Sunday, December 1, 2019

Our Poole Christmas Blog


Dear Friends

Instead of sending cards this year we have chosen a few pictures to show you what we and our family have been up to during 2019.

Most importantly, we pay tribute to Norman Pipler, Lindsay’s Dad, who died on October 6th at the age of 95.  Here are two of our favourite pictures of Norman; one more recent, enjoying himself with his daughters at Natalie's wedding, and another one, which we would love to have seen, standing nonchalantly by his Spitfire during WW2.





Our grandchildren continue to give us so much pleasure.  Teddy at 18 months is an absolute delight and brings Nick and Catherine so much joy.  We love having Coco and Louis to stay when they can escape from SW12 to the seaside for a few days.  Coco such an angel and Louis a little more challenging. 

Teddy

Nick, Catherine & Teddy

Louis at 2

Coco - first day at big school

Enjoying dressing up as a witch

Nati and Ben looking happily relieved from parental duties...


Anna and Graham have a house in Twyford near Reading.  Anna’s cycling career (apart from working for Rapha) is going well, though with a (hopefully) short term injury at the moment.  Katie is working in the city for Legal and General Investment Branch, and was not too far away from the recent London Bridge incident, so we are thankful that she, and indeed all of the younger generation, remain well.

Anna negotiating the Dolomites

This is what 'bikepacking' looks like

I just had to put this in - so envious

Katie - no prizes for guessing where, but which one of these was supposedly a 'work trip'?

Katie at Lake Garda

Finally, our lovely Joelle turned 40 this August.  James not only arranged a wonderful party for her but followed it up by getting down on one knee and asking her to marry him.  Their daughter Amira is now a gorgeous 18 month old toddler.

Lindsay and Joelle

In February we moved from Bury Road to Crichel Mount Road and in August to a rental property where we will remain for most of 2020 while rebuilding the house at Crichel Mount. As you can imagine, moving house once after 30 years at one address is bad enough; moving twice is – well I can’t really put it into words.

Our most enjoyable times this year have been walking and cycling in places ranging from Sicily to Yorkshire.  During a lovely week in June we also walked, or re-walked, the Jurassic coast from Devon back to Poole.  Just a few days of good weather in Dorset made us realise that exotic destinations are not necessary for true happiness and enjoyment.

The last few days walking the Cleveland Way - Robin Hood's Bay in the background

But our most unusual holiday experience was a visit at the end of a few days’ cycling in the Jura to the Fête des Vignerons, in Vevey, Switzerland on the shores of Lake Geneva. This only takes place every 20 to 25 years!   It’s a pageant lasting about 2½ hours with no interval.  It’s meant to tell the story of the vine, and to honour, in turn, each Swiss canton.  The participants, clad in Swiss traditional costume, parade around the amphitheatre like extras in Ben-Hur.  The music was specially composed for the event, but wasn’t memorable.  What was memorable was the blazing sun and the ambient temperature of 38⁰C.  Belatedly the attendants walked up and down the aisles spraying us with what might have been water from pump action garden sprinklers.  No greenflies on us!  The memorable part came right at the end – yodelling solos and alphorns singing and playing the ‘Ranz des Vaches’.  This is a traditional chant or tune designed to call home the cows.  The most beautiful version seems to be the one from Fribourg.  These tunes have a long history, and induce what is called ‘Schweizerheimweh’, an irrepressible longing to return to the homeland.  I had that feeling myself…  But if you want to encapsulate the experience in a nutshell it would be like the Olympic Opening Ceremony with no other nations allowed, and extra cows and alphorns.  I have written a slightly extended description in another post.

The Fete des Vignerons

Some of the alphorns


Lindsay, Andrew, and our friend Marina on Lake Geneva

Sunset in Vevey


We wish all of you a peaceful and happy Christmas.  Best wishes for the New Year.

Fête des Vignerons in Vevey on Lake Geneva

The Fête des Vignerons is to the Swiss as big as hosting the Olympics.  And it happens five times less frequently!  A maximum of four times a century!  Quite why this should be is not entirely clear.  To some, me included, the words Swiss and Wine when placed together still form something of an oxymoron.  But I'm assured that Swiss wine is on the up, and we have had some good blauburgunder from Maienfeld and obviously good Italian style wines from Ticino.  A friend messaged me to say that we were staying amid the vineyards of Lavaux and that these had an illustrious history dating back to the introduction of the vine by Burgundian monks six centuries ago.

The Jura seem to roll on for ever but eventually we skirted Lausanne and found the hotel Lavaux, a modern, slightly soulless but thermally efficient box on the road and railway at Épesses, just two stops from Vevey.  Joining our friend Marina we relaxed and then walked along the lake to Cully, where we enjoyed a very average and poorly served meal at the Café de la Poste.  The local Chasselas was good however.  In fairness the very hot weather meant that the lakeside villages were heaving with people.  After handing over lots of Chuffs (ChF) we walked home and made ready for Vevey on the Monday.

A new receptionist in the morning informed us that we could have free travel to Vevey and armed with the passes we took one of the most scenic commutes in the world - Épesses - Rivaz - St Saphorin - Vevey.  Sadly a Monday morning in Vevey is not the most exciting day at the Fête.  After assessing the myriad fast food outlets, a few rides for children, and some cows sitting in a tent we decided to take a two hour paddle steamer trip around the Eastern part of the lake.  After a galette we headed back to Épesses for a swim.  Evening found us back in Vevey for a good meal (bottle of St Saphorin) at the Hotel Astra just by the station.  At 9.30pm we were on the lakeside promenade to see the nightly parade.  Illuminated figures, bunches of grapes, birds, and fireworks.  At last there was some festival atmosphere.

Ominously the forecast for the Tuesday suggested that the mercury might hit 38degC.  A croissant and snack in Vevey station Co-op and we were off to the Arena.  'Bon Spectacle' said the gentleman checking my ticket.  We climbed to the top of the stadium and like everybody else took our seats in the full sun.

I think the event is meant to celebrate the story of the vine but there are numerous other themes.  For some reason there were dancing horses, herds of goats, gymnastics, and lots of fish.  I suppose they have to fill two and a half hours somehow.

When I had searched the internet I had been hugely impressed by what I took to be a vocal group called Ranz des Vaches.  I now realise that there is no such group.  The Ranz des Vaches is a series of fairly simple but beautiful songs, either played on the alphorn or sung.  They were meant to call the cattle home in rank or ranz order.  Even Rossini got into the spirit and composed one in the William Tell overture.  These traditional tunes produced such an emotional effect on the Swiss that in times past it was forbidden to play them in case Swiss soldiers deserted or just laid down their arms out of overwhelming homesickness.

After two hours of ceremony with some okay music and a lot of marching it ws time for the massed alphorns and the Ranz des Vaches, the most memorable of which is the Ranz Fribourgeois.  Although not strictly a yodel (I don't know what a strict yodel is) the vocal range was high, a beautiful falsetto sound.  Accompanied by the parade of the cows with the sonorous dissonance of their bells this was undoubtedly the highlight.

So - a must see event if you're Swiss.  If you missed out on an Olympic opening ceremony and you'd like to see extra cows, more alphorns than you'll ever see again, and yodelling, then the Fête des Vignerons is for you.

Thursday, October 24, 2019

Argentinian Patagonia


ARGENTINA 22/11/2018.

2210 hours.  Flight from Heathrow Terminal 5 to Buenos Aires.  BA’s longest flight with the exception of Santiago.  Alleviated by flat bed in business class.  Alas carbon footprint.  I read ‘Vanishing’ by Gerard Woodward.  Quite good but with flaws.  Watched ‘Mama Mia – here we go again’; pathetic story line but good songs…

At Buenos Aires baggage carousel the next morning there are two men in their late 40s or 50s collecting bags.  Grizzled manes of greasy grey hair swept back over their ears, rather good looking in a sleazy sort of way.  They are collecting what looks like golf clubs, but they look too athletic to be the usual golfing tourists.  The bags are extremely long.  Then I spot ‘Louis Vuitton Polo.’  Aha, two of the original cast from Jilly Cooper’s ‘Riders’ no doubt.  I gather that it’s the world championships.  The walls of our hotel are festooned with polo pictures…

23/11/2018

Less than 24 hours in Argentina, and already too much to record.  First trip to the loo reveals the sanitary ware is by American Standard.  Slight surprise.  Efficiently met and welcomed by Martin (Mar-teen) and Alberto (driver).  Off into BA.  First impression is of the wide boulevards and beautiful purple jacaranda flowers.  Eventually the traffic snarls up but we arrive at Casasur Bellini hotel in the Palermo district.  After a rest we take Martin’s city tour.  First stop one of the public parks with the rose garden, then one of the main squares, the original colonial style government building and the main cathedral.  In a substantial apse there is a permanently guarded monument to San Martin, liberator of much of South America from Spanish colonial rule.  He was a Mason and a non-believer so his chapel is secular.  On to La Recoleta and the cemetery with its multiple vaults, crypts, tombs and memorials.  Inevitable the most popular is that of Eva Peron (Duarte family), still festooned with flowers and messages.

Duarte Family Vault

Another popular funereal monument in La Recoleta


Then Plaza de Mayo and the Casa Rosada, the Presidential Palace.  A trip into an old area with coffee stop in a lovely old bar, with photos of Carlos Gardel (father of tango) on the walls.  Mar-teen is impressed when I tell him I play ‘Por Una Cabeza’ by Carlos Gardel on my guitar.  Impressive graffiti murals especially on the housing estates near the Boca and the Boca Juniors football ground.  Final walkabout is in Boca itself.  Great anticipation for today’s league final – Boca Juniors vs Rio de la Plata (match cancelled after assault on Boca players and tear gas attack; then cancelled again; finally played in a neutral country – Spain!).  A Maradona lookalike walks by dressed in Argentine national football kit – he does well out of photographs with tourists.  It’s an openly touristy ‘happening’ place.  Tango demonstrations in every other bar…
The colourful waterfront area of La Boca also contains many murals, some influenced by the area’s most famous painter Benito Quinquela Martin (1890-1977).  Tile paintings also abound.  Most of the art on display is vibrant and crude.  Boca’s colours are blue and gold – chosen because they were the colours of the first ship to arrive in port (from Sweden).

Housing estate near La Boca




We are just in time for the Argentine experience evening.  Wine flavour testing, and then cocktails with plenty of liquor and wine – Malbec (red), Torontes (white), and rosé, copiously mixed with Pisco, Vodka, and Gin.  Slightly pickled already we stagger upstairs for the main meal.  A very nice carpaccio of salmon, then an empanada which we make ourselves under instruction, then tenderloin steak – medium rare or ‘jugoso’ – a very solid hunk of rare beef.  We decide to miss the desert course, but this is a very good evening.

Cab home.  Hit the bed.  Set the alarm for 0445.

Saturday 24/11/18.

Car arrives promptly.  Off to Jorge Newberry airport which is reasonably near to our hotel.
At check in we discover that the bags, carefully checked to weigh just less than 20Kg are too heavy for Aerolineas Argentinas which only allows 15Kg on internal flights.  Off to pay $16 but the cashier system is incredibly slow.  Tempted to use the ‘F’ word which I suppose in Argentina is ‘Falklands’.  Manage to queue jump and only just in time to get through security.  System for boarding is also rather inefficient (seems to be a trait of life in Argentina).  Finally, onto a reasonably shipshape looking B737 and off to El Calafate.  The hassle has made me forget what a beautiful day it is here in BA.

El Calafate is three hours flying from BA.  Yes, it is a huge country.  We relax at the airport until the Las Legas bus is ready to go at 12 o’clock.  About 90Km up the road on the infamous Route 40 lies La Leona hotel, a small shack famous for being the place where in 1905 three ‘gringos’ came to stay, followed shortly afterwards by the police (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid).  Climbing expeditions such as Lionel Terray’s 1952 French team stayed here too.  One of the reasons we are here is the inspirational writing about the peaks of Patagonia by Terray and others (see ‘Les Conquérants D’Inutiles’, available in English as ‘The Conquistadors of the Useless.’)

Wide open landscapes of poor soil and shingle.  Heathlands of tufts of grey shrubs and green and brown grasses.  The most frequent flowering shrub is the yellow adesmia.  The occasional guanaco.  A strong wind blows perpetually.  In the distance snow clad mountains feed lakes and rivers.  This is our introduction to the Patagonian steppe.

Eventually we make El Calafate.  A friend has described El Calafate as a one horse town where nothing is stirring and one expects Clint Eastwood to stride in in his poncho at any moment.  It's probably changed a bit since those days, but it's still like the final frontier.  In part it is - Chile is just up the road.

Arrive at Osteria Senderos, our hotel, just before 3pm and set off to the Park Lodge (only about 10 minutes’ walk) to get briefed on the hiking trails.  Very helpful staff.  “Quality sighting” of a Southern lapwing.  Walk around the town does seem like a settlement on the edge.  Simple buildings, bars, restaurants, travel firms.  Difficult to find a restaurant (many booked) but settle into Patagonicus which is excellent (pizza and steak).  Preceded by an Otramundo IPA at the bus station – an excellent 6.5% beer.

Sunday 25/11/2018

Beautiful day.  Do the Laguna Torre trail.  This is a trail which goes west from the town and is 9Km each way.  It’s about 1Km from our hotel to the start so the final distance is 13 miles with about 1600ft of climbing and quite rugged, though the central section is on a level mud path across the old moraine.  The main purpose is get views of Cerro Torre (see Mark Horrell’s article - https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2012/a-short-history-of-cerro-torre/).  A tough but beautiful walk.  Sightings of a condor – best seen early in the day before the thermals build up, while they are relatively low down rather than the usual dots in the sky; a hare, possibly a shrike, and a mountain caracara – a fairly ubiquitous hawk which has little fear of humans and will often appear while you picnic.  Evening meal at Maffia.  Excellent homemade pasta but service a little slow.  A bit stiff this evening…

Distant view of the Fitzroy Massif and Cerro Torre



Cerro Torre from Laguna Torre

Another view of Cerro Torre


Monday 26th November

Another good day.  More cloud but the mountains are clear.  Decide to do as much of the Fitzroy trek as we can.  It’s 1.2 miles up through the village to the start of the ‘Senderos a Fitzroy.’  Steady ascent but good comfortable woodland path.  Mirador over the Rio de las Vueltas.  At 4 to 5Km up the path there is a good distant view from the Mirador de Fitzroy.  Then down across gravelly moraines, generally easily to the Poincenot campsite, which is 8Km from the start of the Sendero.  Ahead are rivers, then trees, then a steep ascent.  After lunch Lindsay decides to turn back.  This is perfectly safe.  All the paths are very well marked and there are signs at every 1Km on the way.  For me a further 15 minutes of reasonable walking brings one to the Rio Blanco hut.  A stern warning sign tells you that the next bit is very difficult (it is) and there is a 400m height gain over the next 1Km – 40% average gradient.  In places where you have to scramble there is a queue.  ‘It’s a bit like the Hillary Step’ I mutter aloud.  ‘Hey, man,’ says an American in a Colorado shirt: ‘Respect.  High Five!’  He thinks I’ve been there…  Even at the top of the ridge there is another 200m of gravel and stones to climb over the moraine.  Great views of the frozen Lago de los Tres at the top, and of course the Fitzroy cordon.  Slog back in the hot sun, total 15.4 miles with 3280ft of climbing.  Good sightings of sierra finches and other birds, but Lindsay on her way back saw the magnificent Magellanic woodpecker, which I am jealous of.  Evening meal at the hotel.  Not too dissimilar from others: salad, steak, ice cream, and an excellent Gran Riserva Malbec 2014 from Mendoza.  Incidentally, the Poincenot campsite and the Poincenot peak is named after a member of the 1952 expedition who drowned while crossing the Rio Fitzroy.  Worth thinking about as you cross the well-constructed bridges on the trails.  In 1952 the area was an uncharted wilderness.


The Fitzroy Peaks



Tuesday 27th November

After these two tough trekking days we decided on a day trip to Lago del Desierto, with ‘Zona Austral’ (local tour firm).  Pick up at hotel, then some other pickups, then 37Km of dirt road out of town to the Lago.  On the way stopping for views (brown heron, swifts seen at the cataratas).  A red fox crossed the road in front of us, apparently a rarer sighting than the grey fox.  Everything seemed to be named ‘Huemules’ (deer).  At the lake we do a hike up to the Glaciar Huemules through a lenga (Southern Andean beech tree) forest.  Classic blue lake at the top.  Very peaceful.  Then a 1-hour boat trip which is very pleasant.  Sightings of tree creeper, caracara, dog orchids, and a striking Patagonian frog.

Patagonian Flora and Fauna

Anemones

Dog Orchid

Patagonian Frog

Condor

Striped Woodpecker

Guanaco with newborn calf

Southern Lapwing


On the way back we get off at the El Chalten brewery.  It’s lovely sitting in the beer garden in November with good beer and lilac and broom in flower.  We meet an English couple who winter in Argentina – in Salta, in the northwest.  From their description it sounds lovely.
Dinner again at Patagonicus.  It’s good.

Wednesday 28th.

Having seen somebody’s spectacular photo taken the previous day we get up at 0500 to get the pink dawn light on Fitzroy.  Beautiful.  Back to bed for two hours!


Waiting for the dawn in El Chalten...


Fitzroy at dawn



Leisurely start with breakfast and packing.  Good hotel but the rooms are too hot.  Head towards the visitor centre for the park and do two small trails, the Mirador de los Condores (appropriately named) and the Mirador de Aguilas.  Within moments of starting a condor flies close by and quarters the hillsides.  Then we watch while it catches a thermal, ascending in circles higher and higher until at last it is only visible in the binoculars, and that only when the sun catches the glint of white on the wingtips, many thousands of feet above us.  Various birds including a striped woodpecker.  At about 1230 we start up the Loma del Pliegue Tumbado trail, knowing that we don’t have time to finish it.  Lovely walk with a very ‘hochalpenweg’ feel to it.  Up through an arroyo, then scrub, then an alpine meadow through open woodland.  Back down by 3.30pm to make sure we catch the bus back to El Calafate.  Total 9.5miles and 2000+ ft of ascent.

We like El Chalten though.  It is very unpretentious.  It’s very much a trekking town, and probably best suited to younger visitors, but the trekkers are all sizes and shapes (there are some short and very easy trails but not many).  There are thin ones, fat ones, lesbian ones, gay ones, American college girls, superfit guys with tiny backpacks and headbands who run rather than walk, pretty Latinos, overclad Japanese and Chinese, some with surgical masks still in place despite the fresh Patagonian air.  There are some old folks, some children, and the occasional baby in a backpack.  Food is excellent though in many of the restaurants you need to book.  The bars are good too.
Easy journey back to El Calafate, as promised by our guide.  It takes two and a half hours.  We check into the Hotel Esplendor, bathe and head into town.  Our porter says there are Ice Bars in the town and Lindsay wants to visit one.  She’s frustrated at not being able to get to the Glaciarium which is some way outside the town.  The recommended Yeti Bar looks like a con.  Nobody is drinking at the bar.  It costs £6 each to get into the ice bar section, and we don’t know what to expect for this.  The atmosphere is rather cool (I mean that in a metaphorical way).  We pay, go into an ante room, put on cheap plastic fur capes, gloves and rubber crampons.  In we go through the airlock.  Our host who turns out to be Fernando, thaws (sic) slightly and indicates that we are in here 25 minutes and we can have as much as we like to drink.  Since the temperature is about minus 20 the only drinks are of course spirits.  This is some improvement.  We take the usual tacky photos of the ice igloo grotto, bar of ice, ice floor, sledge, yeti.

After this we reel out and eat at Mako, which turns out to be an excellent choice.  Lindsay has spit lamb.  I have steak.  The ever reliable Malbec.  Over the road is where we go for desert, having spotted the ice cream house.  A quarter kilogram tub of ice cream costs 150 pesos (about £2.50).

Thursday 29th November, 2018

Pickup at the hotel 0915 by the tour company (pre-arranged) Hellas del Sur.  This is a Merc bus driven by Charlie and hosted by our guide for the day – another Martin.  He’s a great guide, and does his spiel in Spanish and English.  We head West along Lake Argentino.  The Perito Moreno glacier which we have come to see is about 80Km away.  It’s unique for several reasons.  It’s not the largest in the Southern Patagonia icefield, or the highest.  It is the most accessible.  It also discharges into two lakes, the Rico and the Argentino, separated by a headland, around which we are driving – the Magellan peninsula.  Periodically it hits the headland and forms an ice dam.  The level of Lake Rico then rises.  Lake Argentino is connected to the sea.  Eventually there is a ‘Ruptura’, first an ice tunnel as the water discharges, then collapse of the ice bridge, over a couple of days.  It generally occurs every two to four years.  Have a look on YouTube!  Certainly the glacier is spectacular, creaking and groaning, gunshot sounds, and the occasional column collapse with a mini tsunami.  The trails around the headland give good exercise with fantastic views of the glacier right in front of us.  The boat ride is excellent too; a powerful giant catamaran.  During our stay we see about three major ice falls.  The hillside is dotted with attractive Notro bushes.  It’s a mostly sunny day.  Martin explains that curiously enough the glacier looks at its best when it’s cloudy or raining because the colours become more intense.

Back to the hotel.  Visit the spa.  Into town again.  Excellent pizza house and beer, and another excellent Malbec.  My steak is only 300gm this time instead of the standard size which appears to be 400gm (14 ounces).  Pizza and empanada is only 1200 pesos including the tip.  More ice cream: chocolate dark, crema rusa, dulce de leche con brownie!

Friday 30th November.

Time to leave Argentina.  Pickup by Alfredo promptly at 0700.  It’s just us, in his Renault Duster SUV.  First we head East along the lake, then turning out of the valley of Rio Santa Cruz to the Southeast, and after about 1hr 40min arriving at the rather bleak and tiny village, belyingly named La Esperanza.  Here is an intersection with the road to Rio Gallegos being to the Southeast, and we turn onto the Rio Turbio road now heading Southwest towards the border with Chile.  Terrain is Patagonian steppe, an amazing landscape.  All gravelly grey stone and sand, but fenced off into huge estancias.  Occasional guanacos grazing and fields of sheep which appear to be miles from anywhere.  I note signs like an interlinked Figure 2 (presumably the Double Two ranch) bring back memories of cowboy comic books, of bad hombres, stetsons, chaps, and cattle rustlers.  Bright sunshine.  Strong cold Patagonian winds.  We arrive at the Paso Rio Don Guillermo (border post).  Alfredo makes light work of the Argentinian exit and the Chilean entry where all our bags are X-ray scanned.  Big sky ahead and a ‘Welcome to Chile’ sign.  We are met there by James from Torres del Paine and he drives us the next hour and half to Las Torres hotel.  Welcomed, and gold wrist banded to show we are all inclusive.  A walk with a guide called Andres this afternoon to Cerro Paine, a viewpoint for the famous towers.  Only 2.5 miles up, but 1615ft of climb.  Cocktails are excellent, with entertaining barmen who should be in Cirque du Soleil.  Dinner.  Bed.

Chile.  Saturday 1st December.  At Hotel Torres del Paine.

MAYBE MORE ANOTHER TIME.  THAT IS THE END OF ARGENTINA FOR US.  BUT OUR VISIT TO TORRES DEL PAINE, PUNTA ARENAS, SAN PEDRO DE ATACAMA, SANTIAGO AND VALPARAISO WERE ALSO GREAT EXPERIENCES…

Saturday, October 12, 2019

Vor Hundert Jahren (100 years ago) and other matters


Vor Hundert Jahren (100 Years Ago) by Franz Liszt
YES I REALISE THIS A RATHER BORING TITLE BUT PLEASE READ ON…

The Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra usually kick off their winter season with a substantial piece, often involving choral or other large scale works.  I particularly remember a fantastic staging of Strauss’s Salome, but Mahler, and Brahms’ Deutsches Requiem’ were wonderful too.  On this occasion, the opening work was a little performed piece; correction, unperformed piece at least since its first outing, until rescued from the mouldering shelves of a Weimar library by the BSO’s principal conductor, Kirill Karabits.  General opinion, at least among my learned and not so learned friends (we may not be that learned but we all love classical music and are BSO season ticket holders) was that Kirill should have left in on the shelf in Weimar.  The piece was a musical and declamatory work by Liszt and the Austrian dramatist Friedrich Halm.

Let’s deal with the music first.  Even the Telegraph correspondent who heard the work two days later at the Cadogan Hall admits that Liszt’s work could be a bit patchy.  Most of the work consists of Liszt cobbling together some other music which was guaranteed to go down well in Weimar in 1859, and probably did so earlier this year at the same venue.  These consist of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy from the 9th symphony (words by Schiller of course); Gaudeamus Igitur (the German student drinking song, most memorably quoted by Brahms in his Academic Festival overture); bizarrely the school song of my late lamented Grammar School in Haverfordwest (motto Patriae Prodesse Paratus – or Ready to Serve One’s Country – pace Wilfred Owen); and another German soldier song dating from the Napoleonic Wars.  There are a few Straussian moments with horn calls and alpine symphony type sounds – a sort of Ranz des Vaches, but the whole effect is of a little original music tacked onto the patriotic stuff.  Ivan Hewett (Telegraph) says ‘I could see the superb overture taking on an independent life in the concert hall.’  Hmm…  perhaps.  I’d better listen again to it.

Against this background we might expect a little lad in lederhosen to get up and sing ‘Tomorrow belongs to me’, but no.  Far from the stunning choral stuff we usually get from the BSO chorus, we had two distinguished actresses, Sara Kestelman and Jemma Redgrave intoning (beautifully it’s true) the English translation of a Tableau work by Friedrich Halm.  Up at the back, the three fates (or in Wagnerian terms the Three Norns) lingered expectantly.  I was hoping they’d sing, but they didn’t.

And what was the nature of this tableau, or Festspiele?  Liszt composed the work in 1859 to celebrate the work of Friedrich Schiller, born 100 years previously, and to publicise the philosophical idea that Germany should be one nation of German speaking states.  Does that sound familiar to you?  Unfortunately, 160 years later, the idea seems to have come back to haunt us, even if many of the audience aren’t too familiar with the events over the channel between 1933 and 1945.  The basic idea of the recitation is a dialogue, or duologue, between Germania, the spirit of Germany, Poesie, the muse and far seeing spirit of poetry, about the rather patchy state of affairs in Germany and its hopes for a better world to come.  It’s worth noting that the event came only 11 years after the ’Year of Revolutions’, but the 39 German States involved in the confederation or Deutscher Bund were not well organised, and within another seven years Prussia and Austria were again at war (Prussia 1 Austria nil).  The move towards abolition of serfdom, greater democracy, and confederation ended with a German military state and an emperor (Kaiser) in charge.  The story didn’t end well as we know.  Dramatis personae in the recitative include Mary Stuart, Joan of Arc and William Tell.  As the final tableau unfolds both Germania and Poesie are off to Stuttgart to lay wreaths at the newly created Schiller monument.  The final orchestral bars peal out the patriotic song Wo ist des Deutschen vaterland? (Doesn’t need translating).  Fortunately we weren’t treated to the lyrics which were unashamedly from Cabaret, ‘Is it Prussia, is it Swabia?  Is it where the vines bloom on the Rhine, Where the gull moves above the Baltic straits?  No! No! No!  Our Fatherland must be bigger!

The Poole audience provided what one might say was ‘Polite Applause.’  Having been present at many opening concerts over the last thirty or so years I can confidently say that the volume was muted in comparison with other openings.  In addition, there were empty seats which is most unusual at our first nights.  Sorry, Kirill.

I know that this is a complete non sequitur, but once started on a blog I usually feel I have to continue.  The Muse as it were, is with me.  And to be fair, this was originally intended as a letter to my close friend Mike Weaver, with whom I’ve enjoyed many remarkable theatre-going experiences over the years.  Poor Mike wrote to me recently to report that he had attended (much against his First Law of Theatre-Going: never go to a musical) a performance in Bristol of ‘Matilda’.  In true News of the World reporter style, he ‘left early.’  I riposted with a mistaken experience of recent weeks where I attended ‘School of Rock’ which I remembered had rave reviews when it first came out.  Music by Lloyd Webber, Book by Julian Fellowes; what could go wrong?  Of course the small print indicates that it is not original Lloyd Webber music, but his orchestration and the book is taken from an original source in an earlier movie.  The story is typically American cheesy schmaltz (useless ex-guitarist wangles a job as a school teacher where he is subversive, can’t teach, but helps the kids to enter a rock and roll competition).  Apart from four very talented children (lead guitar, bass guitar, keyboards, drums) there is little else to commend this work.  Perhaps the comparison was all the more marked because in the same weekend we saw the new play ‘Appropriate’ by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins at the Donmar (fantastic; stand out performance from Monica Dolan); and the first night of Ian McKellen’s wonderful one man show at the Pinter theatre.

So it is an odd juxtaposition that within days of the BSO experience I was back at Lighthouse in Poole, this time for a filmed recording of the play (?) musical (?) ‘Wise Children.’  Now at least the music here was unimpeachable, being largely made up of superb standards, e.g. The Way You Look Tonight.  The acting was good and the dancing was remarkable.  But an odd story.  The plot summary of the book by Angela Carter which was published as her last novel in 1991 is even more complex than the stage realisation.  The quotations from Shakespeare throughout beef up the dialogue and are easily assimilated because of the theatrical setting of the principal character, Sir Melchior Hazard.  The child sexual abuse on stage came across as something of an ‘add on’, and although there is incest in the book, the overt nature of the act on stage seemed a nod to ‘#MeToo’ and witch hunts of historical sexual abuse, some of which are justified, but some as we have seen recently are The Plods getting the wool pulled over their eyes.  ‘He touched my thigh twenty years ago.’  Oh dear.  I had better not venture any further with that one.  After 10 minutes I glanced at Lindsay to see whether she was ready to leave the theatre, but she seemed to be enjoying it, and when the dancing started (especially the wonderful showgirls Nora and Dora – more cross dressing – did I mention that?) the whole production moved up a notch.  As we emerged I was heard to say to Lindsay – I don’t know how I am going to confess to Mike Weaver about that one.

If you’ve read this far, congratulations.  The time is out of joint, oh cursed spite…  I just read an interview with Bryn Terfel in which he says that Placido Domingo is a jolly nice chap and a true gentleman (allegations and investigations in New York are in progress and Placido has withdrawn from appearances at the Met).  The papers are trying to take our minds off Brexit by retailing the story of two footballer’s wives (or WAGS) who seem to have fallen out.  One of them, Colleen Rooney, has cleverly blocked all her Facebook friends except one, Rebekah Vardy, and planted fake stories which have appeared in the Sun newspaper.  QED it must be Rebekah!  She has been dubbed – of course – Wagatha Christie.

If I came back again I would love to be a headline writer for The Sun.

Surely you have to congratulate me for starting off with the BSO and ending up with The Sun?  And I'm rather pleased in the 'Labels' section of the blog to have the juxtaposition of Sir Ian McKellen, Colleen Rooney, and Rebekah Vardy.

Saturday, June 22, 2019

Hiking the Aeolian Islands


The Aeolian Islands


Elegant and chic Panarea - a typical Aeolian view



“Come Aeolus, great god of winds
And let your puissant breath
Carry us from hence unto those isles
Wherein the porpus joyful ‘splores his azure realm,
While smiles Apollo ‘pon his earthly charge.”




A diary of a walking holiday with travel company Esplora.  Aeolian Islands, Sicily, May 19th to 27th 2019.  Group of ten.  Intended audience: family and friends, and anybody who wants to research what it’s like to hike these islands, either arranging it themselves or with Esplora.



Sunday 19th May

0400 hours.  Everybody is very good at arriving at our house and decanting luggage into the street for the mini-coach to pick up.  Dorset Mini Coach is great and Shaun delivers us safely to Gatwick (not much choice; flights to Catania mostly leave from here and we’ve selected BA for the journey because of their (probable) reliability and time keeping, given the critical nature of this holiday’s timings).

Tight seat pitch in the aeroplane, but just about okay for a three hour flight.  First anxiety is a very long approach to the airfield, although the views of 3300m Etna are spectacular.  There is a sixth sense that something is wrong with this approach.  It is too long at too low an altitude to be normal.  Suddenly there is a lurch, the plane seems to drop out of the sky, and a roar from the engines indicates a go-around which the pilot tells us is due to severe turbulence.  This is a surprise because there are no white horses on the Mediterranean Sea.  The second attempt is tense but unremarkable.

At the luggage carousel we meet Lara Piccioli from Esplora who has travelled out with us.  She’s worried that her luggage hasn’t arrived, but in fact it turns out that she has borrowed her mother’s suitcase, hasn’t recognised it, and it is now revolving around on the carousel in glorious isolation.  Having to some extent rescued Lara, it’s great that she now takes charge (she’s from Umbria) and fluently arranges our embarkation with the Italian driver, and we are all off past Messina, Taormina, many lemon groves, and the village where ‘The Godfather’ was filmed to Milazzo, on a peninsula in the northeast of Sicily.  At Milazzo we meet Damian Croft, owner of Esplora, and his Sicilian guide, Chiara Sciortino.  All three of them are relaxed, affable, efficient, and by the end of the holiday we feel that they are firm and lifelong friends.



MILAZZO

Checking in to Hotel La Chicca, we now have some free time until briefing this evening, and being all rather Type A, we walk up to the Castello and tour the castle and church.  This is a magnificent natural rampart as a backdrop to the commercial port of Milazzo and serves as an introduction to the remarkable history of Sicily, which has been occupied or invaded by everybody from Neolithic and Bronze age cultures to the Nazis.  There is still a central keep built by the Normans (it feels somewhat amusing that the first king of Sicily was Roger the Second.  Somehow this sounds like a character from Monty Python.  “Welease Woger”).  Even before the last invasion, the Greeks, Romans, Levanters and Muslims occupied the island.  They were followed by Swabians (German), Aragonese (Spanish), French (Napoleonic), Germans and English, not forgetting Garibaldi’s reunification army in the 1860s.

Enriched by some knowledge of the history, we repair to the hotel bar for a beer, added to by a prosecco from Damian, and then march off to the Locanda della Pesce for our first proper Sicilian meal.  If this is a foretaste of things to come it’s a good one.  Local wines, and antipasti of smoked tuna, tomatoes, carpaccio of swordfish, cod, octopus, stuffed squid.  Involtini di pesce spada are then followed by dessert of lemon sorbet – perhaps just as well that it’s light.  Maybe this is to let us down gently as Damian announces that we are booked on the 0700 hydrofoil from the port, but that the port is only a 50 metre walk away.

So, an early start, can’t be fussed to watch the end of the USPGA where it looks as though Brooks Koepka will win easily, and sleep until the 0600 alarm.  (Koepka wins, though not quite so easily as anticipated).



Monday 20th May

ALICUDI

Let me start by showing you the Strava image of our walk up and down Alicudi.  I would rate this as the hardest three mile walk I’ve ever done and this might partly show why.





The sky is overcast as we leave Milazzo, but clears as we streak across the Mediterranean which changes miraculously from grey to blue as we go.  It’s a three hour journey, with calls at Vulcano, Lipari, Salina (Santa Marina and Rinella), and a longer stretch out to Filicudi, and finally Alicudi.  This is the smallest and westernmost island, with few inhabitants.  The Casa Muline is therefore only 50m from the dock and we can move in straight away.  After a short break we start on the infamous ‘steps’ of the path up to the peak.  Steps are a misnomer.  The arrangement of rocks is completely irregular.  I can only compare it to picking your way over a landslide for 675m of ascent.  Real concentration is needed.  We are all a bit surprised when Damian admits at the top that we are the first group he has ever got complete to the top of Alicudi.  This has taken 2½ hours for a recorded distance of 1.6 miles.  The main excitement on the way down is the sighting of a big black snake (biscia).  Naturally it is only the most ophiophobic of our party who sights this.


The 'Harbour' at Alicudi


Hydrofoil - lifeline of the Aeolian Islands


A late lunch including typical Sicilian arancini at the only restaurant and bar on the island (100m from Casa Muline).  Following this, we get the ‘giro del isola’ boat trip with strong silent Simone.  Having all survived the walk, two of our party are stricken with cramp and poor Lara has seasickness.

Back to the bar in the evening.  Octopus salad, pasta with wild fennel, occhianti (sea bream) and a surprisingly good milles feuilles.



Tuesday 21st May

FILICUDI

Finds us back at the dock for a more relaxed start.  The 10am hydrofoil on which we arrived takes us back to Filicudi.  This is the only island apart from Vulcano where we are not staying, so the dockside bar kindly look after our bags with the promise of custom when we return from the walk.  Pietro takes us by minibus up the only road for a mile or so to the church, and we start off up the path to the caldera.  Compared to Alicudi this is a doddle.  The path is steep but much less rocky.  It’s red and sandy and has a thin layer of pumice in places which is easy to slip on.  Walking poles are an asset in this and most other walks, though they were tricky to use on Alicudi, often getting stuck in the crevices between the rocks.  Lovely sunshine, and multiple wild flowers: broom, cistus, marguerites, and erica.



Filicudi - distant bronze age settlement on the far headland





Caper flowers


Damian tells us that the island was known to the Greeks as Erykos, the isle of heather.  Comfortably down by 2.30pm to relax in the bar with some Messina beers.



The 5 o’clock hydrofoil takes us back to Santa Marina Salina (Island of Salina).  The streets are so narrow a little Piaggio (Italian take on a tuk-tuk) is used to take our bags to the Hotel Arcangelo (Proprietor: Arcangelo).  Dinner is at Ristorante Porto Bello by the harbour.  Fish carpaccio and two types of fish cake, two pasta courses, and to celebrate Damian’s 53rd birthday a giant plate of a desert like a beignet (called Sfingi).



Wednesday 12th May

SALINA

One of our party is not feeling so good.  He probably didn’t drink enough (water that is) yesterday, and may have mild heat stroke.  A reduced group is transported up via the village of Malfa to the neck between the island’s two mountains.  Below the church (Santuario della Madonna del Terzito) we start up a steep but very manageable path to the top of the Monte Fossa delle Felci (mountain of the ferns).  This is a mere 1hour 50min to the top with excellent views including Mount Etna to the south.  Allegedly this is the Aeolians’ highest point at 962m.  Back down through thistles, vetch, cistus, honeysuckle and broom.  At the church, an enterprising Roman lady has a snack bar shaped in the form of a giant lemon.  Lemon ice lollies and ‘cedro’, a strange version of a lemon where one eats the white pith rather than the flesh.






After a quick change back at Arcangelo it’s off to the Hauner Winery for snacks and wine tasting.  This is surprisingly good wine, and there are some local Sicilian grapes we have never heard of used in the winemaking.  Typical of most high end wineries there are barrels of French and American oak, costing over 1000 euros each, which are used to mature and flavour their highest quality red wines.  Tasting is completed with some delicate honeyed Malvasia and cannoli.

The taste of Sicily - Malvasia and Cannoli


Scenic stroll of nearly two miles back along the sea road for Morag and I.




Evening is at Il Gambero.  A delight of this holiday is that Lara, who is also an Italian cookery teacher, has selected all the food, and fiddling and faffing with menus is not necessary.  Dinner is penne ‘ncasciata (typical Sicilian pasta al forno), crumbed fillets of sea bream with melanzane, zucchini, tomato, finished off with Malvasia and tiramisu.



Thursday 23rd May.

PANAREA

Up fairly early.  The cloud will burn off apparently (it does).  Great breakfast from Arcangelo, who lounges behind the reception desk, in appearance something like a genial version of Bluto, Popeye’s eminence grise.  He looks as though he should be cast in the next iteration of ‘The Godfather’, but is in fact very genial.  Much hugging and kissing from him and Mama and the Piaggio disappears into the lane down to the quay.  Crowded on the 0930 hydrofoil but we’re off on the 35 minute trip to Panarea.  This is the chic destination in the Aeolian islands, visited by the Armani family, rich industrialists from the north, and girded with designer boutiques in the little town of picturesque whitewashed properties.  More cultivated and elegant shrubs here including bougainvillea, oleanders, hibiscus, bottle brush trees and the usual assortment of citrus.  Hotel La Terrazza has as its name implies a fine terrace, and the views from our rooms are excellent.  There is a fine view across to Stromboli.

Damian and his team appear with a packed lunch and we set off for our walk.  At first a relatively level stretch including a beach of volcanic sand before climbing up to the Punta Milazzese on the south side of the island which has remarkable remnants of a bronze age civilization.  Relics of Mycenean pottery found here indicate distant Mediterranean interactions.

After this it is a demanding rocky and steady climb up to the highest point where we are rewarded with fantastic views across to Stromboli, and despite the 26 Km distance across the ocean we can occasionally see the eruptions from the volcano, accompanied some minute and a half later by the sound of the activity.

This is the only island where we will have done a complete circuit, and it’s probably the prettiest and most rewarding walk.


Panarea walk - the detour is to the bronze age village


View towards Stromboli from Panarea summit



Dinner is taken in the hotel, which has a butcher’s shop attached and is famous for its carne alla bracia.  Served with salads and slices of pizza, this is one meal we just can’t finish.  There is a tasting of special single estate olive oils as well.  Unfortunately I was tempted by an enormous bottle of Italian made Belgian style beer, as well as a very fine Perricone wine – an indigenous Sicilian grape that we haven’t experienced before.


Friday May 24th. 

STROMBOLI

All up early to see Cathie off on her convoluted journey back home – sad because she will miss our climb of Stromboli, but it’s essential because she has Godmother duties at a wedding.  Breakfast and the 10 o’ clock hydrofoil to Stromboli, calling first at Ginostra and then proceeding to Stromboli town, both locations well away from the lava flows of Italy’s most active of its three active volcanoes (Etna and Vulcano being the other two, though perhaps not forgetting Vesuvius which the Pompeiians found could be active to their cost).  The island is named by a corruption of the original Greek name Strongylos, meaning round.  In appearance it is an almost perfect and classical volcanic cone.

Damian proposes a short walk to a restaurant.  Five of us join him, Lara and Chiara for this ‘short walk’ which turns out to be 2.3 miles (followed by 2.3 miles back).  In serious training for the evening hike up the mountain we are not allowed alcohol and take on carbohydrate in the form of penne together with an aubergine sauce, salads and bread.  We have assimilated Damian’s habitual underestimate for a ‘Short walk to the restaurant.’


Damian's "short walk"


Back to the Hotel Ossidiana for an hour or so’s rest before walking up to the piazza where we find the offices of ‘Magmatrek’.  Groups are assembling in the square.  A guide checks footwear and clothing including whether we have head torches (we have).  We are the blue hat group and are introduced to Paolo, a lean and fit looking grizzled mountain man.  Turns out he is a serious mountaineer, in the winter taking clients on everything from snow touring to ice climbing.

During the day there have been clouds hanging over the mountain, but as the day has gone on they have gradually cleared and it is now a calm beautiful evening, with the sun sinking rapidly to our right as we climb the northeastern slope of Stromboli.  There is the opportunity for some atmospheric shots as the clouds of smoke and ash are diffused by the setting sun.  Beyond the crater and indeed beyond the island, V shaped patterns of the wakes of several small tourist boats criss cross the sea.  As the sun disappears we become aware of the glowing lava in several of the craters.  There are periodic discharges, some with spectacular roman candle like displays, and some with huge emissions of steam accompanied by roaring noises well in excess of 100 decibels.  It’s a far more impressive display than any of us had imagined.


Ready for Stromboli

Groups ahead walking up the mountain


Part way up - looking at Stromboli town and Strombolicchio

Steep slope at times

Final slopes to the top

On the top

Groups on the top

Made it!


Setting sun through the Strombolian clouds

The after dark display





Eventually it is time to descend.  Paolo announces after we have trekked for a few hundred metres down the lee side of the volcano with our head torches on that we will now have some fun.  He shows us how to slide, a sort of downhill cross country ski technique, using the classic format rather than the herringbone gliding of modern langlauf.  For what seems like hours we descend in exaggerated Groucho Marx fashion, following which Paolo announces that we are near the path and will be adopting a more natural walking posture.  Here the ash is incredibly fine and fills our head torches and indeed faces with an almost blinding cloud.  We are advised to fix masks, or at least to use a cowboy style bandana to prevent our noses and mouths being clogged with dust.  Back at Magmatrek we hand over our hats and make our way to the nearest bar to celebrate our success and a very memorable evening.  Understandably all the bars in the town stay open late for returning trekkers.  The Stromboli hike seems fairly straightforward because it’s taken at a relaxed and steady pace, because there is plenty of time on the top (in our case 90 minutes), and the descent is fairly easy.  Total distance is 6.26 miles, 2983 ft of ascent, 6 hrs and 21 minutes (quite a lot of which is spent waiting for the group to assemble and on the summit).


Stromboli expedition - a zig-zag path up and a direct 'ski' down


Late to bed, but sleep until 0820.



Saturday May 25th

LIPARI

We have an average breakfast in the large separate dining room.  The hydrofoil has many calls before it reaches us and we are not away until 1150, also stopping in at Panarea and Salina before making our way to our last Aeolian hotel on the island of Lipari.  It’s 2pm by the time we arrive and a rapid move to a street restaurant for an excellent lunch of antipasti followed by pane cunzato, literally seasoned bread, but typically made in a panino with anchovies, cheese and tomato.  At this restaurant it is served as a bruschetta.  Following this we embark in two minibuses with the chatty and charismatic brothers Alessandro and Daniele, for a partial tour of the island.  First stop is at the beach which is covered with pumice from the now abandoned pumice works on the northeast of the island.  The award of UNESCO heritage status to the Aeolian Islands 12 years ago had the unfortunate effect of stopping the quarrying of pumice.  It seems that industry is frowned on by UNESCO, and the side effect has apparently caused unemployment, though it has increased tourism.

In the north of the island we disembark and start on a leisurely coastal walk which will keep our muscles active.  It’s only a three mile hike, but starts off down a spectacular canyon, the walking being made more exciting by a recent rockfall.  There are multicoloured rocks, some of which are lined with bright yellow sulphur from volcanic activity.  We reach a coastal road at an ancient Roman villa, where 2000 years ago the warm springs led to the creation of a bathhouse, the ‘Terme di Calogero’.  Back at the Hotel Bougainville, a four star hotel, we enjoy caponata (Sicilian aubergine stew), spaghetti wrapped in aurbergine, swordfish rolls (involtini di spada), a semifreddo, and a good nero d’avola.  There is a spectacular firework display from a private party on the hillside nearby, though it’s less appreciated when repeated at 0120 hrs.


Volcanic rocks - this is Obsidian - a valuable neolithic cutting tool when splintered into fragments

Sulphur containing volcanic strata


Sunday 20th May, 2019

VULCANO/LIPARI

The weather has changed this morning being overcast and windy.  We take the 0900 hydrofoil to Vulcano, which is the next stop, only 10 to 15 minutes away.  We walk up through the town and turn left up the track to the crater through swathes of broom and black volcanic ash which is occasionally thrust in our face by the wind.  The ash changes to a soft clay sandstone and we plod over this to the top.  Here the wind is as strong as anything I have ever experienced and we shelter in the lee of the helipad.  The path around the rim is clearly impossible so we trek back down into town and eat a long lunch at Maurizio’s restaurant.  Maurizio is quite an old man who has lived in India (Karnataka) and is vegan influenced.  Excellent vegetarian meal including olive oil and nigella seeds.  The main course is a mung bean soup.  We walk over to the mud baths and then catch the 1425 hydrofoil back to Lipari.  A ‘fun’ ride over the very rough sea, and we all need a shower, being covered in ash and dust.  Oddly the shore is covered in tiny winged invertebrates, called in Italian farfalle di mare, otherwise known as sea butterflies.  These are either thecosomata or gymnosomata.  The fishermen are always pleased to see them because they are a food source for many fish.  Total mileage walked about 4 with 939ft elevation gain.

Our hike up Vulcano - curtailed by the extreme wind

Relaxed afternoon, and into town for a walk around the acropolis, with excavations dating from the Neolithic age, and then features from the Bronze age, Greco-Roman period, Norman and Spanish.  Aperitifs at the Ristorante Bal Al Piscatore.  Capers, olives, bruschetta, with pesto Eole.  Antipasti of swordfish, prawns, squid, fresh anchovy.  Fish stuffed ravioli, sea bass, mimosa cake and malvasia. 



Another great Sicilian meal

Very sorry to say goodbye to Lara who is off early tomorrow, and we will also then say goodbye to Damian and Chiara.  I am sure that we all wish Damian well with his ventures in Esplora, which definitely provide something different to the usual holiday companies.  He’s an interesting man, who far from being a retired history Don, as his Cambridge address first suggested, originally wanted to be a classical oboist, and having freelanced for a while, joined a travel company.  A telling anecdote is his own story of asking his careers master at school whether he should take a gap year before going up to the Royal College of Music, and was answered firmly in the negative.  ‘I have a feeling Damian’, said this prescient teacher, ‘That the rest of your life is going to be a gap year.’



Monday 27th May

LIPARI/MILAZZO

Early start into town to see the Museo on the acropolis, a remarkable collection of artefacts including beautiful black and brown Greek pottery, and gold ornaments and jewellery.  Then it’s the 1210 hydrofoil to Milazzo, and time for a final meal in a quayside café, where Nonna and Mama are slaving over enormous pans, before we leave our new friends to join the minibus and driver Francesco for the ride to Catania, where the check in and airport experience is not wonderful, but the trip home is straightforward, and we are back in Poole at about 1am on the Tuesday.

An unexciting diary ending to a superb holiday.  See my YouTube link at: