... in Italy (and Europe)

The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Italy (and Europe)

Driving my Alfa Romeo down to northern Italy for a walking holiday initially seemed like a very good idea. Until we considered the size of the boot and amount of luggage we needed for a two week holiday, including walking kit. So the evening before, we practised and formulated a carefully considered jigsaw pattern to maximum use of each nook and cranny. I was under strict instructions that I couldn’t buy anything. Even the traditional fridge magnet may prove problematic.

 

On Wednesday I headed off to work as usual, but needed to get to London Bridge in time for the 17.09 train to Oxted where Husband would pick me up on his way from Woking to the Channel Tunnel. Due to a late running meeting, this became more of a rush than intended. However, I got on the train and settled down.

 

I watched the mechanical list of destinations that was being displayed in the train carriage. And it was a jolly good thing I did. I was on the wrong train. With seconds to spare I leapt off and onto the train on the opposing platform. This train unfortunately was crammed with people and barely had standing room. Furthermore, it left late.

 

However, I did later arrive at Oxted and after some initial faffing about trying to find Husband we set off for the Tunnel.

 

At one point, on the hard shoulder of the opposite carriageway there was a car comprehensively on fire. About 10 yards behind it an RAC van was parked. We rather suspected that whatever was wrong with the car was probably beyond the mending skills of the RAC man. He would most likely struggle to tow it away as well. Instead he sat there, watching, as flames devoured the vehicle and thick black smoke swirled into the sky.

 

The number plate recognition system at the Tunnel cleverly knew exactly who we were and offered us an earlier train under the Channel – which we accepted. We were then subjected to an enhanced security check which involved a yellow coated official swabbing the steering wheel and door handles. It was all rather peculiar. Consequently we only just had time to pop into the terminal shop and buy jelly babies – vital fuel for walking – before being summoned to board the train.

Husband had printed out directions to the hotel at Calais. He had used a google search rather than the ‘click here for directions’ link on the hotels’ own website. Consequently, we enjoyed a long and unnecessary drive into Calais in search for a hotel that didn’t exist. On the plus side, we saw the sea and several hundred cyclists.

 

It is worth making reference at this point to our Tom Tom sat nav. Realising the device did not include Europe maps, we bought and downloaded a map a couple of days before hand. Those canny people at Tom Tom know how to make money though. Therefore Europe is not an option. Instead it is broken down into chunks. We opted for the map which included southern Germany, Austria and the Alps. The map was so huge – and the device being an entry level one and therefore not equipped to carry a memory card – we had to delete most of the existing data on it. Furthermore, we could not have fitted the France map on there, even if we had wanted to. Tom Tom assured us that while we did not have France, it would navigate us along the main roads through France to our destination. The problem with this was that as soon as came off the main roads in Calais, it give provide us with no clues as to where we were.

 

Finally we located the hotel, back near the Tunnel, and headed off past proudly displayed boring equipment in search of dinner. It struck me that England seemed a bit less show offy than the French about the fact that it had dug a hole.

 

Wednesday evening – miles done 110 (from Woking).

 

We got up fresh and early on Thursday morning and set off across Europe. At 0850 local time we crossed from France into Belgium. And we wondered what the point of Belgium was. All we ever seemed to do was drive through it. It was just in the way. Which is broadly what the Germans had thought as well.

 

We had expected the first day or two of the journey to have cool or even wet weather. But the temperature was climbing.

 

At 1135 was left Belgium and entered the Netherlands, our route taking us past the Nurberg ring. Husband was momentarily tempted to divert.

 

At 1150 we entered Germany, where the weather was cooler. The only other noticeable change was that the motorway exit signs changes from Uit to Ausfahrt. So on we pressed to Koblenz.

 

Again, Tom Tom was able to take us on the main roads to Koblenz but completely incapable of navigating us once we got onto local roads. At great expense, we turned on Blackberry roaming and used that to navigate. However, due to the small time delay in updating the screen to show we were on the road, this became a rather convoluted route because I kept giving turn off instructions too late. And in most cases, we found ourselves on roads that we could not easily turn round on. Husband was becoming frustrated.

 

Finally we found ourselves in Koblenz Guls which was a small, pretty (and largely shut) village. We found the hotel. Which also seemed to be closed. After wandering around for a bit, we found a local who showed as a buzzer by what appeared to be an apartment block entrance which we needed to get access to the hotel during the afternoon closure.

 

Having checked in and parked Alfi in the car park for a rest, we wandered around the small town until we found a bar on the Mosel. It seemed only right and proper to drink a glass of Mosel, while Husband had a beer.

 

The hills around us were carpeted with grave vines and the wine production gave its name to many of the hotels and streets – Weinhaus hotel, Moselweinstrasse.

 

After a couple of drinks we decided to get a taxi into town – just in case we couldn’t navigate our way back if we drove. We asked the taxi driver to head for the old town so he took us to where the Rhein and Mosel meet.

 

It was warm and we wandered along the banks of the Rhein, trying to select a suitable place for lunch from the many riverside establishments. A bank of different types of lavender stretched along part of the riverside, a shimmering purple haze.

 

We sat outside for lunch which consisted mainly of meat, apples and potatoes.

 

A cable car went over the Rhein up to the fort on top of the hill the other side and we decided to go on it. The fort was huge. We wandered around it barely seeing anyone else. Preparations were being made for a concert and also mass football watching (some European championships were on).

 

A vast open expanse led towards the cliff top ramparts which overlooked the rivers and confluence. We sat at a cafe table and looked over the city – taking the opportunity to have pudding. We had no idea at all what we were ordering. I got a rather nice apple strudel and Husband had an extremely colourful fruity thing. It wasn’t ice cream and wasn’t sorbet and looked more interesting than it tasted. We’re still not entirely sure what it was.

 

At the head of the confluence there was an enormous statue of a man on horseback.

 

From our vantage point we could see the cable car coming up to the cliff top. This would make it challenging to effectively defend the fort. Husband pointed out that a cable car did not usually form a traditional and reliable part of a battle plan.

 

We wandered back towards the exit of the fort and saw signs for a photographic exhibition. Husband thought it might be interesting. I suggested that it may just be pictures of leaves and things. Husband was of the view that that would be unusual. Bizarrely, and much to my amusement, that’s exactly what it was. Bits of nature, slightly out of focus.

 

The cable car back has a glass bottom. Being in a cable car over a river is a peculiar sensation anyway, but seeing the cliff drop away beneath you as you then slide down towards the water was momentarily unsettling.

 
 

Once back at the bottom we walked over the large horse statue. Steps lead up to a metal gate at the base of the monument, which led inside. So we went in and climbed up, through the k stairs and passageways which seemed very dark after the brightness of the sunshine.

 

We meandered back towards the old town, keeping an eye out for a taxi back. Koblenz old town had narrow winding streets. The buildings were tall and multi-coloured and didn’t seem as old as the dates on the front of them implied. The streets would then open out into large open squares adorned with fountains.

 

Finding a taxi back was a little challenging. However we finally returned to the hotel. Looking out of the window into the courtyard below a dog was now standing guard over Alfi. He looked up at us, occasionally squeaking.

 

After the long drive and wandering around in the sun, we lay down for an afternoon nap.

 

Thursday miles done – 317.

 

The following morning we went downstairs for breakfast. This was a buffet which an above average number of liver pate options. Everything was going well until the waitress came over and spoke to us. We coped alright with the offer of coffee. But then she said ‘anstacheln?’. We looked at her blankly. She adopted the English method of speaking to foreigners by repeating the word slowly and loudly. To no avail. So she shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

 

Half way through clearly the table next to us, she came over excitedly and pointed at the shell of a boiled egg. ‘Anstacheln’ she said again, pointing at the shell. A ha! All was clear. Yes we would have a boiled egg.

 

Leaving Koblenz was as complicated as getting in due to the blind sat nav. After a few false starts however, (and at least having a vague idea this time of where we were trying to get to) we were on our way again.

 

The road took us through a peculiar tunnel which was lit via high level windows.

 

Wanting to get off the motorway for lunch, I found somewhere that seemed relatively easy to get to (bearing in mind the sat nav situation). The map also indicated there was a castle. So we pulled off at Pommelsfelden.

 

There was indeed a large, stunning and imposing building. The town itself was small, quiet and rural. The former railway station was now a restaurant, where you could dine in an old railway carriage. Husband rather liked this, but it was closed. We found a small cafe which seemed to be the hub of the town.

 

Inside was an extensive array of rolls, sandwiches and cakes which were remarkably cheap. We parked next to the cafe, and sat outside with our food. I had a cabbage sandwich. The car was much admired by passers by and other diners. However, I was aware that there now a considerable number of dead bugs being baked onto the windscreen. At the next service station petrol stop I used the water and scrubbing brush available to clean him up as much as possible. We also bought a red triangle – having realised that we hadn’t transferred this from Husband’s car before we left England.

 

We were unable to finish our vast and scrummy cakes for pudding. Having adequately rested, we headed off for the rest of the days drive.

 

As we left the Munich ring road, the temperature was 29.5 C. Rather amusingly, the signposts were for Munich G, Innsbruck I and Salzburg A. Three countries on the same signposting. We were also seeing more of the wing mirror cuffs of German flags which we put down to the ongoing football.

 

At 1600 we crossed into Austria and headed towards Salzburg. We were now in sat nav range for the map we had. Therefore navigating to the hotel was with welcome ease. We were able to park Alfi under cover, which was particularly welcome given how extremely hot it was.

 

This was the town of Mozart and the Sound of Music. A huge castle on a large rock overlooking the town provided a useful navigation point for our wandering around town. To walk into town we needed to climb up a steep cobbled road and steps. At the top there was convent – all I could think of was Julie Andrews as we went into its deliciously cool and dark church.

 

There were some Muslim people outside, clearly interested in going in but too nervous to do so.

 

We walked along the path around the convent with fantastic views over the city, and the copper roofed churches, then down the steps the other side. From the small height we had gained it was clearly that Salzburg nestled in a basin surrounded by mountains.

 

The city straddles a river and is very different on each side. One side are tall buildings in a higgledy piggeldy medieval fashion, leaning this way and that with narrow streets winding their way between them. The shops have the appearance of boutiques with wonderfully ornate signs hanging outside the front, over the street so the whole street above your head is crowded with them. Even the McDonalds sign stayed in keeping with the decorative, understated signage. There was a Christmas shop – all year round selling every type of decoration and bauble you could possibly imagine.

 

The other side of the river was palatial and baroque, very much designed for showing off wealth and wide open spaces.

 

We had a sumptuous dinner with much asparagus, overlooking a large square with a statue of Mozart in the middle. The menu had a list of specials for asparagus week, and it seemed rude not to have some. It was indeed delicious. One of the desserts was orange chocolate mousse with marinated strawberry. English and Austrian were provided. We identified the Austrian for each component of the pudding but there was also Dunkle. It was very unclear what dunkle might be.

 

Then there was the small matter of walking back – and all those stairs. I noticed that the stairs back up had a wooden banister running along side – of the style that you would put in a house. It seemed peculiar.

 

The sun was setting as we climbed and the noise of voices and music from bars and restaurants below rose up through the evening air to us. This was added to by the peel of bells from various churches and the whole scene was set off by the red orange sky as the sun set over the mountains. It was very pretty. And very hot.

 

Friday miles covered – 424.

 

On Saturday morning, after a sumptuous breakfast, we re-pack the boot of Alfi in the now familiar precise jigsaw pattern.  I noticed that the car was smeary from yesterday’s bug clearing clean, so using some water and a pair of Husband’s used pants, I gave Alfi a bit of a polish. Tom Tom took a while to locate us but soon we were on our way. This time we had the lid down.

 

At 0930 we briefly returned to Germany. We were now clearly in mountain territory which encircled the open meadows in the wide valleys below. There was the smell of onions and smoke from nearby chalets. We could also smell the fresh grass and hear the sound of cow bells.

 

At 0950 we returned to Austria. Passing a building with a sign outside saying Schlosserei Husband wondered if that was where you bought castles from.

 

We had decided on the route to Italy after having watched an episode of the Hairy Bikers in which they followed a fabulous mountain pass from Austria to Italy. It fitted in well with our intended route and so we deliberately navigated our way to that road, rather than going through a mountain tunnel.

 

As we started to climb Grossgockenstrasse I was surprised by the number of cyclists on the mountain. Even children. I wasn’t sure how this could be fun. Hard work all the way up, and too scary to let go of the brakes on the way down – particularly when heading towards the hair pin bends.

 

There were also vast numbers of bikers, sweating in their leathers.

 

It was a beautiful, sunny cloudless day. And everyone had decided this was a day for going over the mountain. There were vintage cars, lines of Porsches and Mercedes and an ever present smell of burning brakes and clutches.

 

The views were stunning as we rose up into the snowy mountains. Finally arriving at the top, at 2500m we continued on up the Eidelwiess pass to the Bikers Nest. This was a perfect spot for lunch, sitting there in T shirts amid the snow. It was very crowded, dozens of bikes and soft top cars. It had snowed recently and the road had been dug out, resulting in high walls of snow on the along the road next to us

 

Alfi had climbed the mountain with ease. Husband thought its balls had dropped as his engine now sounded deeper and throatier.

 

After lunch we followed the winding road back down towards Italy. It was burning hot but we couldn’t give in and put the roof up. Husband did a sterling job of going down the mountain with minimal incidents of crazy overaking and screeching tyres (and screeching me).

At 1500 we crossed into Italy and the roads deteriorated immediately deteriorated. We followed the road through the valley to Dobbiaco. Having found the hotel, checked in and miraculously bumped into our Explore leader (Tim) for the week, we were free for the evening. Alfi was parked in the underground car park and able to have a well earned rest for a few days.

 

For the first time we fully unpacked the car and I did wonder if we would remember the complicated process for fitting it all back in again.

 

While I unpacked and admired the view of the mountains from our balcony Husband wandered into town in search of cash. On the way he happened across the hotel bar.

 

Dobbiaco was a small town with a church and what looked like a castle and many chalet style buildings. It was clearly a ski resort by winter. We found a couple of bars – the first had an intricate conical wood roof and also very crazy Ibiza style music pumping. In the second bar there was an old Italian man who started to speak to us. My Italian was rusty, but he gradually moved nearer and nearer, talking to us more and more. I tried to translate what I could to Husband and gradually my Italian warmed up a bit. The man commented that he thought I spoke well, which was comforting. It was a crazy evening of chatter.

 

Nestling on the border between Austria and Italy in an area which has changed hands many times, the people in the town were bi lingual, speaking Italian and German fluently, interchanging between the two languages with ease. As well as English. Except this man. Who only spoke Italian and disliked the German influence having lived in the town for 40 years. However, his speech was occasionally peppered with German. For example, he referred to the school children being taught both languages and referred to them as kinder instead of bambini or giovani. In the bar earlier, Husband had asked the barman what his natural language was, i.e. Italian or German. Macedonian, he had replied. Which had been unexpected. Over the course of the week we found out that he came over from Macedonia for half the year every summer, to do the summer season. Always at the same hotel.

 

We found a pizzeria for dinner. When I went downstairs to the ladies I was rather amused to see the disabled loo down there as well, without any obvious indication of the presence of a lift. Despite it being a small town, somehow managed to get a bit lost walking back to the hotel. We were a little drunk, and found ourselves on a very dark lane in the fields, some way out from the town. We were rather unclear as to how we had got over there and alcohol consumption may have played a part. An indication of our drunkenness was demonstrated when I woke up at 12.30 in the hotel to find the lights still on and the two of us, semi clothed lying on the bed.

 

We had driven 159 miles that day, and 1010 since leaving home.

 
 

The following morning we were up early and ventured downstairs for breakfast to meet the rest of the group who had flown from England, arriving at around midnight the previous evening. We had a chat about rooms and we were asked whether we had balcony (some people on the floor above us didn’t). Husband looked blank. Yes we do, I said to him. He still looked puzzled. That bit outside the door in the room. I continued. This seemed to cause amusement amongst the others that the concept of a balcony so confused Husband.

 

Tim did an initial briefing and then sent us off to get ready and gather at the front of the hotel. I had hidden the car keys that morning, and then thought they would probably be better in the safe. However, I had completely forgotten where I had hidden them. So there was about 20 minutes of much panicked frantic searching until I found them.

 

This did rather delay our getting ready.

 

We found out about our group more during the next few days, but it probably makes sense to introduce them at this point:

 

Danny – used to be in the TA. Once got shrapnel in his eye but continued with the expedition in question as his wife suggested he was just complaining unnecessarily

Sandy – no nonsense wife of Danny’s

Principal Mcgee - something of the Miss Marple about her

Kenickie – a police detective so complemented Principal Mcgee perfectly. In fact this led the group to expect a murder as we had all the required investigation support.

Sonny – who seemed to be missing a wife. Perhaps she had been murdered.

Charlene – Sonny’s daughter

Patty – Sonny’s niece and friend of Sonny’s daughter

Rizzo – very fit. Did iron man in her back garden. Or was that ironing.

Marty – older friend of Rizzo’s who had a disabled husband so was pleased that Rizzo was willing to accompany her on this trip

Doody – rotund, middle aged, snores so loudly he always ends up with a room on his own

Frenchy – girly and just lovely

Eugene - a bit fit. In the athletic sense.

 

The way Tim organised lunch was that rather than having everyone make sandwiches and then sit separately, we would have a group picnic. So he had bought supplies that morning and bagged them up, asking each person to take one item. I carried the cheese. It was a fraction heavy.

 

The trip description for the walk today was described as a gentle walk to Lago Braies.

 

 We started off with a short walk into town and then a bus ride to Ferrara. We got out into a quiet market square where there was a cow bench seat outside a supermarket. I sat on it for Husband to take a photo – which was foolish as it was very warm and I burned my bum.

 

Although early, the heat was already oppressive. It seemed we had been lucky with the weather. Tim had arrived the previous week to reccy the walks, and it had been snowing and generally miserable for some of the time.

 

Tim set us off at a gentle pace. The walk was after all intended to limber up our walking legs for the week ahead. We walked through the peaceful village and fabulously constructed wooden chalets with expertly packed firewood stored around them. At the next village we paused for snacks and water. Danny immediately took his clothes off to cool down during the stop. He had white handkerchief tied to the front strap of his rucksack. I had wondered if this was an advance surrender option, but it was in fact to wipe the sweat off his brow. He was apparently a profuse sweater. Husband, Kev and Kenickie sat down on a bench in the shady bus stop.

 

We had an option of continuing a walk along the road or climbing up through a meadow. A few of us (me included) loudly proclaimed climb. And off we set. The meadows were filled with brightly coloured wild flowers, liberally spread among the long grass. I ran my hand over them, and could feel the heat from the ground rising up the hillside towards me. I was walking up the hill with Rizzo who was relatively prompt and also taking incessantly, making it difficult to respond without clearly being out of breath. Despite this climb the walk was largely flat, but the girls were still struggling and sat down at every opportunity.

 

It was getting hotter and every time we reached shade, the group stopped. Even if this was just the small shade of a tree.

 

I was pleased when the route moved into the trees and the welcome coolness of the shade. After a while, through the trees we could see the stunning turquoise of the lake. We walked around to one side of it, past the shoreline where there were dozens of tiny fish that swam away in shoals at the thud of our passing feet, to some trees along the beach. Here Tim got out the picnic mat and we unloaded the food parcels we had been carrying. Despite the heat, the cheese was not too whiffy.

There were some pretty industrial looking ants on the ground, so caution was exercised when selecting somewhere to sit.

 

Meat, cheese and salad were unpacked. All we were waiting for was the bread. Which was being carried by the girls. And they were nowhere to be seen.

 

Doody was more interested in cooling off, so positioned himself discreetly behind a large boulder and changed into swimming trunks before having a short dip in the glacier water lake. Which by all accounts was very cold. Tim thought it was about 1C from his paddle. Doody suggested 0C. Sandy commented that there was less of Doody when he came out.

 

Finally the girls arrived with bread. As Doody returned from his dip Danny asked whether he was like Jesus and had brought the fishes.

 

Danny offloaded his pepper and was pleased to be rid of it. In fairness it was a particularly large pepper and he commented about the extreme weight of it. He was roundly mocked and the women suggested that they should share the rocket, which was equally weighty. Danny picked up one of the huge tomatoes and after weighing it in his hand for a minute or two decided it was almost as heavy as a pepper.

 

Doody had brought a bag of apples which were not being eaten – so he faced the prospect of carrying them back. Spurred on by this thought, he made a point of handing out apples to everyone and did an excellent job of clearing his food load.

 

We sat under the trees for a lingering lunch, watching the locals posturing in their swimsuits by the lake (very few going in as it was so cold, despite how hot it was outside).

 

Boats and dinghys glided across the smooth surface of the water. On one inflatable, it was clear that the occupants were dozing in the sunshine. Danny suggested shooting the inflatable out from under them so that they were plunged suddenly into the ice cold water. Husband commented that it was likely to be a German inflatable, and therefore armour plated. I commented that there was a risk they would shoot back. Danny, now running with the idea, went on to predict that the mountain would be blasted away, causing a fatal rock fall resulting in headlines about the Explore team killed by a german sniper in an idyllic alpine lake.

 

Lunch over, Tim gathered the remaining food. Half a pepper was left. As he picked it up he commented ‘feel the weight in that!’.

 

The plan was to circumnavigate the lake and then return to the hotel by bus. Doody and Principal Mcgee stayed at the picnic spot while the rest of us set off. For a moment it seemed that the girls would also stay behind until Sonny told them firmly that this was a walking holiday. Bets were already starting about how much of the week they would manage to do.

 

The path around the lake was flat – with the exception of some hilliness. The girls felt particularly aggrieved when we reached this small ascent. Husband explained to them that their body could do it – the only thing stopping them was their mind. So they just had to make the mental decision that they were going to get it done.

 

Back at the hotel at the head of the lake we had a much needed beer while waiting for the bus back. On the journey back we appreciated how far we had actually walked. Except the girls – who were fast asleep.

 

Back at the hotel we showered and rested before going down for dinner. We were unused to walking holidays where you could wash properly and change at the end of the day. I realised that I had the rest of the cheese. We could hear Tim talking, asking about who still had what food. Husband went out onto the balcony – Tim’s balcony was the floor below, over to the right and Husband managed to successfully throw the cheese down to him.

 

Dinner was in the hotel. We met in the bar to start with and had a few drinks before moving through to the dining room where the system for ordering drinks was very involved. You could only order wine by the bottle. If you wanted a glass you had to go to the bar and order it in person. Then the barman would bring it through to you in the dining room. It seemed peculiar and rather like we were stuck in an episode of Fawlty Towers, but with a beaming Macedonian waiter instead of Manuel. Eugene wanted a bottle of red wine, but full bodied red, which he asked for with curious gesticulation that Kenickie mimicked for the rest of the week. The Macedonian waiter neither understood the term full body nor the hand movements (which were like those you would use to indicate large breasts – surely a universally recognised symbol for full bodied)

 

We had a set menu with a choice of animal of vegetable main course. There was a large salad buffet but Tim thought that was for the a la carte diners. However, some of our group were helping themselves to it anyway. When Patty heard that we didn’t think we should be taking that food, she threw her bread roll to Charlene thereby removing any guilt from herself. Realising it was pointless trying to stop us, the waiter soon invited us all to tuck into the salad bar.

 

I had gone for the vegetarian pasta dinner. Which was beige. The meat option was also beige and the method of cooking the meat was basically bash until it’s 3mm thick, then fry it.

 

After dinner we retired to the bar again and sat outside in the warm evening air. Frenchy was reading the popular mummy porn book 50 Shades of Grey. This started all sorts of indecent discussions about why her cheeks were pink and why she was always smiling. Eugene picked the book up, which had been on the table near the condensation puddle from a drink. The result was that the book was wet – so further jocularity about this abounded. Kenickie put his book down near it and we did wonder whether his intention was to sneakily swap it when he took ‘his’ book back.

 

We started to see burning crosses on the circle of mountains around us and flares along the ridges. Apparently it was all part of some festival. We wondered if someone had actually climbed the mountains to set them alight or whether there was a switch somewhere at ground level.

 

Tired, full and boozy we left the others and went to bed.

 

The following day (Monday) we were down for breakfast first. The girls never appeared, having not woken up till quite late. Tim was concerned that they hadn’t eaten much at lunch the previous day and asked Sonny what they like so that he could make sure there was something for lunch for them. He had no idea, commenting that he didn’t know what teenagers ate but they were happy with their bag of crisps. Knowing the walks to come, Tim wasn’t sure this would be enough.

 

We wondered if Sonny was a newly single parent, having so little understanding of the girls. They seemed like alien beings to him.

 

There was a new waiter at breakfast. We wondered if the Macedonian had been fired for letting us ravage the salad bar the previous evening. The new waiter was very dour and very stern. Tim said that actually this waiter was much nicer to him now. He had been quite unfriendly when Tim first checked in the previous week but was warming to him now. If this was warm, he must have been bad before.

 

The walk for that day was described as: Ridge walk along the Italian Austrian border. After a short train and bus ride to Versciaco, then a cable car to a height of 2041m the route climbs to Mt Elmo passing relic buildings from the World War 1, to a high point of 2434m. This height is maintained along an undulating ridge with two small peaks to climb on the way of 2550m before descending steeply through a forest to Moso. Approximate distance 12 km. Ascent 500m, descent 1200m.

 

We had now nicknamed Tim the Bergfurhrer. Today’s walk involved some up, so the men amusing referred to the need to lengthen their poles.

To get to the walk we took a short train ride and then waited for the bus which arrived soon after. Husband was of the view that it was full, despite there being a significant number of empty seats. Arriving at Versciaco we then took a cable car part way up the hill – which seemed like cheating in way. We were in the cable car with Frenchy and Principal Mcgee. Principal Mcgee decided she wanted to have a drink before the walk began and Frenchy therefore gave her permission to proceed.

 

The cable car only slows at each end, and doesn’t stop, so we had a bit of amusement getting Principal Mcgee in and out of it safely. At the top a snow machine was blowing futile flakes into the warm air. It was unlikely that the slopes would become skiable.

 

We set off on the climb, and the group quickly started to spread out with Principal Mcgee and the girls falling behind. After a while, we paused in the shade of a small building to let everyone re-gather. The mountains around us were stunning and so it was a good opportunity for a photo stop. Danny took one of me and Husband. There were people on the path behind so he waited till they’d gone, but Husband said it was ok as he could take them out. Meaning with photoshop. Danny instead mimicked shooting them off the hillside.

 

Tim pointed at a small hut on the top of Mount Elmo and said that we could go there at whatever pace we wanted, but then to wait there until everyone had made it. Feeling the need for a scamper, I trotted off into the distance. Soon worn out from this decision, I regularly stopped ‘to admire the view’. Jon was soon approaching from behind, and signalled for me to carry on. I couldn’t admit defeat, so had to press on regardless.

 

A further reason for holding back was that is was warm, and a tough climb, and I was aware that I was carrying the electrolyte filled water and snacks – meaning Husband only had his camelpack. He commented about this in an unsatisfactory manner when he reached the summit. However, I had got my need for speed out of my system by then.

 

We had ample time to wait at the top for everyone to arrive. The views were stunning and I could see the snowy peak of Grossglocken. There was also a paraglider silently flying through the valleys between the mountains.

 

The hut had been an old border checkpoint. There were a few old and ruinous buildings on the mountain, alongside the frequently changed border line.

 

 Once the group had gathered, we paused for drinks and snacks before dropping down off the summit and walking along the ridge towards the next summit. On the way Rizzo, Frenchy and I all needed the loo. We found an appropriate space between the rocks and formed an orderly queue. When I say appropriate, it was an almost sheer (but grassy) slope on the other side which we clambered down to do what we needed to. Fortunately no one lost their footing.

 

Any grassy patch was again littered with an array of small, brightly coloured alpine flowers. Tim knew the names of pretty much all of them. I noticed that the rocks that the mountain was formed from were glittery, so I collected some small pieces together to show to Danny when I caught up with him.

 

Danny was lying on the ground by the hut up ahead (which reliably informed us we were at 2447m), as was Husband. I showed the rocks to him, which initiated a lengthy talk about various geological matters. The glitter effect was apparently from mica. I knew that this was used to make make-up so suggested grinding down these rocks to create foundation. If I wanted grey foundation, that is. An English couple were next to us who listened in, fascinated.

 

Principal Mcgee hated the concept of the hut, thinking that having food and drink sold on a mountain was inherently wrong. I explained that such places could be life saving in winter and she reluctantly conceded that they should only be open in winter.

 

Having access to a proper loo, I decided to make use of it. It was downstairs in the hut and absolutely freezing with equally freezing tap water.

 

When I came back out Danny was sharing a beer with Husband. Principal Mcgee was lying back in the sun, her eyes closed, yabbering on incessantly. Tim humoured her by now and then responding to her comments. Danny kept giggling, and suggested that we all get and leave, to see how long she kept nattering away for; unaware that no one was there.

 

We continued with our climb, which seemed to more difficult now and we wondered if this was the impact of the increasing altitude. The wide path steeply zig zagged onward.

 

There were 2 optional peaks. However, Tim decided that lunch would be on the top of one of these, making is less optional. There was no particular path to the top so we bounded over the uneven, springy turf, peppered with bright yellow, purple and white flowers.

 

Tim had bought some blue cheese for lunch, at the request of Jon. Kenickie mocked that it now just needed a full bodied wine to accompany it. Doody had taken on the arduous task of carrying the pepper today – but had wrapped it up in his swimming trunks resulting in a general reluctance to eat it.

 

Kenickie and Frenchy talked about films and exhibitions that were currently going on – including the invisible exhibition in London at the time. It was claimed that the exhibition was more than just empty frames. Kenickie said he couldn’t comment – as he hadn’t seen it! But there were apparently marks on the floor to show where invisible sculptures were so that you didn’t bump into them. Danny, having given the matter considerable thought, decided it was all bollocks and made some reference to the Cleethorpes cultural attaché.

 

 Tim informed us that a latter part of the walk went through an area that marmots lived in. This started a discussion about what exactly was a marmot, which was variously described as a meerkat, rat or rabbit type creature.

 

Before setting off again I went in search of the ladies. This ended up being down the other side of the hill, near a large snow filled dip. I brought a huge lump of snow back. This seemed most welcome as people took handfuls to clean their hands, refresh themselves – or throw on the bare chest of a dozing Jon.

 

The onward walk had the option of a ridge walk to another optional peak, or lower walk – which the ridge path joined into. Husband and I went for the optional peak along with a few of the others. It was hot and a tough climb, particularly coming straight after lunch. However, the ascent was relatively short and sharp. We came back down and joined the others. Danny and Sandy had taken the lower path and played in the snow nearby.

 

All peaks done, the rest of the walk was downhill. And it seemed to go on forever, through ever changing landscape. We traversed the scree sides of a mountain and then moved into grassy meadows. Charlene had run on ahead – being much better with downhill. The path deteriorated as we went through the fields. There were some farm buildings below us, and then the way ahead was strewn with cows grazing or lying right across where we had to walk. We wondered how Charlene had coped, given that she is frightened of every single animal that exists. Patty needed Sonny’s help to get her round the animals. Soon after the cows there were horses, some of whom were licking the lumps of snow in their water trough. Doody had stopped to stroke the cows. Husband stopped to stroke the horses.

 

Then we saw Charlene by the farmhouse. She had got lost so had gone there to ask directions. A small calf had taken a liking to her and followed her – much to her utter shock and horror as she scampered away from it, yelping.

 

We paused at the farmhouse for homemade elderflower cordial. Husband also had a glass of milk which claimed to be from the cows outside.

 

We continued on for the long walk down. Danny prodded Frenchy with one of his walking poles, and asked if anything like that was in her 50 Shades book.

 

Tim stopped by a clover and asked to eat it say what it tasted of. Jon suggested lemon. Tim nodded vaguely but said he wanted something more specific. The answer he was looking for was Granny Smith peel. That really was quite specific, but absolutely spot on.

 

The path became steeper and moved into the woods before finally coming to the town of Moos where we only just caught the bus back, and all took as much time as possible getting on to give the stragglers time to catch up. I was starting to feel under the weather, aware that a cold was growing.

 

Back at the hotel we took the steps up to our room rather than the lift – but at least we weren’t carrying the pepper.

 

Dinner was again beige. To add extra plainness to the brown watery soup, strips of tasteless pancake had been added. The soup was called Celestine, but the only star quality was the feeble attempt to make a star shape out of the pancake slices. This was followed by main course which was beige, meat flattened to a wafer thin state, Following these delights we went outside and played games which included jumping over a ten pound note without letting go of your toes, and the carrot game (involves a narrow necked bottle and carrot dangling down behind you on a piece of string. Husband reckoned he wouldn’t be able to do it because of the state of his knees, but was actually rather good – which shows his knees weren’t as bad as he thought they were.

 

We also discussed the mystery woman who Frenchy had seen with Sonny at the airport, constructing our own murder mystery plot. Fortunately we had Miss Principal Mcgee Marple and Inspector Kenickie.

 

Sonny had been due to share a room with Doody, but both were in single rooms now after Sonny asked to be elsewhere. Doody said that he had been on 4 Explore trips and always ended up losing his room mate quite promptly. We wondered what he did in the early stages of getting into the room which seemed to incite people to want to move – giving him a low cost single room.

 

The next day was our free day. We had considered driving to Venice, but having recently driven a fair distance and as I felt as though I was coming down with a cold, we changed our plans. Having the car, however, did give us greater freedom than the rest of the group who were dependent on public transport.

 

We decided to head off to the war sites around Cortina. On the way we passed Nasswand military cemetery. This had been where soldiers from a military hospital were buried. Each grave, marked with a simple black cross, had two men in it. Their names and dates of death were marked on the cross, usually having died the same day.

I was full of cold. Frenchy had given me a couple of lemsips but I still felt pretty ropey.

 

We went on to Cortina past a picturesque lakeside village and over mountain passes to Cinque Torre. To get to the military musem there was an option of a long walk up the mountain or cable car. That was an easy decision to make. And we realised how sensible after a few minutes, becoming aware of how long the cable car journey was. It was remarkably quiet and peaceful and virtually no one else was around.

 
 

At the top we walked around the quiet trenches built into the rock on the hilltops, and the various dug outs and look out posts that used natural features. We wondered if the various boulders lying around were due to the bombardment that this site had suffered, and whether certain parts of the camp would have been higher, but had been blown apart. The peaks that delivered the shots which overcame the camp were 5km away, and hard to see in the distance. What we could see, however, was another cable car climbing the steep cliff side to one of the other war sites.

 

It was incredible to think of all those men living here, fighting and defending this part of the land, and not able to see who it was that was shelling you.

 

We had soup for lunch at the site, watching rock climbers tackle some of the sheer fingers of rock around the trenches, and then took the cable car back down. The car park had filled up now – indeed there were more people at the top. We also saw some people walking down the hill.

 

We drove on to the next site at Falzarego Pass. The cable car up to the top was quite alarming, swinging around in the cross wind. There was no door in the roof that I could see, so even James Bond would struggle to escape from it in the event of disaster. On the top it was cold and windy, with reasonably deep snow still covering much of the summit.

 

There was a precarious ridge walk to a monument – we went along an initial part and then turned back. Most other people on the top were in walking kit with jumpers and waterproofs. We were in summer shirts, shorts and sandals and were starting to feel woefully underprepared for the weather which seemed to be gathering in the black clouds above. This site had tunnels that had been bored into the mountain side, and we headed over to those. The path along to them felt as though it had been hacked out of the mountain side, going under an overhanging cliff as well as along narrow ridges – with the comfort of iron handrails trailing along the ground. Part of the path was also deep in snow.

There was a huge crater blown out of the side of the mountain which had been man made. Finally we got the tunnels – for which we were prepared as I had head torches. It was damp and pitch black inside. The stone steps were slippery and the iron handrails were a godsend. As were our headtorches. I did have a momentary panic that we wouldn’t find our way back out. But there seems to be 3 paths which went down into the mountain, all of which came back up to the same exit point.

 

It was very disorientating. We would climb down the dark stairs and through the tunnels to a small lookout window, and then realise where we were in the mountain. At one point, there was a wooden ladder leading to a higher level of look out points. A further look out point we couldn’t reach as the tunnel was becoming covered in snow and ice, with a large puddle at the end. I threw a stone into it, which made a plopping noise of deep water. We turned torches off to take pictures – without any clue what the camera was going to pick up. It was darker than anything you would normally experience.

 

From inside the tunnels we could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. It added a certain eerie thrill and made you wonder how men could be posted inside these mountains, with battles going on around them and not lose their mind at the threat of being buried alive.

 

The last pathway was the corkscrew. This quite literally corkscrewed down and down and down into the mountain. Knowing we had to climb back up, we went down so far, and then turned back. We wanted to get off the mountain before the thunder storm came to us, so made a hasty retreat.

 

We got back to the cable car as the rain started.

 

Having had a full and active day, we then headed back through the mountains to Dobbiaco. On the way we stopped at a farmacia where I was pleased that my Italian stretched to explaining I had a terrible cold. Armed with raffredore medicine we went back.

 

 It had been decided to go out into town for dinner that evening rather than eat at the hotel again. I was feeling too horrendous, so Husband went without me – and seemed to have broken things at the restaurant by moving tables and not noticing the flower pots balanced on them. He brought me back a pizza which I was very grateful for, and tore into it like a ravenous animal.

 

On the following morning (Wednesday) I felt much recovered although Husband wasn’t entirely sure that I should do the walk. The walk that day was the highlight of the trip – Tre Cime as was described as: The Tre Cime are the Dolomites most famous landmark, 3 imposing towers that stand at almost 3000m high. The walk begins just beyond Dolomitenhof (1454m) and makes a long ascent through forest and open mountain country. The high point is a mountain hut at 2405m in front of the Tre Cime before descending via a different route. Approximate distance 15km. Ascent 1000m, descent 1000m.
 

We took a bus to the start point. During the journey Husband managed to sit on the hose from his water bottle so emerged from the bus looking as though he’d had a bit of an accident.

 

The path initially meandered at a low level, through low bushes before starting a gradual – but persistent climb. It was very hot and the sun was beating down on us without respite, there being no particular shade at all. Slowly we plodded on. The group reasonably quickly started to spread out, and Husband and I walked together – usually in sight of Doody. The ascent started to become slightly steeper, but also there were occasional trees and momentary options for shade.

 

Tim had stopped the group leaders further ahead where the path led down to a small, glacial stream which was a stunning clear turquoise running over smooth limestone boulders. The boys stripped down to underwear and sat in the water while some of the girls took of their boots to cool their feet or dunk their heads. My feet were hot, but rather than disturb them or risk blisters by getting them wet, I kept them on and dunked my head instead. Husband took his top off and soaked it in the icy water. Tim found a deeper pool a little further on where the water eddied round you like a spa and Doody bounded off to enjoy this.

 

We waited there for some time until all the group arrived, Principal Mcgee and the girls bringing up the rear. The girls were impressed that they had just kept walking and not stopped at all. Principal Mcgee was feeling unwell, suffering from an upset stomach.

 

After having some drink and food, we set off again. The path relentlessly climbed through an ever changing landscape, moving from bushes to trees, while to our left the vast scree slopes rose up to spiked mountain ridges. The bushes and shrubs then fell away and the landscape became more bleak and barren. To spur on the rest of the group, I used nearby stones to note ‘Beer’, with an onward arrow. This did, by all accounts, help Danny and Sandy to keep going. Kenickie was in the lead group who were on top of the hill above us. He looked back and saw me putting the sign together. Over lunch he asked what I was doing – always the policeman. Doesn’t miss a thing. Constantly observing everyone. The path made a final steep zig zag climb and then the bright white limestone changed suddenly to lush green meadows, peppered with brightly coloured wildflowers.

 

Tim, who had been behind us, came along and asked if we had seen the front of the group. We had seen them on the top of this escarpment and sort of expected them to have waited, but they had gone on. Tim ran off after them, informing us that lunch would be before the hut. As the path turned the corner we could see the hut on a coll in the distance. Tim was already a small speck, heading off into the distance.

 

We heard our names being called, and saw Marion waving us over for lunch. Tim had selected a small grassy knoll near a small lake, but to get over there involved crossing some boggy grass. We then kept our eye out for the rest of the group and called them over as they arrived. Marty was very confused, hearing her name being called but unsure from where. And then she looked for the path across, not realising that it was a free for all route through the bog. Meanwhile, Tim had had to go on to the hut to get the others, who now needed to come back down the hill to the lunch spot. Madan chose to come the long way, walking around the lake first. He’d obviously had his Weetabix that morning!

 

We finally finished Doody’s pepper that lunch time. For those still concerned about its having been stored in his swimming trunks, he offered to lick it clean. Chuffs came to join us for lunch, no doubt in search of scraps.

 

With lunch completed, we continued on for the remaining short climb to the coll and view of the Tre Cime.

 

They were across a scree valley from us, towering into the storm grey skies.  Principal Mcgee demonstrated the extent of her blindness by asking if we could walk to the base of them – not noticing that they were probably the best part of a mile away.

 

We walked across our side of the valley, though hollow filled with snow to the final height of the day’s walk. And it was then that the mountains startled to rumble with the sound of thunder. And the skies darkened further. We hastened our descent, clambering over the smooth limestone. In the threatening weather the landscape seemed barren and unsheltered. However, as we wound our way through the mountains we passed the remains of trenches and galleries left over from the war. But now, they undoubtedly provided welcome shelter to the caught out walker.

 

Tim showed no obvious concern, but kept a persistent pace onwards and downward. Most of the group had donned waterproofs as protection against the hail storm we were walking through. In combination with the wind, the reasonably sized hail stones stung our exposed faces. Thunder still echoed around us, louder and nearer. The limestone, now wet, had become more interesting to negotiate as well as the occasional small wooden bridges that spanned otherwise impassable gaps and crevasses. Well, not impassable. But without the bridges it would otherwise have been tricky and time consuming. Doody was still wearing only shorts and T shirt. His only acknowledgement to the weather was that he had put his umbrella up and now cut a rather interesting figure, winding his way down the path through the rocks.

 

The hail deteriorated into rain. This was a good sign, indicated we were into warm temperatures. A boring pattern followed of rain stopping and starting, resulting in a jacket on-jacket off relay.

 

Now on paths with loose stones underfoot, I made a false step and skidded, but managed to save myself from falling over.  Doody was impressed by my miraculous recovery. It was the sort of moving underfoot experience that was easier to run down than walk. Patty was very uncomfortable with not having a firm footing but, with a little encouragement, was remarkably receptive to a gently jog instead.

 

Finally down from the mountain, we walked along huge limestone pebbles at the bottom of the valley. It was bright white, and through the middle a narrow river wend its way. The flatness of the valley floor indicated that the river in full flow would usually be considerably larger. Even at the shallow trickle it now was, it was wide enough to require use of stepping stones to cross. However, limestone stepping stones are foolish. Because wet limestone is as slippery as ice. As I discovered rather quickly. Fortunately I only plunged my foot into the icy water rather than falling in.

The journey back involved two buses – one to take us down the track we would soon happen across to the main road where we would pick up the bus back to Dobbiaco. The only thing to be mindful of was that the last bus to the main road was at 6.30. It wasn’t a total disaster if we missed this – but it did mean a longer walk.

 

As we approached the track, there was a hut. It had been a long day and we needed to wait for the group to catch up. So we popped in for coffee and strudel. When Tim arrived he confirmed that the last bus was half six, and we could have about twenty minutes at the hut before walking the final half mile or so to the bus stop. However, when the rest of us checked our watches, we queried this. It was already about 6.20. Tim’s watch was running slow.

 

Realising the urgency now upon us, we downed drinks as fast as possible, downed strudel in record time; wrapped Husband’s half in a napkin and ran off down the road. By the time we arrived, Tim was there. As was the bus. Tim was standing in front of it, arms stretched. Danny was also there, doing his bit to stall proceedings as part of the human chain being formed around the bus. Tim later told us he was ready to lie down in the road in front of it if necessary. However, this gesture was not required as the group had done Tim proud and got to the bus stop in very good time, with Sonny doing a spectacular sprint finish.

 

We got off at the bus change point, and the girls indulged in a number of stretches at the side of the road while we waited.

 

As the bus approached, I looked for the ticket in Husband’s rucksack. And started to get a sinking sense of panic as I couldn’t find them in the place where we usually kept them. I them remembered that they were in my rucksack, put there after the short hop bus journey down the track that we had just done! Rizzo and Frenchy witnessed this episode, prompting Husband to tell them about the car keys incident from earlier in the week.

 

When we arrived back at Dobbiaco bus station, the 10 minute walk back down to the hotel was particularly challenging.

 

Dinner that evening was uninspiring. We were at a different table due to a party of singing Israelis who were in town for a singing contest, but who wanted to have a private area of the dining room for their meals. It was suggested that, like in Palestine, they had now built a wall across the restaurant. They were performing at what had once been the Grand Hotel - a massive, luxurious looking building which was now primarily a youth hostel. It made the idea of hostelling suddenly very appealing. We wondered whether they would sing, and then escape over the border afterwards. Perhaps the sound of music effect from Salzburg hadn’t entirely worn off.

 

Over dinner we found out that Kenickie and Eugene had swapped room with the girls at the start of the holiday as they had been given a double bed. But now they had the eternally common male fantasy of picturing the girls sharing a bed. This started a general conversation about the rooms we had, and it transpired that Frenchy – unlike the rest of us – didn’t have a bidet. Given the book Frenchy was reading, it was generally agreed that she probably had greater need of the bidet facilities. Eugene said that he used his to wash his hair (Eugene shaved his head!). Husband commented that a bum drier was also often mistaken for a hairdryer. Some people used the bidet to wash their feet. Frenchy rather wished she had one in her bathroom, as she apparently had yeti feet. The rest of us, naturally, were curious. Apparently she meant that they were very big, rather than unusually hairy. Danny, however, claimed that they needed shaving every hour and that right now people were out in the mountains, tracking her prints. Frenchy then conceded that she could take out all of with one swipe of her foot.

 

There was a pause. An awkward silence. Until Patty suddenly exclaimed that a gay baby had just been born. This was met with an appropriate look of surprise. Apparently this is a known phenomenon to occur every time there is an awkward silence.

 

The conversation was then elevated to discussion about Saxons, Normans, Romans and the origin of the British.

 

We had had blue cheese at Eugene’s request. As we waited at the bus stop Tim came along with the picnic. He handed Eugene two melons. Eugene apparently wanted melon. In fairness, when it came to lunch, it was remarkably refreshing and nice to have melon. And the group did generally decide that melon probably was heavier than peppers. As he tried to load both into his rucksack, unsuccessfully, Kenickie offered to swap him a melon for the sausage he was carrying.

 

That day’s walk was described as: After a short bus ride to the World War 1 cemetery just beyond Dobbiaco, from 1300m the route climbs steeply through a forest of low land deciduous trees into larch and pine and then to high open mountain country with dwarf juniper and rhododendron. The walk heads towards the Flodige Sattel Passat 2163m with views of Tre Cime behind and Lago Braies ahead. At the end of the ridge is the peak of Mt Seria (2378m) that can be ascended for 360 degree views before descending steeply through forest and back to the hotel. Approximate distance 12km. Ascent 900m, descent 1000.

 

 It started out at the cemetery that we had passed on our free day which we now took the bus to. The girls were singing while waiting for the bus and Madan explained that they were happy that day. The walk claimed to start with an immediate steep ascent. And it wasn’t joking.

 

We climbed, slowly and continuously. And steeply. Very steeply. Danny sat down on a bench at a bend to wait for Sandy. We paused to say hello, and have a drink – it was level ground and in the shade, a small respite from the gruelling, incessant climb. When Husband saw this well timed pause point he exclaimed ‘oh fuck yes’. ‘Eloquently put’ commented Danny.

 

Eventually we found that the advance party had paused at a junction in the path. Sandy had an app which claimed to record how far we’d walked. We already had rather doubted the results this app gave. Kenickie asked her how far we had come. 2.46 miles, she informed us. Eugene vigorously disagreed, so Sandy threw some water on him. Danny then offered a banana. Madan took him up on it and said he would have half. So Danny broke some off for him but said that he would decide how much.

 

Doody seemed to be covered in flies. They were everywhere. It was as if he had a special perfume. On the plus side, it did mean that none of the flies were bothering the rest of us. Despite being sweaty enough to deserve some fly attention. Finally the rest of the group showed up. By now we were getting cool so asked Tim if we could walk on. As we stood up, many of us left a sweaty bum patch behind on the bench.

 

At the next stop point Tim told us about lichen and the difference between evergreens – specifically how to differentiate between larch, pine and fir, while I fidgeted on the path. The reasons for this were the significant number of significantly large ants. Presumably coming from the numerous large ant hills that lined the path.

 

We continue the climb, though the greenery, up a sparse scree slope and over a coll back into meadows on the other side. This was the lunch stop point and we had a view across the ridge towards the optional summit, and start of the descent.

 

We had a quiet, gentle walk through the green fields towards the final ridge of the day. A number of the group decided to sit in the sun, looking at the view around us rather than climb the optional summit. I went for the summit and we were able to leave rucksacks behind which made the climb easier. The path snaked up the additional peak, barely clinging to the sides. There were parts of the climb where there was a wire handrail nailed into the cliff to cling onto as the path barely existed across the near sheer rock face. It was at this point that we discovered Eugene had a fear of heights. There were some other scrambly bits and finally we reached the flat top – a very small summit with vertiginous drops all around us. We had a spectacular 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains. There was a large cross on the summit, hunkered down by large metal cables and a small box on the supporting post which had a baby Jesus inside and visitor book. Tim signed it as Berg fuehrer. Frenchy was tempted to sign as berg frauline. The views were stunning and it was fairly important to keep an eye on the cables so as not to trip over them and launch yourself unceremoniously over the edge to certain death. Or worse.

 

We climbed back down to re-join the group and start the descent. The walk down was steep, on bare rock that were littered with lots of small stones. So it was like walking on ball bearings. A lot of slipping and sliding took place. Patty was particularly unhappy about it, so Tim leant her a pole and walked with her.

 
 

I slipped at one point. Doody observed, and recalling the slip from the previous day noted that it was 2 nil to the mountain.

 

The downhill walk went on for some time. Once the steep, slippy slope was finished, the path moved into the woods, becoming soft and spongy underfoot from the years of fallen pine needles and then onto larger tracks navigable by 4x4’s.  As the path went directly back to the hotel, the group had rather spread out. Husband and I came down one particular bend and saw some of the group sitting by a goat field. It seems that they had been unsure about where the path went. However, I had seen a small sign post indicating that the path went to the right, through the sheep field. Eugene was a hundred yards or so in front of us. We saw him reach the other first – and all the sheep in the field ran over to him. We didn’t particularly think anything of this until we went into the field. Every sheep ran to Eugene. The lambs, left by their mothers, gambolled playfully through the long grass to Eugene. The entirely flock ran and skipped after him the whole way across the field. He was like a shepherd or modern day pied piper. We did wonder how we would stop the sheep getting out of the field at the gate the other end when Eugene went to leave. We also wondered how Patty and Charlene would cope when they got to the field.

 

We never did establish what it was about Eugene that had resulted in this very peculiar effect.

 

Shortly afterwards Charlene caught us up, and continued running on down the path. However, at one point we had to call her back as she had run off along the wrong route, necessitating an additional climb back up. Charlene had been running down a road that we had come to, whereas the path went off back into the woods. It was now Doody’s turn to slip on the pine needles and damp tree roots. He didn’t fall, and claimed that his low centre of gravity is what saved him.

 

Husband and I decided to go for a swim before dinner, so we quickly went upstairs to change and then down to the pool before it closed. Doody came along a few minutes later. It was warm but quite refreshing to have the swim.

 

Dinner, again, was beige and involved meat that had been beaten as flat as possible before being fried.

 

I had rinsed through our walking tops to refresh them for the remaining days of walking. They were hung over the balcony, held in place by some handily available rocks. Clearly this was usual practice, and as such the cleaner helpfully left the rocks in situ.

 

During the night there was a large storm. We were woken by the noise and bright flashes of lightening. The shirts, having been almost dry, were soaked by the torrential rain which followed.

 
 

Frenchy was starting to suffer from a cold, as was Sandy. I felt guilty and wondered if I had spread it, but felt particularly bad for Frenchy as she had given me her supply of lemsip. Therefore, I gave her the rest of my spectacularly good Italian drugs. My cold wasn’t completely gone and I hoped it wouldn’t return, but these were good pills and it seemed only fair.

 

The walk on Friday was described as  A point to point walk through wild mountain scenery with impressive high cliffs flanking the walk. The route crosses two mountain passes at 2300m and negotiates a small section of via ferrata. The descent drops down to Lago Braies. Approximate distance 12km. Ascent 400m, descent 900m.

 
 

Principal Mcgee again opted out. As did Frenchy – due to her cold. While waiting for the bus, the lunch food was divvied up – Eugene had a pineapple this time but there was also a melon for Kenickie. The bus had just left the bus station when we passed Principal Mcgee walking along the road. Tim wondered whether she was coming for her share of lunch and suspected he would now be in trouble of some description. It was a long bus ride to the start of the walk – and the road gradually climbed and climbed. While this was nice, we hoped that there would still be an ascent in the walk as it seemed slightly cheating for the bus to do all the work. It was early and there was a mist in the mountains, being held onto by the trees which it was trying to rise above.

 

At a final bus stop huge numbers of walkers attempted to get on the bus. It was quickly standing room only. Wild ponies were mingling with the waiting queue, walking forward with them. Patty started to panic slightly and asked who would stop it if the horse tried to get on the bus. Frankly it would have struggled to do so given the volumes of people. The bus driver valiantly permitted as many as possible to board until there was someone standing on the step up into the bus as well as a child sitting on the dashboard. He then had to admit that the bus was as full as it could be, and closed the doors. Someone standing in the aisle next to Madan farted, and we could see him trying to contort his face away.

 

During the last part of the bus ride we discovered the lock function on our camel pack – this would prevent further accidents of Husband sitting on the tube.

 

The horses, having been unable to board the bus, then stood inconveniently in the road in some form of protest. Once passed this obstacle, we then faced a similar road block from cows.

 

Finally we arrived at a large grassy plateau where our walk started. There was a multitude of walkers at the car park but fortunately all the groups vanished off into completely different directions, so relatively quickly we had the peace and quiet of only our gathering. We walked through the vivid green meadow, with stunning views over the treetops into the valley below.

 

Then the climb started – steeply ascending into staggering rock formations. We turned a corner and saw a mass of rock sprawling across the vale we were in, looking like a many layered cake. This was orgasm territory for Danny, without a doubt.

 

Our path continued on around the front of this fantastic feather into a boulder moonscape with humps and craters before clinging to the edge of moderately steep rock sides with intermittent via ferrata ropeways to hold onto to prevent unfortunate accidents. As we came around one such bit of the path, we noticed that the handrail was attached to an area which was quite clearly no longer part of the rock face.

We had views back to Tre Cime and over the various mountain ranges that surrounded us. The panorama improved with every step. It was nice, having climbed, to stay up at height for a while and enjoy the fruits of our labours a bit more.

 

The path was loose underfoot and at times parts of it had fallen away. In the preceding week Tim has reccied the walks, and needed to stomp a path out of the snow along this route, in particular, kicking away the snow which overhang where there was no path. He had been thinking in advance to this walk, but now all the snow was more or less melted, and it was a warm, sunny day.

 

Once suitably round the trickier parts of the path, we stopped for lunch. And few lunch spots are blessed with such spectacular scenery. Madan had a cheese, pineapple and tabasco sauce sarnie – which seemed an odd combination. As always, when we stopped, we were soon joined by insects. The girls started shrieking, giggling and running about to get the insects away from them.

 

We hadn’t been going for long after lunch when we came to a cavallo hut. This was a stunning, wooden hut. The wooden gutters were designed to look like a dragon, which a fabulous carved dragon head at the end. A carved horse head adorned the front. The lavatories were equally interesting. Male and female marked out by carving in the door. The waste went into a hole below, and the washing facilities used shells to hold the soap, as well as a gravity based shower system. It was inspiring and clever.

The path insisted on some more uphill, and then a gentle descent back into greenery – where we saw a marmot - before affording us a view of the lake, our final destination. There were two paths from this view point – one went down and one went up. Our path was the up path. To which Danny commented ‘oh bollocks’.

 

We continued to pass through noteworthy examples of limestone strata rock formations and then started the hideously steep descent to the lake. This was over blindingly white limestone scree. We were walking more or less with Doody but at one point he paused by the bushes, clearly letting us carry on so that he could use the facilities. I heard a noise and looked back – Doody had fallen over. Quite literally fallen sideways. And in his concern about letting anyone see his willy, he had forgotten to stop peeing.

 

The plan had been to go for a dip in the lake on getting there. However, it was late in the day, clouding over and cool. An ice cold glacial lake somehow didn’t seem that appealing any more. Rather than wait for everyone to get down the scree slope, Husband and I wandered back towards the car park – in search of Principal Mcgee and Frenchy who had planned to meet us at the lake. However, we had arrived over an hour beyond the time that Tim thought we would be there. We did find them, about to board the next bus back to town, and we commented on ‘Tim time’. Principal Mcgee decided she would go back anyway, but Frenchy came over to the bar for a drink. We then saw the others running passed for the bus – and called them all over as well. Frenchy had bought a bottle of grapper which she shared around – and it was welcomingly warming and strong.

 

Tim and Eugene decided to brave the water and go for a dip. They showed up a few minutes later looking distinctly chilly. It took Eugene many hours to warm up from this, so in hindsight I was pleased that I hadn’t done it.

 

We talked to Danny about the rocks of the day. He was a postman but had a degree in geology which I referred to as being in ‘rocks ‘n shit’ – which he rather liked.

 

There was a film crew at the lake and we wondered whether Frenchy’s book was being filmed there.

 

As it was our last night, we decided to go out to the pizzeria for dinner. Husband explained that the food showed up rather erratically, and in some cases, not at all. So I used my Italian to clarify what was starter and main course. On one of the other tables someone had asked what a particular pizza topping was. The waitress then said that as I understood Italian she would check with me! I was able to enter into a conversation with her about the dish, but unfortunately couldn’t understand the answers well enough to know what it was. However, I was still deeply flattered by the whole experience. Despite having been earlier in the week, Principal Mcgee still struggled with knowing what to pick and Frenchy had to more or less read the whole menu to her. Having spent the day together, Frenchy had been promised time away from Principal Mcgee but had ended up sitting next to her.

 

Danny did a speech to thank our bergfurhrer, and as he was clearly not materially inclined (gleaned from his numerous discussions about how he has blagged his way through life, lived off the land, supports communes and such like) he gave him a gift of the left overs from lunch. As well as the collected funds. Principal Mcgee had done certificates for the girls who, against all odds – including their own expectations, had completed all the walks. Marty had reason to be equally proud, having also done all the walks despite being of an age and having never previously done walking holidays.

 

On Saturday we got up and said our goodbyes over breakfast. The rest of the group were due to go back to the airport later that day, but there was no reason why we couldn’t head off promptly. It was raining reasonably significantly. Tim had another group due to land that evening. It seemed odd, to spend a week building a relationship with a group only for it all to end and have to start again. He did admit that it was difficult after having a good group who had bonded together well.

 

As expected, when packing, things didn’t fit back into the bags in quite the same way as when we came out. However, we were able to get it all in the back of the car reasonably successfully. And it was time for Alfi to continue on his epic journey.

 

We took the Bremner pass back into Austria at 10.30 and were amused by road signs saying guht fahrte. The onward road was littered with tunnels – hugely long. Several kilometres each. They were unpleasant to drive through both as driver and passenger, hypnotic, dark. So we opted for the panoramastrasse. This took us away from the fast moving tunnel road onto winding, mountain routes but which were far more scenic and interesting.  As we climbed up into one ski town, St Christophe – dead, now it was out of season – we stopped for a lottery lunch. It was a lottery because we looked at the menu and had no idea at all what we were ordering, not even knowing if there was meat or not. However, the gamble paid off and two rather delicious meals appeared. We watched the weather from our alpine vantage point. It was cool, but bright, with grey clouds rumbling in the distance.

 

We hadn’t booked anywhere for the next two nights and were just going to play it by ear based on where we got to. At 14.15 we entered Lichtenstein. It was dull. Not even worthy. We had hoped for stamps in the passport but they never even checked them. We didn’t even get a fridge magnet. We left a few minutes later into Switzerland. Immediately our surrounding became more interesting with mountain ridges around us, on which castles and churches perched perilously, clinging bravely onto the upper edges. We even saw mountain ridges sitting on mountain ridges, a backdrop to a vast lake. 

 

At 16.35 we entered France. We decided now to start considering options for an overnight stay. We left the motorway at Basel and drove through funny little villages that almost looked like toy towns, coloured buildings that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Disney cartoon. We arrived at Altkirch. On the surface it seemed like a lovely little town, a market square, church, shops. But there was no hotel. On closer inspection, what had initially appeared to be a buoyant, quaint French town was actually a dead place. Most of the properties were empty. Those that weren’t were run down. The sat nav seemed reasonably convinced that there were a multitude of hotels, but after chasing our tails for some time it was clear that he was lying. Giving up, we therefore headed onwards to the larger town of Belfort where the sat nav redeemed itself and directed us to a hotel which actually existed, just past the large walled castle that presumably gave the town its name. Only the French would build a fort and then call the town pretty castle.

 

The hotel we found was a stunning boutique style venue, using the owner’s four storey high town house. Her husband was an artist so each room was uniquely decorated in a quirky but interesting style, bedsteads painted, lampshades decorated with the addition of handmade silk flowers. And everywhere there were stunning and varied oil paintings. We had been very fortunate to find this place – yards down the road was a Novotel which could have ended up snaring us.

 

The proprietor suggested a couple of places we may want to go for dinner, and we wandered off into the town. As we were in the Alsace region, it seemed sensible to drink local wine in a bar overlooking the square. The wine was served in a fabulously high stemmed glass, decorated with dancing boys and girls. As we sat there a curious middle aged local kept cruising – driving past us several times in a small car that appeared adored with silver foil and silver gaffa tape, from which emitted loud thumping music. We weren’t totally sure of the sort of person he was hoping to pick up. He wasn’t the only Saturday night car cruiser – but he was the most notable.

 

We decided on Boef Carottes as the venue for dinner. The interior was a very French, bistro style – except for the silky tablecloth and napkin, while the service was of a homely nature from a matronly waitress. The food, however, was sensationally good. We spoiled ourselves with Kir Maison aperitifs.

 

In the background the football was on – which France lost 2 nil to Spain.

 

We had a huge duck fois gras starter, delicious steaks and excellent cheeses. Husband also had a flambé brulee for pudding which was actually set on fire in front of him. The flames leapt alarmingly high, and were presumably intended to crisp the sugar into caramel.

 

The menu had been littered with tempting options – and amusing included tete de veau terroir (head of terrified sheep, one assumed).

 

 By the end of Saturday we had travelled a further 358 miles and 1446 on the journey so far (part of this of course had been accumulated in our day out trip).

 

We woke to a bright and sunny Sunday morning. After having breakfast, which consisted largely of bread and bread based products, we meandered off through the Alsace, along winding roads through forests. The surrounding trees disguised the climbs and drops over some significant hills and by the side of the road were ready waiting signs and cones to close bits off in the upcoming Tour de France. This also helped explain the above average number of lycra clad men pushing themselves over the steep slopes.

 

It was warm, despite the hour and Alfi now had a deep throated engine sound as he growled his way along the winding, climbing roads. Husband was starting to appreciate his gearing all the more. We reached the summit of the hill we had been gradually ascending. It was cool and quiet at the top, with no sound other than birds and cyclists.

 

After a short pause to buy souvenirs (including an Alsace wine glass), we made for the motorway to continue the onward journey through France.

 

 After a while I rather urgently needed a pee. Husband pulled into a lay-by which claimed to have appropriate facilities. There was a small lavatory hut – but it was locked and people had been going outside it instead. So it was particularly revolting. I decided to dart into the nearby bushes instead. This proved to be a terrible mistake.

 

I skipped along a path in the woods and saw a pile of wood which looked like the ideal place to crouch down. As I approached, it looked more like a makeshift hut than a pile and I briefly thought it would be funny to find someone camping there. Someone was indeed there. An older man, wearing nothing but trainers, pleasuring himself. He had his back half turned to me but when I saw him I shrieked slightly and ran back to the car. Husband thought I had attended to my requirements. I briefly explained what had happened and again went in search of somewhere appropriate. After wandering around the lay-by (which contained a reasonable number of cars with people in them – hence my reluctance to just go there, in the grass) I found a different path into the woods at the entrance to the lay-by. I went up this and walked along the trees. Shortly after passing a reasonably fresh pile of human faeces I decided that this was far too revolting to investigate further, and crouched down for a pee. I was looking down, to check I didn’t pee on my shoes. As I finished I looked up. The naked wanking flasher was right in front of me, feet away. Looking at me. Still pleasuring himself. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard him coming (no pun intended) through the dry leaves and twigs that littered the ground. Utterly alarmed and unnerved, I dragged my trousers up and ran, full tilt back to the car. Almost tripping at every step. I could feel my whole body shaking.  I asked Husband to get in and just drive away as fast as he could.

 

 He seemed confused and initially thought that the shock of the first incident was just starting to get to me. It was several minutes before I could explain what had happened, even longer for me to stop shaking and several hours before I could even start to put it out of my mind.

 

I had always previously been amused by the thought of flashers and hadn’t understood why people were so disturbed by them. I couldn’t even rationalise why I was disturbed by it – but disturbed I was. Very much so. What bothered me even more was the prospect that I had given him his kicks by being clearly alarmed and frightened by the experience.

 

We continued on our way, coming off the motorway to amuse ourselves by driving through the French town of Pompey. Which was uninteresting. We were tempted by Ars sur Moselle, but resisted.

 

It was still warm but becoming cloudy, so the days of roof off driving seemed likely to come to an end.

 

We went into Metz, with the intention of buying fuel and considering lunch. However, the town seemed quiet, dull and impossible to navigate. We extricated ourselves from one hideous one way system by driving along the pavement – to the surprise of the pedestrians. No doubt they would have looked at the number plate and put the whole event down to crazy Englishers.  We followed the pavement incident by then driving the wrong way down one of the way roads – which received the expected response of much hooting. Sometimes it’s handy being abroad where you can just about get away with claiming that you had no idea what you were doing was wrong. On the plus side, we did find ourselves behind another car and decided to follow it as a guide through the one way maze. Almost accidentally we found fuel, without needing to re-negotiate the hideous one way system, so filled up and promptly left.

 

We decided to forage for lunch in Verdun instead. The landscape on the way there was changing, huge great open spaces with occasional sleepy/dead villages that seemed to exist in a time capsule. Poppies lined the earth between the road and fields, and in this part of the world they have a mournful meaning which was emphasised by the frequent was memorials – primarily for a war in 1870. We passed a German cemetery, bleak and windswept.

 

By now it was raining. We changed clothes in the car at Verdun and went for a wander. We found a river front café serving steak and chips. It seemed to be the only place serving, and its fare fitted the bill perfectly. Washed down with a carafe of wine, we were satisfactorily replete.

 

We wandered around the town. Next to the huge entrance gate was an equally large monument to the dead. And in the centre of the town, a large flight of steps lead up to guns, overlooking the town as a perpetual memorial to those who successfully defended it – and died doing so. The town itself was quite and largely shut. So it was no wonder really that the Germans couldn’t get in.

 

We nearly ventured into the underground defences, but it was only guided tours and a long wait until the next one. As well as being exorbitantly expensive. So we continued our drive.

 

By now the rain was torrential, so we drove around Reims rather than getting out and continued on to Laon. On the way we passed a British cemetery which Husband was keen to stop at, so he pulled suddenly into the lay-by opposite. There was an unpleasant sound and much bumping around as Alfi bounced through a number of fairly reasonable pot holes whose full depth were being hidden by puddles. Steam rose from the front of the car. So here we were, very much in the middle of nowhere on a rainy afternoon. And I rather feared that the car – which had served us so well – was now fatally wounded. Husband got out to investigate. Initially it seemed as though the car was sitting a little lower on one side but we decided this was merely due to the uneven ground. It seemed fine in all other respects – no damage to wheels or any punctures.

Thus comforted, we went to the cemetery.

 

We continued onto Laon which was an old, walled medieval town, perched on top of a hill. So there was no room for the town to grow and inside its walls it was crammed with ancient buildings huddled together in narrow, winding cobbled streets. Curiously, it was twinned with Winchester. But there were similarities between Laon and the old town centre of Winchester.

 

The only hotel we could locate (which also had parking) did have a room, but it wasn’t cheap. So we returned down the hill – to where modern Laon spread itself, and went to a motel we had passed earlier. It was very much of the American style – two storey building with a key from an outside door into the room.  There were now English cars in the car park and English people in the adjoining restaurant and bar. It was cheap and cheerful and served its purpose admirably.

 

We had covered 295 miles that day.

 

The following morning we set off, in much improved weather, through the Alsace region, the road winding through large forests covering the hills. It was warm despite the early hour, so the roof was off again.

 

Alfi had now developed a deep throaty sound as he drove and Husband was appreciating his gearing. He was rather convinced that the long drive and mountainous route had improved the engine somewhat.

We drove over one particularly large hill and stopped at the top. It was cool and quiet, save for the sound of birdsong and occasional cyclist training for the upcoming Tour de France. We bought some souvenir glasses at the shops on the summit and continued onwards. There was a small diversion from our route to the town of Pompey – purely for the fun of it. Pompey, France is even more of a rundown dump than Pompey England.

 

We were similarly tempted by – but did not visit – Ars sur Moselle.

 

It was warm but cloudy, so roof off driving had now come to an end.

 

 The following morning we got up late. It was still grey as we set off to the front line sites and memorials in the area. We were now sat nav free and dependent on road signs and maps – although our map was more general regional cover rather than showing the finer detail of small roads.

 

We stopped at an English/Australian cemetery, filled with young unknown soldiers. Many graves were inscribed with Unknown British Soldier and the unrecognisable body parts that lay beneath the stone didn’t bear thinking about. Vast numbers of graves marked the same date of death (10 and 11 August) – clearly a significant surge from the front line had occurred, at huge loss of life. As I looked over the tranquil, empty, rolling fields all around it was hard to contemplate the noise and carnage that had taken place here. What was also striking was that given the loss of life on 10 August, thousands of young men had gone back over the top the following day – many never to return. The bravery and strength of spirit that must have taken was unfathomable.

 

The sun was now coming out as we made our way to the crater at Boiselles. We met a British man who was one of the volunteers at the site. He told us that there were still many bodies buried in the crater and also that they had excavated a more or less intact German bunker a few meters away, but buried it again. His attitude was that this was a memorial and tomb – not a tourist attraction. The bodies still there are left there – in peace. Every year, at the exact time the underground explosion was detonated that caused the crater, the British hold a service at the site.

 

The crater was a massive hole in the ground. There were other, smaller craters in the area.

 

We went on to Thiepval and the massive Lutyens monument to the lost – quite literally. The names of men who never came back and were never found. On the drive there we passed cemetery after cemetery. Some we stopped at. The chalk of the Somme was now all over the carpets of Alfi.

 

The Thiepval monument recorded 73,300 men who had not been found. Every surface of the huge structure was inscribed. It’s just a number until you see each name written down. I thought of Twickenham stadium on a big match day – and that almost that number of people were immortalised here. It was hard to imagine how so many men could have utterly vanished, smashed to smithereens into the mud of the fields around us. Occasionally names had been removed, but this would have more likely been because a body was found, or identified, rather than the return of a living man.

 

From the monument we had views over the front line. The 1 July advance was largely a failure. All these men became red mist in the surrounding fields.

 

 

We foraged for lunch in Albert. The iconic church, whose steeple and bell hung perilously after being bombed, before collapsing, had now been entirely rebuilt exactly as it was then. The entire town had been rebuilt, following its German occupation and subsequent destruction.

 

In the church there were some old tablets with an inscription referring to the relatively recent repatriation. Clearly the children or grandchildren of a former soldier had found them among his effects and felt an obligation to return them. The soldier possibly took them, needing to make some sense of the chaos he found himself in.

 

Our route took us on to Hamel, which still showed the humps and chalk line scars of trenches. I was surprised by the sheer size of the trench network. Within a 3 minute walk you could pass from the Allied to the German trench. They would have heard each others voices.

Part way across the route was a Danger tree. The dead, remains were unlikely to be the tree which originally stood there, but it marked the point where the land level changed. Behind this tree, you were out of site of the Germans. In front of it, you were in firing line and during WW1 it seems that few men ever got beyond it.

 

We headed off to Ypres where we had booked into a hotel for the last night of our trip. Again, we passed cemetery after cemetery. It brought home in stark terms the number of men – on both sides – who had died in the conflict. Allied forces had white stones while German forces had black crosses. It seemed to me a little unfair to mark them up as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in such a way. This was the first world war in which the Germans had not engaged in the sort of horrors that coloured the second world war. The fallen German men were still young soldiers who were doing their job and were equally entitled to respect and remembrance for that. I wondered who tended to their graves, hidden in shady corners, surrounded by trees.

 

Ypres should have been straightforward to get to, even in the absence of a map. However when the road went through the small town of Messin it was being dug up and we were diverted – not diverted to the point where you were returned to your journey, merely diverted off the main road. We tried to cut back across, but were still in the dug up area. Soon it transpired that we were broadly stuck in Messin – there was no way out once you combined the road works and one way system. Other circling cars indicated which roads were not worth following. In the end we mounted a pavement and drove across a pedestrian square in order to get to another road which was going in broadly the direction of Ypres.

 

Ypres is a small walled town with a rigid one way system. We were slightly concerned therefore about our ability to find the hotel successfully. It was complicated by not being entirely sure which of the entrances to the town we were coming in from. With my battlefields of world war 1 book, I made the best guesstimate I could and steered us to the right as we entered the town. By some miracle we happened across the hotel almost immediately, and also found a place to park in the street right next to it. (Parking in Ypres is also challenging).

 

We wandered into town for an explore and a beer or two. Ypres is also entirely rebuilt having been razed to the ground in the war. While the centre has been put together tastefully and prettily, there isn’t in fact an awful lot to see. Churchill had found it a nice place and following the British involvement in the war around Ypres he had joking said he would like to take it for the British people. Although this probably was rather contradictory to the whole concept of fighting for freedom.

 

 Our objective for the evening was simple – we passed time in the sunshine of the main square, outside the Cloth Hall until 8pm, and then gathered at the Menin gate for the daily ceremony that has been going on since the time of the first world war. Initially nothing more than playing of the Last Post it was now a slightly larger and very well attended event.

 

The Menin Gate is a stunning monolith, recording the names of 65,000 men missing in action. Unfortunately the monument was not large enough to record the names of all the men who were never found and a further monument had to be built to list the remaining names. The lists detailed their regiment and role. It was clear who were cannon fodder – hundreds and hundreds of gunners and few senior ranking personnel. As at Thiepval, it was hard to rationalise that number of men simply vanishing. There were books in a freely accessible cubby hole where you could look up a man’s name and find which tablet he was recorded on. The written record gave more details of who they were – husbands, sons, brothers. Naturally we looked up men with our surnames – and found them. Part of wondered if these men were in any way related to us.

 

The ceremony was short and simple, some music, some singing, some readings, laying of wreaths and then the Last Post. I don’t know if it was merely because of the venue and moving service, being in the shadow of the names of 65,000 men who gave their lives or following on from all the sites we had seen that day but Husband and I were both moved to tears – quite a lot of tears – as the Last Post echoed round the Menin Gate.

 

 An inscription on the Gate said that these men were not lost. They were here. I kept looking at those words as the bugler played and could imagine the comfort that thought provided to the families of these men.

 

We wandered around the memorial after the service to gather ourselves before venturing out for dinner.

 

We had an excellent dinner – mussels, pork mignon and Flemish stew. The Belgians spoke excellent English – which was good as our Flemish was reasonably non existent. However, they understood Husband more easily so he joked that his English was better than mine.

Thus replete we returned to the hotel for our final night.

 

The following day we set off early to the tunnel. Naturally, once back in the England the M25 was suffering was significant delays resulting in us needing to take a long diversion to get back home – made all the more fun by our sat nav having had England maps removed in order to fit the Europe alps maps on.

 

With a short pause at a village pub for lunch in the sun – and a final photo of Alfi looking resplendent – we arrived home.

 

I couldn’t bring myself to wash the Somme mud and chalk off the car. Instead I left it there until the British rain eventually washed away all traces, leaving only the memory. As had happened to so many thousands. It somehow seemed the right thing to do.

 

NOTES: Some information in the above has been taken from guide books. The author retains rights over all over content.