Around the World in 60 Days

Final Leg Home, Geneva to Heathrow

2012-06-20T12:29:00.000-07:00

A little under four weeks later then planned, I catch the Number 5 Bus from the Museum stop in Geneva and, half an hour later, am dropped off right in front of the international terminal. It is somewhat ironic that the route takes us right past Gare Cornavin, where the theft of my bag containing my passport and much else delayed my departure from supposedly tranquil Switzerland.

There's no queue at all at Business Class check in, which is great, but Swissport can't cope with authorising my round the world baggage allowances for the final sector of my itinerary. So I am made to stand like a prune for 10 minutes while they receive the necessary authorisation from the airline, despite a memo from Air New Zealand explaining the relevance of my original ticket.
What a palaver.
But my C-Class ticket means I am fast tracked through security and cause interest at passport control who ask, of course, why I have an emergency passport. The two guys on duty told me that 'The railway station in Geneva has a very bad reputation'. I just hope that tour groups and guide books tell people about the current problem.

I enjoy breakfast at Swiss International's Business Lounge, including their absolutely excellent croissant, the best I have tasted since the last time I was in their lounge!

The Airbus to Heathrow is surprisingly quiet and I am the lone passenger in the first two rows. Odd, because I couldn't book my preferred 1A which has been showing as occupied for months.

Approaching London, we circle over the 02 arena for a short while before we are given permission to land at Heathrow. Why is it that the plane I am on always seems to end up at the furthest point of Terminal 1 from passport control?

There is great interest in my very expensive temporary passport at Border Control which is promptly retained, despite the fact I point out that it is in fact valid for further travel. But I am just glad to be back home.
I have taken advantage of Europcar's Terminal 1 service, which means my hire car is waiting just a few steps away from the arrivals hall. No shuttle bus, just pick it up and drive. Only £20 extra. Brilliant.
So, that ends 'Around the World in 60 Days – Backwards'. It's been a great trip, with surprisingly few hiccups.
Just as last year, I think a Round the World Business-Class fare is remarkable value. My grateful thanks to Christian at Air New Zealand who is just the best there is at helping plan itineraries - and so patient with a dithering client like me!
Of course, there have been many, many people who have either helped me, accommodated me and generally been a part of this trip. To them, my heartfelt and sincere thanks.
And, finally, my appreciation to the more than twenty thousand folk all round the world who have been following my blog. Your comments and support have meant so much.
Till the next time.

The very best photos from the trip can be seen at:

The very best of 'Around the World - Backwards'

A week after I was robbed, Geneva, Saturday

2012-05-26T11:23:00.001-07:00

It is exactly a week since my bag was stolen, literally from under my feet at Geneva Cornavin station. You might have expected that passing time would have made me more resigned to the situation, but no.

Every day that passes I discover something else that is essential to my life is missing, whether it be something cheap and easily replaceable like lip balm or a torch, to something more expensive and difficult to replace like prescription sunglasses or my camera. The latter I have already replaced, together with my iPad and iPod. But one of my stolen digital cameras had a viewfinder, something I find essential when, as has been the case this week, the sun has been shining which makes the image on an LCD screen almost impossible to view.

Until this morning, I was making progress with my passport renewal. But eagle-eyed friend Michael spotted that I could only use the form that his wife had brought from London if I was actually in the UK. So I will have to cut short my long-planned rail trip to Europe and get back to Bern to apply for an emergency one. More needless expense and a total pain.

No news at all from the Geneva lost property department, who had given me some hope that the passport was quite likely to be recovered.

Of course all sorts of other matters have come to light. Skype warned me that it was running out of credit because one of the lost cards was used to fund it; I couldn't make a purchase on Amazon for the same reason. The fact that my bag was taken probably just for cash makes me so mad; I would almost have happily just handed money over, had they asked, just to avoid the inconvenience of it all.

To say that the incident has marred my visit and my view of Geneva is an understatement. Everyone I have spoken to has been sympathetic, understanding and caring. But, almost immediately, they tell me of friends they know who have also been robbed in Geneva. Everywhere you look here, there are posters warning of the scam of the coin under the cups trick; almost as frequently you see people of Eastern European appearance ripping people off with it.

I have asked Geneva Police to tell me what is being done, but don't hold your breath for much information. Tourism is big business in this city and the last thing they want to do is make visitors think that the situation here is much worse than any other place. But it is. Geneva is not London or New York. It is a small town, which happens to have some pretty important institutions based here. Ask any staff member of the International Red Cross or the United Nations and they will tell you that they, or a friend, have been robbed.

But let's not dwell on crime. Let's look at what Geneva has to offer.

Firstly, like all of Switzerland, it is scarily expensive and you really have to budget carefully if you are not to have a serious hole in your pocket. A small basket in the supermarket can easily cost two or three hundred Swiss Francs, probably over half as much again as you will be used to spending at home. Eating out is eye-wateringly costly, with even a basic menu costing forty CHF. The canny Genevois, of course, head over the border to France when they can, buy their groceries, have their meals and buy their booze.

One thing that Geneva certainly has to offer is a really efficient public transport system. If you are staying in a hotel, they are likely to give you a ticket for the duration of your stay. That not only covers buses, local trains, trolleybuses and trams, but also the little red and yellow mouette ferries that criss cross Lac Leman.

The Geneva Card, available for 1, 2 or 3 days, gives you access to all sorts of things from trips by boat around the Lake to museums and even the cable car up Mont Saleve.

I combined both cards to take a trip on the number 8 bus to the end of the line, the Veyrier Douane, or customs post, followed by a short walk to take the steep ascent on the cable car.

You wouldn't even know you had crossed the border, a bit of a relief for those of us who are not in possession of a travel document!

At the top, stunning views over Geneva and Lac Leman and the chance to watch as people attach themselves to colourful bits of nylon cord and material and throw themselves off the 1000 metre high cliff.

But, somehow, I find myself drawn again and again to the Lake and all it has to offer. From 'Les Bains de Paquis' where the locals enjoy their croissants or fondues while watching or participating in a bathe in the rather chilly lake - to a trip on one of the beautifully restored 100-year-old paddle steamers like Savoie or Simplon.

I took one such trip to the French medieval village of Yvoire, where an absolutely splendid lunch was taken on the terrace at the Auberge du Bacouni, before taking the paddle steamer back to Geneva. In fact a very nice lady at the CGN ferry company suggested I also take in Nyon, but the lunch and the view was so special, that I rather lingered over my barracuda souffle and my plat de fromages. A real treat – and a LOT cheaper than eating in Geneva.

If you have a Swiss Flexi Pass, not only does it cover your rail journeys, but also gives you boat trips, funicular railways, cable cars and buses. On my trip on Savoie, the First Class saloon was almost empty, but booked to be completely full for dinner. In any case, I spent a lot of my time just marvelling at the engineering of the century old steam pistons driving the massive paddle wheels.

My friend Michael took me to visit Carouges, where folk will say they are from, rather than from Geneva itself, just across the river. I can only compare it to a London mews, twee little properties and even more twee little shops. As we supped coffee, a man loaded top of the range champagne into the back of his illegally parked 4 x 4. It's that sort of place.

But the lure of the Lake is always powerful, watching the iconic jet d'eau pump water hundreds of metres into the sky.

Nearby at 'Le Grange', taking lunch at the café run by 'The Swiss League for women abstainers' is just one way of realising that most folk in Geneva are great. It's just a few incomers who are spoiling it for the majority.

But somehow, watching the world on the lake go by, such issues seem so very far away.

On Monday I set off on my Rail Trip, slightly anxious about my lack of passport. But I have my pass and I have my booking to Paris, so another adventure beckons.

Best of my photos from the whole trip are at:

The very best of 'Around the World - Backwards'

Passport palaver

2012-05-21T12:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a day of complete frustration vis a vis trying to replace my passport. It's an urgent matter, as I am due to fly back to the UK from Geneva tomorrow.

After ascertaining that nothing has been handed in to the Geneva Police lost and found, I set off by train for a two-hour journey to seek assistance from the consular section of the British Embassy in the Swiss capital, Berne.

Ironically, as I head to Gare Cornavin in Geneva to start the trip, the bus drops me almost at the exact spot where my bag was stolen on Saturday.

As I head north on my Swiss Railways double-decker train, my friend Michael has a frustrating conversation with the UK passport call centre in Birmingham. After a twenty minute delay, he makes progress, only to have the system crash. 'Call back later' is the customer unfriendly advice.

But he has ascertained that there is no way I can get a replacement passport in time for my next trip which is due to start next Tuesday.

At the British Embassy in Berne, I am not expected, but am allowed through the sophisticated security screening into the hallowed portal. Michael's best endeavours via the call centre have not resulted in me having an actual appointment. But I am the only person waiting and one of the consular staff agrees to see me. I discuss my options with her. An emergency passport can be issued, but I cannot then apply for another to get me out of the UK. Questions would, they say, have to be asked. So we resolve that my best bet is to stay in Europe while a full passport application can be processed.

So, Michael's wife Sally will pick up the application form in London on Thursday. I have the same photographs as appeared in my lost passport, so will send the completed application and the payment and countersigned photos back to my friends at home, who will attach my birth certificate and hand the package in to the post office for a seven day service. In theory, my new passport will then arrive in plenty of time to be with me in Switzerland for my journey home. Ironically, my stolen passport was one of the very first biometric passports to be issued in Madrid and I even have a photo of the then British Ambassador to Spain and the Consul General presenting me with it. Even more sadly, it is almost full, with a wonderful collection of irreplaceable visas and stamps.

Normally, I wouldn't even have had my passport with me, but my Swiss Flexi Pass required me to have it as identification. I am slightly concerned that I won't have it for my three-week InterRail journey. But I have the police report and a copy, so hopefully that will suffice.

But methinks there may be one or two more challenges ahead.

Russ, one of my chums, says I have been amazingly stoical over the matter. Outwardly, maybe so. But internally I am upset, frustrated and angry. The whole thing has been very distressing and had it not been for the understanding and support from both friends and complete strangers, I am not sure how I would have coped. Even Jamie, the South African girl at Swiss Airlines, told me to 'hang in there' when I called to explain why I wouldn't be flying out tomorrow. A Tunisian man who runs a bar in Geneva gave me half of his flaky pastry spinach and cheese pie after hearing my story. And Georges from the Geneva Police lost property department has been an absolute star. And of course my Facebook account has been filled with many messages of support.

So thanks to everyone who has helped me out. Your generosity and compassion has been overwhelming.

Berne, by the way, is lovely. I only spent an hour or so in the city, but it really does look worth a proper visit. The Swiss Parliament building dominates the skyline above the river, while there is an absolutely charming series of streets. And trams too!

Photos at:

The very best of 'Around the World - Backwards'

Singapore to Switzerland. And being robbed.

2012-05-20T22:16:00.001-07:00

Changi has to be one of the best organised Airports in the world. Check in is very well organised, there are always plenty of baggage trolleys available, the lounges are great, immigration is quick and efficient and there is plenty of space in which to shop and relax.

Even the lounge for the A380 is great. I expect boarding this giant of the skies to be a pain, but the air bridges are so well organised that I find myself delivered to the upper deck business class area through a dedicated walkway almost without realising I have boarded the aircraft.

I've come on board early to have look around, but I'm disappointed that the wide stairs to the downstairs suites area is closed off and will remain so throughout the flight. I ask nicely to be allowed to look before other passengers board, but the senior male cabin crew member is adamant that the other parts of the aircraft are off limits.

I am surprised that there is no leaflet about how the seat operates. There are so many buttons and switches that, even as an experienced traveller, I have to seek assistance. Not once, but several times.

As always, Singapore Airlines service is first class, the food is excellent and the staff are friendly, efficient and willing. I am not hugely impressed with the sleeping arrangements. While it's a fully flat bed, you lie diagonally across your space, with a less than robust flap connecting the final section to the ottoman. On several occasions, I have to pull it back up, my feet having disappeared into the void below.

But I sleep and breakfast well and almost before I know it am in Zurich.

After a shower, I enjoy the best croissants ever in the business class lounge before catching my connecting flight to Geneva.

In the baggage hall, I collect my free train/bus ticket into the centre (what a brilliant idea!) and am met by my old Navy chum, Michael Goldthorpe who points out the thin red line that has replaced a barrier. The disciplined Swiss stand obediently behind the illuminated line waiting for arriving passengers. Another brilliant idea!

Michael and I take a train to the centre, connecting almost immediately to a bus which stops almost outside their front door. The Swiss really do have public transport sorted.

Michael's wife Sally is in Singapore, so we have a couple of days together looking around the local area, popping across the border into France, doing shopping, venturing up Mont Saleve for a superb view over Geneva and visiting the town of Annecy for lunch. It's a local bank holiday, the place is packed and it takes a while before we find a place to park.

But it's worth the wait, Annecy is charming and we enjoy a splendid lunch which includes the tasty local Savoyard dish, Tartiflette, made from cheese, potatoes, lardons and onions.

I use my Swiss Travel Flexipass to go to Lugano, some five and a half hours distant. The train announcements start off in French, move to German as we approach Zurich and change to Italian as we head south. Strange, this multilingual Switzerland. The section through the Gottard pass has to be one of the most wonderfully scenic rail journeys in the world.

Lake Lugano is a delight. My pass even allows me to travel on the private metre-gauge splendidly maintained FLP railway to the border town of Ponte Tresa. There, I walk into Italy, have dinner and buy a bottle of Sicilian wine. As you do. I am thrilled with the photographs I have taken, including some splendid panoramas of Lake Lugano with my new camera.

My flexi pass allows me to travel on the funicular railway from Lugano Railway station to the town centre, where I meet my Serbian friend Alexsandar, last met on a plane in Washington. He's busy with exams, so we only have time for a hugely expensive coffee and orange juice in the main square before I set off on an hour-long tour of the delightful lake. My flexipass is valid for this trip too!

I enjoy the five and a half hour trip back to Geneva, travelling in the private business class section of the extremely comfortable Pendolino tilting train, ideally suited to the endless curves of Swiss railways.

While waiting for the number 8 bus at Geneva Station, a man asks me to help him operate the ticket machine. In a flash my man-bag is gone. Ipad, iPod, two cameras, passport, Swiss FlexiPass, wallet and all the detritus of a traveller. Plus the keys to Michael and Sally's apartment. They are in the UK for the night at a dinner. Major crisis. I am in a daze as a kindly woman lets me try to call and text Sally. Back at the apartment, a kindly neighbour lends me some cash and takes me to the police station. There, I go through the palaver of making a statement, hardly reassured by the friendly and helpful female cops telling me that they see several people a day for this sort of thing. The whole thing conducted in French of course. They say that it's possible that my bag will be found, minus anything valuable, but probably still with passport and credit cards intact. But the lost property office doesn't open till Monday morning.

Back at the apartment block, another kindly neighbour not only sits up till 0130am with me while I cancel my lost cards, make contact with the UK passport authorities and so on. We continually try and contact my hosts, but when it becomes clear I am not going to get into the apartment tonight, kindly offers me a bed for the night. I have my overnight bag from my trip, but no clean clothes for the morning.

The following day, I finally make contact with my hosts in the early afternoon and their Bolivian housekeeper very kindly breaks off a lunch in France to come and let me in to the house.

But I discover at the station that my Swiss flexipass can't be replaced and while the Swiss authorities will be happy to accept other photo id in lieu of my missing passport allowing me to travel back to the UK on Tuesday, the British authorities won't. So my final day of 'Around the World in 60 days – Backwards' will be spent travelling to the British Embassy in Berne to get an emergency passport.

It's not the first time I have been robbed while travelling and I daresay it will not be the last. But I feel absolutely desolate and empty. I am devastated by the loss of my carefully crafted photographs taken on my week-old camera. The rest of the things can be replaced, but not them.

I have replayed the moment of the loss again and again. If only I hadn't been distracted to help. If only I had done my normal thing and had the bag around my neck. If only I had been aware that laid-back, classy Geneva has a dreadful reputation for this happening.

If only.

Photos at:

The very best of 'Around the World - Backwards'

Singapore, Sarawak and heading to Switzerland Plus a sodding pottery factory

2012-05-15T02:27:00.003-07:00

Callum, my old chum from primary school in Scotland, has kindly invited me to stay with him at his very different Singapore Residence.

It is an apartment in the Wessex Estate, one of the few post-war housing complexes still in existence in Singapore. Built to house non-commissioned officers and their families during the Malayan emergency, the 26 three-storey blocks are each named after British victories – Khartoum, Quebec and, in Callum's case, Barrosa.

The apartments are set in spacious grounds and there's a real feel of old-style colonial living. Even more so is the Col Bar, originally built in 1953, but moved to its present site in 2003 when a major road was planned right through the middle of the building. The Colonial Bar, to give it the full title, is as unlike modern Singapore as is possible to get, so is popular for that very reason. But if you want to eat, get your order in by 8.30pm or the chef will have gone home!

In the morning, I join the commuters on Singapore's smashing Rapid Transit, the SMRT, to head to Changi Airport. The trip, which takes 50 minutes. Costs just $2.20.

Singapore doesn't seem to ever have the horrendous immigration queues of the USA and the UK. Both going in and out takes no time at all. Changi Airport is great, with trolleys everywhere and free wifi - as long as you ask for the password at the information desk.

I'm impressed with Air Asia. My eighty minute flight on a spotlessly clean Airbus has cost me just £48 return, the vast majority of that being fuel or security surcharges and taxes. The staff are really friendly, boarding is professionally handled and, for a 'no frills' carrier, they do it very well indeed.

Just before touch-down at Kuching, the plane passes over the winding Sarawak River. Everyone, even Malaysian Nationals, has to complete an immigration form for Sarawak, on Borneo Island,

but, with no bag to collect, the paperwork is completed within moments.

Fauzi and Amanda have turned up in the Four Points by Sheraton limo, which is a really nice touch.

The hotel is only a few minutes drive away. I have rented a junior suite, which turns out to be one of the biggest rooms I have ever had in my life. The price, about £40 per night, is about half what I paid for my Bed and Breakfast room in Melbourne!

But there's no time to linger because Hadi, my driver and guide, is already waiting for me in reception to show me down town Kuching.

It's an interesting mix of tumbledown and ultra-modern. But whoever planned the itinerary, sending us into town at the end of Friday Prayers clearly hadn't thought it through. Nightmare traffic jams!

We see the impressive town hall, Chinatown, where I by a kilo of sweet little bananas for about 50 pence and visit the colourful and lively bazaar. Long overdue for a haircut, Hadi takes me to a barbershop he knows, where I have an excellent cut for just £2. Already, it is clear that Sarawak is not going to be an expensive visit.

I ask Hadi if he's Malaysian but he is firm that he is a Sarawakian first and formost. Sarawak is actually the largest state in Malaysia and home to 2.2 million folk, a quarter of whom live in Kuching. Borneo island, the third largest in the world, includes Brunei and, in the south, it's part of Indonesia.

After a swim in the hotel's pretty unimpressively designed pool, I walk across the road where I enjoy an excellent meal at the Pandan Thai Delight Restaurant for just over £10. Green lamb curry, spring rolls, crab cake, rice and a couple of beers. What a bargain.

In the morning, much as I detest buffet breakfasts, I actually enjoy the wide range of local and western fare on offer in a pleasantly quiet restaurant. The high-spot for me is Beef Rendang, a very spicy beef stew. Great on buttered toast! But I could have had anything from nasi goreng to scrambled egg.

I hand in a kilo of washing to the laundry across the street, who charge me 4 Malaysian Ringgit, less than £1. It will be ready by teatime. If I had had the items laundered individually in the hotel, I would have paid twenty times that.

Since Melbourne, I have been in agony with a trapped nerve in my neck, which is causing me pain all down my left arm, so I visit the pharmacy. Priscilla Chuo Poh Poh, who learnt her trade at Strathclyde University in my hometown of Glasgow, is not yet in, so I talk to her on the phone and she dispenses accordingly. I pick up what I think is one of her business cards, only to find out later that it is for a doctor Chen Chung Ming, who specialises in Colorectal and Laparascopic treatments, something he learned to do in Edinburgh. I shall bear him in mind.

Mr. Hadi takes me to the Semenggoh animal sanctuary who decide to charge me the entrance fee, despite me being an official Sarawak Tourist Board sponsored visitor. But apparently we don't have 'the correct letter'. Hey ho.

But it's feeding time for the Orang Utans and we watch in wonder as six of the hairy red animals swing through the jungle canopy. On departure there's a real bonus when Hadi spots a mother and her baby pottering along the side of the path, completely unconcerned about us.

It's hard to describe how hot and humid it is, but I am glad I have brought a wet flannel and lots of water. Even so, I buy three cold drinks in the Serikin Market, very close to the border with Indonesia. There's a lot of basket ware, rush matting and really good quality fruit and vegetables on display, but it is really too hot to linger. Sensible locals use brollies as parasols.

Then we have to visit the bloody pottery factory. God! I have lost count of how many trips I have been on that insist on including the sodding pottery factory in the itinerary. There must be a tradition of potters paying tourist boards backhanders or something. It's always the same old rubbish; rarely anything of any real quality. And this was no exception. But there's a bit of fun when I spot one of the assistants fast asleep in an armchair, which amuses the other staff when I take his picture.

In the late afternoon, I have a late lunch at the Taipei 101 restaurant, where lemon chicken, special fried rice and a couple of Tiger beers is less than £5. In my room, Football Focus is on BBC World. Imagine! I am in Borneo watching Premiership action, hours before the programme is aired in the UK.

The Sarawak Cultural Village sounds totally not my sort of thing, a real tourist trap. But we have pitched up early and it's actually very well done, with some really interesting traditional homes to see and folk in their tribal costumes going about their daily business. They are all really friendly and happy to chat. One man is doing some colourful batik prints while a lady is making tasty biscuits over a charcoal fire from coconut milk and flour.

Hadi spots a lovely bright green chameleon in the foliage, who waits patiently for me to set up my tripod before scuttling off after I have taken the snap.

I am told that Singapore would take a dim view if I purchased a blowpipe, so I buy a few bags of pepper instead. I don't think I have ever seen it growing on trees like it does here.

We visit a couple of quiet little fishing villages, where the locals all wave and say hello and boys on bikes show off their wheelies.

At Buntal Bazaar, a light lunch is taken for less than £3.

Final port of call is to the Orchid Garden in Kuching where I learnt that 10% of the world's orchids come from Sarawak. There are apparently 75,000 of them in the 35 acres of the garden, but there are only a few in flower at this time of year.

I have been hoping for a swim, but just as I am about to go down, the skies darken, the heavens open and a tropical monsoon ensues. It's pretty scary being high up in a hotel watching the lightning sear across the leaden skies.

In the morning I make another attempt to see Priscilla the Pharmacist, but she's clearly not an early riser. Once again I speak to her on the phone about my ailments. I think it's lovely that the girl in the shop refers to her as madam. It wouldn't happen in Glasgow, Priscilla!

Air Asia returns me to Singapore, where I clear immigration within moments.

I have been invited to spend a couple of nights at the eco-friendly Siloso Beach Resort on Sentosa Island.

Karl and Zac take me on a fascinating hour-long tour , available to all guests, which really does demonstrate the resort's credentials.

Wherever possible, trees were kept in place during the building of the complex. So much so, that trees actually grow in the middle of some of the 12 villas. The main accommodation block is actually split in two to allow large trees to be kept in place.

They grow their own fruit and vegetables, fertilised with compost produced from waste product in their own wormery.

The huge 95 metre long swimming pool uses ionized salt instead of chlorine to kill any bugs therein and the water comes from an underground spring, which is also used in the gardens. There are fourteen ponds to encourage wildlife, a huge rooftop garden which acts as insulation, thus saving huge amounts of energy.

The Siloso Beach resort's eco-friendly policy goes far beyond anything I have ever seen before, ranging from the way they source their food (locally wherever possible), no wasteful plastic bottles of soap and conditioner in the rooms to the housekeeping staff recycling the contents of guests bins.

It's all very impressive.

But actually what is nicest (and probably the thing that most guests notice) is the way that the complex just seems to fit in with the natural environment It really does give you the impression of living in the middle of the jungle.

I enjoy a quick dip in the enormous pool before a quick bite of lunch with Rae and Ching, the PR team at the next door Shangri-La Rasa Sentosa resort.

Now I have to re-pack my bags for the 12 and a half hour flight to Geneva and my first experience of flying in an Airbus A380.

Something I am looking forward to, almost as much as if it was to be my first flight ever.

Well, if you have the travel bug, it really doesn't matter what age you are, the thrill is just the same. If I didn't get the buzz out of travelling as much as I do, I'd stay at home digging the garden.

And trying to be eco-friendly.

All photos at:

Around the World in 60 Days Backwards - Australia and the Far East to the UK

Shopping, moving country and being a clot twice!

2012-05-10T16:32:00.001-07:00

I am taking the train into Melbourne for my final day. I have been very clever with my myki card and, after today's journeyings, it will have just two cents left on it. But it's clear that there are considerable problems with Melbourne's new transport technology. On several occasions, the card readers go out of service and, at one point, my card simply refuses to open a gate. There are currently a whole host of myki-uniformed staff helping sort out the problems, but the scheme clearly has some technological hurdles to overcome.

I have been having problems with my cameras, so head into Michael's cameras in Elizabeth Street, where the very helpful Trevor takes me to the technical department. There, an incredulous member of staff points out that the card I thought was 64 Megabytes was only a 64 Kilobyte test card. No wonder I haven't been getting too many shots on each of them. What a clot!

Michael's haven't got the new camera I am interested in buying, so another Australian institution, Ted's, is almost next door. There, Andreas, who is Aussie but was brought up in Germany, turns out to be a very good salesman indeed and I leave with a splendid new Sony which has an amazing 20 x optical zoom. Incredible for such a compact camera. Even better, as I have spent more than $300, I can claim back $40 in sales tax at the airport.

Further along Elizabeth Street are the Block and Royal Arcades, two lovely Victorian shopping arcades which remind me, once again, that much of Melbourne's architecture is so alike that of the city of my birth, Glasgow.

In front of Flinders Street Station, two very polite schoolboys from Mentone Grammar ask me to participate in a survey on the myki card. They are using not a clipboard and paper, but an iPad! I am most impressed!

I had intended visiting the Immigration Museum and the Polly Woodside tall ship, but, as I am almost next door, I am drawn back to the ACMI at Federation Square to spend some more time in their excellent displays on the history of the moving image.

Apart from anything, I am supposed to be meeting Chloe, but she's been detained in a tutorial. I have to revert to posting her the DVD in which she features in two TV interviews at the time of the HMS Nottingham incident on Lord Howe Island, which is where we first met.

The nearby Flinders Lane post office has everything I need and the task is achieved with the minimum of fuss. I am impressed with the layout of the place, but how quickly I am served and also the 'self service' technology they have.

Myki is again problematic at Flinders Street, refusing to recognise my card, but, even worse, when I get back to Eltham, several of the machines are 'out of service' which results in a train load of frustrated commuters having to queue to 'touch-off' their card.

It's my final night in Victoria, so I am treating Diana and Malcolm to dinner. We had chosen to have an Indian, but it's almost empty, which is nevera good sign, so we opt for the packed Nongkhai Thai, which turns out to be excellent.

In the morning, Malcolm and Diana have kindly offered to pick me up at 7am to take me to Melbourne Airport. I have thought ahead and packed an extra bag for my weekend trip to Sarawak.

Check in is almost instantaneous, but the Express Lane for immigration is horribly slow. Even worse is the queue for the TRS to claim back my sales tax. When, eventually, I get to the counter, my transaction takes only moments, but John tells me the hold up is being caused by a load of Chinese travellers who have suitcases full of goodies and fistfuls of receipt to process.

Business Class in the Singapore Airlines 777 is only half full, so I have the very spacious front row to myself. The seating and the catering are excellent although there's no attempt at any stage by the cabin crew to engage me in conversation, which is most unusual in a premium cabin these days.

Arrival procedures at Singapore's Changi airport are quick and efficient, my bags arrive quickly and I am in a taxi speeding on my way within twenty minutes of landing.

It's only when we are nine kilometres on our way when I realise that my third bag, packed especially for my weekend trip, is still on the carousel. What a clot!

Luckily, it doesn't take too much time to complete the paperwork to be allowed back inside to collect the bag, so no harm done. But it just shows you, a slight change your normal routine and things can so easily go wrong.

But at least I am in Singapore, two thirds of the way round the world, and my bags have stayed with me throughout.

Well almost.

From Gold to Koalas

2012-05-08T14:33:00.005-07:00

The outdoor museum at Sovereign Hill is at Ballarat, about 90 minutes drive from Melbourne. It's a living museum which tells the story of the gold rush in the town in the 1850's. I have been to many such places over the years, but Sovereign Hill has to be up there among the very best.

Not only is the setting absolutely splendid, the buildings are so carefully arranged, that you really do feel that you are wandering around a completely authentic town of the period. But what makes it very special are the 'interpreters', the people who play the part of sweet makers, wheelwrights, shopkeepers et al. They play their parts with such enthusiasm and commitment, that it is very easy to start role-playing along with them.

Over the years, the attraction has been expanded, so people who have been there before, will always find something new to appeal. The tour of the gold mine, for example, takes you on a train which gives you the sensation of going deep underground to see two types of mine, the first so cleverly manufactured that it's not easy to see the join between it and the real digging which adjoins.

Redcoat soldiers are drilled, muskets are fired and it all takes place under the Union Flag. God Save the Queen. Huzzah!

It's interesting to learn about the interaction between the experienced Cornish miners and the hordes of Chinese workers who were lured to the boom town to extract a few grams of gold from each ton of quartz. You can pan for gold in a very impressive creek, but, for wow factor, to watch the pouring of a red-hot $140,000 gold ingot and to be able to pass it around only moments later is truly spectacular.

In the street, a constable might have to intervene in a street brawl; in the school, the teacher can be seen showing modern day children the way of learning in the 1850's. NO talking in class!

In the saddlery, Miss Erin and I strike up a role play relationship but, so far, she hasn't written. Oh well.

The ticket for Sovereign Hill also gives admission to the nearby gold museum but to do everything justice, you really need to spend a couple of days.

It is as good a living museum as I have been to in many a long year achieving authenticity without the need for the over-commercial hype of places like Williamsburg in Virginia.

I have no hesitation for awarding Sovereign Hill a thoroughly deserved 'gold star'!

About an hour's drive from Melbourne is the Healesville Sanctuary, where you can see Australia's native wildlife close-up. From kangaroo and koala to wallaby and wombat, they are all here.

The sanctuary is committed to ensuring the survival of endangered species and the conservation message is delivered strongly at every turn.

Especially well done is the 'Spirits of the Sky' show, where two presenters introduce the audience to a range of raptors and other birds.

It is lovely to be able to see and learn about the animals without the feeling that you are in a zoo; the spacious enclosures giving as close a recreation of the animals' natural habitats as possible. The animal hospital is also fascinating, but comes with a warning that you could see an operation or post mortem in progress.

In front of the centre, a fire-blackened tree has been transplanted, another reminder of the Black Saturday bush fires which came so close to the sanctuary that the fire emergency plan had to be implemented and hundreds of animals evacuated to its sister attractions at Melbourne Zoo, Werribee and elsewhere.

A leaflet reminds you that the maximum penalty for deliberately causing a bush fire is 25 years imprisonment.

Healesville undoubtedly does what it does very well and takes every opportunity to deliver its conservation message to its visitors.

I am never entirely happy with animals being given names or things like 'Magic Moments' where you pay to have a 10 minute 'close encounter' with the animal of your choice, but that's purely a personal view and I am sure the experts have debated the pros and cons long into the night.

The site is very cleverly designed and crams a lot into its paths, which only stretch for a total of 3 kilometres, so ideal for children and the less able.

Healesville Sanctuary is a most enjoyable day out.

Nearby, at Yarra Glen, I buy a couple of tickets for the Tuesday Oz Lotto, the top prize which has now risen to $70 million Australian.

In the attractive town, the Hargreaves Hill Brewing Company offers a sampling 'paddle' of six of its brews.

It really would have been churlish to refuse.

Climate change – but only in Australia

2012-05-06T14:23:00.000-07:00

It's another beautiful day in Sydney, so I pack away the jumper and trousers and decide on summer attire for my last morning in New South Wales and for my journey to Victoria.

There's a lovely walk around Marrickville Golf Course beside the Cook River.

I don't think I have ever heard so many birds twittering and calling. Ibis are everywhere; the Aussies rather regard them as flying rats.

As I walk back up the hill to the house, two plain-clothes police officers are in the process of arresting a guy, his hands on his car as one of the policemen search him.

Liz has kindly made me some sandwiches – or 'sambos' as she calls them – for my journey. They are, of course, not your normal butties. Duck and mushroom for one and bacon, lettuce and tomato for the other.

At Sydney Domestic terminal, there is a huge queue at Jetstar and I seem to be one of the few people who has bothered to check in online and tag my bags at the automatic machines. As a result, the bag drop is totally clogged up. So I boldly walk past a large group of beefy Aussie Rules professional footballers and straight to a desk.

Bruce weighs my luggage, including my two carry on bags. 'You are 7 kilos over your allowance, we charge that at the airport at $15 dollars a kilo.

$105! That's as much as I have paid for my ticket, 40 kilos of luggage and my seat. Crikey! I explain about my round the world exploits, hand over my Travel Writer business cards and say a silent prayer. Bruce goes off to see a supervisor and returns with the news that they are not budging. But suddenly, he seems to take pity on me, hands me my boarding passes and wishes me a pleasant journey.

But the message is very clear. If you have more luggage than you have paid for, Jetstar will charge you. The 'no frills' airlines make a lot of money out of excess baggage; it's one of the ways they keep their lead-in fares lower than scheduled carriers.

I am in my normal 1A seat on Jetstar's very new Airbus A320. It has very comfortable leather seats and the first row is set back from the door. So you don't get trampled by boarding passengers and the legroom is not restricted by the door slide.

The flight is packed, but it's actually a very pleasant journey. One of the cabin crew is especially keen to please; she's being checked out by an extra staff member for a more senior position.

At Melbourne, the bags arrive quicker than if they had been priority tagged. Within moments, I am met by Diana Robertson, who was my school penpal and her partner Malcolm Hackett.

We are just dropping my luggage at the splendid Cantala B&B in the northern suburb of Eltham before heading to their temporary accommodation. They lost their house and much else in the dreadful bush fires of February 7 2009. Google 'Black Saturday bushfires' and you will get the full information.

We are headed to the local community hall in Strathewen, where there's a pizza evening and children's talent contest. The state of the art hall was donated after the bush fires by property develop Australand and their suppliers. The evening is great fun, with a couple of pretty impressive turns. What is not on show is the trauma that many folk still feel more than two years after the local school, village hall, fire station and 173 lives, 27 of them in Strathewen alone, were lost.

In the morning I take the train into Melbourne. A day Metrocard for unlimited use on the trains, buses and trams costs just $11, which is amazing value as the single ticket for the hour-long journey to Melbourne would alone be $8.

There is so much to see and do.

Diana meets me in the city centre and we take the free city circle tram, which runs every twelve minutes. It's a great way of orientating yourself, and with one going in the opposite direction, it's an easy way of getting to most of the main sights. There is also a less publicised tourist shuttle bus which runs every 30 minutes, which is also free.

Waterfront City in the old docklands area is supposedly the 'happening' place in town. But it's not my cup of tea. Lots of shopping and places to eat, if you like that sort of thing. But to my mind, it's pretty soulless. The controversial Southern Star big wheel is also there. Opened amid big hype at the end of 2008, it closed just a month later with structural problems. After three years, a new version, along the lines of London's Big Eye and the Singapore Flyer is being constructed.

On the tram, we have learned about the William Angliss Institute, where 7,000 students learn about the catering and hospitality industries. We enjoy an excellent lunch in the Bistro, one of the two training restaurants, although the young chef of the day is at a loss to explain why my twice-baked souffle has developed a pie-like crust! But you can't fault the attention to detail of the students, who come from all over to learn at one of Australia's most prestigious catering hospitality colleges.

The Eureka Skydeck 88 features the 'fastest lift and the highest public vantage point in the Southern Hemisphere'. The tallest building, which must irk them, is in fact Auckland's Sky Tower, but the Kiwi observation deck is lower, hence the claim. Skydeck costs $17.50 for adults.

At almost 300 metres above the ground, it certainly does give you a wonderful view of the Melbourne city and suburbs. A special (and $12 extra) feature is 'The Edge', a glass box which actually takes you outside the building and above the street far below. But I find the rather contrived creaking and thunder effects spoil the overall experience. Cameras are, rather frustratingly, not allowed inside. Why? Because they charge you another $15 if you want to buy the one taken from their camera.

At the Young & Jackson Hotel opposite Flinders Street Station, we meet Chloe Breakwell, who I first met as a 12 year old on Lord Howe Island. Ten years later, she's studying veterinary science at Trinity College. The venue for our pre-event meal has been chosen because Chloe took her name from a famous painting in the hotel, which she has never seen.

In the evening, off to see my first ever Aussie-Rules football at the Etihad Stadium. The match, between Melbourne rivals Bulldogs and Collingwood, is fast, furious and great fun. Leg room is less than generous though. A man behind us, recently retired as a foghorn, feels the referee is being less than supportive to his team and 'you maggot' is only one of his many high-decibel reposts.

Cantala B&B is in Eltham, an hour or so from the city by the Metro suburban train. The delightful 1930's house is set in lovely gardens. It's only 10 minutes away from the railway station, but it's a pretty hilly walk back.

The transport bargain of the century has to be the $3.30 cost of Melbourne's weekend day ticket. You have to pay an initial $6 for a myki pass, which is replacing the old Metcard, to obtain the bargain, but it really is unbelievable value.

I while away most of Saturday morning at the excellent Queen Victoria Market, open on Tuesday and Thursday-Sunday. The produce market is very much geared to meet the needs of Melbourne's multinational residents while bargains abound in the vast covered area which houses around 1000 traders.

I am amazed that entry to the Australian Centre of the Moving Image, housed in striking buildings at Federation Square, is free. Especially as their permanent exhibition, 'Screen Worlds', is a truly remarkable presentation of film, television and digital culture. I spend a couple of hours marvelling at the extraordinarily clever ways that were used 100 years ago to make images move. I could have spent a lot more time seeing impressive presentations about iconic Australian films such as Walkabout and TV programmes like 'Skippy'. I absolutely love it. The futuristic building also houses prestigious visiting exhibitions (William Kentridge during my visit) and two cinemas showing a wide range of documentaries and films not on general release.

Back at Eltham, I enjoy some excellent fish and chips, only discovering later that the tasty white 'Flake' is actually shark meat.

The Bylands Tramway Heritage Centre is an hour's drive north of Melbourne. It's only open on Sundays, but well worth a visit if you are, like me, interested in public transport. It houses a huge collection of old trams from Melbourne, Ballarat and Geelong. Sadly, many of the vehicles, some of which date back 100 years, are in need of rather more restoration than a non-profit organisation can afford to give. It's also sad that they are currently, owing to health and safety rules, not able to offer trips on their little bit of working track.

On the way back to Malcolm and Diana's temporary home, we stop at a $300,000 memorial being contructed in Strathewen in memory of the locals who lost their lives in the 'Black Saturday' bush-fires of 2009. I find the words, written by the survivors, intensely moving and it will be a wonderful tribute to those who perished in the flames.

Nearby, a clutch of ceramic letter boxes, made by villagers as one of many projects undertaken to try and help them cope with the tragedy of that awful day.

But we also pass the newly constructed school, the village hall which will open later this year and the splendid sports pavilion, cricket oval and tennis courts built from funds donated by Australian companies.

Just like the undergrowth and the wildlife, things in Strathewen are slowly but surely getting back to something like normality.

Lured (again) to the Sydney Waterfront

2012-05-02T14:15:00.001-07:00

Sydney International Airport has a very well signposted 'Pick Up' area, so I follow the bright yellow signs where, within moments, my hostess for my stay arrives in her car. Well not actually her car which has blown a cylinder head gasket or some-such, so she's had to press a family member into action.

I am using www.roomorama.com for the accommodation on this leg of the journey. It's a site which lists properties which have a spare room or two available. Hence I have discovered Liz Kean, whose house in the Sydney inner-west suburbs is only a quarter of an hour or so from the airport.

For a charge of just $20 Australian, I am met and transported direct to the house. For $85, I get a nice room in a family home, a smashing breakfast and, as it turns out, three sensational evening meals.

Liz was, like me, brought up outside Glasgow and despite being in Sydney with her English partner Nick for many years, hasn't lost much of her accent.

The house is only ten minutes walk from Dulwich Hill railway station on the Bankstown Line. There, a very friendly member of staff sells me a $21 ticket which gives me unlimited travel on Sydney's trains, trams, buses and ferries for a day. There's an even better value $60 weekly ticket.

I have been to Sydney on a couple of previous occasions, so I have done most of the main sites. But the lure of Circular Quay, the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge is huge and the double-decker train delivers me there in under 25 minutes.

I have never had the time before to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, which is a pity, because it turns out to be a delight. Tucked into the space between the Opera House, the Garden Island Navy base and the Central Business District, I find it easy to spend several hours exploring the varied flora and fauna in this lovely space.

Mrs. Macquaries Chair in the Sydney Domain, just beside the park, provides an excellent view of the iconic Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, much loved as a photo opportunity by tourists and Japanese newly-weds alike. However, taking an afternoon ferry a couple of stops towards Darling Harbour and getting off after a couple of stops at McMahons Point is, to my mind, a much better option. No crowds and one of the most wonderful harbour views in the world.

The ceramic tiles on the Opera House are currently being painstakingly removed to replace the waterproof membrane underneath; I am staggered to learn that eight million people a year visit the attraction.

Possibly the most popular ferry trip in Sydney is the 30-minute journey to Manly. Dread-locked and tattooed surfers flock to the Pacific Beach to enjoy their sport off a beach which is so much nicer than the dreadfully over-commercialised and tacky Bondi. I am impressed with the drinking stations; water fountains are available everywhere in Sydney.

The Aussies are much more sensible about dealing with the sun than we Brits; they drink lots of water and always wear sun-hats. You never ever see a school child without one, they are a compulsory part of the uniform.

Manly is geared up for the tourist hordes and is not really my cup of tea. Much more so is the Eastern Suburbs service, where you can reach posh places such as Watsons Bay. That area first came to my attention in my Naval Reserve days as the place where, in 2002, we floated the crippled HMS Nottingham onto the Dutch heavy-lift ship Swan for the 6-week journey back to the UK for repair after she tried to sink Lord Howe Island.

The same ferry takes you to the Australian Navy base at Garden Island, where there's now a great Heritage Centre.

Confident that I have won a major slice of the $50 million Oz Lotto, I head to Town Hall station to engage in some retail therapy. It is very easy to spend this or any other fortune in the area around Pitt, Park and George Streets in the shadow of the Centrepoint Tower.

The architecture of the two-storey glass and stainless steel Apple Store is simply stunning; I am told that the exterior panes of glass are the biggest in the world. In Lowes, I am served by an Irish girl from Limerick, one of a huge number of Europeans I have encountered working here.

One surprise since I was last here is the increase in the number of Asians living and working here; at times I have been with more Chinese, Vietnamese and Koreans than folk from other parts of this increasingly multicultural planet in which we live.

Sydney's Central Station opened in 1906 and is well worth a visit just to see the architecture. I discover a bonus in the exhibition to mark the 50^th anniversary of the luxury Southern Aurora train service. But, much as rail travel interests me, the eye-watering price of nearly $2000 for a three-night journey to Melbourne and back on the Heritage Express recreation of the Southern Aurora service is one offer I will not be taking up!

At home, Nick and Liz's daughters Isabel and Kirsty arrive in time to enjoy some of Liz's quality catering, which even includes Apple Crumble and custard in my honour. But this is custard with real vanilla and a crumble which includes fresh ginger. It's no wonder the plates are cleared!

My hosts have been concerned that three days is not enough time to 'do' Sydney. It's true, but, to me, it is the perfect length to remind me what a truly lovely part of the world this is.

I wonder if Sydneysiders realise just how lucky they are?

This afternoon I will take a short Jetstar flight to Melbourne. It's the one sector of my trip for which I won't have the luxury of my 69 kilo, 3 bag, business class allowance. The $76 Jetstar ticket gives me no luggage at all, so I have booked and paid another $40 for 40 kilos; I hope it is enough!

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsAustraliaAndTheFarEastToTheUK?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Really doing different on Norfolk Island

2012-04-30T14:24:00.001-07:00

I really can't think of anywhere in the world more conducive to total relaxation than Norfolk Island. Cars are not allowed to drive more than 50 kilometres an hour, often just 30, and must give way to cows and Kingston Geese. Every time you pass someone, they wave. Even children on bikes and pedestrians. It is delightful.

I potter about all week, making huge decisions about whether to have lunch at the Golden Orb or the Olive and whether to go for a swim at Emily Bay in the morning or the afternoon.

But there's also great excitement. The Pacific Guardian has arrived and although there's quite a swell running, they are unloading a horse in foal.

As the crate is unloaded from the lighter, there's a round of applause from a large crowd of onlookers. I am astonished how word has travelled round the island, it seems that almost everyone has come to watch. The evolution has cost the owner $8000 Australian, including a hefty veterinary bill.

But it's too rough to unload much needed potatoes and eggs, so that will have to wait until the morning.

None of the men crewing the lighters are wearing life jackets or indeed don't appear to have any safety equipment at all; it really is a different way of life.

The Norfolk Island Bowls Club has an open afternoon, so I pitch up and find myself playing for Norfolk against New Zealand and Australia. For just $5, they throw in shoe hire, a set of bowls and sandwiches after the game. But no cups of tea; almost everybody is drinking beer. If you don't have proper bowling shoes, you can bowl in bare feet. I have been trying to adopt this almost universal island tradition, but my soft townie feet aren't up to it and, after a couple of days, splits and cuts are causing me grief.

The houses on Cascade Road seem mostly to be named after the type of roofs they have. Thus, we have Red, Blue, Green, Rusty and Rented. A vacant lot is named 'No Roof'.

I have been lent a car. Sue is off island at a funeral, so husband Don has kindly pointed me in the direction of her car. The key is in the lock. I don't use it a lot, but I enjoy going to the top of Mount Pitt and to visit the splendid Norfolk island Botanical Gardens, where there are more Golden Orb Spiders' Webs than I would have thought possible.

There are two funerals on the island. Norfolk Island pine caskets are provided by the Government at no charge and burials in the cemetery are also free. All the flags on the island are lowered to half mast and, at Saturday bowls, we are told that games can start early or late if we want to go to one of the services.

Islanders pay no taxes so, with free burials and whatnot, there's no money to repair the roads. Or anything else for that matter. So there are moves to bring in closer links with Australia, which will mean state-funded healthcare but taxes. Emotions are mixed and running high. The newly-arrived administrator, whose job is to liaise between the Island Government and authorities in the mainland is trying to be open about the process, but is getting grief in the 'Norfolk Islander' newspaper. The attack is pretty unfair because the originator is anonymous. But the following week, another anonymous letter leaps to his defence, so that's all right then. I can't think of many newspapers in the world which will print unsigned letters. But Norfolk really does do different.

The local police are trying to enforce laws on speeding and the wearing of crash helmets. But the island way of life is not conducive to mainland rules and regulations, so it's not an easy task. There's a view that the islanders get away with a lot, while the incomers are expected to toe the line. Very much a them and us scenario. The incomers say that marrying an islander is a good way of being able to do pretty much what you want without authority interfering too much with your life.

I am bewildered by Aussie speak. They seem to have a language all of their own. When I am told that 'I'll see you in the arvo', I have no idea that they are planning to see me later that afternoon. A 'trash and treasure' sale is a sort of posh jumble sale, while you'll have to look up 'shonky' for yourself. But I have just about got used to wearing thongs on my feet instead of flip flops.

On Sunday morning, there is more excitement. My host Mike and I pop down to Ball Bay, where the oil tanker Heracles is manoeuvring into position to offload, gas, diesel, aviation fuel and petrol. Secured close inshore by her anchors and stern ropes, it's quite a tricky operation, but great fun to watch.

Mike, a very talented chef, has been busy making all sorts of scrummy things for a party to mark Met Bureau colleague Tom's 60^th birthday. At the event I become wine waiter and general factotum. It's great to meet a wide variety of local business owners, friends and neighbours and people from the island authorities.

All too soon it's time to leave this delightful spot. I can't think of many places where you can check in, then go off to have coffee and a bite of lunch in town before boarding the aircraft.

There's an absolute monsoon and everybody on the plane gets soaked during the walk across the tarmac and up the stairs.

I have the front three seats all to myself, but I can't sit down until the door is closed because the seats are covered with blankets to protect them from the downpour. But, even so, I feel the damp rising during the flight.

After take-off, there's quite a bit of turbulence, so I chat to the friendly Air New Zealand cabin crew, Hayden and Sandy, who have had a couple of days on the island in between sectors.

All too soon, the wonderful sight of Sydney Harbour, straight through customs and quarantine and into Australia proper.

With traffic jams. Queues.

And shoes.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsAustraliaAndTheFarEastToTheUK?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Saturday (as well as supper) disappears between San Francisco and Norfolk Island

2012-04-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

I am sad to be leaving the Bay area. Although I first visited it more than forty years ago, it is only in the past couple of years that I have begun to really understand why, for so many people, it is a very special part of the world.

It is handy that the BART yellow line takes me from Moraga directly to the airport, a trip that takes almost exactly an hour.

Unusually for Air New Zealand, the check in is a shambles, with a problem at the single Business-Class check in desk causing delays for premium passengers. It doesn't help that the same line is being used for Premium Economy.

If that was unsatisfactory, the VIP lounge is a disgrace. With only one flight a day, Air New Zealand has a contract to use the Eva Air facilities. But, more than ninety minutes before boarding, the food has all gone, with not even a peanut or crisp available. People are drinking wine and beer out of coffee cups and my gin and tonic, without a slice of lemon, is in a wine glass. The place is packed with hardly a seat available, nobody is tidying up used crockery and the wi-fi is impossibly slow.

When Diane, the on-board Concierge arrives to greet her overnight passengers, she has a queue of people wanting to see her. She agrees that the situation is less than satisfactory and will put it in her report.

On board, I am disappointed that the jumbo-jet upper-deck has a very strange configuration of 10 Business-Class and 23 Premium-Economy seats, with no separation between the two. There are only two toilets for everyone, which is far less than you would expect. I get the impression that a lot of little Business Class touches in the facilities have been removed.

But the seat (only Air NZ and Virgin use them), the food and the service is the best I think you can get and I sleep solidly in my full-length bed for well over seven hours.

Disembarkation is slow, because there is no way for Business Class to be taken off before Premium Economy.

So, lesson learned. The Upper Deck in Air New Zealand's two 747's is much less satisfactory than the splendid configuration in the front cabin of their five Boeing 777-300ER's.

I left San Francisco on Friday evening, but it's now early on Sunday morning. Last year, flying in the opposite direction, I had a Saturday in New Zealand and another one in Los Angeles, so I suppose it has evened itself out. But it still feels weird that, having flown for only 13 hours, Saturday has simply vanished from my life.

International transfer at Auckland is very speedy, although I am surprised of the need to have another security check.

The Koru Lounge in Air New Zealand's Auckland International terminal is splendid, with a barista making all sorts of fresh coffee, another member of staff making light fluffy pancakes and there is as good a selection of breakfast fare as you will find anywhere.

But, more importantly, a really nice modern and spacious shower facility which gives me the opportunity to freshen up after the long Trans-Pacific flight.

Being the only 'Works-Deluxe' passenger on board my connecting flight, I have the first two rows of the Airbus to myself, so can sit on the right-hand side as folk are boarding, so they won't tread on my toes, moving to the left hand of the aircraft just before take off. Just before landing on Norfolk Island after the 90 minute flight, the pilot tells us that the best views will be had from the other side, so I move back again!

Just like last year, the local baggage handlers have no concept about unloading priority-tagged luggage first, so one of my bags is virtually the last off the plane. Luckily, the customs and immigration line moves quickly and within twenty minutes of landing, I am being greeted by my host for the week, Mike Collings.

Mike, who I first met on Lord Howe Island, is the boss at the Island's Bureau of Meteorology. He is working later in the afternoon, but there is plenty of time to have a splendid lunch and spend some time down at the wonderful Emily Beach where I swim and he walks, saying that it is FAR too cold at this time of year.

The island is every bit as wonderful as I had remembered. I was slightly apprehensive that a second visit would perhaps be a bit of a disappointment, but not at all. This five by eight km. drop in the vast south Pacific Ocean is an absolute delight. Nobody locks their cars or homes, the pace of life is so laid back it is almost horizontal and the island abound with wonderful fresh produce. Except potatoes. They have run out until the next supply ship arrives later this week.

Adan and Ruby, Chris and Sorrell's children from next door, arrive to invite Mike and I round for drinks, but, with Mike working, I am the only acceptance.

We are joined by Don, who teaches Science at the 300-pupil Island School and his wife, Sue. The kids are about to have a day off school for ANZAC day (having been back after the holidays for just one day), so I explain to nine year old Ruby what the acronym means. The parents soon put me right after I confuse the tripartite ANZUK force of the early 1970's with the abbreviated form of the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps of the Gallipoli Landings of World War 1.

Despite excellent food, wine and company, my jet-lag means that I struggle to stay awake. Adan wants to 'verse' me at ping pong, which turns out to be an Aussie word for challenge. He's improved a lot in the past twelve months and races into a 10 point lead before I find my game and manage to secure a narrow victory. But I fear my winning days against him will not last for much longer.

At 2130, I collapse into bed and am rocking the rafters almost before my head hits the proverbial pillow.

It doesn't take long to settle into the island pace of life. I had intended to potter and, my word, this place is conducive for it. The REO Cafe in Kingston for coffee, the Golden Orb in Burnt Pines for lunch, Emily Bay for a swim. It really is a tough life on Norfolk Island. Mike later shows me the amazing web of a Golden Orb spider, with the large female in the centre and the much smaller male playing a bit part.

ANZAC Day is marked with a daybreak service. Hence, at 0540, Mike and I join about a third of the Island's 1100 population at the war memorial in Kingston. With the waves crashing against the nearby shore, the pitch-black area lit only the flickering flames of a small fire and the occasional flash of a torch, it is a very poignant ceremony as the Last Post is sounded. I am surprised that it all ends with a lusty rendition of God Save the Queen rather than Advance Australia Fair or some-such, but am reminded that the ANZAC contingent were all part of Her Majesty's Forces.

I return later for the mid-morning service, but it has nothing like the pathos of the earlier event.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsAustraliaAndTheFarEastToTheUK?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Crossing a Continent – Sandwiches, San Francisco, and Sacramento

2012-04-20T16:43:00.000-07:00

The transfer from the Desoto to Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport is delightfully quick and easy, as is the hand-back of the rental car to National. One zap with the scanner and I am 'good to go'. Brilliant.

Security is really busy and one of the TSA staff is being really pernicketty with my little man-bag. She scans it three times, searching it twice, before giving me the green light. I ask her what the issue was. My iPad, apparently, masking the other contents. I DID ask them if they wanted the offending item taking out. (I later discover a little note in both of my checked-in bags telling me that they've searched them as well. But no apology for the zip broken in the process).

Not being confident that United Airlines will give me any sustenance en route, I have prepared marmalade sandwiches for my journey. But a jolly fine breakfast is served between Florida and Houston, followed by lunch on the second leg to San Francisco.

Both flights are packed, with the airline looking for voluntary offloads; there are 27 standby passengers on the second leg, not one of whom will get a seat.

Just before landing at San Francisco, my attention is drawn to the extraordinary colours of the salt flats.

Jeff Smisek, the Chairman and CEO of United, waxes lyrically on the on-board video screens about how connected the airline is since the acquisition of Continental. But the reality is that the Continental staff on both the legs are still on the former airline's payroll and clearly don't feel part of the overall team. One Captain took great delight in telling us that it was 'A United flight, crewed by Continental Airlines personnel'.

If only Mr. Smisek got rid of his sour-faced cabin crew and kept the bright, cheery Continental staff, he'd be some way to improving things.

But at least he's managed to transport me across the continental US without losing either of my bags.

It's a marathon walk to collect aforementioned luggage at San Francisco, but an easy transfer to the Train to reach the BART.

I'm supposed to have a pass to travel on this excellent, reliable and frequent rapid transport system round San Francisco Bay, but their admin. is rather more sluggish than their trains, so I am without.

It's an hour on the yellow line to my stop at Orinda, so I tuck into one of my marmalade sandwiches. It is pointed out to me that eating and drinking on BART is forbidden and I am liable for a fine of up to $250 or up to 48 hours community service. Paddington Bear never had this problem!

At Orinda, I am met by Doug Crawford, my host, who has just become the proud owner of an iPhone. In the evening, we are joined at their Moraga home by his wife, Barb, both of whom have recently visited me in Norwich.

Next morning, Doug and I purchase $16.20 worth of tickets and set off on the BART for San Francisco. An email then bings into my iPad with my BART pass duly attached. Better late than never, I suppose.

Barb has suggested a visit to the Golden Gate Park, which turns out to be as splendid – and extensive – as she had suggested.

I have a City Pass (www.citypass.com) which not only gives me unlimited travel for 7 days on the Muni (the local buses and trams), but gets me into the California Academy of Sciences and four more attractions. Just as well I have a pass or I would be joining Doug in taking a deep breath when he discovers that his own ticket is an eye-watering $29.95.

We agree that the rainforests of the world and the aquarium are the best bits.

I am disappointed with the planetarium show, which is computer-generated and, to my mind, over complex, even for children. The observation deck on the 'Living Roof' is interesting, if only to hear about the high-tech nature of it all.

We are meeting the Crawford's younger daughter, Leah, for lunch, but only after we have visited the Golden Gate Park's Shakespeare Gardens, where Doug and Barb were married.

Lunch is taken at Park Chow in nearby Ninth Avenue, which turns out to be excellent, with a wide choice of tasty food and some great local ales.

Leah's an Arsenal fan, so I tease her about a recent defeat by one of the relegation-threatened teams. But she takes it all in good part, confessing later that she would have had better reposts if she had known which team I support!

I enjoy the 71 bus back downtown, before catching the BART home. I resisted telling the bearded, tattooed, pierced man munching on a Subway sandwich opposite of the perils that such misbehaviour could bring.

I am booked onto the California Zephyr, which takes three days to go all the way from the San Francisco Bay area to Chicago. At Orinda, I use my BART pass, which takes the form of a long letter giving me permission to travel. But the staff are uncertain what to do with it until a supervisor can be called. The same thing happens when I exit at MacArthur.

I have to catch a little shuttle bus, the 'Emery Go Round', to reach the Amtrak station at Emeryville. the closest the California Zephyr actually gets to downtown. Most passengers arrive on a fleet of Amtrak California buses.

The Zephyr is not yet in, so I watch a huge freight train being prepared for its journey. It's so enormous that an engineer on a buggy is checking the couplings, while three locomotives get themselves connected.

My ticket on the California Zephyr doesn't have any seat reservations, which are handled by the on-board staff, depending on where you are getting off. They're expecting a full train, which is nice to hear, but this early in the trip, there's plenty of space. I head straight for the observation car, the Sightseer Coach, which has great views and really comfortable seating with electric points at each.

A cheerful staff member in the cafe below tells me that the train crew will stay on board for six days, then get a week off.

There's a very useful route guide which, among many other points of interest, draws my attention to the 70 ships of the US Navy's Reserve fleet in Suisun Bay.

In no time at all, and well under the two-hour schedule, we are in the Californian State Capitol, Sacramento. (www.discovergold.org). As I pass along the train before making the short walk into Old Town, the friendly crew show me a couple of the very comfortable-looking sleeping compartments.

I am staying on board the Delta King (www.deltaking.com), a Glasgow-built stern-wheeler, that was completed in California in 1927. (The brass maker's plaque at the reception desk saying she was built in Newcastle is an Ebay purchase!) During the prohibition years, she and her sister ship had a successful and profitable career sailing between Sacramento and San Francisco.

In 1984, the Coyne family discovered her rotting away, saw the potential and five years (and $9 million) later, had her 88 cabins converted into 44 larger hotel rooms, with associated bars and restaurants.

My cabin is lovely, although rather lacking in power points by today's standards.

The location is perfect. Old Sacramento's plethora of bars, shops and restaurants, housed in beautifully restored buildings, are just a few steps away.

Lunch is taken under the splendid glass-domed roof of the Fat City bar and cafe before I set off on the tourist trail.

My principal reason for being in Sacramento is to visit the California State Railroad Museum (www.californiastaterailroadmuseum.org), which doesn't disappoint. I time my visit at the end of the day, when almost all the school parties have headed home. It's a great tactic, because I have the splendid museum almost to myself; the audience for the introductory film consists of just three of us!

It is undoubtedly the best railway museum I have ever visited. There are some great exhibits, including a sleeper train that, very effectively, gives the appearance of travelling through the night. I particularly enjoy the displays of china from some of the most famous pioneering railways of the great railroad age.

The museum has a tremendous section on model railways, outdoor displays too and can even offer a little trip on one of those hand-propelled vehicles you see in old films. It's absolutely splendid.

I take a walk along the river to see up close the rather gaudily gold-painted 'Tower Bridge' before adjourning for Happy Hour at Joe's Crab Shack where a pint of excellent Lagunitas beer is under three dollars.

After a recharge of batteries on the Delta King, I wander the board-walks of Old Town, finding a lot of the restaurants rather over-priced for an evening snack. But at the Old Sacramento General Store, I strike gold. Local entrepreneur, Iranian-born Hoss Entezari, has spotted a gap in the market and is offering pizza by the slice. Hoss, who went to school in the English south-coast resort of Brighton, persuades me to have a $9.99 Pepperoni Pizza, which is so large is does me not only for dinner, but for lunch on the next two days! Very tasty too.

It's been a tiring day and I retire early into my comfortable bed on the Delta King. After a couple of hours deep sleep, I have a rude awakening from an enormously long freight train clattering across the nearby bridge. I drift back off to sleep only to have the same thing half an hour later, a pattern that continues until I give up trying at 0430am.

Thus I am among the first to report for 7am breakfast, which is fine, with the exception of the potatoes which give the appearance and taste of having been prepared some days before.

After a quick visit to the Wells Fargo and Pony Express museum, where I actually withdraw some cash from their ATM, I buy a $6 day ticket, an absolute bargain, for the local Light Rail.

My first stop is the State Capitol, where my plan is to arrive at 9am opening to avoid the inevitable yellow school buses crammed full of ankle-biters. The plan works well. I get straight into the Assembly Chamber where a rather tedious tribute to Armenia is under way. There's even a contingent of Armenian Boy Scouts of America, which seems to me to be rather divisive to the idea of a Brotherhood of Scouting.

The Capitol, which was completed in 1874 is absolutely splendid and I feel privileged to have so easily been able to see State Government at work. Although, it has to be said, most of the members seemed to be more intent on fiddling with their Blackberries than paying rapt attention to the problems of Armenia.

I have planned to take the Light Rail all the way to Folsom, where one of 27 museums listed in the Sacramento guide is housed. But time doesn't allow, so I opt instead for the Leland Stanford Mansion.

Lawyer Stanford made his fortune after becoming President of the Central Pacific Railroad and subsequently became Governor of California.

I'm surprised to discover that I am in a tour group of just me and volunteer guide Michele gives me a great tour of this splendid house. Having been opened after a major restoration by California State parks in 2005 after time as an orphanage, the house now faces closure as a result of a big hole in State funding.

California's leading place of learning, correctly named Leland Stanford Junior University, was wholly funded by the family in memory of their son, who died in Florence aged nearly 16 after contracting Typhoid in Turkey.

I've run out of time to explore this splendid city because I am booked to return south on Amtrak's Capitol Corridor train which runs regular services between Sacramento, the Bay Area and San Jose.

The double-decker trains are really comfortable, with free wi-fi throughout, power supplies at your seat and a bar car.

The friendly conductor suggests that I should alight at Richmond, which is an easier transfer to BART than at Emeryville. I show my official pass letter to the gate agent, who peers at it for several minutes before looking at me and saying 'What's that?!

Tonight, after a splendid few days in California, I head to Auckland to connect to Norfolk Island. It's Friday and because I will cross the International Date Line during the night, Saturday, for me, just won't ever happen.

How weird is that?

San Francisco Information at: www.sanfrancisco.travel

Amtrak information is at: www.Amtrak.com

Sacramento information: www.discovergold.org

Delta King: www.deltaking.com

All the photos from the first half of 'Around the World in 60 Days – Backwards' can be viewed at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToTheUSA?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Greater Fort Lauderdale – Fun, food and frightful driving

2012-04-15T14:39:00.000-07:00

United Check in at Lansing is painfully slow, largely down to both of the staff dealing with some problem or other. One is making a phone call, while the other abandons everyone else in the long line and just looks helpless. United just don't have a clue and, even worse, they don't care!

In Chicago, the gate transfer is easy and I while away my time between flights in the lounge.

As seems to be the case in United lounges, the food offering (as well as the surroundings) is pretty spartan, despite it being breakfast time. I ask at the desk what the catering will be in First Class en route to Washington and onward to Fort Lauderdale. The comment comes back : 'Eat as much as you can here'.

They weren't wrong. Between 11am and 5.30 pm, United and US Airways offer plenty of gin and tonic, but just snack baskets of crisps, nuts and biscuits. Just as well I secreted a couple of bananas and an apple into my bag.

The journey to Washington actually turns out to be really enjoyable. My travelling companion is a 17-year old Serbian from Belgrade, Aleks, who is on a tour of the States with his dad and several other members of his family. Aleks, who is intelligent, charming and engaging, speaks impeccable English. It turns out that he is at school in Switzerland and studying for the International Baccalaureate.

I look up Serbia on my iPad and realise just how little I know about the country. Embarrassing, really. Aleks knows so much about Scotland, Europe and a lot else besides. He isn't scared to question and challenge me, which I like. He promises to read my blog and I ask him to promote it to my new Serbian audience. As far as I know, he'll be the first follower in that country, although, with my audience fast approaching 15000 readers, people in many countries are now reading it.

United have sent me a little note with my boarding passes. Changing planes in Washington will be an absolute pain, involving going out of the security area in one part of the terminal and then re-entering it in another.

But it's nonsense. There's a well-signed little shuttle bus which takes me right there. As helpful, friendly, US Airways' Lisa says to me 'I won't even make you take off your shoes'.

US Airways won't let me into their lounge in Washington. Being a First Class passenger on their airline isn't enough. I have to pay $450 to belong to their Club. Or, says Carole Cloyd the lounge manager, have an American Express Platinum Card. Their entry rule is prejudiced against non-US travellers. Every other airline in Star Alliance grants you lounge access AND feeds you properly in-flight.

The lack of catering on the flights and their unwelcoming attitude to premium customers at the US Airlines' lounges is something I will take up with Star Alliance. The American airline members of that grouping really let down the product. While I am a great advocate of the value of the Business Class Round the World ticket, the perks for using it within the continental US truly are minimal.

I recommend Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport over Miami. Bags come to the carousel a lot quicker, plus there's a really fast and frequent shuttle to pick up your rental car from a state of the art facility nearby. In Miami, it's miles away and takes ages.

Today, plane to car is especially swift and I am pleased that National Car rental don't try to sell me more than I have booked on my Europcar account. I am in my Nissan Versa and on the road within 40 minutes of landing.

I stop by Publix to pick up some groceries. As always in American supermarkets, I am astounded by the size of everything, as well as the countless offers to get you to buy things. Hence I buy two packs of Thomas' English muffins (a product I don't think I have ever actually seen in the UK!). My friend Ken in Michigan swears by Bays Muffins and, having tasted an alternative, he is clearly a man of taste. I am also intrigued by liquid egg in a carton, which I have never encountered before; it turns out to scramble really beautifully. Having travelled all day without real food, I am starving, so I buy a large roast chicken for $9.99. The chicken comes with a choice of two 16oz side dishes, with a large choice of various coleslaws, potato salads etc., a pack of bread rolls and, wait for it, a GALLON of cold tea. Incredible. It lasts me for more than three complete meals; the tea I donate to the guest fridge at the Desoto Inn (www.thedesoto.com).

Steve, Josias and the rest of the team have been extra specially busy since I was last here a year ago. They are always trying to make improvements to this lovely little oasis. There's a colourful pain job, making the accommodation units look rather like seaside huts in the UK, a splendid new entrance and parking area, lots of new planting in the lovely gardens and a lot more besides.

Steve is celebrating the arrival of his Medicare card. It's a big deal in the USA. He reckons that he will save $5000 a year now that the Government will pay for his healthcare as a retiree rather than him having to fund it through a private scheme.

Apart from a monstrous hi-rise a couple of blocks away, this area of North Hollywood has managed to beat off the developers and is all the better for it. Laid back, totally peaceful (apart from the constant yacking of the ladies next door!) with a beach to die for just a few steps away.

With an estimated 34,000 rooms to choose from in the Greater Fort Lauderdale area, I really am spoilt for choice. But here at the Desoto, guests are just spoilt.

From the beach, I watch the comings and goings from nearby Port Everglades. With more than fifty cruise ships coming and going each week, it's the busiest cruise passenger port in the world. The world's biggest cruise liner, Oasis of the Seas turns round on Saturday, her sister ship Allure the following day. Like clockwork, week after week. But the Caribbean is full to capacity of such giants, which is why the Mediterranean is attracting so many more vessels.

Unusually, there's a lot of seaweed on the beach; there are rumours that some of it might be radioactive from the Japanese Tsunami, but nobody seems to be at all worried by it and I can't believe that the American authorities would just leave anything really nasty lying about. At least I hope they wouldn't....

The tourist office in Fort Lauderdale (www.sunny.org) is doing a clever 'Defrost your swimsuit' promotion, complete with an iPad app which rather cleverly puts my head on a very fit-looking young man's body wearing very skimpy Speedos. Hence, my friends have a field day when I post my new look on Facebook. Jessica at the CVB is much more kind. She says 'The beach looks good on you'. Nothing about my body at all. Hmm. Very diplomatic.

Steve, Josias and I head out for a meal at the California Pizza Kitchen. We decline desserts, because the red neon sign at the local KrispyKreme is lit. I am told that this means hot doughnuts, just off the production line. I would have taken them to eat at home, but that's apparently not the done thing. Eat them hot in the car for the best experience is what I am told – and what we do!

Having slept on my spectacles in New York on the first, totally jet-lagged, night of my trip, I head to Pearle Vision in the Oakwood Plaza to seek a solution. Store Manager Wendy Nixon expertly bends my frames into some semblance of their original shape and now I can put my head forward without my specs falling off. A deserved mention in despatches to Wendy.

There's so much to do in the area, that I always struggle to decide. But the Jungle Queen river trip (www.junglequeen.com) is something I have planned to do for ages. Unfortunately, the heavens open as I arrive and I am marooned in my car for twenty minutes while the tropical storm passes. As the skies clear to leave us with a hot and humid afternoon, I board the boat with a minute to spare.

The trip on Fort Lauderdale's New River and linked canals doesn't disappoint. We sail past luxury houses and boats, many owned by big names and local entrepreneurs. A lot of properties and giant cruisers are up for sale, many repossessed by the bank; the financial crisis still bites hard, although there is clearly a lot of extreme wealth about.

The patter from the Captain on the Gypsy Queen is corny, probably not wholly accurate, but it's fun. We stop for an hour to see some parrots and monkeys in cages and some alligator wrestling.

This involves a large Seminole Indian called Jonathan straddling a poor beast and encouraging the crowd to 'holler' their approval. The alligator has very large teeth indeed, while Jonathan wears some round his neck, which he has presumably extracted from other beasts. It all looks very dangerous and, to my mind, rather unnecessary in this day and age. All very well when the local Indian tribes were looking for food, but just to show tourists, no. Jonathan clearly eats very well indeed without gators. That, apart, it's an enjoyable and informative trip.

I manage to get to Stranahan House (www.stranahanhouse.org) which I have tried to reach for several years. I was booked on a Sunday night ghost tour last year and am again this, but the minimum numbers were not reached and David Greig the friendly and welcoming weekend manager says looks like happening again, so I have hedged my bets and come to visit a day early.

Stranahan House is the oldest property in town. The publicity leaflet, the plaques and the website all say it dates from 1901, but Charlotte the elderly volunteer guide is adamant that this actual house is from 1906. But she does get a bit muddled at times. At one stage she points at a feather duster proclaiming 'This was for beating their rugs'.

The tour is quite interesting, with some really nice items on display, but I rather feel the all-adult party is being given the same spiel as they give to schoolchildren, which really doesn't work well with the audience.

I would have loved more time just pottering and looking, rather than being lectured to like a five year old, but I must say that sitting on the upstairs balcony overlooking the river is an absolute delight and worth the entrance money alone.

Nearby, I grab a bite in busy Las Olas Boulevard at 'Gran Forno Pronto' (www.granfornopronto.com). It's fascinating to sit at the counter watching the speed at which they put their tasty sandwiches together. I chat to the friendly Mexican guy whose hands are a blur as he literally paints olive oil onto the paninis, ciabattas and bruchettas, before filling them with all sorts of tasty things. They're really busy, which is not surprising, because the product is great.

I have been to Bonnet House (www.bonnethouse.org) before but was disappointed then that they don't allow visitors to take photographs inside. Sadly, they haven't changed the photographic rules, so I am unable to bring you a glimpse inside. At the time of my visit, there were a lot of people waiting. Barbara, our octogenarian volunteer guide appeared to be so scary with the reading of the long list of visit rules and regulations, that the equally divided party suddenly became 9 of us and 17 of them.

To be frank the 1920's house, designed by American artist Frederic Clay Bartlett, is pretty uninspiring, made from painted breeze blocks which were made on site. Only the quality of the liberally sprinkled art sets it apart. But the lovely gardens, a rare oasis in the middle of Fort Lauderdale's concrete jungle, are delightful. As it happens, Barbara's bark was worse than her bite, but she sure plays the school ma'm well.

I can totally understand a don't touch rule, where items are delicate, but Bonnet House takes it to extremes. Having said that, a recent wedding event guest, in an apparent act of over exuberance, managed to break a delightful piece of coral into several pieces, so maybe they do have a point.

Interestingly, the exit survey asks visitors whether a self-guided tour would be of interest.

Yes please! And relax the rules about photography!

Talking of silly rules, I declined a bike tour in Hollywood which demanded not one, but two waivers to be signed, effectively meaning that if I had an accident directly as a result of a badly maintained bike, or the guide sending me in front of a speeding car, then any consequence or injury was totally my fault. (My American lawyer friend says such waivers are not actually worth the paper they are printed on and are largely produced to try and persuade people who don't know that fact not to sue for damages).

The Bonnet House garden runs right down to Ocean Boulevard and it is rather gratifying to watch the cars promenading, bumper to bumper, from your rather lofty and superior perch

While on the subject of driving, the standards here are woeful. Having driven in many parts of the world, Americans in general, and southern Floridians especially, have to be among the most dangerous road users on the planet. I have watched people reversing with a phone clamped to their ear, totally oblivious of anyone around them. They suddenly switch lanes with no signalling of their intentions; I even saw one car make what was almost a left turn from the slow lane right across to the fast lane of the six-lane Interstate. Scary. People text while driving, the cars don't seem to have direction indicators, it really is madness. Mind you, I have taken and passed driving tests in two American States, both which were so easy and over so quickly, that they could have been passed by five year olds.

A lovely thing about having local contacts is you get to go to some lovely things which ordinary visitors would normally never discover. Hence Steve and Josias take me to the Yellow Green Farmers Market in Hollywood for Sunday brunch. Their favourite eaterie there is ChillBar (run by Frank and Elizabeth Becker. Frank spends the evenings cooking steaks at the upscale Westin Diplomat Hotel. His undoubted talent is wasted there. The menu is astonishing in its creativity and complexity.

Delicate parcels of exquisitely tasting organic produce. Frank, who has owned and run several restaurants, says the venture is great. 'Two days a week, eight hours a day. I can express myself here without the pressure and the horribly long hours of running my own restaurant full-time.'

I wander the market for an hour or more, picking up some wonderful olive oil as a gift for my next hosts, as well as some avocado honey from the Alexandra Kaufman's wonderfully stocked stall. (www.honeybee-z-ness.org). I mention that her accent wouldn't immediately suggest she is a Kaufman, when Chilean Alex explains to me that her real name is in fact Alejandra Victoria de la Cerda Arenas.

For the umpteenth time in only a few days, I realise that I have again been speaking Spanish.

Southern Florida is like that.

Lots of photographs from the trip can be seen at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToTheUSA?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Enemy terrritory - from Michigan State University to the University of Michigan

2012-04-09T16:05:00.001-07:00

Enemy terrritory - from Michigan State University to the University of Michigan

I have taken the bus to go on a lunch date. 'The Michigan Flyer' (www.michiganflyer.com) links the two University towns of East Lansing and Ann Arbor with Detroit's International Airport.

I'm impressed with the coach. The seating is really comfortable, there's wireless internet, free water, proper seatbelts and the vehicle is so modern that they claim it has almost zero emissions. All good stuff.

I am interested that it is only me that bothers with the seatbelt. The wifi is a bit hit and miss on the journey out, but perfect on the way back. As one student, clearly a regular customer, tells me: 'It sometimes works and it sometimes doesn't'.

The pre-recorded departure announcement is akin to that on an aircraft. 'In the unlikely event of an evacuation...'. The message makes very clear that passengers should restrict their conversations on cellphones to one minute, a request that is repeated on screens throughout the coach.

But there is always one. Not, I hasten to add one of the mainly student passengers, but a middle-aged woman who yaks non-stop for thirty minutes after we set off. She appears oblivious that the two people seated closest to her get so fed up with her that they relocate.

Eventually, I let rip.

She says 'she doesn't care', but at least my reading of her fortune makes her stop her yacking.

I didn't have a car to park, but it's possible to park at the Lansing end for just $2 per day, which seems to me to be a very persuasive argument for not driving all the way to the airport.

Apart from Mrs. Yak, it's a very pleasant 75- minute trip on a lovely sunny spring day and within no time at all, I am with Eve Aronoff at her splendid Frita Batidos restaurant in Ann Arbor. (www.fritabatidos.com).

I first met Eve when on a press trip to the town a couple of years ago. At that time, she ran an upscale restaurant, facing the same frustrations that every chef experiences when trying to cater at a high level. Staff and ingredient costs are too high to make a decent profit from constant 18-hour days.

So Frita Batidos is a very different concept, but it retains Eve's passion about sourcing quality, local, ingredients.

Eve says it's Cuban inspired street food and instructs her kitchen to produce a sample tray from which I can taste a selection of her most popular dishes.

Thus, I am forced to try, for the sole benefit of my audience, a 'Humalupalicious' india pale ale from northern Michigan, which is absolutely splendid. Then, in the interests of research, some crisped plantains with a choice of Cilantro lime salsa or avocado spread. Simply wonderful.

To wash that down, Eve suggests some home-made fresh ginger lime juice. That is truly sensational, although I am not convinced that the idea of serving it in a plastic bag, rather like the one you used to get at a fair with a goldfish swimming around, is the ideal presentation. But I suck it all away through the straw and I never feel anything wriggly pass my lips, so I suppose there is nothing fishy about it after all. It is VERY gingery.

Among the mains I sample is an extremely tasty chorizo Frita, that being a sort of little Cuban burger. When I asked Eve if the chorizo is home made, I am put right back in my box.

'Everything is home made,' I am told. Then a pause. 'Apart from the brioche'.

The Batido, are tropical milkshakes made with fresh fruit. Your researcher tries Coconut cream and passion fruit and, as predicted when the order was taken, is much more attracted to the latter.

The restaurant is pretty minimalistic, with white painted brick walls and large picnic tables at which to sit. Hence, we are joined by a couple of guys, one of whom turns out to be a Cuban. Mr. Martinez doesn't realise at first he is sitting at the owner's table and, without any prompting, he discloses he very much likes what Eve is doing. When he learns he is chatting to the boss, he promises to bring in a Cuban cookbook with some of his own favourite dishes for her to adapt.

What is impressive is the variety of clients. Young and old, casual and city dress, students and business folk, visitor and local. That kind of spread bodes well for future success.

There are a lot of lovely little touches too, coat hooks on the wall near the tables, little bags of limes in string bags and a nice unit of condiments and other necessities at each table.

I'm excited for Eve. She has hit on a pretty innovative concept and I hope that she can package up what she does and make it work in other areas. I want her to bring one to East Lansing, where she was brought up, but her mum and dad, Professors at Michigan State, have put their feet down. Apparently too many decent restaurants in the town have come and gone in recent years for their liking.

Eve and I go on a post-prandial walk round the town and are approached by a black woman looking for somewhere to eat. 'Well there's the sandwich place across the road', Eve says, 'or just round the block is a great place called Frita Batidos'.

I chip in.

'With the best burgers in town', say I.

The lady trots off at pace, while Eve and I hi-five.

Is this blog all about food?

Today, yes.

Jolly nice food too.

All my trip photos to date are at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToTheUSA?authuser=0&feat=directlink

The American Midwest

2012-04-07T06:48:00.000-07:00

I don't know any other part of the States as well as I do Michigan. Bordered by three of the Great Lakes, Michigan, Superior and Huron, it has a special beauty. For someone who has been brought up in cluttered Britain, the space and openness is an absolute joy. Even the little houses seem to be built on plots that would be regarded as suitable for mansions back home; factory units and shopping centres have vast landscaped areas around them with equally vast spreads of concrete oozing in every direction, temples to the greatest of American Gods, the automobile.

I mention this because I have been out on the bike. My host bought it when I was on a visit quite a few years ago, but it seems that it is rarely put through its paces when I am not in residence.

I am, admittedly and unashamedly, a gadget freak, but even I do not have a rechargeable pump to blow up my bike tires! It really does make that job a lot easier.

It's a gorgeous day, with clear blue skies. But there's also an icy blast which appears to be coming from somewhere akin to Alaska.

Some of the local properties are enormous with beautifully landscaped gardens. It appears that the impending Easter weekend has spurred everyone, without exception, into staging a clear up. The whole area is pristine.

I seem to be the only person out on a bike, which is strange as East Lansing is a University town, with a student population approaching 70,000. I have noticed on previous visits that cars seem to have a great respect for cycles, a lot more than they do at home. They wait respectfully at junctions and cross walks, with no obvious sign of impatience; they give you a wide berth when they pass; despite the dominance of the automobile, they seem to recognise your right to be out and about.

I do a bit of shopping at the local Rite Aid, more like a supermarket than a pharmacy, as is the American wont. I marvel at the packs of chocolate treats, many times bigger than anything I have ever seen in Europe.

Coral Gables (www.coralgablesrestaurant.com) is a long-established East Lansing restaurant not far from the Michigan State University Campus, to which I have been many times. Years ago, it was a popular student haunt. Nowadays, it seems that it's the students of the fifties who largely form the clientele, many of whom have reached -and retired from – positions of some authority in the local community.

As an example, when we arrive for breakfast, several staff members are admiring an enormous luxury car parked right beside the entrance. The Packard was originally produced in Detroit, but hasn't been made since 1958. This eye-turner is owned by the former State Attorney-General, Frank Kelley. Serving for 37 years, Frank has the honour of having been the youngest AND the oldest holder of the post.

The slight twist to the presence of Frank's luxury car is that our server is called Royce.

Apostrophic errors in the menu leap out at me, Martini's being one. But Alex, the owner for over 40 years, promises to remedy the matter at the next reprint. By the time we leave, he has already discussed the nuances of grammar with his front desk manager.

My US bank manager, Kristina, rings me personally with details of how I transfer cash from the UK into my US current account. I can't think of the last time I even had any contact with a bank manager in Great Britain. Our banks have become soulless, call-centre led institutions. I used to know and trust my bank and would always invest where the manager recommended. I am much saddened that this is nowadays, most certainly, not the case. Having explained the simple, online, process, Kristina is astonished to learn that our British banks are not working for five days over a holiday weekend. The transfer is being done by a system called SWIFT.

A misnomer if ever there was.

Interested and involved as I am in theatre, I have, much to my own surprise, not managed to catch what is widely regarded as the best musical ever, Les Miserables. A new, widely-acclaimed, Cameron Mackintosh production, is currently touring the United States and is being staged at Michigan State University's Great Hall. My host was, for many years, executive director for the facility and presented this and many other major shows.

It's rather nice, therefore, to be whisked in through the stage door and taken through the backstage areas before emerging straight into the hospitality area, neatly avoiding people with clipboards and official-looking badges who would have, in any case, 'had our name on the list.'

The show is every bit as wonderful as the hype. The staging, the scenery, the music and the costumes is truly magnificent. It takes several hours after the show to come down from the high and go to bed. Three days later, I am still humming 'Bring him home' and many other tunes.

A very special evening and a bargain at just $80 (£50) for a top-price seat.

My host is out for the evening, so I am left to my own devices to find something to eat. I Google 'East Lansing home-delivery' and order online from a recommended source. Jimmy John's, which impressively lays claim to producing 'The World's Greatest Gourmet Sandwiches'.

The business has a very user friendly web site, which automatically selects the nearest franchise, sorts out my order online as well as giving me a choice of bread, dressings and extras. It even gives me a choice over how many pieces into which they should cut my giant pickle!

Only ten minutes after my online order is accepted, a package arrives at the door. And very tasty the sandwich turns out to be.

Tom Fredericks, a local attorney, has kindly offered to take me out to his delightful home in Williamston for the afternoon and evening.

I am never sure which of his cars he will be driving; today is is his lovely Cadillac. We stop off for a tasty home-cooked lunch in Ellie's Country Kitchen (www.facebook.com/elliescountrykitchen) before setting off an a tour of the local area by bike. Tom's much-loved Corvette is in a local body shop having had a respray.

Mechanic Larry is clearly passionate about restoring old vehicles and, as we arrive, is busy hand polishing some of the car's silver trim. Didier, my beloved Citroen 2CV, doesn't quite come out of the same box!

Tom has promised me 'the best steak dinner' and we cycle out of town to Merindorf Meats (www.merindorfmeats.com) where we buy half a cow just for the pair of us, which is then vacuum packed in our choice of yummy-looking marinade.

On the way home, we park our bikes at Gracie's Place, just to quench our thirst with a very tasty (and somewhat heady) pint of locally-produced ale.

After an hour playing lumberjacks in the eight-acre field behind his house, Tom flashes up the outdoor gas barbecue and does indeed produce the most marvellous dinner. The meat is of the absolute highest quality and my knife effortlessly glides through the steak.

I spend the day at the house of my host's brother and his wife in Grand Rapids. I have been charged with sourcing, supplying and installing a new laptop and wireless router in their home. Apart from the purchase costs, no money will change hands for my services. Instead, the lure is devilled eggs, followed by one of Ruth Beachler's delicious home-cooked dinners.

Everybody is a winner. Fred and Ruth can now surf the net from anywhere in their house, while Ken and I are treated to pork chops in a lovely gravy, cheesy potatoes and corn, with jello pudding for afters.

Is this blog all about food?

Well, not totally!

New York to Lansing

2012-04-03T06:57:00.000-07:00

I've been sleeping on the biggest air bed I have ever seen. The Queen-Sized aerobed (http://www.aerobed.co.uk ) comes complete with a built in electric pump and blows up to become as high as a normal bed. Sleeping on it reminds me of an experience I had on a water bed in Los Angeles many years ago, over which a veil will have to be drawn!

As always, Shadow is keeping Rich company at his desk, sprawled across the surface, gaining warmth from the lamp. The cat, not Rich.

At Little Neck station, there's a wreath lying between the tracks and wonder whether somebody tragically decided to end their life at the spot.

The journey back to Newark Liberty Airport on the Long Island Rail Road and the New Jersey Transit is uneventful, with escalators and lifts making the transport of luggage remarkably trouble free. How I wish I could say the same about crossing London!

There's a clever system where my NJT rail ticket gains me entrance to the AirTrain monorail, which whisks me very speedily to the terminal building.

There's no separate area as bag-drop as far as I can see for First Class passengers, but there's hardly any queue and the operation is carried out very speedily. The girl even manages to change my seat on my connection from Chicago to Lansing to Economy Plus, something I have been unable to do online. Because of my C-Class round the world ticket, I don't have to pay the $19 supplement and now have a seat which the United blurb says gives me 'Complimentary soft drinks, juices, tea, and freshly brewed coffee'.

The offering in the United Club lounge is pretty spartan, especially as it's lunchtime. Apart from some little portions of cheese, crackers, shortbread and fresh fruit, there's nothing else to eat. It's a huge barn of a place. The area away from the entrance is not busy, so I set up camp in a quiet little corner away from businessmen yacking loudly and incessantly into their mobiles.

When I return with my banana, cheese and crackers, my quiet little corner of a virtually empty part of the lounge has been invaded by a very scruffy individual who is yacking loudly and incessantly into his mobile. Grrrrrrr.

I relocate.

The inbound aircraft from Chicago is an hour late, but catches up almost half of the lost time en-route. The announced 'snack' in First Class on board turns out to be a very nice cold pasta and chicken dish with a fresh fruit platter. In front of me is a VERY loud attorney who clearly wants everyone in the cabin to know just what a hotshot he is.

Thank God for my Sennheiser noise-reducing headphones!

Chicago O'Hare has an odd system, where you need to cross airside in a little shuttle bus to reach your gate, but it's not a problem and I am in position in plenty of time to catch my connection to Lansing.

On board I encounter the rudest flight attendant ever, who barks at me almost before I am settled into 1A 'that bag needs to be in the locker'. Oh dear. My new best friend.

I placate my ire knowing that, as an Economy Plus passenger, I'll soon be enjoying some freshly brewed coffee. But no. When she comes round, it's water or water.

What about the coffee or juice? 'We don't have time on this flight'.

Thanks ma'am.

For the first time in three visits, United Airlines has managed to deliver me and my luggage to Lansing Airport at the same time. Somebody en-route has had a good rummage inside my trolley-bag, hasn't done up the zip, so things are tumbling out. So far, I haven't found anything to be missing, but I am fearful that I will, in the days ahead, go hunting for something that is no longer there.

At Lansing Airport, my old US Navy chum, Ken Beachler, is there to greet me.

I have been to stay with him many times; his delightful property is somewhere I can really relax and feel totally at home.

Tripping over Sunday Brunch

2012-04-01T14:46:00.004-07:00

I have received an email telling me that I am officially 'The Tripper of the Week'. For clarification, I refer you to Wikipedia:

Tripping may refer to a psychedelic experience.

Tripping may also refer to:

Tripping (ice hockey), a penalty infraction
Tripping (pipe), the act of running or pulling drill pipe into or out of a wellbore on a drilling rig
"Tripping" (song), from Robbie Williams' albumIntensive Care
Tripping International, a global network of travelers

Readers may be reassured that I have not been having any psychedelic experience, playing hockey or singing songs, the accolade has been given to me by the latter mentioned San Francisco-based organisation, Tripping International, which puts like minded travellers in touch with each other. This is their revealing interview avec moi:

https://www.tripping.com/blog/blog/2012/03/29/tripper-of-the-week-mike-souter/

It being Sunday, Laura kindly suggests that we go out to Sunday Brunch at the Seven Seas restaurant in Great Neck (www.sevenseasgreatneck.com). It's packed, but people move in and out pretty swiftly and we are given a booth where the occupants have left so recently that the seats are still warm.

There's hardly time to digest the enormous menu, never mind the food, when the server arrives to take the order. I forget that I have to specify which way I want my eggs cooked; the man looks blank when I say brightly 'just on one side' , so Laura translates with a 'sunny side up' which seems to compute.

Laura is amused that I divide my order into sweet and savoury, with eggs, bacon and sausage eaten before the giant pancakes with butter and maple syrup. Apparently that's a very un-American way of doing things!

Even with my healthy appetite, the final pancake defeats me, a bit like Swansea who, as we have been eating, have been on the restaurant's giant TV screens playing against Spurs.

Laura takes me to see 'where the other half live', an upmarket area called Douglas Manor in the next door neighbourhood of Douglaston.

The area is filled with huge colonial-style houses overlooking Little Neck Bay on the northern side of Long Island and including a New York City Park of wetland meadows. We pass the Douglaston Club, housed in the former Van Zandt family home built in 1819. The club boasts Americas Cup yachting and Grand Slam tennis winners amongst its former members.

It's hard to believe that this tranquil scene is still within the New York City boundary and within sight of the Bronx.

Pussies, planes and Premier League

2012-04-01T05:26:00.000-07:00

I have never before met a cat who won't drink water out of his bowl until the ripples created by setting the dish down on the floor have completely stopped.

This is Shadow, a slightly deaf 18-year old New York cat who is the most fussy eater I have ever seen.

For example, he won't eat anything put down by my friend Laura. She can lovingly prepare a meal totally in accord with Shadow's exacting requirements, set it down in front of him, only to find that her best efforts are totally ignored. Shadow just sits there looking at the dish with the body language indicating his displeasure.

Shadow will only eat when Laura's partner Rich performs the ritual. The food has to be mashed up into a fine paste, with the essential vitamins and other medications crushed into a fine powder and thus secreted into the mix. Final touch involves the meal being gently heated in a microwave.

I watch all this happening while we are debating what to do on a rainy day in New York.

Laura suggests a visit to the 'Cradle of Aviation Museum' (www.cradleofaviation.org).

I didn't realise, but Long Island, where I am staying, has always been at the forefront of the development of flying. The flat Hempstead Plains, close to the eastern edge of the Continental US was an ideal base and the area was used for flying even before the first unsuccessful attempt at a transatlantic balloon crossing in 1873.

From Roosevelt field, Lindbergh flew to Paris in 1927 and, only 10 years later, flying boats were operating the first commercial transatlantic service from nearby Port Washington.

Mitchel Field, whose original hangars house the museum, was closed in 1961.

I have been to many such museums over the years but Cradle of Aviation is rather special. The aviation history of the area is very well represented, with some truly splendid examples of early string-bag aircraft up to the most modern jet fighters, manufactured by local company Grumman. It's interesting to note that around 240 companies still operate in Long Island producing parts for aircraft. Grumman developed their business into the space age and the lunar landing module, featured in the museum, is just one of many examples of their work.

Our visit coincided with a model aircraft weekend with some enormous radio controlled planes on display. We spend three hours in the museum and could easily have spent a whole day.

In the afternoon, I am delighted to discover that Fox Soccer is showing Fulham against Norwich and although the Canaries fought back to reduce the London Club's early two goal lead, it was nice to have a little link with home.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink

New Yorkers

2012-03-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

I am staying in the New York suburb of Queens with my former BBC colleague, Laura James, and her partner, Rich.

It's a long-established neighbourhood with attractive little wooden houses which have neat gardens and a lot of decking. It could be suburbia almost anywhere, with one notable exception. There can be few countries anywhere in the world who display their patriotism quite as proudly as the Americans. The Stars and Stripes flag flutters proudly outside a very large percentage of the smart little homes.

But I am not quite sure where the residents actually are during the working day. Certainly they don't seem to be running the businesses in the local shopping area. Most everyone seems to be Korean or Chinese and I have great difficulty being understood. Despite knowing how to say 'Hello, how are you' in Cantonese.

I am in search of a micro-sim for my iPad. I will be in the States for three weeks, so a pay as you go card will keep me in touch with emails without switching on the horribly expensive roaming facility on my tablet computer.

I also have to find someone to mend my glasses. I was so tired last night that I fell asleep before removing them. I awoke this morning to discover they'd not taken kindly to being used as a mattress; one of the lenses has become detached from the frame, which has been bent into an unwearable state.

I have a sore ankle and knee so it's a pity that I take the wrong turning and end up walking a mile further than I need. In fact, I seem to be the only one walking; the cars are not hugely sympathetic to their legal obligation to stop.

At the at&t store in Great Neck, Will Chaparro spends an hour trying to get the company's systems to accept me as a new subscriber. But despite Will's best efforts, they are unable to link my US bank debit card with a registered address outside the USA.

I discover that Will is a budding entrepreneur and is keen to take his music business, www.onesoundlabel.com, into Europe. I promise to put him in touch with my chum Russ Kane so they can help each other conquer their respective countries.

Almost next door to at&t is T Mobile, who get me up and running in just a few minutes. But the fantastically patient Trevor Mercer becomes almost demented (and the session takes him long into his lunch break) as a result of the incompetence of his customer service department who seem unable to understand that the registration process for an iPad is rather different to a phone.

After giving up in disgust, hungry Trevor and I repair to nearby Napoli Pizza where I discover that we are 20 minutes late for the 3pm deadline for the lunch special offer. Owner Coop says I have a great Italian accent. I think it's a joke.

But the slices of buffalo chicken and grandma square are each delicious and Trevor's recommendation is well-deserved.

Interestingly, he has no idea of the derivation of his surname and is fascinated when I tell him what a mercer originally did for a living. Somehow I don't think the tradition of taking the name from your occupation will work in the future Trevor T-Mobile doesn't seem to work at all.

I am in search of a Smoking Loon. It's not a chain-smoking idiot, but a really nice Californian wine which Laura has as her 'house wine'.

Stop and Shop supermarket doesn't seem to have it, but I find a lemon, a lime and some tonic to go with my Bombay Sapphire gin. The shop has the biggest boxes of Matzos I have ever seen.

The lady at checkout asks if I have a store card and despite my assurance that I don't, she types in a code and I receive a discount of $2.23 on my $10.51 bill. Well chuffed!

Almost next door I find an optician (Chinese) to mend my glasses and then almost trip over a Chinese-owned wine shop stocking up in advance of their official opening. There are bottles of Smoking Loon in abundance and an extra ten per cent off to mark the opening.

Even the newcomers learn the American way of how to drive business.

Photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Day One Norwich to New York

2012-03-29T06:50:00.001-07:00

Packing for a sixty day trip, especially one that involves many different climates, is always something of a challenge. This one is slightly eased because, in the main, I will be staying with friends, so getting laundry done shouldn't be a huge issue. So I decide to take six days of clothing for hot climates and the same for cold.

Experience has taught me that everything needs to be split between two bags, so that if one goes missing, you always have enough for two or three days. That plan goes awry, of course, if they lose both.

I've got an evening press event to go to in London, so I take the Greater Anglia train from Norwich to the capital. The ticket lady welcomes us aboard the 'National Express Service to London'. Not once, but twice. In her defence, the service has had several re-brands in recent years.

I couldn't find a reasonably priced hotel in the area I needed to be, so I am trialling an apartment. (www.marlinapartments.com). It turns out to be a sensationally equipped palace of a place, 16 floors up, with stunning views of the city and east towards the new Olympic Park. It's a steal at £106 per night, although they take a £200 deposit 'in case of damage' which will, they say, be returned to me in five working days. We shall see.

My evening event is the launch of P&O's 2013 cruise programme, but both P&O's boss, Carol Marlow, and her Cunard equivalent, Peter Shanks, give us presentations.

I am joined by my old broadcasting chum, Russ Kane and we leave for a post-event curry each clutching a heavy goodie bag which will give me a bit of a late night packing challenge.

Russ kindly drives me back home, pops up to my apartment, marvels at the incredible views and agrees that I have indeed found a bargain.

In the morning, the taxi to Paddington gets stuck in traffic and costs me twice as much as the official website suggested it would. Fifty quid doesn't last long in a London black cab.

I catch the efficient and comfortable Heathrow Express which whisks me to the airport in just 15 minutes. Despite my detailed planning, I can't find anywhere in my booking details to tell me which terminal United Airlines is using. As always, I can't make a connection to the on-board wireless internet. The ticket collector looks up a BAA list and informs me confidently it is Terminal One.

So I wait until the end of the line, walk with all my luggage to the end of a long corridor, to discover a sign which greets United passengers for everywhere BUT Newark, which goes from Terminal 4. Aarggghhhh.

Luckily, I have left plenty of time for such eventualities although there is further confusion before check-in when a girl carrying out a ticket pre-check can't seem to understand that, as a holder of a Round the World Ticket, I don't have an actual return portion. Aaaargghhhh.

The plane is full and, although I only take a large briefcase on board, the overhead compartment above my seat is full of crew luggage and the attendant is not at all disposed to render assistance to shuffle things about. Aaarghhhhh.

The aircraft is a pretty old 757-200 which, by modern standards, is cramped and lacks storage space around the seats.

But the food is pretty good; I enjoy the latest Tintin film, which I have been meaning to catch for months and I fall asleep enjoying the music to the surprise hit of 2012, 'The Artist'.

On arrival at Newark, Homeland Security is, as always, slow with tourists. But once all the US Citizens go through their area, it is opened up to allow we aliens through. I just cannot understand why entering the US is always such a pain, especially when, these days, you have to pay to be pre-screened before you even board the aircraft.

Newark Liberty Airport has a splendid monorail 'AirTrain' to link terminals and to take you to the New Jersey Transit and Amtrak station.

$12.50 and 25 minutes later, I change trains at Penn Station for the Long Island Rail Road, feed a further $8.75 into a ticket machine and almost exactly 14 hours after setting off from London, I reach my home for the next six nights.

More photos at: https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/AroundTheWorldIn60DaysBackwardsNorwichToNewYork?authuser=0&feat=directlink

December's Sur in English

2011-12-31T13:52:00.000-08:00

This month in Sur in English, I write about Lyon, France and the trials of travelling United Airlines.

Read or download it at: http://services.surinenglish.com/virtual/20111230/

My material is on pages 20-23.

Next month Sur will feature a cruise on P&O's Adonia and a piece on car hire.

This 'Around the World in 60 days' blog (http://mdsouter.blogspot.com/) itself continues to attract a new audience, with over 12,256 people now reading it - 600 more this month alone!

I continue to do radio interviews about the trip in the UK and in Spain.

You can check out the best photos from the trip at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/TheBestOfAroundTheWorldIn60Days?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Once again, may I pass on my grateful thanks to everyone who has been so supportive of 'Around the World in 60 Days'.

November Coverage in Sur in English

2011-11-25T01:52:00.000-08:00

This month in Sur in English, I write about Hollywood, Florida and Michigan.

Read or download it at: http://services.surinenglish.com/virtual/20111125/

My material is on pages 27-30.

Next month Sur will feature the final destination of my Round the World trip, Lyon in France.

This 'Around the World in 60 days' blog (http://mdsouter.blogspot.com/) itself continues to attract a new audience, with over 11,656 people now reading it - 427 more this month alone!

I continue to do radio interviews about the trip in the UK and in Spain and will next be on Talk Radio Europe (http://www.talkradioeurope.com/) at 1630 CET on Friday December 9th.

Sur in English - Denver

2011-10-25T03:55:00.000-07:00

If you go to the link below, you can see the coverage, in Sur in English, of my visit to Denver:

http://services.surinenglish.com/virtual/20111021/

My material is featured on pages 24-27.

Next month Sur will feature Hollywood (Florida) and Michigan in November and, finally, Lyon in France in December.

This 'Around the World in 60 days' blog itself continues to attract a new audience, with over 11,180 people now reading it - 517 more this month alone!

I continue to do radio interviews about the trip in the UK and in Spain.

You can check out the best photos from the trip at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/113030621059953130627/TheBestOfAroundTheWorldIn60Days?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Once again, may I pass on my grateful thanks to everyone who has been so supportive of 'Around the World in 60 Days'.

AN ‘L’ OF A JOURNEY – LANSING, LONDON AND LYON

2011-10-13T01:38:00.000-07:00

Shuttling between terminals at Chicago O'Hare

First Class in an United Airlines B767-300

First Class on the Heathrow Express

Swimming Pool at the Grand Hotel des Terreaux

Lyon beat Paris in providing a fleet of hire-cycles

A detail of the Lyon Fresco

The River Saone in Lyon

Toilet door at the Cafe des Federations

Graffiti atop the Fourviere Basilica

The Lyon Opera from the roof of the Fourviere Basilica

Macaroons in the Paul Bocuse Market

Lyon tram

At Capital City Airport, Lansing, there are two personnel on duty at United check-in. I double-check that my bags are through-checked. Transport and Security Administration seem to have more blue-shirted staff than there are passengers. But it makes for an easy transition to the business lounge

At the gate, there’s a hiatus when the same man who checked me in has to tell a wheelchair passenger that he can’t get on the flight because the airport-owned device to lift him on to the aircraft has broken and nobody can be found to mend it.

In Chicago, I am expecting to have a challenge changing terminals, but United has a little shuttle bus, which achieves the objective within minutes by crossing the taxiways while dodging arriving and departing aircraft. Another first!

I check the boards for my London-bound flight, which is nowhere to be seen. In United’s Red Carpet Lounge, I am told that the aircraft has a maintenance issue and that my flight will either be cancelled or badly delayed. Oh what joy. So I am waitlisted on the next available flight, one of which is already boarding.

United’s system for such eventualities appears to be that you turn up at the gate, irrespective of the class in which you are booked, until everyone else is on board and wait to see if there’s a seat. There is, but it is down the back end. No thank you.

An hour later, the same palaver all over again, with no clue as to whether I’ll be on the flight or stuck at O’Hare overnight. Gate supervisor Editha is clearly hassled and is busy changing seat allocations and calling standby passengers forward. I stand in front of her for twenty minutes and not once does she smile, say anything to me, or make eye contact. Then, without a murmur or change of facial expression, she hands me a boarding card for First Class.

I hand her my luggage tags to ensure that my bags, which I have been told are in a ‘Priority handling area’ are loaded on to the plane and scamper back to the nearby lounge to collect my iPad and carry on luggage.

On the B767-300, the First Class cabin only has six seats, one of which is reserved for an off-duty pilot. With two cabin crew for just five passengers, the service from the British male staff is friendly and efficient. The quality of the fit is, in my opinion, second only to the Air New Zealand/Virgin Atlantic business-class offering, but is similarly impressive, with lie-flat beds and plenty of storage space. The quality of the catering is also splendid. (I check later on the price and discover that a single First Class Chicago to London fare is $9500 US, more or less the same as my round the world business class ticket!)

After a good night’s sleep, I watch the priority luggage go round the carousel with no sign of either of my bags. When I check at the United desk, the lady tells me that they are still in Chicago. She can’t tell me why they are not on their way on my original plane, which, despite all the misinformation in Chicago, is due to arrive at Heathrow on schedule.

Of course the bags don’t arrive home when promised and, as in Chicago, the quality of care and communication from United Airlines is woeful. Indeed, as I write this, some 10 days later, they have still not demonstrated any real element of care or concern. However, the bags do arrive home – eventually.

Anyway, not to dwell on that, because my final destination calls. I use the fast and efficient Heathrow Express to reach central London and, uncluttered by baggage, transfer stations to reach my ultimate destination of Stansted Airport.

From there, it’s only an 80 minute EasyJet flight to Lyon in France, where the airport has a spectacular building designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, the man behind the Guggenheim in Bilbao.

I am staying at the Grand Hotel des Terreaux, perfectly situated on the peninsula between the rivers Saone and Rhone in the heart of the UNESCO World Heritage Area. It’s only a three-star, but the former coaching inn has been splendidly refurbished with a most attractive reception and bar area. There’s even a small swimming pool and Jacuzzi featuring stones from a former church!

Rhone-Alpes tourism has kindly organised a guide but, as often happens, she tries to cram in far too much in too short a time. But at least we get to see some of Lyon’s fascinating ‘Traboules’, little passageways through buildings which link adjoining streets.

There’s a lovely atmosphere in the city, very outdoorsy, unthreatening, calm, relaxed.

As in many cities around the world, Lyon has a ‘City Card’, which for €41, gives you three days unlimited access to museums, attractions and public transport. (Passes for one or two days are also available).

And what a wonderful public transport system Lyon has. Four metro lines, trolleybuses, trams and buses, it really is incredibly impressive.

One of the funicular lines takes you to the foot of the Fourviere Basilica, completed in 1896. Most often, I avoid religious buildings but, twice a day, a small group of visitors gets taken on a ‘Visite Insolite’ (unusual visit) of the upper galleries and rooftops. The views across the peninsula across the city towards Switzerland are truly spectacular. The 80-minute tours are, however, totally in French and I’ll admit to having tuned out after 30 minutes of intense concentration.

Just down the hill is the impressive Roman Amphitheatre, still used as a concert venue and, below, the narrow streets of the charming medieval old town.

One of the friendly receptionists at the hotel has recommended the nearby ‘Leon de Lyon’ for dinner and it turns out to be a really good choice with nicely prepared food and a great atmosphere. At under €70 for a meal for two, including drinks, good value as well.

Hotels in France can often be parsimonious about their breakfast offering, but the Grand Hotel has an excellent spread of cereals, bread, pastries, meat, cheese and two

types of egg. Certainly about the best breakfast I have ever had in France.

While my chum Pat goes off to explore the splendid fine arts museum, I use my Lyon card to do some serious examination of the comprehensive public transport system, which I can’t fault.

One discovery I make is that the Metro Line to the former workers’ area, Croix Rousse, is so steep that the trains are assisted by a rack and pinion system, which I don’t think I have experienced before in a city underground network.

I hire a bike from ‘Velo V’, Lyon’s excellent and cheap cycle hire scheme, which introduced the system two years before Paris, and have a lovely time pottering along the banks of the River Rhone.

Lyon was very much the centre of French Resistance during World War Two and there’s an excellent museum devoted to the story. Aided by an informative audio guide, it documents a fascinating, if horrific, period of local history. At the end of the tour it moves away from resistance to holocaust, which is terribly moving.

My host Isabelle meets me for lunch at the Café des Federations to have a typical Lyonnais ‘Bouchon’. We are berated in impeccable French and English by the Rumanian waitress, Sabina, for not making a great deal of inroad into the huge portions. No wonder the gent’s loo has a brilliant cartoon of a pig on the door!

Nearby, just in front of the fine arts museum, is the splendid Bartholdi fountain, originally destined for Bordeaux, but bought for Lyon when the original purchasers couldn’t stump up the cash!

I am a huge fan of produce markets, so set off on the C3 trolleybus for the Paul Bocuse market. While it’s hugely impressive, with a vast array of mouth-watering top-end products, it’s not what I am looking for. Near the hotel, on the banks of the River Saone, I get what I want. A local market with freshly harvested fruit, veg. and locally produced cheese and honey.

In the evening, we wander off to find a restaurant and strike gold. The ‘Second Soufflé’ jazz restaurant at 5 rue Neuve has been opened for less than a month and, accompanied by a very shortsighted pianist expertly tinkling the ivories, we have the best meal I have had anywhere on the current trip around the world. They do say that Lyon is one of the centres of French gastronomy – and they are not wrong!

The following morning, I have time for another cycle ride and a visit to the local bakery to buy some crusty French bread to take home. I sit by the Rhone watching the world go by and am lured to busy Perrache Station and the vast Bellecour Square to see the comings and goings.

Lyon has been a revelation. It’s a city that is chock-full of surprises, historic, charming, picturesque, accessible and really tourist-friendly.

Back at Lyon Airport, there’s no architect-designed terminal for EasyJet. Instead, the modern equivalent of a marquee, poorly equipped, cramped and not very clean, with inadequate seating. Of all the airport terminals I have visited over the past two months, it’s far and away the worst.

Just as I started this trip, it’s back on the train to Norwich and an easy bus trip home.

With no suitcases and only carry on luggage, it’s a painless process.

And so, journey’s end.

Sixty days to go round the world with almost no changes to the original plans and a week on top to do Lyon and wait in vain for the promised calls from United Airlines.

Thanks to the many folk who have been so wonderfully supportive of the trip and with whom I have interacted since I left my home in Norfolk, England, on February 28^th. People who were acquaintances are now friends. Links with existing chums are now closer than before.

Also, my sincere appreciation to the more than five thousand people who are now reading the blog. Your kind comments and encouragement have helped keep me sane.

Thank you.

A selection of images from all the destinations visited in ‘Around the World in 60 days’ is at

https://picasaweb.google.com/MDSouter/TheBestOfAroundTheWorldIn60Days#

Lyon photographs are at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/MDSouter/LyonMay2011#

Regional Express train at Perrache Station

Bellecour Square

Lyon Airport's dreaful Terminal 3

Journey's End: Norwich Bus Station

San Francisco

2011-09-21T13:05:00.000-07:00

If you go to the link below, you can see the coverage, in Sur in English, of my visit to San Francisco:

http://services.surinenglish.com/virtual/20110916/

My material is featured on pages 28-34.

Next month Sur will feature Denver, before I start heading homewards across the United States with Hollywood (Florida) and Michigan in November and, finally, Lyon in France in December.

This 'Around the World in 60 days' blog itself continues to attract a new audience, with over 10,557 people now reading it - 1112 more from the USA this month alone!