I suspect on these pages I’ve written about Hadrian’s Wall before but it’s still topical, not least because it’s a wonderful and intriguing piece of our British history and the fact that it offers a wonderful route across the north of England with delightful scenery and antiquity.
I first got interested in the area in 2020 when Anna and I took a short break up at Hexham and ventured onto the wall for a bit of a walk. Anna remembers it will as she slipped on the mud, that comprised the path, and sat in her coat in a soggy puddle! It was touch and go as to whether I would allow her into the car.
Later that year I ventured back up in the Morgan to investigate the Vindolanda Fort, the site of a world class museum that was one of the first locations in the UK where archaeology discovered the written word. Frankly, I was blown away by this Fort and the stories and histories it divulged. If you’ve not been then what’s wrong with you?
From here my visits were about taking holidaymakers there as a guide, whether walking or cycling. One of the delights that never failed to draw literal sighs of pleasure was Sycamore Gap. Here where the wall dips down between two cliffs a glorious and iconic tree stood. Sadly we know that the tree was felled for no good reason by two vandals who will find out their sentence in July. Let’s hope it reflects this awful act.
My image taken in May 2022
Stretching back nearly as long ago as the building of this 84 mile long barrier was my friendship with John. Fortunately John, judging by the look of him, has fared better than the Wall over the 60 years we have known each other. We met at Ashville College, Harrogate in 1966. We were both very young boarders at Ashville’s preparatory school, New College. John moved south at 16 and stayed down that way (poor soul, I know.) Our contact has been intermittent but includes the honour of being his Best Man at his marriage to Pip.
I’ve hardly changed since 1988.
So when John contacted me about his own idea to cycle Hadrian’s Wall I invited myself onto the ride! He never objected. Using my knowledge of the ride, the sightseeing and possible accommodation solutions we agreed a date and I got down to booking hotels and trains. John’s worries weren’t about my itinerary but how much fitter I’d be cycling after my well documented adventures. As it turned out John did quite a bit of training in the hilly areas of Hampshire and turned up fit. He actually turned out to be quite an athlete and got round well with no hitches or stress. So leaving the house we cycled to York Railway station and embarked on the straightforward trundle to Carlisle.
The only problem arose in arriving in Newcastle and finding the platform for the Carlisle train that was so tight for time that a coffee couldn’t be procured. However in Carlisle we girded our loins to cycle west to the ‘start’. This was at Bowness-on-Solway. Here the Wall was originally earth and timber and had disappeared several centuries ago. However before that we popped into Carlisle Cathedral. This magnificent building has quite a history with lots of graphics as well as impressive vistas.
Around the church we found a custard cream.
These little metal biscuits have QR codes with them that if scanned open up web pages giving you the history of the monument, building, sight or whatever they’re sited next to. Why a custard cream I hear you all ask? Well, McVitie’s and Carr are located in the centre of the town where one of their iconic products is this biscuit. Did you know 65 million are made here per year?
Frankly, yet unsurprisingly, I got a little excited by this because this biscuit is made even more supreme by covering it in thick milk chocolate. I felt compelled to share this vital information with strangers. So I did to a very kind elderly lady volunteer in the Cathedral who heard me out. She no doubt thought that this idiot, in hi viz cycling lycra, would shortly be gone and so adopted Plan A: smile sweetly. I felt that after this revelation we should pop back to M&S Food where these treasures appeared from and buy her a packet. The look on her face, on receipt, said ‘idiot, but with biscuits’.
Anyway after all this there was the small matter of turning the pedals to get to the start in Bowness. It was flat all the way and keeping the estuary to our left we ate up the 13 miles to find the formal start.
Forgot to breath in
Catriona took the photo. She was a middle aged hiker with a slightly furrowed brow who was walking alone and planned to start the Wall tomorrow. It did strike me as we chatted that this may be something of a retreat for her as she strode off heading east the next day; no doubt seeking exercise, history and possibly inspiration. The walk is a lot more ‘true’ to the old Wall location than the cycle route where we dodge around it on local roads but we would meet walkers from time to time. Anyway it was a sandwich in Bowness and then back to Carlisle. Also we additionally fuelled for our journey with another chocolate coated custard cream. They’re addictive.
I had Bob’s schedule and his email address and I’d communicated to tell him that there was a possibility we could meet. The meeting depended on where Bob was toward the time we were leaving the USA. The last thing I wanted to do was bombard Bob with messages or requests for updates on his progress. He was under enough pressure as it was. Hence our decision not to book any accommodation over the last few days to see where we needed to be. By the way the record is held by a mere stripping, Bruce Closser, who got into the record books in 2016 at the age of 78. Not only will Bob get the record but it seems inconceivable it will be broken for many years to come. Just being prepared to document for tens of days to satisfy the organisation that runs these records may have put off other riders.
Bob’s cycling route
Bob had been posting some images taken on his ride:
Bob took this stunning image in Rodeo, New Mexico.
‘The Wall’ on the Mexican border at Jacumba Springs in California.
Lunch on the road. Look at all that sun. It looks so hot. One of the party here rode with Bob for a week and Jack, on the right, is the support.
So by emails and then telephone we agreed that we’d meet in Del Rio. That meant our driving 175 miles west (Texas is a big State!) to the Mexican border to say hello. He planned to be there early on our second to last day in Texas. We drove to the town and phoned Bob. Where was he? Well he was around the town and ironically we’d passed him on the road but not known it. In our faulty understanding, from the telephone call, I set off up a road where after several miles we couldn’t find him. Anna then asserted that I was wrong and that he was going in the opposite direction. We drove back. Pleasingly she was also wrong!
Anyway another call and under instructions we stayed put in the car park of the Motel 6 and Bob and Jack came into view. Jack is his support man trailing or parking up the road in advance as Bob trundles on. He carries the luggage and ferries Bob around when he’s not pedalling. Jack also gives Bob’s bride, Kathryn, comfort that out in the wilds of this wide country he has a guardian Angel. A true star in this record breaking ride.
A man in awe meets a legend
So with 1,500 miles under his belt since San Diego we met Bob. What a man. Fit as a fiddle, jovial and insistent on buying Anna and myself a meal and having a beer.
Bob’s ridden this Southern Tier route before and knew what to expect. (For what it’s worth I have also ridden several hundred miles of this route from New Orleans to the Florida coast in 2015.) on this ride he was disappointed by the headwinds and some days were tougher than others but he’d rolled along ticking off the targets and was shortly to release Jack back to Oregon whilst Kathryn took over the support duties around San Antonio. We joked that the regime might be tightened up with a few more rules and admonishments when his wife took over!
We were interested in the detail of the ride including tyres, road surfaces, lodgings etc. However, the stories that make these trips so memorable started to flow. The best was when staying at Van Horn,TX it was the same time Katy Perry and her homies borrowed Jeff Bezos’ rocket for a 11 minute spin in space. (Van Horn is close to the launch site.) The celebrities in the rocket had had friends come to Van Horn to see off their pals. Some had arrived from NYC to cheer film producer Kerianne Flynn, in a stretched limo, and were staying at the Motel 6 where Bob and Jack were. Needless to say the friends/young ladies themselves were glamorous and barely noticed these old guys lurking around the hotel until it was volunteered that Bob was also going into the record books. Instant kudos.
Later that evening at a swankier hotel in town the girls all bowled up in their finery and were an immediate attraction to the younger men in the vicinity. However, on Bob and Jack’s arrival there was a demand by the girls for selfies and mobile/cell phones were swapped for a selection of snaps. Bob showed us the photos. I was impressed! I was too discreet to enquire what happened later that night but I know I’d have been looking at the inside of my eyelids fairly early after a long bike ride, a few beers and the thought of another 80 miles the next day. Another story involved meeting the lead singer of an Indie Rock band (Big Thief) near the Wall who was worried she was being followed by a drone. She was, the Border Patrol were tracking her!
Anna and I were privileged to sign a Guinness World Record witness statement. They were amassing tens of pages. We are now part of the history. Then it was time to go as Bob and Jack had to check in and then do their administration and Bob also wanted to give his Surly Disc Trucker a good look over and clean prior to the next ride toward the Hill Country.
We said our fond farewells in the car park when Bob was hailed by a burly chap in a pick-up. This guy it turned out to be part of a railroad gang who’d been working and staying out west when Bob and Jack were staying in the same place. There, they’d offered a beer and BBQ meal to these weary travellers. Again the kindness of strangers was evident and here in Del Rio they’d met up again by chance.
Anna and I had the small matter of heading east to be in striking distance of Austin to fly back the next day. We had another 120 miles to drive to our accommodation up the I90. Anna and I drove away elated at the meet up.
I shall keep you informed of Bob’s progress in the blog.
So our vacation was over and the long trek to Heathrow and then York began. By the time the car was returned to Thrifty at the airport I’d driven 2,500 miles.
I think about my 2014 bicycle ride across America one way or another every day. It was an amazing nine weeks of adventure, phenomenal effort, awesome scenery and some new friendships. I’d call it the adventure of a lifetime as well as an item ticked off my bucket list. It was 3,900 miles of scary freedom across nine States not knowing when the next Kentucky dog would chase you or where you could fill up an empty water bottle in the sometimes 40°C heat. The cycle route was laid down on maps and either millennials, wondering what to do with their lives after graduation, or physically fit retirees, with time on their hands and still a head full of dreams. Cyclists would appear coming the other way and you’d stop and engage in a sort of 5 minute speed date before waving goodbye with one heading east and the other heading west. On July 25 2014 I met a guy as I cycled through Virginia. This was Bob Sanders. He was nearing the end; I was passing through my first State. We talked about the route, lodgings and he volunteered a calling card with his personal details on it. I pocketed it. He said that this wasn’t his first long distance ride, he was 75 and was looking forward to reaching the coast where after meeting up with his wife he had some respects to pay for some fallen comrades. He was a Vietnam War veteran. We shook hands, parted and cycled on.
Bob Sanders in 2014
Photo by Bob of you know who
Subsequently we’ve corresponded over the years and both of us continued on our two wheel adventures. Mine are well documented here on the web site. When Bob recently dropped into an email that he was going to ride across the USA for the fifth time and nail the Guinness World Record by being the oldest person, at 85, to do this I was literally blown away. Riding across the country with the wind, the sun, the variable quality lodgings and food, the potential bike issues, the endless minutiae of the logistics and all those long hills, day after day, was not an easy undertaking irrespective of your age, fitness, experience and mindset. It’s also an expensive project if you think of getting to the start, home from the finish, the hotels, the food and incidentals etc.
However, adding to the above was satisfying the Guinness World Record rules. The route has to be submitted in advance and be a minimum agreed distance, your own credentials needed confirming and then the verification process on the journey included obtaining witness statements repeatedly daily as well as completing a daily video record. It’s one thing to actually do this as well as the small matter of riding, maybe, 80 miles daily including 3,000 feet of climbing. All this needs collecting and documenting. What a determination and energy on and off the bike!
So whilst I’m sat in wintery York admiring Bob’s plan Anna had booked two weeks in Texas. She knew nothing of Bob’s record attempt. I’d not had sight of Bob’s itinerary and hadn’t worked out that maybe our paths could cross. Slowly but surely I woke from my metaphorical slumber and calculated that if Bob met his daily schedule there was a good chance by our driving west on our second to last day we could rendezvous. If you’ve read my other blogs you’ll know that Anna and I had a busy schedule all around the southern part of Texas and so this meeting would be a bolt on if Bob did the miles.
Whilst our return flights were booked we hadn’t decided where we’d go after Corpus Christi prior to arriving in Texas. However, Anna had done some research in Austin and Fredericksburg in the Hill Country had come up as a great destination. Hill Country is the name for the area above Austin where the flatlands finish and rolling hills take over. After the fearful city centre concrete motorways the reversion to an A road that had bends, traffic lights and the odd brow of a hill had appeal.
You can see the miles we were covering and the places. Corpus Christi to Fredericksburg is 215 miles
Anna had also knocked it out of the park with a terrific Airbnb near the centre of the town. From the point of view of design and appointment it was the finest we’ve ever stayed in.
Always on social media…
On our first night we wandered up the Main Street; I liked the signage and cars we saw.
(Not if hell froze over)Yup, people buy these and drive them
On our walk we discovered two things. The first was that the town had a German heritage from its earliest settlers (Native Americans to one side who’d been there centuries, obvs.) in 1846. The second was that the town was the birth place of Admiral Nimitz. He went onto be Commander In Chief of the Pacific War effort after the USA was dragged into WW2 after Pearl Harbor.
You see, I jest you not. The Pioneer Museum had a barbed wire displayAdmiral Chester W Nimitz
The town was quite an upmarket settlement with a thick veneer of affluence. Not all this was positive as when I got talking to a bike shop owner she lamented getting staff who could afford to live in the area was difficult. This seems a common problem in parts of England as well. Anna quite fancied sitting and relaxing but I always have the view that we’ve come a long way and we should get out and about. So the Pacific War Museum was visited, err… by myself! I had no idea there was a museum before we came but it seems their illustrious son, Nimitz, had led to a museum being sited here. It was like a tardis where from the Main Street a relatively small building didn’t reveal that in fact there was a massive museum with exhibits including a mini submarine, several aeroplanes and a boat etc. that illustrated the Pacific campaign against the Japanese.
A PT boat that launched torpedos at Japanese shipping
The graphics also told a comprehensive story of the rise of Japanese hegemony in the region and the strains in the area from earlier centuries between China, Korea and Japan that led to the Japanese expansionist ambitions. I never quite appreciated that Roosevelt made the choice to put military resource into Europe first to defeat the Nazis before turning to the Pacific with the resources that eventually won the war.
Anyway three hours later I emerged a wiser man. When Anna did, herself the next day, deign to continue her education we found a Pioneer Museum that told the story of German migration, starting in 1846, to this part of Texas. The German language was still spoken here until the mid 20th Century but what seems to remain now are the restaurants, museums, surnames and an immense pride. Particularly interesting was that two of the volunteers at the museums were of German immigrant ancestry and rabbited away under questioning. I think if you’ve spent time with white Americans their European heritage is important to them for their identity (and tourism in Europe!) This is probably less so for other American ethnic groups.
You get the impression that the Texans make a concession with a few recycling bins for the woke and delusional. Us in other words. Here Mrs Ives is saving the planet.Spot the spelling mistake…
Frankly on our long drive around the State we saw few African Americans. Latinos were in great numbers in the large urban areas but in places like Fredericksburg you might only see Latinos working in construction or gardening. Other ethnicities in the State, whether, say, Asian or Chinese, were as common as blokes from Acaster Malbis.
‘Merica at its most Right Wing and direct
Lastly, always be suspicious of a country song. There’s a very pre-eminent artist called Miranda Lambert. Her last LP was called Postcards from Texas. I already had the album download but managed to buy the vinyl for $8 in San Antonio. A complete steal. It has a track on it called Looking Back on Luckenbach. Well blow me if that wasn’t a small town near Fredericksburg. Interested to see the town that spawned the song we saddled up and headed out to look around. We drove along a country lane and somehow missed the town despite earlier signage? Ultimately we came across about six elderly wooden buildings and a field that turned out to be a music venue where minor or aspiring country artists might appear on a low stage. Crushed we headed back to Fredericksburg with a story if not a visited landmark.
I suppose an ‘elephant in the room’, for this blog, is Donald Trump, I haven’t mentioned him yet although I know there won’t be a news broadcast in the UK that won’t fail to talk about him, the tariffs, Ukraine or other Trumpian initiatives. When on holiday I glance at the BBC App headlines daily and that’s about it for news interest but without any invitation the Donald has crept into our conversations with some of the natives.
Old poster seen down a country lane
Simply put I’d say rural Americans are enthusiastic about him but urban, possibly better heeled and educated Americans, are seemingly less so. Texas is a Republican voting State though. Our Airbnb hosts in Austin were anti and the wife departed during our stay to participate in a ‘Hands Off’ protest in the middle of Austin. This march was a protest about all things right wing whether his or the Republicans attitude to the LBGTQ communities, education, abortion, Ukraine etc. Another person we met at the Ashley McBryde concert, herself a dreary and garrulous lesbian (one of her first declarations) who unloaded her life story on us between the support act and Ashley McBryde, seldom stopping to take breath, availed us of her hostility to all things Trump. Lastly a sweet 77 year old volunteer lady, at a museum, who we struck up a conversation with about her heritage and travels embarked on comparing Trump’s regime to the Nazis and Hitler. These were all women; maybe men may feel less isolated, frightened and hostile? Anyway enough politics.
So after our San Antonio concert we saddled up for a bit of beach time and drove south to the Gulf coast, namely Corpus Christi. Here we rented a place near the beach and planned to chill and see a few sights. For all its coastal/resort charm Corpus Christi is the eighth biggest Texan city with over 300,000 residents and is quite urban and concrete. Our apartment on Padre Island was separated from the mainland by a big long bridge. We were on the first floor in a block of apartments. Beneath us lurked Stacey and her man. Stacey, nearer 40 than 30, was smashed when we passed by her apartment but she leapt out, in her bikini, and apologised profusely? We never understood why but it may have been to do with the fact they had rented our apartment prior to our arrival. In a slur she invited us join her for dinner: they were cooking, in a cauldron, a load of fish they’d caught or bought. The cauldron sat on a burner amongst assorted detritus they’d amassed beside their front door. We never responded and hurried up the stairs prophetically to her beatbox playing Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’.
The next morning Stacey was sat near her door with white stick on patches beneath her eyes. This was to reduce puffiness she advised. Clearly the binge drinking had taken its toll. More strangely her partner was also wearing them. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing when I saw him. Again we hurried on. Our last conversation with Stacey came later in the day when she was clothed but in full make up and was outside smoking, f’ing and blinding to her partner about whatever and then took the opportunity to regale us with parts of her life story. She worked in the oil and gas industry, was clairvoyant but was currently angry that her meditation was interrupted by some noisy neighbours. We nodded sympathetically, thought privately she was no better than the neighbours and made our exit again. After midnight we heard loud music from their flat and her either singing or intermittently screaming. I suspect drugs may have been her choice later in the evening. Next morning she wasn’t outside and we slipped away glad for no further banter.
Found in the local Walmart. All the way from Hawes!
Three, happier, memorable things happened on our stay here . The first was visiting the Texan Sealife Center. These volunteers find and nurse to health turtles that come ashore ill or injured. Ill health can be because the weather affects their eating or have growths on their limbs because of a virus. Injuries occur through shark attacks or boating accidents. They can lose limbs. Some turtles are never returned to the sea as they can’t fend for themselves and become permanent residents. In the centre there were also some injured birds and even some reptiles. I found it all very heartening and thought all the youngsters we met doing this work were terrific.
Lettuce!
Second was a visit to a WW2 aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington. This was permanently moored off the beach. It was commissioned in 1942 and was in the navy reserve up until the 1990s. It did see active service and suffered a kamikaze attack that killed 47 crew and over 130 injured. Wandering around below decks was interesting as were the selection of very steep stairwells that made me realise my aspirations of being a Jolly Jack Tar were improbable due to my decrepitude. We spent three hours up and down the vessel before departing for some tacos.
Apparently there could be up over 45,000 teeth on the ship at any one time
Lastly near our apartment was near a busy beach. To our horror this beach allowed vehicular access. Inevitably the trucks brought music, gazebos and BBQ’s to the sand. Heaven help turtles thinking of laying some eggs? However, further up the coast we found a beach that was deserted and walked a couple of miles where Tony played ornithology. Even better was that his phone automatically identified the species!
My kind of busy beach. Idyllic or what?Laughing GullRoyal TernsSanderlingPelicans
With Corpus Christi ticked off it was back on the interstate for a long drive north to Texas Hill Country.
After leaving Texas’ most populous city, Houston, we stayed en route to the second most populous city, San Antonio, at Schulenburg. Anna’s research had identified this Interstate stop off as quaint with painted German churches. On arrival a quick drive around revealed a ramshackle settlement that may be described as a ‘one horse town’ but ‘ohne pferd’. (One for Google Translate.) Also no painted churches that we could see. On the evening we found an Italian restaurant close by the hotel and then had an early night.
Next morning the Interstate took us to the centre of San Antonio and the Downtown area that also housed the Alamo. The Downtown area is built up but it features an exquisite set of canals that dissect restaurants and hotels. In the sunshine it looked wonderful. It seems that all these hotels accommodate conference attendees that flood into the town and conference centres.
Come back!
Nearby the Alamo was a fort that was built by the Spanish, then occupied by the Mexicans and then the Texans or Texians (as the Republic of Texas knew its citizens.) The Mexicans via a siege in February 1836 and subsequent attack retook the fort and the church with all the Texian defenders killed. They then went onto murder other combatants (a total of about 200). This proved to be a call to arms for all Texians as well as men from outside the State for the next battle. Weeks later the Mexican army met the Texians at San Jacinto and this time the Mexicans were routed with considerable loss of life (650) but little for the Texians (11). Here the Texians, via treaty, gained their independence and the Mexicans struggled home. The reality was that the Mexicans thought they’d recover Texas in due course, of course we know they didn’t.
So this location is important to Texans as a vital yet bloody event in their achievement of independence. The ‘money shot’ is the outside of the church, in the then fort grounds. On this day there were many tourists and most spoke Spanish.
The Alamo church
In Texas any signage is in English and Spanish. In hospitality or retail the staff are South American. I say South American rather than Mexican because I think this Latino workforce comes from Central American countries as well as Mexico. Go into Walmart and the shoppers are Latino or go to an attraction the visitors are Latino. In one hotel I asked a member of staff for something and she didn’t speak English. She whipped out her mobile phone and we found the Spanish for ‘butter’ via a translation App. Employment here doesn’t demand the ability to speak English obviously. I once was told by an American guy whose family was from El Salvador that within decades Spanish would be the most popular language in the USA. I believe him.
Wondering around the centre we found an Indian restaurant for lunch before heading to the suburbs to our hotel. Driving in this city of 1.5 million people was no fun. Some of the roads and gradients wouldn’t be out of place in a theme park. Cars regularly took the ramps/turnings off or joined. It made you continually vigilant of vehicles swapping lanes at high speeds and trying to avoid being stuck on pesky exit roads when they diverted off the main route. After check-in I ventured out to sort out a SIM card problem and find a record store. Both were successful missions and I got some new country music vinyl at $8 and $3 each. In the UK this would be £30 a pop. It has to be said such bargains were unusual.
I asked Anna to take quick snap of flyovers under construction. Yikes!
The next day we visited the Botanical Gardens. These were meh! I love a botanical garden. Mainly for the trees, shade and non-indigenous blooms. This newer site had no trees bar a few in a Japanese garden and there were some flowers, especially the orchids and roses that looked lovely but otherwise it wasn’t a memorable garden.
The night was. We attended a concert about 15 miles away from our hotel and so another white knuckle drive on the road system took us there. Any music on a hot summer’s evening outside with a beer seems a great idea and this was a holiday highlight – Ashley McBryde.
So waving goodbye to our Austin hosts, in fact we gave them a bottle of prosecco, we hit the Interstate heading east to Houston. However, the small compelling matter of consuming dangerous levels of unhealthy cholesterol for brekkie called and an early stop was scheduled. We stopped at Maxine’s on Bastrop’s Main Street.
Biscuits (scones to you and me) laden with sausage, two poached eggs smothered in ‘gravy’ with other veg lurking underneath and a small pot of salsa coming. The fried potatoes were magic.
Bastrop is a very old town (by American standards) and owes its importance to being sited on the Colorado river and a historic crossing point for a major road going east. The road was important for the Spanish and then Mexicans heading east (to parts of their possessions.) These two nations were the colonisers of this part of the globe. Spain first and then they got booted out when Mexico gained its independence in 1821. The Republic of Texas was formed when a Texan volunteer army beat the Mexican army to create the Republic in 1836. This Republic became the 28th US state in 1848. Still with me?
Main Street.
So why did Texas rise against the Mexicans? The Mexican regime was hostile to more Anglo/white immigration into Texas and by all accounts were not good masters. The Anglo/white population was mainly white European (Germans, Czechs, Irish and French) immigrants who’d moved here for the available land. It also helped that they could farm the land with the legal use of slaves. Mexico inconveniently banned slavery in 1827. There were initial concessions for Texas over slavery but when Mexico banned further European immigration there was conflict. Hence the war and subsequent independence. (The USA didn’t ban slavery until 1865 and you may recollect that that entailed the further death of over 600,000 to get that across the line in the American Civil War.)
This might explain all the Spanish city names and this considerable influence, to this day, on food, art and diversity of population in Texas, as well as the Spanish name itself. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Bastrop. It had a small magnificent museum down the street from Maxine’s and the history was told in great detail. It was fascinating, a little gem of a place. After a good look, on we continued.
The roadI can promise you that no small town US museum is complete without a selection of different types of barb wire. (Cross my heart and hope to die.)
Houston is a very large sprawl and frustratingly the Space Center was in the south east as we approached from the north west. However we found our Holiday Inn and checked in. Over the car park was a Costco, always carry your membership card, for cheap petrol and a mosey. The mosey included the purchase of an iPad for one of the son-in-laws. He’d identified that all Apple products were cheaper than in the UK. That and fuel are about it.
Hurry now whilst stocks last…
After this transaction a little detoxification ensued for dinner.
Plastic cutlery everywhere. Aaagh!
Visiting the Space Center was my idea. (Not the present Mrs Ives.) I’m not awfully scientific but I find the whole Apollo era engrossing. The adventure to a planet 239,000 miles away when technology in the western world still made this the best selling UK car in 1969 blows my mind.
Good old BMC. A Morris 1100“This is ground control to Major Tom…”
Houston was the ‘control’ but the launches were made in Florida at Cape Canaveral. However, here they had assembled a whole rocket and displayed it in a purpose built building. These parts are original: the Apollo launches had been planned to go up to Apollo 20 but the project was abandoned after 17; hence the left over rockets for the displays. One early Apollo mission left the three astronauts dead after fire during testing and, of course, Apollo 13 had to be aborted and the world watched as they adapted smaller rockets and components to get back to Earth. Otherwise they were all a brilliant success. To think, at launch, the 40 metre high rocket with three astronauts has about 500,000 gallons of liquid oxygen and kerosene as fuel on board seems lethal.
What also struck me was the intricacy of all the pipe work and electrics. A total ‘spaghetti’ of components all needing to work when you’re 90 miles from the surface of the Earth in a low orbit before being propelled to the Moon.
All the astronauts were former USAF test pilots. They had, no doubt, nerves of steel, familiarity with phenomenal speed, expert aircraft control experience and were trained to sit precariously amongst a whole set of prototype components on their first trajectory at thousands of miles per hour through thin air and then space.
They had a Space Shuttle (or Thunderbird 3 to those of a certain age) to look at.
So after rockets it was a visit to the Mission Control room where even Anna started to get excited. Here we received an introduction then sat through that moment of elation as we hear ‘the eagle has landed’. Eagle was the name given to the Apollo 11 craft. This included hearing the President (Nixon) talk to the astronauts in space . I loved it all.
A TV relayed this footageLive commentary from the landing
I loved less the hour and a half of driving through Houston motorways to get west again. If that wasn’t stressful enough juggling lanes at 55mph on motorways with many vehicles crossing behind and in front of you to take exits there was the commentary of Middlesbrough vs Leeds United to raise also blood pressure. Bless the TalkSPORT App. Two disallowed (good goals) and a last 15 minutes of hanging on to our slender 0-1 lead was nerve racking. However, they did hang on and we barrelled along to Schulenburg for the night before travelling on to San Antonio.
After Anna’s Austrian ankle break last August and the time she’s spent recovering holidays were put on the back burner. However, making up for lost time we arranged a couple of weeks in the Lone Star state. (By the way, Anna’s now very mobile and her recovery is a testament to the surgery/care she received and her diligent rehab regime.)
We’ve never been to Texas and as it’s as big as Europe and there’s plenty to see and do albeit with a little driving (understatement.) Austin appealed because it’s the state capital and country music! From here we’d take in the Space Center at Houston, then to San Antonio for a look and concert. Afterwards it’s down to the coast and a stay at Corpus Christi. Flying out of Heathrow meant hauling down to London from Yorkshire by train but this was compensated by a relatively cheap upgrade to ‘World Traveller’ from Economy with British Airways. For a nine hour flight the extra space is a boon.
Lubrication accepted
In Austin Anna chose an Airbnb for our three nights and this was on the outskirts of the centre. The first thing that hits you (again) is that the USA is no longer cheap. Historically you could buy in dollars what it cost in pounds or usually cheaper. Now it’s way more expensive including food/dining. Tipping is a usual demand starts at 15 or 18%. You even get asked this when inserting your card into the reader at the counter of a coffee shop for a take out! Austin is big and sits on the Colorado river. In the centre skyscrapers abound. We walked around (24,300 steps!) on our first day but when we went out for an evening music walking tour we took an Uber feeling very lardy. For the distance of a couple of miles we paid $23 but that cost was soon forgotten as a driverless Jaguar turned up. School boy thrill time! (When we did take a taxi with a driver it’s always interesting to learn where the driver originates from. One was from Afghanistan and got residency because he worked with the US military and the other was a large bloke from Cameroon.)
Jaguar taxi delightFelt great and very safe
The city sells itself as being the live music capital of the USA. I personally don’t think so after having been to Nashville but our guide, a musician herself, took us around some venues and even sang. She had a great voice and gave us a few bars of ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline as an illustration of one of the songs written by the city’s living legend, Willie Nelson.
Willie NelsonSinging guide!
In fact I think Willie’s done a lot to put the city on the map. The focus of the music nightlife is 6th Street. This is a pale shadow of Nashville’s Lower Broadway but the deal is the same ie. bars with live music. We bowled up to the San Jac Saloon where a couple of acts were strumming away fighting the inevitable rowdy background of the revellers. We enjoyed Bron Burbank who worked his way through covers and ploughed on despite the indifference.
The next day we returned to the airport to collect a car we booked. I’d wanted a BMW X1 for the 1,000+ miles I’d be driving but ‘or similar’ in the booking meant I stood a considerable chance of disappointment. Yup, no BMW but a Mercedes GLA came as the consolation. I absorbed the blow with good grace. First stop on our return to East Austin central was an American breakfast at Sawyer & Co for eggs, bacon, gravy and a biscuit. This was hip and I added about 15 years to average age in the busy Sunday morning restaurant. Fortified it was time for history and drove up to the State Capital building.
Texas State CapitalGuided tour insideThe rotunda ceiling
This contains the legislature of Texan senators, congressmen and the Governor. It’s a wonderful building and we enjoyed a tour up the various levels. The legislature only sits for about 140 days a year and apart from a flat salary of $7,500 a year they receive, in addition, about $220/day expenses. Needless to say they all have other jobs. (The Governor only receives around $150,000 pa.) It’s a very historic building and there are several paintings of 19th century notables who led Texas to independence out of Mexico. (More of all this in a later blog.) The grounds similarly have many statues of other Texan worthies.
Interesting neighbourhoodCinderella?A great album!
Back at our digs we discovered our intended honky-tonk destination was shut on a Sunday. That was the Broken Spoke, a little out of town. However our hosts said, in walking distance, was the White Horse, honky-tonk and maybe worth a visit. So venturing out the good news was that the large numbers of homeless men were not present who, frankly, carpet some streets. They never threatened us but their condition and presence was a miserable sight to see. It seems all major US cities have large numbers who simply seem to survive rather than live.
The White Horse was all I could have dreamed of from the neon signage, a full dance floor two-stepping and a fabulous band – Silo Road. They could really play and mixed originals with covers as couple span around in front of us. Before you ask, then ‘no’. I have the coordination of a pedal bin and most of these dancers were skilled. All the country music songs I know talk of dancing on ‘hardwood floors’ but this was concrete but bore the throng happily. Back at the Airbnb we packed as tomorrow we were headed east for rockets!
After a little negotiation and the loss of one nomad, Tim, Rome was selected as the destination for old friends Paul, Neil and moi to head in October. The three of us had been friends since the 1970s and as reunions go we’d set the bar high by a sojourn to Malaga in 2023. The Italian capital ticked all the boxes for culture, cuisine, was warm in October and walkable. Inevitably I had to rise at Stupid O’Clock to attend Leeds Bradford Airport for the Jet2 flight. Sampling Yorkshire cuisine for the last time in four days I feasted on a Greggs bacon sandwich before boarding.
As a bloke with too much to say I was soon attempting to pass the two hours and 50 minutes by talking with my neighbouring passenger. She was looking around Rome with her partner before starting a cruise for a week or so from the coastal port near the city. I’m interested in people’s lives and her aubergine spiky hair sat on top of a retired Primary School music teacher. She was now spending time in more leisurely pursuits; this included playing and teaching steel drums. A long discussion ensued about the chord structures they played and how the hell you kept the lid of an oil drum in tune. Anyone earwigging this conversation would have probably found themselves shortly drifting into an unconscious state. Anyway, not the most obvious musical pursuit for someone who lived between Leeds and Wakefield.
At Fiumicino I eventually tracked down Paul, who’d flown in earlier from London, and we took a taxi to the city. The last time I caught a taxi in Rome was 1987. My honeymoon. My lasting memory was being ripped off by the driver. In fairness it was something like 40,000 Lira and it was easy when man handling a half inch wad of notes to accidentally chuck in an extra 10,000. Comfortingly there was a fixed fee of €55 and so the potential for malarky was reduced. On arrival in the centre, we were in need of hydration.
The first of the holiday
Hydration proved essential as the apartment lay at the top of 66 steps and we perched over a narrow street at a great height. Anna had taken over the search and booking after the three of us, earlier in the year, had drawn a blank on finding an affordable apartment with three bedrooms.
Checking in took 40 minutes. Andrea let us in and then began extracting further money. I had known this was coming. Sadly, our team bursar, Neil wasn’t arriving until later and the administration fell to me whilst Paul took photos and had hysterics as we progressed onto the next payment.
Andrea and a bemused victim of VRBO
In short there was a cleaning fee of just over £96 (yes, I know daylight robbery), a damage deposit of €150 and a city tax of €6 per person per day. All this required bringing up website links and the tapping in of credit card details that serially failed until the umpteenth attempt.
With Andrea considerably richer and gone we decided to procure some groceries and get another drink!
A nice drop of Baccanera
Grocery shopping needed to be thorough as living at the top of 66 steps would have had Sherpa Tenzing and Sir Edmund Hillary drawing lots to see who was popping out to get the milk. Eventually Neil arrived after being delayed by the scene of a car crash on his way. His appearance initiated the tricky allocation of rooms. Two were large with double beds and the third was adequate but more accurately described as a hutch. I’d found a random number generator on the web and we decided that the lowest number would be the loser. It was a best of five competition. (Sadly) Neil was eliminated early on leaving Paul and myself to ‘fight it out’. I’m pleased to report a happy ending with Paul securing the hutch.
Dinner was around the corner where Paul set about a steak so inadequately cooked that a good vet would have had the cow running around in no time. Neil ate the first of his several pizzas on his brief stay in Italy and my dish was so remarkable I’ve completely forgotten what it was. Sleep didn’t follow quickly as the town was buzzing and the narrow street amplified the revelling crowds below through our windows. Paul’s hutch was insulated by an internal wall and was no doubt looking at the inside of his eyelids shortly after his head hit the pillow.
Secondo Giorno
Fortified by our breakfast we ventured into the rain to find the Pantheon. This is a former temple and is a remarkable structure. It seemed the site had a few incarnations before it appeared in its current form in AD 125. The engineering blew me away as the symmetry and design given it antiquity were exceptional. Paul quickly identified the real achievement: with a nine metre round aperture in the self-supported roof the light inside the building was just about adequate on its own. Latterly it had a Christian adaptation but the scale and magnificence showed the ambition and confidence of the Romans millennia ago.
The Pantheon
Our two heroes start the video…
If we’d thought, foolishly, that visiting Rome in October would be a time of year when tourism may have abated we were oh so wrong. The city was heaving and there were a mix of Far Eastern tourists, usually wandering around with their face lit brightly by their phones as they photographed literally everything, burly Americans finding it hard to navigate the hoards due to their bulk whilst attempting to follow their tour leader who was babbling into a microphone about the finer points of the Roman Empire and South Americans who, I suspect, were here for the religious significance. And some of the Brits were struggling to cope with the concept that falling rain made you wet.
From here we dodged the raindrops and headed to the magnificent Victor Emmanual II monument. Vic was the first king of the united Italy and was a relatively recent installation; only completed in 1935. After visiting the church behind the monument, we saw where the Forum and Colosseum were before heading across the Tiber for a Vatican tour.
Scaffolding is a common sight!
As we approached the meeting point Neil received a call to say it was cancelled! There wasn’t sufficient capacity in the attraction to cater for all the tourists. It wouldn’t ‘dismantle’ our visit with disappointment but there were lots of foreign Catholic worshipping tourists who I’m sure had come to Rome as a literal pilgrimage. This confirmed how busy Rome was as a tourist destination. No matter, we absorbed the blow and pacified Neil with more pizza.
After this fine dining we were still bemused by the cancellation and visited a local ticket booking agency to confirm this was true. The Indian proprietor confirmed ‘absolutely’. He also said Rome was inexplicably busy! He recommended we wander down to St Peter’s Square and join a queue. In the continuing rain we did as he recommended. Neil was now wearing a pullover that absorbed the rain perfectly. Here we looked at the queue and spent 15 minutes trying to find the end of it and then spent 90 minutes in it. The visit to St Peter’s Basilica was worth the wait.
(Note Paul’s flat hat. Whippets were not allowed in the basilica)No sighting of Il Papa at the St Peter Basilica
It’s a remarkable structure and the marble, gold leaf and paintings are sumptuous and it must be the ‘Disneyland’ of cathedrals. Around every corner there’s a new amazing sculpture or painting. Sadly, a trip up the cupola wasn’t possible due to a service taking place.
So, as we wandered back we had a beer and Paul reviewed his restaurant options. John, a well-travelled friend of Paul’s, had given him a list and we hoped, without an earlier booking on this Saturday night, we’d be lucky.
Paul still wearing his coat (but not hat)
We were fortunate and bowled up to Hostaria Farnese. This wasn’t before confirming that Paul’s multi-tasking skills needed working on. He can either talk or navigate, but not both! We were heading in the wrong direction initially. On arrival, after photos, we had three delicious courses and a fine bottle of wine. I had a tomato and mozzarella salad followed by some roast pork and finished with some pistachio ice cream. We were asked to part with about €190. On discovering that Neil had forgotten to pack his Marigolds we had no option other than to cough up.
6.3 miles walking during the day
Giorno Tre
The sun appeared. Neil chose shorts but Paul still wore his fleece. This definitively proves that when they were youths the climate was warmer in Lancashire compared to Yorkshire with lasting effects. The objective was to get to the Colosseum early and avoid the crowds; we failed. However, we got a ticket, for free, to enter the Colosseum at 1pm. In the meanwhile, we had entry into the Forum. Frankly folks we wondered around for a little while watching all the Far Eastern tourists taking copious photos usually with themselves in the foreground. The area is a confetti of various ruins that span many centuries but mostly excavated in the 19th. After showing willing as to the project I proposed abandoning and getting a coffee that was carried unanimously.
The Forum
Traffic in Rome was predictably hectic and made no easier but quite appealing when about 100 Fiat 500’s drove past. Paul shot the video (sound on).
A noisy Fiat fiesta
The Colosseum did not disappoint. It’s a spectacular structure. It was my second visit and fortunately little had changed (!) as regards the building although the volume of tourists had exploded. Poor Anna languishing in York with her broken ankle did get to share the views as I had a video call with her.
The Colosseum
The Nomads separated (when within) and we met up an hour later to head for the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps but not before a drink.
Never alone!The Tiber
On finding a table we got talking to a couple from Essex who were taking time out with a break. Whilst I’m rabbiting to the good burghers of Rayleigh I was being drawn. I was handed a caricature out of the blue by someone who just happened to fancy doing a sketch! Funnily enough I was not impressed by the likeness but Paul and Neil laughed heartily at the uncanny resemblance.
Bastard…
The Trevi Fountain is a wonderful monument built in the 18th Century at the behest of a Pope. Famously you should throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain, no doubt for luck. Given the crowds who prevented close access to the water you’d more than likely make someone lose an eye if you did this. The total number of coins thrown total over €1 million every year and go to charity. The sceptic in me wonders if it’s a ‘one for you and one for me’ arrangement with the collectors. Fighting our way past the fountain we found the Spanish Steps.
Trevi FountainThis gives you an idea of how busy all of the tourist attractions were in Rome
After reflecting on our future mountaineering when we returned to the apartment we spurned the opportunity to ascend the 135 steps to the church at the top. Despite the name arising from the Spanish embassy at the bottom of the steps the money and design were French and it was completed in the 18th Century.
Spanish Steps6.7 miles during the day
Our last supper was at another of John’s picks at Trattoria Palese. With a pullover on you could happily dine outside and we did and exchanged bants with a cheeky Macedonian waiter. Close to our apartment was an Irish pub. I couldn’t resist a Guinness as our final drink. The next day we all had different flight times and I was the first off. All three of us suffered delays with Paul not departing until the evening. So that was a wrap for 2024. Who knows where the nomads might reconvene next?
My first thoughts were getting to the hospital but on this day, the Tuesday after the Sunday accident I waited at the hotel for the Collinson call. This came with the usual telephone line being dropped and I was offered two flights. One at 10pm on Wednesday night or one at tea time on Friday from Munich. Anna would get three seats to herself to rest her leg in plaster. The problem here was that there were no midweek flights out of Salzburg and so we’d have to travel further afield. Consulting Anna I took the Wednesday, the logic being that the sooner we got to England then the sooner she’d get the operation and if we arrived on Friday then we may suffer the hospital departments partially closed for the weekend. However, it was clear that we’d not get to York District Hospital before midnight and they didn’t know we were coming! The advice had been to get to a hospital and go into triage.
From this decisive call I went down to the hospital and joined the walkers and holiday makers on the bus. The region had made this and several ski lifts free to encourage tourists. My bus stop, which was about a mile from the hospital was a very pleasant walk. I counted the different nationalities by the variety of number plates. It added up to 10 in a mile. Quite a destination for all and sundry.
Not a bad walk
Anna (and Helga) were fine although the room was hot due to the sunshine but the staff buzzed about and seemed to cope with the difficulty of catering for a vegetarian, not a usual Austrian problem it appeared! You take for granted the widespread knowledge of English and whilst it didn’t always help overcoming some cultural differences or medical matters I wouldn’t like to be a German speaker in a British hospital.
That night I said goodbye to the hotel staff and guests and packed. Everyone had been as kind and as helpful as they could be. I left the hotel mid-morning by taxi despite not being collected by an ambulance taxi in the late afternoon from the hospital. Frankly, there was nothing to hang about for in Hinterglemm and my mind was elsewhere. The taxi did turn up with a quasi para medic who drove the Mercedes mini bus to Munich.
My temporary accommodation
She was a nice girl but drove like a nutcase on the no speed limit autobahns. Clutching a stress ball in her right hand and swapping lanes to dive in and out of traffic in outer Munich rush hour traffic was an experience you’d usually pay extra for at a theme park. Anna shut her eyes. At the airport we eventually found the Check In desk.
With a wheel chair you cannot move through Security or onto the aircraft without ‘special assistance’. The downside of this is that we experienced an hour and half delay waiting for this ‘special assistance’ to arrive to push Anna. They were simply late and our abandonment by the now empty Check In desk long after the other passengers had disappeared through Security was stressful.
The flight eventually departed at 11.30pm and you can imagine that arriving in Manchester at past 1pm wasn’t ideal. Neither was the absence of the taxi to take her to Manchester. My car was located at a different Terminal and I had the suitcases to collect and move so it always the plan that she would travel separately and more promptly. However, I managed to exit the Baggage Reclaim and Customs before Anna and looked around Arrivals for a bloke with a sign. There wasn’t one. So, I hung around in Arrivals until she emerged. After a delay thinking someone would appear we called Collinson asking where the driver was. We were told that the driver wouldn’t appear and the only solution was to wait longer for someone new. Given we’d lost about 45 minutes through this fiasco we cut our losses and I went to the Terminal 2 and fetched my car to Terminal 1 and loaded Anna into the back seat and off we went to York District Hospital negotiating part of the M1 being closed!
There are 17 sets of traffic lights from the A64 to York District Hospital; we drove though 16 of those on green where I slumped over the counter at A&E Reception at 4am and related our story. They couldn’t have been more responsive or sympathetic to the ordeal and she was quickly wheeled into Triage. Then X Rays and then in front of a doctor. He looked at her X Rays and confirmed what we knew plus explained a little more about the breaks in the tibia and fibia. We were now in the system. Anna couldn’t come home as we couldn’t move her around the house without a zimmer/walker. They kept her in whilst I drove home in the emerging daylight. My head hit the pillow at 6am.
From here we’re waiting for her operation date. Anna remains calm and lots of friends and family have been in touch. We’re grateful for all the kindness and support. If there are some ‘take aways’ to emphasis then make sure you travel with your GHIC and always have travel insurance.
Hospitals wake early and by breakfast, at my hotel, Anna advised on WhatsApp that the consultant had done his rounds and that they wouldn’t operate and insert the pins. The reason that we eventually extracted was that they needed the bed. Had they decided to do the operation then Anna would have had to stay until the swelling of her ankle went down and then there would be further time after the operation in the hospital before she could fly. They had 60 beds at this small hospital and 46 were currently filled by tourists. (It does make you wonder how many hospital beds are filled by tourists in a major attraction like London, albeit the visitors are not probably skiing or walking up and down mountains: it must be hundreds.) So, with this development I called the emergency medical number for our travel insurer – World First. As it is with these organisations they sub contract the trickier medical bit. This medical insurance was provided by Collinson.
Our hotel in Hinterglemm
They were responsive and opened a case file. The next step was for them to receive a hospital medical report and for me to complete an accident form. They would then decide the best solution. Their reassuring approach made me feel that I was working with a partner and I trotted off to ask for the medical report. However, from here it was frustrating during the day, to create a dialogue between the hospital and the insurer. Obviously we wanted it moving quickly. The initial problem arose when the hospital wouldn’t provide a written report but would discuss it on the phone. That was irritating but they gave us a contact telephone number to call them. That didn’t connect! I found this out by ringing up Collinson at midday and asking how they’d got on? “Oh, we rang and rang but couldn’t get an answer”. Calming myself I thought why didn’t you ring me back to get the number checked? Moving on, I did amend the number after pressing the hospital for the correct one.
Hospital on the lake
Not all of my calls were easy with Collinson as the quality of phone signal in these areas was patchy and usually you’d drop off the line at a vital point when you were discussing details. Also, when you went back to Collinson you’d have to go through their protocol of re-affirming details before they would put you through to the case handler you were initially speaking to… “Case Number, name of claimant, date of birth and country where the claimant is claiming from”. Now if this sounds a bit ‘clunky’ rather than such a big deal by this stage you know you holiday is over and delivering a solution for your bride is the only focus. Resolving bureaucracy, language barriers with the Austrians, knowing virtually nothing about ankle breaks or their rectification and not least the pressing importance of a timely intervention being met. Add to this the sorting of this out on busy streets with poor mobile telephone connections in burning hot sunshine and knowing time is of the essence made this into an interesting and intensive activity.
Meanwhile I’m on the bus down the 13 miles of valley to the hospital to see Anna, who’s languishing in her two bed Ward with a testy elderly Austrian woman who snaps at the staff and demands coffee and biscuits at precise times in the morning and afternoon. I christened her Helga. One nurse was admonished for not placing her morning newspaper on her bed rather than a table. However, despite this less attractive side to her personality she spoke a bit of English and liked my voice! She told me and the nurses about my dulcet tones and wondered if I was an actor? In fairness, it was an easy mistake to make. On every visit Anna’s calm, well cared for and knows that despite my impatience a solution will come to pass.
After my visit I trooped up to bus stop in the heat, past the delightful lake, where Collinson rang to say that they had now spoken to the hospital. Yippee.
Laura still had details to sort with the hospital and was also disappointed they wouldn’t operate. I had this conversation at the bus stop on the main road as buses and concrete mixers are grumbling past. “Can you hear me?” “Yes, Laura”. The upshot was that if they couldn’t persuade the hospital they’d fly us home. It might seem obvious given our policy but in a state of heightened anxiety this was a comfort. She’d call tomorrow giving me the plan.
I continued up the valley to Hinterglemm and showered for dinner. The breakfast, lunch (pack up) and dinner were fabulous. Given Anna’s absence I’d had to explain to the waitresses and other Inghams holiday makers what had happened initially and given them a day by day report. This was whilst downing a large beer. I suppose this counts as holiday?
Back in the room I had a long accident report to complete and send along with passport details so that new airline tickets could be booked. Was it all straightforward from here with so many transfers and handlers and how would York District Hospital respond with no prior contact when we turned up at Stupid O’Clock with a broken ankle? Anyway that was tomorrow’s challenge. Now it was sleep.
Returning quickly to Anna she was sat on the ground with her legs stretched in front of her with a badly swollen left ankle. It had ballooned in barely seconds. She was in considerable pain, nauseous and couldn’t move the ankle let alone contemplate standing up.
Beside me was the kind lady who’d called me back. She was an Austrian school teacher who was staying locally with her teenage daughters at an apartment they had in the area. She spoke excellent English, as did her daughters, and assessing the situation that Anna would need carrying down or up the path to a road where a vehicle could access, she rang an emergency number. The person on the end of the line needed directions to where we were and as she spoke German she stayed to facilitate the navigation. It was a blessing to have such assistance.
In about 25 minutes a man appeared and quickly looked at the ankle, presumably confirming Anna needed hospitalisation, and then started to assess the best routes to get her to a vehicle (on a road). From here the lady and daughters said that they could do nothing further, accepted my profuse thanks and went about their original walk up the mountain. Who said there are no angels in Austria?
In the meanwhile, our official Mountain Rescue man called up another four rescuers who appeared with a stretcher so that they could safely secure Anna onto it and drag her off the mountain. It was about three or four hundred yards downhill to an ambulance.
I was surprised to see a Police van and the ambulance when we got clear of the forest. Anna meanwhile had been jogged around on this bumpy slide but was bearing up and urged me to give some beer money to the hardy souls who’d dragged her off the mountain. The Police just needed to know it was an accident rather than anything more sinister and they were soon on their way. The paramedics loaded Anna up and were off. I’d asked to go along with them to the hospital in the ambulance, 13 miles down the road in Zell-am-See, but was denied. No doubt some protocol.
With her in the best, safe hands I trudged the mile or so downhill back to the hotel to collect some things for her including her Global Health Insurance Card (GHIC) and then hailed a taxi to take me there. Needless to say my mind was flooding with the minutiae of being able to support Anna. For example it seems that several local businesses hide behind (imho) poor mountain internet signals to operate on a cash only basis. The taxi cost €65 in cash. This would be recoverable but how much cash would I need during this crisis to get about etc.? Where was an ATM?
On arrival at the hospital I was directed to the A&E waiting room where passing across the GHIC was met with relief. (I’m sure they would have taken care of the emergency without the opportunity to reclaim but taking away potential problems was a good move.) I was comforted that she was in capable hands but what was happening? Eventually Anna WhatsApp’d me. She’d broken her ankle in two places and was fully X Ray’d but would need an operation to pin the bones. This was when fuck met my old boots. I’d known things were amiss but this was very serious. I went up to the Ward.
As always Anna was calm and resigned to this issue but had to be on an infusion of pain relief for the ankle as it had been ‘reset’ in the correct alignment with lots of pulling and pushing that necessitated a very painful injection. We both quickly agreed that I would have been a hopeless coward had I had to go through this procedure. The initial advice by the hospital was that they would carry out the operation two or three days later.
Her accommodation was a bright, airy and modern room for two female patients with its own loo and shower. There was a TV attached to the bed which was very functional and moved up and down on the push of a switch. The view from the hospital window was sensational.
Floating around were various nurses and other staff. There appeared to be no deprivation or shortage of medics albeit no one would want to be there.
There was nothing more to do and as it was clear she’d be there for some time I took a long list of things to collect and return with the next day. We both started telling the tour operator, family and friends about events on WhatsApp and I returned to the hotel. This I decided to do by the free bus that ran along the valley. It meant walking a mile to the bus stop from the krankenhaus (yes, it sounds like a cartoon name for a hospital) and in the 30° heat/sunshine I caught the bus in a fairly sweaty mess back to Hinterglemm.
So, everything was under control? However, tomorrow a proverbial stick would be thrust into the spokes by the hospital.
So the present Mrs Ives felt that we should follow the 2022 footsteps of our youngest (and husband) to Austria for a walking holiday. Being a part time guide I had the kit and so off we went flying into Salzburg and then took a bus ride with Inghams to Hinterglemm.
The last time I was in the Salzburg area I was cycling back to York in 2018 from Croatia. The country is undoubtedly beautiful. I’d also spent a lot of time (a long time ago) in Austria or dealing with Austrians. They are or were pre-eminent in making furniture components. It was all familiar and attractive to me. The resort lay at the top of a valley in the west of Austria equidistant between Innsbruck and Salzburg. It was a Saturday when we arrived and town was jumping. The whole place is set up for tourism, whether winter skiers or summer walkers (or mountain bike riders.) It’s chocolate box pretty and the surrounding mountains are awesome.
There must have been a weekend festival as the crowded streets were teeming and the natives were to be found in local garb albeit often the worse for wear as they copiously imbibed. If their merriment was fun to see then the oompah music wasn’t. It amazes me how Austria ever made it to the 21st Century if this is what they like listening to. Granted it isn’t complicated as each tune was the same as the last one, give or take an odd toot. This cacophony was usually underpinned by a tuba and led by an accordion.
A musical highlight amongst this teutonic torment came when breaking away from this formula they played Smokie’s 1972 hit ‘Living Next Door To Alice’. (Sorry, I’m a geek I know this stuff.) It was a tolerable rendition that was enlivened by the crowd adding at the end of the chorus ‘Who the fuck is Alice?’ A sentiment I could relate to. Anyway as some of the crowd drifted off weaving to their accommodation we also crossed the road to our hotel that sadly was close to the noisy revelry. This din continued until 1.30am I am told. Frustratingly, for Anna, I was well asleep drifting off trying to recall the band members of Smokie.
Breakfast was splendid but passage to the buffet reminded me of the Austrian no nonsense approach to people in their way. This was to ignore them and barrel on. I found this intolerably rude, not least when I stepped aside and there was no ‘thank you’. I too did contemplate barrelling through but chickened out at the thought of being impaled by a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and the funny little things the Austrians think are sausages approaching me at 15mph held by a burly Frau with the sense of humour (and the manners) of a pedal bin.
After breakfast we met with the guide who told us about the walking routes and distributed maps. From here we walked to a cable car and ascended to the top and strolled around.
There were separate paths for all the mountain bikers who were togged up in elbow and knee protectors along with full face helmets. Clearly these chaps had speed on their mind and as us cyclists would say it was very ‘technical’ as the paths wound tightly down the slopes.
Yes, well observed this chap not wearing elbow protectors, but the rest were!
Our initial exertions resulted in a pit stop for a cold soft drink and we solved Austria’s national debt crisis in one fell swoop by paying for the drinks. (I know we talk about the cost of living crisis and inflation in the UK but this place is on another level.)
“There’s gold in them thar hills…”
After this we descended back to the town by walking and using the cable cars.
By this stage the legs are advising that this walking down hill malarky is tiring and tricky but with one small section to go before we reached the bottom we were mercifully out of the very hot sun in a wooded area that had a windy, in places steep, path that was covered in tree roots. I was walking ahead of Anna and was around a corner when a lady walker came back shouting for me to return as “your wife has fallen”.
So, to complete our odyssey we left Spartanburg and headed north to the Great Smoky Mountains. This is a National Park with mountains/hills, rivers, waterfalls, a wide selection of wildlife (especially bears and deer), trails, history and, in places, lots of tourists. The Appalachians are a vast area stretching to Canada but I think it would be fair to say that when the name is used it registers in people’s minds as the rugged countryside of North Carolina and Tennessee. In the 19th Century there were Cherokees, early white/European settlers, thick forests and wildlife. The people living there seemed to eek out an existence by subsistence farming. Appalachian is also often seen as a variant in certain music genres, whether, americana, folk or roots music (acoustic).
We stayed a couple of nights in Bryson City, the proverbial one horse town comes to mind. It is however home to a heritage rail line. This ran into the park and along the Fontana Lake. This is a reservoir that at one end feeds a hydro electric power station. It looked idyllic with a lot of properties (house boats) floating on it as well as boats. The train ride was a run up the line and back again; why there were so many passengers in the 12 carriages will long remain a mystery as when I alighted I felt it was five hours of my life I’d never get back.
On leaving the town and saying goodbye to the horse we found a hiking trail. After all our city time we were yearning for some greenery away from the crowds. This was a complete tonic. The walk reminded me of strolling beside the River Wharf at Bolton Abbey.
We started to experience crowds when we drove through Cherokee and arrived at the fascinating Oconaluftee visitor centre that graphically explained the history of the park from the time that the Cherokees were the sole inhabitants until the European settlers arrived. Following the Europeans arrival then the loggers came and a major industry was established in the clearing and selling of timber. When this eventually fizzled out in the early 20th Century the area was turned into a National Park and is today a major resort area.
We drove the Newfoundland Gap, which was full of traffic but everywhere you looked the scenery was sensational.
We arrived at Gatlinburg. A place that has a little romance in it for me after it’s the town that “Sue’ found his father in the song A Boy Named Sue. The town blights the image of the Park in the eyes of many as it’s a resort with stacked hotels, fast food, child friendly entertainments, fairground rides, intense congestion and nowhere to park! We drove straight through and onto the other blemish, Pigeon Forge.
This bigger town was full of cheap accommodation, restaurants and some entertainments including the opportunity to dress up in 19th Century garb for a photo! One of the major draws is its proximity to Dollywood. This is a theme park owned and named after Dolly Parton. Despite my affection and admiration of the country artist then wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me in there . After some lunch and a visit to a supermarket we headed to the attractive and quiet Townsend. Our property back up in the woods was a base.
One day we drove to Cades Cove. The advice was get there early to avoid the congestion. This single track ride around a large wooded area was very popular and there were many visitors, even at 9am, cameras with long lenses snapping at anything that moved. I was initially a bit indifferent to the experience in a slow moving traffic jam until we actually spotted several bears. The clue to where the wildlife was, as you proceeded slowly, was the sight of volunteer marshalls in hi-viz , they were usually near bears and attempting to manage the cars. People leapt out of their cars to snap them (and in true US style left their cars running with the aircon working.). All in all we saw eight black bears.
For Anna who visits the North America seemingly in pursuit of wild bears it definitely ticked a box.I was so inspired that I procured one to take back for Isabella.
In Townsend we continued to explore with walks, visiting a local heritage museum and I even found a country club to use their static bicycle in the gym.
As my thoughts turned to home a worrying thought entered my head: the hire car was contracted to be returned to Savannah and not Nashville where we were headed. (The bland Hyundai Tuscon was underpowered and not much fun; I was surprised to see it’s sold in the UK.) This ‘return’ worry was well founded and eventually I spoke to Avis and they, for a fee, allowed me to return it to Nashville. This is what we did and found the airport easily and flew back to Blighty having had a wonderful time but looking forward to a rest!
To complete and continue our May and June 2024 American adventure I have written a couple of posts, this is the first.
From Memphis we drove to Nashville and took an internal flight on Southwest Airlines to Savannah, Georgia. This internal carrier slightly excited me because 40 years ago when I was doing my MBA they were a case study as a low cost airline taking on the established, larger players. Clearly they’ve done well to be still hanging around as some of their competitors have gone such as Pan Am and TWA. One notable part of the experience was being told by the air hostess to sit wherever there was a spare seat on boarding.
From here we went to stay with my niece, Victoria and her husband (Ben) and son (Henry). They have been here for some time as Ben works as an expat for a large UK company that manufactures and sells in the USA. Victoria works in interior design and young Henry, complete with American accent, goes to school in the town. Savannah is lovely as a coastal resort, university town and the home to the third largest container port in the USA. On this latter point you can see ships coming and going but otherwise the town seems quite separate.
The weather continued to hot and very sunny and we had a grand time with some family neighbours out and about on a pontoon in a sail to Little Tybee island.
In fairness the shirt was a Christmas present
Ben and Victoria are keen cyclists, who wouldn’t be on flat pothole free roads in sensational weather? I went out with their club on Saturday morning and as Ben disappeared to ride at 21mph I hung grimly onto Victoria’s wheel for 47 miles. It reminded me of Australia but a lot faster!
After our busy schedule in Nashville and Memphis (and lots of driving) it was nice to chill in luxurious surroundings before leaving to pick up a car and drive toward the Great Smoky Mountains. (Yes, the ‘e’ disappeared sometime ago, very troubling to a grammar pedant like what I am.)
Leaving Victoria we drove north to Spartanburg. This was a couple of hundred miles, it’s here that rain fell, about time (!) although it was still warm. We’d switched between eating out or catering for ourselves in apartments for breakfast or evening salads. After a few days on the road eating out starts to wane. On this night we slouched out to the magnificent Waffle House, a well known nationwide cheap greasy spoon. I do worry that the ingredients are full of all sorts of chemicals but it does the job and I always console myself that I’ll eventually be back to a less toxic diet. When we did shop there was often an ‘ethnic’ aisle in supermarkets mainly humouring the large Latino diaspora and Brits. Frankly the further north we got into the Smokies the ethnic aisle had a further reach around the store as some of the products could have been expanded from Latino and British to Hill Billy and Red Neck!
A Barnes & Noble store in South Carolina. I wonder how J K Rowling pays the rent?
The next morning we were promptly up to the nearby BMW plant for a tour ($10 each). Here they make the X Series from the X3 upwards. It’s a vast assembly and paint plant where they ship over 400,000 cars a year with 60% exported including back to the UK. They’ve invested $12 billion here since the plant was opened in the 1980s. We were lucky enough to see the fixing of doors, rear hatches and bonnets to the car all by robots. The lifting, placing, alignment and fixing was done by these massive arms that swung around with precision and grace. There were several lasers ensuring the component was a perfect fit. We also had a video, a look at the paint process and then were given a medallion. Sadly this didn’t come fixed to a gold chain for me to wear with an open neck shirt.
BMW X3A big lecture on not taking photos on the plant despite employees, on the plant, wandering past us on their mobiles!
From here in North Carolina it was back to Tennessee and the Smokies and maybe a bear or two?
Tony Ives’ Blog 