Day 28

The day begins paradoxically at night, half way over the Pacific, we cross the International Date Line and Saturday 6th November 2010 vanishes, never to be seen again.
The night doesn’t drag quite as I had expected.
Whilst not comfortable, I do manage some sleep. It’s hard to stretch out, so my legs extend into the aisle. I get kicked all the time, which prompts me to pull my legs in.
They then threaten to cramp which would be worse. Thankfully, they don’t.
I wake or whatever at about 5.30AM. That is of course San Francisco time and we are over Fiji. I think we have been up for about 20 hours now, though the maths is too hard.
Even though it’s 5.30AM SF time, it is not that in Auckland and we have 3 hours to go.
Suddenly the crew bring us breakfast which goes down quite well and wakes us all up.
For airline food it’s not too bad. Omelette with hash browns and tomato, OJ and coffee.
We then settle in for the flight into Auckland which thankfully is quite soon.
We arrive at 4.35AM local time, sweaty and feeling lived in.
Off course the transit lounge has no shower, so we stay dirty.
Auckland Airport is just waking up, and most of the shops are open. Three hours to our departure, so we stroll, have a coffee, stroll, sit and generally just hang about.
Our seats on the flight to Adelaide are 3A and 3B which excites us as that means we are in Business Class or near the front.
Of course we hope we have been bumped to BC.
They call our flight, starting at the back of the aircraft so we wait and wait and wait until they call our rows.
At check in our Boarding Passes, issued at San Francisco, flash “invalid Seats” and we are sent to the back of the bus, 28A and 28B.
All is not bad though as the last 2 rows either side, except for us are empty, so we can spread out.
I finish Chris O’Brien’s book, I had to put it down two pages from the finish, as I was close to tears. I knock it off, and is does the same thing, though it’s a bit more private down the back.
I start my new book, another Bill Bryson on the development of the English language. It’s good and I get halfway through by Adelaide.
The flight is bumpy out of Auckland, settles down and I manage to see the Murray mouth as we descend.
It’s bumpy into Adelaide over the hills and I am surprised how green it all is, still.
Suddenly, we are down and home.
The baggage is slow coming off the plane. So slow in fact we think it may have got lost between Detroit and Adelaide however it finally appears and we tackle Customs.
We have declared all the food items we have, however this just smooths our path and finally it’s all over.
Eight countries and over 26.000km’s.
Welcome home.

Day 27

After a late night there was no chance of a sleep in.
Carol, Mike’s wife, is up early as she has to go to college for an exam, and we will not see her again this trip.
I did not sleep all that well, no particular reason, as we are all set to go. So I am tired.
There are tears as Carol leaves. She has been a great host.
We do the final pack. As we have some time we also wash all our dirty clothes, so are going home with clean stuff, other than our travel clothes, which will be on the nose by Sunday.
Sue’s brother Percy has promised us breakfast from Tim Horton’s a take –out coffee place.
We wait, and wait, and wait until Mike decides that we should have breakfast and makes some BLT’s.
They go down well, and of course just as they’re being digested, Percy arrives with coffee and the breakfast sandwich. Pretty much like a McDonalds breakfast burger. OK but not really needed.
By this time the three last to leave last night are in the house.
Thank full our lift arrives. We are heading across the border to fly out from Detroit Metro and have to cross into the US.
At the border, we get the usual, where are you from, how do you know each other. We are ten told to park the car and wait, as they want to do further checks.
So there we are with about a dozen other vehicles in our car, with a yellow sticker on the windscreen.
A guard comes and takes the car keys and puts them on the roof. We wait and wait, then the sniffer dog comes around, does over all the cars.
They then come by and ask for the trunk (boot) to be opened. The sniffer dog comes around again and jumps in all the car trunk.
We wait. The guards lead off some guys behind us, in hand cuffs, and we are handed back our passports and released.
The trip to Detroit Metro takes quite a time, it seem far out. When we arrive the airport is almost deserted.
He check in is simple, we are the only ones in the line.
Luckily the bag going for the holiday is checked right through to Adelaide. It just gets in under the limit at 50lb.
We also have all our boarding passes right through as well, and we are sitting together.
Security is at level Orange, so it’s off with the shoes, coat, take off any belt. Pockets empty and into the full body scanner, which we survive without embarrassment.
Of course in spite of the drama at the border crossing, we are 2 hours early.
The place is deserted, there are no planes at the gates and none come and go.
A policeman on a bike circuits along the concourse zigzagging back and forth it is so empty.
Surprisingly, Qantas flies out of here to Dallas Texas. Now that’s odd.
The plane arrives and we are together in two seats. The flight is uneventful, other than being late to arrive for us and late arriving at Chicago.
So late we have to run. The Chicago to SF flight is from another terminal, and as luck would have it we have to catch a shuttle bus.
The shuffle bus is empty as we get on, with the prospect of having to wait whilst it fills.
No as soon as we are on off we go, across the airport to Terminal C.
Our plain is boarding as we arrive so there is a rush to get on board.
No time for a pee.
Our seats are terrible. The plane is a Jumbo 747 and we are in the middle of the middle row. That means climbing over people to get out.
Crap.
That wouldn’t have happened had I been able to get my seats on line.
My travelling companion (the aisle person) gets up to go to the toilet, so I grab the opportunity and do likewise.
The flight is predictably boring, however I do start a new book. Chris O’Brien’s Never Say Die about his life and then being struck down with malignant brain cancer.
We buy some snacks and wine and guess what the wine is Australian red and white. The exported brands we have seen in our travels often bear names that no one would recognise like Walleroo Creek, which we see advertised on a huge billboard just out of Quebec.
It’s a good read.
The flight attendants are cheery with the trash man moving down the aisle collecting trash with a happy demeanour.
The flight ends in San Francisco and we have a 3 hour stop-over.
SF is quiet, with Mexican the meal of our choice with a Corona.
You get quite dry flying, so the beer was quite welcome, wet and cold.
Even though we have our boarding passes from Detroit we are called to exchange them for Air New Zealand ones.
Sue deals her best hand. It’s my birthday! Can we get an upgrade? Sorry there are no upgrades as the flight is full, though I will make a note and maybe they will give you champagne!
We board in a most peculiar process. They call for the rear end passengers first, which makes sense, however just about everyone boards with that call.
We are in the middle and board as instructed, however all the previous boardees are still in the aisles. It takes a long time. There is no room in the overhead lockers.
We are in the middle, with one aisle seat.
I am disappointed, however it actually works quite well, but more of that later.
It is good to hear some Australian-like accents again.
The flight briefing, safety stuff, is very entertaining. The Air NZ people have taken a humorous approach, and nearly everyone watches. A first.
It’s now 8.00PM local time. We have been up for about 18 hours.
The ANZ staffs are airy smiling, happy people with a great mix or ethnicities, Maori, Chinese and Anglo. They all look like they enjoy their work. It all helps.
We get fed of course, so we eat twice tonight and then settle in for the night.
I manage to chew through Chris O’Brien’s book. I am glad the lights are low as it is quite sad and brings tears to my eyes.
Sue gets enveloped in a movie, has noise reducing earphones that make person to person communication difficult.
We are in the aisle behind the babies. There are three and one cries as soon as we get pushed back from the gate and cries continuously for the next 15 minutes. I think we are in for a noisy trip however she stops and is quiet for most of the trip. The other two are obviously great fliers as they hardly peep, and we don’t detect if they poop either. Poop is the North American version of shit. Shit is impolite!
It is now about 10.30PM
But more of that later as we cross the date line and it is now Sunday 7th November.

Day 26

It’s the penultimate day, we are out of Detroit Metropolitan tomorrow after lunch.
Tidy up time. Pack time.
We have gifts coming out our ears.
We have invited a large suitcase to come for a holiday in Australia. It accepts the invitation with alacrity.
All the stuff we need to pack is laid out.
It includes three pieces of lead light that Sue’s brother Randy has made for us and others. These have to be packed so they don’t break, obviously.
Then there’s the Halloween stuff, bags of lollies, packets of this and that, some rather odd things too, that I can’t mention, as they are a surprise.
Then there’s the extra clothes we have been given, which includes three pairs of mittens, so thick and warm, they will be virtually useless in Australia.
There’s the Canadian stuff, T-shirts, and various sweater type things.
There are the Maple Syrup cookies (read biscuits) and a couple of books, which I found at a bookshop here.
Both Bill Bryson, and at a very good price.
Today, we also visit the cemetery to see some family graves, Sue’s father and brother.
The big thing here is to buy a plot well before it’s needed. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of cremation here. Many of the population are good French Catholics.
The other thing is have your headstone done before you die, with all your details, plus those of your spouse already engraved, leaving only the inevitable date of death blank. See Photo.
It’s all rather odd really.
The rest of the day we pack, and of course the new passenger AKA suitcase gets filled to over flowing. It finally weighs in at 19 kg.
We are allowed 26 so we’re pretty happy, though it does seem heavy.
Yet another dinner at more relatives, with more pizza then the farewell drinks, don’t they know we have a plane to catch.
A couple are fairly hammered so catch a taxi home.
One of Sue’s old school mates does a traditional Canadian farewell and moons us, having written on her bum “Down Under Eh!”

Day 25

The holiday is running down. We are chasing up some last minute shopping, catching up with last minute relatives and generally getting ready to leave.
Our friend Terryll of the Detroit expedition is corralled into taking us shopping, so we trawl the local shopping centre.
It’s all same same! However I do see a little article I am tempted to buy. It’s a small hand held pocket loud hailer. Perfect for addressing walking groups at the briefing. It’s about 4 inches long and 3 inches in circumference.
I resist temptation. It’s not in our bags.
Lunch is a nice salad once again. It’s so good having crispy crunchy stuff after so much soft, pizza-ish sort of stuff.
Nice and fresh and very refreshing.
Early in the afternoon we are picked up to go to Danny’s house for supper (tea). He lives out at Amersburg, someway away. It takes about 40 minutes to get there.
He’s a maintenance electrician for a printing company; his wife is a trainee social worker.
We do not make jokes about social workers and Rottweilers.
Their meal is humongous, with steak the size of the plate and an inch thick, prawn and vegetable kebabs, rice, coleslaw, green salad, rolls and a fruits salad eaten with the savoury stuff.
The table is just covered in plates. There is no room for anything else, other than the 6 varieties of dressings for the salad.
They are wonderful hosts, and their kids are quite delightful, in a controlled sort of way.
We leave for home after dark and guess what, when we get back to Mike and Carol, it’s time for more wine.

Day 24

Today, we are off to Chatham, a small city towards Toronto, pronounced Tronto, where two of Sue’s sisters live.
Its population is about 59,000 to give you an idea of its size. I think that compares with 25,000 for Mount Gambier.
One’s husband manages the Holiday Inn, in Chatham, the others husband works as an electrician in some factory.
The drive to Chatham takes about an hour, is along some back roads that parallel the 401.
The 401 is the main highway from Windsor to Tronto and carries all the big trucks that are making for the border crossing at Friendship Bridge.
It is busy, hence our being on the old road.
It is flat, I may have mentioned that previously. Is that a hill? No just a clump of trees.
It’s all corn country; the farmers are ploughing for their winter crops. They get three crops a year here.
There are more wind farms, this time the towers are painted green at the bottom, gradually getting lighter green, then gray for the remainder of the tower, the turbine and the blades. Looks OK, though I think our white ones are better.
It’s yet another family gathering, with lots of kids given the day off school.
I won’t bore you with the details.
We head home just after dark. The drive is cold, as Jim, Sue’s brother has the sunroof open. The temperatures hovers around 3C then 2 C then 1C, then soars back to 3C. It’s chilly, Billy.
We almost don’t make it home as at a set of lights Jim decides to carry on through, as the lights go amber and a man turning right, thinks Jim is going to stop, and turns in front of us.
It wasn’t that close in the end, however gives us a mild fright.
Jim is a behemoth of a man, no neck and huge belly. He has had a couple of heart attacks, bypass surgery, a stroke and has an aortic aneurysm, a prima candidate for sleep apnoea, so I furiously chat to him all the way back.
We survive.
Our hosts, Mike and Carol, are just having their second wine, so we join them, as one does.

Day 23

Great day, sunny and NO wind.
Great day for a walk in fact, so that’s what we do. A long walk for here, over to one of Sue’s friends then an walk around her old stomping ground, Tecumseh.
There are the remnants of Halloween still, the autumn (fall) colours and lots of cars.
Most houses have at least two cars in the driveway, sometimes three and at least one is a SUV, van type thing. The third is likely to be a pick-up. The pick-up is like the Ford F100 we have. Large, heavy, rather like our ute’s.
Not sure quite why they are so popular, other than they’re wide enough to put a gun rack in the back window. Though not in Canada, as guns here are very strictly controlled.
This afternoon, Sue’s friend Terryl is taking us over to Detroit for happy hour at some bar she knows that has half price drinks and appetisers.
This entails crossing the Friendship Bridge into the US. The Friendship Bridge is the busiest bridge between US and Canada. The truck cross day and night taking various components back and forth. Mostly car stuff.
There are road works on it, off course, so it is particularly congested.
Terryl drives like a mad woman, signalling lane changes and then leaving her indicator on for a couple of miles.
At the crossing the customs guy, takes our passports. We then go through the where you from, where you going, business or pleasure, how do you know each other. Meanwhile, just 20 feet in front of the car, blocking our way stands another customs guy, fully armed blocking our path.
They let us through with the “have a good day.”
The half price drinks and appetizers bar is quite good. It is at Troy, a suburb of Detroit, and looks quite affluent (“But you are effluent, Kim”). It’s noisy brassy and Terryll is the only black person in the bar.
Detroit is very much a black area. Motown and all that.
The drive back is much the same as the drive out. Fast lane changing and indicators left on.
Inner Detroit is quite forlorn with old buildings, very little in the way of development and most looking unkempt and uncared for.
We survive another border crossing, this time with the Canadian customs.
Not nearly as threatening as the US, but all the same questions.

Day 22

It’s the start of our last week and Halloween.
As I’ve said previously, Halloween is big here and tonight we are going to find out at Trick or Treat.
It’s quite a nice day with sun shining but an icy wind, however the slothfulness in is drives us to take a walk around the “hill” previously mentioned.
The streets here are all very neat, however there is a sameness in all of them, as the development is quite set with a certain style of housing allowed.
Most of the houses are attached to their neighbour, with the garage being the common meeting point at the front, with a small porch to the side.
Unlike many Canadian homes these are on only two levels. The older Canadian homes all had a basement, first floor and second floor. The first floor is usually above ground level, so the basement has small windows, and you walk up to the first floor, then up to the second floor.
Mike’s home is on two levels; however his basement is as big as the floor plan of the house itself. The basement is quite vast.
Most of the walls are board with some sort of blue plastic to provide weather proofing, then clad in brick or plaster. The roofs are nearly all a tar based shingle, which is quite flexible. The closest thing would be malthoid. They have to replace them every 10 years or so.
There are virtually no tiles as in terra cotta and no corrugated iron.
We went out to Leamington, the headquarters of Heinz Canada, where they have the big tomato. That’s about 25 miles from Windsor, along these dead straight roads that cross dead straight roads.
It is on a hill, well a rise anyway, looking over Lake Eire. Lake Eire is of course one of the great lakes, and is so big you cannot see the other side. It has its own light houses.
There are lots of Mexicans on the street, as they are field workers, so Mexican food is quite big in Leamington.
They have just started putting in wind turbines, and they are not very popular, by many locals. The farmers however are quite happy as they get paid of course to have them on their farms.
The other odd thing is that some of the fields have the large oil pumps, as there is oil in the area. The farmer gets a share of that as well.
The evening is devoted to Halloween, at one of Sue’s other brothers, Randy.
They have bought about 300 lollies, chocolates and sweets to hand out. They have a Halloween pumpkin on their porch with a candle in it.
At about 6.00PM the kids start coming out, usually the small ones first with their mums and dads.
They all say Trick or Treat however all really want the lollies. There is not Trick!
Many have gone to great trouble to get dressed up. We have pirates, ghosts and goblins, the Mario brothers etc
Their parents often pull small hand carts to manage the amount of booty.
There was a pretty pink ballerina who came with her mum. Her grandma was there too, dressed as a witch with a LED red flashing cat.
When asked if she would like some treats, she replied, “No, but a glass of wine would be great.”
At some points we had kids lining up the stairs to the porch, virtually knee deep.
It was funny seeing Muslim kids, in burga’s, also dressed in Halloween gear, collecting lollies.
You can see some in Picasa right at the bottom of the Canada pictures.
http://picasaweb.google.com/monfries.julian/Canada?feat=directlink
Within 90 minutes all the sweets have gone.
Once families run out they blow out the candle in the pumpkin and the kids know not to call in.
It’s quite exhausting, standing on the porch, in the cold, and it was cold.
The kids loved it, though some were more into it than others.

Day 20 & 21

Things are pretty slack around here when not entertaining.
We get up pretty late, 8.00 ish, have breakfast, sit around talking then decide what to do the rest of the day, until the next round of entertaining.
Friday was shopping day and Mike, our host, had some things to do at work.
He has taken most of the week off to look after us and drive us around.
He drops us off at the Devonshire Mall, pronounced Devonshire, not “devonsheer”, where we patrol around looking for stuff. It’s like most malls, just the store names are different. Sears, the Hudson Bay Company, like David Jones and Harris Scarf and then all the smaller shops that mostly sell clothes. There is the mandatory food hall, where there are mostly bad things to eat. Plates of fries plastered with cheese and gravy, burgers, deep fried chicken and lots of creamy sweet things. There is a place called Cinnabon that just makes cinnamon scrolls coated in a sweet icing, and they sell lots and lots.
In this sea of gluttony, right opposite Cinnabon, is a place called Simply Salads, and there we find a very nice Caesar Salad, though they spell it Ceasar! It’s nice and crunchy and really hits the spot.
More wandering around. Previously we found a place called Old Navy that had some rather nice clothes. Being old navy myself I thought it worth another visit. It’s now rather cheap. Fleece vests for only $8.00, variety of colours, no pockets though. They are rather thin, and made in Cambodia. I buy nothing.
I’m also looking for something for Kai, my grandson, and spy something that I think he will like, so I buy it, just in case nothing better leaps out at me.
We call Mike to pick us up, and whilst waiting get a coffee. Coffee is big in Canada, everyone walks around with take away coffees, often in their own travel mug, that they get filled at the drive in coffee place.
I can’t believe how bad it is. It’s all delivered out of a pump thermos, they have flavours, and it’s usually luke warm if you’re lucky.
Mike has a coffee machine that uses pods, filled with ground coffee. That you insert into the machine and it pumps hot water through the pod. They think it’s the ants pants, yet the coffee is weak, watery and lacks flavour. They had some stronger pods the said but thought them too strong.
In Dublin the woman in charge of breakfast apologised because the coffee was too strong. Shit, apologise if it’s too weak, at least if it’s too strong you can water it down. Weak and there’s no hope of resurrection.
They don’t seem to have discovered real espresso machines here. Pity really.
(What a rant that was!!)
On our way home we stop in at the wine store and get a box (cask) of wine. A small one, only 14 litres. It’s surprisingly good. It’s blended from Canadian and imported wine and is described as a dry red wine.
Some old friends of Sue’s are coming over after supper (tea), so there will be more tears and laughter.
Guess what? There was, with much wine consumed. So much in fact that one of the guests, Jeanette, slept over on the couch.
We put a dent in the box, that’s for sure.
Day 21
It’s a late start to the day.
Jeanette woke at 6 and lay there waiting until someone got up, mainly Mike, as he had taken her keys last night.
She finally got away about 9.30AM looking remarkably good.
For our sins we had bacon and eggs for a rather late breakfast, with fried potato and toast and
Tonight is a get together at Franco’s, a pizza and pasta restaurant. It’s Sue’s birthday next week and this is the party night. We have to pick up the cake that has been ordered from a place called Costco’s, a cooperative buying store.
The place is packed, after all it is Saturday afternoon, and it’s grazing in every aisle. Small snacks of strawberry smoothy, some healthy biscuits, some dim sims and rice pudding. So after such a late breakfast the grazing subs for lunch.
The cake is monumental, it needs to be to feed about 30 people, many being children.
The store sells everything from Large screen TV’s to clothes to phone plans, fuel, groceries, fruit, well just about everything.
What is notable is the prodigious quantities that you can buy. You don’t buy one bread roll, or even 6, you buy a bag of 24. The eggs are in 24’s or 36’s, the washing liquid for the clothes in 10 litre containers.
Packs of chips in 1 kg bags!
There are people with their trolleys packed to the gunnels .
I us confess we do buy a packet of small cinnamon rolls-32 in the pack. They are nice though and don’t have that bloody icing.
Tonight we have the birthday party with 30 or so. It will be trying as I can’t remember many of their names.
I will suffer through under the haze of a beer or a red I suspect.

Day 18 & 19

The weather here in Windsor is fine yet with a wind blowing off the prairies. Cold ++.
One of the tasks I have for Windsor is t find some Royal Robbins zip-off pants for walking. Not just any sort of zip-offs, ones that have mid thigh shorts, when the legs are zipped off. Not those terrible cargo pants style.
The brand is sold in Australia any more; however there is an outlet here in Windsor.
As luck would have it is just two blocks away, and as luck would have it they have two pairs of exactly what I am looking for.
One in large and one medium.
I try on the large ones and to my chagrin, I cannot zip them up. The waist is about 2 inches too short. I can’t believe as I thought I had lost weight. The shop lady then suggests I should maybe loosen off the belt.
Thank god as they now fit perfectly. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the medium.
Anyway, I have some new pants.
They are heading into Halloween here, so all the gardens are littered with grave stones, ghosts, cobwebs and ghouls.
The shops are full of Halloween gear too though they are now on sale so much o it is in run-out and variety running low.
Nevertheless, we manage to get some goodies to take back home.
Both my daughters have a running order for Halloween stuff, so there is a lot to be bought.
This is where our carry-on luggage expands.
The Canadians really do go over the top with this stuff. There is every imaginable costume, with blood and guts, spooky, ghostly, mad killer, or whatever you like.
Then there are the accessories. The things to hang on the walls, on the trees, in the garden etc.
Then there are the “trick or treat sweets”, every imaginable sweet in your favourite ghoulish shape.
We have some beauties.
The afternoon is spent driving out to D’Angelo’s winery to get a 20 litre cast of wine. They don’t sell casks here in the conventional manner. Not the 2 or 4 litre that we are used to. The Wineries cask their own wine in 20 litre amounts and they’re called a box of wine.
As it turns out they don’t have any until next year, it’s a small winery.
We have a taste of some varieties I have never heard of like Baco Foch and Cabernet Franc. They’re not bad, but not a patch on a nice Shiraz.
Last night was more family, in fact lots of family, in fact lots and lots of family, abut 20 of the family.
We had four generations in the one room, with Sue’s mum the matriarch, then her generation, her nephews and nieces and then their children.
Quiet a crowd and lots of noise. Too much noise. They finally go home and silence descends.
Day 19
Today is cold, windy and overcast.
Sue’s friend Terryl comes over for lunch. She is a black lady, and quite vocal, lots of hand gestures and very funny.
She walked with us in Adelaide few years ago, so part of the visit is a walk.
There is a hill in front of Mike’s place. It is the old rubbish dump/landfill or whatever. It creates the highest point in Windsor, apart from the Casino which is 22 floors.
The “hill” gives quite a panorama over the city, which by the way about 250,000 people and the car capital of Canada, or so they say. Mostly Chrysler and Fords being made here. They make most of the people carriers for North America in those brands, like the Ford Explorer though it’s called something else here.
Dinner is at one of the best restaurants in Windsor, the Cook House. It’s down stairs and Mike knows the waiter, the owner and just about all the staff.

Guess what, the waiter has a sister and brother in law who live in Australia.
We eat well but not wisely.
They have this funny practice of having the salad, followed by any side dishes then the main meal on its own. For example I order a filet mignon. We also order salad and we decide to have a side dish of the house speciality pasta o out comes the salad, we hoe in, then the “side dish” we hoe in, then the steak, I hoe in. I must say the steak was pretty good-Aberdeen Angus of course. There’s a lot of it about.

Day 17

Go west young man go west, and today that is our task.
We fly out at 3 ish this afternoon to Toronto, then Windsor. Yet we do have the morning to finish Quebec off.
It is cold again, with an icy wind. It rained again overnight and is very gloomy, but not raining. That’s something as we did get a soaking yesterday, and I didn’t like it.
We have our final breakfast at the Auberge. Apart from crap cold coffee they’re not too bad. All you can eat cereal, Bagels and toast with juice. Like I said the coffees crap and nuking it in the microwave makes it just drinkable. How they can think coffee stored in a thermos can by good, beggars belief.
I think I have written on this theme previously.
Pack up our room. We are only just squeezing our bits and pieces in the carryon luggage we have. We have accumulated some extra things, including a fossilised fish, in stone that we bought yesterday. The cases duly sat upon and closed.
We check out, putting our bags in temporary lockers at the YHA and head off to Parliament House.
It’s a chilly walk to Parliament house where we are going to do a tour to ill in time.
The building is quite splendid and built around the British tow house system, upper and lower, like back home. They had the good sense to abolish their upper house in 1968, the last of the Canadian Provinces to do so.
We go through security and get our visitors passes. We are the only ones on the tour so have quite a personalised tour with a very personable young Quebecois. It is amazing how all these places are alike with no expense spared in their construction and fitting out. At least their parliamentary dining room is open to the public, after you have gone through the security screening of course.
From there, on the heights of Quebec we head down in the icy wind to lower Quebec to the Musee de Civilization which has multimedia presentations on Quebec, the First Nation, the use o water, the use and misuse of the forests. We run out of time and at midday head back to get our luggage and head for the airport.
The taxi arrives almost straight away. I think we have drawn the double as this guy is monosyballic to a T.
He does have the good grace to at least help us get out our luggage and the over generous tip.
We are way early, however can check in.
Security have it in for us. I am asked to undergo a body search or a body scan, by a rather attractive security woman. I opt for the body search, however turns out it will be done by one of the men. Damn.
He does the pat down. Finds nothing. How embarrassing!
Meanwhile Sue’s bag which is straining at the zips, has to open her bag. They see some containers of liquid which she failed to declare. They are just perfume and Maple Butter, in 50ml containers, BUT she forgot to tell them.
Any way he goes all through her bag. Luckily I have all the dirty laundry in mine.
He finally gets it shut and we proceed.
If you thought Adelaide Airport quiet, you ain’t seen Quebec. The security outnumber the passengers about 2:1.
There are few flights however ours is quite full, even has a business class section.
The weather worsens as we fly to Toronto, the cloud at Quebec is treetop height and is no better the further we head west.
Toronto we are late. There is some concern that we will get the connecting flight to Windsor, Sue’s home town.
In the end that flight is late too due to some technical problem.
We take off in the Dash 8 in the rain and wind. The pilot warns of turbulence and the need to scout around the thunderstorm.
There is none and we have quite a smooth flight.
If Quebec was quiet, Windsor is moribund.
Luckily some of the family is there of meet us and after the usual tearful greeting we are off to Mike’s place.
Mike is Sue’s younger brother and he has the place with the most room, the best cellar and the best supply of beer, so the obvious place to stay.
From then on various members of Sue’s family drop in. She is one of nine, so you can imagine just how many that may multiply to with hangers on.
Her youngest sister travels down two hours from Chatham, just to catch up, then two hours back
The beer flows, the wine flows and the tears flow AGAIN.
From then on it’s all a bit of a blur.
From here on in it’s a mostly family stuff, so the missives may not be so regular and leave out a lot of that boring family stuff.

Day 16

The day dawns grey, overcast and raining. It’s not just drizzle, its rain, like pitter patter type rain, and it’s only 4⁰C.
The people across the street, whose house we look into, are watching TV at 7.00AM, and eating breakfast, I guess.
We head down to breakfast. Today its pancakes, rather cold and crisp about the edges. The coffee is cold too, helped though by nuking in the microwave.
We face the day, it’s now not raining so much, in fact not very much at all. We risk it as neither of us have any real rain gear.
For a Monday the city is surprisingly quiet, even though we are heading up town. There is snow in the Rue St Jean. What snow!! Turns out its only scrapings off the local ice skating rink, left on the side of the road.
The weather turns for the worse so we retreat into every shop we can find. There are no awnings here, the streets too narrow to have them I guess. That’s one of the things we noted about England, Wales and Scotland, very few of the shops have awnings.
At this time of the morning, about 9.00AM there is very little open.
10.00AM seems to be the common time.
Eventually get an umbrella, but by that time the rain has stopped. It does sit neatly in the side of my pack though.
We head out past the Wesleyan Church, the oldest place of worship for Protestants in Quebec, or so it claims.
Then to Musee de Fort, which is closed, we are too early, so we hit Petit Champlain, which is as small pedestrian street that heads down to the river side, full of shops, knick knack shops etc. I should say knick crap shops as much is pretty tacky.
We bob in and out of then as the weather is bad again, the umbrella makes an appearance and is then hogging the limelight for much of the day.
In one shop the lady offers to take it and put it in an umbrella stand. I think she fears for her stock. Turns out she has a daughter living at the Gold Coast. Her Knick Knacks aren’t bad actually, though too expensive.
We wander around, find a nice place for a cup of coffee and unload all our change. Canada, like the US, still has 1 cent pieces. We are 3 cents short however he is so pleased to have some extra change we get a discount.
By now the streets are full of Japanese and Americans off the two cruise ships that are at dock. We get accused of being “off the boat”.
The walking tour I had planned is now way off course, in fact we are lost.
Well in Quebec that is almost impossible. The Chateau Frontenac is so dominant that it is a very quick reference point.
By this time we down at St Laurence River level and seem to be in the classy shops and antique shop area. Way out of our class, however some very interesting pieces for sale. There doesn’t seem to be a problem here with furs.
You can just about buy anything with fur, except a beaver.
Looks like you can buy all sorts of animal heads too, if you can pay the price.
They have small produce market here which we check out. Quite a variety of vegetables. Huge sacks of potatoes and carrots for $6.00. Still no match for our Central Markets.
We head back towards the Auberge, and drop into a Le Cafe Boullangerie a bakery with a fine variety of French style bread etc. It gets us out of the rain, and a rather nice meal to boot. I have turkey BLT on a Panini which is particularly nice. Sue opts for a salad that has lettuce, grapes, blue cheese, sherry shallot vinaigrette, toasted pistachios and dried cranberries. All rather exotic.
We buy a couple of Grissini seeded loaves that prompt the comment “Is that a Grissini or are you just pleased to see me” and that should give you an idea of their shape.
They are delicious with a glass of red. They only thing missing is some olive oil and Duka.
We’ve come full circle and are almost back at the hostel, so we drop in and as it’s only 1.30 head out again.
There’s a maple syrup place we want to see and then there’s the Musee du Fort we missed earlier in the day.
The maple syrup place is a shop that totes itself as a museum, but really wants to see you stuff that uses maple syrup. It has some interpretive stuff upstairs about maple syrup, and is quite interesting. Goes through the process of collecting it, distilling the maple sap to end up with the concentrated syrup. It is harvested a bit like rubber, hacking into the bark of the tree and collecting the sap. They now bore holes in the tree, plug in a tube, connect a whole lot of tubes together, apply a vacuum, rather than just wait for the tree to do the work. Then we had the tasting. It’s rather nice stuff, best for pancakes I think.
We buy some maple syrup butter and head out to the Musee.
It starts to pelt down and very soon our legs are rather saturated, the umbrella does the inversion thing with the wind a number of times so we find refuge in a small alley where some artists are set up, with awnings. We are bedraggled however out of the rain and better still, the Musee is just around the corner 50 metres away.
The Musee du Fort has a small exhibition and a diorama with a light and sound show that depicts the 6 battles that have taken place at Quebec.
The model looks a little tacky with small houses, small tin soldiers and the geography and town laid out with sailing ships on the river.
When it gets going with the lights dimmed it is really very good. It shows how Quebec was involved in 6 battles over its lifetime and how the battles went. Various parts of the diorama lit up appropriate t the story, the guns fired, smoke came from their barrels, all in all the battles weren’t that good for the various commanders. In the battle in which the English captured Quebec, both Wolfe and the French commander died. When the US tried to capture Quebec around the war of independence one US commander died and the other was shot in the leg and lost the battle overall.
Unbeknownst to us we had chanced on the English presentation. If we had missed that the next one was in French and that wouldn’t have been pretty. “You dirty eenglishman, we hef our own grell” (in a thick French accent) a poor misquote from “The Holy Grail”.
The rains had eased so we scuttled back to the hostel.
I think we’ll hang about here for a while and wait and see what happens.
Well nothing much does so about 6 we head off for tea. Pause at one restaurant down the street and look at the menu. Another couple do the same. The women comments “too many words” and they move on.
So do we.
We end up back at the same restaurant we had tea on our arrival.
They are not quite as busy as Saturday night.
My pasta arrives and the waiter asks if I would like big pepper. He turns up with the BIGGEST pepper grinder I have seen. It must be 4 feet long. Again it reminds me of “Is that a pepper grinder in your pocket.....”
Well that’s Quebec for you.

Day 15

We have now reached the halfway point of our trip. One could say it’s all downhill from here, but we won’t as it’s all Canadian from here.
We sleep for nearly 11 hours. Through the night there have been some disturbances. People running down the corridors at 4.00AM for starters and old blokes needing to pee for seconders.
Part of the deal at the Auberge is breakfast, all you can eat Continental Breakfast. Quite substantial really with cereal, toast, boiled eggs, bagels and cold coffee.
We have a plan for the day and believe it or not I have an iPhone application that will take us around Quebec city on a walking tour. The app has a number to choose from, including Museums and Galleries, Nightlife Walking Tour, Famous Religious Buildings, Old Quebec, Art Galleries, Famous Landmarks etc. I am sure you get the idea.
We chose Old Quebec and the iPhone leads you from one POI (point of interest) to another. The Tour was 10 sites, two hours, so at 9.00AM we set off.
The first site was the Observatoire de la Capital, however it wasn’t open until 10AMso we headed off to the Plains of Abraham instead, where battles took place in 1759, between the British and the Americans.
We then head to the citadel, the fort that is built at the top of the Quebec cliffs. It’s now being restored and is quite something if you’re interested in forts etc. It is also the residence of the GG of Canada.
We follow the walls that formed the outer fortifications of Quebec, they are huge, many metres thick, pierced at various points with gates, that now allow traffic into the old city.
We then head back to the Observatoire and are rewarded by 360 degree view over Quebec from 31 stories high. It is really quite the way to get an overview of the city and its surrounds. We can see the Appalachians, a mountain range in the US that has the 3000km walking trail, the Appalachian Trail, along its path.
We can almost see the rings around Uranus.
We then wander down into the Old City, through various Rue de this and Rue de that. There are lots of Saints around here.
It’s then down to the old Jesuit Chapel, which we over walk as it’s much sooner than we think. It is fermee.
So we double back to Artillery Park where they made cartridges for the guns and build cannon etc. It’s also fermee.
Suddenly we find it’s lunch time, an we need a cup of coffee and something to eat.
A patisserie is handy so we go in. It’s all in French; however I indicate we would like some quiche. The girls says something in French, to which I reply, “English please” to which she rather snappily says “Eat in or take out?”
So we eat in. It’s rather nice food in spite of the snappy server. I have a Cafe latte-boll, which is a bowl rather than a tasse (glass).
The Hotel Dieux is on our course. It’s the hospital set up by an order of nuns. You can tell I was really paying attention at that point, as I can’t recall their name.
Having had the streets and the various sights to ourselves, as it’s Sunday, the crowds are building up. Again it’s odd to find that there’s very little English spoken, and mostly by Americans, if you call what they speak, English.
The walking tour that was 3.4km and to take 2 hours, is suddenly now 5 hours long, with diversions, getting lost, reading and viewing and eating.
We finish at Chateau Frontignac, a huge building in the old city, that was the residence of various French nobles when the French held Quebec, then various English governors and now of course it’s a hotel. Supposedly the most photographed hotel in the world. Who am I to argue with that?
The tour over we head back to the YHA to catch up on some emails and sort out dinner.
Feet are sore and it’s time for a rest and a beer-Labatt Bleue in 750ml cans.
I think the old bloke may be up again tonight. I only hope the runners aren’t!
And Billy hasn’t said a word all day!

Day 14

Today we head for the new world leaving behind the pound the Euro and driving on the left hand side of the road. We also part company with Billy.
Well not quite.
He has to get us to the Dublin Airport, then his job is done.
The plane leaves at 1055 so we decide to get there early, head off from the YHA at 8.30 and find ourselves with Billy’s help there at 8.20. Well not quite, as we have to return the car, in the process of that we miss the entrance to the drop-off area and have to circuit around again. Hand over the car, get the shuttle to the airport proper and run through the check-in. There is a very helpful Irish lady doing the check-in for Continental Airlines, so helpful she books us right through to Quebec.
So helpful, in fact, that both flights she books us to be seated in different parts on both flights.
We only paid our fare last February, yet can’t be seated together. Off course our seating companions are friends or couples so no-one wants to swap.
Continental Airlines have the ugliest, surliest flight attendants imaginable. I think they must have received their retrenchment notices this morning. No smiles or niceties of any sort. They were really terrible. They can’t have all be having a bad day!
There was no “Would you like some water?”, it was “Water” , take a few steps up the aisle “Water” and so it went on for every single row of cattle class. Just terrible.
I did manage to finish my book, Bill Bryson’s new one called “At Home – A Short History of Private Life”. He is a very good write and so interesting I would recommend it.
I also listen to quite a lot of Classic music.
The flight is 7 hours and drags, however after flying over Quebec our destination for the day, we arrive at Newark, New York. I manage to see Manhattan, the Empire State building until a fat head obstructs my view. No it wasn’t Sue, she was 4 rows back and did get a better look, including the Statue of Liberty.
We seem to taxi almost as far as we have flown, however eventually disembark.
We run the gamut of Homeland Security, which includes now finger prints of all fingers and thumbs and a photo.
The flight to Quebec is in another terminal so we need the Airtrain from Terminal C to Terminal A.
At Terminal A we find the Gate for our flight has changed, though it turns out what we need is a bus to take us to some outlying terminal.
Consequently, out 90 minute lay-over is now down to minutes and they call our flight almost straight away. The flight is overbooked and they are asking for volunteers to fly latter, offering $400. It turns out the $400 is actually in Continental dollars, or use with other flights, not real in your hand money.
It turns out we are in a small jet, and our seats are one behind the other. Well they were until Sue volunteers to change and take the seat at the Emergency Exit, as the person allocated that seat didn’t speak English.
The flight attendant on this flight was much happier I should add.
We fly over New York State, Maine, etc and the country is quite lovely already in autumnal colours. There is lots of water, long freeways, and many villages. The flight takes us right over Quebec so we get an idea of its layout, and finally we land for the final time today.
Canadian Customs are brief, friendly and to the point. The terminal is empty. There are no shuttle buses to the city, only cabs, though the price is fixed.
He’s a surly bastard, talks on his phone most of the way, until the end when he realises Sue is Canadian and suddenly he can speak.
The YHA is at 19 Rue St Ursule, in the old city. It is nice to find we are expected. It’s also nice to be able to upgrade our room, to an ensuite, and somehow save about $250. It’s also nice to find that we are at parity with the Canadian dollar.
Of course in Canada there is tipping, so as the taxi pulls I expect Sue, who is the Canadian after all to pay and sort out the tip. He stops and Sue hands me $40 so I have to sort out the tip. He didn’t do that much and was surly so I give him about $3.00 which is about right as it turns out anyway.
It’s doubly nice to find that the Quebecois can actually speak English, and will do so. My schooly boy French very quickly runs out!
Our room is quite commodious and the bathroom is a veritable ballroom, compared with UK and Ireland bathrooms that were taken from submarines I would think.
They have funny toilets that are half filled with water, so they look like they are blocked. Not sure why. Have to be careful wiping your ass, or you dip your hand in the bowl.
Having settled in, we wander off for dinner and just down the street in Rue de St Jean, we lob into an Italian place that is so popular, that soon after we get a table people are waiting at the door for table to be free.
It’s quite odd to be sitting in a restaurant, and not understanding anything of the conversations at tables around you.
The pizza is good and the Italian Cab Sav is OK especially as Sue was paying.
We get back to the hostel and collapse into bed. It is 8.10PM, yet we have been awake for nearly 20 hours. We are buggered.
Just before I go to bed I pack Billy into the bottom of my bag as we won’t be needing him again.
A second or two later, from the bag comes “At the roundabout take the second exit!!”

Day 13

It was a dark and stormy night....
No it wasn’t really, is a rather pleasant night with a good bed and sound sleep.
Today was the day we you DO Dublin, rather like Debby.
An early start with the breakfast courtesy of the YHA. Part of the deal. Plenty to eat but woeful coffee.
We had a Hop On Hop Off ticket that allowed us to keep going around Dublin until we got dizzy or they kicked us off.
We chose to do the round trip once then hop off and on as the mood took us.
Nearly two hours later we had managed to take in the new Millennium Spire that most Dubliners hate, calling it the Spire in the Mire amongst other derogatory terms; the James Joyce statue; the O’Connell memorial; O’Connell Bridge, Trinity College; The Book of Kells; the keyed Merrion Square, the Oscar Wilde Memorial; the National Museum; the Molly Maguire statue; the National Gallery; Temple Bar, the Medieval City; Dublin Castle; St Patrick’s Cathedral; Christchurch Cathedral; St Catherine’s Church; The Guinness Storehouse The Irish Museum of Modern Art in the old Royal Hospital; the Kilmainham Gaol; Phoenix Park which has the Wellington Monument, the US Embassy, the President of Ireland’s Residence and the Dublin Zoo within its fence; the Four Courts; the Ha’penny Bridge; the Jamieson Whiskey factory; the General Post Office and finally the Parnell Monument.
All of these have some significant part or hold some significant item related to Ireland’s turbulent past.
Having done the round once we get of on the second pass at Trinity College, one of the most famous Universities in the world. Its libary holds the Book of Kells supposedly one of the most beautiful books in the world. It was produced in the 9th Century and the four gospels in that olde worlde manuscript writing, on vellum. Vellum is the skin of calves.
It is quite a work of art; however I was more impressed with the Long Room, which is the main Trinity College library. What a place, with books wall to ceiling, old leather bound, no paperbacks here.
From sophistication we head to the Temple Bar which is the pub district of Dublin, diagonally across from Trinity
College. Fitting really as most students like to drink, and many like to drink a lot. It’s all cobblestones, narrow streets and yes, pubs.
We find our way to the Ha’penny Bridge, across the Liffey River. Properly called the Liffey Bridge, it is a footbridge across the river and got its alternative name as you had to pay a Ha’penny to cross it. I gather it was the playground of one Eve Buckley, then known as Eve Cullen.
We had lunch in a pub in temple Bar, and why not, we are on holidays. I go for a pee, and find myself chatting to the maintenance man. You here for the marathon? Hell no! I’ve done it 15 times. What was your fastest time? 3 minutes 4 seconds, never could get under 3 minutes. As so the conversation went whilst I did my business, zipped up, washed my hands and retreated out the door, discussing running times compared with bushwalking times.
He pops up again as we’re finishing lunch and we have a long discussion about Australia, his brother lives there, as does about half of Ireland, and I guess the other half live in the US. He’s quite good fun and entertaining.
We then head off to the old city, yet go past it so detour to St Patrick’s Cathedral. Largest cathedral in Ireland, other than that it’s just a church with an ego.
Back on the bus and head for the Guinness Storehouse, the number one tourist attraction in Dublin. Too too many people, however they have a 7 flour self guided tour all about the making of Stout, the history of Guinness, the marketing etc. And ending with a pint of Guinness on the top floor that looks out over all of Dublin. Quite speccy really, though the Guinness is an acquired taste and I haven’t acquired it yet.
It’s now quite late so we leap aboard what is the final bus of the Hop On Hop Off series and head back towards the YHA. We stop briefly at the GPO, to get a stamp and then head back in the rain to home base.
We’re quite damp by the time we get in.
What did I learn about Dublin? There’s far too much to see in one day. There are more taxis in Dublin than in New York. The Dublin Zoo has a world renowned lion breading programme. That the MGM lion is from Dublin Zoo and if you listen carefully you will hear the Dublin accent in the roar. The Irish fought a lot and fought everyone. They even fought for people they fought against, but not at the same time. That the Duke of Wellington was Irish, though wasn’t that happy to acknowledge it. He was I think the only Irish PM of England. The current President is from Northern Ireland. The Irish play cricket. The city is full of writer’s of note, Joyce, Wilde. The city had four keyed squares, which means they were only accessible if you had a key. This kept the riff raff out in Georgian England. There is one remaining keyed square in Dublin, Merrion Square. It is essentially a private garden. The Phoenix Park, however, whilst set up as a hunting ground for James II (who never visited) is now a public park larger than Hyde Park in London 7 time over and Central Park 2 ½ times over.
Please sir, my head is full, can I stop now. Just one more fact boy and you can go.
Jonathon Swift, author of Gulliver’s Travel, was rector at Christchurch donated 700 pounds to set up a lunatic asylum in Dublin.

Day 12

The bed is surprisingly comfortable and we sleep well.
The shower holds no surprises now and is warm and flows well without the very common nipple piercing pressure of some.
We raid the Free Food for our breakfast and do well with fresh filter coffee, corn flakes, orange juice and some Yoghurt, though we bought that last night.
The Slovacks whom we met last night, and I omitted to mention them in Day 11, came in for breakfast after us and the air was soon redolent with frying bacon and pork sausage smell.
We left The Jamaican Inn with that smell lingering with us.
No frost this morning, however the condensation in the car blinds me until we get some warmth from the car. This VW has no A/C so the demisting is archaically slow.
We leave Sixmilebridge behind on our way to Ennis and the Cliffs of Moher, a suggestion I might add from the leading hand of the Slovak builder, previously mentioned. He was the only one who spoke English and told us we should see them as they will be one of the New Seven Wonders of the World soon.
They are on the west coast of Ireland and not that far away, about 40 km. In Oz that would be 40 minutes or less. In Ireland that is over an hour.
It’s quite remarkable that they have these narrow back lanes, barely wide enough for two vehicles, posted at 100kph. I defy any rational person do drive at that speed if the road was clear both ways. In Ireland there will be truck, cars tractors, walkers (who don’t get off the road) and the odd leprechaun or two.
Back to the Cliff of Moher pronounced “more”.
The visitor’s centre is set into the hill like the Hobbit village, very much underground. All the paths lead up, and they ascent to the viewing points over the cliffs. And what a view, they are so high you can see all the way to the New World. Well not quite but they are two hundred metres high and quite stunning the with the various layers of rock very obvious. The cliffs make nesting sites for Puffins, however we saw none today. I think the climb to the top made us quite Puffined out!
One point is topped by a tower, O’Brien’s Tower which was built by, you guessed it O’Brien, for tourism back in the 1850’s.
Far over the other side of the cliffs is another tower, from the Napoleonic Wars era, some sort of signal tower.
By the time we get back the place is overrun by German tourists, who I think may be getting as loud as the Americans.
It’s time to head for Dublin, however Billy has other ideas and decides to take is into Co Galway , so we head NE prior to turning east towards Dublin.
He took us via the usual back roads, through many villages, past a number of castles and various ruins, including an old monastery and church with graves and a leaning tower.
We saw some pretty interesting stiles in stone fences which didn’t seem to lead anywhere in particular, certainly not to a foot path etc. I took some photos of them for interest sake.
Billy took us some odd ways through villages too. At one point he turned us right off the main road, then left, then left up a very narrow street that took some 5 mins to negotiate as there were cars and trucks trying to go both ways , then hey presto a right turn back onto the first street we had turned off. Why???
By lunch time we reached a place called Moate, so mote it be, and that’s where we lunched. All the local school kids traipsed past, boys and girls, carrying golf clubs. It isn’t Wednesday.
We hit the motor way for our final push to Dublin. We tell Billy to avoid the Tollways so here we are cruising and he suddenly instructs us to take an exit, right into a tollbooth.
There is a grey haired lady there out of her car, flapping her arms. I put 1.90 Euro and the arm didn’t rise what do I do? I got out of the car to see what the instruction were however by the time I get there the toll booth was talking to her. Seems she had paid for a motor bike not a car. After some faffing around we got to pay the toll, thanks for nothing Billy.
He then proceeded to lead us back onto the same bloody road he had just got us off. What a birk!
The run into Dublin then is pretty straight forward, left turn right turn, take the next left and finally we are at the YHA.
I have booked a 4 bed room, by mistake, as it had the only ensuite facilities. Seems I have booked for 4 people too. No matter, a double room is more expensive, has no ensuite and less room.
Luckily they have a place for the car, as it will get little use tomorrow, and we settle in.
A short walk, takes us past the Irish Writers Museum, near the James Joyce Centre, yet the area has a rather run down look to it. Ladies with very tight jeans, smoking and leaning on street corners, with too much make-up at 3 in the afternoon.
The local shop’s ATM refuses to part with money using my Visa suggesting I am mean and should withdraw more than I want. Why give options of 20, 40 then 90 Euro. It obviously didn’t like much suggestion of 40 and I am damned if I want to take 90.
We will deal with it tomorrow.
The YHA has free Wi-Fi so I check my emails and do some pretty drastic deleting.
I had 190 now I’m down to 47 that I want to keep for posterity.
We see no news from Oz at all. Are you still there?

Day 11

I have the best night’s sleep of the trip. The bed is comfy and the noise is low, even though we are n the main road.
I am woken at 12.28AM by my phone vibrating and trying to walk off around on the bedside table. By the time I am conscious enough to get to it I am too late. They leave no message, however it is an Australian number and thankfully they don’t call back.
I et off to sleep again and finally arise at about 7.00AM
We have one of those idiosyncratic showers that has two dials that rotate opposite directions. This one however screeched as you rotated in the warmth. The hotter the water the higher the screech. Finally by playing the two dials like a musical instrument you could get quite a good tune, then finally silence, except that is for the sound of running hot water.
So the first B of our B and B was good, what about the second.
The dining room overlooked the rising sun, the cereal selection good, the bacon and eggs and pancakes delicious, so all up a great place to stay.
Our host very, who is the cook, gives us some cues as to how to get to Limerick and we set off.
Tramore has a small harbour, with two points. On one point is two columns and on the next id three columns, one with a metal perched on top.
It appears Tramore Bay is very similar to the entrance to Waterford and too many ship were foundering in Tramore Bay, so Lloyds of London, sick of paying out the insurance built One tower at the entrance to Waterford, and two n the eastern headland of Tramore and three n the western headland as navigation markers.
We drove to look at them more closely, however the sun was rising in front of them and they were hard to photograph.
They day was cold with frost on the car window and the outside temp about 4C.
We stop at Anne’s Beach, freezing. A large lime kiln decaying on the shore. Lime was used to make fertiliser prior to the development of superphosphate.
This drive is along Ireland’s copper coast with evidence of copper mine in the form of powerhouses and chimneys.
We turn inland at Dungarvan, a small fishing village, and head for Lismore, a cathedral town. It has a charming bridge that passes Lismore castle, owned by the Duke of Devonshire. It looks like a castle, on the river with turrets and towers.
There is also a cathedral, which is open. On our walk up to it we are scarred shitless by a dog suddenly announcing his presence above our heads. He is patrolling a high wall that is running along our path. His tail is waging so I guess he is friendly.
We have a look in and find a memorial plaque to a member of the first AIF who died at Messines in Flanders in WW1. It’s rather sad.
The next objective is to cross the Knockmealdown Mountains through the Vee. It’s a very pleasant climb, until we get behind the man in the hat who’s car either has only 1 gear or he hadn’t found the other three. He finally turns off and we reach the Vee. It is the top of the pass, or saddle in the range. It has great view over Cahir and Tipperary. Guess what it does look a long way to Tipperary. We stop at the pass as there’s a statue set back off the road. It’s cold so i sit in the car and Sue heads off. It is the statue of Our Lady of Knock. Must be the patron saint of brothels!
The Vee is also the meeting point of a number of long distance walking trails neither of which I can remember.
It’s then a steep descent into Cahir, another caste town where we have lunch and internet access. I send Day 10 from there.
Then suddenly we are in Tipperary and discover it’s not such a long way after all. It’s a rather small village, like many we had passed through previously.
Limerick is the next stop, and guess what? We meet up with the man in the hat again. Different car but same style. He wanders all over the road, speed from 40 in the 60 zone to 80 in the 100 zone. Drives like Gavin Campbell. I finally get past, then get stuck behind a large tractor pulling a large trailer. The man in the hat catches up, to my chagrin.
Limerick is quite large with a very busy city centre. A park on the street pops up so we grab it and go for a stroll. Lots of cobbled streets, a very pleasant harbour with a river and a lock and a castle. The castle like Lismore looks like a castle.
We book a YHA at Sixmilebridge, which happens not surprisingly to be Six miles from Limerick and has a bridge. It was a mill town with water being channelled from the river to a weir that can be feed into the mill. The mill is long gone, the weir and sluice gates remain.
For a small town it has a variety of shops. Two surgeries, two chemists, a Thai, Indian, Chinese restaurant. The Indian does kebabs and pizza. There are at least 5 pubs, two hairdressers, two solicitors and that’s for a place the size of Gumeracha!
We visit Bunratty Castle, well we go in and find it too expensive, however visit the woollen mills close by. Have some nice woollen garments though I must say it leaves me all a bit unenthused.
The road leading into Bunratty, about 3 km long is lined with B and B’s. In fact I think there were only B and B’s.
The YHA, called the Jamaica Inn, for heaven’s sakes, is very quiet. Our room is about as far from the front door as could possibly be. It’s comfortable and warm.
We decide against a meal out and go for cheese and crackers with tuna for tea, washed down with some Sef Efriken red.
Tomorrow Dublin.

Day 10

The noise outside the YHA does not abate and finally the alarm goes off at 5.45AM.
We pack up get organised and Billy sets course for Edinburgh Airport. The traffic at that time in the morning is light and we get there in good time. Just as well as the drop-off for the car isn’t obvious and with a few misses we finally get there.
Security at Edinburgh is slightly different than most places. I have to take off my shoes and watch. Never done that before.
We almost miss the plane, as they call it early and there is confusion between the Ryan Air flight and the Aer Lingus. To make it more confusing they have changed the aircraft so the seating is different. I sit with an American with a Kindle which we talk about briefly. My conversational style is riveting, she falls asleep.
Sue is having better luck with another American across the aisle who is going home after 2 weeks in Scotland and devastated. Sue averts a flood of tears.
The flight is short, one hour, and we are at Dublin. Well the airport at least. Immigration is slick, customs non-existent and we are out looking for our car.
We have a VW Polo. What a heap of shit after our Ford Focus Titanium. It’s petrol, no A/C and no cruise control. But it is new and goes well.
At this point Billy lets us down badly. He won’t recognise any Irish names, not one, not even Dublin. He displays the correct map and streets, the right speed even the correct speed limits for where we are, but simply doesn’t know his ass from his elbow when it comes to places.
Well it’s back to basics with the map. We float around Dublin on our way south towards Waterford, of the crystal fame. It’s by the seat of our pants stuff this; however we manage to get 30km south of Dublin to Wicklow. I pull over and try and sort Billy out. Could I have just bought the maps for UK, but not Ireland? The ICN show Great Britain and the Republic of Ireland so we should have the right maps.
Sue then sees that there is a Union Jack on one side of the screen pokes it and it magically offers it the flag of the Republic of Ireland and suddenly Billy is cool.
Intuitive it ain’t.
Gorey is the next stop and we have lunch there. Great BLT, terrible coffee.
Wexford the next stop further down the coast heading south. Nice coastal village with very helpful Tourist info place. From there we book the YHA in Tramore.
Waterford is on our way and past the factory though I gather they don’t make it there anymore. We probably should go back and have a better look.
Tramore is another quaint village with a summer amusement park, all closed down now. The main street stretches from the sea to high on the hill. It has an Indian restaurant, though I doubt there is a village in the entire UK and Ireland that doesn’t.
Our YHA is converted into a B and B for an extra 10 Euros.
Tramore provides us with quite a nice meal, however we immediately note that food here is at least 25% more than the UK.
The food however is good. We meet a couple from Texas who are here holidaying. The wife does something in music however she studied in Baulkham Hills in Sydney, not far from where I lived. We chat for a while.
The maitre de is our classic Irish man, rather over the top friendly, amusing and charming. Chatty, what Irish person isn’t.
We have a good night

Day 9

Stirling woke to overcast grey skies. We must be back in England. It’s spitting rain. At least it’s cool outside, the hostel is overheated. Did I mention that before. I sleep with the doona mostly off.
The shower that had filled me with the dead of 3rd degree burns proved to be just great. You got 60 secs of great warm water. It then stopped. I gather that gave you time to lather your bits, then press the button and another 60 secs to wash off the lather. All in all quite satisfactory, but nowhere any instructions.
The William Wallace Memorial beckons after breakfast, so we’re off. We are too early, it is not open so it’s a picture from the car park and to Edinburgh we go.
This time we get Billy confused, as we want him to go to Edinburgh and he wants to go to Leith. Turns out it’s all the same place, sort of.
We finally get to the youth hostel. Then the desperate search for parking. As luck would have it there’s one right outside and it’s good for 9 hours. That takes us into tomorrow when we head off to Ireland.
We take to foot, walking up Leith Street, past the Playhouse Theatre which is playing “Spamalot”, past Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s statute, past the Duke of Wellington’s statue, across North Bridge and up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle.
These damn cities are all the same, cutesier cobblestoned streets with cutesier houses and shops and old churches and public buildings.
I must say the castle is pretty impressive and we spend about three hours there plodding around from exhibit to exhibit, room to room etc.
Lunch is at the castle served by a lad from Melbourne.
Then it’s off to see the 1 o’clock gun fired. By my watch he was a bit late, though it was impressive. I’ll post it on YouTube when I have better access, probably in Canada.
We had to stand on some cannon balls to get a observation point as all the tourists were blocking the view.
The view from the castle is something else, across Edinburgh to the Firth of Forth, or the Fourth of Fifth or something like that. It is a walking city as most of the interesting stuff is in walking distance of the centre of town.
We do a lot of browsing. I am looking for a kilt, however can’t find one I like. I do actually, it is the right tartan, especially for a tart like me, yet the cloth feels harsh and I’m a softy underneath.
According to the guy in the shop 90% of all tartan and kilt shops are owned by only 2 Indians and the cloth is all imported.
I note his kilts were labelled “Designed in Scotland”. Anyway no kilt.
We wend our way down the Royal Mile, gawking, just like tourists, then head for the YHA to book in.
We are served by Salvatore, with the thickest Scots accent. Our room overlooks our car so we can see it being stolen through the night-perfect.
The hostel is modern clean and rather sterile. Hang on Stirling was like that too.
There is no one about. Perhaps it is too up-market for back-packers.
I buy some internet time so I can get these journals off, which I manage.
I then do a superbly stupid thing. Absolutely stunning in its brainlessness. I manage to lock myself out from my bank accounts. I had fixed in my mind I was putting in the wrong account number, it didn’t cross my mind that I was using the wrong password, so I dutifully put in the password for another account three times, and that as they say was that. CRAP. The mind is wondrous and terrifying thing, well mine is at least.
With this triumph fresh on my mind we head off to the local Italian Restaurant as the suggestion of Sal, and have a very reasonable meal of pasta using much of our remaining Pounds.
Back to the hostel where a bus load of ?Germans has arrived with backpacks, suitcases etc taking up the lift and the stairs.
Sleep is difficult as the side street is the main thoroughfare for all of Scotland’s buses and truck who grind up the street all night. The double glazing is not successful in drowning them out, even if you could close the window fully.

Day 8

Well here we are in the second week of our trip already.
New Lanark, is cold in the morning, yet we are blessed with blue skies and sunshine.
We race across the Cumbrian hills, towards Carrington. Where, I hear you ask? Carrington, the well known birthplace of that illustrious clan, Clan Monfries.
Carrington is a small village with one church, a Tardis and a post-box. The village church has no Monfries in the grave yard, though I suspect we were too poor to even be buried. I can trace the family back to Carrington around 1650’s or thereabouts, however I think they were poor working folk, known as serfs. If only we had invented the serf board things might have been much different.
As our night’s accommodation is Stirling, we head in that direction. What we have done over the past two days is a drive a figure 8 with Edinburgh at the top.
Anyway, Stirling is our destination. The Stirling Castle is closed off to cars as it is the finishing point of the Scottish Car Rally today. We have to go to a park and drive about 4 km away and get the bus in.
The Park and Drive man tells us the YHA is about 200m from the castle and we can probably park there, so back in the car, and sure enough, it IS 200 m from the castle.
We walk up, and the views are tremendous out over the Forth River. The YHA is in the old town, all within walking distance.
Morning tea is at a pub near the entrance to the castle. The bar maid is Scottish who worked in Adelaide for a while and has friends from there.
The castle is pretty good with ramparts and minor turrets and is currently being restored back to its original form when it was the royal seat for the kings of Scotland.
It was also the base of the Argyle & Sutherland Highlanders, a Scottish regiment of some note. They have an interesting museum in the castle. It is their headquarters still.
It’s starting to rain so we head off down the hill. On a tourist brochure I had noticed a bagpipe maker was in the old town, so we stop by his shop. The door is open, though the lights are off. We go in and a young man i.e. 40-ish comes out and apologises for the lights being off. We chat about bagpipes etc. He has worked in Adelaide for a couple of years, 1991, cleaning the windows on the State Bank. Lived at Morphettville. He now repairs and makes bagpipes for people all over the world, though his primary source is local, of course. We leave thanking him for being open, and he tells us he wasn’t, he had just popped in to clean up and get away from a children’s birthday party. Lucky us.
The old town is, well old. Cobble stoned streets, granite buildings, an old jail, spelled jail. That’s next to the HA and next to that is an old hosipital. Next to that is the Church of the Holy Rude.
We have yet to find the Church to the Partly Rude however we are still looking. For a brief moment, I thought I had found my religion. Turns out it is the church where James the something was crowned King of Scotland. Or was that Charles. James I think.
Part of the castle tour is a tour of Argyle House, the home of the Viscount of Argyle, and it has been restored back to how it was in the 1600’s. Various important people have stayed there over the years, James II of England, to name the only one I can remember. My head is full of too much history from today. It was all James’s and Charles’s and Marys and a variety of one’s, two’s and three’s. There might have even been an eight or two. Either way the place is awash with history and well worth a visit.
The YHA is new behind the facade of an old church. Rather sterile, yet comfortable. It overlooks Stirling and has great views. It has a touch shower, and I am fearful of it already, as I cannot see how to control the temperature. I fear for my bits, as that’s the direction it is pointed and fixed.
We walk through the old town, down town, literally down, under the castle. A number of eating houses beckon, however we settle for the Carn Exchange that premises cold beer.
We are seated in a booth next to an “statue” iron nude of a lady reading a book with her overall anatomy like an anatomy book, all sinews and muscles and bones. She is well endowed.
The background music is very poor cover versions of well-known songs.
The wine is Chilean Shiraz, and not too bad. Not brilliant either, better than the stuff we has at Kirby Stephen however.
It is only on the way out I realise there is a similar male figure, to the aforementioned female one, near the front entrance, who would put most men to shame. He is also reading a book. Perhaps I should read more?
Tomorrow Edinburgh, via the William Wallace Memorial.

Day 7

Wake early, lie in awaiting our breakfast. Get organised then down to the B and B breakfast. About 8 choices of cereal, juice, tea coffee, bread for toast, jams and spreads of all variety. Even Marmite! Not that thick horrible Oz stuff, no that squeeze from a jar runny English stuff.
Then out mine host with eggs and bacon. Not that sweet honey bacon you get on Oz, it’s that salty thick English bacon, with crispy fat. Yummy. Thank god we have it only occasionally.
It’s raining lightly as we pack the car so looks like our good luck with the weather is over.
Off to the Lakes District today. We go Via Kendall, cute town with a castle on the hill, then to Bowness, Beatrix Potter capital of the world or so they say.
We in act go south down the M6 to get to the turn off to the Lakes, it’s raining yet such is the capriciousness of the English weather that we see our first blue sky and sunlight. In fact the weather urns better and better, though we do go through more rain on and off.
Lake Windermere is wind swept and rather bleak. See lots of walkers who all seem to be walking on the roads. They then disappear swiftly across a fence never to be seen again. Pass some great stiles, I wish I could pull over and get more pics as some are quite something.
Ambleside has walkers ambling, then Keswick, another market town where we stopped for coffee. I find it hard to realise how many people can make such shit coffee. It’s better than instant, but only just.
WE then pointed Billy to Carlisle on the M6 and off we speed. Happened to stop at Hampendon for lunch. The stodge on offer was simply horrible. Don’t these people know about salads. There was simply nothing that didn’t involve fat, gravy, chips and fat. Oh did I mention fat well they had that too.
Back in the car and much much later we had lunch.
Back in the car and back on the M6, swinging up past Glasgow, not seen, into the longest road works project I have ever seen. Went for about 20 miles, single lane, yet at 40 mph. Not the 25 kph we have back home. Everyone is very well behaved and there’s no pushing in or whatever.
The turn off to Falkirk is blocked so Billy has to do some fast calculating, to get us to the Falkirk wheel. We arrive through Falkirk’s back street to this most wonderful engineering project.
Falkirk was the junction point of the Glasgow to Clyde and Union Canals when canals were the big transport thing. At this point the canals used a series of locks to get the boats from the higher Glasgow Canal to the lower Union Canal. This used to take all day.
They fell into disuse with advent of the railway and the canals were closed in the 1960’s.
There was a resurgence of use, however by that time the locks that took the boats up from the Union canal to the Glasgow Clyde were in total disrepair. As part of Millennium projects in Britain it was decided to build aan alternative lock system to reconnect the two canals, and so the Falkirk Wheel was built. It is basically two long gutters, that can be sealed at each end, that rotate.hen one is up, the other is down. The lower one takes in a canal boat, whilst the upper one does the same. The ends of the gutters are sealed, the whole shebang rotates delivering the top boat to the bottom and the bottom boat to the top, out they go on their merry way. This gets over the 35 metre height difference.
It is here we finally have lunch.
Edinburgh is the nest stop, where we hope to get accommodation for the next few days in the Central YHA. Billy sets course and takes us to the completely wrong place. He simply doesn’t recognise the address we put in, so takes us to the next best thing, which it isn’t. We ring the hostel and they can’t take us anyway. Stumbling round a city you don’t know on a Saturday afternoon is rather trying, and I get rather short. We finally manage to get Billy to take us near the hostel so we can get some alternatives. This is good as it gives me a chance to sit quietly while Sue makes some enquiries. This takes quite a long time, and she finally comes back triumphant. We have accommodation for the next two nights. Tonight we are at New Lanark and tomorrow at Stirling.
New Lanark is about 50 km south of Edinburgh and Stirling about 40 north. Well at least we have somewhere to stay.
The drive to New Lanark takes us back over moor-like country. Quite pretty in the fading sunlight. Yes sunlight with blue sky. I hunt along pretty quickly with a Mazda MX5 on my tail, until I take a corner rather exuberantly and run over a road side sign. I doubt the tyre liked it much so I slow down.
We pass through Lanark, avoiding a couple of turn offs to New Lanark, that Billy ignores.
He then leads us astray once again blotting his copy book for the second time today, by taking us down some back lane, that is a dead end.
Finally at New Lanark YHA, in mill workers cottages for a wool mill. Now National Trust listed a rather grand area, with a flash pub, grand old multi-storied buildings and the old mill.
Our room is overlooking the river and quite spacious.
Some observations on the UK showers. None are the same, all work with some arcane system of rotating dials, which operate the water temperature and the water flow.
Usually if you want it hot it, and here who wouldn’t, takes minutes to warm up. I think they are hoping you will give up and just go dirty. Thing is they are designed such that you have to reach through the stream to adjust the flow or temperature or both whilst awaiting the warm flow. That means freezing arm, or if you are not careful scalded arm. Either, not that pleasant. I believe England have good burns units, however, which is some small consolation.
Our room has a double bunk, so my mattress gets thrown on the floor as I am not climbing down in the middle of the night to pee, for no man or woman. It’s not too bad really, as I get near the window and can open it get some cool air. I find most places here too hot, with central heating and all that.
We have had no news from home, in as much as we see nothing, though we have avoided newspapers and TV pretty much.
WE do know that the miners have all been rescued.