Tramping tales for February 2010

“ GRANDPARENT TICKET FOR 2 -
Alpine Treat in Vaujany, France
Once in a lifetime alpine break to watch your grandchildren
master skiing, have snow fights...
Mostly enjoy the wondrous beauty of the ALPS!
29 January – 7 February 2010 ”

So read the card we received as a Christmas present... we were more than astonished.

Seven up in The Green Beast for almost twelve hours had to be the means to an end!
Barely a peep out of our little trio Otto, Roo and Kiki as they were kept engrossed by a laptop video or pocket sized Nintendo games. The highlight of this long road journey was crossing the channel on a train via the Euro-tunnel for the first time. This made for a 45 minute, slick and easy crossing with a chance to stretch legs standing outside the vehicle.

We stopped overnight in Dijon. After a long day in the car we didn’t fancy climbing back in to find dinner. Fortunately the big bowls of Moules et Frites proved well worth it!

As we began the final leg next day, a call came in to warn us of heavy snow falling which made our passage through Grenoble slow and even slower going up the mountain. Being a Saturday – chalet change over day, it was startling to see the long chain of traffic wending its way down.

On cue, the curtain rose to produce a superb scene on entry to Vaujany

On the outskirts of this delightful alpine village we found our south facing chalet
“La Maitreya” with incredible views directly onto the Massif des Grandes Rousses.
It had been a somewhat disconcerting thought for both of us to think of joining a party of mostly unknown people in a chalet for a week, all sorts of connotations ran through our head. Having hesitantly made our way down a steep pathway, thickly covered in snow with icy patches into the front door we somehow knew we had arrived at a special place. A laid back homely setting with log fire burning belied the luxurious time we were in for.
La Maitreya, owned by Anna and Pascall, ran as a catered chalet with the help of a most charming young Dutch couple, who told us they were there to ensure we all enjoyed a well earned winter break and present the very best of Alpine hospitality. This was certainly no idle boast.

Every morning we’d draw back the curtains to this view from our bed.

Our first afternoon was spent roaming around the little village spellbound by the views while the skiers sorted out equipment, confirmed ski lessons and arranged lift passes. When all was done and dusted we returned to our new home to find delicious freshly baked cakes and hot drinks awaiting us – this was a mere ‘start’ to the wonderful pattern that was to end each day. Later, as 5 children ate their dinner the rest of the party relaxed upstairs enjoying icy drinks with a variety of anti-pasti, local cheeses or exciting tapas served in front of the fire, outside the setting sun progressively colouring different peaks before our eyes. Once the children were tucked up in bed we’d be summoned down into the candlelit ambiance of the 500 year old wine cellar in the base of the house.

Our chef Lesley and hostess Hilde were an element that lifted our holiday into the sublime!

Here, we revelled in leisurely cuisine, served up plate by plate by Hilde before Lesley announced what imaginative and tasty course he had prepared before us. Not for one minute had we imagined dining in such pleasurable style. This perfect match of informal relaxation tweaked by luxury quickly melded a group of unknown folk into a very contented bunch chatting effortlessly about amusing incidents of the day.
Peaceful nights passed in deep comfort until we became sleepily aware that the rest of the house, were up and about. It was the final noisy departure of all the skiers that served as the signal for the two of us to arise and start our day with a quiet breakfast!
We’d plan our day with help from Lesley and Hilde, informed by weather forecasts, as we took in the lofty scenes beyond the French-doors. Mostly, we were fulfilled spending the first couple of hours of our day writing up our January blog before dressing up in our Mr Blobby outfits, being taken up to the village, provided with relevant passes and put on the bubble cars up to Montfrais. Such personal service!

This extraordinary week was made possible and further embroidered by our family –
Otto, Daniel, Roo, Kiki and Justine up on the slopes of Montfrais (1650m) a perfect snow park for beginners.

Close to the cable car a ‘magic carpet’ transported us to another level where we’d meet up with our group of skiers as the children were finishing their Ski School lunch in the centrally situated traditional wooden restaurant, one of three tucked carefully into a landscape of beautifully groomed piste in every direction. We’d have no inclination to eat lunch having expended little energy instead we delighted in watching the children polish skills learnt that morning as we walked up and around the piste tracks, warm as toast in the outfits and big snow boots, Daniel had acquired for us.

Mrs Blobby spellbound by the awesome wonders – we often had to pinch ourselves in disbelief at all we beheld...

Perfect day after perfect day followed. Mid-week is chalet staff time-off and we were given a change of pace with Pascal and Anna coming in to provide dinner on the Tuesday night. The following morning over breakfast Pascal proposed that before the weather changed we take an all-encompassing ski-pass to visit the full extent of one of the world’s most prestigious ski areas that make up Les Grandes Rousse. Justine and Daniel’s attention to detail to our every enjoyment in the Alps once again came to the fore as Pascal produced our passes and put us on the massive 160 person Cable Car up to L’Alpette. So began a magical trip that took us over and through astonishing landscapes with majestic glaciers, spruce woodlands and snowy slopes as far as our eyes could see. That wonderful hymn Oh Lord my God, in awesome wonder... reverberated through Lea’s head as we peered down from dizzy heights at tiny tracks of man, machine and animal amidst all that glistening whiteness. Oz en Oisans captured our attention as an easy access ski resort with snow to apartment doorsteps along with a group of three year olds having a ski lesson down a gentle, snow covered road in the centre of this village. The instructor pulled the sledge, laden with their skis back up the slope, while they toddled behind holding assistants hands.

As we criss-crossed snowfields and climbed ever higher via the different ski-lifts we were enthralled by the ever unrolling and most beautiful snowbound landscapes we have ever seen. An ominous bank of cloud closing in on the highest peak we were steadily making our way towards, had us anxiously pulling scarves a little tighter and wondering if we’d make the summit in time...

We failed! Freezing cold we could see no further than a couples of metres and made do with a photograph below the only point of reference that we’d reached the top.

We struggled down a stairway covered in snow hoping to get a chairlift down. In our ignorance we didn’t realise they were one way - to the top only and the controller on duty certainly made no effort to come out of his observation box to advise us. Fortunately it soon became obvious we’d not manage a ride down and we clambered all the way back up the slippery stairs with faces well chilled that we didn’t loiter up there too long.

We returned to 2700 only to be amazed to find many people sprawled across the snow enjoying a well earned rest no doubt from their snowboarding or skiing exertions. While others, happily ate and sunbathed on a massive terrace amidst all this spectacular scenery.

George enjoying a warming Chartreuse verte et chocolat chaud at 2700.

It was while we were indulging in a hot chocolate with a “dop” of chartreuse that we noticed the heavy cloud on Pic Blanc had miraculously moved off and we rapidly made our way back to the ski lift with many like minded folk and returned to the summit. Squeezed into a cable car Lea became aware of a familiar accent that seemed to stand out from the rest of the gabble going on. With George drawing her attention to The Tunnel that was now visible, she heard the man remark – “a South African” giving her the opening to turn round and say not really... “Zimbabweans by birth but we spent twenty years there”... They were from Somerset West and like us, making their second trip up Pic Blanc that day hoping to catch the breathtaking panoramic views from the top of the world


3,330m we could see forever... giving us views across France, Italy and Switzerland towards some of the most beautiful mountain ranges in the region- Mont Blanc, Grand Paradis, Massif Central, Meije, Ecrins... as we looked around.

The Alpine village of Vaujany is one of eight resorts in the Isere region of the southern France Alps that make up the ski area of Les Grandes Rousse. The more famous resort of all is Alpe d’Huez and we continued on our way to visit there. Obviously the most popular, as for the first time we found queues everywhere and although there were huge expanses of piste – we certainly were not taken by the crowds and the scary whooshing sound of ski and snowboards arriving from all directions that we made a fast getaway... A bird’s eye view of Formules Promeneur stood out with its 30km of paths, clearly marked and packed especially for walkers and we had to smile at seeing a few dogs out walking with their owners on all that coldness. Even benches to catch your breath or to consider a wondrous outlook! We fancied taking a part of that walk but as usual time had marched on and we began retracing our steps back to L’Alpette observing all the activity going on beneath us or around us on some of the 240km of piste available - not to mention quite a few adventurous adrenalin junkies doing some hair raising things in what seemed inaccessible places.

The sheer joy of snow!

After an incredible day out at high altitudes we were more than happy to baby-sit that night. Pizzas were ordered in for the children, always exhausted after their strenuous day of activity on the ski slopes, ice rink or swimming pool. And once those little heads touched pillows – all was calm for the night. The rest of the gang went into Vaujany for dinner and had a good night out.

Another glorious day dawned. Lea was horrified when George declared we wouldn’t need our blobby suits for going up the mountain that day! Taking no notice she donned her kit leaving her jacket zip open to acknowledge the good day. Fortunately he had a change of heart and slung his jacket over his shoulder and Lesley took us up to the bubble cars for Montfrais. Aware this unbelievable holiday was drawing to an end we found ourselves desperate to soak in this compelling scenery.

La Maitreya’s gang joined up in force to salute a successful day over lunch. All the beginners had turned the ‘corner’ and the children were now such confident skiers - there was much to celebrate.

Our Ramsden Family
A striking reminder of their amazing competence gained
in a matter of days along with the joyousness of skiing together.
Families that play together stay together

Did this photo bag the exultation of an alpine holiday that surpassed all expectations?

Returning to the village that evening we found the snow was ALL GONE! With all the dripping going on from rooftops and slushy dirt along the roadsides a kind of drabness was setting in. How could we be ending on this slightly depressing note? Fortunately Chef Lesley’s divine abilities within the kitchen proved the best distraction and Bananarama took care of the rest of the night.

The skiers were all up on the slopes for their final day as snow began falling. Over breakfast we delightedly watched the dance of snowflakes, observing the steady re-creation of another wonderland. By lunch time the white-out made us a little uneasy about our skiers out there. Chains had to be affixed to the wheels for the first time when the call to collect our crowd from the village eventually came through. In the meantime Hilde and Lesley insisted we join them for lunch. These two amazing young people had such a natural poise and connection to hospitality that contradicted their youth.

Our curtain fell ... We’d had it all and more!
THANK YOU Daniel and Justine we had the time of our lives

On Justine’s birthday we had our La Maitreya group over for Sunday lunch. Despite best efforts we didn’t quite match up to Lesley’s cooking but it SNOWED on our African Summer child’s birthday setting a perfect scene for the reunion lunch.

George made her a frog and Justine insisted it go up on her wall immediately- never mind the weather!

Tramping tales for January 2010

Snow, snow glorious snow began falling again on New Years Day and we loved it especially when we could go “snow crunching” around the paddock after each fresh fall. Blue skies, no wind and the amazing dazzle of snow clad fields stretching for ever for the likes of us folk brought up in Africa was a treat. Thus when every one was concerned about the Big Freeze in the UK and headlines proclaimed we were in the coldest winter in over thirty years we were relishing it.

Snow falling thick and fast forced us all to make a quick visit to The Rope Gallery in Barton on Humber! Talea captured the thrill of snowflakes for three sisters while Justine dashed into a supermarket!

A compulsive game took firm hold on the family. Leecy, introduced to Bananagrams in Australia, knew instantly it would make good Christmas presents for the Rubber Tramps and the Ramsden family – she was so right! Totally hooked, the rapid rattle of tiles and the shrill defence of words became a fast and furious nightly ritual. Easily drawing in passing friends and relatives with the noise it generated.

“Cow tipping” is Leecy & Holly’s forte. Incredibly, Carmen produced delightful cow stoppers for all members at the induction of Justine, Carmen and Talea. Lea is a temporary member on occasion. More especially if icy margaritas are on tap!

Combating non stop eating with daily exercise and plenty of family high- jinx in Moat Farm’s heated pool.

Time flies when you are having fun and all too soon our two weeks with Holly and Talya were almost up. Time in London was booked for a Female Finale! Finding the best priced train tickets to London for the five of us had ended up with two trains an hour apart... Yet, The Big Freeze upset British Rail time tables and five exuberant women hopped aboard the Cleethorpes train together.

Train change at Doncaster- Not even delays on a bitterly cold platform with snow flakes drifting in upon us was able to dampen our spirits.

From Kings Cross Station we made our way to Jesmond Dene Hotel, a mere block away. It couldn’t have suited us more perfectly. Dropping off our luggage we promptly caught the tube to Victoria and met up with Carmen over early dinner. On making our way across the road to the theatre – icy conditions had Lea and Leecy hanging on to each other fearfully when a splat on the pavement had them realise one of their number was down!

I know my heart,
I know my mind
I know that I...
Stick out behind – OUR HOLLY!

Fortunately the man at whose feet Holly had fallen helped her back onto her weak pins as her family became a helpless gaggle of giggling Gerties. The mention of the above chant to Holly had us all rocking with mirth in our seats that it was as well we were in the very back row. Soaring seats - miles away from the stage had us hire one pair of binoculars between us. As the lights dimmed we were surprised by an unexpected stampede as savvy folk left their cheap seats for better pickings. Virtually leading the charge was Justine.... It took a good few nervous twitches and fumbling in the dark before we spotted the younger generation holding down upgrades for their old aunts! WICKED proved to be a wonderfully frothy musical.

Our basic family room made a warm, comfortable and blissful dormitory for us despite a chorus of purring!

An excellent English breakfast sent us charging out the door ready to shop ‘til we dropped.... D R O P taken literally, when Holly promptly bowled herself over onto the ice in the middle of the road. By the end of the day she had added a few more dislocations to her spine and no doubt would require her chiropractor the moment she set foot back in Cape Town. We walked our feet off between glorious shops and galleries eventually limping our way to the Dinner and Theatre special we had picked up for £20 p.p. Our meal at The International was upmarket and excellent. The seats in The Coliseum were another story. Straight up and cramped – making it very uncomfortable for our weary bodies and long legs, it spoilt our enjoyment of The Snow Queen. We also came to the conclusion that programmes such as “So you think you can dance” both in Australia and England have raised the bar so high when it comes to imaginative dance that the choreography of this ballet was not quite as fulfilling. Although it was Holly and Talya last night, the oomph had been taken out of us all that we were only too happy to wend our way back to the tube and our beds.

Jesmond Dene Hotel kindly stored our luggage while we made the most of the remaining hours in London. Chilly winds with snow brewing made it difficult to enjoy being outdoors in Camden Markets and eventually we retreated into a restaurant for a last meal together before returning to the hotel to collect our luggage and subject ourselves to the misery of goodbyes as Holly and Talea departed for Heathrow and we headed home.

Despite the sadness of ‘when next will we be together’ we’d garnered many memories and Tom Yum garnished with groundnuts, helped perk us up.

We made a train change in Newark for Grimsby. Soon after stopping in Lincoln we became aware of a young girl with four tiny children in our carriage. We were all drawn to watching a four year old girl - not a day more, caring for two younger siblings, while her Mum saw to the baby. All were ill-equipped to cope with a wintry night let alone dressed for snow. It was a most sobering end to our trip, helping the pregnant mother by taking the pram, baby and three little mites off the train and across the rail lines only to watch them walk home across the ice, at a late hour for little mites. What a predicament. It haunted us and had us count our blessings, one by one.

We had but a few days to repack our bags while keeping an anxious eye on weather reports as we prepared for our twelve day jaunt around England in our little “noddy” car with Leecy. Heavy snowfalls were once again cutting off roads and isolating communities. Dan suggested we take his father’s 4X4 and armed us with emergency equipment. Hearts in mouths we hit the road, across to Wales. The Green Brute gave us a tremendous sense of security in a foggy land of white with snow banked up around us. Thanks to the invaluable help of Sat-Nav we were freed of navigational disputes and covered the journey to Hereford ahead of our schedule. We marked time in the warmth of a Tesco until Pippa returned from school. We spent two nights with her as the ties of friendship between our mothers cemented lasting childhood bonds between the Howman sisters, Pippa and her brother Charles.

Lea, Leecy & Pippa with “PD”, the deaf old dog who kept us entertained almost beyond sanity.... with toe-nails clicking on the wooden floors like castanets!

Moving south to Devizes we spent an amazing two nights in the servant quarters of “Broadleas“– Not below stairs but tucked away at the back of the mansion. Our bedroom with interconnecting doors overlooked a delightful walled fruit and vegetable garden within the magnificent estate of the Late Lady Anne Cowdray. Leecy’s friend from school days – Lesley arrived from Zimbabwe last year, to care for Lady Anne in what proved to be the final three months of her life. Lesley and her husband Peter have stayed on as a “presence” renting their section, while the Estate is wound up. We felt as if we had fallen into a Charlotte Bronte story in the likes of Jane Eyre. Overly narrow winding staircases, not only creaky but well worn over the centuries by staff feet, required special care in negotiating. The warren of inter-leading levels led down to the heart of the main house - the kitchen. From there, the grandeur of the main house symmetrically spread out. Lesley took us on a guided tour, beginning down in the cellars – a chilly plethora of rooms, recently cleared out sent our imaginations in riotous directions that Lea nipped up the steep wooden steps, turned off lights as she closed the door plunging the two friends into fearful darkness. This caused a major tour delay as Leecy and Les required a massive dose of calming fluid back in the kitchen.

Broadleas built in 1816 and extended from a 12 roomed house over the years until bought by Lady Cowdray in 1946. Over sixty years of love and enduring enthusiasm for her garden followed. In 1984 Lady Anne established a charitable trust with a view to maintaining and developing the garden for the benefit of the general public.

Lea was drawn to the recipe books and was fascinated to find the backs of envelopes listing Lady Anne’s favourite recipes and page numbers written in her own hand, within books she opened.
Equilibrium restored, we peeped into the many living rooms before ascending the sweeping staircase to find elegant bedrooms ready for guests, as if the beat of life hadn’t changed! In the “children’s wing” we could not only hear but feel the intense vibrations of a band in practice taking place below in the old schoolroom. Opening that door to a deafening intensity of sound, we found the Estate Horticulturist’s son and friends in oblivious Nevada...
It was the odd piece of paper attached to an item with a name scrawled upon it or boxes stacked within a room in unexpected disarray that signalled the sadness of a life no longer lived, as sentiments were sorted and a history packed away or sold.

Over thirty years since Leecy last saw Les so they had much to chat over. While George and Peter discovered they had much in common that beers were cracked and they talked themselves out very happily....

Leaving Leecy to enjoy reminiscing time with Les and Peter Grieve – we used Sat-Nav to take us to Bradford-on-Avon, where we caught up with Di and Theo Bingham. We first met them in Kariba when they were up from Bulawayo staying with Di’s sister, Jean Junor. Reacquainted in 1976 the Bingham, Junor and Begg families holidayed together in Port Alfred, our friendship strengthened and in time our Rhodesian fates had us all end up helping and supporting each other from homes in close proximity to each other in Durban North. It was good to find these two well settled and in fine fettle after torrid times in which both battled cancer. Our conversations raced in different directions throughout the day yet entrenched in our memory now lies Theo’s job as an odour detector in a company that analyses air quality. His mid seventy year old nose has become a valuable asset.

Theo and Di took us for a pub-lunch at ‘The Canal Inn’ overlooking locks, iced up water and narrow- boats that looked far from inviting in winter!

A close eye had to be kept on the clock to stay on schedule simply because it was extremely difficult to drag ourselves away from the pleasure of old friendships. Sat-Nav took us on to Devon and the little village of East Budleigh where the “voice” said we’d reached destination yet we could see no sign “Penlees”. Voice “recalculating” began irritating as we searched one narrow lane after another making manoeuvring in The Brute very tricky. And, just as George was about to throw toys out of his cot, the sign was spied, hidden in an overgrown hedge. Chez Cousin Roger! Decades have passed since we spent quality time with Roger and he took time off work to ensure this time round would be even better...

No sooner out of the car than we were tramping across fields, hills and dales of England’s ‘pleasant land’ to have a pub lunch in Otterton.

On foot, we were to enjoy many pleasurable hours with Roger as he explained or added snippets of history to an area he has spent a good part of his life in. Favourite galleries- one set within an old fashioned flour mills were added to the agenda and we also joined a large fraternity of twitchers in a bird hide on the Clyst estuary. Not sure which was the most interesting to observe - the water fowl or the twitchers? Taking Goats walk into the picturesque village of Topsham we found many inspiring views as prospective subjects for Leecy and George to paint – these set their cameras off, clicking madly!

Roger, a most knowledgeable hostelry man took us to dinner in Woodbury pub for our last night.

Sacrilege! Roger had Bananagrams! We were stunned to discover it was an unused Christmas present from a previous year. Despite the late hour we insisted on teaching him to play in retaliation for the tiny Q20 machine he’d introduced us to the previous evening, which had astounded us with its astuteness.

We took leave of Roger as soon as breakfast was over and made our way through rain and fog to have a quick hour in Yeovil with our friends Chris and Moira Carver (ex Kariba BSAP) before joining Cousin Nicholas and wife Sue Howman for lunch in their delightful ‘Old Mill’ home, in the little village of Queen Camel, just outside Yeovil. In the past when we have been near Yeovil we have always sprung a surprise on the Carvers, knocking on their door. This time round Lea had phoned and e-mailed our plans a week ahead... So much for that! On ringing the bell, Moira opened the door curiously puzzled followed by an expression of aghast, as the penny dropped. Chris had to be recalled home. As a result of this little upset we forgot to record the visit on camera.

Nick and Sue were ready and waiting! This fleeting visit wasn’t long enough... as we reluctantly dragged ourselves from wonderful old photo albums Nick pulled out, as we needed to reach Reading before dark.

The marvels of Sat-Nav had us pull into Tanners Farmhouse on the expected hour to find cousin Jeremy waiting to settle us into our rooms before his wife Heather arrived home from a day in London, minutes later. A master of organisation, Heather slipped into her natural role of hostess and our finely tuned two days slipped by effortlessly as we celebrated the engagements of their younger sons Tim and Nick; showed Keith’s film Honey Hunters of Niassa; walked dogs across the melting snow fields and talked and talked.

Jeremy & Heather Spencer with two, of the many relatives from all over the world, who gather in the comfort zone of Tanners Farmhouse.

Taking the M25 on the south side of London we turned up in time for lunch with our eldest English cousin Anthea in her snug little home in Whitstable. George, always wary of the icy Siberian winds that blow around here, happily turned to his computer while the women togged up and set off for a walking tour of Whitstable. History unfolded when our passionate, registered Blue Guide Anthea took Leecy and Lea on marvellous walkabouts of her little seaside village and nearby Canterbury. Yet, the absolute highlight of our visit with her turned out to be an arrangement she had made to briefly pop into Kent College where the three Bourdillon sons were practicing for a forthcoming gig! On checking we were in the right place, peeping through a glass panel in the door we promptly recognised Paul and Anton. Last seen at Justine and Dan’s wedding, with mother Jenny, when the three had performed the marimba based music for the church service. Recognizable was Jono although more years had passed since he’d been seen in his grandparent’s garden. The other unexpected face was strangely familiar and as soon as we were introduced to Trevor, Lea knew he was Cousin Penny Mill’s youngest son. Meeting Paul’s equally talented wife Karen for the first time completed the quintet. Although we soon picked up that Penny’s eldest son Martin is part of the band too. The next generation of Zimbabwean cousins, scattered around England working in their respective jobs yet coming together whenever they can to do what they do best - make music! We were absolutely enchanted and didn’t want them to ever stop but they needed a break. Amazing people giving us a very special experience.

Recording the joyous meeting with the band “Dhindhindi”
From left to right:- Lea, Anton, Jono, Anthea, Karen and George.
Leecy, Paul and Trevor in the foreground

On the homeward run we turned off to Norfolk, as Leecy had never been to the county of our ancestors and we were keen to show her the places where our parent’s ashes were scattered. We arrived in Southrepps over the lunch hour and decided to find a bite to eat in the local pub – only to find their kitchens closed. The inn-keeper sent us through to Northrepps where we found that little pub inundated with people. Never the less, a most obliging couple fitted us into a corner until we could be made more comfortable. As the clock moved round we decided we’d best have the roast of the day and find a B& B for the night rather than be pushed for time. Again, our hosts went out of their way to advise us of suitable accommodation and we finally settled on a Farm- Stay, a mere stones throw away which they kindly arranged - impressive service. Well into the afternoon, our fine lunch consumed, we made for Southrepps Hall and were somewhat stunned to find a row of cars parked outside the manor house. Hovering at the gateway wondering what to do next, the front door opened and an elderly figure beckon us down the driveway. We were somewhat startled to find a stranger and a priest meet us at the door but we were soon assured a luncheon party was almost over. Reluctant to intrude we decided to take Leecy on the walk down Southern Rhodesia Avenue and round to the replica Cecil Square Garden only to be summoned into the dining room. Leecy, overcome with emotion, was only too happy as we made a quick exit to catch the last of decent light, with promises to return for coffee.

Two sisters in a quiet moment of reflection, beside the tree planted for our pioneering grandfather EG Howman at the foot of which lie the headstones to the memory of our parents Roger and Stella. At last, all four daughters have visited this place of rest.

Shoes soaked through, feeling pretty chilled we happily returned for a coffee in Southrepps Hall with our dear most robust and hospitable Peter and the frail remnants of the vivacious Eve Sladden. She charmingly perked up for this photo when her husband aroused her with his pet name “Egglet”

We retraced the byways to Northrepps and easily found the really delightful B&B we had been booked into - “Shrublands”. What a wonderful place to totally relax and bring to an end, our jaunt around England, with Leecy. We begged a late lie-in and slept in deep comfort before arising to a marvellous breakfast – quite the finest any of us could recall from our days tripping around British B&B’s. With no pressure we set off for home going via Salle.

We introduced Leecy to Salle Church wherein lies the remains of Howman ancestors. Amongst whom, was Rev. Roger Howman, a rector here in 1637. We fittingly scattered the ashes of his name sake, our dad along with our mum, beneath the oak tree engulfed in a Holly bush on the far right of this photo and directly opposite the chancel inside which is Rev. Roger’s tombstone.

We end this blog on the 28 January as our wonderful six weeks with Leecy drew to a close. She returned to London for her flight back to Australia two days later. Before we put her on the train we had a birthday lunch for Lea in Val’s Café, Cleethorpes. Thankfully, little time to dwell on Lea’s new status as an OAP, as we busily prepared for a departure to France next day.

Tramping tales for December 2009

Gallipoli piqued our interest days after we immigrated to Australia. In the lead up to Anzac Day - 25 April, the media was full of heroic tales and pictures portraying the Dawn Landing on Anzac Cove and the inevitable tragedy that followed. It was a war that dug deep into the Australian psyche. As years passed, our niece Carmen told of her particular visit to Gallipoli for the Anzac Day Remembrance ceremony at dawn and how moving that had proved to be amongst the many Australians that gather there each year to pay their respects. During our time in Canberra last year we were most taken by the Australian War Memorial’s recognition of Ataturk. There and then, we gained a strong desire to go to Gallipoli ourselves, jotted it onto our Bucket List and wondered if it would ever come to pass…

Ataturk Memorial Garden (left) seen from the steps of the Australian War Memorial.
Beautifully positioned to face onto Anzac Parade and overlooking the nation's capital.

In 2007 George decided to part with his specialist collection of B.S.A. Company Mining Postmarks from Rhodesia, diligently researched over the years. It was sold on Stanley Gibbons auction in London. The proceeds paved the way for our 2009 Grandchildren Round. We could, but hope the global financial crisis would work in our favour… and include a trip to Gallipoli. During the early weeks of our arrival in the UK we began scanning the travel Ads – Cruises advertised heavily and the specials for the autumn and winter seemed thick on the ground. Most touring agents were closed for this period and we attempted to plan our own, only to find costs steadily piling up. Plus, we knew from past experience how easily ‘time’ could be wasted when days were few combined with language difficulties. We chanced upon Archers Direct advertising a Grand Tour of Turkey. Not only did it take us to Gallipoli, it covered far more for a very fair price. Unfortunately the first availability in November coincided with Justine & Daniel’s Egypt week. Reported Turkey weather in December surprised us. The cold was definitely off-putting that we took a couple of weeks trying to make up minds before finally concluding that opportunity does not often knock twice! We booked Turkey and watched the calendar for train tickets to Manchester Airport. When it comes to coping with the hefty price of train travel in England one must be an early bird! Train tickets come on line six weeks before the travel date and that is the cheapest time to pick one up… If it is a popular route - the price will literally change within seconds! Lea experienced that with our return tickets.

Our Trip to Turkish Republic (or Turkiye)
6 – 18th December 2009

ROUTE MAP

We left Tetney in pouring rain, Justy dropping us off at Cleethorpes station for our train to Manchester airport – our grand tour of Turkey about to commence. A short delay due to engineering works on the rail line couldn’t dampen our spirits nor did the flight delay although it put us into Istanbul later than expected. Our smooth transfer to Taslik Hotel initially had us crawling through a congested mass of traffic that was being upheld by a mighty long fleet of trucks working on a nearby construction site. Tour Leader, Burcu Gudren introduced herself along with Baki our driver, as our coach pulled into the busy street alongside the hotel and began the journey out of the city along the Golden Horn and skirting the Sea of Marmara towards Gallipoli on the European side of the Dardanelles. Burcu pointed out landmarks and explained the history behind them as we drove along making us all the more aware of just how much we learn, culturally, socially and most importantly, historically on a coach tour. Freed of traffic stress we had the time to observe, digest and enjoy the passing landscapes. The first thing we learnt was that Turkey straddles both continents – Asia Minor lying to the south, and a small bit of Europe to the north. The sun was rising over the city, highlighting the minarets of mosques and the mass of unplanned, densely packed high rise apartments giving a first impression of a very busy place seething with traffic. Our guide explained that many places grew out of squatter camps and that many houses may appear unfinished because no tax is payable until they are roofed!

Approaching the Gallipoli peninsula it was pointed out that there were no fences between the farmlands. Apparently farmers live in villages instead of on their properties and the act of building a fence to delineate their land would infer that they do not trust their neighbours! Being mid winter, the fields lay empty – seasonally it would be the cultivation of sunflowers for oil on a large scale with rice grown on low-lying flats. We stopped for lunch in the delightful little harbour town of Gelibolu but having had a large breakfast we were content to walk around town, sit in the sun awhile and people watch. We were quick to notice how few women were to be seen. Turkish men were definitely in the majority as they sat in groups outside shops or around the harbour simply chatting. We had to laugh when the muezzin’s call to prayer shattered the peace and an unseen dog lying on a balcony above us began howling in reply, or complaint. Other men went about their business, some with wooden trolleys piled with pistachio nuts or souvenirs for sale. These dodged in and around cars with an eye on the many tourist buses steadily pulling into the same lunch stop. An imposing and somewhat elderly shoe shine man eyed George’s shoes and graciously offered to improve the scuffed leather tops on his suede shoes for a few liras. Although George turned him down he created general amusement with his cheerful manner and body language.

Not long after lunch we arrived at the Anzac Cemetery, the first of the many sites of the World War 1 battlefields of Gallipoli.

Anzac Cove

The words “an inevitable tragedy” immediately flashed to mind as we glanced around the landscape of rugged hills, ridges and steep gullies as all the random pieces of a jigsaw began to fit together and give us a clearer understanding of why historians debate whether the Anzac troops landed in the right place to begin their invasion. If so – it was foolhardy. As we gazed around, Australian War correspondent Charles Bean’s words describing the Dawn Landing played over within our heads “Bullets struck fireworks out of the stones along the beach. The men did not wait to be hit but wherever they landed they simply rushed straight up the steep slopes...
We couldn’t help but feel the daunting enormity of what lay ahead of such young men “duty clear before us- Thy will be done” as headstone after headstone gave their ages. In turn, the marble plaque of Mustapha Kemal Ataturk’s address to grieving New Zealand and Australian families in 1930 resonated once again, as they did for us in Canberra. Of the 31 war cemeteries on the Peninsula we visited four – Anzac Cove, Lone Pine and the memorial cemetery to the 57th regiment of the Turkish Army, every single member of which was killed. En route for the last we passed the roadside statue depicting a Turkish soldier carrying a wounded Australian epitomising the “gentleman’s war” that it had been. High up on a hill we admired the prominent statue of Mustafa Kemal, Commander in Chief and hero of the Turkish people (saved from a bullet by the pocket watch his mother had given him), who not only led the Turkish Army at the time but subsequently led the War of Independence, established the Turkish Republic and became its President. His famous epigram “Peace at home, peace in the World” very meaningful.

The stark reality of Lone Pine was brought home to us amidst the peaceful surrounds of this cemetery.

Our time in Gallipoli passed in a flash and we were soon leaving Europe on a short ferry journey across the Dardanelles into Asia Minor and the pretty little town of Canakkale. On the outskirts, we drew up at Hotel Tuscan perched on the side of a hill overlooking the Aegean Sea with tame rabbits hopping around the grounds. We were just in time to take a sunset walk down to the beach of this holiday resort run by a Turk and his English wife. Although quiet for the winter it simply buzzes during the summer. Instructed to meet up for dinner together as this hotel would be serving a set menu we returned to find everyone enjoying “Happy hour” with our first real chance to begin making acquaintances with our very cosmopolitan group. Over an excellent four course meal of fresh and tasty ready plated Turkish foods, each deliciously served up to our group of thirty, smoothly and promptly, we enjoyed an animated conversation with a young Canadian girl and an Egyptian Civil Engineer who’d lived most of his life in America. Sam was a font of all knowledge having travelled with Archers/ Cosmos on many different occasions and had so enjoyed Turkey the previous year that he was back doing it again. Aside from all that we gleaned from Burcu, we enjoyed this adventurous man always out exploring and finding little markets or typical foods of an area which he shared with us.

Up and away early next morning, our first stop was the ancient Homerian city of Troy, famous for the ‘wooden horse’. Sketchy school history was coming to light and making more sense as an adult! We’d been warned not to expect too much but we found ourselves fascinated by the sheer history of the place. First excavated in 1871 the ensuing years have actually unearthed nine ancient metropolises, dating back to 3000BC and of course a variety of differing opinions.

Trojan Horse

From there we continued southwards, towards the lovely Bay of Edremit and over Mount Ida with views of the coast and the Greek islands offshore – much of the land covered by olive trees. Houses, characterised by satellite dishes trained skyward and solar heated water tanks on the roofs, while the hotels we passed advertised the use of geo-thermally heated water. Unlike other parts of the world where just as much sunlight is experienced solar heating appears to have taken off in a big way in Turkey. Pine trees, grown to meet the demand for pine nuts took up the odd niche Travelling through wide stretches of farm land – ploughed up for the winter – we also noticed little mounds demarcating a farmer’s land and spotted many dogs running free across the land and a good many dead by the roadside which we found surprising for the small amount of traffic that we encountered. Flocks of sheep and at times goats were always guarded by a shepherd with the help of his indigenous Anatolian sheep dog. Near Bergama, Burca explained the history behind parchment after the Egyptians chose to cut off Turkey’s supplies of papyrus from Mesopotamia and on passing the waste dumps of a Canadian run gold mine the fierce resistance from the locals over the use of cyanide... all little snippets that made the road journey interesting. During the lunch stop we had our first encounter with a Turkish pidé – a pizza like bread and filling that went down extremely well. By now George had noticed when waiting for a robot to change that the Turks have a flashing device above the robot that tells the driver how many seconds they have to wait before it changes - an idea that met with his full approval!
As night began to fall, we arrived in the very popular seaside resort of Kusadasi which takes its name from the pigeons that live on the little island just off the head of the bay. Set high, our hotel, Grand Onder, had a spectacular view out over the sea and as we waited to be assigned bedrooms, cameras clicked away frantically through the massive picture windows of the lounge and lobby as the lights of the town and marina created a picture perfect vista.

Our room, where we’d be spending the next two nights had a fine view of Kusadasi.

According to our itinerary day four was ours as a day of leisure or take the optional excursion to Ephesus and the Virgin Mary House. We only discovered how these excursions created budget problems for us AFTER we’d received our tickets with a personal itinerary attached shortly before departure. Obviously laid on to bring in extra revenue, the Company claimed they were simply maximising our free time with several optional highlights, depending on weather conditions, seasonal suitability and group interest. Decisions! Decisions! We had to fore-go the day to Ephesus and the visit to the site of the Temple of Diane, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Instead, we spent a delightful day in near perfect weather, walking along the coastal road out to the island fort where not a single pigeon did we see! We wandered through the very quiet but quaint town. Most shops boarded up for the winter. The difficulty of finding a post office or post box for our postcards to grandchildren had us climbing ever upwards along wriggly narrow streets that seemed to be owned by long legged chickens. Some, curiously peeking down at us from stone walls that concealed tiny roosting yards. Chancing on a textile market in a side street we happily enjoyed the sights and sounds of Turkish women nosing around for bargains with no sign of any pressure to buy. Dinner that night was ours to find and out on the streets we bumped into two ladies from our tour group looking for a restaurant they had been recommended by a shoe salesman. We ended up joining Lise, a Norwegian and Brea from Melbourne to experience a delightful night out together. Our friendly and most obliging waiter not only dashed into town to find Brea some freshly made Turkish Buklava, he spoilt us with a complimentary platter of fruits and delicious apple tea to end the evening.

From Kusadasi we turned east, heading inland, the weather cold with a strong likelihood of rain; Burcu chatting away about all sorts of things as we entered the most fertile region in Turkey known as the “Greek Meander”. Large quantities of figs are grown in the Aydin area and one of the important social events in winter intrigued George - camel wrestling! Coinciding with the breeding season the testosterone charged male camels are encouraged to fight in a specially built arena and any ‘retired’ camels, too old to be used for this purpose, are turned into sausages. Passing stork nests on the top of pylons and roof tops we were told of the superstition that surrounds them – no-one contemplates interfering with them for fear of the bad luck it brings. The first stop of the day was Aphrodisias – the remains of an ancient city (once with a population of c. 15 000) dating back to the 1st – 6th centuries BC. Excavated by an American archaeologist, Prof. Kenan Erim, who so loved the place that he now lies buried in the grounds, near the tall spirally carved columns of the Temple of Aphrodite. We found the sight of so many beautifully carved pieces of marble and ornate sarcophaguses lying uniformly stacked out in the open puzzling. Unable to credit such treasures being allowed to continue weathering although the cats and kittens galore clambering amongst them provided the cutest photo opportunities. One kitten stole George’s heart when it followed us all the way to the temple. It began drizzling and with snow on the surrounding mountains it was easy to feel chilled. Everyone began wondering if George would manage to part with his little ginger puss purring and pummelling away at his chest in sheer delight when he sheltered it under his jacket.

A besotted George playing with the kitten in the Amphitheatre of Aphrodisias.

The excellent on-site museum gave us respite from the bitter cold and wet and we soon forgot about the bounty outside as the museum pieces on display were awesome. Lunch at a nearby restaurant brought welcome succour with its central fire to warm us. A lone minstrel with a parrot perched on his head entertained us with his music creating a lovely atmosphere in this rural eating house that seemed out in the middle of no where although actually was on the edge of a nearby village. Our Turkish hosts produced a visual menu of the food on offer in its raw form, from a large trolley. A wonderful array of dishes to suit degrees of hunger and pocket, while introducing us to the cuisine of the area, all freshly cooked in record time to have our whole group well fed and watered within the allotted time.

Some snoozed as we drove along valley floors through the snow-capped mountains of the Denizli area towards Pamukkale – We had seen tufa falls (also known as travertine dams) in Queensland, Australia but nothing prepared us for the totally unexpected and massive transformation of the landscape. The sight of the “cotton castles”- white terraces of tufa formed by calcite rich water, cascading over miniature waterfalls down the mountainside, left us spellbound. Simply describing them certainly doesn’t do justice to their magnitude.

Lea peering down onto a portion of the white encrusted terraces of Pamukkale.

Immediately behind the terraces of tufa lay the remains of the city of Heirapolis (3rd century AD) abandoned after an earthquake in the 14th century, an enormous settlement with temples (the Temple of Apollo), amphitheatres and baths centred upon the healing properties of the hot springs. George was intrigued by the geo-hydrology of the site and felt frustrated by the lack of explanation on this subject. These days the terraces are supplied with water distributed artificially from the spring to maintain them. Recent hotels built on the site were pulled down because of the adverse effect they were thought to be having on the hydrological regime. We decided to split up as George was keen to find out more in the museum while Lea was happy, simply enjoying the unbelievable vistas of this area in the fast fading light.

We’d love to have taken a swim amongst the sunken columns of the mineral pools.

Twice she returned to the Museum entrance hoping to find George and encourage him to get to the thermal baths before our time was up. No one had come across him... When time came to gather at the meeting spot George was still no where in sight. Burcu counted everyone and sent them on the walk back to our coach. Still no George! Fighting panic, Lea ran through the gloom checking out all the closing sites – no sign of him. Eventually Jean from Guernsey and Lea began the long walk back to the coach while Burcu checked in with Baki, the Driver. Turned out George had made his way back to the coach at nightfall not realising everyone was waiting at the designated meeting point. Only when Baki came over to ask if he was “George”, did he realise something was wrong... A forty minute delay but the missing man was safe!

Our hotel, Herkales Thermal Hotel, had a basement pool fed by the hot spring (temp. at source 55°C!) and monitored by medical staff. We hadn’t taken swimming costumes so we looked forward to making use of the brass tap in our bathroom which brought water directly from the spring, later that night. So while most dashed off to enjoy the main pool, we couldn’t resist a walk down to the village square of Karahayit where we thoroughly enjoyed the mystical atmosphere created by its spring fed fountain on the main street steaming into the cold night air, the much amplified wails of the local muezzin at the mosque and the many small shops branching off, particularly one we stopped at with an amazing display of spices, the owner keeping us sniffing at this and that until his mobile rang! Hunger drew us back to a wonderful buffet with live music at our hotel and to close the day despite the rather daunting warnings about not staying in for longer than 20 minutes and the likes of us, over 60 needing to seek the advice of a doctor we took a mineral bath. Not as relaxing as we’d hoped because the heat came no where near expectations!

Our scheduled hotel in Konya had been unexpectedly commandeered by a Government Ministry and we were warned to expect a long drive of 660km next day which had us off to a very early start. The morning mists didn’t lift as the surrounding countryside was enveloped in a thick fog that little could be seen for the first couple of hours – passing through farmlands used mainly for the cultivation of cotton and opium poppies, the latter apparently being grown under strict supervision. Apart from poppy farmers being allowed to shoot intruders, the lands are also patrolled by military police. Climbing through bleak mountainous country, the occasional marble quarry was of interest and coloured markers on the verges of the road indicated heavy snow falls are commonly experienced. During a comfort stop we saw a small leopard skin behind glass – an animal, apparently on the brink of extinction, referred to as an Anatolian panther in this part of the world! Although fallow during winter every inch of the broad valley floors we travelled along had been transformed by the hand of man, used almost entirely for the production of wheat and sugar beet and regarded as the bread basket of Turkey. As the plains are treeless the locals are said to use cattle dung for heating and yet, for the past four days, we had seen no sign of cattle grazing in any fields. This leg of the journey seemed a good place for nodding off, safe in the knowledge one would miss nothing. However, it was at this point that Burcu started to tell us about the Whirling Dervishes – a religious group once led by a radical old Islamic fundamentalist called Rumi, whose headquarters lay in the city that we were steadily heading towards - Konya, one of the oldest urban centres in the world and 6th largest town in Turkey. Followers of Rumi, from all over the world were descending on Konya hence no room for us. As a result we were just stopping to visit the Mevlana museum. Here, we had to wear plastic galoshes over our shoes; and although no photos could be taken, it amazed us to see the request openly abused by some visitors. Mobile camera makes it all too easy! The smallest Koran ever written with the aid of a hair amazed us! This minute book caused the illustrator to go blind such was the eye strain. Many pilgrims could be found praying around a box containing a piece of the Prophet Mohammed’s beard!

It was almost dark by the time we left Konya, heading for Avanos and the region of Cappadocia but we just managed to catch sight of the snow capped volcanic ranges that had been responsible for spewing layer upon layer of ash and lava over the region. Crossing the Konya Plains we were made aware that we were following the ancient Silk Road trade route used by the camel caravans over centuries and the likes of Marco Polo. As camel caravans were open to attack by marauding bandits the Ottoman Empire began building fortresses every 40-60km along the road to shelter the caravans, providing guards as well. Some of these forts still stand and we’d visit one on the morrow. By the time we reached Avanos, it was pitched dark and after more than eight hours sitting on the coach we were relieved to be staying put in the Cappadocia region for the next two days. A 9.00am start next day seemed bliss!

By now, our fellow passengers, 30 in all and a real mix of nationalities from the UK, Australia, Pakistan, Philippines, Canada, Japan, Egypt, India and the Channel Islands had become familiar faces to us all. Some of course, were distinctive by their habits like the dear old Pakistani lady who felt quite comfortable belching and burping whenever she felt like it; Riley who’d been a gardener in a monastery for 20 years, kept having panic attacks yet stood out from day one as she marched around in her Turkish military cap bought in Gallipoli. She was accompanied by her larger than life pal Heather, always beautifully dressed that she could easily be mistaken for a film star – probably vaudeville when she spoke! An Indian lady and her son, about to start medicine – both avid photographers would shoot off the bus the moment it came to a stand still and yet kept us patiently waiting beyond departure time taking photos of everything they saw including each plate of food. They seemed permanently asleep on the bus with their seats tilted back making it difficult for those seated behind them. Not to mention two grey nomads of “no fixed abode” whom everyone found a bit odd. Time passes easily people watching!

The first stop next day was Saruhan, one of the old fortresses built to safeguard the Caravans on the Silk Road. Built in 1259 out of blocks of tufa and carefully restored, it was a particularly magnificent looking building, with its clean lines, enclosed courtyard and arched bays where the camels would sleep with their drivers to maintain warmth in winter. A regular venue for the Whirling Dervishes – we were all so intrigued in this religious ceremony that Bercu bought a DVD of the Dervishes whirling at Saruhan, to show on the coach.

The great Agzikarahan ‘Caravanserai’ Saruhan.

Thereafter we went to Goreme, a World Heritage Site listed in 1955, to see the incredible array of rock cut shelters and churches that lie within the site’s spectacularly eroded landscape. Settled largely by monks and nuns in the 4th - 8th centuries AD, at one stage there were up to 100 000 Christians living there. The inhabitants had dug sleeping quarters, interconnected by passages, ramps and staircases deep within the wind and water worn pinnacle-shaped rocks that dominated the landscape - a landscape reminiscent in some respects of the Bungle Bungles in WA, while the shelters reminded us of the underground houses we’d seen in Cooper Pedy, Central Australia even the homes cut into the sand stone mountains of New Mexico, not far from Albuquerque. Recesses had been carved into the walls of the rooms to serve as storage spaces. Long tables carved from solid rock and pits dug into the floors to create ovens. Many of the excavations made inside the rocks have been exposed by the inexorable process of erosion. George was not impressed by the efforts to prevent further erosion by spraying slurries of cement over the rocks. It didn’t look good and apparently hadn’t worked anyway. Interestingly, many of the entrances to the rock shelters had been blocked off by the locals and used as pigeon shelters – the pigeon droppings collected and sold as fertiliser. A product said to be much favoured by rose growers.

The Goreme Historical National Park is said to contain 360 small rock cut churches – a few of which we visited to see the frescoes painted on the ceilings.

A visit to Sentez carpet factory followed, allowing us to watch women weaving woollen, cotton and silk carpets following designs so intricate that carpets take up to 8 months to complete. Watching cocoons of silk, farmed in Bursa, being boiled and stripped of silk before being led into a showroom and treated to refreshments before salesmen smoothly showed us through massive showrooms to see the vast variety of carpets now at discount prices for the end of season! The likes of us caravan dwellers were not the sort of clients they expected but it was an impressive display of marketing none the less.

Continuing the exploration of the Cappadocia region from our base in Avanos we went to the Valley of Imagination and gazed out at the pageant of eroded, multi-coloured pinnacles shining in the bright morning light. It was here that Lea politely reprimanded our Indian lady after she had failed to have the courtesy to thank a motorist who had patiently stopped and waited for her to finish taking photographs from the middle of the main road! This little incident swept around the bus and Lea was surprised by the congratulations she received.

The Valley of the Fairy Chimneys (locally known as Pasabagi) was our next stop, and was just as impressive in spite of the strong, cold wind that suddenly materialised out of nowhere, leading to rain. The tiny Pasabagi police station carved out of a cone shaped rock with a row of cells beside definitely tickled our fancy.

Roaming amongst the Fairy Chimneys

Behind a storekeeper’s shack, we came up close and personal with a big yellow Anatolian shepherd dog wearing a spiky collar, their protection against wolves or should they get into a dog fight. We were not inclined to get too close to the animal for a photo. The weather had certainly taken a turn for the worse that we were quick to get back into the warmth of our coach especially higher up at the huge Fortress of Uchusar with its multitude of rock cut shelters where the wind was biting. A cosy visit to Turquoise-land, a jewellery factory, was more than welcome to escape the vicious chill. By the time we came out for lunch in a restaurant over the road with a stunning view overlooking a deep ravine, Pigeon Valley, it had begun to snow! Enough snow fell for Burcu and Baki to have a snow ball fight.

The afternoon was spent visiting the underground city of Ozkonak – where once again an enormous settlement resembling a gigantic wombat warren had been excavated underground, carved from solid rock. Quite remarkable and ingenious were the enormous round stones which could be rolled into place and jammed close to seal off passages in the event of attack. Finally, to end a busy day we called in at a pottery factory in Avanos – Vanessa Ceramics where we found that their clay was taken from the banks of the Red river that flowed through Avanos (the largest river in Turkey). The standard of their work incredible! We watched potters at their wheels shaping vases and plates (sadly a dying trade normally passed on from father to son); watched an artist painstakingly drawing a design onto a plate, something that takes up to three months to complete; with others painting the pottery prior to glazing. The prices beyond our purse!

Cappadocia had been another incredible place to visit but it was time to move on to Ankara, the capital city of Turkey. The land on either side of the road was covered in snow and other than passing an enormous salt lake on the other side of Aksaray, the second largest wetland in Turkey (inhabited by flamingos) the journey was unremarkable as land as flat as a pancake contained nothing but empty (harvested) fields. Little to hold our interest, Burcu played the DVD about Whirling Dervishes – the slow swirling actually proved to be monotonous.

Being the seat of government Ankara was characterised by buildings containing various ministries, embassies, universities and such like, as well as the headquarters of the Turkish Army - noting in passing that a period of 15 months military training is mandatory for all men up the age of 40. Once we’d checked into the hotel we rugged up in our warmest clothes and caught a taxi to Ataturk’s Mausoleum to save on precious daylight while keeping a beady eye on the road travelled in order to be able to walk back to the hotel afterwards. In spite of the crowds of visitors and noisy school groups we found the Mausoleum absolutely fascinating. We made sure to return to a little cinema for the English presentation film on Ataturk providing most informative panoramas of the famous battles fought and won, man of his commands “I don’t order you to attack, I order you to die” included. Literally everything one would want to know about Mustafa Kemal from the various reforms he’d brought about, to his personal cars, favourite dog (stuffed) and shaving kit was here! We consider him to be a remarkable man and rank him up there with Ghandi and Mandela.

We were lucky to present when the changing of the guard ceremony took place – soldiers from the navy, army and air force all high-stepping across the enormous square in front of building containing his 40 ton marble sarcophagus, before taking up duty in a small, glassed sentry boxes.

Predictably, on our walk back to the hotel we got lost in the streets of Ankara – but with the directions received from several kind people we eventually made it, cold and tired. We had a nice big room in the hotel only to find there was no English channel on the TV; no bedside lights (which meant we could not read) and a measure of panic when the hot tap in the bathroom would not turn off!

Minus 3°C temperatures, frost everywhere and as we left the city of Ankara most cars passing us had their roofs covered in ice. Once in the countryside the only signs of life in the frost covered fields were a few tell tale trail of molehills and a couple of miserable looking house crows and sparrows. We were off to visit places of childhood stories- King Midas, the ruler of Phyrigia (central Anatolia) who’d wished that everything he touched would turn to gold and the Gordion Knot which had been tied so tightly that whoever could undo it was destined to rule the world (the knot was subsequently cut by Alexander the Great after his conquest of the Persian Empire, thereby sealing his fate as the Master of Asia). Our first stop was at Gordion to see the Tomb of Gordios, which like the many other tombs in the area dated back to Phyrigian times (1 200BC). Most of the tombs had long since been plundered by robbers, but in 1957 archaeologists excavated a 53m high earth mound (or tumulus) and we were able to use the tunnel they had built to see the burial chamber. There the heavy beams (tree trunks) used as the roof and walls of the burial chamber were, to George’s mind, yet another perfect example of how the climate had changed since those days.

While on our way to Bursa, the first capital city of the Ottoman Empire, famous for its hot springs and Turkish Baths – we passed through Esikidehir (population 600 000) and couldn’t help admiring how since the War of Independence (1923), Turkey has managed to claw its way back from being the so called "Sick man of Europe" to a nation that now builds F16 jet fighters (irrespective of the assistance it receives from the USA because of Turkey’s strategic location next to Syria and the Middle East), has thriving ceramic, car, textile, electronic and glass industries, with exports worldwide; and every sign of its roads, railways and towns rapidly growing and improving. Bursa, set amongst snow capped mountains was another busy place and as soon as we had booked into our centrally situated Kervansaray Hotel, we were whisked off to see the 20 dome mosque built after the defeat of the Crusaders in 1599 that dominated the cityscape nearby. Being the first mosque George had ever set foot inside – shoeless of course. He was most curious especially when he had to carry his shoes with the soles facing each other not to mention the enormous carpet with lines on dictating the space available for each worshipper. Later, as it grew dark, we walked back to the hotel via Kozahan, the ancient Cocoon Market built in 1491.

A view of the beautiful old Silk Market overlooking the massive inner courtyard and little shops in every archway selling scarves, not once were we hassled by the salesmen.

Markets lined the streets and amongst all the hustle and bustle we couldn’t help but admire the men darting perilously about with trays of hot tea or coffee. Sales are competitive because shops are grouped together accordingly, all the gold shops here, all the towels shops there. Oh my goodness how ornate the linen was - decorative silver and gold threads glittered everywhere.

The last leg, back to Istanbul had us catching a ferry across the Sea of Marmara saving 1,5 hours of road travel. As we approached Istanbul the traffic grew steadily heavier – the congestion on the freeway (as in South Africa) allowed street sellers the opportunity to nip in and out of the traffic selling their wares of cell phone chargers, bottled water etcetera. We drove directly to the Blue Mosque, a huge 6 minaret mosque that had taken seven years to build. We coincided with the call to midday prayers and were treated to the tremulous wailing of two muezzins, competing with one another. We marked time by visiting the Roman Hippodrome, once a stadium for 100 000 people to watch athletics and horse (chariot) racing close by. Once in side the Blue Mosque we were intrigued by the problem they had keeping such an enormous space free of spider webs, more especially the solution of putting crushed ostrich eggs into the plaster!

Taking the optional cruise of the Bosphorus everyone recommended proved disappointing as the weather started to close in – the clouds getting lower and lower, followed by rain. As a result our two hour boat trip up the European shore of the Bosphorus and back along the Asian shore was not seen at its best. At least we gained an idea of the places and obtained fresh views of the last Sultan’s palace and where his harem were housed, the bridges across the Bosphorus and the ship that Ataturk once used for pleasure cruises.

We’d also paid for the optional Istanbul by Night with dinner and Show – This, like the Discover Cappadocia optional tour proved to be money well spent and a marvellous way of ending our tour. We were given an excellent four course meal, with drinks provided, live music, a waiter that made a rabbit from Lea’s napkin and gave her heart failure by snatching her bowl of ice-cream and fruit salad away just as he had handed it to her, and an evening of entertainment that we are unlikely to forget in a hurry.

Folk dancers caught Lea unawares when one of the men took her hand and led her on stage.

We were fascinated by a blindfolded a man using his mouth to peg flaming daggers into a plank of wood balanced on his mate’s stomach; a multi-lingual comedian entertained us by singing and joking in every language according to the nationalities in the restaurant. It was the belly dancing that had us entranced. We’d never seen the like and the drumming accompanying the belly dancers was phenomenal. The synchrony achieved between drum-beat and dancer’s movements, an absolute joy to behold. George decided there and then he’d like to become a belly dance drummer! Definitely a most memorable night out.

For our last day in Turkey we made our own way to the nearest tram stop. While puzzling over how to purchase jetons (coupons) necessary for the tram, a Turkish couple promptly fed coins into the machine and gave us our first set, refusing payment. Throughout our time in Turkey we were taken by the friendly and kindly Turks- this considerate gesture doubly reinforced our high regard for them. Our intention to visit the Palace of Topkapi was knocked on the head at the entrance by the high cost of the entry tickets and walked on to the Grand Bazaar instead. 4000 tiny shops interconnected by a maze of passages and we bump into a Sydney born Turk, hospitably he insisted come to his carpet shop for a rose tea. The Spice Bazaar was another vibrant place seething with throngs of people buying and selling every conceivable type of merchandise, their wares often spilling out onto the pavements. We witnessed a cat fight going on inside an old cemetery and had a good laugh over the body language of cats. On another occasion our eyes caught sight of a cat curled up asleep at the feet of its grain-selling owner, quite oblivious to the mad fluttering of pigeons flocking all around it. After 6 hours of pounding the pavements, we caught a funicular up to Taksim Square, a spot we decided really had nothing to recommend it as an icy wind cut through our clothing and promptly returned the way we had arrived and made a bee-line for the shelter of the hotel. With just enough for a toasted cheese sandwich for supper – our trip to Turkey all but finally over. The weather report for Europe didn’t look good and we wondered if we’d have delays... Baki dropped us all off at the airport where, after checking in, we found ourselves being shunted from one end of the building to the other as the airport authorities kept changing our departure gate. Eventually 1.5 hours over time we were airborne. Any glimpse of land below was blanketed in snow. By the time we’d passed through immigration and collected our luggage, we’d missed our train to Cleethorpes. An hour later, the next train had us travelling through a winter wonderland. Dan arrived to collect us and drove us through an icy white landscape all the way home. This was the start of the BIG FREEZE.

A Christmas atmosphere prevailed and the arrival of Lea’s sister, Leecy, from Australia added to the excitement of the festive season.

Snow that usually melted away as fast as it arrived was building up and we enjoyed the exhilaration of snow fights with the grandchildren.

Westfield Farm lit up with lights, merry noise especially over non-stop games of Bananagrams and wonderful aromas. This more than trebled, when the next sister Holly and her daughter Talya arrived from Cape Town joined by our niece Carmen from London. Life revolved around wonderful family time - too much shopping, eating and drinking was counteracted by walks over the Lincolnshire Wolds. Quite the best experience turned out to be the daily swims in John Ramsden’s heated pool with the mists rising mystically around us and as we exercised to glorious classical music we all believed we were in seventh heaven.

Walking in the Wolds

We saw the old year out in joyous style – we were fortunate to survive all the dire predictions following the World’s financial collapse and we could but hope that the gathering of family here boded well for 2010.