at 6.30. Off we set to to the surprise location which turned out to be English Tea at the Sheraton Hotel!

I felt like I was transported to an English country cottage, surrounded by chintzy florals and china cups. The waitress brought us tiered plate stands full of little triangle sandwiches, mini savouries, scones and cakes and of course pots of hot tea. Fantastic! A perfectly English start to my birthday celebrations.

All in all a really nice birthday and I got through it without sinking into a depression which was a bonus. Everyone kept asking me ’so how does it feel to be 30?’ and it feels surprisingly good. I feel excited about what the next few years will bring and am more free of the self doubt and other hang ups that we lump around in our 20s than ever.

Ok, so there are still plenty of things that I didn’t quite get around to yet, like learning to drive*, but I am pretty happy with where I am in my life (unfortunately I don’t mean geographically but that’s temporary!)

Ways to tell I am officially out of my 20s:

• I am broody
• I want a house of our own, badly
• I have hangovers that last 3 days
• I find pop/house music increasingly annoying
• I embroidered something

Of course a plus point of growing older is that people give you stuff to celebrate/commiserate/make you feel good. I got some lovely things…

This Catherine Holm bowl from my sister, Meg, that we found on eBay. I love it! She is keeping it for me in her nice new kitchen until I have one of my own.

This 70s Erco lamp that I also chose from eBay (I love eBay! So much amazing stuff, I could bankrupt myself) from Carole. It is also being saved for me until I have somewhere to hang it. See, it’s the broodiness… I’m decorating a house I don’t even have yet.

This cute print that I chose from Etsy artist Elsita from Mum and Dad. It’s made from an astoundingly intricate and detailed papercut that the artist painstaikingly cuts with a scalpel then makes a print from. I would love one of the actual papercuts but she doesn’t sell them. I haven’t seen it in the flesh yet but it’s in the post as we speak. I have a frame ready for it.

This beautiful book from Steve (found in fantastic Urban Outfitters in Leeds) by Rob Ryan who also cuts pictures out of paper. (I like silhouettes at the moment) Each page has a picture like the one on the front and only one or two sentences. Haven’t read it all the way through yet because I’m saving it for the right time/mood. It’s very romantic and sentimental as you can tell.

I also got lots of lovely bunches of flowers, some Body Shop goodies, perfume, chocolate, topshop voucher, candles and other very girly and nice treats. I also plan to buy a very grown up and stylish leather Mulberry bag in Bangkok in December from Steve (ok, a fake one but who would know. Oh… all of you, now. Well if you think I would spend 100’s on a real one you’re mad!)

I also have a Steve combined birthday/xmas present to come from Carole and Ted in the form of a helicopter ride up onto the Franz Joseph glacier in NZ! Looking forward to that as you can imagine!

So thank you to everyone who gave me a gift or a message or gave me permission to raid eBay/Etsy at your expense (the wonders of the internet!) and if you didn’t do any of the above then I’m 30 all year so you have plenty of time!

To Kuwaiti (verb)

Today my lovely wife, Jemma, turned 30 years old.

When I looked at her this morning, I was surprised to see no sign of drooping breasts nor wrinkles. Instead Jemma looked more beautiful and, dare I say it, foxy than ever.

Wow! What a lucky husband I am.

Feeling pretty happy with myself because I got 93% for my last assignment!

It was written whilst on holiday, when distractions were many, like having Wii battles with Joshua or watching daytime TV, so I did well to keep myself shackled to a desk for 2 solid days.

Only one big assignment left then I am on to the next section of the course.

The weather here is horrible with a capital H, O, R, R, I, B, L and E.

It’s averaging 45 degrees and so humid that in the evenings there is condensation running down the outside of the windows. Ramadan has started so most of the country is fasting during daylight hours which I think would literally kill me. As it is I have headaches because we are drinking less (since we can’t in public) and I feel like sleeping in the afternoon. The women I work with not only have children at home to entertain but also have to cook a big family meal when they get in from work. And then they can’t eat it until 6.15pm, or even have one sip of water. Mad.

Yesterday the electricity went off in half of the school and lessons had to go on as planned without A/C. Hats off to those who managed to function in those conditions without killing themselves with the nearest blunt instrument because it was more fun.

We had an earthquake!

Well, it wasn’t in Kuwait exactly, but a few miles away on the border between Iraq and Iran. There is a faultline there - I had no idea we were anywhere near an earthquakey area!

A couple of our friends had quite dramatic and traumatic experiences: Gregory was awake when the rumbles arrived, and couldn’t decide whether to hide under a table, run down the stairs, or to jump out of the window to safety before the building collapsed. Mair said her bed was shaking so much se had to cling onto the edges to stop herself being flung out.

We just slept through it!

We accidentally got sucked into the sales pitch in a rug shop in Morocco. We ended up a few quid shorter and with luggage which was a few kilos heavier. Oops!

The shop staff wrapped the rug up for travelling in a tight package so we didn’t see it again until we got back here several weeks later. What worried us was that the package started to emit a rather unholy stink. We were wondering if the rug had started to rot inside there because it really was a hideous smell. We also thought it might have permanent ridges where it had been folded for so long. But, when we unwrapped it, all was fine. The rug stank terribly for a few days but we aired it on the balcony, but the smell has now subsided (as long as you keep your nose more than 2 feet away from it).

Who knows why it smelt so bad? (We did read that camel urine is sometimes used as a traditional anti-fungal treatment for rugs… :-/)

It is a kilim (flat weave) rug with lots of nice geometric patterns on it…

Those of you who know me well know that I am slightly obsessed with scavenging about for second hand stuff, be it from charity shops, vintage shops, ebay or jumble sales. Not much opportunity for this kind of shopping in either Seychelles or Kuwait, so every time I go to England I have to get my fix.

First stop Norfolk, charity shops aplenty, but not much to be had really. I had better luck with Steve’s stepmum, Ginny, who was in charge of organising the jewellery stall at the church jumble sale and had a huge bag of stuff collected from all the old ladies in the village. I had first rummage and found some great things.

In Newcastle I found some lovely green glass plates and a white plant pot shaped like an owl which I had to hide in the storage boxes before Steve saw them. I also got lots of nice clothes like a John Rocha shirt for 4 quid and a bright orange Massimo Dutti cardi that I like but am scared to wear because its too bright.

Newcastle also has some great vintage shops, the best being Attica which has been there for years. I love it! It has mid-century furniture and lamps as well as clothes. I tried to persuade Megan to buy a huge lamp for £200 but she wouldn’t.

This is probably the least interesting part of the diary for most of you but I thought I should admit it was one of the things I liked most about the holiday. Hello, my name’s Jemma and I’m a bric-a-bracaholic

I went to see my lovely friend Emma who as well as being one of the nicest, prettiest, most stylish people I know, is also an extremely talented artist (hang on, I should hate her!).

She is also very modest and I had to really persuade her to show me some of her work. She said she didn’t have anything to show me that she liked, but that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t good stuff to see - her boyfriend once rescued a painting out of the bin that was later bought by Kay Saatchi.

I saw this little girls eyes and instantly loved them. “I like her”, I said, “but where’s her mouth?!”

Emma replied that she felt the painting was just finished without the mouth. She said that I could have the painting and I could draw my own smiley mouth on.

But if I did, she would have to kill me.

The best thing about this summer holiday was the fact that we had the time to spend longer in each place. It meant more quality time with our lovely mums and dads. The hardest thing about living away is not seeing you guys!

First up was picturesque Norfolk to see Pete and Ginny. Ginny was just recovering from an operation so was a bit fragile and tired but we still managed to have fun and it was good to see her perking up over the week.

Here we all are eating ice cream at the seaside.

Then it was Carole and Ted’s turn in France where we happily ate, drank and talked the days away.

Here are some ‘then and now’ photos of Steve’s gorgeous mum, Carole.

I got two great weeks with my mum and dad instead of the usual one. The second week was when Steve went off to the lakes so I had them to myself.

I took this picture of my mum because her eyes were so blue and she looked so pretty.

Miss you all.

Very pleased that my good buddy, John, organised a cycling trip during the couple of days I was staying. It was so good to get back on a bike. And, despite my lack of regular cycling over the past six years, I could still keep up with John… just as long as he wasn’t really trying too hard!

John and I drove to Llandegla forest in North Wales - private forestry land that has a whole series of well maintained MTB trails criss-crossing it. It was a sunny weekend, so the car park was busy with cyclists, ranging from body-armour wearing downhill loonies, through to families out for a potter. What a great place.

Once we’d got the bikes set up, donned our Lycra and gotten warmed up, we did a loop of the ‘black’ trails - great trails with lots of steep climbs, twisty single-track and steep downhills. Nice.

A couple of hours later, we ended up at the cafe for a well deserved cup of tea and some cake. Top day.

Now, all I have to do is get myself race-fit so I can whoop Paul’s ass when we travel to New Zealand at xmas!

One of the things I was looking forward to most about going to the UK was the opportunity to go walking in some lovely, green, English countryside. You can’t get duller than Kuwait for surroundings - there is nothing even slightly inspiring about the dusty, pebble strewn desert outside of the built-up areas. So, after nine months of thinking about walking over hills and dales, I had my chance…

I left Jem at her parent’s place and, with nothing more than my trusty boots and a small rucksack packed with tent, sleeping bag, stove and snacks, I took the train over to Penrith in Cumbria. I intended to walk along the ancient Roman route of High Street which follows the hills overlooking Ullswater, and into Patterdale in the eastern part of the Lake District. From there I would saunter up Helvellyn via Striding Edge and then head south-east to the Scafell massif, an area I know really well, and love. Finally I planned to loop back towards Windermere via Coniston.

A pretty long route, but I had five days and was feeling keen and fit. Little did I know that I would not even complete half this route. I would fail after being tormented, attacked and repeatedly tortured by old friends. The 45 km I would manage to complete would leave me with terrible injuries and barely able to walk.

The walking began as planned. Leaving the outskirts of Penrith behind, I gradually ascended High Street, following in the footsteps of countless Roman legionnaires. The path soon took me high enough to see Ullswater stretching out before me, reflecting the late afternoon sun. My lungs were full of fresh air, I had the place completely to myself and I was surrounded by outstanding beauty. What could possibly go wrong?

The first inkling that all was not well came as I descended a hill towards a small stone circle know as ‘The Cockpit’. I was about to be horribly betrayed by two long-time companions who I thought would stick by me through adventures for years to come…

MY BOOTS!

These weren’t just any old boots: These boots had transported me over hundreds of kms of paths in all weather; they had donned crampons and helped me climb ice covered gullies on Scottish mountains; they had even pushed me through chest-squishing crevices deep in the bottom of limestone caves in the Yorkshire Dales. In short, I loved these boots - we had a history together. They were like a part of me.

But not any more… now my boots were instruments of torture. I had expected a few blisters, not having worn them for a few years, but I didn’t expect them to crush my toes and make two of my toenails go black and fall off! I guess that my five years in Seychelles wearing flip-flops and Sandals had allowed my feet to spread out, making the boots too tight a fit now. Whatever the reason, it took just two and a half days before I had to call it quits. By that time I was in so much pain that I really had trouble walking.

After camping near a little creek high up on High Street at the end of my first day; crossing Patterdale and heading up to camp by Red tarn in the lee of Helvellyn on the second; and then walking up Striding Edge to the summit of Helvellyn on the third, only to have to head back down to Patterdale (mostly due to the pain, but also because I left the zip-off legs of my new walking pants down next to Red Tarn); I decided to abandon my Lakes adventure. I called my friend John and told him I’d be arriving a couple of days early, caught a bus to Ambleside and hopped on a train to Preston. Game over.

Unfortunately the non-outdoor-activity clothes I had posted to Johns had not yet arrived so I had to make do with some quickly washed walking stuff, and a pair of £4 fake Asda Crocs for my poor feet. The shame I would normally feel wearing Crocs (grown men really shouldn’t put these things on their feet) was cancelled out by the uber-comfort of the rubbery beasts. However, even that wasn’t enough for me to want to keep them once my real clothes arrived - I left them as a gift for John when I departed.

Check out this picture of one of my heel blisters - or rather the blister that formed on the original blister! You’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t bother photographing the other 20 or so blisters, nor the blackened, soon-to-drop-off toenails.

Yum!

We had a great time on holiday with family (Susan, Gordon, Megan, Steven and Grandpa) up the Northumberland coast. We stayed in Seahouses which is a little town just south of Bamburgh and we had lots of tea and scones, fish and chips, beer and fun. It is really stunning there. There are big, wide stretches of beach and huge sand dunes to run down. We spent hours walking on the beach with Oscar, who goes even more mental than usual, running off to chase stuff and manically digging holes. In spite having the thickest fog we have ever seen for the first few days we all managed to get nice tans and had a couple of really glorious days as you will see from the photos.

We took a boat trip to the Farne Islands and walked round Longstone lighthouse where Grace Darling lived. We got really close to the gray seals who seemed very curious and inquisitive by the way they kept popping their shiny heads out of the water for a look at you then darting away. The sea was beautifully flat and crystal clear so we could see them swimming under the water.

We were a bit disappointed that there seemed to be no puffins around (apparently they had all left for Norway or somewhere) but on the way back I managed to photograph this lone puffin who seemed to be the only one left.

Another day we drove to Lindisfarne where they were holding a Viking day. It turned out to be a bit smaller than we imagined and it occurred to us, only after my sister, mum and I sat down for a lesson on making felt bracelets and the only other people were aged 6, that it may have been intended as a children’s day.

Anyway, we made Steve and Gordon wear viking helmets and watched some men pretend to kill each other with huge swords then headed off to find a nice spot for a picnic. After lunch we walked along the harbour and saw these amazing sheds made out of upside down boats. Apparently they were herring boats and some of them are about 200 years old. Unfortunately the rain decided to spoil the day a bit and we had to retreat to the car for an hour before the tide receded enough for us to drive off.

On the way home from Seahouses we stopped at the fantastic Barter Books in Alnwick. Its a huge second hand book shop inside an old railway building where you can spend hours perusing the shelves and refuel on tea and scones when you need a break. Even Oscar was welcome.

I was happy to find that they sell these fantastic ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ posters, as well as tea towels, postcards and mugs. I have wanted one of these posters for ages but have only seen them in the V&A Museum, when it was completely impractical to carry round a cardboard tube. I enquired at the V&A about postcards and the sales assistant snootily replied ‘Well no one would buy the posters if we had them, would they?’ Hooray for the tea towel/postcard option at Barter Books!

I bought a tea towel which is now pinned to the kitchen door as a dose of good old English stoicism with our morning cuppa. (The story behind the poster is here if you’re interested.)

There’s only so much sitting on a beach that I can do before I start to get restless - I’m just not very good at sunbathing. I prefer to get a bit of sun whilst I’m out doing something. Why lay still and sweat when you could be climbing a mountain and sweating properly!

Mum and Ted’s place in France is an ideal place if you like hills - the foothills of the Pyrenees meet the Mediterranean coast just where their house is. Turn your back to the sea, start walking and in a short time you’ll be hundreds of metres above sea level looking out over gorgeous views.

Mum wanted to stretch her legs too one day, so we set off from the town, aiming for the Tour de la Madeloc - an old lookout tower which sits atop a hill about 8km away, at a height of 652m. No problem for hill climbing machines like me and my mum!

The climb up was just lovely - sunny, but with a good breeze to keep us cool. We walked past vineyards and olive trees, drank from a little spring, passed Napoleonic forts and generally took our time to enjoy the gorgeous views.

As we got higher, the lovely breeze became a stiff wind, and by the time we approached the tower, we actually had to stop now and then and brace ourselves as the wind was gusting to the point that it almost blowing us off our feet. It was especially hairy edging round the base of the tower to find some shelter to eat our snacks.

We didn’t hang about long at the top as the horizon was darkening with clouds - rain along with that wind would have really ruined our day.

We descended via a different path into the back of Banyuls-sur-Mer, passing a cute little hilltop chapel on the way. We returned to the house feeling quite self-righteous, since the others had done nothing more energetic that walking to the beach and back!

One thing that has always impressed me about France is their disregard for what most Brits would consider basic safety procedures. Visits to the ruins of French castles are fraught with crumbling walkways and unfenced drops into wells. Wiring in French houses is often of an improvised nature, offering a range of electric shocks to the unwary. Public events have crowd safety procedures that tend towards the hands-off end of the scale (you only have to watch the cyclists and support vehicles of the Tour de France battling up mountain climbs through hoards of staggering and/or leaping, drunk Frenchmen to see this for yourself.)

A couple of nights ago we had the opportunity to experience the ultimate in French public safety indifference. We attended an event that could never take place in the UK in today’s I’ll-sue-you-for-my-own-stupidity litigious culture. It was awesome. Nobody was hurt, everyone had a wonderful time and you have to admit that the French have got it right - for events like this to be banned or neutered due to over-officious safety concerns would be a loss for everyone, as the UK is discovering.

Banyuls sur Mer is hosting a Fête Catalane (the Catalan region sits astride the Pyrenees, partly in France, partly in Spain). There have been parades, concerts, food markets, etc. all celebrating the Catalan culture. The other evening we wandered down to watch a ‘Spectacle Pyrotechnique’. We were in for a bit of a surprise!

The parade involved a bunch of Spaniards, dressed as devils, wandering through the town letting off fireworks. It was fantastic - fireworks spun around the heads of the devils, showering sparks down on their heads and the heads of any of the watching crowd who didn’t dodge out of the way quickly enough. Other devils scampered around the streets with roman candles spewing sparks out from their crotches. All of this took place to the beat of the drummers following close behind. The crowd loved it (even Jemma once I’d dragged her out from the hiding place she’d run to when the first fireworks went off!)

Only those foolhardy, or stupid enough, to stand really close (or to dance with the devils as some did) got singed. The leaflet advertising the event had warned people to wear long clothing and hats, to follow the instructions of the performers, and to keep an eye on their kids. Plus there were quite a number of safety people ready with heavy blankets to toss on anyone who might have burst into flames. That’s all hat was necessary to ensure the event was free of injuries. It would have been a little different in the UK - the crowd would have been behind barriers, 100m from the performers who would all have to have undergone full firework ignition training.

Hooray for the French!

Check out the rest of the photos in the Flickr set. Also here’s a YouTube video (pretty crappy quality) of the event that I threw together - gives you a good idea of the fun/danger.

P.S. I have to admit to having arrived home with several holes in my jumper and a little burn mark on the lens of my camera. I obviously got a little too close to the action. However, I’ll not be suing anyone - it was my own stupid fault!

Ahhh… the smell of a good cheese and the tingle of a fine wine on the tongue. Just the things we’d been looking forward to on our way to France.

My mum, Carole, and step-dad, Ted, have a little house in the south of France. It’s in a small town called Banyuls sur Mer which sits on the coast just north of the border with Spain. The vine-covered foothills of the Pyrenees provide a beautiful backdrop to this lovely town.

Last time we’d seen Carole was in Egypt in December. Ted had been unable to make that trip, so we’d not seen him for almost two years. It was great to catch up with them over a drink and a snack…

• Real French wine that anyone could buy just down the road for only a few Euros
• Real French bread, fresh from the boulangerie down the road - crunchy on the outside, soft and tender on the inside
• Delicious French cheese, bought in a store that had thousands of cheeses

Yum! You might be surprised at how excited I seem to be about the food and wine. Let’s take a moment to compare the above list with what’s generally available in Kuwait (and by available, I mean at non-extortionate prices)…

• Vin de Plastique - wine made in a plastic bucket in our kitchen!
• Foam bread - white sliced loaves with far more air than bread
• Kraft cheese - whole aisles of supermarkets are devoted to this bright yellow offence to all that is pure and good. You can get it in jars, as slices, in cans and in tubes - ick! Real cheese is scarce and super-pricey

The past year has not been the tastiest one in terms of cheese and wine.

Yes, I know we have wonderful middle-eastern food to feast on (and it is very good), but sometimes you just want some wholesome, simple food.

So, apart from the odd trip to other towns, a few walks along the coast or up hills, and maybe an hour or two floating in the sea, this section of our trip will be characterised by the consumption of van loads of baguettes, great wheels of cheese and wine by the barrel!

In case you are wondering, here we are…

So, we’ve moved on from Morocco and are now in France. What a wonderful place Morocco is. We only had three days to explore Marrakech, and six in Fez, but we’ve both been captivated by the country and its people.

In both Marrakech and Fez we based ourselves in the medina - the old part of the city consisting of narrow, twisting streets, colourful souks and an endless stream of people, donkeys and handcarts. Spending any time in the medina is like stepping back in time. The everyday life of the residents seems to have changed very little over the years: Donkeys and handcarts are the main form of transportation for items too heavy to carry by hand; families carry trays of leavened bread dough to the communal oven to be baked; the communal hammam (wash house) remains a weekly meeting place for ablutions and gossip; owners of shops good-naturedly harry passing tourists. I’m certain that if you had a chance to jump back a century or two, many of the sights, sounds and smells of the medina would be pretty much as they are today. In contrast the newer parts of Marrakech and Fez are bustling, modern cities offering everything you would expect in the way of services - pleasant enough places, but we’d come for the history and ambience of the medinas.

Marrakech

Marrakech was a good way to start off our trip. The medina has a central square, Place Jemaa Al Fna, which has provided a focus for visitors for centuries. If you need food, want to purchase something, need entertainment in the form of snake-charmers or music, then this huge square is the place to go. It’s the focus for most tourists, and the point from which they plan their excursions into the confusion of the streets beyond.

Should you find yourself wandering lost in the maze of the medina and pause for a second at a fork in the street, you will be instantly attract a small gang of little kids all keen to direct you back to the square for the cost of a Dirham or two. We made use of this service more than once - it’s so easy to get lost, despite avidly tracing your progress on a map. In fact, in future I’d dispense with the map and just hire a little kid to navigate - they’re far cheaper than official guides, and a lot cuter!

Highlights of Marrakech for us:

• Fresh orange juice sellers in the square: 3 Dirham for a glass of instant refreshment
• Food stalls in the square at dusk: great food for good prices (eat where you see the locals eating though - the quality is better there)
• Entertainment in the square: music, snakes, old men shouting at animals possessed by jinn
• Rooftop terrace bars serving mint tea from which we could watch the world go by
• Stunning buildings: the Marrakech Museum, the royal palaces, some of the shops

Lots more lovely pictures of our time in Marrakech just here.

Fez

We had thought that the medina of Marrakech was a labyrinth, but it was nothing compared to that of Fez. The Fez medina is the largest pedestrian urban conurbation in the world. The streets here twist not just left and right, but up and down too - the medina is built on two sides of a small river valley. Add to this geography the fact that many of the buildings are in danger of collapsing so huge wooden beams cross the spaces above your head, bracing bulging walls, and you’ve got a pretty disorienting experience! You might imagine that the place would be be claustrophobic, and at times it can be. However, glimpses through huge doorways of airy courtyards, the odd tree-shaded square and the fact that every turn of the street reveals a new novelty, keeps feelings of panic at bay.

The pace of life in the Fez medina was slower than that of Marrakech. No mopeds sputtered down the narrow streets - just people and donkeys (the many steps and steep slopes prevent motorised vehicles being used). Far fewer tourists come to Fez, so the place still retains much of its traditional way of life. Sitting for an hour or so in a cafe overlooking Seffarine Square near our riad made us realise how life in the medina must have changed very little for its residents over the years.

Coppersmiths sat in the doorways of their shops beating flat sheets of copper into pans, turning now and then to heat and soften the metal in the coals of small furnaces. Young men walked past carrying piles of half-decorated brass trays. Donkeys struggled up steps loaded with bundles of sheep and goat skins on their way from the tanneries to various leather workshops. (Its hard not to feel sympathetic to the plight of these working animals - they toil day-long, every day until they are too old to be useful. And we didn’t notice any donkey retirement homes!) The Fez medina is a romantic and enigmatic place that we fell in love with.

Our accommodation in Fez was a beautifully restored riad (Dar Seffarine), owned and managed by a lovely couple, Alaa and Kate, ex-pats from Iraq and Norway respectively. We clicked with these two immediately and will certainly stay in touch.

One evening, having failed to find a cafe open for a pre-bedtime glass of mint tea, we returned to the riad where we found Kate and Alaa on their way out for a drink. We joined them and off we went to the new town where we met a bunch of their friends (mostly other ex-pats who had businesses in the medina). Various beers, G&Ts, rum and cokes and a nightclub later, we wobbled back into the riad at about 4:30. Ouch! Wouldn’t have been too bad except that we have arranged to be picked up at 9:00 for a drive out into the country. I managed to delay our pick-up by a couple of hours, but it was still a struggle to get moving. The beautiful countryside around Fez made the pain and furry tongues worthwhile!

Highlights of Fez for us:

• Getting lost in the maze of the medina
• Our accommodation, Dar Seffarine
• The hosts of Dar Seffarine, Alaa and Kate
• Lemon tart and mint tea at Cafe Clock
• Amazing buildings
• The stunning countryside

Lots more lovely pictures of our time in Fez just here.

So… a great place. We were very sad to leave. Highly recommended.

Can’t believe it’s been just a week since we touched down in the UK. Already we’ve…

• Been to quite a lot of pubs
• Seen Steve’s sister, Jo and her family for a few days
• Seen Steve’s sister, Abi and her family
• Had lunch with an old Seychelles buddy, Linda, in Ascot
• Played about being tourists in London - museums, galleries, tube rides
• Got drunk in the street next to the Natural History Museum with our friend Becky (what louts!)
• Spent some quality time with Steve’s dad, Pete, and step-mum, Ginny, in there lovely cottage in Norfolk - beaches, cafes, charity shops (Jem’s obsessed!)
• Met Steve’s new nephew, Jacob, with his parents, Em and Phil

Phew!

We’re off to Morocco tomorrow for about 10 days. Pics and stuff to follow…

Jam, the hamster that we got for Jem’s class, has popped it’s clogs.

Somewhere between being given to a colleague at 1:00pm to look after for the summer, and being hastily returned to us at 3:00pm after the colleague had a row with her mother about bringing a rodent into the house (you’d have thought that she might have run the idea past her mother when she volunteered to look after it three months ago!), the little beast fell ill. By the time we got Jam back she was hunched up, panting and restless. We thought it was just the stress of the travelling, and that she’d recover after a snooze - we’d once almost killed her by leaving her in a hot car for 10 mins. That time she recovered just fine. Unfortunately, this time the story wasn’t a happy one.

A couple of hours later she was dead.

RIP little hamster… we’ll miss your acrobatic antics, Houdini-like escape skills and the sound of your 10km runs in the wheel every night.

(We’re presently considering body disposal options… I’m pretty keen on a helium balloon-powered flight to the clouds, our neighbour suggested a Viking-style burning boat, Jem is pressing for a nice burial in a shady corner of a field - be tricky here in the desert!)