A while back, Mary’s brother Anthony decided to go and live with his other half in sunny North Wales. Over the Easter Bank Holiday weekend, we thought it would be nice to pay him a visit, so Mary, Harry, Mary’s Dad and I squeezed into the (still troublesome) A4 and set off. Bank Holiday traffic was, well, predictably horrible, but 7 hours later we arrived – somewhat tired but glad of the M6 Toll Road.

Our first evening saw a trip up the local hill for a panoramic view of the surroundings. The area seems so big – with actual proper scenary with hills and mountains and rivers and, and features. It’s ‘spectacular’

A couple of guys were out flying a radio controlled glider from the top, and using a petrol-driven scooter to retrieve the craft after its 2.3 seconds of flight – somehow, the scooter-guy seemed to be having more fun…

The following day, we jumped into the car and headed into Snowdonia for a very enjoyable walk around Llyn Idwal (map). Amusingly, the kind fellows who put the path down at the lower levels seemed to have thought better of it by the time you get about half way round. Not surprising really, as you start going up more than along. Anyway, a path would probably take all the fun out of it. It would stop small people causes quite so many near-heart-attacks, at least…

The walk brought back memories of a trip to the area during my days at Barton Court (not a girls’ school). Sure enough, on checking the map when we got home, I found that I’d walked around the very same lake about 12 years ago on the way to the top of ‘Y Garn’ (another map). Back then, of course, we carried on up rather than taking the right turn at the big boulder and got back to the minibuses at the end of an exhausting day (we were only youngsters!)

On Sunday, we southerners felt the effects of our exercise and ached profusely. The adult males took refuge at a local hostelry, whilst Mary, Cally and Harry went shopping at a place which seems to make stuff you never knew you wanted, but can’t, apparently, do without. Our as-yet-still-with-their-mum kittens got an ‘Activity Centre’ (a furry triangular structure with holes and hanging mice), whilst Mary returned with knitted slippers. They’re very comfy, I’m told, and I should stop smirking at them…

Monday was going home day, and so we sat in traffic with the rest of Wales whilst the tiny A-roads tried to deal with about 1000 times their normal throughput. It was another 7 hour trip, but we eventually got home and collapsed onto sofas, arm chairs and beds.

I’d like to say a big thanks to our hosts for a lovely weekend – see you again soon

Way back in the mists of time, Mary, Harry and I went on a little trip to Turkey, and I think a little blog entry is overdue.

This is Saklikent Gorge. It lay undiscovered until sometime in the 80s when a shepherd’s sheep went astray. The sneaky shepherd told no-one, but rented the land from the government for 25 years, and made his fortune. Eventually the law was changed so that the government could reclaim the land and make some money for itself. If it were in England it would be cordoned off and you’d only be allowed to view it from a distance, but in Turkey you are positively encouraged to brave the rushing, thigh-deep icy water and wander up and down. The water really is cold – it is recently-melted ice, and it really is going some at the point you have to wade through. Luckily I appear to be just over that ‘magic’ height so the water got my legs but nothing more valuable. Judging by the faces on slightly shorter men that inch makes all the difference!

Kayakoy is an amazing place. It was deserted as part of the 1923 population exchange between Turkey and Greece. About 600 houses, 2 churches, 2 schools and many chapels have lain dormant for 82 years, slowly decaying. You can wander around the town to your heart’s content, stumbling over crumbled houses, looking out over the village from the many vantage points. It’s a chilling place as you think about the entire town moving out.

Well blow me down with a carrot (to coin a phrase), we’ve actually booked a holiday. Yep, with uncharacteristic forethought and planning, we have the whole shebang booked MONTHS in advance.

We are going to Turkey. Here to be exact, and I am really rather excited.

Now then, hands up who thinks I should indulge in a bout of para-gliding whilst we’re there?

Well, we find ourselves at the end of our little break. It’s been cool – relaxing, peaceful, and I can honestly say I have worried about work exactly once, when my phone told me I had voicemail. Luckily it wasn’t work, so I could get back to holiday mode quick enough

Today we went to the castle at Castelnaud-la-Chapelle. For €6.60, you get to wander around, look out of the canon holes, and marvel at the medieval weaponry, small and large, including an array of pikes (“stupid boy”) and possibly the biggest crossbow I’ve ever seen. They also had a small collection of siege machines – or, as they’re more commonly known, “big slingshots”.

If you look at the pictures, you might see a familiar looking castle in the background now and again. That’s because Castelnaud-la-Chapelle is about 5 mintues away from Beynac, the castle we went to last time. Seems a little strange to me to have so many castles so close to each other. Maybe that part of the Dordogne valley is particular important. Or maybe it was just a case of keeping up with the Jones on quite a grand scale.

(These castles were all English up to the 15th century, by the way… when do we get them back?)

We got back to the gite around 6, and had steak for dinner. Drank wine, listened to music, and I got stuck into Northern Lights a bit more – those poor dæmons!

Lasting impressions of France?
• Strange driving. Old Renault estates that seem to be limited to 25mph. Older renault hatchbacks driven by 12 year olds that seem to need the slipstream from the car in front to keep going. Roundabouts that sometimes work like those at home (only back to front) and sometimes don’t. A culture of “overtake because there won’t be anything coming”. There usually isn’t.
• Unhelpful banks. See earlier post.
• Rolling countryside. Some people just see France when they hop over to Calais for cheap beer and nicotine. The real France is much prettier.
• Spare land. It just seems like there’s land to spare. In England, it seems that every spare square foot of land is being used for something – farming, housing, commerce, industry, *something*. Here, it seems like there are whole fields doing nothing but looking nice. Strange. And it seems to apply to the towns, too. Agen, for example, seems to be quite a prosperous little place – about the size of Canterbury, I’d say – maybe a little bigger. But there are empty shops, closed cafés… maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s that the population of France is so much less dense than the UK – places feel big and empty.
• “There’s a hill – build something on it!”

I found myself sitting at the table this evening reading some leaflet or other, and realised that I wasn’t consciously translating it as I read, but understanding anyway. “Picturesque walks in the forest, kayaks for rent, good food”. Simple stuff. I got to thinking about how long it would take before everything was like that – conversations, newspapers, novels, everything. Language is so deeply embedded in our psyche – how much of ‘you’ do you lose when you take it away. How much do you change when you replace one language with another?

Maybe I’ve had too much wine

Well, we are supposed to be out of here by 10am in the morning. Looking around, I can’t really see that happening… there’s stuff to clean, stuff to pack… 10am is a bit optimistic, I think. And anyway, I doubt there’s anyone here straight after us – they can cut us a little slack after making us stay at a hotel the first night

Bon soiree la France – au revoir.