Friday, May 19, 2006
05/2006: Antigua and St. Lucia: 'driving tips'
Not everybody knows that a local driving licence has to be bought, the car hire company will arrange this. The licence costs EC$50 in Antigua and EC$54 in St. Lucia. The driver of the vehicle has to be over 25 years old and even the experienced drivers should know that there are very few signs on both islands. So, it's a good idea to have a good map handy but also to be prepared to get lost. Frequently.
Caribbean directions can be ‘creative’ - it’s not unusual for someone to be gesticulating to the left while saying ‘turn right’. This is partly because the culture is not to disappoint you, so rather than saying they don’t know, they'll tell you something to make you happy, i.e. a direction – even if it is somewhat spurious.
I notice that the sight of a map can send some local people into blind panic. I'm no longer surprised when I suddenly become invisible when I wield a map at passer by.
Not everybody knows that a local driving licence has to be bought, the car hire company will arrange this. The licence costs EC$50 in Antigua and EC$54 in St. Lucia. The driver of the vehicle has to be over 25 years old and even the experienced drivers should know that there are very few signs on both islands. So, it's a good idea to have a good map handy but also to be prepared to get lost. Frequently.Caribbean directions can be ‘creative’ - it’s not unusual for someone to be gesticulating to the left while saying ‘turn right’. This is partly because the culture is not to disappoint you, so rather than saying they don’t know, they'll tell you something to make you happy, i.e. a direction – even if it is somewhat spurious.
I notice that the sight of a map can send some local people into blind panic. I'm no longer surprised when I suddenly become invisible when I wield a map at passer by.
5/2006: St. Lucia: 'where to stay?'
Most of the hotels offer a ‘meal plan’ which will cover the gamut from room only to all inclusive. If I were to advise my friends, I'd say carefully check the location of your hotel and the type of meal plan it offers. I know lots of people who love to spend the majority of their holiday lying on a beach and don’t want to move far from the hotel, an all-inclusive is a good bet for that. Most of the larger hotels are in isolated locations and won’t have any facilities such as restaurants, bars etc - nearby. If you are staying in an isolated hotel without transport (and even with transport, driving at night can be hazardous as streetlights are rare – and taxis are expensive) and you are on room only, or bed and breakfast, then you are at the mercy of the hotel restaurant prices – which can be hugely inflated, particularly in a hotel which has an all-inclusive option.
Mixing with the locals is more to my taste, and I like to try a variety of restaurants and bars, so for people like me, I'd say look for a hotel which offers B&B which is in one of the villages or towns (Rodney Bay in St Lucia, Nelson’s harbour or English harbour in Antigua).
Most of the hotels offer a ‘meal plan’ which will cover the gamut from room only to all inclusive. If I were to advise my friends, I'd say carefully check the location of your hotel and the type of meal plan it offers. I know lots of people who love to spend the majority of their holiday lying on a beach and don’t want to move far from the hotel, an all-inclusive is a good bet for that. Most of the larger hotels are in isolated locations and won’t have any facilities such as restaurants, bars etc - nearby. If you are staying in an isolated hotel without transport (and even with transport, driving at night can be hazardous as streetlights are rare – and taxis are expensive) and you are on room only, or bed and breakfast, then you are at the mercy of the hotel restaurant prices – which can be hugely inflated, particularly in a hotel which has an all-inclusive option.Mixing with the locals is more to my taste, and I like to try a variety of restaurants and bars, so for people like me, I'd say look for a hotel which offers B&B which is in one of the villages or towns (Rodney Bay in St Lucia, Nelson’s harbour or English harbour in Antigua).
05/2006: St. Lucia: 'the wedding capital of the world?'
St. Lucia is probably the wedding capital of the world (apart from possibly Las Vegas). Nearly all hotels will offer a wedding package or have a wedding planner and a gazebo, or several. I'd say to anyone, do your homework before you go, if you don’t mind sharing your big day with several other couples and you intend going with guests, somewhere organised and efficient like Sandals is a good choice (no children allowed, though).
Sandals Grande have an average of 30 weddings each week, so they know what they’re doing, but it can feel a little like a nuptial conveyer belt. So, couples who prefer something a little more intimate, in my opinion, should try one of the smaller individually owned hotels - Eastwinds has a lovely garden and beach setting - or the small, exclusive and expensive Ladera Resort, set in lush rainforest. It has stunning views of the famous Piton Mountains (a World Heritage Site) and a renowned restaurant. For weddings on a budget (if that's ever possible) the Bay Garden Inn in lively Rodney Bay is small, friendly and has a distinct local flavour.
(image: Sandals, Antigua)
St. Lucia is probably the wedding capital of the world (apart from possibly Las Vegas). Nearly all hotels will offer a wedding package or have a wedding planner and a gazebo, or several. I'd say to anyone, do your homework before you go, if you don’t mind sharing your big day with several other couples and you intend going with guests, somewhere organised and efficient like Sandals is a good choice (no children allowed, though).Sandals Grande have an average of 30 weddings each week, so they know what they’re doing, but it can feel a little like a nuptial conveyer belt. So, couples who prefer something a little more intimate, in my opinion, should try one of the smaller individually owned hotels - Eastwinds has a lovely garden and beach setting - or the small, exclusive and expensive Ladera Resort, set in lush rainforest. It has stunning views of the famous Piton Mountains (a World Heritage Site) and a renowned restaurant. For weddings on a budget (if that's ever possible) the Bay Garden Inn in lively Rodney Bay is small, friendly and has a distinct local flavour.
(image: Sandals, Antigua)
02/2006: Marrakech: 'what does M6 stand for in Morocco and why I will go there again'
It rains heavily all day, the Medina is a muddy quagmire and my guide is not happy. I’m not so ecstatic either. Several of the main boulevards outside the old city are decorated with flags and there are a lot of uniformed men around. Lambi (new driver/guide) tells me that the King is visiting Marrakech which he does quite regularly. He’s young and popular and is called Mohammed VI. Moroccans refer to him as “M6” which tickles me hugely.
Spurn room service for a trip to a local restaurant in the Place Jeema al Fna or “la Place” (the Square), as locals call it. Chez Chegrounis serves up a very tasty vegetable Tagine, which I wash down with a pot of mint tea that is 99.9% sugar. My bill is 38 dirhams - roughly £2.40. At night the Square turns into a huge open air eatery filled with small stalls selling everything from boiled eggs to boiled sheeps' heads. I’m not tempted, however, especially after my taxi driver tells me that Marrakechis call it “leftover” food and those who eat it have to visit the pharmacy afterwards. Am followed back across the Square by a couple of young men who mutter: “Bonjour Madame, ca va, que’ce que vous voulez?” repeatedly at me. I can’t shake them off so stalk off purposely towards the police van and they melt back into the crowd. There is very little tourist hassle here now since the Government set up a special tourist police to clamp down on touts and hustlers - it’s been very effective. However, I’m told, that the Square turns into a covert pick-up place later on at night, particularly for gay visitors, with lots of young Moroccan men selling their services.
.....finally I’ve seen my last riad. Hurrah. They are all stunning in their own way but after 40 of them I am over-saturated with tastefully-restored ancient townhouses with Moorish arches and impossibly stylish furniture. Start longing for the boring anonymity of a Travelodge.
I buy a ‘genuine handmade’ raffia shopping bag for £3 from an old Bedouin lady on the side of the road. I suspect she imports them from China at 30p each.
The next day, leave for the airport with definite plans to return to Marrakech with a couple of girlfriends, stay in a tastefully-restored riad with a hammam and massage facilities, and explore the many shopping opportunities the city has to offer. Everyone I’ve met here has been very friendly and helpful and I’ve experienced much more hassle in Turkey than I have here.
It rains heavily all day, the Medina is a muddy quagmire and my guide is not happy. I’m not so ecstatic either. Several of the main boulevards outside the old city are decorated with flags and there are a lot of uniformed men around. Lambi (new driver/guide) tells me that the King is visiting Marrakech which he does quite regularly. He’s young and popular and is called Mohammed VI. Moroccans refer to him as “M6” which tickles me hugely.Spurn room service for a trip to a local restaurant in the Place Jeema al Fna or “la Place” (the Square), as locals call it. Chez Chegrounis serves up a very tasty vegetable Tagine, which I wash down with a pot of mint tea that is 99.9% sugar. My bill is 38 dirhams - roughly £2.40. At night the Square turns into a huge open air eatery filled with small stalls selling everything from boiled eggs to boiled sheeps' heads. I’m not tempted, however, especially after my taxi driver tells me that Marrakechis call it “leftover” food and those who eat it have to visit the pharmacy afterwards. Am followed back across the Square by a couple of young men who mutter: “Bonjour Madame, ca va, que’ce que vous voulez?” repeatedly at me. I can’t shake them off so stalk off purposely towards the police van and they melt back into the crowd. There is very little tourist hassle here now since the Government set up a special tourist police to clamp down on touts and hustlers - it’s been very effective. However, I’m told, that the Square turns into a covert pick-up place later on at night, particularly for gay visitors, with lots of young Moroccan men selling their services.
.....finally I’ve seen my last riad. Hurrah. They are all stunning in their own way but after 40 of them I am over-saturated with tastefully-restored ancient townhouses with Moorish arches and impossibly stylish furniture. Start longing for the boring anonymity of a Travelodge.
I buy a ‘genuine handmade’ raffia shopping bag for £3 from an old Bedouin lady on the side of the road. I suspect she imports them from China at 30p each.
The next day, leave for the airport with definite plans to return to Marrakech with a couple of girlfriends, stay in a tastefully-restored riad with a hammam and massage facilities, and explore the many shopping opportunities the city has to offer. Everyone I’ve met here has been very friendly and helpful and I’ve experienced much more hassle in Turkey than I have here.
02/2006: Marrakech: 'riads and taxis'
It's hard to find a new city guide in a hurry in Marrakech. Receptionist skulks at the back of the desk. Tells me to go to the tourist office. Tourist office astonishingly unhelpful and tell me to find a guide outside my hotel.
Go back and find a lurking guide who looks at the number of riads I have to see and advises me it’s “too difficult”. End up haggling with the petit taxi drivers outside who shout at each other for about 10 minutes, then bundle me in a taxi and we speed off, I’m not sure what’s going on.
Happily Mohammed turns out to a part-time guide and a gem, if a little taciturn and lacking in English. He drives to the nearest place we can park, then leads me through what feels like miles of winding narrow alleys to the riads I need to see. All are hidden behind large and lovely but anonymous wooden doors, some don’t have signs or even numbers outside. Knock on door of one riad and ask the French-speaking gentleman who answers if I can look round. He obliges, lovely place, great architecture, very homely. That is because it is, in fact, a private home….I retreat cringing with embarrassment. Mohammed is a gem until 12.00pm when he downs tools and tells me we have to stop for lunch and he will come back at 3.00pm. Attempt a feeble remonstration but arguing is futile, so we compromise on 2.00pm
It's hard to find a new city guide in a hurry in Marrakech. Receptionist skulks at the back of the desk. Tells me to go to the tourist office. Tourist office astonishingly unhelpful and tell me to find a guide outside my hotel.
Go back and find a lurking guide who looks at the number of riads I have to see and advises me it’s “too difficult”. End up haggling with the petit taxi drivers outside who shout at each other for about 10 minutes, then bundle me in a taxi and we speed off, I’m not sure what’s going on.
Happily Mohammed turns out to a part-time guide and a gem, if a little taciturn and lacking in English. He drives to the nearest place we can park, then leads me through what feels like miles of winding narrow alleys to the riads I need to see. All are hidden behind large and lovely but anonymous wooden doors, some don’t have signs or even numbers outside. Knock on door of one riad and ask the French-speaking gentleman who answers if I can look round. He obliges, lovely place, great architecture, very homely. That is because it is, in fact, a private home….I retreat cringing with embarrassment. Mohammed is a gem until 12.00pm when he downs tools and tells me we have to stop for lunch and he will come back at 3.00pm. Attempt a feeble remonstration but arguing is futile, so we compromise on 2.00pm
02/2006: Marrakech: 'loyalty is not my guide's motto'
Cold and raining today. Hire a taxi to visit properties in Palmeraie, a dusty oasis filled with tall palm trees 7 or so miles outside the city walls, which is filling up fast with private luxury villas and exclusive hotels that refuse to be called hotels (“guest palace” is a popular description). Taxi driver Mustapha tells me 10 years ago no-one wanted to live there and land was £1 per sq foot, now it’s £550 per sq foot. After bumping down a long rough road past camels, palm trees and locals in tiny makeshift settlements, we arrive at the very secluded and gorgeous Ksar Chag Bhar. Am entertained by a delightful dapper French gentleman called Pierre who plies me with mint tea and tips me off to the best shoe shops in Marrakech. “Todd shoes for only 30 euros!”. The palace is stunning and scarily expensive. “Only the very rich come here” confides Pierre. Vow to do the Euro lottery.
7pm. Am told by the guide I’ve hired to help me find riads in the Medina that he can’t start tomorrow until 2pm even though we’d agreed on 9am. Then he tells me it is too difficult and he can get an easier job with an Italian tour group. Helpful. This is after we have spent time going through the list of places I want to visit and he has scribbled all over it. Ask receptionist if he can get me another guide. Promises to have one in the morning at 9am
Cold and raining today. Hire a taxi to visit properties in Palmeraie, a dusty oasis filled with tall palm trees 7 or so miles outside the city walls, which is filling up fast with private luxury villas and exclusive hotels that refuse to be called hotels (“guest palace” is a popular description). Taxi driver Mustapha tells me 10 years ago no-one wanted to live there and land was £1 per sq foot, now it’s £550 per sq foot. After bumping down a long rough road past camels, palm trees and locals in tiny makeshift settlements, we arrive at the very secluded and gorgeous Ksar Chag Bhar. Am entertained by a delightful dapper French gentleman called Pierre who plies me with mint tea and tips me off to the best shoe shops in Marrakech. “Todd shoes for only 30 euros!”. The palace is stunning and scarily expensive. “Only the very rich come here” confides Pierre. Vow to do the Euro lottery.
7pm. Am told by the guide I’ve hired to help me find riads in the Medina that he can’t start tomorrow until 2pm even though we’d agreed on 9am. Then he tells me it is too difficult and he can get an easier job with an Italian tour group. Helpful. This is after we have spent time going through the list of places I want to visit and he has scribbled all over it. Ask receptionist if he can get me another guide. Promises to have one in the morning at 9am
02/2006: Marrakech: 'the best city in the world - says the taxi driver'
A bright, crisp, sunny day. I have my first excursion into the ancient Medina (the old walled city), a chatty taxi driver tells me in French that Marrakech is the best city in world to live in, “sun, snow on mountains, beautiful old city”- so far I have to agree – the views of the distant snow-capped Atlas Mountains are spectacular. He asks me where I’m from and talks angrily about the Danish caricature of the prophet Mohammed, am relieved (and surprised) to hear British papers haven’t printed it, so am off hook. Then he asks: “do you know Cat Stevens?”
Get horribly lost in a spaghetti-like maze of alleyways lined with tiny shops selling moody-looking slabs of fresh meat hanging on hooks, bowls of olives, bread, oranges, haircuts and houses (Estate agents get everywhere). I ask for directions. Everyone is friendly and helpful but directions tend to be of the “ go straight and ask again” variety. Am eventually led to a large wooden door hidden away under an arch, I knock, the door is opened a crack, I explain my mission and am refused admission on grounds of it being a private member’s club (Ksour Agafay). Get horribly lost again but by fluke end up in the entertaining Place Jeema el Fna and yes, there really are snake charmers playing horns to motionless black-hooded cobras and touts who thrust knots of small snakes in your face. Stop to watch some veiled transvestite dancers along with a crowd of fascinated local men and quickly get singled out by the short dumpy dancer who asks me for a “petit cadeau”. I bung him 10 dirhams and run away.
01/2006: Marrakech: 'why Marrakech is a cool place to be'
Getting to the airport to board my flight to Marrakech turned out to be a rather stressful event: taxi late, got stuck in heavy traffic on the way to the train station, huge queue to buy tickets, didn’t bother, just about made the train. Virgin conductress tried to mug me for £120 for a ticket I was told on the phone would cost £34.00. Had heart attack then a snigger at thought of Scott’s face if that showed up in expenses. Remonstrated and got the cheaper price, although think that was due to the angry mutterings of the other passengers who were outraged at the disparity in prices. Small child behind me screamed for entire trip.
Plane full of blonde middle-class types from Surrey and Cheltenham called Fiona and Charles who work in the media and are heading for a few days “chill” in a restored riad (Moroccan townhouse) they’ve seen in the style magazines. The hip has been extracted from hippy and Marrakech is now once again a very cool place to go.
Cool being the operative word – I arrive around 7.30pm and it’s FREEZING. First thing I spot is a convenient ATM which swaps me crisp dirham notes for my plastic; they’re not available outside the country and you can’t take any out with you. Came armed with Euros just in case.
Outside, menacing-looking dark-hooded death-eaters appear out of the gloom and head towards me. Turn out to be friendly taxi drivers, “a thousand welcomes to Marrakech” we agree on a price, apparently it’s double the normal rate after dark - suspect this is the first of many times I shall be fleeced by a taxi driver in the next 10 days.
Fear for life as rattling taxi swerves in and out of traffic, donkey carts and cyclists. Glimpse flashes of past life along with Moorish arches lit up like an Arabian Nights fairytale.
Hotel is smart, flash and comfortable, nice big room but dearth of power points, have to unplug lamp and use bathroom to charge up electronic stuff (PDA, camera, laptop, phone). Often have this problem. In one hotel in Menorca I sat on chair outside the toilet every night to type up my reports, it was the only spot with a power point.
Getting to the airport to board my flight to Marrakech turned out to be a rather stressful event: taxi late, got stuck in heavy traffic on the way to the train station, huge queue to buy tickets, didn’t bother, just about made the train. Virgin conductress tried to mug me for £120 for a ticket I was told on the phone would cost £34.00. Had heart attack then a snigger at thought of Scott’s face if that showed up in expenses. Remonstrated and got the cheaper price, although think that was due to the angry mutterings of the other passengers who were outraged at the disparity in prices. Small child behind me screamed for entire trip.
Plane full of blonde middle-class types from Surrey and Cheltenham called Fiona and Charles who work in the media and are heading for a few days “chill” in a restored riad (Moroccan townhouse) they’ve seen in the style magazines. The hip has been extracted from hippy and Marrakech is now once again a very cool place to go.
Cool being the operative word – I arrive around 7.30pm and it’s FREEZING. First thing I spot is a convenient ATM which swaps me crisp dirham notes for my plastic; they’re not available outside the country and you can’t take any out with you. Came armed with Euros just in case.
Outside, menacing-looking dark-hooded death-eaters appear out of the gloom and head towards me. Turn out to be friendly taxi drivers, “a thousand welcomes to Marrakech” we agree on a price, apparently it’s double the normal rate after dark - suspect this is the first of many times I shall be fleeced by a taxi driver in the next 10 days.
Fear for life as rattling taxi swerves in and out of traffic, donkey carts and cyclists. Glimpse flashes of past life along with Moorish arches lit up like an Arabian Nights fairytale.
Hotel is smart, flash and comfortable, nice big room but dearth of power points, have to unplug lamp and use bathroom to charge up electronic stuff (PDA, camera, laptop, phone). Often have this problem. In one hotel in Menorca I sat on chair outside the toilet every night to type up my reports, it was the only spot with a power point.
04/2006: Madeira: 'learning to drive and the good old weather...'My taxi driver knocked over a pedestrian today. Fortunately (for me, not the pedestrian) I’d just got out of the car. He’d taken off with the customary racing start and boom, a middle aged Madeiran lady somersaults in the air. The driver stopped and got out, the woman got up, they exchanged a few words, he drove off and she carried on walking down the road. Bizzare. Probably not an unusual occurrence judging by the way people drive here. There seem to be two speeds - stop and fast. The roads are very steep and need plenty of revs to get up, and no-one seems to bother taking their foot off the accelerator coming down the other side. I’d hate to learn to drive here. Every start would be a hill start.
Today’s taxi driver tells me that the weather has “gone bad” these last few years. Thirty years ago he could tell tourists that the weather would be fine from March to October without any problem. Now it rains one day, is windy the next. He blames “too many things in the sky”. The jacarandas were apparently always out by March, now it’s April and they’re not blooming. Think about mentioning Russians and rockets to the moon, which is who my Grandfather used to blame for bad weather, but decide it might lose something in the translation. He harks back to the good old days for a while, telling me how poor the island was and how his mother and sister went blind slaving all night sewing handkerchiefs for 70 escudos a week.
Very windy again today. Have a hairdo Bob Marley would be proud to sport.
The next day, a maniac bus driver nearly rams another bus on a steep mountainside road not once, but twice. All the tourists on the bus scream. The locals laugh. What is it about Madeirans, who are a nice polite people on two legs, that turns them into glassy-eyed homicidal maniacs once they get behind the wheel?
04/2006: Madeira: 'cockroach encounter...this is not for animal lovers'
Blearily opened the door to the bathroom this morning to be greeted by two monstrous cockroaches glaring at me from the middle of the tiled floor. Played chase the cockroach for a while, which of course they won by moving at the speed of sound and wedging their vile bodies half under the skirting board thereby removing themselves from the danger of being splatted with an MBT trainer. Shan’t be going barefoot in this room again. Alert housekeeping who assure me they must have come in from outside and promise to spray the room.
My cockroach roommates obviously thrive on DDT as they are home to greet me when I return this afternoon. Manage to whack one which was rather satisfying.
Cloudy today with high winds but deceptively hot as the scorched pink flesh around the edges of my T-shirt testified. Had a frustrating moment this morning trying to get to a couple of hotels at the base of a cliff, I could see them but couldn’t work out how to get to them. Asked a couple of locals who said there was a way down the cliff, which I couldn’t find. After trudging back and forth along the road several times, I eventually discovered it – a dirt track which a couple of workmen were digging up. The hotels had lift access to the road but I couldn’t use them as I didn’t have a key card.
04/2006: Madeira: 'timeshare and linguistic observations'
There seems to be a lot more timeshare here than I remember. Nearly all of the larger properties I’ve visited have a timeshare element, and there are numbers of oleaginous men in sharp suits attempting to bilk unsuspecting pensioners of their life savings. I’m sure they’re perfectly legal and respectable but after living on two of the Canary Islands, I can’t help but view timeshare salesmen with a very cynical eye.
One of the joys of eating alone is that you get shoved into dark corners if the restaurant is busy. Tonight I was wedged in next to the flambé table. Every time someone ordered crepes suzettes, a hot burst of flame singed the back of my neck. The restaurant has an outrageous compulsory ‘cover charge’ of 5 euros for a couple of inferior slices of ham and cheese and a basket of bread that I didn’t want anyway. Won’t be returning.
I’m finding the Portuguese language interesting. Written down it looks like a cross between Spanish and Italian – ‘good night’ is ‘boa noite’ but it has a harsher pronunciation and sounds more like an Eastern European language when you listen to it.
04/2006: Funchal, Madeira: 'it's simply charming...'
Was in the old town today and it is quite delightful. Narrow streets of 16th century buildings have mosaic pavements and are lined with leafy jacaranda trees. There are lovely gardens and charming squares with small pavement cafe. Some rather chic ones have opened up since I was last here and the atmosphere is bustling and prosperous. So is the traffic. Madeira was apparently an incredibly poor island until the mid 1980s when it managed to part the EEC from a substantial amount of cash.
One of the most atmospheric areas is the Santa Maria district near the old fort and harbour. Once a place of dubious repute (and there are still some dodgy looking characters around) there are tiny lanes filled with ancient fishermen’s cottages, some are crumbling and dilapidated but others have been converted to charming restaurants and guest houses. The Madeira Story museum is here, housed in a couple of renovated buildings. Old men noisily play backgammon on wooden tables in a park beside the cable car building or just sit on benches and watch the world go by.
04/2006: Funchal, Madeira: 'is age an issue in Madeira? "Eat until you're finished"...'
Very hot today. I’m wearing a shirt but my forearms burn an unpleasant pink colour.
I’d also forgotten how steep and hilly Funchal is…legs and lungs complain bitterly.
The town is teeming with tourists, mostly of the SAGA variety and there are at least 3 cruise ships in. There seems to be a huge age gap in the locals too, they’re either under 18 or over 50. I suspect the youngsters clear off to the fleshpots of Lisbon as soon as they can escape. Not that Madeira isn’t a lovely place- it’s beautiful - but it isn’t exactly known for its buzzing or alternative youth scene.
Grudgingly buy my own cake in the absence of a free one. The shop keeper says “eat until you’re finished” . Wonder if the cake police are going to be checking on me, or if he’s just bossy? Neither. Apparently, the name of the cake translates as “eat until you’re finished”. I do, and very nice it is too.
04/2006: Madeira, Funchal: 'have the standards slipped?...'
I’m staying in the same hotel as the last time I visited Madeira. Then I got a complimentary fruit basket and Madeira cake, and chocolates on the pillow each night. No sign of any of the aforementioned items this time. Either standards have slipped, or they didn’t like my last hotel report. But, the room is plenty large enough to swing a cat, has a desk and a view of the legendary Reids Hotel from the balcony. Hit the minibar to steady nerves after scary drive.
It’s 3 years since I was here last and I’d forgotten the all-pervasive gorgeous scent of flowers.
04/2006: Birmingham Airport: 'it's not all about being abroad when you do this job...'
National Express driver turns up and tells the 4 people waiting (me included) who all have valid tickets that he’s “not due to pick anyone up at this stop”. A minor scuffle ensues and he retreats to take further instructions from the control centre, shutting the door so we can’t storm the bus.
10 minutes later the driver reluctantly allows us on but moans about the lack of luggage space.
Sit next to a delightful student who is on her way to visit her Brummie boyfriend in Illinois. He’s 6’10 and is in the US playing college basketball. She proudly tells me he was number 6 on the list of best college players in ‘Sports Illustrated’ magazine. It’s nice to hear of at least one sporting success to come out of the city, particularly in the light of the recent deeply humiliating thrashing of Birmingham City by Liverpool, followed by their marginally less humiliating thrashing by Manchester United - and the upcoming expected thrashing by Chelsea…
Tap Airlines (the Portuguese national carrier) is an hour late taking off. No reason is given. The passenger’s average age is around 97.
Arrive at Funchal and just miss the airport bus so have to resort to expensive taxi driven by an elderly psychopath. As we hurtle down a narrow one-way street with no pavements, someone steps out of a restaurant and it’s a miracle that we don’t mow her down. The driver just hisses nastily and speeds up.
National Express driver turns up and tells the 4 people waiting (me included) who all have valid tickets that he’s “not due to pick anyone up at this stop”. A minor scuffle ensues and he retreats to take further instructions from the control centre, shutting the door so we can’t storm the bus.
10 minutes later the driver reluctantly allows us on but moans about the lack of luggage space.
Sit next to a delightful student who is on her way to visit her Brummie boyfriend in Illinois. He’s 6’10 and is in the US playing college basketball. She proudly tells me he was number 6 on the list of best college players in ‘Sports Illustrated’ magazine. It’s nice to hear of at least one sporting success to come out of the city, particularly in the light of the recent deeply humiliating thrashing of Birmingham City by Liverpool, followed by their marginally less humiliating thrashing by Manchester United - and the upcoming expected thrashing by Chelsea…
Tap Airlines (the Portuguese national carrier) is an hour late taking off. No reason is given. The passenger’s average age is around 97.
Arrive at Funchal and just miss the airport bus so have to resort to expensive taxi driven by an elderly psychopath. As we hurtle down a narrow one-way street with no pavements, someone steps out of a restaurant and it’s a miracle that we don’t mow her down. The driver just hisses nastily and speeds up.
03/2006 Hamburg : 'German public transport experience...'
Trekked out to a rather charming well-heeled area called Othmarschen today. Has a nice village-style atmosphere although a bit distant from the city if you want to hit the nightlife.
The trains and buses all run with predictable German efficiency and are exactly on time. I’ve noticed passengers all time their arrival about 2 minutes before the bus/train is due, such is their confidence in the punctuality - whereas at home I usually hang around the bus stop for ages in the hope of one turning up at all. And then there are often 3 together. Why can’t we Brits do public transport?
Trekked out to a rather charming well-heeled area called Othmarschen today. Has a nice village-style atmosphere although a bit distant from the city if you want to hit the nightlife.
The trains and buses all run with predictable German efficiency and are exactly on time. I’ve noticed passengers all time their arrival about 2 minutes before the bus/train is due, such is their confidence in the punctuality - whereas at home I usually hang around the bus stop for ages in the hope of one turning up at all. And then there are often 3 together. Why can’t we Brits do public transport?
03/2006: Hamburg : 'am I really loathing this city...'
It's bitterly cold. Venture onto the underground which, of course, is easy to use and annoyingly efficient. At 9am the main train station is reverberating to the sound of football chants from blue and white scarf-clad Hamburg fans swigging from beer bottles and staggering under the weight of crates containing further supplies.
Later find self in the middle of the central shopping area and have to avert eyes from siren-like window displays.
I think, I'm developing a deep loathing for Hamburg. Only because weather is freezing cold, drizzly and misty. And I set out at 8.30 and was on my feet until 6pm, so am exhausted. Encountered mostly uncooperative staff at the hotels I visited - it’s the weekend, people are checking in and out and the staff are usually fairly junior and overworked. Was also accosted by more than my fair share of crazies along the way too, although this is probably because I took 12 tube rides and was in some rather insalubrious areas. Had my first glimpse of the infamous Reeperbahn red light district, which was somewhat tacky and tame on a wet Sunday afternoon.
Ate fantastic prawn pasta in the railway station washed down with an acceptable glass of Pinot Grigio for the princely sum of 10 euros. Am feeling more disposed towards the city today!
It's bitterly cold. Venture onto the underground which, of course, is easy to use and annoyingly efficient. At 9am the main train station is reverberating to the sound of football chants from blue and white scarf-clad Hamburg fans swigging from beer bottles and staggering under the weight of crates containing further supplies.
Later find self in the middle of the central shopping area and have to avert eyes from siren-like window displays.
I think, I'm developing a deep loathing for Hamburg. Only because weather is freezing cold, drizzly and misty. And I set out at 8.30 and was on my feet until 6pm, so am exhausted. Encountered mostly uncooperative staff at the hotels I visited - it’s the weekend, people are checking in and out and the staff are usually fairly junior and overworked. Was also accosted by more than my fair share of crazies along the way too, although this is probably because I took 12 tube rides and was in some rather insalubrious areas. Had my first glimpse of the infamous Reeperbahn red light district, which was somewhat tacky and tame on a wet Sunday afternoon.
Ate fantastic prawn pasta in the railway station washed down with an acceptable glass of Pinot Grigio for the princely sum of 10 euros. Am feeling more disposed towards the city today!
03/2006: Hamburg: 'I'm confused, is this the first sign of global freezing?'
Had a Gazetteer first today. Was flashed at by an old man wearing a raincoat in a seedy side street. Unfortunately, didn’t have my camera at the ready.
It’s bloody freezing and snows all day. Make another mental note to tell the Hamburg guide to delete the ‘mild winter’ bit.
The friendly manager at the Kempinski Atlantic tells me that the weather is unusually bad and he has never seen snow in March in the 10 years he’s been in Hamburg. The 'Bad Weather Fairy' strikes again. Make a mental note to delete the last mental note to the Hamburg guide.
The Germans are as inventive as the Swiss when it comes to sandwiches. You can have anything as long as it is cheese, ham or salami, or any combination of the above. Nice bread though. Brits are spoilt by the huge variety of fillings available in the UK – even if some of the combinations are, quite frankly, ludicrous. And did I mention what’s for breakfast? Various varieties of cheese, ham and bread…..
Had a Gazetteer first today. Was flashed at by an old man wearing a raincoat in a seedy side street. Unfortunately, didn’t have my camera at the ready.
It’s bloody freezing and snows all day. Make another mental note to tell the Hamburg guide to delete the ‘mild winter’ bit.
The friendly manager at the Kempinski Atlantic tells me that the weather is unusually bad and he has never seen snow in March in the 10 years he’s been in Hamburg. The 'Bad Weather Fairy' strikes again. Make a mental note to delete the last mental note to the Hamburg guide.
The Germans are as inventive as the Swiss when it comes to sandwiches. You can have anything as long as it is cheese, ham or salami, or any combination of the above. Nice bread though. Brits are spoilt by the huge variety of fillings available in the UK – even if some of the combinations are, quite frankly, ludicrous. And did I mention what’s for breakfast? Various varieties of cheese, ham and bread…..
03/2006: Hamburg: ‘watch out for unusual shops in an alternative area…but railway meal is a bargain’
Up at 4.30am for early BA flight to Hamburg.
The tourist information officer at Hamburg’s sleek modern airport tells me that the airport bus will arrive in 14 minutes and it is an 8 minute walk to my hotel from the bus stop. What a precise race the Germans are.
The Hamburg Guide advises the area where my hotel is an “alternative, in centre with lots of unusual shops...”. In my experience, tourist marketing speak for ‘down and out area with sex clubs, gay bars and rubber bondage shops’. The guide also advises “the city enjoys mild winters“, er, it’s -4 degrees and the streets are covered with a thick layer of snow…
Is actually a 6 minute walk to the hotel, make a mental note to tell tourist information they’re two minutes out (although I am a fast walker). Hotel is in a seedy area behind the main train station on a street with sex clubs, girlie bars and rubber bondage shops. ….
Walk up to the main road and check out the local restaurants. Most of the menus feature the word ‘fried’ an alarming number of times.
Discover a great food court in the railway station with Asian, Italian, Mexican and fish stalls and several bar counters. Have a Greek salad, pasta and a glass of red wine for the bargain price of 6.99 euros.
Up at 4.30am for early BA flight to Hamburg.
The tourist information officer at Hamburg’s sleek modern airport tells me that the airport bus will arrive in 14 minutes and it is an 8 minute walk to my hotel from the bus stop. What a precise race the Germans are.
The Hamburg Guide advises the area where my hotel is an “alternative, in centre with lots of unusual shops...”. In my experience, tourist marketing speak for ‘down and out area with sex clubs, gay bars and rubber bondage shops’. The guide also advises “the city enjoys mild winters“, er, it’s -4 degrees and the streets are covered with a thick layer of snow…
Is actually a 6 minute walk to the hotel, make a mental note to tell tourist information they’re two minutes out (although I am a fast walker). Hotel is in a seedy area behind the main train station on a street with sex clubs, girlie bars and rubber bondage shops. ….
Walk up to the main road and check out the local restaurants. Most of the menus feature the word ‘fried’ an alarming number of times.
Discover a great food court in the railway station with Asian, Italian, Mexican and fish stalls and several bar counters. Have a Greek salad, pasta and a glass of red wine for the bargain price of 6.99 euros.
04/2006: Three Valleys: 'end of season ski lifts closures...'
During the final week of the 2005/2006 ski season the ski area administration closed down various ski lifts in the 3 Valleys area despite superb late season snow conditions. The reason given by ski area was there were not enough people in the resorts to warrant all the ski lifts to remain open. This seems rather unfair to those people paying the same full price for their lift passes only to receive a limited service in return without any fore warning.
My advice would be to check with the resort administration (before travelling) which and how many ski lifts will close, and whether a discounted pass would be on offer….which seems only fair in this case!
During the final week of the 2005/2006 ski season the ski area administration closed down various ski lifts in the 3 Valleys area despite superb late season snow conditions. The reason given by ski area was there were not enough people in the resorts to warrant all the ski lifts to remain open. This seems rather unfair to those people paying the same full price for their lift passes only to receive a limited service in return without any fore warning.My advice would be to check with the resort administration (before travelling) which and how many ski lifts will close, and whether a discounted pass would be on offer….which seems only fair in this case!
03/2006: Montreaux: 'mineral water is great for skin, but do I have a choice?'
Have spent 2 days in Montreaux which is a pleasant, sedate little lakeside town with stunning scenery. And no ski-slopes! You’ve got to love a town that has statues of BB King, Ray Charles and Freddie Mercury.
Up at 5am for the drive to Geneva airport. There’s no water in the bathroom and no-one replying when I phone reception. Have to wash using a bottle of mineral water. Am not happy to see it’s snowing heavily again, it’s dark when I leave the hotel and visibility remains very poor throughout the drive. Expect the flight to be delayed but surprisingly it’s on time.
Have spent 2 days in Montreaux which is a pleasant, sedate little lakeside town with stunning scenery. And no ski-slopes! You’ve got to love a town that has statues of BB King, Ray Charles and Freddie Mercury.
Up at 5am for the drive to Geneva airport. There’s no water in the bathroom and no-one replying when I phone reception. Have to wash using a bottle of mineral water. Am not happy to see it’s snowing heavily again, it’s dark when I leave the hotel and visibility remains very poor throughout the drive. Expect the flight to be delayed but surprisingly it’s on time.
03/2006 Crans-Montana: 'if you wish for lots of snow, check where I'm going next winter...'
Snowing so heavily at 7am I can’t see anything out of the hotel window. Continues to snow heavily all day – I’ve never seen so much damn snow. After spending 7 hours outdoors, I’m ready to flag down a passing ambulance but have to make do with the resort bus.
My last day in Crans-Montana and it's good to know I haven’t lost my touch as the original 'Bad Weather Fairy'. The charming elderly French lady, owner of my hotel, said the weather has been so appalling that a lot of the Valais roads have been closed including the ones out of Saas Fee and Zermatt – seems I got out just in time. She uttered the words I hear with alarming frequency: “it’s never normally this bad…” There was no skiing in Crans Montana yesterday as all the lifts were closed because of the avalanche danger.
Snowing so heavily at 7am I can’t see anything out of the hotel window. Continues to snow heavily all day – I’ve never seen so much damn snow. After spending 7 hours outdoors, I’m ready to flag down a passing ambulance but have to make do with the resort bus.
My last day in Crans-Montana and it's good to know I haven’t lost my touch as the original 'Bad Weather Fairy'. The charming elderly French lady, owner of my hotel, said the weather has been so appalling that a lot of the Valais roads have been closed including the ones out of Saas Fee and Zermatt – seems I got out just in time. She uttered the words I hear with alarming frequency: “it’s never normally this bad…” There was no skiing in Crans Montana yesterday as all the lifts were closed because of the avalanche danger.
03/2006 Crans-Montana: 'non-skier perspective…'
Crans and Montana are actually two villages strung along a plateau which allegedly has fantastic views over the Rhone valley. All I can see is a curtain of snow. A narrow main road links the two resorts and is lined with shops selling expensive designer gear, the nearer you get to Crans, the more expensive the shop. The planners don’t appear to be as strict as they are in Saas Fee and Zermatt and there are a few architectural monstrosities blotting the landscape, but the place has a buzzing lively feel. French seems to be the first language of the locals here, as opposed to German in the other two resorts I’ve visited.
Sky News is full of Gary Glitter’s conviction and impending incarceration. Have vivid memories of skiving a day off school in the 1970s to lurk outside BRMB radio in Birmingham, in the freezing cold, waiting for him to turn up for an interview (which he didn’t). I found an old tape of his recently and listened to it rather furtively in my car - felt very guilty and had to turn it down at the traffic lights in case anyone heard me singing along to ‘Leader of the Gang’. Have no doubt of his guilt though, an ex-boyfriend drummed for him on one of his 1980s comeback tours – the stories he told me about Mr Glitter and his alleged proclivities are quite hair-raising.
Crans and Montana are actually two villages strung along a plateau which allegedly has fantastic views over the Rhone valley. All I can see is a curtain of snow. A narrow main road links the two resorts and is lined with shops selling expensive designer gear, the nearer you get to Crans, the more expensive the shop. The planners don’t appear to be as strict as they are in Saas Fee and Zermatt and there are a few architectural monstrosities blotting the landscape, but the place has a buzzing lively feel. French seems to be the first language of the locals here, as opposed to German in the other two resorts I’ve visited.
Sky News is full of Gary Glitter’s conviction and impending incarceration. Have vivid memories of skiving a day off school in the 1970s to lurk outside BRMB radio in Birmingham, in the freezing cold, waiting for him to turn up for an interview (which he didn’t). I found an old tape of his recently and listened to it rather furtively in my car - felt very guilty and had to turn it down at the traffic lights in case anyone heard me singing along to ‘Leader of the Gang’. Have no doubt of his guilt though, an ex-boyfriend drummed for him on one of his 1980s comeback tours – the stories he told me about Mr Glitter and his alleged proclivities are quite hair-raising.
03/2006: Saas Fee: 'driving in the snowstorm…is checking time always 3pm?'
One of my worst nightmares this morning as I left Saas Fee. Not only did I have to negotiate driving down a steep narrow winding road with hairpin bends, I had to do it in a snowstorm with almost zero visibility. I was second in a small convoy of cars that slowly and tortuously inched their way down the mountain at about 10 miles per hour - we met the snow plough on its way up just as we reached the bottom. And even though the polite Hertz technical department man assured me - using tones people normally reserve for talking to very small children or the mentally ill - that ALL Swiss rental cars are equipped with winter tyres, I still felt the car slipping about on the snowbound road.
The snowstorm is worse in the valley so I stop off at the Sierre tourist information to check on the state of the horribly intestinal-looking road to Crans Montana. A comely young man tells me that with conditions as they are (it’s been snowing heavily for 3 days) and as it’s the weekend and the traffic will be dreadful in the village, my best bet is to take the funicular to Montana, which takes approximately 12 minutes (instead of an hour’s drive) and leave my car in the car park underneath. I could kiss him – although this has more to do with the fact that he is young and good looking than the quality of his information.
15 minutes later I’m on the funicular - which actually takes 19 minutes but I generously put this down to the weather – Swiss public transport always normally run like clockwork, maybe the drivers get an electric shock from an in-cab cattle prod if they arrive late. I maliciously think of all the Birmingham bus drivers I’d like to give an electric shock to.
Déjà vu again, my room won’t be ready until 3pm.. Dump my luggage and head out into the snow. It snows wetly and relentlessly all day. The tourist info hunk was right about the traffic, it is bumper to bumper and interspersed with snow ploughs and police cars.
One of my worst nightmares this morning as I left Saas Fee. Not only did I have to negotiate driving down a steep narrow winding road with hairpin bends, I had to do it in a snowstorm with almost zero visibility. I was second in a small convoy of cars that slowly and tortuously inched their way down the mountain at about 10 miles per hour - we met the snow plough on its way up just as we reached the bottom. And even though the polite Hertz technical department man assured me - using tones people normally reserve for talking to very small children or the mentally ill - that ALL Swiss rental cars are equipped with winter tyres, I still felt the car slipping about on the snowbound road.
The snowstorm is worse in the valley so I stop off at the Sierre tourist information to check on the state of the horribly intestinal-looking road to Crans Montana. A comely young man tells me that with conditions as they are (it’s been snowing heavily for 3 days) and as it’s the weekend and the traffic will be dreadful in the village, my best bet is to take the funicular to Montana, which takes approximately 12 minutes (instead of an hour’s drive) and leave my car in the car park underneath. I could kiss him – although this has more to do with the fact that he is young and good looking than the quality of his information.
15 minutes later I’m on the funicular - which actually takes 19 minutes but I generously put this down to the weather – Swiss public transport always normally run like clockwork, maybe the drivers get an electric shock from an in-cab cattle prod if they arrive late. I maliciously think of all the Birmingham bus drivers I’d like to give an electric shock to.
Déjà vu again, my room won’t be ready until 3pm.. Dump my luggage and head out into the snow. It snows wetly and relentlessly all day. The tourist info hunk was right about the traffic, it is bumper to bumper and interspersed with snow ploughs and police cars.
03/2006: Saas Fee: 'can’t shop at lunch time …'
Snowing heavily.
I’d heard that the locals in the Saas Fee valley have a rather brusque attitude - and have found it to be quite true today. People were a lot friendlier in Zermatt.
Am having a touch of déjà vu, many of the hotels here have the same names as the ones I saw in Zermatt. I’m not saying the Swiss are unimaginative but….
It’s really, really cold today; I’m wearing 2 layers of high tech thermals bought in New Zealand, a Tesco’s cashmere polo-neck jumper, a fleece and an expensive ski jacket and trousers borrowed from my sister and I’m still not warm
The shops all shut for 2 hours between 12pm and 2pm – including the supermarkets. If my local Sainsbury’s shut at lunchtime, there would almost certainly be an ugly riot. Saw a Body Shop which also sells cigarettes and booze, which seems like a contradictory combination.
The hotel is half board again and dinner here is a 6-course extravaganza which includes an as-much-as you-can-eat salad buffet and an extensive cheese board. The whole thing takes about 2 hours which is a bit boring when you’re sitting on your own. But, I gamely plough through it all and waddle, stuffed, back to my room.
Snowing heavily.
I’d heard that the locals in the Saas Fee valley have a rather brusque attitude - and have found it to be quite true today. People were a lot friendlier in Zermatt.
Am having a touch of déjà vu, many of the hotels here have the same names as the ones I saw in Zermatt. I’m not saying the Swiss are unimaginative but….
It’s really, really cold today; I’m wearing 2 layers of high tech thermals bought in New Zealand, a Tesco’s cashmere polo-neck jumper, a fleece and an expensive ski jacket and trousers borrowed from my sister and I’m still not warm
The shops all shut for 2 hours between 12pm and 2pm – including the supermarkets. If my local Sainsbury’s shut at lunchtime, there would almost certainly be an ugly riot. Saw a Body Shop which also sells cigarettes and booze, which seems like a contradictory combination.
The hotel is half board again and dinner here is a 6-course extravaganza which includes an as-much-as you-can-eat salad buffet and an extensive cheese board. The whole thing takes about 2 hours which is a bit boring when you’re sitting on your own. But, I gamely plough through it all and waddle, stuffed, back to my room.
03/2006: Saas Fee: ‘I prefer this resort to Zermatt..’
Bit of a party in the bar last night, unfortunately my latest room is directly above it and I was bouncing around in my bed to the raucous sound of German drinking songs until the early hours.
Am moving on to Saas Fee today, so take a taxi to the train station for the ride to the car park. Miraculously manage to locate my car in the multi-storey and even more miraculously (to someone who owns an elderly Suzuki jeep), it starts first time (the car has a new-fangled key card and start button which floored me completely when I picked it up).
Drive in a blizzard on a narrow winding road down the side of one mountain then up a narrow road with scary hairpin bends on another. Me and heights are not compatible - despite many attempts to conquer my fear (including a very expensive and utterly useless weekend session with Paul McKenna) - I still quake at the sight of a sheer drop. Try not to look but it’s a touch difficult to drive with your eyes closed.
Check into the hotel at 11am and am told my room won’t be ready until 3pm.
Head out to start looking at the hotels. Saas Fee is on a plateau at nearly 6,000 feet which is higher than Zermatt and it is much colder here. On first impressions, I prefer this resort to Zermatt, it’s a lot smaller and quieter and has a more intimate, authentic feel. I can’t see what the scenery is like as it’s obscured by the driving snow. The shops are still as expensive and upmarket though.
Trek back to the hotel through the snow, my room’s ready but the lift’s broken and I have to trudge up 5 flights of stairs. It’s a tiny single room in the attic with a sloping ceiling I have to stoop under. The bathroom is so small there isn’t room for a sink, so it’s in the bedroom. It’s not a cheap hotel so I’ve probably got the most expensive room per square foot in the resort. But, there’s a chocolate on the bed which is good enough for me – although I suspect I’ll be charged for it if I eat it. The bathroom boasts a pair of scales which I studiously avoid as I’m a bit partial to dark chocolate and have indulged shamelessly since arriving in Switzerland.
Having slept in 5 different rooms in the last 6 nights, 3 nights in the same room feels like luxury.
Bit of a party in the bar last night, unfortunately my latest room is directly above it and I was bouncing around in my bed to the raucous sound of German drinking songs until the early hours.
Am moving on to Saas Fee today, so take a taxi to the train station for the ride to the car park. Miraculously manage to locate my car in the multi-storey and even more miraculously (to someone who owns an elderly Suzuki jeep), it starts first time (the car has a new-fangled key card and start button which floored me completely when I picked it up).
Drive in a blizzard on a narrow winding road down the side of one mountain then up a narrow road with scary hairpin bends on another. Me and heights are not compatible - despite many attempts to conquer my fear (including a very expensive and utterly useless weekend session with Paul McKenna) - I still quake at the sight of a sheer drop. Try not to look but it’s a touch difficult to drive with your eyes closed.
Check into the hotel at 11am and am told my room won’t be ready until 3pm.
Head out to start looking at the hotels. Saas Fee is on a plateau at nearly 6,000 feet which is higher than Zermatt and it is much colder here. On first impressions, I prefer this resort to Zermatt, it’s a lot smaller and quieter and has a more intimate, authentic feel. I can’t see what the scenery is like as it’s obscured by the driving snow. The shops are still as expensive and upmarket though.
Trek back to the hotel through the snow, my room’s ready but the lift’s broken and I have to trudge up 5 flights of stairs. It’s a tiny single room in the attic with a sloping ceiling I have to stoop under. The bathroom is so small there isn’t room for a sink, so it’s in the bedroom. It’s not a cheap hotel so I’ve probably got the most expensive room per square foot in the resort. But, there’s a chocolate on the bed which is good enough for me – although I suspect I’ll be charged for it if I eat it. The bathroom boasts a pair of scales which I studiously avoid as I’m a bit partial to dark chocolate and have indulged shamelessly since arriving in Switzerland.
Having slept in 5 different rooms in the last 6 nights, 3 nights in the same room feels like luxury.
02/2006: Zermatt: 'I’m not a skier!'
I’m not a skier. I’ve never seen the point. You cart unwieldy equipment around in heavy boots, wait ages in a queue, hang off a piece of metal suspended hundreds of feet from a wire, get to the top of a mountain then come straight down it, possibly sustaining a serious injury in the process, then do it all over again. And it’s cold. There must be something to it, though, because there are about 3 million people here today, all having a go.
When I move back to my original hotel, the staff are all lovely and warmly welcome me back. Dinner tonight is fondue, the sort with bouillon and thin slivers of meat you dip in to cook. It’s served with chips and an assortment of pickles. Another lone Brit at the next table and me eye it nervously and the nice waitress has to school us in fondue etiquette. It is delicious and is followed by ice cream liberally doused in kirsch. I could get used to this way of eating but I’d have to buy a new wardrobe.
I’m not a skier. I’ve never seen the point. You cart unwieldy equipment around in heavy boots, wait ages in a queue, hang off a piece of metal suspended hundreds of feet from a wire, get to the top of a mountain then come straight down it, possibly sustaining a serious injury in the process, then do it all over again. And it’s cold. There must be something to it, though, because there are about 3 million people here today, all having a go.
When I move back to my original hotel, the staff are all lovely and warmly welcome me back. Dinner tonight is fondue, the sort with bouillon and thin slivers of meat you dip in to cook. It’s served with chips and an assortment of pickles. Another lone Brit at the next table and me eye it nervously and the nice waitress has to school us in fondue etiquette. It is delicious and is followed by ice cream liberally doused in kirsch. I could get used to this way of eating but I’d have to buy a new wardrobe.
02/2006 Zermatt: 'Three Star B&B experience '
Snows heavily all day.
Hurrah! Found a room for tonight; overheard a guest telling reception, in French, that he was checking out a day early, so I asked if I could have his room. They made me call back at 5pm as they wouldn’t let the room go until he’d paid his bill. Am outraged by the ludicrously inflated charge - £130 for one night’s bed and breakfast in a drab 3 star hotel which would be lucky to get £50 a night anywhere else. Unfortunately I’ve got no choice and my principles don’t extend to sleeping on a bench in the train station at -4 degrees. This being Switzerland I’d probably get arrested anyway – but at least I’d have a bed in jail for the night. That could be Plan B….
Pack my pyjamas and toothbrush in a bin liner, heft laptop bag over shoulder and head off to my overpriced overnighter which is right in the centre of town opposite the train station – nice and quiet. The room hasn’t been decorated since about 1971 and has curtains my Gran threw out in 1973: there is mould in the bathroom and a cold draught from the windows.
I’m seeing a few hotels off the main shopping street today. The shops are the kind that sells Prada ski jackets for £850. I don’t see anything priced under £100 in any of the windows.
Sleep in my fleece….
Snows heavily all day.
Hurrah! Found a room for tonight; overheard a guest telling reception, in French, that he was checking out a day early, so I asked if I could have his room. They made me call back at 5pm as they wouldn’t let the room go until he’d paid his bill. Am outraged by the ludicrously inflated charge - £130 for one night’s bed and breakfast in a drab 3 star hotel which would be lucky to get £50 a night anywhere else. Unfortunately I’ve got no choice and my principles don’t extend to sleeping on a bench in the train station at -4 degrees. This being Switzerland I’d probably get arrested anyway – but at least I’d have a bed in jail for the night. That could be Plan B….
Pack my pyjamas and toothbrush in a bin liner, heft laptop bag over shoulder and head off to my overpriced overnighter which is right in the centre of town opposite the train station – nice and quiet. The room hasn’t been decorated since about 1971 and has curtains my Gran threw out in 1973: there is mould in the bathroom and a cold draught from the windows.
I’m seeing a few hotels off the main shopping street today. The shops are the kind that sells Prada ski jackets for £850. I don’t see anything priced under £100 in any of the windows.
Sleep in my fleece….
02/2006: Zermatt: 'how many languages do the Swiss speak? Fabulous food!'
Grey and snowing. View of Matterhorn completely obscured.
My hotel has managed to find me a room for Sunday and Monday night after a cancellation, but it looks like a cardboard box for Saturday. No room at any of the inns. The tourist office laugh incredulously when I ask them if they know of anything available.
Have noticed that all the locals switch effortlessly between German, Italian, French and English. This makes me resentful, I was schooled in a country which has a ridiculously lax attitude to the teaching of foreign languages. However, whichever language I say hello in, the reply is always in a different one. Hmm. I smell smug Swiss. Bus driver tells me they speak “valley German” which is different to normal German and for this reason it is best to speak to a local in English. I don’t tell him I have no choice. He also tells me they can all speak French but prefer not to. I can understand that. This whole Swiss language thing is very bizarre, in Visp, the next nearest town, they speak Italian, whereas in Saas Fee, 30 miles away, it’s all French.
I’m on half board which is usually nothing to write home about – limp salads, dodgy meat dishes of dubious provenance and overcooked slimy pasta. Here the food is gourmet-style 4-course dinners – tonight was a selection of hors d’oevres, followed by chicken consommé with curry dumplings, fillet of beef stuffed with shitake mushrooms, and apple strudel - all beautifully presented and served. Am very impressed, not to mention fat.
Grey and snowing. View of Matterhorn completely obscured.
My hotel has managed to find me a room for Sunday and Monday night after a cancellation, but it looks like a cardboard box for Saturday. No room at any of the inns. The tourist office laugh incredulously when I ask them if they know of anything available.
Have noticed that all the locals switch effortlessly between German, Italian, French and English. This makes me resentful, I was schooled in a country which has a ridiculously lax attitude to the teaching of foreign languages. However, whichever language I say hello in, the reply is always in a different one. Hmm. I smell smug Swiss. Bus driver tells me they speak “valley German” which is different to normal German and for this reason it is best to speak to a local in English. I don’t tell him I have no choice. He also tells me they can all speak French but prefer not to. I can understand that. This whole Swiss language thing is very bizarre, in Visp, the next nearest town, they speak Italian, whereas in Saas Fee, 30 miles away, it’s all French.
I’m on half board which is usually nothing to write home about – limp salads, dodgy meat dishes of dubious provenance and overcooked slimy pasta. Here the food is gourmet-style 4-course dinners – tonight was a selection of hors d’oevres, followed by chicken consommé with curry dumplings, fillet of beef stuffed with shitake mushrooms, and apple strudel - all beautifully presented and served. Am very impressed, not to mention fat.
02/2006: Zermatt: 'bursting and expensive...'
A lovely bright, sunny crisp day. I find all the hotels on my list for today relatively easily. Zermatt is crammed to bursting and it’s going to get worse over the weekend. I thought it would be more picturesque but so far my impression is of a rather characterless resort filled with modern 1970’s 4-5 storey Alpine-style chalets. A small river runs through the centre but is shored up by concrete which makes it look rather man-made and canal like. The mountain range is quite spectacular though, as is the distinctive outline of the Matterhorn.
The resort is very expensive and most of the visitors appear to be well-heeled Swiss, Germans and Americans.
A lovely bright, sunny crisp day. I find all the hotels on my list for today relatively easily. Zermatt is crammed to bursting and it’s going to get worse over the weekend. I thought it would be more picturesque but so far my impression is of a rather characterless resort filled with modern 1970’s 4-5 storey Alpine-style chalets. A small river runs through the centre but is shored up by concrete which makes it look rather man-made and canal like. The mountain range is quite spectacular though, as is the distinctive outline of the Matterhorn.
The resort is very expensive and most of the visitors appear to be well-heeled Swiss, Germans and Americans.
02/2006: Zermatt: 'late hotel bookings? Forget it!'
Am exhausted after a 5am start. It’s been like the wacky races to get here. Taxi to the airport, plane to Geneva, 3 hour drive to Tasch, train ride to car-free Zermatt and milk float taxi to the hotel. On the plus side my room has a great view of the Matterhorn – mainly because it’s so far out of the centre of the resort, it’s practically at the top of it. The décor is a bit retro with a 1970’s lime green tiled bathroom and a lurid red tile kitchenette – I’m not sure why it’s got this as the hotel is half board only.
I’ve only got 3 nights here and have to find another hotel to stay a further 3 nights in. I fight my way onto a pitifully small ski bus and head down to the tourist information office. They give me the bad news, all accommodation in Zermatt and Tasch is fully booked until 26th March.
Am exhausted after a 5am start. It’s been like the wacky races to get here. Taxi to the airport, plane to Geneva, 3 hour drive to Tasch, train ride to car-free Zermatt and milk float taxi to the hotel. On the plus side my room has a great view of the Matterhorn – mainly because it’s so far out of the centre of the resort, it’s practically at the top of it. The décor is a bit retro with a 1970’s lime green tiled bathroom and a lurid red tile kitchenette – I’m not sure why it’s got this as the hotel is half board only.
I’ve only got 3 nights here and have to find another hotel to stay a further 3 nights in. I fight my way onto a pitifully small ski bus and head down to the tourist information office. They give me the bad news, all accommodation in Zermatt and Tasch is fully booked until 26th March.
