Category Archives: Travel

Vienna (and a short visit to Bratislava)

August 12, 2019

After a 16 day bike ride, mainly camping, to Vienna I met Anna at Vienna Airport to spend seven days exploring the Austrian capital with a brief day trip to Slovakia. My bike ride is covered under a  separate post, please seek it out.

There really is a lot to like about Vienna and, as I thought, it is one of the most delightful capitals in the world. I’ve been here twice before – once as a teenager with my parents and then in the early 80s I drove here with two pals in a Morris Marina Estate. On the second trip we also took in the Austrian Formula One Grand Prix. Holidays with friends live long in the memory even when, with no little heartbreak, one of them recently died at 59 years old.

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The ‘Grey Nomad’ Pedals To Austria

When Anna suggested a European jaunt to Vienna in August she thought about amazing cake, enormous history, wide vistas of a beautiful city etc. and I immediately thought I could ride my bike there! In fairness one of my favourite films is ‘The Third Man’ set in post war Vienna with Orson Welles and I note there is a walking tour of the famous images in the city from that 1949 classic. From Vienna we’re planning to get the train to Prague for an overnight stay and then later another train day trip to Bratislava. This will be my first visit to Slovakia. (They must be excited, I know).

Screen Shot 2019-07-10 at 17.07.16

It’s only about 900 miles from York. And my plan was hatched via maps being perused and another spreadsheet being created (with the daily mileages, elevations to be climbed and camping stops identified). It’ll take me 17 days of around 60 plus miles a day with a couple of rest days thrown in. This is quite a light schedule for me and I may change the route.


The route is from Zeebrugge (and Belgium) into Luxembourg. This small country does have some rugged hills and after those undulations I’ll be in South Germany. Last year I spent a long time here but further east and well south beneath Munich. I must admit it wasn’t inspiring and in someways for all that Germany is ‘switched on’ and ‘happening’, albeit industrial, then what I saw wasn’t. However this is a different part of the south and one route has a stop at my favourite record store in Stuttgart which would be a highlight before finding the Danube and trundling into Vienna. Germany has some interesting laws, the most worthy being the prohibition of trucks on the roads on Sunday. In fact our 24/7 retail life hasn’t afflicted the Teutons yet. Power to their elbows.

My mission, as I trundle through their land, is to get one person to smile back.


Our Summer has been pants and apart from one freak day it’s been fleeces and umbrellas even into July. I hope I haven’t missed the European heat wave. I am looking forward to something sizzling.

As I set off I’ve amassed nearly 2,000 miles year to date and much of that has been dragging myself up and down the Yorkshire Wolds. I should be in reasonable nick. I post the following snap: I once did a presentation of my expedition across the USA and someone, only half in jest, commented that they never saw a picture of me riding a bike!



Grey Nomad? This phrase apparently is quite common for over 55 independent Australian travellers but it came to my attention from a millennial who’s blog I read about a ride down the east coast of Australia. She was put out that whilst singing along to a bearded pal playing a guitar at an early hour of the morning on a campsite; an elderly  male clambered out of his tent to tell the player to stick the said instrument up a place where the sun wouldn’t shine the next day. I feel I was that man. She named him and others as ‘Grey Nomads’ for this outrage. I shall wear the badge with honour.

The first day sees me depart Acaster Malbis and cycle to the ferry in Hull. (Memo to self: do not be rude about Hull as Steve will be unhappy).


Girona, Spain – May 2019

May 25, 2019

A quick trip to Spain for some warmer weather was devised by the present Mrs Ives. How could she resist Northern Spain with Ryanair offering tickets from Newcastle at £28 each? 

Maybe a clue as to whether the airline passengers were cultured and interested in the history of this town of 100,000 was clear when the amount of blue on the vast selection of tattoos was only matched by the paint on the carrier’s fuselage. Another clue came when I noted that the destination airport was called ‘Girona – Costa Brava’. 

Newcastle Airport was awful. The toilets were a health hazard (why?) and there wasn’t a coffee shop open on Saturday night. You could join the well oiled Geordies at one of the bars and ask for a coffee but somehow you’d not be convinced about the quality unless it had a Bailey’s in it. The flight was noisy and badly managed. The safety briefing was inaudible (yet the later announcements on selling booze, food and duty free items were crystal clear). One mother with what appeared several children taken out of school (the following week) was peripatetic up and down to the aisle with the task of taking her flock to the toilet. This caused regular havoc with the trolley as it slowly edged up the plane dispensing refreshments but in effect blocking the aisle. Folk wandered around and squatted in the aisle to talk to friends. This was necessary as Ryanair make you pay extra to sit next to friends and relatives. If you don’t it is random seat allocation. A group of men shouted to each other on the plane as two twins, less than a year old and bewildered not to be in a bed at this late hour, bellowed their lungs out with blood curdling yells. Finally when landing the men sang ‘Wonderwall’ at volume 11?

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Sri Lanka – February 2019

March 4, 2019

Sri Lanka Day 1 – Prince Philip, Rucksacks & Sleep Deprivation

So this is the start of a trip to the Indian sub continent. I haven’t visited before and I have some preconceived ideas as to what to expect but little else. Before you ask then I’m not taking a bicycle but something a lot more troublesome: I am taking a wife.

On the day of departure I’m not proud to say that I was as truculent and fractious as a hormonal teenager on Saturday afternoon. Leeds United were losing 0-1 at Rotherham United. Like a captive emerging from a dungeon I started to lighten up when we knocked in the equaliser and when Klich slotted home the winner I couldn’t have been a more agreeable companion seeing the bright side of all inconveniences and bordering on intolerably cheery. I can’t explain why this matters so much but it does. As the leader of the Free World would say – ‘Sad’.

However as I started this draft on our flight to Sri Lanka, via Dubai. A man in the opposite aisle fell asleep quickly after take off and was snoring. The sound that the Emirates’ A380’s engines makes was as attractive as a gentle breeze catching the palm leaves on a desert island in comparison. I’d hoped for some respite even if it meant he died in his sleep.

Continue reading Sri Lanka – February 2019

Sri Lanka, The Last Couple of Days – IT, Lizards & Goodbye

Breakfast included a party of cyclists. This group of elderly pedallers hailed from Melbourne (Australia, not the village near York). One of the party was a lot younger. By the coffee urn I asked if he was the guide? ‘No’ he said. He was the son of one of the party. I quipped that given his age he presumably was expected to fetch and carry for the rest of the party? Apparently that wasn’t the case but he was their ‘IT Help Desk’ in residence!

As she was developing a penchant for complaining Anna sought a different tent for the next night: one further away from the early risers in the kitchen. Before returning to our new abode then there was the small matter of elephants. At the Udawalawe National Park we clambered on board our 4 x 4’s and set off down the bumpy tracks to find wildlife. We certainly found the odd elephant or two!

There were so many jeeps it was hard to drive around. Here in the park I regularly inhaled diesel fumes as we parked up for passengers to gorge themselves on photos. Craig wittily commented, under his breath, that we were ‘experiencing a large migration of safari jeeps’.

This park had some other creatures including water buffalo. It was a privilege to get close to the elephants and see how they ate. Note that one elephant was apt to reach into the jeeps, this caused a little bit of anxiety for the passengers.

From here we went to an Elephant Rehab Centre. We were sat across a small moat watching about 30 animals troop into a large pen for some milk. This was a supplement to the diet of vegetation they spent all day consuming.

Elsewhere in the pen was some broken branches with tasty leaves. You could see that the babies were not sure how to consume the leaves and watched the larger elephants a little lost. This partly explains why all these ages and sizes come together. It’s because the babies can watch the other animals behave and learn: this is what would happen if they had a mother to teach them.

Sri Lanka only has a few thousand elephants but had, Prabash suggested, up to a million before the British arrived. I think the inference was that the expat gentry and military had shot them all. It has to be said that ivory was highly sought back in the day. I inherited some ivory figurines from my grandmother. She probably bought them without a second thought about the elephant population early in the 20th Century. There was a thriving industry in Europe in ornaments and piano keys.

However, I think you also have to look at a shrinking habitat and a growing Sri Lankan population displacing these giants as a contributory factor. In 1980 the population was around 15 million. Today it’s nearer 21 million. No doubt it was a fraction of that 100 years earlier. Apparently marauding elephants, in pursuit of the contents of farmer’s fields, account for about 25 human deaths a year. It’d be reasonable to guess that bereft families have killed the odd mammal. Today in these discreet areas they are kept in by electrified fences.

It was tremendous to see these animals being nurtured. Human contact is minimised and the plan is to return the animals exclusively into the wild when appropriate.

Up to this point the G Adventures itinerary had been superb. However, we ended up with a spare afternoon without an activity. In fact the plan was to spend a further night under canvas and go back to the campsite. Campsites and canvas are awful on hot sunny days – you’re best getting there when the day’s heat is falling. Prabash had the solution for us staying around the swimming pool at a hotel we’d had lunch at. The logical question was why didn’t we stay at this hotel or get on the bus and head south nearer our final destination?

The campsite meal was nearly identical to the night before. The insect bite relief came in handy at 2am after one of these little bastards bit my thumb.

It was the final bus ride as we headed south to the coast. We had lunch in Matara which is about as south as you can get on the island. The reason for this direction was to pick up a motorway back up to the suburbs of Colombo and Negombo. The speed of the motorway was worth this ‘long way round’ rather than a twisty urban route. As we’re zooming along there a pop and a bit of a shake. The rear offside tyre had punctured.

We were all allowed to stay on the bus whilst the driver and assistant did a swift job in fitting the spare. Ferrari or McLaren would have been proud. Negombo was our last location/stop on the trip. Anna had booked us two nights. We all went out for the last supper at a fish restaurant and there was lots of clinking of drinking glasses by way of our goodbyes.

Anna signed off in style (sat next to our excellent driver)

Negombo is a bustling town with a coastline dotted with hotels. Ours is fine and nicely sat on the beach, it may not be in the first flush of youth but neither is Negombo.

I’m aware patronising Westerners can be wrong in their lofty condemnation but it’s useful to show the other side of the coin as regards the beautiful Sri Lankan countryside. (Yet again I would add there is rubbish on some of our UK housing estates but we have a local Council prepared to collect their trash).

This was found amongst the fishermen on the shore mending their nets or sorting their catches. Why not pick it all up? I’m assuming that there is an agency that would carry the detritus if it were all bagged up and ready to collect. The town itself was heaving. Lots of small shops selling everything.

Being back at sea level meant the heat was intense and I walked around a stationery shop literally melting. I was afraid to touch anything made of paper as I might leave it wet.

So one last night and it was up early to get to the airport and then a long two flights back home. Amazingly on the Dubai to Manchester leg we had live Premiership football – I watched three games as well as tracked the Leeds United score on the internet. My oh my how the inflight entertainment has come along.

So in summary Anna and I enjoyed this holiday immeasurably. It was always interesting and well paced with lots to see. The country is vibrant and colourful with kindly people who never posed any safety issues or discomfort. The weather was amazing and transportation quite easy. The culture was absorbing and educational. I did fancy cycle touring much of it (not the bigger towns) such was the quality of road surfaces, availability of food and water and the gentle gradients. The guide and his crew were truly exceptional. I hope we were seen as reasonable and that we all tipped them adequately.

Being on a bus was interesting with such a mix of nationalities in the party. We got along fine although it took eight days for one person to pluck up the interest or confidence to start a conversation with me. The two millennials were brilliant and I learned a lot from both. The ‘singles’ were a trifle indulgent in a conversation: always happy to bang on about their lives in the most excruciating detail, loving the attentive audience, but never thinking to ask you a question back. Maybe this is why their single?

Only one member of the group was a burden. I haven’t talked about them here as it seemed mean and a downer. I think they had some mental health issues. One amusing story was that at one place we transferred from the bus to two jeeps for a safari. Two of the party took a toilet break including this person. When the first of the party reappeared there was a big shout from both jeeps for them to join one of the two jeeps. This shout went up because no one wanted the remaining person to join them. Craig, in this instance, was touched by the surprising affection he’d suddenly accrued!

We filled in the questionnaire saying what we thought about the trip. We were happy to give top marks except for the camping.

Sri Lanka Day 8 – Tea, Grandeur & A Norwegian Cat

Kandy was a busy and noisy place: there were no regrets about our leaving and We started a long slow climb south. The roads outside Colombo were motorway standard for a short distance before becoming single lane. Despite being single lane they got progressively easier as the traffic lightened until we got to Kandy. After Kandy we had a long series of hairpins for 50 miles and 1,300 metres of climbing to Nuwara Eliya. At 1,860 metres high we climbed well into the mountains and into the rain!

The scenery has always been green but we went from sub tropical to alpine. Waterfalls, tall trees, steep roads and tea plantations. It was beautiful.

Our ascent behind the ever present tuk-tuks was slow but steady and we were invited to pile out for regular photo opportunities.

At Blue Field Tea we had a quick factory tour. The factory wasn’t working as it was a national holiday to celebrate independence. It was fascinating to say the least. The factory itself dates back to 1921 and was set up by the British. In fact Prabash ran through the British ‘abuse’ of the Chinese during the years we ‘lured’ the Chinese onto opium in order to extract their tea and silver. We Brits by then had a great taste for the little leaf and even went as far as to take the leaf from the now spaced out Chinese and plant it elsewhere in the Empire. We brought it to Ceylon. From here a great industry grew up and still flourishes today. Many of the producers have British names for their plantations such as ‘Edinburgh’. (Sadly not the Duke of Edinburgh).

(Despite abolishing slavery in 1833) Prabash advised that we brought Tamils from Southern India to work the tea plantations as ‘slaves’ in the 1860s. I think there was the imposition of indenture and considerable restriction. However, It comes to mind that a guarantee of regular paid work (and accommodation) and an aptitude for working hard made the recruitment attractive to employer and employee.

The factory made about eight types of tea from the leaves they grew on the steep slopes around. The most popular was the Broken Orange Pekoe which is more commonly known as English Breakfast Tea. The factory kept about 20% of their production for their own sales but the balance went to Colombo to the auctions. Apparently the big drinkers are the Poles, Brits and Russians. We sampled a few variants and had a spot of lunch.

Continuing to the top we came to rest at Nuwara Eliya. This town was established by the British as an administrative centre for the Civil Service in the 19th Century. Not least because the expats could escape the heat below. British pursuits of horse racing, boating, golf, cricket, hunting on horse back etc took hold for the gentry and many of the buildings acquired a British look. It sounds like period drama.

‘British’ buildings can be seen including the Post Office below:

The centre of town is down at heal but there are hotels that host the tourists who come to experience some of the colonial grandeur. We stayed at The Grand Hotel, which felt like a country hotel back in Blighty.

Prabash spoke highly of it and I have to say the service was sublime and all things worked! After checking into the room the present Mrs Ives complained to the management about the mattress being too soft. Staff found an alternative mattress for Her Ladyship.

We then strolled into town for a quick look and for the third of our commercial ventures of the day. Anna who isn’t an enthusiastic holiday shopper started the day as she meant to go on. Firstly at a silk printing shop where she tried on a selection of garments before buying two gifts for ‘Cost Centre 1’ and ‘Cost Centre 2’, namely our daughters. I don’t want to ruin their surprise by saying what was bought but it’s not often you can find lime green silk sequinned balaclavas. They say you can always tell that a person is a Sri Lankan if they automatically smile at you. My salesman lost this national gift as we started in US dollars and went to Rupees. Along the way we came to two prices of which I sought a third lower one. I must have got it right because he looked downright miserable when he took the cash*.

The second deal involved two small ornamental elephants (yes, I know I think she’s losing her mind) where Prabash took over the haggle to Anna’s satisfaction. The last was me again and this time the shop owner who parted with a fleece cum top for Anna looked distinctly too happy about our transaction. I strolled away knowing that it was probably a win, draw and loss overall.

We dined in the hotel and retired early. One dish caught the eye!

We’re all on a WhatsApp group called ‘So Lost’. This is the name agreed for our group. Photos are being circulated and this is how I got the leopard photo from Helena of Toronto.

We set the alarm for 4.40am. This lunacy facilitated a one hour drive to The Horton Plains National Reserve. In the dark a fleet of mini vans raced up the winding road in the dark. It was like being at the back of a Formula 1 Grand Prix. Vans overtook where the narrow road did or didn’t allow and we were thrown around. On rail crossings, on pieces of road with sheer drops or where they could wind up their tired old trucks to sufficient speed to race past each other. Needless to say the hotel’s pack up breakfast could be eaten or worn as we ascended. At the top we joined 20 or 30 other vans in a undisciplined line to get into the park. This madness meant an inexplicable traffic jam for 40 minutes wondering what was going on and watching dawn break.

Eventually we were disgorged and embarked on a hike to two wonderful view points: The Greater World’s End and the Mini World’s End. They were amazing. The hike was a walk of 6 miles with many other tourists – Japanese, Chinese, French and Brits. We’d been advised to wear hiking boots. I wore trainers but other tourists wore mainly sensible footwear but flip flops and Crocs were spotted. The park rule was that you were not allowed to take polythene and our bags were checked. Despite this there was a little litter on the trail despite signs advising not to. This really frustrates me.

Back at the bus I discussed bikes, including his Brompton, with Ching and we soon arrived back at the hotel. We cleaned up, had lunch and then started a four drive down from the Highlands to Udawalawe. Anna discussed Norway with Louise toward the back of the bus. Louise was regaling her with some long detailed story about ‘house sitting’ in Oslo. Part of the discussion involved Louise’s difficulty in persuading the house cat to come into the property. Anna was volunteering a suitable ‘call’ in Norwegian. Those around them in the bus put in their headphones to shut out this nonsense.

The scenery was never short of staggering and we saw ladies working in the fields.

We passed through Ella. This is an up and coming spot with younger back packing tourists. We stopped for a ‘biological break’ and bought some coffee in this trendy spot. On the long drive we passed through many settlements. I’m aware that these locals are not wealthy and their lives don’t prioritise making their villages pretty. However, a few coats of emulsion paint, a bit of gloss and some renewed signage would have lifted everything dramatically.

You could get well away buying your booze from here!

I wasn’t the only grumpy person complaining about being back under canvas for two nights. This isn’t like my cycle camping at all. Just somehow less space, no hot water, terrible wi-fi, poor lighting (to sort your luggage), insects, frogs, lizards and a bit noisy first thing in the morning. It was turning dark as we stumbled around our tents and again under a starlit sky we dined outside, which was lovely. After our dining we returned to the tent to enable the mosquitos to dine.

*Kandy was the last time I saw my Debit Card. I didn’t realise my loss until two days later when I needed it again. I think I lost it at this shop: sweet revenge for my maligned shopkeeper. At the time of cancelling it then there had been no fraudulent use of the card.

Sri Lanka Days 7 – Putin, Charity & A Serial Killer

This is the leopard we saw a few days back. Helen kindly circulated her image and I must share it.

So let’s talk about the British legacy. We departed in 1948 and Ceylon became independent. Prabash, our guide, would have it that Hitler enabled their escape from the colonial yoke. He opines that Britain granted independence to much of its Empire due to its financial predicament after the war. We were skint. He sees little good about our colonial heritage and I can imagine him throwing an energetic V sign to our departing backs (had he been around at the time). There you have it! I think that has elements of truth but not all of it.

Today the Sri Lankans have our language. This is an asset and as regards its structure and organisation there appears something a little British in the way they do things including roundabouts! In Kandy there are many links with British higher education establishments; so our education must be coveted. However, it seems since independence that Britain has slipped away as being important as a trading partner or influence. We were preoccupied by our own post war domestic priorities and certainly not interested in faraway parts of the Commonwealth. There are hints at Sri Lanka being a once useful export market with odd sightings of Morris Minors, a Ford Anglia, old Jaguars and the still ubiquitous Leyland logo.

On this latter point then Leyland ceased to have anything to do with this Indian truck manufacturer after 1985 but the name lives on (unlike Leyland in the UK where the plant makes DAF trucks). I can understand that with our failing car industry we had other priorities on our mind. Let’s face it the dealers in Leamington Spa, Southend and Lincoln probably bought the same volume as Ceylon at the time. Today Toyota, Honda, Suzuki and Mitsubishi’s are the cars of choice today.

A colonial power cannot be defended but when you look at post-war India and Ceylon there was and is still poverty and corruption. The level of death on the sub Continent through religious conflict was enormous (but before we get too smug then let’s not forget Northern Ireland’s sectarian turmoil).

So how do they ‘earn a living’ today? The major earner is repatriated income from Sri Lankan’s either living or working abroad, second is the manufacture of garments (check that tag for ‘Sri Lanka’). Third would be tourism and fourth precious gems – out of the 264 gem types in the world they mine and sell 203. Lastly there is the export of cinnamon and tea. I mentioned corruption above. This extends into cricket. I asked why I’d only seen one set of men playing cricket and I was told that the problem lay with the Sri Lankan cricket board! The cost of equipment is prohibitive for schools apparently. Corruption has stopped the money reaching those who need or want it.

We get these facts and commentaries from Pabash as we drive along. (It is beyond doubt that his thought for the programme and care for each member of the party is immense). Today we were off to Kandy and it was our usual brisk morning start. The first stop was wood carving. We had the local species of wood explained to us and their uses. I asked if any of these wood species were protected by environmental legislation? I was told that they replant to compensate for the depletion. However, how long does it take to grow an ebony tree? I’m not convinced there is serious protection of these scarce resources. This solution seems ineffective if even true. All the wood working and painting was top class.

I would have bought something and I admired the vast selection of elephants, masks, flowers and icons. The prices were bizarre. A hovering salesman said the prices were ‘negotiable’. Who can be bothered to go through all that palaver?

Back on the bus we next stopped at a small shed/lock up garage and saw the many uses of coconut and its tree. These included – food, alcohol, oil for lights, vinegar, roofing, rope, mats and cooking utensils from the shells. Quite amazing. This host family of man and wife, child and mother put on a slick show demonstrating how they used the flesh, leaves, shell and liquids to make all these things. We were enthralled.

Getting back on board it was a short ride to learn about the medicinal uses of the various plants and trees that grew in Sri Lanka. The list included nutmeg, turmeric, cloves, pineapple, arnica, vanilla, ginger, aloe vera etc. In fact I stopped writing them down. Treatments, prevention, control of and cures extended to cancer, diabetes, cholesterol, hair lustre, arthritis, thrombosis and many others. Sadly I noted none for baldness…

This wasn’t ‘witchcraft’ as many of the above are sold at Holland & Barrett and at other British outlets nowadays. So back on the bus we drove and briefly saw a Hindu Temple before a hectic lunch break then into the centre of Kandy to see the Temple of the Tooth.

Kandy is the second largest city in Sri Lanka with a population the size of York but a road system for the size of Wetherby. It is very ramshackle and grid locked with traffic. This is due to it being in the mountains and finding space for wider or more roads is impossible. The Temple was another off with the shoes, cover your shoulders and knees ‘event’. I’ve worn my long shorts on all these religious visits yet the other men tend to don long pants. It’s too hot for me to contemplate (even if I’m not allowed in!) The Temple was heaving and the tooth is one of Buddha’s. It was smuggled to Sri Lanka from India when the Mongol hoards invaded and controlled the mainland in the 5th Century. It was rescued from Buddha’s funeral pyre. It is enormously important for the Sinhalese majority.

The tooth is under lock and key and we didn’t see it. It is always held by the highest in the land, whether that is the king or now the President. We Brits held it (appropriated) after our occupation yet ‘kindly’ gave it back in 1857. This return is shown in a picture in the Temple. More recently the Temple was bombed in the late 90s by the Tamil Tigers killing 16, including the bombers. This is not the first bombing. The damage has been repaired.

We were all now jaded after the heat but there was traditional dancing to endure. This was in a theatre full of tourists and just dragged on with little charm. The four drummers beat the ‘ess haitch one tee’ out of their weapons and occasionally a man would appear to make a noise, like a cat in a meat grinder, on a flute. The girls and blokes leapt around a bit but ‘The King & I’ or Bollywood it wasn’t. One of our party abandoned this din for the relative calm of a bustling street outside.

The hotel was just fabulous by comparison and we all celebrated with Western food and beer!

A day in Kandy was planned and so into the bus and by the time the driver had found third gear he was braking. We stopped at a Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemetery. During WW2 over 2,000 soldiers lost their life in the conflict operating from Ceylon. The island was a vital staging post between Asia and Europe and strategically important. The Japanese attempted to neutralise it with attacks to damage the ports and ships. As always the ages of the dead is sobering. A sacrifice we cannot forget not least of the Ceylonese troops who died in a war that probably visited them due to a British presence. As always these cemeteries are immaculately maintained.

Next was a gem showroom. If you’ve read an earlier blog we weren’t happy at the last detour to one in Colombo. This was a different story in that this was a higher class establishment and it was more educational. They explained the mining process and had better wares. The ring that Princess Diana wore as her engagement ring that Prince William gave to Kate is much talked about with no little pride.

This large sapphire is Sri Lankan in origin. So we did the history, did the manufacturing process and then were plonked in the showroom with 10 sales people. Much to my amazement some of our sober and money savvy travellers were buyers! Craig, the easy rolling Aussie software guy, bought his mum some earrings (or that’s what he says), Anastasiia (correctly spelt) our lofty Russian millennial model was always likely to buy and bought a ring and so did the Canadian couple. As regards this latter couple I’m glad I hadn’t been asked to bet on the likelihood of their buying as I wouldn’t have risked a rupee. It goes to show that you never can tell. Helena and Allan bought a star sapphire ring. So how much? Well all I can say is that they secured a 56% discount on the asking price!

….and Tony was Anna interested? No not at all. “I have enough jewellery” was the repeated mantra and our old friend American Express remained in its holster.

Next stop was the Royal Botanical Gardens. It was calm and idyllic with lots of exotic trees and flowers. Carl, ever the practical policeman did advise against lurking under trees with bats in them.

He pointed at various black spots on the path. This was bat vomit. He tells me they gorge on fruit but when hanging upside down they spew it up. (Don’t tell me you’re not learning with this blog).

Note the orchids.

I chatted with Anastasiia about Russia. She’s from Siberia near Lake Baikel. I asked about Putin and life for ordinary Russians. The story is as per China. Within 50 years most people have come from poverty to relative prosperity even if it still seems quite a hard life. With such progress who really cares about democracy, freedom of speech and openness? They know their leaders are corrupt but they personally have progress, stability and improving economic prospects. With their nation’s progress comes the logical reassertion of global reputation and power. They see their leaders as strong.

After lunch we were ferried to a shop/cafe that the tour operator (G Adventures) contributes toward the upkeep. This shop raises funds and awareness for under privileged and abused women and children with special needs. This is not a well funded activity in Sri Lanka and women are very much a ‘second class’ group of people.

We received a talk and then shopped for some goods made by some of the women they help. Anna and I bought some items and also added a donation. In Sri Lankan terms we were quite generous but by UK standards it wouldn’t have kept your local charity shop in business.

As we’re on the subject of a big heart and charity let’s talk about Joe. Quite a character. A bachelor with a gift of the gab and an independent spirit. I’ve told you he works all hours for UPS and takes immense exotic holidays. He wanders around the monuments we visit on his mobile. He’s not just taking photos but messaging. On his UPS ‘beat’ he has regular customers. Many of them are his friends. I asked him at one stop what the message was? He said it was from a customer – some elderly lady who’s made spaghetti for her husband but made too much. Was he hungry and what time would he be in her block? I can see how they’d love him: he has a ready, warm personality and is completely upbeat.

At breakfast he told us a little about his Italian heritage and a grandmother, born in Italy of a poor family, who lived with them in New York. They kept animals such as rabbits, ducks etc. The children viewed them all as pets but they kept going missing. “Joe, they’ve jumped over the fence and gone”. The reality was that his grandmother killed this livestock regularly for the evening stew! She was used to killing her meat on the day. Joe, with that Brooklyn drawl concluded… “all those years and I was livin’ with a serial killer”.

But I digress, back at Sthree. Joe decides to let four of the staff buy a certain value of items for themselves, he’s no use for ceramics, sarees, fridge magnets, throws, kitchen utensils, purses etc. The staff are really delighted and pick stock off the shelves and Joe pays. He probably also makes a separate donation. It’s a lot lot more than Anna and I spent or donated. We’re piecing this together because he’s not advertising this generosity.

Sometimes you can be in the presence of humbling kindness.

Sri Lanka Days 5 & 6 – An Aston Martin, Climbs & Sour Milk

Despite the beautiful setting the breakfast cereal milk was sour and the coffee the waiter fetched me was 70% milky water. I consumed neither. However, consumption hasn’t been a problem generally with copious amounts, usually at buffets, both lunchtime and evening. Without little irony the food here is better suited to vegetarian Anna than in France and definitely Germany.

After a leisurely start we climbed on the bus we each were each given a flower. This gives the giver ‘good karma’. By the same token we’ve received cups of tea and biscuits as part of this karma on parts of the tour. This is part of the Buddhist tradition and seems (and is) kind and peaceful but up until 2009 the country had a 25 year old civil war with the Tamils (Hindus). The UN calculate that over 100,000 died with several high profile assassinations and atrocities. Under the British we placed a number of Tamils in high positions because of their education and quality of English. The Buddhist majority (Sinhalese) resented this favour. After the British left there were ethnic tensions and by 1978 legislation was being passed for affirmative action for the majority. Actively the Tamils were being replaced.

War erupted with Tamils seeking a separate state and later an autonomous region. The war was bloody and the Tamil Tigers were not religious but highly political, organised and internationally well funded and armed. Even agreed Indian armed intervention (where 69 million Tamils live) was unsuccessful with India eventually becoming their foes. There were numerous peace attempts and eventually the Tamil cause internationally was proscribed as terrorist. In 2009 the Sri Lankan army prevailed with horrific bloodshed and the war was over. Despite our history lesson from the guide about all sorts then this era is assiduously avoided. Maybe the Sinhalese and Tamils aren’t at war but a toxic legacy must remain?

We were on the road to Habarana. This has place has a preserved traditional village. Here we’d see the plants, the farming, go for a boat ride on their lake, ride in a cart pulled by bulls and then have a traditionally prepared lunch in a hut. All very unique and interesting. On the road Prabash gave an introduction explaining how a farmer first found the land and prepared it for living and farming. He said the land needed clearing but they always left one big tree. Why? It was left in case there was a rampaging elephant or elephants. When this happened you could climb the tree to escape the trampling. Mind you, it had to be a strong tree!

We walked the village and our guide explained some of the medicinal properties of the fauna. Anna knew quite a few of these from her Mungo Deli shop days. More than a couple of the party thought the village was idyllic and self sufficient. With electric fences the elephants were more controlled nowadays! A woman prepared lunch (that we ate with our fingers) and even demonstrated breaking the husks off rice with a very large mortar and pestle.

Again more food, quite delicious and lots of it. Buffets are always fatal in that you can have seconds. I say fatal because a piece of grilled fish stuck in Anna’s throat and it took a bit of thumping on the back from Karl to displace the offending animal. Next we drove to Dambulla and a visit to the Golden Temple. The terrain is now becoming a bit more hilly and this temple (a historic rather than active place) is reached by a long walk uphill. A feature are the caves where there are many Buddha statues and paintings. In the scheme of things then most of these monuments were built by kings all the way back to the beginning of the first millennium. They seem to have had long periods of disuse, probably during the British colonial rule.

All our guides, demonstrators, canoeists, hotel porters etc. have to be tipped. Usually it is a couple pounds equivalent in Sri Lankan Rupees. To alleviate all this we were asked and gave Prabash 10,000 Rupees (c£40) along with the rest of the party to cover all this activity. In fairness when off the bus and at the sights there are a number of hawkers but little harassment. It is quite a relaxed and comfortable place.

After the visit the drive was short to a smart hotel. After we all checked in and showered and convened for a beer. This hotel is a tourist hub and lots of French people were about. Dining was at the hotel and whilst only £10 per head was at least double of what we usually paid and probably eight times what we’d pay out on the street.

It was an early start and we were headed for the Sigiriya ancient rock fortress. This was built in the 5th Century by King Kasyapa. He had expected an attack by a prince he had usurped for the throne and who’d been banished to India. The fort is atop a 200 metre rock outcrop.

Climbing it before the heat set in was the plan. Later in the morning the high heat would arrive with throngs of school children, German, French, Russian, Chinese tourists. There are some English voices but not many.

Mrs Ives (avec chapeau) ascending)

The fort complex starts at ground level but the ultimate safe haven is at the top. Our ascent was steep via stairways and steps. I enjoyed the workout. The views at the top were spectacular but a little hazy due to the heat. The king had a wife but, in addition, around 200 concubines. The view is that he was kept busy. Around 17 years after taking residence in this very defendable location he ventured out when the rightful prince returned. He descended from his safe haven and lost the battle, country and life.

From here we returned to the hotel via a supermarket stop to buy some lunch. It was a relief to not have the usual curry buffet and buy some simple bread based items. In the afternoon I stayed at the hotel whilst Anna ventured out for a massage with a couple of the others. She came back smelling like vegetable biryani. Lord knows what they rubbed into her hair and body but a shower was in order.

In the bar and the sticker says Aston Martin?

In the evening, when actually hungry this time, we slipped across road from the hotel to a roadside cafe. It was a vet ‘local’ haunt with a corrugated metal roof, trestle tables with plastic table cloths and plastic patio chairs. This is where the chef cooks in his open air kitchen beside the tables creating his dishes to the sound of chopping, scraping and frying. All of this smelt divine. Sat here loads of food arrived including dahls, hoppers (like a pancake), kottus and fried rice. We washed it down with some soft drinks and yoghurt to finish. Needless to say the costs was really negligible – a quarter of last night.

To pack this down we strolled the hotel grounds for a constitutional in the balmy evening beside a field literally throbbing with the sound of crickets. We returned to the room to listen to Talksport 2 on our iPhone app. The cricket commentary from the West Indies was ball by ball. Sadly England are limbering up for a battering.

Sri Lanka Days 3 & 4 – Elephants, Camping & Temples

So the group met in the hotel lobby and after receiving the ‘joining instructions’ we made our way to a restaurant. Out of the ten in the party then two are older but it is a very middle aged selection apart from two millennials. One of these is Russian and living in China and the other is a Chinese American living in New York. Certainly a lot for a Yorkshire boy to fathom out.

Things were going quite nicely over our first drink until Allan, a Canadian, called our national sport ‘soccer’. Rest assured matters were quickly and authoritatively corrected. Some of the party had only just got to Colombo and were weary; so we all said ‘goodnight’ and retired.

We’ve a spacious bus and it was manoeuvred through the Colombo rush hour heading north. We were aiming for a spot of camping near the Wilpattu National Park. The terrain is completely flat. The urban areas away from the high rise buildings are shambolic with little planning or rules. Houses abut shops and workshops. Different heights, designs and materials. There were also many started but incomplete buildings. The rural areas were a lot more attractive and the traffic thinned out. Now we had fields and woods either side. Often people walked alongside the road. The women in long dresses and throws (saris); the men less encumbered and often not walking but astride a bicycle or motorbike. The tuk-tuks were fewer in number as were cars and trucks.

After lunch on the road, four albums listened to on my iPod and we got to the campsite. Tents and the midday sun are never to be mixed and we swiftly dumped our bags and set off for a 4×4 tour of the park. Now I’m not being stupid to say that it wasn’t a million miles different to the Safari ride at Disney’s Animal Kingdom in Florida. Down dusty orange mud roads we bounced and ‘collected’ a number of animals albeit Disney makes the animals’ attendance easier by heating large rocks in strategic places for them to recline on as people crash by.

The Park is the largest and oldest in Sri Lanka and it generates tourist revenue. Anna loved all this but as we circled for seemingly hours attempting to spot a leopard I did reflect on the fact that there are a lot of leopards in zoos you could see. We did eventually find a leopard. Apparently most tours don’t see one – along with a sloth bear and elephants; so we’re lucky. All my photos were average but Ching (the Chinese American) had brought a camera with sufficient long lenses (to photo his native New York from the truck) and captured a staggering head shot of the leopard along with other astonishing clear close ups of birds and mammals we saw. He photos them on a RAW file format and later adjusts them on Photoshop: he knows what he’s doing as he’s talented and he does this sort of thing for a living. I’m sorry but my iPhone picture of the leopard’s butt is not worth uploading.

Water buffalo


Sloth bear

Serpent eagle

Spotted deer (or as the leopard better knows it – lunch)


In the evening at an outdoor dining table a park ranger talked about the park and the leopards. There are 200 in this park, 900 in Sri Lanka and only 3,000 in the wild worldwide, he says. Although that might be of the species we saw? He was passionate about his subject and knowledgeable. Again he said and you had to agree that there was under investment in the park and it’s potential. The biggest threat to the leopard are humans. Some animals are poached for their ‘medicinal’ properties and exported in bits.

Many of the group are well travelled and Joe from Brooklyn is a postman with UPS (and sounds like Danny Devito). He uses his accrued holiday to see the world. He says he regularly works 14 hour days in order to collect as much overtime as he can for these exotic jaunts. He introduced me to the ‘Been’ app. This records and maps how many countries and US States you’ve visited. Go and download it. Joe tends to photograph anything and everything that comes into view.

Anna doesn’t camp. However, in a very nice tent with attached bathroom we settled down to discover that in line with the ‘eco’ commitment there was no toilet paper. (I’m thinking my prospect of a tandem cycling holiday with tents may now be accepted if it includes Andrex).

We ate outside under the stars and the tour guide organised a cake for birthday boy Craig. He’s a software guy from North Sydney who’s last holiday was in Cambodia. He grumbled as we sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and chuntered about not celebrating birthdays anymore. Anyway we enjoyed the chocolate cake.

We settled down under canvas and soon it was Stupid O’Clock for brekkie and then off to Anuradhapura. I sat next to Louise from Tallahassee, Florida who had worked for the US Federal Government as a botanist. She’s a lovely woman but her appearance on the trip is obviously a set up. Her opening words to me this morning was that she ‘cooks for her dogs’. I’d have been less surprised if she said she cooks her dogs. Again Louise is inclined to photograph absolutely everything and ask searching and demanding questions of the guide. She’s so into it all and every meal is experienced thoughtfully with reflections on the ingredients. Sadly I’m inclined to wolf it down rating it good, bad or indifferent.

Anuradhapura is a fairly large town but beside it is a large historic site of the ruins of the town dating back until BC. We visited various parts of the site meeting terribly young monks (Anna can be seen selecting which one to take home) and seeing artefacts.

Rpthe man explains is Prabash our guide for the trip

We then motored to part of the site that is still used for active worship. We went up and around a tree that is sacred where many folk in white were chanting. It was quite unusual. Buddhism is new to me and I was quite impressed about the absence of a god, not believing in miracles and mainly achieving a lot of things by meditation. Where I lost some interest was the belief in an afterlife.

For me it’s intriguing where religion fits into history and politics but the topic of religion itself doesn’t grip me. I’m respectful of the folk who have a faith and today at the site and the shrines etc I more enjoyed my conversation with Karl toward the back of the group. He’s an Aussie policeman and a rugby league fanatic. We debated Super League, how boring rugby union was and where all these sports were headed. We both hoped that New Zealand wouldn’t win the upcoming World Cup in Japan!

From here we went for lunch. The Sri Lankan Tourist Board stipulate that we go to approved restaurants. I suppose this is maybe healthier and it isn’t expensive compared to Europe (although expensive for Sri Lanka) but apart from looking after my health you suspect that there is something in it for central Government. After this we got most of the afternoon off at the hotel. Some swam but I spent most of the time doing this blog. However, my first task was to clean lots of items that I’ve got chocolate on. Yes, a bit of a school boy error to pack chocolate sweets in a bag in such a climate!

Sri Lanka Day 2 – Duke of Edinburgh (again), Tuk-tuks & Precious Stones

Day Two started late, after all 10am here is 5am in the UK. Like all travelling British males I carry a bar of coal tar soap with me. With its gentle fragrance I did suspectEd that the house maid might have contacted Housekeeping complaining that someone had creosoted a shed in the bathroom overnight.

Our holiday starts in the capital, Colombo, where later in the evening we met up with our small tour party. The plan is to take a mini bus and go inland and then down to the various sights. So with today to paddle about by ourselves the present Mrs Ives suggested a city tour in a tuk-tuk. This is a cabriolet moped driven by a man with nerves of steel in heavy traffic. I was indifferent really. Sri Lanka has a population of nearly 22 million with 750,000 living in the capital, it is a busy and congested place. However Grumpy was instructed to comply and I was led to Reception to organise. Via the hotel we found a tuk-tuk tour for 3,600 Rupees (£16) for two hours. This brings us onto a reality check about the country.

You cannot help but feel a very rich and overly entitled Westerner here. Anything that is tourist based and near the tourist areas/hotels is at Western prices but elsewhere the people seem to earn very little so that lots of things simply cost pence. What’s the problem Tony? Well inevitably such imbalances mean a majority of people live just above poverty and there are many, by corruption, living in great comfort. There has been a recent disposal of the Prime Minister for corruption. Our tuk-tuk driver commented that the ex-PM’s wife had ended up with two tonnes of gold via various means. Clearly she’s sorted her pension out.

Our tour guide driver steered his weapon into the traffic and whilst ensconced in the back it was like being in a Play Station game with sensory overload – lurching, sudden braking, continual horns, fumes, incredible heat and a vista that sped past. He took us around a number of religious buildings. Always informed, cheerful and with great English. Before returning to Sri Lanka he’d had a stint in Qatar working in security at a mall. The city seemed a lot of ‘old’ slowly being overtaken by new buildings and roads. There is a rich cultural heritage with occupation by the Portuguese, then the Dutch and finally the British from the early 1800s until independence in 1948.

It was energetic, bustling and colourful.


Hindu Temples

Buddhist Temple

This was a curio of a place with a museum as well as place of worship around an old tree. I understand Christianity and Islam but had no idea what Buddhism was about, how they worshipped or to whom. I think I’ll find out but it seems to involve old British cars and my old friend the ‘Philip’ again.

Sadly we finished the cultural tour and suddenly ended up in a jewel showroom. Here, held as captives, we were engaged by the charming salesmen talking about the wonders of sapphires and rubies. Neither of us wanted to visit or talk about gems and politely heard them out. We later found out that gems are one of Sri Lanka’s exports and the country is renowned for them. Escaping the showroom was difficult and prices were banded about with ludicrous discounts. Frankly I have no idea what such items would cost in the UK or whether it was a bargain. Neither did I know whether these several hundred dollar chips of mineral were simply bits of bottle glass or precious stones. I subsequently wondered whether anyone who was led into these places knew what they were looking at. Spontaneous, on the spot, purchases don’t usually start at $440, do they?

I forgave the taxi driver, as making a living seems tough, but declined the next ‘exhibition centre’ and we headed back to the hotel. Oh yes and we rounded up the 3,600 Rupees to 4,000. (Was that because we were generous or had no change!?)

Later I needed to change some money. The hotel rate was pants compared to the airport. As I wandered away from the hotel I was accosted by the usual men attempting to sell you a taxi ride, a restaurant and currency. On the latter I enquired as to the rate and it beat the airport. I changed £100. As I’m walking away I start to wonder if the cash is real or whether with my new wad I can buy Bow Street, The Old Kent Road and Fenchurch Street Station. Let’s hope not!

We have a lot of iPhone charging cables: all in York. So I found a kiosk in a busy street and asked if they had a cable. “Do you want a good cable or a bad one, sir?” So I gave it a little thought and decided that if Anna missed out on the odd G & T because of my profligacy then so be it.

So chores sorted we met up with two Canadians, one Russian, three Americans and two Australians. Blog gold I thought as we trundled off to the bonding meal.

Sri Lanka Day 1 – Prince Philip, Rucksacks & Sleep Deprivation

So this is the start of a trip to the Indian sub continent. I haven’t visited before and I have some preconceived ideas of what to expect but little else. Before you ask then I’m not taking a bicycle but something a lot more troublesome: I am taking a wife.

On the day of departure I’m not proud to say that I was as truculent and fractious as a hormonal teenager on Saturday afternoon. Leeds United were losing 0-1 at Rotherham United. Like a captive emerging from a dungeon I started to lighten up when we knocked in the equaliser and when Klich slotted home the winner I couldn’t have been a more agreeable companion seeing the bright side of all inconveniences and bordering on intolerably cheery. I can’t explain why this matters so much but it does. As the leader of the Free World would say – ‘Sad’.

However as I started this draft on our flight to Sri Lanka, via Dubai. A man in the opposite aisle fell asleep quickly after take off and was snoring. The sound the Emirates’ A380’s engines makes was as attractive as a gentle breeze catching the palm leaves on a desert island in comparison. I’d hoped for some respite even if it meant he died in his sleep.

We were en route to see elephants, tea plantations, leopards, beaches and the odd Buddhist temple and, not least, an uplift in temperature by about 20°C. The start of the journey wasn’t without excitement (if luggage floats your boat).

We were directed to use rucksacks by the tour operator and whilst excited at this type of luggage (very millennial) we were hobbled on the morning of departure by discovering a rucksack that the Favourite Youngest Daughter used (over a decade ago) was broken – a fastening had come off rendering it useless. In line with all the best practices of a then teenager this was put in a cupboard for the next 10 years rather than being thrown away. Anyway a trip to Decathlon in Stockport found a replacement and Anna, in the Manchester rain, stuffed it with her holiday clothes.

Manchester Airport was literally deserted for our 8.35pm flight. I have never seen it so empty. Anna’s purchase of ‘Fast Path’ Security passes we’re not needed but it is always nice to stroll through a better class of roped off passageway in an empty hall.

The arrival at Dubai was without incident and without sleep. It always is an unusual experience to feel terrible through sleep deprivation but to be walking in bright daylight. However after a couple of coffees, a yoghurt and the odd croissant things were a little more perky although at an equivalent of £20 I did feel that I had been mugged in broad daylight.

Meanwhile in Economy…

Given the availability of wi-fi nowadays we slouched around the Terminal gawping at our mobiles. One of the first tasks was to ‘untag’ Anna from a Facebook Post. Apparently the photograph of her looking like… err Anna wasn’t glamorous enough and so I duly edited the offending caption. Then I took in the news and saw that the Duke of Edinburgh had written a letter of apology to the woman who’s car he hit in his recent motoring accident. She seem mollified by this communication and commented that he had signed it ‘Philip’ which she took to be a nice gesture by one so lofty. Sadly I have news for her.

About 25 years ago I sat atop of a large department of employees at Moores Furniture Group who’s job was to deal with customers quotations and orders. It was an era before the internet and we lived in a sea of paper. I saw this daily forest after it’s opening and sorting. One morning as I’m perusing the letters and forms I came across a small letter of something like blue Basildon Bond. This was not the way most contractors, in Co Durham, communicated when seeking replacement hinges for a damaged wall cabinet. On closer scrutiny it was a personal letter to our former owner, George Moore, from Buckingham Palace.

Mr Moore following his disposal of the company for about £70 million had devoted himself to various activities including charitable ones. Such beneficiaries included one of the Duke of Edinburgh’s causes. The letter said little other than thank you and was simply signed ‘Philip’. This was how he signed all his letters!

I studied this letter and instructed it to be redirected to Mr Moore who resided elsewhere on the estate and did reflect that it was a little unfortunate that this letter, that he would no doubt be delighted to receive, had a date stamp plonked right across HRH’s moniker. If nothing else then Mr Moore could be confident in telling friends and family the date on which it was received.

Back on the connecting flight to Colombo I now resembled an extra from a Zombie Apocalypse film but sleep didn’t come as a nearby passenger enjoyed a local pastime of taking immense loud guttural sniffs and then gulp of mucus that amounted, in quantity, to the consumption of a four course meal. I think this may be common in the region. Deep joy. long haul, don’t you just love it?

Uncensored photo of the first wife

Arrival at Colombo Airport resembled a game in Jeux Sans Frontiere – lots of running around, snaking around pillars, little coordination but lots of smiling faces. We got to the hotel about two and half hours later and the taxi driver was genuinely pleased at the tip that came to just over £2 (the guide book said I’d been too generous and so ‘memo to self’ on that one).

The hotel seems fine and a shower, a beer and a bit of a stroll next.

Capital Punishment (or cycling in London)

Matt Gray

October 13, 2018

There is a misconception (usually flung around by those who have no experience in the matter) that cycling in London is a fool’s errand, a sure-fire way to the hospital or the morgue. They believe that every driver in London is a killer, wishing to etch numerals onto their dash with every cyclist they maim, and equally that every cyclist is a menace to society with their renegade riding.

I have been cycling in London for four and a half years now, and the only time I have been injured was when I took a turning too swiftly in winter and misjudged the surface ice, bailing spectacularly. I skinned my side, dislocated the chain beyond the means of a simple roadside fix, resulting in a 30 minute walk in acute agony. To be a safe cyclist in London you have to simply have a different mindset to cycling elsewhere. It helps that my primary cycling experience has been in London; I barely cycled during my youth in the countryside. Then again, cars in the countryside have fewer obstacles to slow them down, meaning they drive roughly twice the average speed than they could ever manage in your average central London street.

To test the waters and decide if I even wanted to cycle in the city, I decided to take one of those ‘Boris Bikes’ which were then supported by Barclays, and are now supported by Santander, out for a spin. Why banks sponsor these things alludes me. I would imagine life insurance companies would be a better fit. After fiddling with the self-service machine, which promised me 30 minutes of ride for only a couple of quid (and emphasising the surcharge if you get unfortunately held up in traffic or find yourself miles away from one of their stations) I had the contraption in my grip. 

It’s a miracle I didn’t just abandon the idea of cycling then and there. No wonder people think cycling in London is so dangerous when you have this beastly bicycle beneath you pulling the strings. Within seconds I felt as though I were attempting to tame a wild horse.

For those who are lucky enough to have never been on one of these death traps, let me paint a picture: A large clunky frame that is pulled to the earth by such weight that steering is almost impossible. A chain lies protected behind a case that only adds to its already burdened heft. There are gears on these things but it takes both hands to crank the stiff mechanism so in the interest of staying alive in an already frightful endeavour I stuck to its preset, which might as well have been labelled ‘rigormortis’. They clatter over every small bump and chip in the tarmac to the extent one fears for one’s fillings. They stop at the pace of a snail traversing treacle. There were beeps, there were honks, there were fists and offensive hand gestures. And they don’t provide helmets with these things either. We don’t all have barnets like Boris.

I returned the contraption to the machine with minutes to spare vowing to myself never to board a Boris Bike again. And I haven’t since. Recently there has been a call for cyclists to register their bicycles and have registration plates tacked onto the back. Those calling for this claim that cyclists are a menace and cause death. This is false. Cyclists cause 0.01% of all road fatalities. Most of the time it is the cyclist themselves to watch out for, never the bicycle itself.

They can be a mad bunch, cyclists. Those hardcore cyclists who zip themselves to the nines in Rapha lycra thinking they are Geraint Thomas making the final push for the Tour de France as opposed to a twat simply on their way to the office. Those who skid behind you at lights, then swerve around and accelerate away, bemoaning your existence as though you are in the wrong for not knowing that red lights are government mind-control tricks. Those who flirt with your rear wheel in fourth while you saunter in second. Those who use the rule that if someone crossing between Belisha beacons is less than half way across they won’t mind if you don’t hesitate for a second before continuing on your way. After all, their cyclists in London and they simply must make record time wherever they go. 

So I guess my ultimate argument here is not to fear the cycle, but rather the cyclist, but I’d like to think that the vast majority of city cyclists are as careful as I am. They stop at red lights, allow people to cross Zebra crossings with a smile and a howdy do, are never going fast enough to even knock the wind out of a fly, and don’t have slanging matches. 

(Speaking of which, as a little side note, I once witnessed a taxi cut in front of a cyclist in Bloomsbury. It was not this sight that was of note; if the London cyclist has a prey larger than the red bus, it’s the black taxi. No, it was the reaction of the put-upon cyclist and the subsequent reaction. What began as a fervent hand gesture mutually shared soon became a hostile situation. I was following the action from ten feet behind, and observed the cyclist deftly reach one arrogantly fingerless-leather-gloved hand behind him and unzipped the side of his bag. From within he unsheathed a mighty spanner of considerable length. Such an obvious display of Freudian behaviour I had hitherto rarely seen. Then he accelerated to catch up to the cabbie, and began whomping the rear window with his whacking wrench. Glass in London is stronger than other cities, however, and the window remained intact. Both parties stopped and pulled over, but by this time I was overtaking and, alas, saw no more. I’d like to think they bonded over being natural enemies and perhaps shared a pint. At least until they glassed each other.)

There is something freeing about cycling in a city where most of the roads are at a standstill or a snail’s crawl, and people stressfully queue at bus stops at rush hour unsure of whether or not they will get a seat. I leave the house at the same time every morning to go to work and can tell you down to within thirty seconds or so exactly when i will arrive. I also get a seat, guaranteed every time. 

Ireland – Four Nights in the Republic – September 2018

September 19, 2018

Another early start and befuddlement as the alarm goes off at 4.15am. Ryanair’s flight to Dublin sets sail at 6.30am and we need to get our skates on. On arrival we found Leeds Bradford Airport (40 minutes drive at this ungodly hour) was gridlocked as other airlines also had Stupid O’Clock flights to Greece and France departing. Getting through Security involved patient queuing with hundreds of others. The present Mrs Ives was in meltdown about them shutting the Gate and our missing the flight. She had to dawdle in a long security queue, however, we got to the Gate  20 minutes before the flight took off.

The flight to Dublin was attracting weekend revellers. In my adjoining seat was a chap leading a stag weekend. It had started the night before with 5 pints at the Saltaire Beer Festival. Add to this only 4 hours sleep and he wasn’t in great condition for his first Dublin drink at around 9am (followed by karting at a nearby track). He’d never been karting before and so looking at images of the outdoor track on his phone we discussed how to cope with wet asphalt, late braking and other tactics.
Continue reading Ireland – Four Nights in the Republic – September 2018

Croatia to England (by bike) – July & August 2018

August 14, 2018

Day 1 – Split to Pakoštane, Croatia – 61 miles & 968 metres climbed

So it felt like a pending examination. I had some butterflies about the upcoming distance, the hilly terrain, narrow roads (and impatient traffic), sweltering heat, weight on the bike (with luggage) and a slightly dodgy right knee. I’ve been here before but had some anxiety about the journey home before I started. 

This had a lot to do with a 6 mile 400 metre climb shortly after leaving the apartment on a narrow mountain pass and wondering whether Croatia losing the World Cup Final had a bearing on how they’d drive the next morning. After a wonderful time on holiday in Croatia (and too briefly in Herzegovina) I left Anna and Sophie (wife and youngest daughter) in Kaštel Lukšić to the west of Split to pedal home. The route is simply heading north. Up through Croatia and then into Slovenia. After this there is the small matter of the Austrian Alps to overcome before the relative flat of Southern Germany before I push onto France. I think it may be around 1,500 miles before I walk through my home front door.

Continue reading Croatia to England (by bike) – July & August 2018

Bruges, Belgium to York, UK – 60 miles & 329 metres climbed

It rained heavily in the night and I thought of the UK. Reports suggest that in all the weeks that I have been away then it has only rained twice there. It was a slow dismantling of the camp: what was the rush today? With no little irony then the day was relatively chilly. When the sun came out it was warm but when behind the clouds it was blustery and cool. Oh for some of this earlier in the trip!

I sauntered into Bruges. It really is a lovely tourist town. Sat on a series of canals and well preserved with architecture that you’ll find on a thousand jigsaw puzzle box lids. I found the town completely packed and I pushed my bike through crowds to, firstly, a record shop where I was tempted by some Average White Band on vinyl (how would I safely carry it?) and then on to buy some sandwiches and bits for tonight’s meal on the ferry. I don’t partake of the dining on the ferry. It seldom appeals and as it transpires then I might have been head down in the soup with weariness after entering the restaurant!

Still smiling and sporting a loss of 8 lbs since setting off three weeks ago


I found some out of town shopping and ate a hot meal at a restaurant. From here it was onwards to the docks (courtesy of more f&*king cycle paths).


On arrival I was placed with the other two wheeled travellers. Needless to say they all had engines and had also been on long distance jaunts from the Czech Republic to Italy.

In my dreams I would love to be the archetypal Yorkshireman – bluff, independent minded, no nonsense and slightly detached. I met a man who was standing beside his motorbike. He was between 65 and 70 years old. Short, craggy and fit.

Tony:                    “So have you been far?”

Yorkshireman:   “Naples”

(In my mind Naples may have been glorious 200 years ago but today it has a reputation for being an industrial busy port with unsavoury elements of crime).

Tony:                     “So how was it?”

Yorkshireman:    “Not so good, first I got food poisoning that needed hospital treatment and then I nearly got mugged. I was approached by three teenagers and one of them stood in front of me and said ‘phone’. I punched him in the face and side swiped his girlfriend who was hovering. They ran off.”

(I found that a bit of a show stopper and I was left slightly speechless albeit it did seem brave and a fitting response. However, what if they had a knife?)

Tony:                      “Gosh, well that worked! However, I can see that losing your phone would have been terribly inconvenient.”

Yorkshireman:      “Oh no, that was back in the hotel.”

On the ferry I showered and put on long trousers and a fleece top, strange and new garments after so many weeks of heat. I mooched around Duty Free and had a £4.25 pint of Guinness expecting it wouldn’t be the last. However on briefly returning to the cabin I was drawn to lying down and did so. After an hour of Ricky Gervais on Netflix I fell asleep at a ridiculously early hour! I think the body was about to insist that it was time to recuperate.


So the ferry poured us all into a busy Hull and I found my way home. Now, I have to be sensitive here because a good friend, Steve, has a deep heritage with Hull and complains at my slights. So firstly the good news is that out of all the Yorkshire towns that might have been visited by Aliens then Hull has that privilege. The folk who designed the cycle paths to move around and leave the city must have come from a different planet as they were neither co-ordinated or complete. Clearly on their planet they never have been to Hull or ridden a bicycle. Less fortunate was my discovery when completing a corner on one of these cycle paths. Facing me were two large Alsation dogs running at full pelt toward me. Slightly alarmed I noted quickly that they were both on a leash to a man who was astride his mobility scooter someway back. He understandably, to provide safety from head injuries, was wearing a cowboy hat. I give you Hull.

By the time I got back onto my street I had cycled 1,455 miles (or, for Greg Smith, 2,342 kilometres). Up until Bruges I averaged 7 hours a day on the bike and the distance averaged at just over 69 miles (112 kilometres) a day. To add to this I climbed 19,400 metres (Everest is 8,848 metres high) at 970 metres average per day. I have to add that the temperature was always over 30 degrees C sometime during the day and France, despite being further north seemed the hottest with most of the cycling time being above 33 degrees C (92 degrees F).

Any regrets? Well I am sorry that on the top of the first horrific hill out of Split (the worst of the whole ride within 5 miles of setting off!) when I met the German cyclists who were eating McVitie Digestive biscuits that I forgot to tell them that they were even more wonderful if dunked in a hot drink. To think that they proceeded to Greece not knowing this will always haunt me.

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I steered my bike onto my street thinking where I had started was unreal and that apart from the North Sea I had pedalled each and every mile. It was a blast. Thank you for your company and if you want to read up about more of my tours and or receive a free guide to what I call ‘Cycle Tour Craft’ on how to get set up to do this then please click