Sunshine on Scotland

The weekend before last we had a fabulous day in Glen Coe. Diff was filming and I tagged along to carry bags, with the promise of a day's climbing in Glen Nevis on the Sunday.

We were in Glen Coe by 08.30 on Saturday, and had the most perfect weather imaginable. Enough breeze to keep the midges away most of the time, as well as glorious sunshine all day. It was hot and sweaty work carrying film kit up Buachaille Etive Mor, but the views from the top were undoubtedly rewarding.

How often do you see the whole of Scotland spread out before you, tops as far as the eye can see, the sea in one direction and Rannoch Moor in the other. Even the Ben was cloud free. Incredible.

We were exhausted by the time we headed to our digs in Fort William. We had chips to keep us going, sat on the harbour wall, wondering who the hell thought it was a good idea to concrete over Fort William's greatest asset - it's sea loch frontage. Sometimes I despair at the shortsightedness of urban planners and developers. And while I'm having a whinge, why is there nowhere decent to eat in Fort William?? Curry, Chinese, a chippy and everything else looked as though it had come from a Brake Bros. refrigerated van. If we missed something, recommendations on a postcard please.

And on Sunday it rained. No climbing :-( We were so disappointed and frustrated, but it just wasn't going to happen. We went to the Oban Sealife Sanctuary instead, and tried to learn 11 things for the £11 each it cost us. Did you know, for example, that there is a 1 in 10 million chance of a baby cod making it to adulthood? And did you know that 150,000 sea turtles are killed accidentally by fishing nets and the like, each year.

It's a beautiful spot and they do some good work there rescuing seals and returning them to the wild. By the time we headed down the road to Glen Ogle to check out some of the crags there it was bright sunshine, but all the crags were running with water. We strolled along the disused railway and ate wild strawberries. Not quite the day we had hoped for, but we felt better for being out and about.

High Peak? Wet Peak!

I forgot to post this at the time, but now I've time to write, I might as well post it now....sorry for the delay!

Do you remember that weekend a few months back, when everyone said "ah, the weather's going to be rubbish this weekend, let's go drinking" (or somesuch)? (Er.. which one? I hear you say) Well, we decided to go to the Peak District instead. To be fair, Tamsyn had booked a train ticket from London (some nonsense about it being £256 on the day or £60 booked in advance) so we couldn't leave her stranded at the station just because the forecast looked a bit rubbish.

It didn't start well, and continued in that vein for a full 48 hours, right up until we drove home in scorching sunshine. It took us 6 1/2 hours to drive down, through horrific rainstorms, flooded motorways and squeaky windscreen wipers. We were down to 20 mph on the M6 at one stage, from the rain, and then to 10mph because of the large number of vehicles inconsiderately taking up space in every lane. At one point we crossed a spaghetti junction, and every road we could see from the upper bridge was nose to tail traffic. Ah yes, this was the weekend the English school holidays started. Why oh why oh why.......

Having awoken to standard northern grey drizzle we opted for some tourism. We headed down into Blue John Cavern with our friendly guide, Brian. I don't know how long he'd been giving that tour, but I really hope he has a very high boredom threshold!

So we took lots of pictures inside the cave and marvelled and oohed and aahed at the water-worn rocks. It was pretty big, and for us climber-types the standard tour wasn't enough. We wanted to see more. But they don't let you, and I must admit to being a little claustrophobic so maybe it was fine (for once) just to stay on the tourist trail. Other tourists are funny sometimes though...

By the time we emerged above ground again the rain had (almost) stopped. So we cruised over to Stanage Plantation.....the long way, because I got muddled over which road to take. Ah well. By the time we got there the rain had stopped and the sun had come out and it was dry enough to climb! Probably a worthwhile diversion.

This was Tamsyn's very first foray into outdoor bouldering, and with hindsight, maybe the Plantation wasn't the best place to start. Some of the boulders with the easier problems on them are pretty high, and if you've been used to big squishy mats to land on indoors, the prospect of even a flat but hard landing isn't enormously encouraging.

This picture was taken on the south face of the Pebble Boulder. Tamsyn's face says it all!

Having pottered around here for a bit, we decided to try Burbage South. Caroline and I had been there in March and really enjoyed messing about on stuff when we didn't have a guidebook. After another small detour on foot (my fault again), we reached some good easy-looking boulders with lots of shot holes in them.



We pottered around here for ages, Caroline and I trying to teach Tamsyn to trust her feet and realising it isn't really something one can teach. It has to be learned. Trying to do things "hands free" seemed a good way of starting that learning process!



Needless to say, we wore our skin out pretty quickly and were mindful that maybe the weather would be better tomorrow...

It was and it wasn't better tomorrow. We took our time packing up, had a leisurely breakfast and headed for Cratcliffe and Robin Hood's Stride, on another promise of some good low-grade bouldering. We were hopeful. It was a bit showery, but the sun was strong when it appeared. We trekked up the hill with fingers crossed that the heat would dry the boulders fairly quickly, while we had some lunch and figured out the guidebook. Alas, it was not to be. No sooner had we reached the top of the hill, reminisced a bit about Font and bouldering in forests, than the hot sun was blotted out by the most torrential rain. We sheltered in a cave hoping it would pass and the hot sun would reappear. To start with it was funny - one of those downpours that doesn't quite seem real it's so heavy. We watched the rivulets washing acorns down the slope and waited. Then the rain penetrated our cave and we realised we were sitting in puddles. So we had a cherry stone spitting competition (in which Caroline and Tamsyn were neck and neck, and I was lagging way behind).

Our cave got wetter, so we moved (mistake - we'd have got less wet sitting still) to the hermit's cave lower down the hill. It continued to pour. Eventually we got bored. If it stopped raining, it wasn't going to dry in time for us to climb. Tamsyn had a train to catch and we had a 5 hour drive north.

With a degree of reluctance we opted for coffee and cake in Bakewell. It continued to rain, and we felt a bit better about bailing. We've always said that no trip is a wasted trip and now we know that Cratcliffe and Robin Hood's Stride are worth visiting.....when they're dry!

Soggy Siurana

Having just returned early from a wet and disappointing trip to Siurana, I am struggling to maintain any enthusiasm for rock, plastic or pulling hard.

Our first day in Siurana was beautiful and we were pretty excited to be back in such an inspiring place. I had my eye on Mandragora at Sector Espero Primavera, a long striking orange streak visible from the road. I'd had a bolt-to-bolt effort on it in November and managed all the moves at least, albeit feeling a little lacking in strength. But for our first day back on the limestone we stuck with easier stuff.

Lucy Creamer on Kalea Borokka (8b+), El Pati

The following day required a trip to the supermarket (we were pretty hungry, having arrived late Saturday night and everything in Spain being closed on Sundays), so we only managed a couple of routes later in the afternoon. Then the heavens opened. Tuesday was torrential rain; Scottish rain. We'd inadvertently brought the damned stuff with us. We walked around the reservoir, got soaking wet, skimmed stones, took pictures of various bits of vegetation. Siurana has never looked so green, or so soggy. Over the next few days the reservoir filled up; rivers appeared where no rivers have been before; amorphous piles of rocks and earth slid onto the road; routes were put through the car wash.

Can Melafots in the damp mist. This quickly turned into Can Megaflops for us.

We entertained ourselves bouldering under the very narrow overhang at Can Melafots, inventing eliminates for feet, and eventually taking up Dave's idea of ledge crawling, also known as the Belly Traverse. Yes, we were frustrated, not to mention cold and damp.

Dave doing the horizontal version of the traverse

Diff bouldering under the mini-roof

We had a beautiful sunny day at Margalef, confined to the road-side of the river, because the river had suddenly appeared with a vengeance, asserting it's right to roam in no uncertain terms. The 7a tufa route over the road I tried in November was running with water; driving the car underneath it was like driving through a car wash. I held out little hope for it drying within the week.

Then it started to rain again. To cut a long story short, between rain showers, we searched for dry routes between the wet patches, and ate a lot of pancakes. Brief trips to Mussara TV, El Falco, Arboli and Margalef gained us about 20 routes over the 10 days.

Roof-tastic at Mussara TV

Wet pebbles on the riverbank

As the weekend neared, Kev decided he was heading home a week early along with Diff and Andrea. On Friday, Dave and Mike decided they too would head back, both happy to sit out the rain, and Dave even working 8c in a downpour (reason no.1 to climb hard - steep overhangs are more likely to stay dry!), but both also having other things to pull them homewards. With half our party disappearing, my psyche to climb plummeted. I resigned myself to just trying to keep my leading head together, aiming for mileage rather than meeting goals and hoping to spend some dry time outside. Eventually, Caroline and I also decided to bail early and switched our flights to the following Tuesday, leaving 4 days earlier than planned.

Mussara TV... with wet streaks

Hiding from the rain at Sector L'Olla

One last thing. What on earth persuaded anyone that it was a good idea to have "Pure Dead Brilliant" written everywhere at and about Prestwick Airport?? There's nothing pure about an airport; dead certainly isn't a word I would want to associate with an airport; and Prestwick sure is not brilliant. It's a phrase which doesn't translate south of the Border, let alone into Spanish, German, American, Swedish, Hungarian, Swahili or any other language! It means nothing to the people who pass through the place, and even those who do "get it" are wondering why the hell it was used as a slogan for an airport. Maybe there is something to be said for a BAA monopoly after all......

Kyloe-in-the-Rain

We made another less than ideal call on the weather last weekend, having other stuff to do on Saturday and opting to climb on Sunday. Ah well, such is life. As we drove down the A1 towards Northumberland the sun was shining and we could see miles out to sea. Caroline commented that she'd always wondered what that coastal view looked like! But as we turned off the A1 it started to rain, and we realised that above the road we were driving along was a line - cloud on the left, sunshine on the right. We were turning left.

Sam had sent Sarah a text message saying that it was pouring at Kyloe so they'd headed to the shelter of Back Bowden. We ploughed on to Kyloe thinking , how bad can it be in the trees.

It stopped raining by the time we got there, but the ground was pretty soggy. Some problems had dribbles of water down them, and some holds were damp but a lot was climbable, and pretty ok actually! Cold and dry.....the elusive "great conditions"!! Wow....this could be exciting ;-)

Then is started raining again. But it was so good to be back on real rock. It felt like ages and ages since I was in Spain, and somehow warm Spanish limestone isn't quite as satisfying as cold, sticky County sandstone. Now why is that?? Am I just strange?


So, amidst lots of sitting about under Cubby's Lip, Sarah managed a proper pop at the sit start to Monty Python's. It was so dark that it took ages to get this photo of her. Eventually I took it about a full second before she moved, which just about gave my cold little camera time to think, charge and flash at the right moment!

For the first time I managed to complete that mammoth traverse from the easy way down leftwards. Caroline too managed it, which surprised her (but not me!) since she's not been climbing for a wee while.

Watching Sarah from the shelter of the Jocks sit start

While the rain was splashing away we thought it might be a good excuse to try the sit start to Jocks and Geordies. It's so hard (for us) that we wouldn't seriously give it a go without a sound reason to do so, probably preferring to concentrate on the standing start (first things first, walk before you run, and all...) But in the rain, it seemed sensible to lie on our backs, feet on the back wall, and just pull hard directly upwards, and from there work out which hand would hold longest if we let go with the other one.

I have to say, that these sorts of sit starts are not my forte. We came up with lots of options, none of which were successful, or even promising. Then someone showed us The Way. It helped, in that we then had something to aim for, but still wasn't enormously successful! I'm just not strong enough yet...

Early attempts in April 2007

When it stopped raining, we crawled out from under the rock and attempted the standing start. I had a go at this in April 2007 and was a long way from reaching the top left hand crimp. To my surprise, this time I managed to get both feet much higher, and wriggled my fingers over the edge of it. Pheewwwwweeeeeee! How exciting was that?! Having done that, I would have gone home quite happily then. To top that, next pop I managed to slap for the top sloper. Big slap. I couldn't hold it, partly because it was a bit.....what's the word? spoogee!, and partly because I didn't hit it quite right.

Looking back at the pictures from April 07 I realised that this time round, I was back-stepping with my left foot rather than twisting my knee in. Maybe that explains the height gain this time round. Ah, the wonders of technique!

So I went home with sore fingers and a smile on my face, psyched to come back and try again.

Photo Opportunity

The only reason for this post is to share this photograph, taken at the top of Ben Venue the weekend before last. A classic "we're not ready yet!" photograph.

We escaped the torrential rain for most of the day, but it caught up with us on the way down. We were relieved we hadn't opted for a day's climbing. All the gear would have got wet, and we'd have had a frustrating day not getting anything done.

Apologies for the sock display. I was saving the hems of my Best Climbing Trousers from the bog.....

Thou Shalt Not Climb Today...

...or "130 miles to Alien Rock" might be a better title for this post.

In our great wisdom, based on past experience, we chose to disregard (by not reading) any published weather forecast this weekend. On so many occasions have we trekked o'er vale and hill for some climbing, only to be thwarted by the weather. How often have we said in great disgust, "but the weather forecast said..."? How many times has the forecast not come true?

Saturday, as we all know, was a beautiful day. Cloudless, warm, nay even hot! I had promised myself that on Saturday I would make a start on the stack of domestic chores that is rapidly accruing, with the promise of some climbing fun on Sunday. I deliberately chose not to read a forecast, thinking that if Saturday was this nice, Sunday couldn't be horrific. How wrong was I?


Having packed 7 boxes of books at home, and spent some more time moving furniture and tidying, I was restrained at Saturday nights' festivities. I had a good sleep, packed my sack quickly and was ready to go. Caroline picked me up and we headed south, determined to do some trad. somewhere in Northumberland. It looked a little grey, but we commented that yesterday's heat would have made the rock sweaty and slippy. Bad conditions, and all that. Any self respecting climber knows you can't climb when it's too hot, right?

Little Spots
Just past Torness some little spots appeared on the windscreen. There was quiet. Caroline looked at the road. I looked at Caroline. We agreed it would pass, and carried on.

The further south we got, the heavier the rain got. We couldn't see the sea, let alone the tops of the hills.

"This is ridiculous, we might as well turn back, now. Nothing down here is going to be dry." This by the time we got to Grantshouse. So we turned back. The rain got heavier. We thought of Andrea who had gone out west for some sport, of Iain at Kilnsey, of Sarah on her way to sunnier climes, of Diff and the boys at Dumbarton....all (probably) basking in sunshine. And where we we? On the A1 in the rain. Hmph. We also remembered Andrea saying that Sunday would be nice out west. She had read the forecast.

Long discussions ensued as to whether we should drive for another 90 mins to Dumbarton, 2 hours to Loch Lomond, 60 minutes to Limekilns (I don't like Limekilns, says Caroline) ....we resisted calculating how long it might take to reach Kilnsey or the south of France. We concluded that going to Alien Rock would probably result in a slating ("why aren't you outside??") and that we'd already spent enough money on fuel. The only sensible option left was a trip to Ratho. At least nobody there would recognise us and give us a hard time for being indoors at the weekend. All the routes and the bouldering would be new to us, and we could have a Sunday treat of some "window" shopping in Tiso's. Yesss.... (we are girls after all, and we do like shopping, even though we vehemently deny it at every possible opportunity. Note, Window shopping. We had spent all our money on petrol.).

No power
So we trekked to Ratho, round the bypass, in the rain, thinking that at least we would get some stamina training in, if not any decent trad. The car park was surprisingly empty. Our previous concerns that rain=mobbed wall evaporated (unlike the rain) and we cruised as close to the entrance as possible.....only to be stopped by a damp, forlorn and very apologetic member of Ratho staff, who told us that the building was closed. Thieves had been digging into the floor overnight in order to steal the power cables. Since there was no power in the building health and safety regulations dictated closure. You must be kidding.....

Once, twice...three times unlucky?
We laughed, oh how we laughed. We had to explain why to the nice Ratho lady, that we had driven (by this time) 120 miles to Northumberland and back, and had still done no climbing. Sheepishly, we retreated to Alien Rock, expecting it too to be mobbed (rain+Sunday+Ratho closed surely must=busy), but it wasn't. As it was we had a pretty solid afternoon's training. We did feel marginally stupid turning up with 50 litre rucksacks, a full rack and 3 ropes, but the hundreds of 7-year olds there probably thought that was normal for hardcore climbing chicks like us.

We were mildly consoled by J's comment that Alien Rock wasn't busy because most people didn't have our dedication to their sport; they'd gone out, got wet, sacked it off and gone home.

We, on the other hand, drove 130 miles to end up at Alien Rock.

Font Revisited

It has taken us 6 months to return to where we started out Great Expedition last September: Fontainbleau. So much has happened in between, it was a strange feeling being back there, this time with Caroline's car rather than mine, and staying indoors rather than in a tent. So many things were different and yet so many things seemed the same. We only spent three and a half weeks here last September, but everything seemed very familiar, as though we'd been there much longer and had never really gone away.

In spite of the frustrations we had of our last trip to Fontainbleau, we realised that we both have some very happy and very funny memories of our novice attempts at various problems here. Font is an unusual place in terms of climbing style and technique. It took us the full duration of our previous stay to get to grips with it, and I think it wasn't until our last few days here in mid-October that things finally started to click. This time, however, having spent a day getting used to both new shoes and old rock, things came together much more quickly. I managed to finish a few things that defeated me last time and try some new harder things with a degree of success I hadn't anticipated. But then the weather started to interfere....

Finishing the blue no. 9 - supposed 3c - at Apremont. It might be 5c instead...certainly the colder conditions this time helped in holding the top sloper.

While Rob, Sarah, Iain and Caroline had spent a week in the forest with some fairly reasonable weather, I had been talking my way through 4 days' training in Liverpool. Exhausting. With a 12-hour turnaround in returning home from Liverpool and heading off to France, I was almost (but only almost) glad of a rainy excuse not to climb on the Sunday. I was shattered, and probably couldn't have climbed anything anyway. So we wandered around the forest in Apremont and returned to some of the problems we did last year. I was quite astounded by how much I managed to remember, particularly in finding my way between the boulders. We paid a quick visit to Bas Cuvier too, and Caroline demonstrated her frustration at not being able to climb in the rain by hugging this huge blob.

Monday was thankfully bright and sunny, although still remarkably cold. We trotted off to Cul de Chien, since I was desperate to see that inland beach again. Although we had been to Cul de Chien a number of times, we had climbed very little there. As good practice for me in new shoes, we opted for the blue circuit, starting at problem number 1. By the time we reached problem 17 and had done all the variations in between, we quit. A good day, with plenty of skin left, and a timely Font reminder of one's humility. The guys who developed these circuits deserve respect for their stamina alone!

Caroline on Blue 8b at Cul de Chien - probably responsible for her now (apparently) busted intercostal muscle

It went from 20 degrees the previous Friday, to 4.5 degrees on the Tuesday. And it snowed. I got up at silly o'clock, saw everything white and went back to bed. But as apparently is the wont of Font weather, the sun came out, the snow melted and all the rocks dried out in time for us to do some climbing! Now why isn't Scotland like that?

I don't know why we decided to head to Franchard Cuisinere on possibly the coldest day of our trip, but we did. I remembered a slightly overhanging traverse that I had wanted to try, but we didn't have mats with us at the time. We spent a couple of hours trying to find the right sequence for this brutal traverse, with no real guide as to which way it went, which holds were in or out, what grade it was. Most of our trouble came from trying to stay warm. It was bitterly cold, especially in the wind. Cuisinere is on the top of a hill and so, I suppose, catches any wind there is to catch. We only managed to get half way on the traverse, before giving up and practising our x-wing flying between the boulders. Well, it was a good way to keep warm, and we only felt stupid if there were other people around, which there weren't. So we actually had a lot of silly fun!!

Caroline on the Cuisinere traverse. It's boulder 37 if you have the purple Fontainbleau Climbs book by Montchausse and Godoffe. I have since found this problem on the Bleau.info site here. We were attempting the red route , marked 7a+, from right to left.

Finding the traverse reachy and very powerful, I wasn't sure I was ever going to get any further than this..... My leg just wasn't long enough to reach the foothold at the bottom, and I just couldn't hold on any longer. Amazing how easy it looks in the video, but all I remember when I watch this is just how hard it was!! So we trekked over to Isatis in the afternoon and just in an attempt to keep warm rather than try lots of hard stuff, we made up some epic traverses. They kept us moving, kept us warm, and kept us entertained. Eventually, pumped and hungry, we headed home.

Bad weather led to much silliness. We don't remember ever being bored when we were last here. But this time, boredom appeared to breed some very irrational behaviour. We drank a lot of tea. Makes you strong ;-) We fed the chickens. We went shopping. The label off my new shoes reads: "You should be satisfied with these shoes and we hope you will make good use of them." Lost in translation..... And don't even ask about the sporks.

We also went back to Gorge aux Chats and Bas Cuvier. An attempt to squeeze in a shot on la marie rose was futile, given the crowd of young British hooligans who were clearly there for the duration. Numerous attempts on it led to a volley of abuse being hurled in all directions and some childish kicking of rocks by said Brits. We watched, less than impressed, whereupon a very nice Bleausard whom we had watched effortlessly padding up a 7a slab, tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned us over. He led us to another higher, blanker slab, and said "Zees is much more beautiful than la marie rose. You try. I show you." So we watched, again, agog, as this (almost) elderly gentleman balanced his way to the top of the blankness. Caroline and I both had a shot, and were making good progress until Caroline's fingers gave up. First one, then the other, forefinger split.

I have never seen her little face look so disappointed. Our friendly Bleausard suggested that this slab, known as La Forge, was 6a/b. Caroline looked it up when we got home, and it's listed on the Bleau.info website as 6c or 7a for the more direct finish (which we didn't do). The tiny edges were indeed very sharp, and I think that this is what really took the skin off my fingers too. They didn't split, but were very sore for the rest of the week.

Tiny crimps on La Forge

At Gorge aux Chats we tried something completely different; another slightly overhanging traverse with some long reaches in it. Again, we couldn't finish it. I got as far as slapping wildly for the final hold, but couldn't hold it as well as keep my heel on. Ah well, obviously not one for short weak people like me! Caroline found it hard to keep her toe on. It seems that the wonderful Anasazis are not good for toe-hooking. Shame, since this one was ok for split fingertips...just.

All the while, Rob, Sarah and Iain were chasing 7's and 8's all around the forest. Rob came home one evening saying he'd done 9 7a's that day. Iain was dead chuffed with his hat trick of 7's at Gorge aux Chats, having valiantly fought the lurgey for much of the holiday. Sarah did so much all week I couldn't follow it all, but judging by how exhausted she looked by Friday night, she hadn't given up on anything in a hurry!

The final triumph was Caroline's steady and solid ascent of Science Friction, the infamous sandbag slab at Apremont. Having packed the car and prepared mentally for a long drive home, she decided that her fingers were just about healed enough to attempt a slab. Maybe 4 or 5 attempts later there was a tentative reach and slap for the top edge and a whoop of delight. I wish I'd had my camera out at the time. She looked so solid on it. Officially it's graded a 5 something, on the premis that the holds have been chipped at some point. Maybe they have, maybe they haven't. Either way they are impossibly small. They are also polished after 50 years of scrabbling feet, and are on a crazily steep gradient. I have heard it's more like 6b than 5a. Anyone any views to offer on this one?

Impossibly small holds on Science Friction, Apremont

Rain vs Psyche

It has been wet since Sunday and we are very despondent. Please send us something cheery - unless it's something about how good the weather is back home. We don't want to know. I always wanted to come to France as a child, because I thought it was always sunny. Apparently, I was wrong. Very.

We resigned ourselves to wet days being time out to rest and grow skin. But then yesterday we went to L'Elephant (when it stopped raining) and today we went to Bas Cuvier (while it was still raining). Now we are psyched to climb and it's ALL SOAKING WET!!!

L'Elephant does indeed look like an elephant - it's an eerie place where one gets the feeling that the rocks get up and move during the night but return to their original position by first light. We did manage a 5b traverse, but very, very tentatively since everything was wet and slippy. Very frustrating. Fingers just slide off with no warning, which is alarming. Rather than risk injury, we looked but didn't touch.

This morning it started to rain just as we got in the car, so since no trip is a wasted trip, we went on a recce mission to Bas Cuvier. Wow...... it too is weird, but I don't think the rocks move there! We ran about like excited children, wanting to climb everything, but even those things which are overhanging were so damp, fingers just come sliding off them. ARGH!!!

This is just condensation on the wall under a massive roof.

For those of you who know that strange Scottish weather phenomenon, it's like the haar, only warm. There is a thick damp mist hanging over everything just now; there is no wind, and only intermittent rain, but everything is soaked. I feel almost asthmatic the air is so thick with moisture. The warmth alo breeds lethargy, which hasn't helped either. I've no idea how long it will take to dry out, but I am feeling that our time is limited and we were just getting into the swing of things. Ho hum.

There are lots of these plants around. Does anyone know what they are? The berries look like they would make nice juice, but they're probably lethal so we haven't tried them!

I love Paris...

It rained, so we went to Paris. It rained more there. We did the fastest tour ever, (almost) visiting 6 major tourist attractions in one day.

First we went to Notre Dame, where Caroline lit a candle and prayed for sunshine. We think that our irreverence might have offended someone in the sky because its been a bit damp ever since.

Then we stood outside the Louvre and admired the gallons of water pouring through the fountains. Lovely. The glass pyramid was pretty too, as were the queues to get in, so we we stayed outside.... in the rain.

By the time we walked to the Musee d'Orsay it was more like a monsoon than just rain.


So we relented and took a bus half way to the Eiffel Tower. We couldn't work out which bus to get next so we just walked; we were wet anyway. Climbing the Eiffel Tower was a bit of an anticlimax. It seemed that half of England's rugby fans were there with us. But it is quite an interesting bit of metal work. I reckon Monseiur Eiffel had more than a GCSE in Technology ;-)

Then we walked up to see the chaos that is the Arc de Triomphe. Wow. Suicide, is the only word I can think of. The French don't appear to be very good at roundabouts at the best of times. This was just a free-for-all. Unbelievable. We eventually decided it would be (marginally) safer crossing it by bus. I am so glad it wasn't me driving. At one pont the bus driver got out and tapped on the window of the guy in front. I've no idea what he said, but he clearly was not happy.

Our next stop was Sacre-Coeur. We were again relieved to catch a bus there; it would have been a long and wet walk. By the time we got there it had stopped raining...mostly. We wandered around Montmartre, which struck me as being a bit like Soho, but smaller and a bit more quaint than urban. Very interesting.

We thought it looked like a good place for catalogue poses...

As it started to get dark, I started to panic that my confident understanding of the "dernière train à Fontainbleau" as 22.30 might actually have been 20.30. So we ran, from bus to bus to station, and jumped on a train at 20.27 which said "Fontainbleau" just as the bleepers went to close the door. Then the train didn't stop.... and didn't stop.... and didn't stop. As we were starting to freak it stopped at Bois le Roi, which is the one before Font. Phew. I had visions of us ending up somewhere close to Nice in the dark and the rain.

But then the following day was nice and sunny. So we went back to 95.2 and ticked some 5c things which was lots of fun, as was soaking up the sunshine. We might be acquiring some reptilian traits with all this damp weather!

PS. The French cannot make maps for toffee. It's definitely not my map reading. I can forgive French cartographers for the maps of the forest, since there are so many boulders the temptation to retreat for another glass of vin rouge would have got me too. But they can't make maps of Paris either!! We are lucky to still be alive after our visit to the urban jungle that is gay Paris.