North Wales

North Wales

Foothills of Snowdon

 

 North Wales still proves to be that comfortable old aunt that that you can always go back and visit any time without out a smidgeon of embarrassment. Memories flood back of family holidays as a kid when you leave the more mellow landscapes of England and enter the slightly wilder world of North Wales. The beautiful curves and humps of Shropshire give way to the rich green valleys and steep sides of Wales. The names of Cader Idris, Snowdon, and Bedgellert seem to invoke those memories particularly of camping and caravan holidays in farmers fields, ancient wash rooms and showers, gurgling mountain streams and country smells of grass and sheep. It is the mountains of Snowdonia that tug at the heart strings more than anything.

Barmouth itself where we stayed lies at the south end of the Snowdonia National Park, conveniently close to Cader Idris and Dolgellau. A recent newspaper article stated it to be one of the most expensive seaside places to stay for a holiday in the UK, ranked fifth after St Ives, Tenby, Cowes and Dartmouth. You wouldn't quite believe that if you visited, a plum spot but a bit on the quiet side. It’s probably a bit too far south for those who want to be snuggling up to the foothills of Snowdon, as it’s still a fair old drive up the coast via Harlech to hit the immediate Snowdon range. But it’s still a terrific location.

We were installed in Wavecrest, a tall, grey brick Victorian B and B stuck right on the seafront in Barmouth crammed alongside a whole series of similar establishments overlooking the Irish Sea. Imagine a slightly toned down Fawlty Towers. Eric presides over his B and B fiefdom with pride, making sure that you don’t sit where you want in the breakfast room. Eric is a doughty Welshman with a good sense of humour and an endearing deafness. Woe betide you if you sit in the wrong seat. And your key goes in the drawer in the hallway before you leave the house. It seems that Eric’s fame extends far and wide. Even at my workplace I met a colleague who has stayed at the very selfsame B and B when they even used to do evening meals. He was put onto the place by another colleague who was a bit of a railway buff, keen on the local steam trains.

Barmouth has a lovely setting with extensive beach flaying out from the Afon Mawddach estuary mouth and banks of sand ‘floating’ in the middle of the tidal waters, immensely scenic. The town lies on the north side of the estuary and is a hoch-potch of grey slate Victorian buildings, a slightly austere seaside town at the head of the estuary, straddled up the hillside and along the coast, presenting a bit of a dour face.  It has that air of slightly faded prosperity, the type of place that would have been popular with holiday trippers from the West Midlands in the early and mid 20th century (there were certainly still a few Brummie accents on display). Now it still brings in the holiday makers, but I suspect most of the action takes place further north, or even south in Aberystwyth. The old railway bridge across the estuary has a pedestrian footpath alongside which we walked almost to the other side on the first night. A temptation for another day as the expansive hills on the south side provide an inviting prospect for fell walkers. By the way, don’t try to get the train from here to Aberystwyth, it’s a long and tortuous route.

Above the town are some great walks over the hills with fantastic views over the sea and coastline, and also over the river valley to the east. The Panorama walk is well worth doing, we did a sort of circular route and tried to keep to a map but ended up losing the path and scrambling back down to the tiny lane at the end.

We decided to take the road north from Barmouth and then head west into the ‘Pig’s Ear’ to have a look at Abersoch. We would stop at Portmeiron on the way. For some reason I thought Portmeiron was on the North Wales coast and was pleasantly surprised that it was actually within striking distance at the south east corner of the Pigs Ear.

Portmeiron is the Italianate village associated with the sixties TV series, the Prisoner, starring Patrick Mc Goohan. I’ve seen the odd excerpt, with our hero, Number 6 swanning around in black, and oversize balls bouncing around the village as if a giant demented board game is in process. I understand he is an ex spy who is being kept under some sort of lock and key for his own good. It costs £10 to get into the village, and you can stay there for a holiday, although I suspect it is very expensive. We did not see No 6, but we had a young Welsh guide in a suit to take us on a short tour, and he was very tight lipped about prices. It looks like the plaything of a very rich man who thought he would reproduce the Ligurian Rivera in North Wales. It was in fact built by the architect Clough Williams-Ellis who bough the site in 1925 and spent 50 years building it. The village is perched on the north side of the river estuary on its own private peninsula, a very attractive location and a jumble of Mediterranean style architecture in different pastel shades mixed with finely tended gardens and water features. There is even a train ride. The village is surrounded by 70 acres of sub tropical forest gardens with lakes, temples and gazebos. A haven for anyone who wants to impersonate an English gentleman. The place was swarming with tourists going in and out of the gift shops and down to the waterfront. I would love to be there for a ‘Prisoner’ convention to see the village filled with multiple Number 6s with drainpipe trousers and black rollerneck sweaters dodging giant bouncing balls, seriously weird in a Star Trek convention kind of way!

What's Italy doing in North Wales?

 

Yes it is Wales!

I found out later that you can get a 'Be Our Guest' package for £130 including dinner and bed and breakfast being offered in November and December of 2014. All Portmeiron cottages are grade 2 listed buildings. used as holiday cottages and hotel suites.

Outside a hotel adjoining the village was a quintessentially British scene, a row of little sports Jaguars of a certain vintage stood parked on the hotel apron, hoods pointed towards the estuary glinting in the sun far below. It really needed James Bond in plus fours and carrying a rifle to step out of the hotel, deftly jump into a little speedster, and roar off for a bit of game shooting. Would have been a great backdrop for a TV advert.

Take the road west along the coast into the Lleyn peninsula and you pass through the towns of Criccieth, Phwelli and then Abersoc in the west which is supposed to be a bit of a millionaires spot. Here we explored the town centre and perused the beach. The coastline here reminded me of Swanage in Dorset. The Lleyn Peninsula is a terrain of sweeping open rural landscapes across to the nearby seas. However there is plenty of evidence of holidaymakers with family in tow enjoying the late August sunshine.

If you want a great ride then take the road north from Barmouth along the coast, via Harlech, and then into the heart of the Snowdon range. Harlech itself is a neat spot to spend an hour or two. Perched on an outcrop starkly rising above the plain bordering the sea, it is a marvellous spot to look out to sea and to the mountains of Snowdonia. In fact if you find a spot on the terrace at the back of the hotel on the High St you will enjoy a view every bit as good as the one I witnessed earlier this year on the Amalfi coast, different, a little cooler, but just as good. And we enjoyed fair weather as we sat for lunch. The castle is a good visit, a huge rectangular affair still preserved enough to bear the feet of countless tourists ascending the towers, walking the ramparts and peering into the great green space within. The views are peerless out over the plain and north to the mountains. In the evening it is all lit up as you pass beneath it on the coastal road, perhaps even a bit underlit.

Hurrah for the Welsh Dragon

 

Heading north from Harlech you need to bear in mind that the bridge over the Afon Glaslyn is inconvenientally out of circulation in the process of being rebuilt/upgraded, so you have to take the long road along the south bank of the river, then traverse the river to bend west to Portmadoc. From here you head north on the A498 to the splendidly named Bedgelert, a pretty village in a green and pleasant valley buried amongst serious hills. From here the road climbs into more wild and majestic scenery, with various spots to get out and admire the mountain and lake scapes.

When you get to Llanberis you can park on the grass verge just as you enter the town, this saves the parking fee opposite the mountain railway station. Here is all the infrastructure you need to prepare for an assault on the highest peak in England and Wales, eating places, toilets, a great shop with museum, and of course the old station with its classic steam engines. But don’t make the mistake of thinking the first hill you see is Snowdon. Bad mistake, it’s a long way up yet!

Snowdon supertrain!

Snowdon slopes

 

The train up Snowdon is a mind blowing £20 one way and bank account emptying £28 return, guaranteed to wind up the misers amongst us. We were advised to buy the tickets the day before which we did on the phone, being charged with a further booking fee! However it is an hour’s ride each way over 9km which helps to soften the blow, with marvellous views all the way up, which we were privileged to see until just before the very top when a huge black cloud descended and took us into in a melee of fog and mist marooning us all in the summit cafe. The cafe is heaving with the world and his wife today, I don’t think I have ever seen so many people scuttling up, down and on the top of a mountain. Surely good for the national blood pressure and chlolesterol levels. We decided to nip the last few yards to the top, took our photos despite the fog and a maul of people crowding around the summit pillar, then to make our way down the Pyg track to catch the last bus to Llanberis. The Pyg track is recognised as the most difficult one, the most ‘rugged and challenging of the six paths up Snowdon, but we coped OK coming down!

Incidentally this part of the world is stuffed to the gunnels with little steam railways, the Ffestiniog railway, the Welsh Highland railway, the Talyllyn railway, and of course the Snowdon railway. So if you are a railway buff, grab that anorak and camera and get up here for a cornucopia of iron horse delights. By the way there are another three railways on top of the ones I mentioned!

 

The Black Forest

 

 

Typical Black Forest scene

'I am sorry we don't take cards.'

I had just ordered my evening meal at what seemed to be the last outpost of civilisation before being swallowed up by the remotest of spots in the Black Forest, but thought I had better check the payment arrangements as I was out of euros. Oh dear, I really should have got some out of the cash machine in Freiburg.

'How long are you staying here, just one night? Oh that is no good, if it had been a couple of nights we could have arranged payment with your guest house.' The restaurant manager wasn't giving a message I wanted to hear.

Things were not looking good, the night was darkening outside, I was in need of a hearty dinner, like roast hog from a red hot spit with lashings of vegetables and gravy, and I was faced with a vision of an apple and a crunchy nut bar back in my pension room.

'I only know of one other establishment round here and I am sorry I don't think they will accept you,' he said, looking down at my army camouflage cargo pants.' He did not think my rugged mountain man demeanour was enough to admit me into a local eatery dressed like a Glasgow docker.

My heart was sinking fast. Why hadn't I just stayed in Freiburg where all I has to do was fall out of my accommodation with my eyes closed and find myself sitting in a restaurant with an EPOS till.

'There is another place but it is a 45 minute walk up the hill and over the other side some.' The German seemed not to think this was a good idea and was very apologetic. I bade my farewell as I stepped into the approaching night.

Sometimes in life when your heart has been tossed in the air, juggled around a little, then thrown
onto the floor and stamped on you just have to reach for those inner reserves. When you do life is full of little surprises. I'd already had one that evening when setting off from the guest house up the hill to the village for my evening meal. A car actually stopped for me and a kind German lady offered to take me up to the village, an offer I gratefully accepted. Now I had to decide whether I should walk 45 minutes further up the hill away from the village into Black Forest nocturnal gloom, not knowing what I should find, or give up and nibble my apple back at base. I had spied a local map on a board and noticed some settlement further on. I would take the harder path in search of a proper man sized meal.

Walking up those hair pin bends I was able to look out from a great height across an ocean of hill and forest swathed in developing darkness, as this was very high up, a ski area in the winter. When I got over the lip of the hill I could see far, far away over the other side, a mass of twinkling lights in the valley far below. This evening walk was actually becoming worth it especially as I espied a substantial building blazing with light in the distance. Yes I had hit the jackpot. It proved not to be a mirage for my fevered mind but a top class hotel and eatery (Hotel Die Halde). When I asked the traditionally costumed girl at reception if they took cards, and she answered in the affirmative, I could have hugged her on the spot. I followed her into the very posh restaurant, where she patiently explained the German menu to me. By the way, that's one thing you have to get used to. The Black Forest is a delight in terms of comfort and ease of travel, but not much is translated into English, so be ready for that.

It was all worth it in the end, I had been allowed in despite my casual dress and enjoyed possibly the best meal of the holiday, a tender side of beef with vegetable accompaniments and a salad, washed down with a fine German beer. Despite being peered at by stern looking portraits on the wall, the atmosphere was warm and the restaurant brimmed with people. I was in much better heart to take the 40 minute night descent back to my pension and work off the calories.

My earlier investigations on reaching the Black Forest concluded that Basel and Strasbourg were the most convenient airports, Basel to the south and Strasbourg to the north. I flew into Basel from Gatwick, then got a bus to the hauptbahnhof, then a train, which takes you north through the plain with hills far to the west and more hills edging the Black Forest immediately to your east. You change at Freiburg to strike into the heart of the Shwarzwald at Schluchsee (total fare 41 Swiss francs). Regional German trains round here are meaty beasts, red double deckers which draw you to the top floor and seem to have a bit more oomph than your average British train. You can really feel the power pulsating through the carriages as they take off from the station. And the Deutschbahn (DB) website is very good for a bit of planning, you type in your details and get swift responses including the relevant fares. In addition, at the DB office in the rail station they give you a full itinerary with all bus and train times on one print out - coordination heaven!

The Black Forest is seen as the best walking area in Germany and in the winter the walking trails are kept free of snow by the authorities. There is a slight sense of more coordination and strategic thinking than you would get in Britain! A great touch the Germans have organised in the Black Forest area, a pretty big area, is free transport on buses, trains and trams throughout the whole area for those staying in local guest houses/hotels, as tax is paid on the accommodation. Each guest house gives you a guest card which you just show to the train guard for your free travel.

I travelled all the way to Kehl on the French border for free on my last day courtesy of my guest card, before flying home from Strasburg. This meant a journey of 2 hrs 55m cost me 5.70 euro just to cover the final bit from Kehl to Strasbourg airport. First I caught the bus and train to Freiburg from my gasthof deep in the Black Forest at Hansenhof. Then I got the train from Freiburg up to Offenburg, then changed trains to a two carriage chugger to take you me to La France. This half hour journey deposits you at a little platform all on its own at Strasbourg rail station. To find it, if you enter the station from the front through the armadillo like entrance structure,  find platform 1, then take a left to find the sub platform.

The Black Forest covers that bit of south west Germany bordering Switzerland to the south and France to the west. For the traveller panging for a bit of adventure the Black Forest always seemed to have a bit of mystique, conjuring up images of endless forest trails, tumbling waters, cosy guest houses, hats with feathers, chocolate gateau, and of course cuckoo clocks. Well most of this is pretty well true. Once you get there these images prove to be just about on the button.

Freiburg, one of the larger towns, is stuck on the western edge of the Black Forest, its centre snug up to the hills that signal the beginning of this fascinating region. Being of an ancient bent, it looks like the sort of place that should be peopled by medieval minstrels in scarlet, finely coiffed merchants, city alumni flowing along in black robes and ladies in ankle length dresses. Instead it is full of tourists like me wandering its well worn streets, admiring its pastel residences and partaking of its coffee and gateau. From the railway station, der Hauptbahnhof on the western edge of the old town, just head east on foot on Bertoldstrase straight into the heart of this south German gem.

The old town is shoehorned into quite a small area and can be 'done' in an afternoon. You can quite easily do a circular walking tour of the main sites by following the map you can get at the rail station for one euro (free if you book local accommodation). The Town Hall square is a cute spot with the old and new town halls and St Martin's church. Here you can sit at an outside café and watch the punters go by. You may be interested to know if you're a history buff that Erasmus of Rotterdam none the less lived in Freiburg for a while in the House of the Whale in Franziskanergasse. The cathedral square (Munsterpaltz) is a highlight with its Munster market, surrounded by quaint multi coloured buildings straight out of Grimms fairy tales, especially the red coloured Historic Merchants Hall with its pointed turrets. Is that Rumpelstiltskin's fairy tale girl hanging her hair out of the window?

For two euro you can ascend the circular staircase to the tower of the cathedral, although be warned, it's quite a climb and leaves little room for two way traffic. But the views from the top are worth it. This cathedral took 300 years to build by the way! To get to the stairs we wandered into the midst of the cathedral, a gloomy interior for a wet Sunday afternoon, or any afternoon, the whole place seemed under-lit, then out again to find the entrance at the front of the cathedral. I recommend the large sausage in a roll with piles of onions from one of the market stalls in the square.

If you take a trip in the cable car (Schlossbergbahn) at the north east edge of the old town, or walk up if you fancy, you reach a very nice café/restaurant perched on wooded slopes with great views over the town, although they were not so great when I was up there as the rain was pummelling down from an unforgiving sky. Nevertheless a fine place to bring your mum for Sunday tea. To the south, on the same wooded slopes is a network of footpaths slicing through the greenery, and one of those ubiquitous German beer gardens with a fine viewing platform over the city. You can access this area by the bridge over the road from the south east corner of the Aldstadt by the city gate, Schabentor. In the south of the Aldstadt is a stretch of canal which adds to the city's quaintness. Incidentally, a feature of the walking streets are sunken drainage channels which would have yellow jacketed Health and Safety chappies going mad with red and white tape in Britain. Here you just use your common sense and step over them.

Historic merchants Hall - architectural eye candy!

On my lasr day I happened to be in Freiburg on a Sunday and how quiet it was, as the Germans still practice the Sabbath rest. It reminded me of what England used to be like before deregulation, when having a day of rest was not just seen as a lost opportunity for the market economy. On balance I think the Germans have it right in this area.

From  Freiburg you can get the train right up into the Black Forest, snaking south east, upwards and onwards through lush valleys, an exciting gorge alongside the main road, and then in to a German lake District as one reaches the towns of Titisee and Shluchsee. This railway is a marvel of engineering, just as you'd expect in Germany, especially where it has tunnelled through the sides of the steep gorge before reaching the lakes, a gem of a train ride into the heart of the Schwarzwald.

Titisee seems more the town for posers and promenaders, with smart cars and flash bikes, it has more of an air of the place to be to be noticed. One expected celebrities to step out of the pages of the Bild and onto the walkways. Titisee has some tempting shops for those who would like to buy a cuckoo clock, all attractive decorated wooden boxes on various themes and priced up to the several hundreds of pounds or more. There are also plentiful witchy puppets based on the old hag on a broomstick type idea.

Schluchsee is more of a quieter, gentler town, more of a stately sister to Titisee. Again Lake Titisee is perhaps more attractive and plump with desirable residences than Shluchsee Lake, although the latter is the biggest lake in the Black Forest. But Schluchsee has its own attractions including an Aquafun waterpark with its own water slide and swimming pool. We had a group ticket for the Aquapark but alas on the day the sun decided to stay out of the limelight and I had no incentive to swim unless I can catch some rays between dips. There are rowing boats, canoes and 'phut phut' motor boats for hire.

Schluchsee has a fine upstairs café in the centre of town opposite the church where you can sample Black Forest gateau in all its glory. I somehow got through the week without eating one piece, but can testify from observation that you get served a truly giant slice which appears more cream than sponge. I did try to find some Black Forest gateau on the last day in Freiburg, as surely a Black Forest ten commandment is to eat such during your holiday, but I failed miserably and had to resort to eating a pale imitation in the railway café, a large slice of cream and chocolate cake. I surely should have been arrested by the Black Forest police for such a failure!

We stayed up the road from Schluchsee in Dresselbach, in an old farmhouse dating back to the 1500s.
Our old farmhouse, 'Lindenhof,' was ideal for groups. Perched high above Schluchsee, about 3.5km out along a minor road, it is on the large side, with many different sized rooms. We dined together for breakfast and evening meals in a large room downstairs. Just to the left of the dining room entrance is a picture of the Lindenhof in 1942 when it was a 'Gasthof.' The Lindenhof is well equipped with a swimming pool, games room and sauna. The games room table tennis table proved to be a hit in the evenings, with knock out competitions most nights. An 'old pro' dusted off his bat and made a late entrance during the week to blow away plucky opposition of some of the youngsters. A table football table provided further entertainment and gave me the opportunity to experience an abysmal wipe-out!



Road to Lindenhof complete with rainbow!

Most of my holiday was spent with a group of about 50 providing good company aplenty. We went on various excursions, either walking or by bus/train. One trip was to Triberg, where we visited Germany's highest waterfalls. The drive to Triberg was a treat in itself, seeing the Black Forest in all its glory, endless woodland riding massive waves of bright green sunlit hills. The Black Forest itself is not very black, rather the dark green of the evergreen forest crowning the heights with the verdant green of the lower slopes contrasting beautifully. There is an absence of as many of the borders between fields you get in Britain, especially an absence of hedges.

We stopped en route at a clock museum, the Black Forest being the home of the cuckoo clock. Now you might think you have to be over 60 to visit a clock museum, but that would be a naughty thought, because our group of very young to not so young had a very interesting talk from the museum guide about different types of clock, both musical and non musical, including massive timepieces which pumped out music and disgorged figurines and cuckoos from all sorts of places. We were told at one point that clock marketing persuaded all good Germans to have a clock in  every room in the house!



Some proper timepieces

And so on to the waterfall, where the waters of the Gutach plunge over 160m in seven cascades. We were deposited at the top by the coach, and then left to get to the bottom under our own steam, not a particularly strenuous task especially if you sit down to eat at one of the numerous spots provided. Woodland straggles around the waterfalls and you are presented with a range of routes down, extending in time from three quarters of an hour to one and a half hours. I took issue with these timings, like sell by dates they were pushing extremities. One and a half hours maybe if you had a wooden leg and were visually challenged. The scale of the map you are given also  seemed slightly far fetched and did not add up entirely to reality. One of our number bought some red squirrel food as the area is a haven for such creatures but the only red squirrels we saw were a giant wooden one and the odd picture. How impolite of them not to turn up for the feast. At the bottom you find yourself right in the town centre, an attractive destination for all Black Forest visitors.

Back on the bus, we made our way to a 'giant cuckoo clock' attached to a cuckoo clock factory shop. The size of the side of a building, the clock promised to impress us with a giant cuckoo appearing on the hour with a hopefully ear piercing 'cuckoo' resounding through the valley. There we stood expectantly with our cameras, waiting for the moment. Out stepped the cuckoo on cue, to emit what can only be described as an apologetic sigh. Indeed if the giant wooden cuckoo had keeled over and expired on the spot, it would have been no surprise. If it was possible to lose the will to live from disappointment, this was the moment, but of course we laughed it off.

The Feldberg is not only the highest point in the Black Forest but the highest mountain in Germany outside the Alps, a substantial peak rising to about 4898ft above sea level bang in the middle of a winter ski area. This was the focus of another excursion by train, bus and finally by cable car. Unfortunately we were somewhat delayed as half the German population had decided to get on the bus up the mountain at the same time as us, and it was a bendy bus! So half of us got left behind, although a German lady assured me there would be a 'zweite' bus, as indeed there was. But that gave us enough time to partake of coffee and desserts at the railway café. Later as a reunited group we made our way to the top  by cable car where we admired the scenery. This was followed by a hearty walk down through forested slopes, with a stop at a beautiful natural lake sculpted into the mountain side.

Another day was spent visiting Titisee, followed by a walk alongside the lake's forested slopes to Feldberg station. Glimpses of a attractive chateau on the far side stirred up the desirability index. I suspect the rich and famous count around here is quite high. From the station we got the train to Aha. Yes that is the proper name and sounds very un German. From here we got a lake steamer back to Schluchsee.

From Lindenhof one morning we set out to walk through the forest to Fischbach, where we found a very amenable tavern with a great patio looking down over the valley. Here you gorge on cheesecake, gateau or plum pie for the genuine Black Forest experience -  a slice of decadence. Pressing on, we got to Aha later, a settlement on Lake Schluchsee.

I stayed on an extra couple of days after my holiday friends left for home. The town of Schluchsee took me to its bosom for one more night in the form of the Pension Gebele, 28 euro per night. I have to attest to a very comfortable bed, although the shower was one of those annoying units where the shower head is fixed to the side of the bath. OK for a midget, but not for a six-footer like me.

Italy trip 2014

Norwegian airlines might be worth a try, new one on me. The flight was part of a package and I discovered that booking a flight home independently was only £40. We stayed at a decent hotel in Sorrento, the Hotel Parco del Sol, just 15m walk west from the centre of town. An extra night bed and breakfast if you want to stay on in the hotel is 80 euro,  bit pricey if you are doing a bit of independent travel. 

After a lazy day following a late night arrival in Italy we went by coach on a tour to Pompeii and Vesuvius. Italy has been hit by the same silly weather that we have had in England this winter, a few days of thunderstorm, rain and cloud, most unusual says the barman at the hotel. Our coach approached Pompeii under a giant bathload of water tipped over the area. Can I believe what I am seeing? The roads are covered in floods, cars are churning through the waters like a wet day in Northumberland!



Sorrento

 

The local stores suddenly did a roaring trade in umbrellas (5euro) and 3 and 5 euro ponchos. The three euro poncho was barely better than cling film, one of which I proceeded to puncture with my umbrella tip!

Pompeii

Quality mosaic

 

Pompeii is an extensive sight and remarkably well preserved. The amphitheatres are in good shape as is the main forum covering an extensive plaza with views over the surrounding hills. We had a guide who was difficult to listen to with her thick Italian accent, especially when you are dipping in and out of conversations and taking photographs. One incredible sight  was seeing the figures of perishing inhabitants from the volcano immortalised in solid material. Some of the mosaics were beautiful and incredibly well preserved. The guide made a lot of the area that was frequented by prostitutes and there were some pretty brazen images in the brothel building. We had a couple of incidents of persons going missing from our party but left with a full complement!

Vesuvius

After Pompeii the coach took us up the slopes of Vesuvius, lots of hair pin bends. About 20 minutes walking distance from the summit we park up and set out on foot. We straggle up the hill on a well marked path and before too long arrive at the lip of the volcano. Here you look down into a massive hole as if a giant has scooped the top off the mountain, and yes, smoke and steam was seen coming out of the mountain which nicely mixed with the gloom of the low cloud. You can circumnavigate the lip of the volcano a fair way, there are even a couple of cafes up there, and I had a quick coffee. This lethal old daddy of a volcano is slap bang in the centre of a region with about three million people, and needs respect, even if it has been 70 years since it last erupted in 1944.

 

Herculaneum, a Roman town, is something else. If you are limited for time I would be tempted  to visit here rather than Pompeii, as it was buried deep enough in mud to preserve the upper stories  of the buildings. A few stops on from Pompeii towards Naples, there is absolutely no evidence that a wonder of the ancient world is hidden just down the road when you leave the station (titled Ercolano) surrounded by modern apartment buildings and a commercial hub. Take no notice of the rip off artists outside the station and proceed down the street towards the sea. Then you will see the brown signs directing you to Herculaneum. It's a bit of a walk, allow at least 20 m. Basically you go ahead, then left, straight ahead again, then right, straight ahead, then right into the site. It costs 11 euro for an adult, plus extra for an audio guide, well worth it. Herculaneum is a gem sitting in a basin surrounded by modern development and open towards the sea.You get great views down onto the site on first entrance. It's very easy to get round with a map for guidance.

You enter the site through a tunnel which takes you to the lower levels where the beach used to be. On the map are numbered points which correspond with numbers marked on site walls. Either a little guide book or the audio will fill you in on each spot.  The Vesuvius disaster encased the town in a sea of mud and this has helped preservation. In its prime it must have been a glittering site with the original finish on the buildings and the bright colours of the mosaics and wall friezes. You get the impression inhabitants lived in the lap of luxury what with the weather, the hot and cold baths, the  massages, the gym and so on. There is ample evidence of the palatial villas with their gardens that testify the elite of the Roman world lived here, that is before disaster struck. 300 skeletons have been found testifying to what happened that terrible day in 79AD when the pyroclastic flows from Vesuvius buried the place. Those skeletons found on the sea side show that the town was not fully evacuated. Herculaneum needs a day trip to do it justice. Within the site there are vending machines for drinks, ice cream and savouries with a seating area, but no proper cafe, although there is at least one cafe outside.

Capri

Capri from near Sorrento

 

There is no way of avoiding high prices with Capri. You are caught in a giant spider's web. Supply and demand dictate that there is no low season in this most desirable spot on God's earth. The most you can do is take a packed lunch. We got the ferry from Sorrento, an half hour journey on the fast boat, but still 35 euro return, very expensive for a half hour trip. You pull into a small port serviced by large ferries, some jet speed. Then you alight and either face a half hour hike up the hill to Capri town or a quick funicular ride, 1.80 euro one way And 3.60 return. This deposits you bang in the middle of town  at a viewing platform for great views of the island. Buyer beware! There is a little square here where your wallet will literally catch fire. A lemonade costs 6 euro which is something like a fiver.  A normal drink can set you back 10 or 12 euro. 



Mainland from Capri

 

We decided there was just enough time for the 45m walk to the Villa Jovis, the little pad that Tiberius ruled the Roman Empire from on top of the hill at the western end of Capri, and he had at least one other villa on the island! It's worth taking note that the villa closes at 1pm which seems kind of strange, so once you are on the island you need to get straight up there. It's a fair hike, mostly uphill, but passes some pretty opulent residences. Flower strewn foliage mushrooms everywhere across walls, over gardens and houses. High walls conceal luxurious green, and peeping over walls people take great care over their vegetable gardens. The Villa Jovis must have been some sumptuous palace, covering the top of the hill like custard atop a Christmas pudding. The ruins are substantial and pretty well preserved, lots of walls and ancient brickwork, but a distinct lack of ceilings. There are still remains of the original mosaic flooring, very similar to Herculaneum, with tiny pieces of white mosaic stone. The views from the top are spectacular across to Sorrento and down to the shimmering blues and turquoises of the sea below, and we are talking sheer drops. All this will cost you a 2 euro entrance fee, and getting there near to closing time the guy in charge gave us 20m to get round, just enough time. However, I suspect it was all Latin bluster, as he appeared to let another couple in after we had left. Call it Italian time!

 

To give you an idea of prices a small bottle of water from a supermarket outside the centre of Capri was 1 euro whereas a large bottle in a Sorrento supermarket was 48 cents.

Some of our party did the boat trip to the grotto, 13 euro for the boat and another 13 euro to enter the grotto. If you fancy taking the bus from Capri to Anacapri, the other main town on the island, go for it, or you can take a chair lift to the top of the highest point on the island.The island itself is not very big, with two big ups and downs. My guess is you could walk the length in a day. It is lush and hilly, and sticks up out of the ocean like the upended bow of a sinking liner.

A little tip is to get a boat as early as possible, then you have more choice of later boats back. We got the ferry at 9.50am, a profoundly civilised time for an Englishman on holiday, but still had to be on the 15.35 boat back. However I did manage to swop my ticket for a 15.55 return.

The trip to the Amalfi coast was a day trip on a coach with a proper guide Rosanna (I've changed the names here!) was somewhere between an Italian model and a senorita promenading on the seafront of a balmy Mediterranean evening. She had a sing song voice that would take away all pain if you were sitting in a dentist's chair. However, that voice became a continuous bubbling stream, perhaps a bit too much for some! She was still very good. We had an excellent driver, Guiseppe who again looked as if he had just stepped out of a catalogue for the mature man. Rosanna gently teased him through the journey. Right from the start she gave us a travelogue which included ample references to Sophia Loren, Franco Zeffirelli, Gina Lollobrigida and the houses of the rich and famous. Our resident James Bond expert informed that no Bond scene has yet been done on the Amalfi coast, and one can see why with the traffic jams. Bond's Aston Martin would get stuck behind the local bus and he would have to do a car roof chase. Rosanna tried to convince us that Sophia Loren lay reclining offshore in the form of some rocky islands (she looked a bit pregnant or fat-bellied), whilst Garibaldi  espied her from afar in the form of a coastal rock in the shape of a human head. Wild imagination needed! We crawled through Positano with ample commentary on the wonders of the place.



Amalfi coast

 

Three of us popped back to the Amalfi coast. We caught the bus from Sorrento rail station return for 6.80 euro, well worth the ride. The journey took 45m to our  destination, Positano, one of the jewels in the Amalfi crown.

By the way don't come to this area if you are a beach bum. There are beaches but much of the coast is very rocky and full of sheer drops, cliff faces and mountains tumbling into the sea. You can come here as a modern 'aristocrat' doing the Grand Tour of Pompeii, Capri and suchlike, but you might be a bit frustrated by the lack of wide open beaches and golden sand. That's another thing, a lot of the  beach space there is seems very regulated with rows of sunbeds and umbrellas which are worth buying perhaps for a day, but you will have to search for a bit of free beach to put down your towel.

Stayed  in Nap!es last night at an Airbnb estabishment for £29. Train from Sorrento St Agnello to Naples costs 4.10 euro. I alighted at Naples Garibaldi which borders the big main line  (station Naples Centrale). From there you get the metro (1.30 euro) to Montsanto, an inner city district which is just as you expect Naples to be. Towering ancient apartment blocks astride narrow streets giving a canyon like effect. Motor bikes and cars jumbled along the sides of the road, with families sitting outside or hanging over the balconies. Piles of rubbish everywhere, as if there is a national bin strike, wet pavements outside recently closed fishmongers. 

My room was nearly at the top of one of these apartments after a tiring stair climb overlooking an empty space from top to bottom. Amidst all the apparent surrounding squalor I ended up in a very tastefully decorated apartment, spacious and cool. These were arty people, an easel stood in one room and my room was a blaze of colour from an array of large canvases all over the walls which were enough to keep you awake even with the light off. About midnight fireworks went off seemingly across a wide section of the city and I looked outside unable to spot any patterns in the sky above the serried ranks of housing climbing up to the castle above.

The hosts recommended that I go to the Vecchia Cantina restaurant which indeed I did to dine on Naples pasta and tomatoes followed by meatballs. Basically you go down Via Ventagleria past Montesanto metro, then past the hospital on the left, then take a left turn down a narrow alley, ask at this stage! It's on the left. It's a bit of a contrast making your way back past mountains of rubbish and dodging the motor scooters.

I slept well and was greeted in the morning as in the previous evening with some very fine coffee in a very small cup provided by my host, as well as a cup of tea and biscuits.

That morning I caught the 11.45 train from Naples to Tropea changing at Lamezia for 38.50 euro, about £32. The train carves its way down through Salerno and traces the coast right the way down, sometimes virtually hugging the beach and other times swathing under the coastal mountains, often using very long tunnels. The landscape is quite green and settlement regular. At Lamezia we get off the rather powerful express train and join a two carriage runt of a train that will chug round the coast to the west until we get to Tropea. The weather has been very odd today, cloud and haze with the sun threatening to burst through but never quite managing it, although when we reach Tropea I have to reach for the sunglasses.

I sit in a cafe and finalise my booking with Airbnb. Suddenly Germany v the USA comes up on telly in the world cup and loads of German tourists with shirts and painted faces appear from nowhere. Judging by the number of bars and cafes showing the match Tropea has become a German colony.

I have to say my room is terrific. In an apartment block in the old part of town and near the beach, it is light and airy, spotlessly clean and with new furniture. It all looks like a  fresh venture. Perhaps I am the first one! 

The old centre of Tropea dangles on the edge of a sheer cliff face down to the sea, where pearl patches of white sand edge up to a huge rock standing separate from the sheer cliffs. The old town itself is small and compact, the usual ancient Mediterranean tourist trap, but very nice with it. Pretty well everything can be covered in a small and roughly circular area of ancient twisting alleyways, churches, cobbled streets and popping up everywhere bars and restaurants. When you have taken your morning coffee in a cafe you can visit the cathedral and museum at the northern end of this area. The cathedral opens at 9 and the museum at 10 , but close later before reopening in the evening. The cathedral is very pleasant inside , with a wooden ceiling and light columns holding it all up. AgaIn it is far more appealing than some of the dark North European Catholic churches, much more uplifting.

Tropea Cathedral

 

In the afternoon you can hit the beach, and there are two lovely spots right below the old town cliffs. This is the great advantage of Tropea, everything  is so accessible. and the beach is much better than at Sorrento.

Serious beach here

The beach is great, coarse light sand, but be warned unless you have a car that there are a number of staircases down to beach level which have to be ascended later, quite a climb in the heat.

The Italian lady who translated for the chap that was renting my room suggested I make a boat trip down the coast. A day or two later I joined a gang of tourists on a small boat heading south to within sight of Sicily. We hugged the coast down and back up again for a good three hours or so, and stopped for a couple of swims. At the first stop our skipper, a lively Italian named Paulo, decided to attract the local fish population by throwing some bread into the water. A pulsating swarm of grey shot to the surface to devour the bread, quite a sight in the translucent sea. I was the only person on the boat on their own, and one of the ladies from a very sociable group offered to take a couple of photos of me without prompting. perhaps she felt sorry for me!

I am now on my way to Palermo in Sicily. I caught the train from Tropea this morning at 11.38am to Rosarno, then changed for Villa S Giovanni where you get the ferry to Sicily, then on to Palermo. I arrive in Palermo tonight at 7pm. Italian time seems to work both ways. Just as you might have to wait a while, you also may find your train leaving early! My train was supposed to leave at 14.25 but was easing out of the station 14.22. Don't you just love it? If I had arrived a minute or two before I would have missed it. On the other hand, the train progressed a little way, then cut back on itself on a side track onto the ferry, so perhaps they expect latecomers to leap straight onto the ferry.

 

Another novelty is that the train is actually going onto the ferry and will then continue on the other side! Never experienced that before. It"s all moving at snail's pace at the moment.

The crossing takes about half an hour and you are allowed to get off the train and stand on the upper decks, and take a few pictures. An older lady from our carriage compartment points out Messina, the port on the other side. She says it is a modern city because it has been destroyed by an earthquake before. It's over four and a half hours from Villa S Giovanni to Palermo. The distance from Messina to Palermo is about 112 miles, so it is not the quickest of trains. Meet an older American couple on the train from Florida who had been to a wedding in Malaga and were now travelling Sicily. We spent a very pleasant few hours chatting including some interaction with the Italian lady, who ended up sitting in the corridor looking as if she was in rapture. She was on her way to see her grandparents home on Sicily and had a faraway look in her eyes..

Well here we are in Palermo, a complex mix of Roman, Arab, Byzantine, Islamic and goodness knows what else history. I am staying in a B and B with Airbnb for £21 per night, just outside the old city in a modern apartment block. As far as I can gather my host rents the apartment and then rents it on to travellers. It is spotlessly clean, I have a large, very pleasant room with balcony to myself, and my host provides a very substantial breakfast in the morning between 8 and10. The bathroom contains yet another bidet, a fixture I have never used. I did muse over the possible benefits of a bidet whilst there. They are the thing in Europe, and have been catching on in America. However I did no more than muse!

Palermo itself has some very impressive and ornate architecture. The traffic is incessant and requires constant vigilance, looking in all directions just in case a car comes round the corner a little too close to the kerb or a motorcyclist whistles out of a side turning. Pedestrian crossings just seem to express an opinion, and most locals just seem to walk out straight in front of the traffic and expect it to stop. I saw one car reverse back up a one way junction to take another turning oblivious of the effect on those behind. Sometimes there is barely any pavement for you to feel moderately safe and hugging the wall is the best bet. Even going through local street markets with barely enough room for two way pedestrians there are still scooters trying to get through! My host told me one older lady stood on the roadside for 50 minutes when she first arrived! However, you soon get used to it. After a few days I was stepping out into the road with a bit more verve and poise.

Palermo Cathedral

Visited the catacombs today just a short walk from my residence. In case you are unfamiliar with this, Italians once mummified their dead in full clothing and put them on display. It is in effect just another type of cemetery but you get to see rows and rows of skeletons dressed in all their finery, including the remains of very young children. Many of the corpses are from the nineteenth century and mostly present a very grey scenario, although sometimes the fabric is remarkably well preserved and has significant colour. Some items of clothing are very recognisable from period dramas, like little caps, bonnets and dresses. It's 3 euro to gain entrance and I ended up with a party of more Americans. One young man who was accompanied by a nun was taking photos, absolutely forbidden, and a disembodied voice gave him a good ticking off for not respecting the dead.

Palermo street market - dodge the motor cycles!

I have not met Inspector Montalbano yet. He is probably in some local fishing village dining some young lovely on pasta and wine, looking out over the perfect seaside setting. Having said that there is quite a heavy police presence.

Mount Etna, all 11000ft of it presides over Sicily as a still active volcano. Apparently its presence on the island has made the land very fertile for farmers. Couldn't help picking up this article from the Daily Mail about recent fireworks from Mt Etna since I got back, Just look at these photos, it's one giant Roman candle: Hot Italian article

This morning, my last morning of the holiday, I decide to visit the Palazzo Realle, possibly the most expensive tourist sight in Palermo. 16 euro gets you into the palace with an audio guide to the Chapel Capela and the Treasury, as well as some ancient excavations underneath. The chapel is the absolute highlight. You will not see anything more elaborate  or colourful in your life. It is a mosaic lover's dream. The who!e chapel is a blaze of colour, combining innumerable mosaics covering every available square foot of floor and wall. The mosaics tell the story of God's relationship with man through the ages, using  depictions of God himself, Jesus, the disciples and of course the prophets. This is a rich testimony to Europe's Christian past, albeit an often State imposed type. One wonders exactly how many people who stand in this Chapel today actually understand the significance of the mosaics..

Went to Cefalu today on the train. It is about an hour from Palermo along the coast and is quite an attractive seaside resort. The fare is 5.15 euro one way. Palermo Centrale, the main rail station is very quiet for a Thursday afternoon but the two ticket counters are occupied by two young men who seem to be booking tickets to Australia via ten different destinations. I cannot believe how long both of them are taking. I look at the girl behind me in the queue and she gives a knowing look. The train hugs the coast all the way. A glance inland shows a pretty mountainous interior, and we are not talking the South Downs. These are big hills. Cefalu itself is a popular spot with a jumble of old buildings stretching along the seafront as you can see in the photo. The beach goes a long way in the other direction and my sense is that this is very much an Italian resort frequented mainly by Italians. or Sicilians. Not much sign of Union Jack shorts here!

Cefalu beachfront