Day 78: Day trip to Cacilhas

The plan was to cycle to Sintra but the lazy bugs in us took over and we slept in and had a very late brekkie of omelet and Greek yogurt. We spent a few hours on the backlog of administration work and decided it was time to get out the hostel for some fresh air to clear our muggy heads.

The Lisboa map provided by our trusty hostel owner proved to good use. Amongst the top 10 things to do in Lisboa was to take a ferry across the river and explore the "other side". It was highly recommended to take a late lunch and enjoy the sunset. Bonus! we were sure that lunch after 4 qualifies as a "late lunch" so we jumped into half decent clothes and headed our for late day adventure.

After a rather pleasant ferry ride, we arrive at Cacilhas. It was a mild day with just enough sunshine to keep our spirits up but cool enough for a hoodie. We decided to stroll along the coast towards the statue. The town seems rather subdued and laid back, unlike the chaos across the river. There was plenty of graffiti on the walls but the streets were pee free and the locals were friendly. There were plenty of fishermen, amateurs and professionals, casting their bait for the evening and a fair few locals taking a walk either with their other halves or the furry best friends. It was a pleasant surprise to find such a peaceful getaway 30 minutes ferry ride away from the busy coast of Lisbon. We strolled along the coast admiring the view and chatting about our adventure so far and the plan ahead for the next few months before stumbling across a

quaint restaurant, nestled between a narrow staircase and a small sandy beach. Perfect place for that late lunch we thought to ourselves! A relaxing and satisfying lunch of freshly grilled fish, vinho verde and perfectly roasted espressos later, we continued our excursion towards Christo

Rei. There were no clear signs so we wandered around lazily through the maze of streets. It was a residential area so it gave a chance to see the "real" side of Lisboa. Though the hills were not as drastic as Lisboa, the walk certainly worked our quads. The sun was setting and we were eager to get a close up on Christo Rei. It would seem that the walk continuing along the coast was heading nowhere so we u-turned back to the elevator which would take us up to Almada Velha.

There wasn't anyone manning the lift but we pressed the "up" button in any case. 5 minutes later, an old guard emerged and collected a euro each. A short ride later, we had a panoramic view of Lisboa beneath our feet. The river shimmered and reflected the orange sun rays. What a romantic view.

A few snapshots later, we continued our walk in search of Christo Rei. As usual, my navigator led me through the narrow alleys and backstreets of a town, walking past parks, corner stores and neighbourhood schools. It was home time for the school kids so the narrow pedestrian kerbs were rather choked with cars of all shapes filled with anxious parents and grandparents. The roads were meandering around the massive Chisto Rei so we always had the statue in sight, the trick was to find the entrance! Just when we thought we were only to get a shot of the

monument's back, we saw the entrance and swiftly made our move (we were cutting it fine as the park closes at 6.30)

The statue was really quite impressive and we figured since we are missing out on the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janerio, Christo Rei would be just as good. Christo-Rei or rather Christ the King, is a Catholic monument of Jesus Chris overlooking the city of Lisbon and was inspired by Christ the Redeemer. The base of the monument stands at 75m tall and at the top is a statue of Christ the redeemer (28m tall). At the base of the statue is an observation deck that provides panoramic views. We didn't go up to the deck and were happy to admire the statue from below. An interesting fact was that the construction of Christo-Rei was approved on a Portuguese Episcopate conference as a plea to God to release Portugal from entering WW2. The original idea had however originated on a visit by the Cardinal Patriarch of Lisbon to Rio in 1934 soon after the inauguration of the statue of Christ the Redeemer. From the viewpoint, we had the best possible view of Lisbon. On our right was the beautiful red bridge Ponte 25 De joining the municipality of Alhama and Lisbon. It was quite a stark contrast between the 2 coasts.

Tejo river runs between them, Lisbon layered with old and new buildings, a sea of orange and white. Almada was green and the massive statue overseeing the island.

We lingered around a little and decided it was time to head back to the other side of the river. Retracing our steps, we talked about how much we have fallen in love with Lisbon. Sure it has its downside, the litter and the stench (especially after the rain) but it definitely has its charms.

Back to civilisation, we went in search of "the" Lisbon store that apparently sells unique T-shirts. The streets were surprisingly busy for a Monday night and we wondered if they people of Lisboa ever stopped partying?? Not long after, with the aid of Robin's navigational skills, we were in the store of t-shirts. After months of travelling with Robin, I had the art of appreciation without actually purchasing the product. So with much regret, I bid farewell to some of the softest cotton t-shirts I had ever touched.

Since neither one of us were particularly hungry, we decided to have a simple snack before hitting a cosy Jazz bar in Barrio Alto. It is so easy to fall in love with this city and its unpretentious crowd and great hideouts. Everywhere you look was another bar playing great chill-out music, we were always tempted to have another drink just to check out the quirky decor. Fortunately we were both sensible and slipped back to the hostel after we sipped the last mouthful of Portuguese red wine and said our obrigados to the friendly waitress.

Day 77: Punishment is not necessarily bitter but bittersweet

It was really a day to curl under the duvets and listen to Mogwai. So we did stay in bed (pity we didn't get to listen to Mogwai). We slept in on this dull and rainy day. Got up to a really late brunch and decided that it was a day to catch up on our blogging.

We were really starting to get into blogging. It was bittersweet to look back at our adventures and mishaps. Even moments like Brazil.

After some intense blogging, we rewarded ourselves with some hearty homemade stew. Wasn't the most eventful but it was a day of rest.

Day 76: One man's trash is another's treasure

It was Saturday and the perfect weather to visit the infamous Thieves Market (Fiera de Ladra) in the old Muslim quarter. We weren't expecting to buy any second hand shoes but were intrigued by its name. So we took a long hike out to Alfama. I almost felt guilty participating in the market as some stalls (I used that term loosely - a sheet with assorted used sunnies and bracelets was the usual set up) but the guilt was shamelessly washed away as soon as we saw the variety of goodies on display. From useless trinkets like a barbie doll to spare parts from an old watch to treasures like old china, second hand books and old stop watches. The market felt endless and every corner you turned was another old lady selling second hand handbags or ear-rings. After dragging Robin through the maze of stores for more than an hour, we finally realised that we had pretty much surveyed enough of this fun and funky extravaganza. Robin decided the hot weather called for a cold pint of Super Bock.

While enjoying the ice cold beer, we went through some of the photos for the past few days. We are really starting to enjoy Lisbon! After the cool treat, we strolled towards a funky record store and that's when Robin perked up! It was a treasure of good music, from Miles Davies to Animal Collective. Old and new music - most importantly GOOD music. It was refreshing to go into a record store without posters of Lady Gaga and Britney Spears. we flicked through some old vinyl records and posters, wishing we could take a piece of this heaven with us. Waving a little goodbye, we left the store.

While hiking back to the hostel (these Lisbon hills make it a real hike), we decided that we wanted more of the home cooked food that we had last night. So we went back and feasted on some simple stir-fry and old episodes of Seinfield. Simple pleasures in life.

Day 75: Cycling along the beach

We were itching to get on the bicycle again after a day of inactivity so we headed back to the bike store to rent the bicycles for the day. An excursion out to the beaches would be nice. The friendly staff members gave us some simple instructions and a ferry ride later, we were cycling towards Cais do Capirina. The air was fresh and sun was warm, we felt like 5 year old kids again.

The cycle was quite easy with well paved bicycle tracks and it was all straightforward enough. So we pedaled hard, eager to get some beach time. The afternoon went by quickly with us lying in the sun for a while and strolling along the beach. It was really windy and the water was not the most inviting. Doesn't matter though, we had a good therapeutic session of blue skies/seas and fresh air.

After returning to Lisbon, we pedaled hard, occasionally racing one another to the next lamp post or white van. On our way, we passed by an Irish pub and decided we both missed Magners cider so much that we had to have a pint. Ahh. The cool sweet taste of cider woke us up and we reminisced about some good times we had so far in Europe.

Day 72, 73, 74: Out and About in Lisbon

On our second day in the city we hired bikes and cycled out to Belem. This is a suburb, West of Lisbon, closer to the sea. The attractions here center on the heritage of Lisbon´s sea-faring days. A cycle path runs from the center of Lisbon right out to the historic monuments and we spent an enjoyable few hours cycling around the vicinity and taking photos. The weather was perfect. While I relish the challenges of cycling over rocks and roots and down steep off'-road, Jess is in her element when riding on footpaths shared with inattentive pedestrians. I´m not sure if these moving obstacle courses invigorate or infuriate her more but we both

had broad smiles on our faces when we returned the bikes at the end of a fun day.

On Day 3 we decided to use our feet to climb the many hills of Lisbon. The castle was our main destination. Starting at the lowest point of Lisbon we wound our way through narrow streets occasionally finding a sign that confirmed that we were headed in the right direction, and occasionally meeting other tourists who were lost and confirming that we were going the wrong direction. Eventually we found the place which was generally in the "up" direction. The castle is mostly just walls now but you can climb up and run around pretending that you are attacking (or defending) and that the other unwitting visitors are being impaled by your imagined arrows and boiling oil poured from the ramparts above. Great fun. There´s also nice views of the city from up here and a herd of stray cats being fed by a local custodian.
After a lunch nearby, we headed down by what seemed to be the main approach to the castle which would have been much easier to navigate had we known. The area known as Alfama is the oldest part of the city dating from when it was a Moorish settlement. Here the streets are even windier and narrower.

On day 4, we caught up on some admin work and moved hostel. The new hostel was just opened a few weeks and everything is new so we have enjoyed using their kitchen. As an added bonus we are the only guests which makes this the best value home stay ever. Having heard that movies were sub-titled instead of dubbed, we decided to go to the cinema. The tourist office suggested a shopping mall quite a way out on the metro and claimed it was the biggest mall in Europe. Since we wanted to do some shopping also we made this our destination. Our hostel host suggested somewhere different and closer to see movies and thankfully we asked because honestly the mall was the biggest disappointment in Europe. Maybe Europe doesn´t build big malls because this one was not that big at all. After ten minutes of walking around we decided to head back to the city and watched Wall Street. It was a poor movie with no compelling plot or believable characters but at least we got our cinema experience.

We walked back through the part of the city we had not yet covered on foot, stopping at a terrace bar overlooking the city for a couple of glasses of wine and some nice music. We had a nice home cooked meal to look forward to.

Day 71: Lisbon

Perhaps it was because we finally felt we were back on the road or because being glum in Madrid had lowered our expectations but when we reached Lisbon we instantly loved it. There is something different about this city compared to other European cities we have visited. Everywhere you look, you see young people, all with their own unique style. Everyone looks like they dress from vintage clothes shops. Every bar has its own niche and worships a different musical genre, be it jazz, blues, fado (traditional Portuguese), or something modern, electronic, atmospheric and chilled.

The streets are all narrow and it is easy to become disoriented. You can walk through side streets wondering why it is so quiet only to find that the party is happening one block down. The buildings are old and fallen into disrepair. Only when you come across a refurbished neighbourhood do you see the scope of untapped potential that Lisbon has in abundance.

The hostel is a perfect example. The street is ramshackle, close to the city center but with so many abandoned business premises, windows grey and dusty if not boarded up. The footpath is littered with waste from humans and dogs, building rubble and leaking water pipes. But then comes a refurbished building such as the one we are staying in tonight. The outside of the building is covered in patterned tiles, typical of Lisbon buildings but here there are no cracked or missing ones and the windows are housed behind wrought iron balconies. The hostel seems embarassed to advertise its location as there is no sign to indicate its existence on the 4th floor of this apartment block. Once inside, the owners has lavishly decorated the place to make it seem more like a home than a backpackers residence.

The people all speak English with ease and fluidity not experienced since our days in Eastern Europe. Perhaps this is because cinema and TV is sub-titled, not dubbed. "What´s it gonna be?" our waitress asks, in the restaurant that night. And the Portuguese language sounds nothing like Spanish despite some similarity in how it looks on paper. They also seem to have assimilated more culture from the overseas colonies they once held. It is very different to Spain.

It has its downsides too. First there is the afore-mentioned dirt and delapidation. After the rain, every side street smells of urine. There are quite a few homeless drunks loitering in the streets and squares and there seems to be a thriving business in dumpster diving. This is something we´ve seen all across Europe but here there is a lot of rubbish to live off. There doesn´t seem to be the same civic pride for the place you live. A lady threw an apple straight out her front door and into the street as we walked by. The Lisbon Tidy Towns comittee would have an uphill battle winning the residents´ hearts and minds.

Day 66-70: Stuck in Madrid

We awoke in our comfy bed. It wasn't a dream. We were back in Madrid. At least this time we had a very nice hostal, not hostel. Just as central and only marginally more expensive but the decor was plush. More like a hotel. To say we were down at heart is an understatement. A quick look at our options showed us that travelling back to Brazil or on to Argentina was prohibitively expensive. Besides, we had resolved while on the floor in Sao Paulo to cut short the itinerary. Instead of 3 months in South America we could do one month in the Caribbean. We had previously read that Costa Rica was a great adventure holiday destination and it had much of what South America offers but in a smaller area.

We adjourned to the book shop to do some research. First realisation was that Costa Rica is not in the Carribean in the traditional sense and it is not an island as he had imagined. Central America it is then. After a couple of days of research we had our plan - cancel all our South America flights, buy tickets to Costa Rica and then re-jig our RTW itinerary to restart from Costa Rica and on to Hawaii. Costa Rica, Hawaii, beaches of Thailand, cycling in Vietnam and Cambodia and finishing with a much anticipated snowboarding holiday in Japan - is our lot in life really that bad?

After some complicated conversations with the British Airways ticketing office we had our new itinerary planned. We awaited confirmation of the costs of these changes before booking anything else, including our tickets to Costa Rica. In retrospect this was a mistake. A month later we still had not got our confirmation from BA and when we did book our Costa Rica flights a few days later we had missed out on the cheap seats and paid a lot more for them then we could have.

Madrid visit two was much like visit one in terms of sight-seeing. When we weren't furiously researching our new Costa Rica adventure we were seeking out all the recommended eating and drinking spots on our tourist map. Eventually after 4 days in limbo, we decided to move on to Lisbon for a change of scene.

Day 64-65: Deportation from Brazil

We left Madrid with anticipation and trepidation. It was definitely time to leave as we were both starting to recognise the hookers outside our hostel. We were looking forward to start the next chapter of our travels in a new continent but after a few days of intensive research on Brazil, we felt a little wary of the general safety in Sao Paul - especially after our Barcelona incident.

The train ride to Madrid airport from the city centre was straightforward and a real bargain. Only 2 euros! We arrived in Madrid International Airport 3 hours before departure and everything happened pretty smoothly, from check in to departure. A great start we thought to ourselves.

On the airplane, we were both getting up to date on safety tips and what to do in each situation. We were all clued up and prepared on how to react if someone pretended to be a policeman, robbed us, held at gun point etc Apparently if you were held at gunpoint in a restaurant, the best way is not to move, put your hands up and only wiggle your body to retrieve your wallet from your pockets. The idea that we could possibly be held up at gunpoint was more of a worry for us.

What Rough Guide failed to give us any preparation was to get rejected at the customs. Turns out relying on some random website for visa advice was a bad idea. Singaporeans needed to apply for a visa before entering Brazil. It was one of those moments that I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as my face blew hot and cold. Is that possible that we have got this so wrong?!?! The customs officer showed us a pdf file detailing visa requirements by nationality and and asked Robin if he would like to stay in Brazil since he is an EU citizen and did not require one. Leave?! Is he mad? Thank goodness that I had a man that stood by me. The

next few hours were a nightmare. After the customs officer decided that he had enough of dealing with us, an Iberian Airway representative showed up and promptly told us that she was going to have to send me back to Madrid on the next available flight and if Robin wanted to be with me, he is going to have to buy an air ticket at his own expense. We felt dejected but realised this was the only way to reconnect back with our RTW itinerary.

Just when we were starting to feel that we got a grip on ourselves, the Iberian representative - let's call her Infuriating - sprung out of nowhere that there was a flight leaving that night and I will have to get on it. Since there was absolutely no time for Robin to purchase the flight, we will have to be separated. She quickly ushered us through security, speed walking through gates and security checks at record time, while we were pleaded with her to let us take the same flight to Madrid. Putting aside the emotional stress of separation, after months of travelling together, we had items of all sorts packed as one unit. How are we going to function if we are in different countries? We will not even have a way to communicate with one another. Where were we

going to meet if she was really going to shove me on onto a flight??? We were standing close to the departure gate when she replied curtly - making an effort to completely ignore me and address Robin - "She needs to leave Brazil tonight, Sir. Now" Robin continued to plead with her and I am not sure what clicked in her but after a few exchanges with some person over the walkie talkie, she advised us that we can take a later flight together tomorrow afternoon and in the meantime we will have to stay in a common area watched by a security guard.

I had no idea where that common area was and where exactly we were taken to but I knew that it would not be pleasant. After strolling through a maze of corridors and escalators, we arrive in a dilapidated room missing a glass door with some very sad and lost looking people, somewhere between Gates 12 and 13. The room was dimly lit with a few broken plastic chairs. There were 3 Pakistanis with no foot wear wandering around in the room. Outside the room, there were a few more plastic chairs with an old wooden table against the wall. There were 2 security guards sitting behind the table and both looked bored. One of the guards kind of minded her own business and was busying herself with a diary of some sort and the other was a perfect reason to believe God did not create man in his own image.

This second guard had his guts pushing so hard against the buttons of his shirt, it looked like a volcano on the brink of massive eruption. Greasy and shiny hair mounted his pudgy face while he snorted every time he attempted to speak. Let's call him The Slob. After the Slob had a few exchanges with Infuriating, she promptly informed us that Robin might get sent out of the airport and I will have to spend the next 18 hours alone in that hell hole. Why the hell didn't she tell us that knowing full well that we didn't want to be separated? Robin tried to assure me and asked Infuriating if there was a bed and she smugly said to us (or rather him) "No, that's it." She informed us that she was going to liaise with the customs officer and would let us know if Robin could spend the night in hell with me.

It wasn't a good feeling that my nationality caused so much trouble for us, especially Robin who could be enjoying a well shaken mojito by now if not for me. The guilt swelled as Robin, in his usual calm and assuring manner, handed me the laptop and novels he had, instructing me to keep my hoody on at all time. I could tell he was nervous about the company. Robin gave me a bear hug and we waited by the wooden table for Infuriating's news. Not long after, we received a phone call that Robin could stay for the night and someone from Iberia would come over before lunch to take him to the corporate desk for ticket payment.

We stood quiet for what seemed like a decade, just silently holding each other's hands. While pondering our next steps, we noticed the Slob fingering my passport and examining each page. They were clearly going through my passport and gossiping about us since we could hear "Singapore" peppered throughout their conversations. The Slob then proceeded to pocket my passport in his jacket (the correct procedure was to have it in the folder with the paperwork) I felt like snatching the passport and whacking his head with the chair, it was MY passport! It felt like a violation and the slime ball was taking some perverse sense of satisfaction from our demise.

We decided to ignore him and tried, without much success, to get some shut eye on the plastic chairs outside the restricted area (which is where we meant to sleep. Between the terrible music the Slob was playing on his cell phone and the Pakistanis running in and out of the restricted area to pick up collect calls from the payphone, we gave up sleeping. It wasn't until early in the morning, we retired into the restricted area. The kind Pakistani lent us his blankets and we spread the inflight blankets from various airlines against the wall, falling asleep in each other's arms.

Next morning, we awoke and freshened up with a cold face wash. The were 2 female guards on duty and they were much more pleasant. They bought us some ham and cheese sandwich, juice and coffee for breakfast. It has been more than 12 hours since we had some food and that perked us up somewhat. We played some computer games on our laptop while waiting for the Iberia representative to collect Robin.Robin was getting anxious now. With only 3 hours to take off and no ticket purchased he was worried that after waiting all morning he would run out of time to get the ticket. First he tried and failed to use a mix of mime, English and Portuguese to explain to the security guards to call the Iberian office. When that didn't work he tried wandering around the airport looking for someone who might help. He found an airport police office where they spoke English and they said they would make a call. Eventually a representative turned up, finally someone professional and somewhat sympathetic who treated us like paying customers and not criminals.

She took Robin through security and immigration and to the ticket office. The ticket lady had a look at her computer and said "This is going to be expensive." Argh! The lady from last night indicated the ticket would cost about 300 euro. Today they were saying ten times that price. A sickly feeling welled up inside Robin as the financial implications of this mistake weighed on him. Including rebooking tickets to South America, the cost would essentially double the budget for 3 months of travelling.

The ticketing lady was in extreme multi-tasking mode, dealing with walk in customers, customers on the phone and some sort of problem her colleague was having. At one stage she was doing fare searches for me, talking on the phone in one hand and a walkie talkie in the other and talking over the counter to another punter, all at the same time. Needless to say things were taking a while. Robin wondered if he had the credit card limit to make such a purchase.

The tension of waiting was getting to Robin. He went searching deep within his self for the Zen place where money means nothing and found peace. Eventually, the verdict was in - 800 euro. After self-hypnosis to accept a 3000 charge, 800 was a relief and he gladly handed over his credit card.

Now all that was left was to find our luggage. The customer rep took Robin on a tour of the airport, through secure areas the public never get to see. The left luggage rooms didn't turn up our stuff. She made a couple of calls and checked a couple of computer systems and eventually reassured Robin that our luggage was being loaded. Eventually, with boarding time approaching we hustled our way passed security and immigration.Meanwhile, all I could hope was that nothing else went wrong for Robin. 15 minutes before boarding, the guard escorted me to the departure gate and all this time I was looking over my shoulder to see if I could spot any

blond hair men from afar. Fortunately for us the flight was delayed and Robin made it just 10 minutes after boarding time with the Iberian representative. We were escorted onto the plane before everyone else and the security guard handed my passport to the air stewardess. We felt strange at that time that my passport was still not in my own pocket.

An uneasy 10 hour flight later, we landed back in Madrid International Airport. By this time, we were both looking dishevelled and exhausted. It had been more than 72 hours since we had a proper bed or meal. To add insult to injury, the Iberian steward called security and didn't allow us to step off the ramp. We were made to stand at the side while he checked my passport over the phone - not sure for what exactly. He gave me back my passport after some questioning. Feeling rather insulted that we were treated like prisoners, we walked on towards the arrival hall. However, before we walked more than 10 metres, we were stopped by another 2 security

guards, asking the same questions again. WTF??? They obviously had nothing to say, so we moved on to customs and collected our bags from the belt.

We headed straight for a free wi-fi spot. Guess where? The MacDonald's on Gran Via next to Hooker Street. Morning was breaking and the office-goers were just starting to fill the metro so the ride was not too bad. We plonked ourselves down in a corner, found a hostel not too far away, but enough to escape the hookers. We spent the rest of the day nursing our bruised egos after a thorough shower. In my case, 2 showers. Who ever said travelling was easy?

Day 62, 63: Madrid

Today was taken up with administration work. First, our growing laundary pile needed tackling. Then there was some intensive research required to come up with a plan for Brazil. By the evening we were getting cabin fever and looked to hit the town.

We picked up a very handy tourist map that recommended places to eat and drink. We tried many of their recommendations during our time in Madrid and they all turned out to be good spots. Tonight, there was a great cocktail bar. We sat in the back where it was dimly lit, cushions on the floor and low tables. Then we had tapas with a twist. These were tapas with flavours and ingredients not traditionally found in Spanish food. Many had an Asian flavour and though the menu was all Spanish we muddled through and found some good stuff.

After coming and going from our hostel many times over the days we stayed here we came to the realisation that there was a very obvious prostitution scene on the square just outside our hostel. We were starting to recognise the faces of the girls. Madrid is a city to come to for it's night life. We didn't take any photos while we were here and there were no major historical monuments to visit. There are some good are museums but by this stage we were all museumed out. We couldn't wait to leave Madrid to be honest.

Day 61: Getting to Madrid

We were finally approaching the end of our European overland trip. Madrid was the end of the line before flying to South America. We bid farewell to Paco and we made our way North by bus. This entailed a lot of hanging around - on the side of the street in Alhama, in the bus station and surroundings in Granada and on the long 6 hour bus journey to Madrid itself.

When we arrived it was getting late. Our hostel was smack bang in the middle of Madrid city. We came out of the Gran Via metro stop and found it right across the way. The first room we were given had a leaky pipe in the bathroom and the floor was soaking wet. Someone had strategically placed the waste bin under the leak to catch the worst of it but this was now over-flowing with water. We got another room, an emergency room held over for emergencies. It was quite out of the way, quiet and a bit cooler than the other but it was crammed with beds. We decided to make do.

After two weeks of Spanish food, Jess was craving rice and other Asian flavours so we found a nice Thai restaurant and settled in for the night.

Day 60: Rained off

We woke up next morning to the sound of rain but decided to brave the wet weather in our rain gear. After brekkie, we prepared our bikes for the the day's ride. By the time we put on our gear, the drizzle had transformed into heavy rain. Stubborn as we are, we persisted. It was only when we pushed our bikes that we realised Robin's tyre had a puncture and the wheel was completely flat.

Ok - looks like it was not meant to be so we relaxed in our comfy room for the morning. We took a couple of hours in the afternoon to explore Alhama town and had a home cooked dinner at Paco's.

Day 59: Back to Alhama

Next day, we were back on the horse (or bikes) again. The ride was rather boring and was eventually linked up with the route of the first day's cycle. Halfway, the rain came pouring down and as you would, 2 sweaty cyclists welcomed the cooling shower. We were glad to be back in Alhama, especially since we knew we would have 2 days in Paco's lovely pension.

The owner, Paco, was a former famous Flamenco star. He was typically Spainish and gave us the warmest welcome into his hotel. It was that small establishment which we had our first 2 breakfasts in. Rather inconspicuous establishment in a quiet side street, with the restaurant in the front. There was a small terrace with comfy cushions and the most amazing view of Alhama. The walls were white washed and the decor tasteful. We felt fortunate to be welcomed into his little boutique hotel.

Paco showed us to our room and insisted we enjoy some drinks in the terrace with him. He generously opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. We salute to each other and enjoyed the crisp white wine while chatting with another English couple that started the cycle a couple of days before us. After a couple of hours of chit chat, we retired into our room for our usual scheduled date with sitcoms.

Unfortunately Paco must have had a hot date that night as there was no dinner service in the hotel. We wandered the town again looking for somewhere to eat. The results were less than impressive that night but we made up for it with good conversations and wine.

Day 58: Granada

Finally! A rest day! Needless to say, we took advantage of our rest day by indulging in some snoozing. It wasn't till after lunchtime that we started the day's activity. Alhambra Castle was the major highlight so we decided to spend the rest of our afternoon exploring the site. Instead of taking the tourist bus to get the castle, we took our time to check out the city and strolled to the castle. The walk leading into the castle grounds was really pleasant as we were constantly surrounded by tall leafy trees. The gentle slopes of al-Sabika slowed my monkey fiance down a little so I was able to enjoy this romantic stroll at my pace. :)

When we got to the top of the hill, we discovered that the tickets to the main palace were sold out but we were still able to explore the grounds. Fortunately for us, the other attractions were just as good. The castle that they built in 9th century, a military fortress with a view over the whole city, became a royal residence in the 13th century. It was well preserved and we spent hours wandering the beautiful rose gardens and admired the sun setting over Granada from the fortress walls.

Day 57: Cycle to Granada

Bright and early after a good night's rest, we packed up quickly and headed downstairs for our breakfast. The breakfast was disappointing but we ended up having a nice conversation with the receptionist. The young man nervously stopped us before we were heading upstairs to brush our teeth and enquired about our backpacking adventures. He felt inspired to take on a similar adventure after hearing about us from Terry. It felt good that we had some kind of positive impact on this young man's life. He wished us well for our travels ahead and just before we hopped on our bikes, we encouraged him to follow his heart if he really wanted to take a few months off work.

The sky was clear blue and air was still. Despite our tired muscles, it felt good to be pedaling again. We cycled through the town centre and the scenic ascent started as soon as we left Montefrio. We warmed up quickly and not long after our start, we were covered in sweat. The view was worth the climb. We took a breather when we got to the top for a sip of water and waved goodbye to Montefrio.

The next hour was rather pleasant as we conquer the undulating slopes of Andalusia. Although we were cycling on paved roads, it was surprisingly free of traffic. The advantage of cycling uphill is that you get the chance to enjoy the passing views as if you were trekking (not that we didn't enjoy the adrenalin rush of flying downhill at 60 km/h). The notes for the cycle today mentioned a short climb that would mark the halfway point in our day's cycle. The ascent turned out to be very steep and rather long, we cursed Terry's notes under our breath as we pumped hard on the pedals. The previous days of cycling had added much needed miles to our legs but it was definitely hard work. As we were just starting to see light at the end of the tunnel, we spotted a familiar figure next to a van on the shoulder of the road holding a camera. Terry spotted us climbing uphill, en route to Granada with our bags, and took some lovely pictures. We had a quick chat and powered on.

The next hour was mostly downhill with some short ascents and we stopped in a small town for our usual beer and (free) tapas break. I am not usually a fan of beer but I must say it was really inviting and cooling after a hard morning's cycle. We cooled down and enjoyed our little plates of fried fish and calamari.

Rejuvenated with our hour long break, we pushed on to our final destination, Granada. The cycle was meant to be a 13 km cycle off-road along a river bed, which we were really looking forward to after hours of cycling on paved roads. After a minor debate about directions, we set off on a bumpy road. It didn't take us long to the end of the bumpy road before Granada came into view. Due to the summer heat, the water level in the river was really low. We knew we were very close to the city when we started seeing rubbish carelessly dumped along the road. As we came into the outskirts of Granada city, we followed the cycling tracks and finished off the last section in good time.

The last 500 metres took longer than anticipated due to roadworks in the inner city and we were glad to be out of our sweaty clothes as soon as we checked into our designated hotel. We spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the AC after our refreshing shower watching American sitcoms.

Night came and we rewarded ourselves with an extremely satisfying dinner of codfish caparccio and Spanish wine before topping it off with 2 strong Pina Coladas.

Day 56: Cycle to Montefrio

Today we left Alhama bound for Montefrio, a small town 55km North of Alhama. The route took us through many olive tree plantations. Each tree is spaced about 5 metres apart and planted in straight lines over the undulating hill-sides. They don't seem to need much water as the land is parched dry. Most of the ride was easy enough and we stopped for a beer a tapa and later had a picnic lunch under the only shade we found in quite some time.

Another couple of cyclists passed us and they gave us a friendly wave as they saw us chilling under our tree. They had just begun the long, slow climb before Montefrio, a 13 kilometre stretch that featured only days earlier in the Vuelta de Espana, Spain's premier bike race. They looked like they were suffering under the heat of the day and soon we would be too. We downed the last of our lunch and spent the next while counting off the kilometre markers along the roadside. As we climbed we passed the names of Spanish cyclists painted on the road. Robin's positive mental approach was being stretched to its limit as he constantly reassured himself and Jess that the top of the hill was marked by this next white house. "Maybe not this white house but look! there is another white house up ahead and I think that is the top." Twenty white houses later and we were free-wheeling down to Montefrio and soon the hill was forgotten.

Montefrio is a town on the tourist trail mostly for its picturesque approach view which has a church perched up high on a rocky outcrop overlooking the town and a domed mosque built when this part of Spain was in the hands of the Moors, a Muslim people from North Africa. We were the only guests in our hotel which was a nice old building but very comfortably furnished. We had a well deserved drink and headed into town for something to eat. Despite it being after 8pm, restaurants were not open so we walked the narrow streets and waited until our recommended diner opened. Food was no disappointment, though we were beginning to realise that the Spaniards sense of dinner time was not conducive to hungry cyclists fresh off their bikes. I bet the pros didn't have to wait for their spaghetti.

Day 55: Cycle around the lake

The next morning we were up bright and early and got our bikes. By the time we had finished setting ourselves up and chatting to the talkative Terry most of the morning was gone and the sun was well and truly bearing down on us. Another delay came when we realised we had forgotten the camera and upon backtracking to get it, we realised we had taken the wrong road out of town. A narrow escape.

The ride climbed out of Alhama up a steep hill overlooking the valley so we had to warm up pretty quickly. The descent that followed wound through evergreen forest and then we found ourselves cycling through farm-land.

Eventually we proceeded around a lake and stopped for lunch at a nice campsite restaurant. The rest of the route took us over a dam and up a veeeery long, gradual climb. All in all it was a great introduction to the Andalusian country-side and we returned to Alhama tired but ready for the days to come.

Day 54: Onward to Alhama for our cycling trip

While in Chamonix we had booked a 5 day cycling holiday in the South of Spain around Andalucia. This entailed us getting up at 4am and catching a 6 o'clock flight from Barcelona to Granada and then a bus to Alhama, a small town where we would start and end our mini Tour of Spain.

After a long day of sitting around at stations and on buses we arrived in the evening and were met by Lisa, the wife of Terry, who was to be our ground support staff and general problem solver. As we learned later, Terry and Lisa are an English couple who were looking for a new life. They received a tip-off that Alhama was a nice town, travelled out one cold October weekend and had bought a house by Tuesday. Now they run a couple of businesses here including a bike and hiking tour operation.

We settled into our accommodation. Figuring out the digital TV controls to replace the Spanish soundtrack with its original English one allowed us to enjoy some American sitcoms. A habit that was to become our post-cycle relaxation regime.

We explored the town. It was quite small and finding eating options that were more than tapas was problematic. Luckily, we found a Spanish/Italian restaurant that was a highlight. We chose their tapas sampler menu which turned out to be dish after dish of tasty food. We were stuffed by the end and couldn't finish the desert tapas but we made sure their amazing tiramisu did not escape our attention.

Day 53: Gaudi's Barcelona

We only had one day to see the sights of Barcelona so we got up early and we were straight on to the metro, destination - Sagrada Familia. This famous cathedral is a work in progress and has been since the mid 1800s. The queue to get in stretched right around one side of the block but we figured it would be worth it. I had been here about 7 or 8 years ago and in that time it has progressed some. The interior now cleared of most scaffolding is starting to resemble a large church and the vaulted ceilings and "forest"-style columns can be appreciated in their grandeur. We listened to audio guides to get a better understanding of the work that we were seeing. We queued for even longer than the queue for the admission tickets in order to take a lift up one of the towers and walked down the spiral staircases which allows you to get a closer look at some of the rooftop details. Apparently it is due to be completed in the 2020s but judging by the scale model of the finished plan they have quite some way to go.

Next on our tour was Park Guell, another Gaudi stop. This park has some nice buildings that look like they were made of gingerbread. The main seating terrace was crammed with tourists so we didn't hang around much here. My favourite part of this park is the columns supporting some of the footpaths. These are done in the same style as columns in the church with clever vaulting techniques but built roughly with unhewn sandstone rocks that make it seem as if they spontaneously appeared from nature.

Finally, we walked from the park towards the city center via the final stop on our Gaudi tour, La Pedrera. This apartment block has an example apartment to explore as well as the roof top with its unique chimneys to look at.

After all our walking we ended up in La Rambla, at the heart of the city. We were hungry and went looking for food. We were not very fortunate. There are a ton of places to eat and it is hard to know which is good and which is bad. We tried the guidebook for advice. It lead us through some back streets to a location which while I'm sure it would have provided the promised good food, seemed a bit stuffy for our liking. We wanted something a bit more casual with tapas and beer and so we wandered a bit further. The place we settled on was alright but not great. The seafood tapas were not particularly fresh and it all seemed like we could have done better.

Not to worry, we headed for a bar. We found a nice one. The music was relaxed, not so loud that we couldn't hear ourselves talk. There was cartoon-inspired artwork on the walls. We drank a few glasses of wine and had a good time talking about Barcelona and our impressions of what it would be like to live here.

As we were about to leave I headed to the toilet while Jess waited at our table. I came back and was waiting to pay at the bar when I noticed some guy was talking to Jess and showing her his phone. Then he left and we exchanged puzzled glances across the room. It only took ten seconds of distraction in a busy bar for his accomplice to snatch our day pack from the floor where I had been sitting!

I ran outside to see if they were hanging around. That was unlikely and to be honest a good thing. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly, I was just angry. After wandering around the corner and down a side street I spotted the bag, tossed under a parked van. I picked it up and gathered the few items they had tossed as useless to them. They had taken our sun-glasses (expensive polarised lens, sports models) and our hats which was very annoying as they can't have been worth anything to them.

Returning to the bar we realised how it could have been worse. I had my wallet in my hand at the time and the camera which ordinarily would have been in the bag was in my pocket as we had been photographing the bar's artwork.

The incident dampened our enthusiasm for Barcelona and we were glad to be leaving the next morning.

Day 52: To Barcelona

We packed up our tent and took an 8 hour bus ride to Barcelona. We mostly slept on the bus so we were keen to get out of the hostel once we checked in in Barcelona. Our hostel was out in the suburbs, not too bad given the good metro system but we decided to eat locally.

The staff at the hostel recommended a small place in a side street on the map they gave us and so we headed there. By the time we arrived it was pretty quiet. Although it was late, we had been assured that Spaniards eat late and that this would be no problem. It didn't look like that when we walked in. There were no other customers, a lady was folding up the table cloths and there was a distinct feeling from the staff who were standing around at the bar that they were finishing up after a less than stellar business day. None-the-less the owner ushered us in and soon warmed up to the idea of serving us. The staff went back to the kitchen and only the old lady gave her presumed husband a dirty look of disapproval.

The menu was a set price 3 course meal, decidedly slim on options but we were just happy to be served and we chose rock-roasted chicken and grilled pork. The ingredients were simple but the cooking was great. After the meal, we were lead out through another door to their locals bar where we were given a shot of something rather strong but tasty. There were smiles all round and we left happy.

Day 51: Saint Remy market, Hell´s Valley, Cathedral D´Images, Les Baux de Provence

We slept like babies for the night due to another even bigger downpour than the previous night. We could actually feel the stream of rain water under our tent and cuddled closer when we saw lightening... what an experience! The cooler night temperature was really soothing when we have a travelling tent that does not usually give us much wiggle room. The only downer was that both our backpacks were dampened. After finding some clean (and dry) clothes to wear, we headed back to the city for our day trip.

It was off to a good start with only 8 participants, including the guide and us. So it was a nice cosy group. We were fearing the worse that it might be a group of 20 and a guide with a loud speaker and a flag. The guide spoke excellent English and gave us a good introduction to Provence. The first stop was Saint Remy and we drove through tree tunnels and past lavender fields and olive trees. I sadly discovered that we have missed the lavender harvest and the rolling fields of purple beauty was only available once a year in July. Nevertheless it was still beautiful and we felt fortunate to be enjoying the view. Our guide informed us that Provence was home to famous artists like Cezanne and Van Gogh and we could see why. The peaceful surroundings and perfect weather. We were only there for 2 nights and we could appreciate the appeal.

After an hour´s drive, we found ourselves in Saint Remy´s market and were informed we had 90 minutes of free and easy time. Wednesday is a major market day in Saint Rémy-de-Provence and the crowds certainly proved it. The market spreads across parking areas and squares around the northern and western parts of the Boulevards ringing the old town of St Rémy. The stalls sell everything from handmade jewellery to fresh fruits bursting with summer goodness. I could easily be lost in here for days! We went straight for the fresh produce and bought ourselves a punnet of farm fresh strawberries and white peaches as a treat for later. There were a fair few fashion designers to show case their handmade clothes of all styles, scarves of all conceivable colour and design. We decided to be utterly and completely lost for the next hour. After wandering around for some hidden gems, we stumbled across a small studio with some beautiful and disturbing photographs. We greeted the artist while he was having a smoke outside and was instantly captured by his photographs. His work left us speechless and if you are interested to see why we both fell in love with his pictures, please have a look at his website

www.flyingblindpictures.com

Moving on from the studio, we decided to stop for a little snack by the fountain. One downside to backpacking for a long period of time was that you are not able to buy anything. Not necessarily that you couldn´t afford it but more so that you would not be able to afford the space. The delicious white peach was a great starter and lunch time was close, so we hunted around for some yummy street food and had our impromptu picnic under a leafy tree.

After our lunch break, we met up with the crew at the bus station and headed off to our next stop Valley of Hell and Cathedral D´Images. Below Les Baux is the irregular and jagged gorge whose caves used to be inhabited by people. Apparently people believed that witches, fairies and spirits live in these caves. We took a few snapshots and paused to admire the tranquility. Next stop was the Cathedral D´Images - a quarry that has been converted from a dark space of squared limestone columns into a 3D experience of the artists`photographs. The exhibition on display was directed by Jean Charbonneau and he took us on a journey for 60 minutes from the very beginning of Australia. It was really impressive.

We left the Cathedral feeling rather breathless and thanked our guide for recommending the Cathedral to us. The final stop was Les Baux. It was a village that stood still in time after the quarries were abandoned and was later preserved by the French government. The guide took us to an olive oil shop and we woke our taste buds while sampling some of France´s best olive oil. Pity - we couldn´t bring any of this back home with us. The guide informed us that we had some free time to ourselves before we headed back to Aix so we used the rest of our time to wander around the alleys and streets of Les Baux. It is not boldly magnificent like some of the architecture that you will see in big Italian cities but it was quietly confident. The sun was setting against the sand stone buildings and took a rest on a bench to soak in the beauty.

We snoozed on our way back to Aix on a rather long bus ride and it was dinner time by the time we arrived. The day ended with an even better night with an excellent Provencal dinner on a small street in old town.

Day 49 & 50: Onward to Aix En Provence

After a long day on the train, we arrived in Aix En Provence 30 minutes later than scheduled. A connecting train from Lyon to Aix en Provence TGV departed late and we ended up missing the last connecting bus from TGV to city centre. The 2 choices were to either walk 16 km or catch a cab to the campsite. Seeing that it was close to midnight and we were knackered, we made an executive decision to splurge on a taxi.

30 minutes and 45 euros later, we arrived at the campsite. We were eager to check out this 4 star rated campsite. Apparently there were excellent facilities and plenty of privacy for each plot. We got out of the cab and were dismayed to see that the reception was closed. It would be a very expensive night if we had to catch another cab back into the city. While I was contemplating the worst and Robin contemplated camping regardless, we heard the swish of a golf buggy and a youngish guy jumped out of it. He was typically French - lanky, oversized clothes and black rimmed glasses. He welcomed us and took our booking for 3 nights. Hearing Robin's Irish accent, he immediately launched into his work experience in Ireland a few years back.

After a brief friendly exchange, we were told to choose an available plot that we preferred and register with him later. The campsite was really quite tranquil and peaceful. The layout ensured that all campers had their own privacy from each other and most importantly from the camper vans. There were tall oak trees all around and it was rather pleasant to hear the rustling of the leaves on this windy night. 20 Euros a night, we definitely made the right decision here.

We found a quiet corner and Robin headed off to register our home for the next 3 nights while I attempted to set up camp. Fortunately Robin didn't take too long with the check in and came back to help me with set up. This was definitely a stroke of luck because as soon as we nailed the last pin into the dry ground, we felt the heavy rain drops on our heads. It didn't take long before the drizzle developed into a downpour. We rushed to the campsite's bar/restaurant to seek some shelter. What the hell? Best thing to do after being caught in the rain while seeking shelter in the bar? Have a beer. So we did.

Next morning, we woke up bright and early. The night's sleep was really nice since the summer heat cooled considerably with the rain. It felt like we had a mini air conditioner in our very own tent. After a brekkie of left over bread, wild boar salami and boiled egg, we took a bus to the city centre. It was a lovely day after the rain, still slightly cloudy but just enough sun to warm your skin in the early hours of the morning. We breathed in the fresh air and strolled to the tourist office for some information. I have been wanting to do a wine tour and see the lavender fields of Provence for a long time so it was exciting to finally get a chance to do it. Unfortunately for me, the wine tour day trips were all sold out for the next day and we were only in town for one full day. The kind staff suggested that we do a scenic tour of Provence to see the real colours so we booked ourselves in for the next day.

Day 48: Hike to Lacs Noir

We decided to devote our last full day in Chamonix to a hike. On the other side of the valley we could hike (from the gondola) to the top of the ridge, a climb of over a 1000 metres, with great views of Mount Blanc across the way. This hike was very good with lots of rocks to clamber over and amazing scenery as well as the Lacs Noir at the end which are lakes with peat-covered bottoms making them appear black. It was a great, fun hike. There were plenty of photo opportunities, we discovered a mini-glacier and we had a picnic at the top looking upon the lakes and Mount Blanc. We were much happier with our view of Mount Blanc today, having earned it with a trek.

We finished the day with a repeat visit to Munchies to round off a great week in Chamonix.

Day 47: (Biking) Over the Edge

The next day we were finally on bikes. We discussed with the bike shop assistant and determined that we could cycle on paths from Chamonix, up the valley past the next two villages. The route would take us through woodland along the river bank up one side and down the other and ascending for the first half and descending for the second half of the ride. It was 36km of off-road in total depending how far we went.

We cycled through town and soon we were whizzing by tree trunks and riding over roots on the soft forest floor. The sounds when biking in the woods are strangely quieter and muffled and the ground seems springy under the wheels. It is my favourite terrain for cycling.

The route was not particularly well-marked. At times we found ourselves back-tracking when we discovered we'd missed a turn and ended up on the wrong side of a stream. On one occasion we chose some single track and were alarmed to find a couple barrelling down in the opposite direction, only our alertness averting an accident as we quickly jumped off the trail. Usually, single track is sign-posted as one way to avoid such scenarios but not here. We figured it was easier to stick to the wider trails, less exciting though they were.

The route soon got tough with some lung-busting climbs but we were enjoying it just the same. A cheeky Frenchman gave some words of encouragement to us as he overtook us up a particularly hard climb. After an hour we made it to the first village. There were some sketchy routing decisions through here and we got told off by an angry local for taking a route through a lane by his back yard. Fair enough, we didn't want to knock down any elderly pedestrians and we were going slowly for that reason but the signs for the route were never clear.

The next stretch after the village got tricky. Steep uphill with a trail that was all networks of gnarly tree roots. It would have vexed the most skilled of bikers but for us it was too much and we were off and walking. Not what we would have expected for a moderately-graded trail.

After stopping to admire some find looking dogs being taken for their strolls we were back on our bikes and cycling along on what was described in the map as a "shelf". By this they meant steep slopes down to our left and up to our right and a narrow path between, the entire hill covered in trees. The path was like a shelf etched into the hillside. The riding now was easier as it was mostly level and contoured along the hillside. It was then that Jess took an unfortunate detour off the "shelf" with a yelp and plummeted down through the trees. A frantic Robin ran back to the scene of the cry and after some anxious moments of seeing neither Jess nor the bike, the scene unfolded before him. Jess had come to a stop where her bike and legs hooked onto a tree trunk about 10 meters down the slope. He scrambled down to untangle the mess. Jess was calm considering her plight, lucky to have hit a tree, considering the fall awaiting if she had not.

Back up on the path, we surveyed the injuries. A deep gash on the back of Jess's leg left a neat imprint of gear cogs and blood mixed with oil. It looked bad but it wasn't bleeding too much considering the number of puncture wounds in her here-to-fore unblemished calf. We made an improvised bandage with Robin's buff and after calming ourselves from the shock, we cycled on.

We were more subdued until we decided to stop for lunch and that lifted our spirits right up. We sat on some rocks in the river bed, with a view down the valley to snow-capped mountains. We broke out the Reblochon cheese we had bought and enjoyed it with some fresh French baguette and wild boar pepperoni we'd been saving since the Dolomites. Topped off with a peach and the tastiest vanilla yoghurt we've ever had, it was just what was needed.

The second half of the day was mostly downhill thankfully, some of it very fast indeed and great fun and soon the memories of the crash were put to the back of our minds. After nurse Robin cleaned the patient's wounds, we relaxed with a DVD night and plenty of wine to soothe the pain.

Day 46: We Do The Tourist Thing (for the last time we hope)

Today we figured we had been in Chamonix for 3 days and hadn't seen Mount Blanc. We decided to join the tourists and get a lift as high as we could for a close-up view. At the top of Aguille Du Midi there isn't really much to do but take some photos. The only way to stretch your legs from here is wearing crampons and venturing out into the snowy wilderness and because we were not doing this we found the whole experience a bit depressing. If you don't have a guide there is a real danger of falling down a crevasse and we'd already spent our guide budget on the Via Farrate (plus the guide was a lot more expensive then we anticipated). Thus it was with heavy hearts that we looked on at those small groups heading into the white landscape for adventure beyond and descended back to street level. We called into the mountain biking shop on the way home and enquired about routes and renting for the next day and formulated our plan.

Day 45: Via Farrate

We got up at our earliest in quite a while to meet our mountain guide. Bernard (or Gerard, it wasn't clear) is a 63 year old local of Chamonix. His family have been in the region for hundreds of years and he has been a mountain guide, employed by the local town, since he was 23. He'll take you anywhere in the Mount Blanc region, probably even up the mountain itself and many more besides but today he was taking us to a neighbouring valley to do some Via Farrate.

Via Farrate is part rock-climbing, part scrambling up and over cliff faces using fixed steel cables, ladder rungs hammered into the rock face and sometimes improvised footholds, handholds and maybe a suspension bridge over dizzying heights if you are lucky. It takes you to places that only advanced rock climbers would tackle but in a much easier, perhaps safer way. Ordinarily, you can do these routes on your own but since a) we had never done this before b) didn't have equipment c) didn't know where the good routes were d) had no way of getting there; we decided to hire our guide.

Turns out the actual climbing part is straight-forward once you get the hang of linking your first harness line to the higher guide line, unlinking your second harness line from the lower guide line and continuously climbing alternately hooking and unhooking yourself from progressively higher guide lines. The route took us out on to a rock face which was extremely high and sheer and incomparable to anything we had done in previous rock climbing excursions. It was exhilarating. There was a suspension bridge to cross and often nothing beneath our feet but a steel rung and a distant view of the ground. It finished off with a very tricky overhang that required lots of arm strength to climb out, up and over. Other via ferraters chose an easier route and looked on as we grunted and huffed and puffed our way up the final section.

At five hours, it was also quite tiring and there were two very drowsy passengers in the car on the drive back to Chamonix. The route there and back took us up some climbs used for the Tour De France, with the names of the riders still painted on the road from last July, which was interesting to see. We also learned of Reblochon cheese which is a local specialty produced by the cows pastured on the mountain here. we resolved to taste some at the next opportunity.

Day 44: Enjoying Home Comforts Away From Home

After yesterday's hike we were disinclined to get up to anything too strenuous. Our plan had been to go mountain-biking but the clock was ticking towards lunch time and we were still enjoying our best breakfast in weeks. We figured biking could wait. We walked around the town, wandered into some shops and generally had a leisurely day. We organised a mountain guide for the next day to show us the ropes on a via farate route and walking back through town laden down with climbing gear for the excursion we felt like we could afford to take a lazy day.

We bought some food to cook, drank wine, watched some DVDs and enjoyed a night in and forgot that we were homeless, backpackers for the night. It is strange how when you live at home a night like this seems mundane and you wish you could be travelling the world seeing amazing sights but when you travel everyday you yearn for the mundane things that are really creature comforts. Both lifestyles have their attractions.

Day 43: Hiking in Chamonix

Our first full day in Chamonix started with a trip up in a gondola from town to about 2800 metres. This point brought us to just below the rocky cliffs of the Mount Blanc Massif and the highest point on this side of the valley for simple trekking without mountaineering guides. We had a little look around and started our trek across to the mountain-side, maintaining our altitude. The ultimate destination was Mer Du Glace, the largest glacier in Europe. The trek itself was easy going and as well as the many fellow hikers, we met some crazy people running the course with lungs bursting through their chests. To each their own. After a two hour walk we had a small climb and then the glacier came into view. It is not as spectacular as imagined. Though it is big, it is nestled snugly into the valley it is carving down the mountain side and so only its top surface is visible and this is well covered with in-fall from the gravelly valley sides over-looking it. We lingered for lunch nearby where a rack-and-pinion train brings tourists up to see the view without the hike. The hike back down via a different route through forest was quiet save for a few people. It was getting late as we had only started down the mountain after 5pm but it made for a very pleasant experience to be away from the relative crowds. We are used to hiking in South Africa where we rarely encountered fellow hikers for the whole weekend. This European hiking is a bit of a culture shock.

We rewarded ourselves with dinner at Munchies. It lived up to its billing and we shared a seafood basket and teriyaki duck.

Day 42: Chamonix - Our Home For the Next Week

Today we left Italy and headed under the Alps to France. We checked out of our cramped little bedroom but I was a little frustrated to be charged double room price for a single room in which we had not enjoyed a single night's rest. At first the charge seemed reasonable, the posted price for the single room we had stayed in but we had not been credited with the 10% we had already paid in advance. When I pointed this out, the landlady did some arguing, suddenly forgetting any English she had previously demonstrated, adjusted her story such that we were now being charged for a double room minus our deposit which conveniently turned out in her favour. We tried arguing but she refused to speak English anymore and it seemed like we were talking to a wall. Lesson learned, agree the price up front when taking a room.

Our journey to Chamonix took us on a bus-ride under the Alps. It's a strange thought to be driving under 4000-odd metres of rock for 11km. The journey from Aosta was short and straight-forward and we've always looked forward to moving on to a new country.

We checked in to our apartment for the week which we got at a discount probably because it was booked last minute and was still available. We were told the weather had been atrocious and a major sporting event the town had held at the weekend had to be abandoned with much disappointment for all the international travellers who had arrived. We were lucky as our week turned out to have perfect weather every day.

Very pleased with our new home for the week, it included DVD player, British TV channels and a kitchen! We decided we would have some much-missed home-cooked meals during the week but tonight we would eat out. We chose a restaurant with great reviews, Munchies, only to be disappointed when we found that they were full for the night. We reserved for the next day and ate at a random establishment on the main street. Mistake. Jess's scallops, fresh though they were, were covered in a gloopy cream sauce that rendered them inedible and Robin's tagine contained enough clues to deduce the chef was unhygienic and fair-haired. At least we had our great apartment to go back to, relishing home comforts for the first time in weeks.

Day 41: Cogne/Aosta

Next morning, we took a bus to a nearby town closer to the French border, Cogne, for a day of hiking. It came highly recommended by the local tourist office. It was a quick walk to the bus stop and we boarded our escape from Aosta for the day. It soon dawned on the 2 of us that we were the only 2 youngster on the bus. The bus was filled with middle aged (I am being kind) ladies with their Saturday boogie hairdos and woollen cardigans, ready for their monthly excursion out to the shopping malls. After a rather uneasy ride of Robin checking the road signs every 2 minutes to see if we were heading in the right direction, we arrived in Cogne. If we had any worries, they were quickly washed away. Cogne was a lovely town.

The fields of grass were immaculate and dotted with the quaint cottages you would expect to see in a ski village. There was a live band performing in the square and old folks sitting around on benches enjoying the sun. Ahhhh. That explains the ladies on the bus. Gone were the litter and frowning locals. What we saw was shining streets with little shops with their windows displaying goodies of all sorts. I guess you can say we were rather superficial but we liked the town straight away. Eager to see the natural sights Cogne had to offer, we went to the local tourist office for some pointers. After a brief discussion, we decided a hike along the river bank meandering through the valley. Armed with goodies for our picnic lunch, we started our hike with Saint Bernado as the backdrop for most of the time. There were plenty of young families out for the day with their children and it was nice to see others enjoying the fresh air as much as we did. The day was rewarding and seemed to have washed some of the bad Aosta/Pila taste from our mouths from yesterday.

After a morning of trekking through the valley, we rewarded ourselves with some fresh bread, cheese and salami while enjoying the best view in Cogne. San Bernado in the front and a beautiful waterfall on our right. The view is always better when you have earned it! So we promptly chose a nice spot for a little afternoon RnR while listening to the rush of water and feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces. After our little siesta on the rocks, we decided it was time to head back for our return bus. It was all downhill heading back to Cogne so Robin and I raced back like 5 yr old kids while I cheated with an early start every so often to catch up with Robin.

Day 39 - 40: Aosta/Pila

After another night with the neon lights, I was starting to see double so we hit the road as soon as we were packed which took a record time of 15 minutes. Reckon it is a combination of months of practice and the idea of leaving love hotel.

Public transportation to Aosta was surprisingly easy, it was a train ride into the mountains. A couple of hours later, we arrived in the town of Aosta which seemed more like an industrial town with litter-strewn roads. In comparison to the Dolomites, Aosta seemed more like its very distant (and less attractive cousin). After our initial disappointment, we agreed to have an open mind and not let initial judgement ruin our next few days until we had fully explored the city. It might not be the Dolomites but it could still be fun.

After a half hour hike with our backpacks in the baking heat, we finally found our hostel next to a car garage. Unfortunately we were advised by the owner that the room which we had reserved online was not available. The only room left was a single bed en suite. What could we do? We knew that budget accomodation was thin in Aosta after our research in Torino and the backpacks which seemed light before our hike out to the hostel were beginning to weigh on our backs. The only option was to take it. This was not a bad decision but we would later realise that not agreeing the price on a down sized room was the big mistake.

We vegetated on the bed chit-chatting about nothing for a while and just when we were both starting to recover, I found myself face to face with a humongous praying mantis. If I did manage to get any relaxation in me, it went down the toilet that minute. Robin intervened and shooed the unwanted guest out of the window and decided it was time for us to get some fresh air and lunch. Thank goodness for my man!

After a short stroll, we found the tourist office in Old Town. The staff were extremely helpful and gave us hiking and biking maps up in the Alps and before we knew it, we had an itinerary planned for the next 2 days. We sat ourselves in a little cafe and over our salads, we decided that the first day of adventure will be in Pila via gondola ride for some mountain biking and Cogne the next day for some hiking. The thought of moving and getting some fresh air in our lungs again was exciting and our trip to Aosta was starting to look up. We decided it was worth celebrating and had 2 glasses spritz aperol while admiring the city square from our cafe.

The Old Town was a much prettier side of Aosta. The square was a rather exquisite design with the tiles laid artistically in semi circles and in different shades of purple and it was enveloped by shops that were carefully hidden in old stone buildings. People were strolling around and admiring the goodies or enjoying the view and weather while sipping their espressos in tiny cafes littered around the town. Surrounding the Old town were snow-capped mountains... it was quite a sight on a clear day. Definitely a good place to be in after love hotel.

Next morning we had a bit of snooze and headed up to the gondola station a little later than expected. We were lost for a while as the gondola station was possibly built in the ugliest part of the town. It was hidden behind a fenced off open-air car park on the left and rusty buildings which apparently rents ski, snowboard and mountain bikes to tourists. The only sign indicating any kind of business going on was the dusty signboards since all the windows and doors were shut close. The prospects of our mountain biking afternoon were starting to diminish. Finally, we got to the ticket counters but were disappointed to learn that in Italy, lunch break was for 2 hours and everything - we mean everything - shuts, even the gondolas. There were hikers and mountain bikers waiting patiently around us so we guess this was the norm. There were loads of mountain bikers heavily armoured with padding all ready for an afternoon of downhill biking but no "normal" bikers. Since we were not familiar with the lay of the land, we changed our minds on biking and decided on a nice hike in the mountain.

After loitering around the counters for another 30 mins, we finally see some sleepy operators sleepily walking back to their stations. We bought our 2 tickets to "heaven" and eagerly hopped into our gondola. The ride was surprisingly long so it gave us an opportunity to see Aosta in its full glory. Geez, what a neglected and unsightly town. The pristine backdrop of snow capped mountains was completely scarred by industrialization. The town was sprawled in all directions and right smack in the middle was a huge shopping mall which was nothing more than just a big rectangular concrete block. There were abandoned factories of all shapes and sizes, mostly rusty with smashed windows. The Italians definitely did not love their mountains in Aosta as much as they did in Dolomites. Remaining optimistic, we tried to keep our spirits high and chose a hike that we would give us time for the ride down. We decided on a 3-4 hour short hike undulating through the forests which might give us better views.

We got off the gondola and started our gentle hike up slope. 10 minutes later, we were nearly swept off the pathway by downhill mountain bikers and we realised the path we had chosen had a junction which intersects with the mountain biking trails. It was unnerving hiking up the slope when you knew that there was a possibility of crashing into a mountain biker heading downhill at full speed so we decided to do the circular hike in the opposite direction. The pathway led us onto dirt tracks deeper into the forests and it felt good to finally stretch those muscles. The view was however rather unrewarding and every 40 minutes or so, we would pass a cow shed run by the local farmers to catch a long strong whiff of cow manure. The trails were clearly not for hiking and were actual ski runs that have been hastily adopted for walking in summer. Towards the end of the circular route, the slope was so steep that we had to ditch the "trail" and create our own zig-zag path down the valley. We returned to the hostel and had a long shower to wash the disappointment and dirt off before heading to the Old Town in search of some local food.

Strolling down the streets of Old Town, we found a family run Tavern serving traditional Italian with local produce and we feasted on some comfort food and local Pinot Noir. Over stewed meat, we discussed about our disappointment in Aosta. After a long whinging session, we decided not to let it weigh our spirits down and enjoy it for what the place has to offer. Besides, we have booked a week's accommodation for our first French stop in Chamonix and that would be the best place to mountain bike, hike and possibly Via Ferrata. With that in mind, we toast to our first day in the Italian Alps and looked forward to our next day in Cogne.

Day 37 & 38: Torino

It was a probably a break through moment in our backpacking experience. The first time we did not have our exit strategy planned. Turin or Torino - as the locals call it - was a destination chosen since it geographically made sense to get to France.

Booking accommodation in Torino turned out to be a rush job completed in the worse possible fashion just before we boarded the train from Monterosso. The temperature was hovering around 40 degrees and Robin was not functioning at his best after he had kitted up with long pants and hiking boots in an effort to lighten his backpack load. So we made a decision to have me head out to the town centre leaving Robin with the backpacks and to recover from the heat.

In hindsight, both parties were clearly not thinking straight 1) Robin was "strategically" placed in a spot with absolutely no shade (which he will soon realise) 2) I did not have the credit card details or the actual credit cards at hand when I marched on to find the internet cafe (so how was I supposed to book the rooms online? 3) we both discovered that I was also probably suffering from a heat stroke because I did not use the trusty lap top to go online, instead I chose to use the PCs so it meant that we would not have the full address details when we arrived in Torino.

It took some time before I could find the elusive internet cafe as it was wedged between 2 dangerously ancient buildings so I plonked myself down at a table and got to work. Time was ticking and it was a matter of minutes before our train headed off so I scribbled the address of an available hostel with free WI-FI hastily on a piece of scrap paper and prayed that it was decipherable and that availability will remain. (Yes - I realise that if I had used the laptop, I would not have had to waste time scribbling addresses on a piece of paper.) Sprinting to a half baked Robin, we grabbed our bags and ran towards the train station.

After a 5 hour train ride, we arrived in Torino. Too tired and hungry to think, we did something we don't usually do. We splurged and took a taxi to the hotel, instead of getting a bus. Surprisingly so, the taxi driver dropped us off right at the hostel with no hassles. Must be a rather popular choice with tourists, we thought to ourselves. We will find out later tonight that it was popular but not necessarily with tourists.

We checked ourselves in to a double room and soon realised that the room was a sauna. The temperature would have been at least 5 degrees higher than it was outside. There was a small plastic fan next to the bed which we had functioning at full capacity but blowing hot air from one end of the room to the other gave us little comfort. We tried to distract ourselves by turning on the telly, unfortunately the only channel that wasn't in Italian was BBC. While pottering around the room, Robin discovered that the main contributor to the terrible heat in the room was some element under the tiles near the entrance of our room. We couldn't decide if it was hot water or just bad wiring but we decided to place our wet handwashed laundry on these 2 hot tiles. That seemed to cool the room somewhat and dried our handwash very quickly.

Satisfied that we killed 2 birds with one stone, we headed out in search of some calories and could only find a nearby Irish pub that served pizzas and pasta. we settled for 5 euro pizzas and 2 pints of Kilkenny. While eating our food, 2 local ladies caked up with heavy make up sat down a table next to us and I wondered why would anyone be all dressed up on a weekday? It was not even Tuesday. One of the ladies enquired how much our pizzas were and after a debate with her friend, they took off. I guess 5 euros pizza was out of their budget.

After some pub grub, we headed back to the hostel to start our research for France and had to make our way back down to ground floor as WI-FI did not work beyond level 1. Not long after we placed ourselves on some comfy couches in reception, a guy, around mid thirties, strutted in and slammed a 50 euro note down on the counter. A few seconds later, a scantily clad peroxide blonde following him in. Robin and I exchanged glances and thought to ourselves...love hotel?!? It was clear that they did not have any accompanying luggage and the man was clearly waiting for change. Our rooms cost slightly more than 50 euros for a night. It is no wonder that the taxi driver knew exactly where it was in the suburbs. Back then we thought nothing of the patrons of the pizzeria and the people wandering around the area but now we looked back, it seemed so obvious.

We headed upstairs and were even more dismayed to realise that the hostel/hotel had turned on their neon blue lights to advertise its presence to sleazy customers. To make things worse, the sign was just outside our bedroom window. Shutting the windows and curtains was out of the question since the temperature was already unbearable. So in the end, we chose to sleep with the window open and the creepy neon lights shining into the bedroom. Needless to say, it was not a good night's sleep.

Next day we were determined to get all the administration work done so we headed into town for the tourist office for our exit strategy - Aosta. It appeared that there was some good mountain biking in the area and any place was better than a love hotel. We even managed to find a hair salon to get a hair cut that afternoon as I was starting to look more like a shaggy dog each day. The hair stylist was exactly what you would expect an Italian hair dresser to be like: friendly and flamboyant. It was good fun watching him cut my hair in exaggerated motions and to communicate my preferences through sign language.

After we got all the administrative work done, we decided on a mini city hike to get some fresh air and lift our spirits. We walked through the main shopping area, side streets and city park. Torino was actually a rather nice city which we both liked. It didn't have the historical remains like other Italian tourist spots but it was confident and young. It obviously wasn't a tourist hot spot but we didn't mind, it was nice to get away from the SLRs and souvenirs for a while.

Night fell and we bought ourselves a roast chicken and 2 bottles of weiss beer from a small local shop for dinner. Even though it was enjoyed on our hostel bed in a steam room, it was one of the best meals we had in a long time.