Beckster's Days

Weymouth and a monster bike ride (part 1)

2009-05-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

The big boss people have given me a whole week off! As much as I'd love to say that Eric and I took the opportunity to skip off to the Maldives, there's a credit crunch going on and so Weymouth, the jewel in Dorset's coastal crown is where we went.

The family where there waiting for us with a massive lobster/crab/oyster feast.
Unfortunately they all had to go back to work the next day, but Eric and I had plans.
This is the route. Ignore that bit at the bottom (maybe, on a clear day, with the wind behind you, as well as a motorised engine.)
This is the map.

This is Eric, on bike, with map.

We cycled along the esplanade, taking the turning for Sutton Poyntz, which was not only beautiful but seems to be home to this amazing 3 wheeler.

You always know, when a bloke walking a dog laughs and yells after you as you pass 'That's a big hill!' that you're in for a climb.

Eric was undeterred:
'Lance (Oympic cyclist)...I'm coming to get ya!'
Once we got to the top, just above the White Horse (more on this later) the wind having been in our face the whole time, I was quite euphoric.
We rested here a while, taking in the view.

We crossed a field above the Horse, which is (taken directly from Wiki): a hill figure sculpted in 1808 into the limestone Osmington hill just north of Weymouth called the South Dorset Downs, within the parish of Osmington.
The figure is of King George III, who regularly visited Weymouth, and made it 'the first resort', riding on his horse, and can be seen for miles around. It is 280 feet long and 323 feet high in size and is best viewed from the A353 road.
There is a legend that King George was offended that the figure was riding out of Weymouth — a sign that he was not welcome — and never returned.

We actually stopped to try and walk down to see it, but the sculpture hasn't been tended to in a while and the 'permitted path' was overgrown and unclear. This is Eric, about to give up.

He did cheer up when we found this surveyance marker. This is the highest point in all the land, and, that's right folks, Eric's higher.

I was just happy to be cycling along, rather than up.

Then, it came time to cycle down again in to Osmington. In this picture you can just see it in the distance.

Problem is, our bikes are far from the mountain variety. Eric picked his way through the stones and steep decline well, but I am never one to go along with the phrase 'Nothing bad can happen' and so walked a while.
Another stile! Anyone who knows my love of these features of country rambles will know how much I rejoiced.

After cycling through Osmington, the guide basically tells you to head back, but I decided to take charge and divert us another 2 miles in to Osmington Mills and a 13th Century pub called the Smuggler's Inn.
The pub is so named because it seems that right here was a great place to land smuggled goods from boats. Geologists are really into the rock formations and beach here.
I'm really into cider after a hard bike ride,
and this particular proverb!

From Osmington Mills, you can just see the Weymouth Bay.
'Bex, that's where we're headed...'

After another ridiculous 1st gear climb from the coast to the main road, we paused to look at the White Horse we never managed to see up close.
Eric's disappointment is clear. Unfortunately, at the exact moment he made this gesture, a van drove past, obscuring the horse from my photo (and causing a similar reaction from the van driver).

And so back to the Weymouth esplanade. I love this picture of a thoughtful Eric.

Ah, the harbour! By this point it was 5.30pm. We left at 11am...2 hours my sore, um, seat!

1X mountain hike= 1X deep-fried mars bar

2009-03-29T12:21:00.000-07:00

Apologies for lack of postage! I had to get a colleague to post some pictures on Facebook so that I could use them (never will I be caught camera-less again!) to prove I DID actually climb Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh.

But more on that later.

This is Edinburgh, where I was lucky enough to be joined by my family.

Edinburgh has a big university where apparently some of the students still speak Gaelic.

It also has a Royal Mile,

a castle, and lots of history.

This can only mean one thing: my father points.

All day.

But occasionally I point too. I mean, who is that?

This is The Writer's Museum where the most interesting thing I saw was

Sir Walter Scott's rocking horse, which had one higher leg brace than the other, evidence that he suffered from polio at an early age.

Basically, the Royal Mile has lots of tiny streets leading from it, where people lived and worked. There are lots of ghost tours you can do which I'd highly recommend.

My folks stayed at the Balmoral Hotel, again, highly recommended.

Sharing the afternoon tea can lead to arguments, it's that good.

Speaking of food, The Witchery is arguably the best restaurant on the Royal Mile, and due to the yearly festival, the guestbook is full of interesting autographs.

When you walk the length of the Royal Mile, you walk past the Parliamentary building, which looks oddly like some kind of prison for cattle to me.

At the other end of the Royal Mile from the castle, and nestled in between two hills, one being Arthur's seat, is the Royal Family's official residence in Scotland, Hollyrood House.

Eric went to the top of Arthur's seat before me, while I was working. So these are a mixed bag of his photos, plus subsequent ones when I managed to get to the top with my friends. For some reason the pictures are tiny, but if you can see in one the white pillar, that's the top. It wasn't easy...

...and I decided I deserved to try one of Scotland's famed culinary delights: the fried Mars Bar.

And a cross section. Mmm.

Cholesterol in a greasy, chocolatey bar folks! It was, I have to admit, pretty tasty.

No Man's an Island

2009-03-17T17:45:00.000-07:00

So, we've been in Douglas, in the Isle of Man.
To be honest, I know very little about this place, because I've had no transport to explore the island (and no trains run 'til Easter!) but what follows is what I did learn:
Anything originating from or typifying the Isle of Man is given the prefix 'Manx'.
The emblem of the Isle of Man is this three-legged symbol, on some examples wearing spurs.
Douglas has a pretty seafront, and apparently during the summer when the electric railway runs, is very quaint.
The Isle of Man is a very small island, close to Liverpool on the coast of the UK. It is only 33 miles in length and 13 miles wide, and is famous for the annual TT motorbike race.
I found this bike for sale. I thought about buying it, riding a few laps and then selling it on, but then thought better of it.
There is a Manx language, not commonly spoken but the thing of greetings cards, road names etc.
As you travel in to the Isle of Man, you cross the 'famous' Fairy Bridge. Fail to say hello to the fairies at you peril!
The Isle of Man currency is sterling, but they print their own pound notes, even £1, not seen in the rest of the UK since the 70's!
There's a pretty harbour, too.
The Isle of Man gets a great deal, really. They're officially part of the UK so they get to use the army, yet they govern themselves, so don't have to abide by annoying things like speed-limits on roads.
It's also known as a tax haven. This means that the average business will pay at most 18% tax, where the rest of us have to pay around 40%. Maybe that's why English comedian Norman Wisdom moved here.

This was the dining room at my B'n'B, the Wicklow Hills Guest House. Great place to drink wine and heat up microwave meals after the show.
I love this flower bed on my way to work.

But the real gem of Douglas is the Gaiety Theatre. It truly is the most ornate theatre we've played.
This curtain is amazing.
And these plush seats.
And this roof.
And these boxes.
To get us off of the Isle of Man, and on to Aberdeen in one day, they chartered three, nineteen-seater aeroplanes.
This is mine.
Here are the others.
This is the captain.
This is the only other flight attendant, giving us our safety briefing. Exactly.
This is me trying to stand up in the cabin. Me, claustrophobic?
When the aircraft pulled up in Aberdeen after a turbulent hours' flight, this man put these blocks by the wheels to stop it rolling!

Grassington, the Dales Way and Scar House Reservoir

2009-03-05T03:55:00.000-08:00

Lucky me, lucky me! My husband of one-and-a-half months swept me away for a romantic Sunday in the Yorkshire Dales. Smug-married I'll not be, so enough of this...

We stopped once along the scenic roads through the Dales, to check out these sheep and bulls with extra-long, shaggy coats.

I wonder what breed these cows are, with their distinctive markings?

Plenty of food, anyway.

Eric had chosen Grassington as our place to stay, it's in the south Dales, also known as Swaledale, between Kettlewell and Ilkley on the Dales Way.

What's the Dales Way? Here it is. It's a walking footpath route, of 84 miles, through the Dales. It is relatively flat, beautifully scenic, off-road, and with plenty of Yorkshire villages, pubs and inns to stop at overnight along the way it's a great introduction to long-distance walking, they say.

The pub we stayed in was the Forresters Arms and was a fine example of an old English Inn.

As time was short, and it was a beautiful sunny day, we decided to take a quick drive to cross the Pateley Bridge,

passing this amazing waterfall (on the walking route, see the path?) on the way, to do a loop from Nidderdale to Middlesmoor, not strictly on the Dales Way route, but an 'area of stunning natural beauty' according to the guidebook.

We began walking along the road, a relatively steep incline, but beautiful.

Snowdrops by the side of the road.

Middlesmoor really is an unspoilt village with a pebbled road leading to a church set on the edge of the hill, and a great view.

An example of a much older way of life.

Rare breeds seem to be the thing here. This black turkey was massive, the photo doesn't do it justice. It's body was like a barrel. Anyone name the breed?

I fell in love with this chapel conversion too. Ooh, as luck would have it, it's up for rent!

Keep dreaming, dancer-girl...

We walked back along a public footpath.

Check out this very old, worn piece of engineering: I can pass,

A sheep could not. Simple.

Other animals could pose more of a problem.
Back in the car and on to our final stop, the Scar House Reservoir. PLEASE check the link for all information not found here, I definitely don't get how this reservoir thing works!
Here's what I DO know: it provides the water for Bradford with a capacity of 2,200 million gallons, and was completed in 1936 with no small ammount of effort and hardship.
An entire village was also built to house workers, complete with flushing toilets (nearby village Pateley Bridge residents did not have this, it was meant to encourage builders while reinforcing the fact that they were easily replaceable, that this luxury was only available to hard workers) school, cinema and chip-shop.
Once the reservoir was completed, the village was dismantled and sold in lots.
The surface area of water is 70 hectares or 172 acres.
The length of the dam is 600 metres, its' height is 71 metres, and is comprised of over 1 million tonnes of masonry.
It's an impressive thing, this reservoir.

Honeymoons and homecomings

2009-03-03T16:31:00.000-08:00

So, the evening of our wedding was spent on this beautiful catamaran.
The sunset was beautiful, as was the dinner we ate and the turtles we swam with.
We were of course already in Barbados, a dream honeymoon destination, but we decided to take one night away from our families, and stayed at the Savannah Hotel.
Here it is from the outside.
This is the downstairs balcony and (dare I say it?) tired new husband(!)
and this is our view.

A few days later, we went from this...

....to this.

Just to be clear: from this...

...to this.

That's right, we went to Montreal, to see some of my husband's (can't get used to that yet!) friends and family.
First visit as always, was to the West Island, and his grandparents.
Second, also customary, was to a poutine shack.
I've explained before about this dish, but this particular diner had been voted by the people of Montreal to be the best poutine in town.
I have not sampled them all, but I like the best.

I cannot stress, reader, how cold Montreal is at that time of year.

Oh, here's an example: Think you'll leave that bottle of water in the car, do you?

And there's so much snow.
We shovelled twice a day sometimes. I confess, if I were a resident I'm pretty sure I'd pay one of the hundred companies that offer to shovel your drive for you, at a price.
They also have massive ploughs and snow-throwers, and huge lorries that take snow to landfill sites because there just isn't enough room for the stuff, but I couldn't get a good picture.

There were two big things I tried this time in Canada. One was cross-country skiing, which is most-definitely a breach of my performance contract but hey, I'm a devil-may-care kinda gal!
Eric's a fan.
Me? Not much. Instead of just your feet to take care of, there's 6 foot of slippery metal to contend with as well, only half-attached to your foot. Weird what some people enjoy...

The second thing was much more to my liking, the Ofuro Spa in the north of Montreal, a version of what's commonly called a Polar Bear Club. Allow me to explain.
As this leaflet sorta shows, everything is done in rotation. You steam or sauna, you go in a really cold plunge pool outside (minus 27, remember) for 3-5 seconds, you heat up again in the steam room, you go to the hot-tub, you chill in the relaxation area etc.
No cameras inside, but it was awesome. My whole body stung when I came out of the frozen river and into the heat, but I was extremely proud I did it.

We saw some friends also, showing them our wedding pictures and enjoying Marc's new place, complete with bamboo bar in the basement.
All it needs is a Guinness mat...

Oh, one amazing thing happened...

2009-02-27T02:19:00.000-08:00

We got hitched!

He proposed back in September, the day before my Birthday, on the London Eye.

We took a stroll on Sunday along the London embankment, with my man all the while checking his watch, on a schedule.

I've always wanted to take a flight on The Eye ever since I saw it erected on my train journey into college back in '99. They took ages to right it, for over a week it rested precariously on a 30 degree angle, so it was a great surprise when he presented me with a ticket.

It was strange to me that Eric wasn't taking more pictures once we were on our way. He also seemed nervous, and I've never known him to be afraid of heights.
At the very top, and surrounded by total strangers, most of whom were on a group tour, Eric got on one knee, whipped out a ring and asked me to be his wife.

After we came back down to ground-level (literally, figuratively etc.) we went for a drink, and headed home.
But the excitement wasn't over. Eric organised a surprise party for me! Good job I said yes, eh?!

So, we got married in Barbados on December 29th. I know, I know, so soon...well, why not? The holiday was already booked, and how often does one find oneself presented with the opportunity to get married in Barbados?

The Andromeda Botanical Gardens, Bathsheba, the wild, north-easterly part of the island, was our venue. It was gorgeous.

My sister made the dress. It too was gorgeous. Everything, was, you've guessed it...

Oh, the silence...

2009-02-25T15:20:00.001-08:00

Ah, I have not written in some time... It's all to do with the show, and the following it enjoys, and how as a mere player in it, I can mention nothing on it. I'm well, and it's fun, but I need to write about WHERE I am and basically be vague about everything else, lest I attract attention, it would seem.
So, more posts to follow.

The skeletons in Paris' basement

2008-08-12T12:37:00.000-07:00

So, on our third and final morning in Paris, the early-morning attraction du jour involved over a kilometre of underground tunnel-walking and thousands upon thousands of human skeletons.

Make sure you're ready if you head down to the Catacombes.

Yes, reader, by this point in the holiday, I'd given up on makeup...

To be honest, it is kind of foreboding. Apparently Paris has a massive network of underground caves and tunnels, which are of course forbidden to the public because, for one thing, it's really easy to get lost.

But I did hear a rumour that a bunch of people got busted for setting up a secret cinema down in one in the 80s, and stealing electricity to power it.

Anyway, this is what you walk down once you're through the gates. For quite a while.

Then it gets more warren-like. In order to navigate, workers painted a black line on the ceiling of the tunnels which, when candle-light was shone upward, showed the way.
We're following this route.
Every now and then, you see a brick with some initials and a date on, like this, to show who laid this particular brickwork to uphold the tunnel, and when.
These amazing handmade sculptures, replicas of Parisian cityscapes were dedicated to a man who used to work in the caves but who had been accused of a crime. I was enjoying the story, until they revealed that the man in question later died during a 'cave-in' down here. A CAVE-IN!
Anyone suffer from claustrophobia?

They built wells down here, so that workers could wash/drink without needing to go back above ground.
After some time, you come to this. See the black line?
The rest of your walk underground is sobering and shocking simply because of the sheer numbers of the unnamed dead who finally came to rest here.
It's not like there's one room of skeletons.
They are stacked over 6 feet high, bones upon bones, and the walk takes at least a further 20 minutes to cover wthout stopping.

At the end of the tour, they actually check your bag. Apparently people have stolen bones in the past.

Needing something light like Retail Therapy after our morning, we hopped on a metro, only to discover the market we wanted to go to wasn't on today. We eventually found a vintage/flea market and whiled away an hour haggling in French.

Then it was on to Montmartre, where we climbed some steps to view the Basilique du Sacre-cour
and this lovely landscape, but mostly, we did what has to be one of the best things to do in Paris and went to a cafe for lunch.
I had snails, Eric had beef. We both had chilled red wine which on a hot day hits the spot.

Sadly, after some book-shopping for Eric (he bought authors who are amongst those buried in the catacombes) and one last drink at our local, it was time for the metro.
A bientot, Paris!

Paris Day 2

2008-08-10T10:13:00.000-07:00

So, as previously mentioned, one must hit the attractions either really early, or really late. Attack it like a theme park, reader.

At 1pm, you can wait over an hour in line, then get hearded around Notre Dame Cathedral like a sheep. At 9am, you can stroll in and have the place pretty much to yourself.
Then go get a pain au chocolat, because the Towers of Notre Dame, (which you really want to do, believe me) don't open 'til 10, and you will have to queue for a few minutes. DO NOT come back at lunchtime unless you have nothing else you want to do that day.
The thing I love about this Gothic religious building is it's darkness. There's just something, well, wrong about it.
Check out these poor peasants bearing the weight of saints,
or the demonic stare on this little creature, having stolen a bible.
Inside, the stained glass windows are huge and magnificent,
and in places the bright paint on the pillars is still intact.

Building began on Notre Dame in 1163, but was not completed until almost 200 years later!

Once you begin climbing the 422 steps in the spiral staircase up to the top of one of the 69metre-high towers, you begin to realise what inspired Vitor Hugo to give the hero of his novel (The Hunchback of Notre Dame, first published 1831) Quasimodo a home as well as the job of Bell-Ringer here.

At 46 metres above the ground, you get a break from climbing stairs round and round in a circle, as you reach the Chimera gallery. This is an outdoor gallery walkway (very worn) that it's easy to imagine Quasi walking around, hanging out with the chimera or statues here.

These guys aren't to be confused with gargoyles, which are specifically designed as protruding features designed to drain water. So now you know.

Also up here are cool grimacing heads and the afforementioned gargoyles, but I couldn't get a good shot of any.

These are Stryga, or 'birds of night'. In eastern legend they're seen as a nocturnal and evil spirit. And this one appears to be eating a falafel.

Up once more, you get to the South Tower belfry. This is Emmanuel, the 17th Century bell. It weighs over 13 tonnes, and it's clapper over 500 kilos.
The structure surrounding it is wooden (and if you ask me, could do with some refurb. Good job it's only rung on major Catholic feast days.)
One more long set of steps, 422 in total, gets you up to the top of the South Tower.
Here, after taking a few shots of Paris
the moment got the better of Eric.

After all those steps, we grabbed a Velib to the Park de Luxembourg, bought some charcuterie, took up a couple of metal chairs they leave lying around for you (again, NOBODY steals them! I'd give it 2 weeks in London) made like the locals do at lunchtime and ate in the park.
We found this lovely water feature,
and these sculptures. They spelled out 'TOLERANCE'.
At this point we dropped by a cafe, to try an early evening aperitif, a Pastis. It's cold, wet and tastes strongly of licquorice. I'd highly recommend you don't try it.

I had to go to Victor Hugo's apartment.
Here, at the former Hotel de Rohan-Guemenee, Place des Vosges (there's accents over e's here) Hugo rented a 280 square-metre apartment on the 2nd floor for 16 years. A WRITER rented a massive HOTEL ROOM for 16 years! See what I mean about luxury?
The walls in this room are the same fabric as in our hotel room, funnily enough, and for me this standing writing table is the best item in the apartment. Victor Hugo wrote so much he even wrote standing up.
Here's a picture of him, doing just that.

It was getting a little late in the day, but by hopping another Velib, we made it to Rue Scribe and the Fragonard Perfume museum about 10 minutes before closing!
Anyone who's read Perfume by Partick Suskind HAS to visit this place. Or just anyone who loves perfume.
The book is true: they really did trap the essence of a flower by layering it in goose fat!
They also have plenty of vintage perfume decanters.

and this one which is specifically designed to be placed in your car. Yes, in c1920, you had to look and smell presentable if you were going out driving.
This is a an explanation of a perfume organ.
And this is Eric, becoming a 'Nose'.

We took what ended up being a long walk home along the Seine, in a great deal of heat, and slept a while.
The fish restaurant we went to for dinner, the Dome in Montparnasse, was amazing and had the best oysters and bouillabaise I ever tasted, but I was too scared to take a picture in there! Just go if you like seafood.

The bar we wanted to go to however, was closed. Actually, lots of Parisians leave the city in July and go on holiday elsewhere to escape the city heat.

After being told we'd have to pay the full price of 8euros each in another bar to see the last 10 minutes of a jazz set, we headed back to our home-quartier, the Latin Quarter and found another jazz cave.

This one, the Caveau des Oubliettes, has different jam nights every night.

Eric was first out, borrowing a bass!
Wanna see him closer? That's my man, that is.

The place was a little more forboding than the other jazz cave. A Caveau des Oubliettes roughly translates as a prison for the forgotten. There's a message carved out on one of the walls that reads in French: '1421 I will be hanged'.
Cheery.

I love Paris, in the summer, when it sizzles

2008-08-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

To quote a bit of Cole Porter (lyrics that were part of a show I used to do at sea, one I don't miss) I did love Paris, and it did sizzle. It was my first time, but armed with my own private French- speaker I was ready to take on the Ville-Lumiere.

We took the 6.30 Eurostar from St. Pancreas. In order to do this, we got a bus at 4am. This is what we look like, waiting for a bus at 4am.

We arrived in Paris, after like 2 hours in a dark tunnel at the Gare du Nord, and took a short metro ride to our quartier, St. Germain in Paris' Latin Quarter, and hotel, the Hotel Califonia (yes, really. It was a cheap internet deal, okay)

Paris' metro system is sound, the train's are larger than our London 'Tube', but there are a lot more stairs in the metro and a lot less escalators.

They do have these very gothic signs outside each station, almost as if you're entering a theme park attraction.

And our hotel room was actually great. Our view was lovely,

and we were 2 minutes' walk from this baby, Notre Dame on the Ille de Paris. We even got the AC to work on the 2nd night, which we needed as temperatures hit 32 all three days we were there.

The land-locked Parisians have found a way to deal with the heat though, with sand hauled in to make 'La Plage' beside the Seine, every July.

Eric took in the scenery.

We walked across to the Ille de Paris, passing this statue commemorating (we think) the winner of the turn-of-the century ladies' naked table tennis championships.

A thing you quickly learn about Paris is: it's all in the details. Faces on bridges, gargoyles on Cathedrals, even cherubs on public water fountains. I couldn't actually believe it until I saw people filling up their water bottles from these plentiful Godsends.

We returned to actually check in to our hotel (at 1.30pm) having stopped for a gallette (savoury pancake to me) and discovered arguably the best way to see Paris.
Reader, let me introduce you to Velib!

Here's the deal: They are racks of bikes attached to little docks, distributed around the city.
You buy a ticket, as Eric's showing, which is 1euro for one day, or 5euros for a week.

THEN you put a credit card into the central machine, which takes a deposit of 150euros in case you keep the bike.

If you replace the bike within a half hour (ie you journey across the city and clunk the bike into one of the docks there) it's free, as many times that day as you want! If you keep the bike over half an hour they charge you another euro or so per hour. If you nick the bike, they take the 150euros from your card.

Amazingly, nobody seems to do this! Perhaps it's because the bikes are specifically designed and can only be fixed by Velib technicians, but I think it's more than that, something to do with the sense of pride, the notion of right and wrong I got from people in the city. People were courteous, polite even to a Brit like me, and fair.

I regret to admit, this great system would work in my hometown, which is a shame, because the bikes were a cheap, fun, quick way to see Paris, and much cooler than the stuffy, devoid of Air-Con Metro!

One word of warning: they freeze up that 150euros for as long as a week, while they tally up all the retruned bikes. Just, you know, if you needed the money....
We cycled (or Velibbed) from our hotel where conveniently there were a bunch of Velibs lined up, down the Champs-Elysees, pausing to check out the direct line from the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre, all the way to the Arc itself.

Here we are.

Next, on to the Tour d'Eiffel, which we cycled (ok, pushed our bikes) right under.

And if you think this looks impressive,
check it out at night! But more on that later...

We cycled North, to Rue Raynouard, and left our bikes in a dock there, right near the house of famous writer Balzac.

Time for a cider, in one of Paris' street cafes. See, the thing about cafes in Paris is, THEY WORK. The staff are efficient, quick, bring you what you want and leave you alone. It's a thing the English don't seem to ever get right, but is so great when done well. We dined in cafes several times, a 24hour cafe became our local in fact. And I didn't find them expensive either. Almost all we visited had a 2 course lunch menu for around 10euros. Try seeing how much you can get in a cafe in Venice for 10 euros!

Refreshed, it was on to Balzac's house. For an impoverished writer, he definitely liked to live in style. There are letters to landlords here, in his former dwelling, on the one hand explaining how his rent would be late, and in the same correspondance, expressing a wish to purchase statues/chairs already in the apartment!

Here's his desk

a few of his notes

his coffee pot, which he overused to the point of gastric trouble, staying up all night writing

the intricate family trees he created for his characters, all interweaved

examples of the illustrations of these characters

and someone even thought to make a bronze caste of his writing hand!

Onto another velib, it was back to the Hotel California for a nap.

Later (much later) we went back to the Eiffel Tower, and managed to get up to the 2nd level (the highest level, the 3rd, was closed) by midnight. The queues are greatly decreased late at night,

and as you can see, the views over the Seine are great.

The last 5minutes of every hour in the evening, the light show on the Tower begins, making it twinkle in a Disney-esque way.

This thing is an amazing feat of engineering for 1910! Luckily, the elevators have been updated, in the 60's and more recently, so that now a computer monitors the weight in each lift and refuses to launch one up the tower if it is over-filled. Phew!

We got our first taxi back to St. Germain to find food (a charcutiere from our local, the 24hour Petit Pont cafe), and then Jazz.

Paris' nightlife often takes place in Caves, of which there are several. This one, the Caveau de la Rouchette was as entertaining for it's jive dancers as it was for the

Scott Hamilton jazz quintet, headed by a fantastic Vibrophone player.

I guess they finished at 2.30am, I don't really remember, but I do remember Eric on the way home.

What's he doing?

He's trying to steal Montagne's shoe.

Next morning, following our new rule: Do the must-see's either very early or very late, we were walking round the Notre Dame Cathedral at 9am. But I must finish this post, publish it and write about our 2nd day in a new post!

The Boss, The BBQ, The Bexhill camping trip, plus 1066 and all that jazz

2008-07-05T15:45:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a ridiculously long time since my last post. Blogger's Block? Not a bit of it, just too crazy with work/trying to get work.

During this constant battle for employment, some time was however allocated for blog-worthiness.

Blog-worthy thing 1) Bruce Springsteen concert at the Emirates Stadium (read: Arsenal stadium, sworn enemies of my team Chelsea) in London.

He was fantastic, taking requests from the crowd (Caddy Shack was my favourite) and Eric was a big fan of the drummer, Max Weinberg

and sax player Clarence Clemons of the E Street Band.

Blog-worthy thing 2) Eric's Dad visited us from Montreal. It was a great week during which we got to give him the tour of London as we see it.

He also left us with a fantastic present, a gas barbeque! Meet Bernie, reader!

Eric's been cooking up anything at all on it ever since, including the best burger in London

(don't believe the hype, Gourmet Burger Kitchen got nothing on Eric!)

Blog-worthy thing 3) We took a camping overnight break, to Hastings and Bexhill-on-Sea.

This is Hastings. Contrary to popular belief, not actually the venue of the Battle of Hastings, but more on that later.

I love these really tall sheds, actually for storing fishing nets in.

It was the warmest day of the year too. Result!

The campsite we went to was quiet, and excellent. We were the youngest there by at least 30 years, and it was obviously off-season, check out our choice of pitch. We chose a quiet and shady corner-spot, right next to

this sty (love stys. They're so Country) only to be advised by one of our only 2 neighbours AFTER we'd pitched the tent that we were on a public footpath, where people walk their dogs.

Did we move? Nope. We had holidaying to do.

Here's Eric, looking badass a second before he broke the pump for the matress. It took us a while after that.

This is the new addition to our blueness, the coolbox.

Here's our other blueness.

So to Bexhill-on-Sea, so chosen because it has my namesake within it.

This is proper English seaside all the way. You can just see in this picture the little white huts where modest bathers can change if they rent them for the day, or families can set up and take care of their flock of kids/dogs/elderly relatives.

I'm sure there are wonderful things about this place I should go into, like the De la Warr Pavilion but at this point, all we wanted was the beach and our coolbox of cider and Smirnoff Ices.

Now that's British summer.

We swam, then we sat on our blue chairs until I got burnt, the beginning of which are quite visible here.

Back at the campsite, Eric and I annoyed our 2 neighbours by cooking on a cheap throwaway barbeque and producing too much smoke.

But the burgers were so good. Venison is the way to go.

To walk off our double-double burger meal, we took aforementioned path, hopped over aforementioned sty and continued into fields and woods of which we had no knowledge, eventually giving ourselves the heebie-jeebies and coming back just as it started to rain.

Next day was our two-tag outing with the ever-vying-for-our-attention British Heritage and National Trust sites.

Blog-worth thing 4) Battle.

1066, William the Conqueror vs. Harald the English bloke actually happened here, not in Hastings.

This is the quaint town of Battle, home of the Battle Boutique, Battle Beauty salon, Battle Butchers and the award-winning Battle Bangers within.

The Battle Cathedral, which William had put on the site after he'd won it,a penance for all the lives lost and taking 24 years to complete is the entrance to the English Heritage visitor centre, although some parts have fallen into disrepair.

The English Heritage LOVE audio tours, and the Battle visitor centre is no exception. But here it works exceptionally well, as you get to walk around the whole of the battlefield itself, all the while imagining the events while the commentary continues.

At the start, they have a museum which really sets the scene for the battle.

This is Louis XIV, also known as the Sun King. I was happy to see him, because he is credited as being the inspiration for Ballet. He had fantastic calves and used to love parading around showing them off, the copying of which became my profession. Nice.

Also in the museum was this map of England c.1066. If WE thought that's how we looked, I take my hat off to the French for finding us for a fight!

Next, it's on to the Battlefield. It all took place on hill, with the English standing up here and waiting at the top to be attacked (clever idea)

and the French down here, having to run up to start the battle.

It's a great tour, and goes in to detail to great to recite here. I'd recommend you do it, reader!

The tour continues into the cathedral, as well, which contained at one point great reading rooms like these.

Blog-worthy thing 5) Bodiam Castle. A National Trust one this. No audio guide, but plenty of info and a beautiful place.

The basic story is, it's a late medieval building. A well-respected knight applied to the King to 'fortify his house', got permission and instead bought an estate with a lake on, and put a castle in it. It is typical of a Medieval Castle in design, but actually was never attacked, or in danger of being.

Here, you can see where Knight and King relate in the Feudal System of government.

That's not to say it didn't have all the defensive features, like these Murder Holes, where hot oil could be poured down on any intruder.

It was really a dwelling for the knight and his wife.

The towers, seen here from the inside are the guest rooms, all of which contained a toilet, not in use today as they literally just opened out into large holes in the ground and had to be cleaned out by servants.

Only there aren't any servants today, and people walk below.

Sadly, soon after the completion of his castle, the knight went away to fight battles again, and died after a few years,never really appreciating it.

Blog-worthy thing 6) I GOT A JOB! Finally, after my break away, I got a job on the UK Tour of Cabaret. Check www.kenwright.com for the tour dates.

Cain't help, lovin' that man o' mine...

2008-05-10T14:00:00.000-07:00

Eric's own band, www.myspace.com/jazzpopquartet/ have done their first gig!
The gig at the Cat's Back, a pub in the more respectable end of Wandsworth, was fantastic.
My small input can be seen here. Yup, Brits will know, I totally ripped-off Top of The Pops. But it works.
See, check out my man on our balcony, on the new table and chairs we just bought. He's a good one.
He bought us this book, for our next day off (I think I'm the bad map-reader involved)
which even printed a Country Code for the discerning rambler.
I picked this walk, in Effingham, (unfortunate name, apparently nice place).
We couldn't find where the walk began, however, probably because in this publication (which was a little old, being a Charity Shop Purchase) every walk begins at the overground rail station of the town concerned. There are no maps (the clue is in the title, see.) and we were driving, which proved problematic.
Somewhere between Cobham and Esher, Eric and I found a car-park, which looked to be surrounded by a public park with signs for walking!
Where IS Elmbridge?
This was the map Eric's in front of. I've decided I like maps. I don't care if I can't read them, I like them. You know where you are with a map...
I like walks that begin with something like this, too.
Eric said he felt like he was back in Quebec, which warmed my little heart strings a bit.
Check out this twig-built shelter we found! It reminds me of a book I used to love when I was little, where a hedgehog builds his houses all different shapes until he finds one he likes (the round house rolls down a hill. Silly hedgehog...).
I love how this trees' roots are desperately clinging to the dry earth on the edge of a ravine, where the rest of the ground has crumbled away. Eric's doing his bit for clinging, too

How the other half live...

2008-05-04T12:32:00.001-07:00

I just read about the world's first billion dollar home today. It's in Mumbai, and is the custom-built family pad of petrochemical businessman and 5th richest man in the world, Mukesh Ambani.
This is the exterior. No two floors are alike, and nor do they contain any of the same materials, his wife decreed that if crystal was used in the ballroom (as it is, extensively) then it should not be used throughout the rest of the house.
It has 9 elevators, a four-storey garden, 6 storeys of parking lots, and an interior space of 400,000 square feet.
Here's one of the bathrooms.
This is the ballroom, the ceiling is 80% covered in crystal chandellier.

So why does any of this bother me? Well, because my experience of Mumbai was a world away from this mammoth display of wealth. Mumbai is a city of immense, heartbreaking poverty where people die in the streets.

This is the Laundry. Here, the public congregate either to work, thrashing laundry in troughs of sun-boiled water, (none of those new-fangled electrical washing machines here)
or to beg, because they know taxi-drivers like to shock tourists by bringing them here.
See the covered areas on the left and right of this picture? Families are living under there. Lots of them, amongst rats and filth, because at least there's water here.

And so, Mr. Ambani's home, built within 2 miles of this laundry offends me. The extremes of Mumbai bend your brain.
Apparently, Ambani 'used Indian workers wherever possible' to build his 525ft high tower. Now they'll be able to see it as they fight to do their laundry, assuming they have the luxury of a second set of clothes. How charitable of him.

I was in a magazine...in English!

2008-05-03T00:25:00.000-07:00

These are the long awaited pics from the last dancing job I did back in February, my post on which you can see by clicking http://daysofbeckster.blogspot.com/2008/02/in-nomine-amoris.html. (I know there's a way to make the link look nicer, but my usual HTML trick ain't working!)

So anyway, for all of us who needed a translation of 'In Nomine Amoris' the kindly writer has obliged...
This is my "How DARE YOU have a higher leg extension than me" face.
Don't try this one with a hangover.
WooHOO! I'm like a windmill! Oooh, keep pulling shoulders down...
That all-important finger-hold for the turn...
Ah...too bad there's a mic stand in the way.
Uh huh, let's show 'em that nine minutes of pas de deux is pretty tiring.
Woh, red catsuits...Must mean it's one of those 'sexy dances'. Must try to be sexy!
Yeah, see I'm really ticklish under my arm....

Kew Gardens, plus ANOTHER expose on the beauty industry, the flip side of the corporate coin

2008-04-26T14:05:00.000-07:00

So, the first real bout of sun all year descended upon England, and we decided it was time for a visit to Kew Gardens

and yes, blue skirt, blue tights. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

This is mum, taken from the upper veranda of the Temperate House. And Eric, who climbed up with me.

Eric got quite into the multitude of plantlife on showcase here.

I think he was inspired by this Time Capsule containing plant specimens from 1985, selected by David Attenborough.

Yep, this is his "Here they all are...in their....natural habitat" Attenborough routine.

I wonder if Sir Attenborough put one of those dancing flowers in the capsule. You can't GET more a '80s plant!

Later on, Eric took on the mannerisms of Monty Don in his TV show 'Around the World in 80 Gardens'. Here he is, contemplative at the Japanese Kokoshi Mon garden.

I contemplated that the gravel 'lawn' wasn't raked any time recently. It was nothing like the perfection of other Japanese gardens we've seen, and at a £13 entry fee for Kew, we'd paid for it to be well-tended!

However, I think the writers of the Spring Haiku blog will enjoy this haiku we found there.

This is one of the entrances to the Palm House, which took over 30 years to build and is the biggest surviving Victorian Greenhouse. They say 'surviving' because it would've been pipped to the post by Crystal Palace, but that burned down (what is it with great British landmarks and fire?)

See the huge palm on the right? It was brought to Kew in 1846, but the greenhouse that houses it was not finished until the 1870s. It must've been tough keeping it alive in the British winter.

My favourite things at Kew are firstly the carnivorous plants like this badboy. It has a sticky sweet substance in it's 'throat' to attract flies which, once inside are trapped, their wings useless when coated in the stickiness, and the 'mouth' shuts down over it's prey forever.

I also like the Cacti, particularly one they call the Resurrection Plant, because it has the ability to technically 'die' only to regain life when watered after many months of receiving no moisture whatsoever. It's ability to harness and retain moisture has led to it's use in many an 'anti ageing' or 'age prevention' cream, but more on that whole flim-flam later.

THEN there's my real inspiration. Oh, you beautiful Cacao...
I was intersted to learn that it was the Spanish, in the 1520s who brought chocolate to Europe, where it was sweetened and made into what we (or I) guzzle by the bar today. For over 1,500 years previous, until the Spanish got to it via the peoples of Central America and Mexico it had been used only as an ingredient in a bitter drink made with ground chillis, vanilla and annatto (no, no idea) drunk only by the rich. What a waste!

Obviously I can't knock it as I haven't tried it, but I doubt it comes anywhere close to treating PMS like a big bar of milk chocolate does.

This is the newest, snazzy greenhouse at Kew.
Unfortunately it houses only 'alpine plants' which are relatively uninteresting by comparison.
And now, on to my employment news. I've recently been working in the beauty hall of the biggest and most famous store in the UK.
I've been on 'fragrance promotion' ("would madam like to try the new ridiculously priced fragrance by someone whose name nobody, not even the person themselves, can pronounce correctly?") and 'counter cover'.
The latter job title means that in the past three days, I've worked on three different well-known high-end skincare counters.

I have two points to make about this:

1) Miracles do not come in jars of cream. The blurb is the same. The ingredients are the same. They are, pretty much the same products on every counter at which I've worked. People do not buy the cream necessarily, they buy the person's pitch on the cream. But, having said this, when we buy something which is after all quite nice, that makes us feel good.

2) If you are ever at a beauty counter, and the girl standing nervously at that counter (with a pot of something in her hand) can't find the product you're after, it's because she is an 'agency counter-cover girl' like me, and probably has never worked at that counter before. She's covering for someone who called in sick. She doesn't know which drawer the particular shiny bottle she's just sold you is actually found in. She doesn't really know the product, but how can she? And those heels she's wearing? They hurt. She's not allowed to sit down on shift, and after 7 hours straight of just standing, she wants to throw them out the window!

Down by the river of...Kingston Town

2008-04-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

So, this is where Eric and I walked today. We went from the bottom tip of Home Park, along the left-hand side of the triangle/river and across Hampton Court Bridge to get back home. Here's Eric doing the pre-walk stretches,
Up
And......down.
This is from Kingston Bridge, a pretty nice view of the Thames. In Tudor Britain, Henry VIII built Hampton Court Palace nearby (and Kings were crowned on the King's Stone, get it?) because Kingston Bridge was the nearest bridge across the Thames to London Bridge. Times have changed.

Check out some of the wildlife we saw on our walk. These are actually pretty scary looking ducks. They have the heroin-chic eyeliner look about them.
Nothing says England quite like a Robin. This one was singing up a storm.

These are big close up! Not that I could touch one even if I wanted to, all swans are property of the queen. It is an offence to kill a swan akin to that of treason.

In Bushy Park, I showed Eric a park with swings and slides that was the scene of much underage drinking in my youth.

As if to welcome my return, nearby deer began a stampede across the footpath.

Eric, at the front of Hampton Court Palace, featured heavily in the recent movie 'The other Boleyn Girl'.

And the back.

Here's another view of the pretty Teddington/Kingston riverside.

Eric's been gigging in a band called Fernando's Kitchen, they play flamenco music.

Eric gave Babitchka a workout that night (the bass) at 93 feet East, on Brick Lane.

(We make) BRIGHTON ROCK!

2008-04-07T15:12:00.000-07:00

What's the one thing better than an overnight mini getaway? An overnight mini getaway for a REASON, of course!

Eric's buddies from college who make up the band Patrick Watson were playing at the Hanbury Arms in Brighton. Having watched them in London's Scala the night before, we thought it only right to follow them to the beautiful British coast.

It's only an hour from Central London by rail. Here's my man, by the new pier. Check out the highly unusual and very lucky 'T-shirt weather'.

I booked a hotel online, the cheapest I could find. It too was right by the new pier, and also a massive nightclub which was adjacent to our room...

I'm showing you a postcard of the Royal Albion Hotel because it's much easier on the eye compared to how it actually looks.

Anyway, we checked in, and went swiftly to the pebble beach, for a pot of cockles. I love these doused in malt vinegar, they remind me of my childhood.

Eric tried hard, but I don't think he was convinced. Ooh, a half inch up and I could've made it look like he was eating the whole pier....

We walked along the seafront, towards Kemp Town, Brighton's answer to a Latin Quarter, to the venue via a pub, naturally.

This is the Hand in Hand, a tiny pub that looks sort of like someone's shared-flat communal room 40 years ago.

I love the ties on the ceiling and this old fruit machine. Behind it there's a plaque which reads 'Save water, shower with a friend' which took me back to my cruise ship days.

I wanted to visit this place because they brew their own ale. Alas, Eric said the pipes must be filthy because the beer tasted terrible, although they did say they were down to the end of the barrel.

The Hanbury Arms is a unique venue, in that it was originally a mausoleum. This is the beautiful hand-painted, domed ceiling. Apparently the walls are similarly painted too, but covered with ply-wood to preserve them.

We waited in a different pub, enjoying the late-afternoon sun, while the band finished sound-check.

The old pier in Brighton is very close to the new one, and was extensively damaged by fire (insurance job, anyone?) but until very recently when it began to fall into the sea, you could buy this pier for £5.

The condition was that you were obliged to rebuild the pier to the standard of it's former glory. Nobody took them up on the offer, and as you can see it's gradually falling away.

The guys finished sound-check, and we headed for the new pier to try out the rollercoasters. Unfortunately the attractions close at 7pm. Here's Eric with his friends Simon and Robbie.

Mishka, the bass player had gone to look for his favourite Balinese restaurant, so we decided to follow suit.

We found one, but apparently it wasn't the right one...

who'd have thought there'd be 2 Balinese places in Brighton?

The guys were on at 9.30, and the gig was a good'un. Here's Simon and Patrick, with Mishka's boat-race just behind.

I learned a new French-ism, to 'bav', from the French 'Bave', to drool. As in:

'When I took a solo I leaned over, my mouth was open and I just bavved all over the stage, totally by accident'. I'll let you guess who the bavee was in this picture...

One of my favourite parts in the show was when the guys stood on the bar and played accoustic/sang without mics for a song. On this occasion, the drummer Robbie got inside a large lampshade, and used it as a huge barrel drum. Very creative.

Let's see it more clearly.
Unfortunately the guys had to leave for Heathrow Airport after the gig (and on to the Juno awards in Calgary. They lost out to Arcade Fire. There's just no accounting for taste) and so couldn't stay all that long, but we had another drink while they loaded up the van for the last time.
If they read this, they'll know just how much they missed out on. How much food, that is. I give you, the famous nay, the INfamous, MARKET DINER!
And the world-famous Gut Buster therein.
A 24 hour safe-haven for roadies, bands, university students and just, er, really drunk people.
2 days later (after a weird casting for a Norwegian Water ad: "I want 3 Icicle positions, then move slow, then like I just turned on a tap and you're the water"), and look, Eric is driving with an unusually happy disposition. Why is this?
Well, to quote a great Prince track, Sometimes It Snows in April. And Eric feels quite at home driving in these conditions, of course.
What angered him was the Brit's failure to see the need for cleaning the snow off their vehicles. On people leaving snow covering their blinker lights:
"You'd get arrested for that in Montreal".
You'd think maybe with a Porsche you'd have more pride in ownership.

My brush with high-fashion

2008-03-29T17:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my expose on the bidness of clothes!

I was a last-minute addition to this shoot, my friend Daniella (pictured, awesome gal) got me in on the job, so I decided to have some fun.

We met at Old Street Tube at 8.45am (obviously the fun hadn't started yet) and made our way to the studio.

OK all would-be models, take note: when they say they're providing catering: THIS is what you want. The whole spread.

There was also this impressive espresso machine. Someone's mum making chicken and rice just doesn't cut it after this.

Then there was the massive (for a dance-shoot) white studio space,

the 2 stylists (2!) with their huge array of clothes

and the jewellery trolley.

I took the opportunity of not being in the first shot to follow the process of taking a picture from conception to end product.

Here are the selected clothes.

Here are the models playing around.

And here is my (really naughty) picture of the shot on screen, ready to be magicked via photoshop into a thing of beauty. The poor dancers have to get themselves into position at least 50 times before the photographer is happy.

By the end of the day my sides ached (no, not from laughing at myself in weird clothes) but for the number of times I had to strike this pose. I hope they sort out my impending wardrobe malfunction in Photoshop...

This was my makeup for that particular shot. Looks funny here, but not so much on the shot. It's all very clever....

Here's me waiting for one of mine, and trying to get over on these flamin' pointe shoes, last seen on a cruise ship.

Some of the group shots were particularly funny:

"So, um, I we hold hands, how?"

"Oh, I'm so innocent....butter wouldn't melt in my mouth"

Simon and Nell boiled cake?

2008-03-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'd like to talk Simnel Cake. Here we are, enjoying one, but I'll be the first to say that I knew nothing of this particular Easter cake before. According to foodie Dudley at www.s4c.co.uk/dudley

The name simnel is derived from the old French word simenel via the Latin term used to describe the finest flour for baking cakes, simila.

There is a suggestion, however, that simnel comes from a legend when a man named Simon and his wife, Nell, were debating whether to bake or boil the cake for Mothering Sunday. In the end, they did both and modestly named the cake after them Sim-Nell!

OK class, so which theory do you prefer? I'm no Delia Smith when we come to the subject of cake-making, but boiling? Baking AND boiling?

Check out the recipe I found, by Mary Berry. I don't see where it says 'now boil your cake', do you?
It's interesting how Mary Berry used 11, not 12 marzipan balls atop her cake. The balls symbolise Christ's Apostles, and people use 11 or 12 depending on whether they think Judas should be counted or not.

Our one (pictured) had 12 balls. I guess Supermarket chains don't like to leave anyone out.

Now, chocolate eggs!
Yes, my one is huge, and white, the best chocolate made by my favourite English chocolatier, Thorntons. They ice any name on your egg for free. These are our Hawaiian names (if all that chocolate wasn't sickly enough to make you nauseous) iced on my egg, and Eric's brown bear. It's a Canadian thing.

I got to see my cat, Sam, on Easter Sunday.
He resides at my folks house (he's set in his ways, plus another hungry mouth to feed right now etc. etc) and is neither a chocolate nor a simnel cake fan, so was pretty moody. He likes to bite my huge beady necklaces like teething rings lately.

On Monday, I got up early and, deciding against going to an audition which would mean relocating to Tokyo, hauled my behind to the gym to work off some of that white chocolate. My gym is on the top floor of the Bentall's Centre, known to all Saaf Laandiners with no elocution lessons like myself and Amy Winehouse as the 'Benoo Cenaah'.
There's something really foreboding about a mall with nobody in it.

In other news, sometimes it snows in London. This is Wimbledon station,
and this is snow.
Yes, I know many Canadians/Norwegians etc. will scoff at my statement, but these kind of swirly snowy situations are rare for March in London.

We could be Heroes....Just for one day

2008-03-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

I love a good Superheroes party. I decided, even though Eric has never seen the 80s cartoon show before, that he'd have to go as BANANAMAN. Check out Bananaman on YouTube for a whole glorious episode. Ah, I remember so well coming home from school, rushing through the door just in time to hear the sounds of "DUH, Duh DUH, and.....

This is 29 Acacia Road, and this is Eric, a schoolboy who leads an amazing double life.....for when Eric eats a banana, an AMAZING transformation occurs.....ERIC IS BANANAMAN! Ever-alert for the call to action!

Little did I know that at the age of uh.....VERY, VERY YOUNG, I'd end up living with my very own Eric/Bananaman! Right...

I reckon he more-than gives his TV likeness a run for his money. Check it out: Theirs

Mine.

Theirs.

Mine.

Theirs.

Mine. Really no contest.

So it was my friend Jason's party, or Zorro as he wished to be called for the evening.

He is also very, very young still, even though his friends saw fit to give him the zimmerframe-esque present you see him modelling here.

He loves to get behind the lens.

Then there's me, Wonder Woman. I made the costume, which for it's second outing is holding up well to bouts of rowdy drinking (not mine, obviously. The people around me are rowdy on occasion).

Here's my alter-ego. Yes, it's one of those suction ornaments for car windscreens. Not that I'm fearful of comparison, or anything...

The other heroes were a mixed bag. I've no idea who this guy thinks he is (please leave a comment if you know),

or why these two people are dressed as an airline pilot and flight attendant (not SUPER heroes. They can bring you booze, sure. Or direct you to you nearest exits 'herehere&HERE', but they're not SUPER)

or when Tina Turner became a Super Hero,

OR why all three of Jason's work colleagues showed up dressed as the same, blonde woman...

But there were some excellent efforts. Indie was bang on,

as was Superman,

and I have to applaud the lady standing next to me for her choice of Super Hero. Hers was a home-made costume too. Great minds, great minds...

We did find a nemesis to both our powers. Our powers of alcohol consumption, that is. It's a Chilean drink called a Pisco Sour, which Eric assures me is nice usually and is a liquor made from the skin of the grape,

but my tastebuds found it as repulsive as Cryptonite is to Superman (it's just so...sour!),

and it seems my partner in Superness felt the same.

Mummies and Ancient Mesopotamia: It's all free at The British Museum

2008-03-04T08:13:00.001-08:00

This has to be one of the best free days out in London, and also was top of our To Do In London On Days Off list.
The atrium building is awesome, check out the open-mouthed man on the left!
As I mentioned, it's free to go in, the only thing you could buy is a guide map in any language you can think of, but to be honest you don't really need one as everything is really well signposted.
I made a bee-line for Ancient Egypt, where I'd been promised mummies. Ever since my trips to Carnack Temple and the pyramids in Egypt I've had a hankering to see an actual mummy, and lo and behold, the Mummies are out on display here!
There's this man, preserved in the traditional way, which is well documented throughout the exhibition. Check it out.
Apparently there were 3 main methods, but generally the whole process took 70 days, 40 days of cleansing/preparing the body and 30 days of wrapping it.
Let's look closer at his face. Amazing.
There are also mummified Bulls
Cats and kittens (the cylindrical one at the front is a kitten!)
The exhibition also features Shabti, little models of servants, which were buried with you, to take into the afterlife.
This man was preserved simply by being buried in sand.
He's still shading his face from the sand-storm, it's actually quite touching and reminds me of something I saw at Pompeii (except obviously with ash, not sand).
So we mooched on to Mesopotamia, which I learned basically covered modern Iraq and Eastern Syria. This was a civilisation from 8000-1595C, with most densely populated, prosperous time being around 3500BC. Uruk was one of the city centres, and grew to 5km square.
The first writing appeared sometime before 3000BC in Mesopotamia, and was triangular tablature called Cuneiform.
This was a regal library. Again, the speechless man...Images of the Flintstones spring to mind (because of the stones-slab 'books', not the man).
Mmm...Mesopotamian bling. I'd like these.
So, we carried on through ancient Greece, where we found this ancient game called Ur, Cyprus and the Roman Empire.
The most, er, unexpected thing I found were these.
The plaque underneath the rings (worn mostly by children!) explains it all, way better than I could. Those thoughtful Romans, eh!

Oh No, I won't go...

2008-03-02T01:43:00.000-08:00

So, I've been offered a job on another cruise line (which will remain nameless lest they, like, sue me for revealing company procedure or something) and because I'm kinda irritated by their meagre offer, I'm going to post the "short version of the contract" exactly as it was sent to me (well, okay, I corrected a few typos)

Hi Rebecca,

Here is a short version of the contract, letter of intent to follow.

Rehearsals start 2nd June 08 in Northampton

Accomodation provided.

The cast is 12 dancers and 4 singers.

9 week rehearsal period

On board first performance 12th August date to get on board is still in discussion.

Shared accomodation on board.

We provide 5 main shows which I briefly spoke to you about and then the welcome show and farewell show .

We do have duties covering library for an hour etc. cast parties as well.

All our dancers start on a basic of $2000 and during the rehearsals it is half salary which we pay in pounds whist in UK.

From the day you step on the ship you are paid full salary even though there is a period of rehearsals whilst the old cast perform their last shows.

Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any more questions....I'm sure you have!

Not a great deal, right? And any seasoned sea-dog like me knows you're supposed to be given the EXACT hours of duties you'll be required to perform per week, ie 20 (a part-time job in itself, forget the dancing!) or 3, as was on my last ship (and to be honest I despised those!) plus they're supposed to give you a breakdown of WHAT those duties are.

But it this my lot? How come people seem to keep wanting to pack me off to sea? And by turning it down am I committing myself to a year of unemployment? Any job is better than none, for sure...

On Monday there are auditions for 'Grease' and 'Wicked' in the West End. My agent has not managed to get me an audition for either.
Just when I think I'm a successful performer I realise that when you're over 23 and haven't done a West End show in a while nobody wants to know, unless you're prepared to dress in white at 10am and hand out library books.

Sorry to vent, reader...

In Nomine Amoris

2008-02-25T09:47:00.000-08:00

That's right folks, In the Name of Love (or 'luurve' when said after a show, and two drinks)
It's the name of the first production I've been in since leaving dat ole Cruisin' bidness.

The gig was in Portugal's Algarve, Lagoa to be precise, and at 75o euros for just one show (plus five days rehearsal) it was also twice the pay I'd have earned from a week at sea. I wish jobs came along like this more often....Here's the programme.

And look, me! I have no idea if my Biog is correct, it's all Portugese to me...

The three other dancers in the cast were the nicest people you could ever hope to meet, and way too talented to be kicking around with the likes of me.
Here are the two guys, after a particularly tough day of rehearsing, and about to go for a beer at a pasteleria across the street.

Taxis, flights, hotel accommodation in my own room

(just when I thought I'd eradicated it from my vocabulary, the Hotel Cristal!)
breakfast AND dinner all paid for -a local restaurant 'sponsored' us for the latter- plus music composed by an emotional Serbian named Zoran who actually cried during rehearsals, the show, seeing us interact at dinner (no joke, the guy loved us) added up to a pretty damn-near perfect job, even with pointe shoes on.
Here are mine, all pancaked up to look like extensions of my feet, which they most definitely are not.
I always have to ask myself how something so biologically wrong can look so pleasing onstage?

In a nutshell, it was an original work, and original choreography. (Read: nobody ever did it before, so I could call a few shots)
The dressing rooms were the nicest and newest I've ever been in. Check it out: FREE WATER!
Humble dancers never usually get such things.
And this shower is unbelieveable of a theatre its' size (350 pax).

The piano/violin/flute trio who accompanied us without conductor (we were only in the second act, time for nice long warm-up at the Get-Go!) made the whole thing unpredictable- one piece was decidedly slow- but lyrical and lovely. Not to get all artistic, but I could actually feel them. No tracks to fill, no old rehashing of Broadway, just us.

This is my partner and I, about a minute after pretty-much nailing our first pas de deux, called Nostalgia (but you have to say "NostalGIA" not the English "NosTALgia")

I'll have to work out how to put video on this thing and put it up here when I get the DVD through (just don't tell anyone, OK?)

My mum flew out to see me the day before the performance, to see the show and also to revisit Carvoeiro, the village in which we were staying and also the place we've holidayed when I was little, in this very villa actually.
I always think it's funny how life sometimes throws you opportunities like these (and even calls them NostalGIA!). Here we are exploring the resort we stayed in about 20 years ago.

I jumped into this pool from here,
and cracked my chin open...
and we used to eat here in this restaurant where the steaks come on sizzling hot stones.

My sister I remember fell into this fountain, and they used to have a Portugese dance troupe in this area with the fish mosaic.

Look, it was all so new when we first came here!

There's a bar for sale in my beloved square. Hmm, what would I call my bar?

We found a Donkey Protection Charity shop. I never saw one before. Burro's Bazar would be an awesome name for a bar! ...Right?

Eric, not to be outdone, flew out on the day of the performance, in true Rock n Roll fashion having driven all night after a gig to get to Stansted (cue Roy Orbison). Easyjet is a wonderful thing people!

After the performance and party, my new friends went home early Sunday morning.

Eric, Mum and I stayed until Monday, giving us a free day to go and explore Silves, an historic town which dates back to the Iron Age and boasts this impressive castle and Knight's Templar connections, although apparently Saudi Arabia has been trying to reclaim it since as they had resided in it for many years later.

I remember gazing through these long narrow windows as a child, now look! There's a man through this one, and he's my one!

I want to know what all these notches are about...sharpening arrows before shooting them through the windows?

As you can see, the weather is, and had been for the whole week, not great.

From the top of one of the castle turrets,
you can see a wonderful mausoleum and collection of buildings housing coffins (I have no idea what you're supposed to call them!), like I saw in Buenos Aires where Eva Peron is buried. I wonder if it has been overrun with cats like it's Argentinian counterpart.

We slept half the day, Eric catching up on his lack of sleep the night before (Ah!),

me just catching up due to poor sleep after a week of intensive dancing (I never ached so much in my whole career) and mum chilling out.

And then we went out and ate. Oh yes, we ate. Mushrooms, huge shrimps, steak, and more garlic than you could shake at Lestadt himself.

Back to the UK then, and back to unemployment.

Why say 'Valentine's Day', when you can say 'Pasty Day'?

2008-02-14T13:05:00.000-08:00

I'm on the Cooking Trip like a new-born Nigella Lawson! Today's (semi) triumph was Cornish Pasties. Not to say that my Valentine's Day wasn't lovely, Eric got me roses and made me pancakes in bed (he brought them to me, in bed, he didn't make them in bed...yeah) but I wanted to try my hand at something new today, and anyway Eric loves a good pasty.

I had to buy a rolling pin to complete the task (great purchase, for £3 it also doubles as a dangerous weapon in case of BF misbehaviour) and, because it's easier to take a picture, here's the recipe:

They're actually surprisingly easy, if you have cold hands. Warmth is the enemy of pastry! The great thing is, you don't cook any of the filling, you just chuck it on the pastry (which you chill for a good while, see the necessity of coolness here?) brush with egg so you can pinch it all together, then cook on 180 for an hour.

See, the origin of the pasty, apparently, was actually the lunch of coal miners, whose wives would cook them meat in a pastry parcel, with a strong crust which they could hold and then disregard, it was never eaten. In Tudor Britain, pies were made simply as an economical way to cook meat, the pastry itself wasn't considered food. The top of the pie was lopped off, the inside spooned out and all the pastry thrown away. OK, British History lesson over.

Eric made these decorations with the leftover pastry after all the circles (use a 20cm side plate) had been cut out.

There's an E for him,

A B for me

And then a skull...yes, a skull. (think he's trying to tell me something about my cooking, reader?)

If you're observant (and reader, I know you are), you'll notice that of the 'Makes 4' specified in the recipe, only 3 are present on the baking tray. That's because one was sacrificed to get the others freed. My only shortcoming in this recipe? I forgot to grease the baking tray, and the first pasty burst apart when I tried to shift it! But the crumbled morsels tasted so goooooood.....

'Exposing myself to guests', a cautionary first

2008-02-11T16:44:00.000-08:00

Wanna hear a story? It's pretty good....It was back while I was on the cruise ship, and I like to think of it as the legacy I left behind. I'm peppering it with pictures of Yours Truly in shows and stuff, because I like to break up the text. But the pictures bear no illustrative purposes towards my story, they are eye-distractors only.

It all started when they cut our water off from 11pm 'til 6am for a week on our deck, deck 5 (just the crew quarters, obviously!) for maintenance work.

Our shows used to come down at 11.40pm, so there'd be no water for a shower after shows in our cabins. This, considering the high energy-level of the shows (read: sweatiness) is both unhealthy and just plain nasty to comprehend.

We were told we could go up to the spa, on Deck 12 and use the showers there, which were unaffected by the cut-off.

So, off I toddle and the system worked for 2 days with the entire cast and other entertainment staff using the spa showers post-show, about 12.45am.

On the 3rd day, I went up to shower and was told by a man cleaning the showers to

"Come back in half an hour, We have to deep-clean through here."

I was tired, but after a few pleas that fell on deaf, underpaid ears I relented and went instead to the showers on deck 11, by the pool, thinking nobody was around and I could take a quick shower there and head to bed rather than wait an extra half-hour.

The showers by the pool are open (ie. no door) but I did a surveilance camera check, decided there was no danger and stripped to shower.

Unfortunately, on this particular evening, a couple walked past and saw my bare British backside!

They just sort of, paused and then continued on their passagiata, so I resolved to go to bed and perhaps mention it to my friendly Line Captain in the morning just to avoid any possible confusion, or in case they complained.

The next morning after rehearsal, I relayed the events to my Line Captain, who instead of the shrug and

"Okay, no problem" I'd anticipated, she said

"Oh! THAT must have been what the Cruise Director meant this morning!"

This was the Cruise Director/Line Captain conversation that had confused her at the time earlier that morning:

CD: Good Morning. This is the Shower Police!

LC: (Nervous laughter) "Good Morning"

CD: Apparently your cast members were showering themselves all over the ship in the

early hours!

Thankfully, he left it at that to give me time to confess!

I said I'd go talk to the Cruise Director later, but as he'd already gone ashore for an hour or so I decided it was probably best to leave things for a while, and went ashore with Eric.

On my way back to the ship, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Guess who it was?

CD: I was just wondering...

Me: Oh hi! I wanted to come and apologis-

CD: Oh no need, I wanted to know when you were next planning on taking a shower? I've

actually had to start selling tickets it's gotten round so quick.

Luckily, he has a sense of humour and didn't fire me. I never did see those guests again though, the ones who'd obviously complained about me!

Pancake Day!

2008-02-05T07:35:00.000-08:00

Ah, at the risk of seeming like some kind of domestic Delia, I'm loving cooking in the morning! Check it out, the first time I've been at home and able to flip flour-based foods from a pan in years!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to leave my feminist morals tied up in a pocket of my cooking apron, but this man holding out his plate for more is disarmingly cute.

Football, cake and the Royal Albert Hall

2008-02-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

So the flat looks almost done, and my boyfriend looks quite content, both of which make me pretty blinkin happy.

So happy in fact, that when I went to the charity shop to buy a cookie jar "Because every flat must have one silly" (BF) I found one that looked like a huge muffin with free muffin-mix inside it and I BAKED. It's hard to believe, people, but I did. How domesticated are THESE? I mean, yeah, all you had to do is add milk, but I preset the oven myself....

One of the highlights of the week was a trip to the Royal Albert Hall to see Cirque du Soleil's Varekai. Here's my man, all suited and booted for the occasion.
The four of us had this box and this champagne buffet (more was served at the interval!) all to ourselves.
Right after I took this, I was reminded that NO photography was allowed. Ah well, they don't mind these ones, surely...

And then there's the Sunday football. Eric becomes quite a menace on the pitch as you can see.

And check out the infamous band of brothers, in their Davie 'V'.
I managed to watch for an hour, before losing all the feeling in my gloved hands and heading off to the pub for a bloody mary. Now that is what I call a Sunday institution!

Sunday in the Park

2008-01-27T09:14:00.000-08:00

Ah...finally, we get a day free (the usual Sunday football match was cancelled. I silently rejoiced. My boyfriend all to myself? And no standing in the freezing cold for 90 minutes hoping he won't injure himself!) to escape city life and go for a bracing walk, taking in some Royal flora and fauna.

Richmond /www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/richmond_park/ is the largest of all the Royal Parks, home to at least 650 deer.

We live really close to it, and I've wanted to take the man on a stroll around it for a while. So here we are, with a hot dog to share (you can't see it, but I had a hot chocolate too!) on the sunniest day of the year so far.

We managed to catch a few sightings of this Robin. Nothing really says English Winter like the red-flash and chirp of one of these birds!

We parked in the first available place we saw (decent days in the UK in January, on a day off=busy parks) and walked through the nearest gated wildlife preservation area, the Isabella Plantation.

It's name is something of a mystery (no Princess Isabella, then?) but it offered much in the way of the afforementioned f&f.

There's this babbling stream,

these weird ducks (have you ever seen these?)

this gnarled old tree that had been fenced off due to it's significant age and value I guess (reminds me of an Ent in Lord of The Rings)

and these new Crocusses.

I was having a discussion with one of my Actor friends the other day, and they had a soliloque that included the word crocus. If you're English and have ever tried to say the word "Crocus" in a New York accent you'll see how difficult it is! Anyway...The star of the day was this Stag. He had let the rest of the herd roam, but seemed authoritative and magestic to me totally disinterested in my presence.
And look! An even better sighting!
Man and beast together!

A New Life (and I should probably change my blog header, too!)

2008-01-21T13:53:00.000-08:00

My oh my. Time has passed. There is a reason, dear reader, for my lack of blog-work other than laziness. I was reluctant to write about it before, just in case it never actually came into fruition (counting eggs before they've hatched etc. etc) but What-the-Hell, it's happened now: ERIC AND I HAVE LEFT THE CRUISE-SHIP GAME, AND MOVED TO LONDON! This is the face of Freedom, waiting for the Airport transfer to leave, folks. We had a 12-hour wait at LAX before we could even check in for our flight, but do we look like we care?

I love this shirt (Christmas present from my Mum!) as does The Bass Player in question.
We officially left, having given 4 months notice (you see! It seems like it never WILL happen, you have to wait 4 months 'til they deign to let you loose!) on Dec 21st, and went on a celebratory 10-day vacation in Barbados, where we met up with my sister and my parents (whose 30th wedding anniversary was incidentally during the 10-day stint, on NYE! Nice!) where a good time was had by all. Here are my folks on their anniversary, where we ate a super-swanky West Coast restaurant called Tides.

There was one hiccup (well, it turned into more, if you'll pardon the pun) in the form of food poisoning, caught from a fast-food outlet called Chefette, native to Barbados and a place I've frequented with no adverse side-effects on previous visits to the island. See, all looks well here...

but half an hour later, don't these two look ill?

Anyways, we rallied well, and soon enough Dad was hanging with the locals

and Eric and I were playing at all the activities a good Caribbean beach affords a healthy tourist.

Just because I want to put a picture of my gorgeous sister in, here she is, at our favourite drinking venue, with Eric.

So, back in the U.K., Eric and I have done what's been coined the "IKEA Boogie" twice now and I'm becoming a dab-hand at flat-pack furniture assembly. Check it out!

This is the 'Before'....

but the place still doesn't look quite wonderful enough for the 'After' (check back in a month...maybe)!

So how are we readjusting to "Land life"? Well, the weird-but-wonderful realisation that we don't have to be back on for All Aboard, EVER is still fresh, and comes in waves over me (wow, another pun?) still, each and every day.

I've auditioned for various West End shows with relative success ("Well done Rebecca. We'll call you...") and am currently doing a Short Film.

Eric is doing some jamming (musically, as shown here at The Grey Horse Blues Jam)

and is excited about going to play with a good fusion band (not sure what they fuse yet) on Friday. He's proved himself to be something of a footie player too...

Now, how to change my blog...

Progressing from Progresso, scooting on to Cozumel

2007-12-11T19:42:00.000-08:00

I must be honest, Progresso in Mexico isn't much to write home about. This is it.

One strip of beach with not-too-clear water, and a few streets like this. The main convenience store is called Oxxo, where we bought this interestingly named treat (which was supposed to be tamarind flavour, but was definitely not to my taste although I like fresh tamarind) and here's a street.

Why are all these people waiting here?

The best thing we found in Progresso was a particular restaurant called El Viero e el Mare or something like that, translating as The Old Man and the Sea.

Together with Vampiros (a bloody Mary, but made with tequila naturally) we made friends on two separate occasions with this small cat. The owners of the restaurant told us she just showed up, about two months ago and just stayed, the same day as the restaurant next door had acquired a new inhabitant also. This cat is called Pantera, and they'd named the one next door Tigro.

She was gorgeous, I fell in love. She chilled with us, wanting to be stroked and thrown the occasional chunk of fish from our fish platter for a good hour.

She was fiesty too, as you can see, but mostly she just wanted love and attention.

So, moving on to Cozumel and Eric's Birthday, we rented this "sweet ride" for $30, and went to explore.

It was at least 15 years old, backfired when we slowed down and stopped of it's own accord at traffic lights.

Once you get outside of downtown, Cozumel becomes rugged and beautiful, with unspoilt beaches and only occasional bars or basic hotels.

The roads are falling into disrepair, scooters, beware of pot-holes!

We stopped for lunch at this restaurant, which I'm pretty sure had no electricity.

A big plate of barbeque fish later, we went to the beach, swam (here's the Birthday boy!)

and slept on the sand for nearly two hours. We'd gone all the way down the West Coast of the island (with it's excellent snorkelling opportunities!) to the southernmost tip, and so all that remained was for us to carry on in a loop along the East coast, past scenery like this, and then across the island on the one main road there is, to get back.

Blonde ambitions of my Birthday-boy Boyfriend!

2007-12-10T16:49:00.000-08:00

Reader, this post must begin with an admission. Although born a natural blonde, I must admit to "helping the colour along" with a bottle of dolled-up bleach. Here it is.

Now, I do not know exactly why, maybe it was his impending 29th Birthday, but when I embarked upon the latest root-retouch of my hair, Eric became quite involved in the proceedings, helping me with the back bits and generally asking questions.

No sooner had I turned my back than Eric, colour-brush in hand had turned the remnants of the bottle towards his own head.

When I realised he was quite intent on colouring his hair, I tried to help out and was carefully told "I just want an even sheen of colour". These are unusual words from my boyfriend. The same thing applies for his next phrase: "Do you have a hand-mirror?"

Here we are, then. Yes, that is bemused confusion on my face.

After 20 minutes I washed my hair as usual, checked the colour and had to leave for a cut appointment in the spa, and so left Eric with clear instructions on the next step in his colour treatment.

When I returned, Eric informed me he'd already applied extra bleach to some "uneven spots" and unveiled his new look proudly. I'm the girlfriend of a Nordic Blonde, reader!

Eat your heart out, Johnnie Rotten!

Scooter? How very French West-Indian of you

2007-11-23T20:18:00.000-08:00

St. Barth's is, I've decided, best seen via scooter, and with a French-speaking companion (boyfriend:check!).

We rented our scooter from this man, whose store was right along the main drag, for 35 euros, not bad considering it's more powerful than the standard model (good for more than one body when going uphill, and St. Barth's has a few....um, hills, not bodies!)

From Gustavia, where the tender boat left us, we headed east, past St. Jean/Nikki beach with it's airstrip on the North coast and along the whole of the rugged east coast with it's various beaches.

This was taken at Petit Cul de Sac if I remember correctly.

And this one. My helmet was way too big for me: anyone can tell I'm nowhere near a 7 and-a-quarter!

The first beach we stopped at was the Grand Saline, on the south coast.

It looks like a river when you first drive in. The beach is approximately a ten minute walk,

but look, it's worth it.

We swam in the clear, turquiose water, lay on the beach a while, and then walked back to have lunch at a place called Le Grain de Sel (grain of salt, reader!).

This was my view.

And this.

One appetiser and one main dish plus a beer and a rum-punch came to $99 without tip. St. Barth's isn't cheap, but it is movie-set beautiful.

Heavier on our scooter but lighter in pocket, we headed to another beach, known to be one of the loveliest, called Gouverneur. There was a steep decline to get down to this beach, but as you can see it was easy on the eye, if not so easy for Eric doing the driving.

Again, beautiful.

How to be a good girlfriend

2007-11-22T17:55:00.000-08:00

Give your boyfriend a facial! Seriously! I reckon tons of men actually crave a facial but are too scared to go to a salon. All I can say is, when I suggested it, my man went for it in a big way.

See, you can make all the stuff yourself. You can get really good recipes for natural face-masks using only basic foods like oatmeal, honey, brown sugar, etc. (don't eat them, put them on his face!) from the internet. Check out http://www.essentialoils.co.za/ or http://www.skin-care-recipes-and-remedies.com/

From left to right, in this picture, I made:

-a yoghurt/honey cleanser; 40z yoghurt, 1 tablespoon honey (mix, apply and remove with a warm face cloth)

-a toner that's just a green tea bag, steeped in half a cup of boiling water for 3 mins, then chilled (apply all over face with a cotton wool ball)

-a scrub with 2 tablespoons each of quick oats and brown sugar plus 1 tsp lemon juice and 2 tablespoons aloe vera juice (but I used aloe vera aftersun gel and it worked great!)

-a facemask you leave on for 20 mins with half a peeled, mashed up cucumber and 1 tablespoon natural yoghurt

-a second facemask using 1 apple, peeled and finely diced (I didn't do too good of a job dicing, but they don't let the crew have sharp knives onboard for obvious reasons!) 2 tablespoons of honey and 2 tablespoons of yoghurt. You leave this one for 20mins too.

The only thing I didn't make myself was a moisturiser, and that's because for me, there really is no other moisturiser than Este Lauder's Skin Refinisher. Eric loved it.

You get your man to shower, then wrap him up in warm towels before getting him to lie face-up for his facial. Make sure you have a big bowl of warm water and a bunch of face cloths to remove the various potions. My big tip would be to give him a foot massage while the face mask is on.

The only downside? If you want him to be energetic, take you out on a date and/or be coherent forget it. This is what you get after you give your man a facial. Ah...

Parents on for the Panama Canal, a disappearing Curacao bridge, Nessie and other stories

2007-11-21T06:16:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in a few weeks, dear reader. I apologise. My parents were onboard, and I've been a busy lady. I'll try to summarise their cruise in one post, which began in Miami, ended in Costa Rica and was deemed a Very Good Thing by all involved.

South Beach, Miami is much prettier than I'd imagined.

Images of stucco, fake, puce-painted art-deco buildings with Ripley's "Believe it or Not" museums housed inside were thankfully all in my head. The reality is so pretty. The architecture is authentic, and the beach is long with sand like icing sugar.

I like to walk behind Eric and my Dad while they talk.

It's true what the say, everyone seems to have one of those little 'teacup' dogs. They look like rats on ropes. The smaller and more specific the breed (Puggle: Pug and Poodle mix is just one I overheard) the better, and they are all carried around by their owners in these little bags/purses because they're just too small to walk by themselves on the street without being trampled or swallowed up in one gulp by a larger dog.

My dad bought me a dress that made me feel like a movie star, embellished with Swarovski crystals and complete with movie star pricetag.

In St. Barth's, we all went snorkelling on a guest tour, then I went with my folks to Nikki Beach, also called St. Jean's Beach. Check out Mum and Dad with their "noodles" (the word "Noodle" is particularly funny when spoken with a French accent, as it was in St. Barth's).

I acted as the guest escort and hence got to go snorkelling for free! I have to say -and I feel sorry for Eric, because he never got to go on the second trip- that the snorkelling in Curacao is far better. They took us to a tug boat wreck that sank 47 years ago. The fish seemed to love it, and we saw squid, octopus, huge parrot fish, angel fish in cute pairs and tons of things I'm not qualified to identify. Plus, I bought a throw-away underwater camera (my folks have it, undevelopped, that's why no fishy pictures are to be found here) which made time pass so quickly I couldn't believe it when our 2 hours was up and we had to get back.

Also in Curacao, Eric found his "ideal Birthday present." It's a speaker, worth around $600, even at Duty Free rates. Um, let me think....you can't have it!

In Curacao, there's a floating bridge over to the main shopping area, you can see it on the right of this picture.

The disconcerting thing is that when ships want to pass through, the bridge swings away from the far side of the pier to lie flat with one side of the dock, as if it were never there. Last time we were here (and I admit, after a few rum cocktails) I had an argument with the ferry driver about there being a bridge "Right here! And no I won't get on your ferry until you show me where the bridge is!"

Here are my folks at one of the Panama Canal gates, seen from Deck 8.

My Dad, a resort developer, quantity surveyor and property engineer with his own building company was enthralled by this piece of engineering, the hugest single concrete structure (so they say.) A huge amount of life was lost in the construction of the canal. It is always impressive, you're so close to the rainforest at times you can see monkeys and exotic birds, and I've been through it now at least a dozen times.

Also during this cruise, Eric finally got his new electric NS bass.

It's long, but thin and extremely transportable compared to his current upright bass, Big Brown Beatrice.

This new bass you have to put on to a pin, er, base, she is called Nessie, and I think Eric is very happy with her. He spends enough time with her, anyway...

After 10 days, my folks left for San Jose in Costa Rica on our final day of the cruise. Eric and I said goodbye the night before due to their early transfer by coach to their hotel, and were left in Caldera.

I must give you a tip on the port in Caldera, there's really not much within walking distance of the actual port, except an amazing, picturesque and well kept secret of a seafood restaurant called Costa del Sol.

I'm prepared to share details with you on how to get there, but don't tell everyone. You come out of the port, and go down the road. At the fork, you veer left, seeing this abandoned freight train perhaps.

Do not head towards Liberia.

Carry on walking, until you see this old steam train front carriage (I'm photographing it from the wrong side, but you get the picture). Here, turn right. Keep going, it'll look something like this.

Then turn left, this is what you'll see. Keep walking until you see the place on your right.

This is the place.

This is the view.

This is the food.

This is us.

It's worth it, I promise you. And on the way back, walk along these old train tracks, a very quaint old system with tunnels under the bridges still erected.

There'll probably be some young people playing in the water too to your right, trying to catch the fish that jump from the river.

NY and the Village Vanguard Jazz, but first, Me!

2007-11-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

So, just because some people have been accusing me of not actually doing an honest day's work on the ship but simply schlepping round various ports, I'm putting a 'work' shot in. It's Nick and myself, about to give it some 'Chicago' dancing. I don't know why it came out this small, but it's just as well.

Now, on to other things. These are my trying-to-be-discreet-by-turning-off-my-flash-and-red-eye-reduction-on-the-camera-before-snapping efforts from our night out at the final half set of the Village Vanguard Orchestra in New York's Greenwich Village.

Yes, they're dark, but they capture the atmosphere of the place pretty well. We got in at a discounted rate of only $10 because by the time my man finished working, it was 11.30pm, the time the last set starts at the Village Vanguard. It would otherwise have been $30 to hear big-band jazz, not cheap even by my London standards.

The room was fairly small for such a large group of musicians and had all the elements required for a 'genuine' big-band experience, four trombones, sax and trumpets, of which the lead trumpet-player was of the crazy, frat-boy ilk etc. and one really great bassist.

Duncan was impressed.

Eric and I had been to The Village (we talk like locals now!) earlier in the day, for his appointment to try out some upright basses at a specialist store called David Gage, check out this showroom (I'm a regular undercover photographer now) and on our walk there I particularly liked this collection of tiles painted by locals after 9/11, some had really poignant messages on them.

After the Village Vanguard had finished their final set, and my company did the usual and sometimes profitable "Hey, I'm a musician/you're a musician" social thing, we got a tip-off to go to Smalls for more jazz.

This three-man outfit couldn't compare to the evening's previous entertainment, but we stayed a while anyways, and I did get a good shot of the bass player.

Rocko in Philly!

2007-10-31T16:39:00.000-07:00

When you think of Philadelphia, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? That Bruce Springsteen song? The heart-wrenching Tom Hanks movie that went with it? The Liberty Bell? Philly cheese-steak sandwiches? A well-known light cheese spread?
For me, dear reader, I’m afraid it’s none of these things. For me, it’s the Rocky movies. My pilgrimage in Philadelphia was to the Museum of Art, site of the famous steps Sly ran up when training to become the ultimate fighting underdog Champion.
I do not know where the meat factory he used to work (and work out) in is, or I would have gone there too, but I distinctly remember him running down this very lane!
Eric even filmed me recreating the scene, humming the theme tune as I ran up the numerous sets of staircases, throwing punches all the way, and struck my triumphant pose on the plateau. I know you’ll be saddened to learn that I cannot work out how to load video footage onto my blog, so I’ll give you just the first and last shots.
I felt totally pumped up like a champion afterwards. I made Eric call me 'Becko' for the rest of the day.
Eric did the same run, although he’d held my coffee and bag for me while I ran up, and the shot doesn’t look quite so cool when you see a Grande cappuccino and purse by his feet!
Later on we were to discover how many had gone this way before us when I found this book.
The top of the steps is a great place to see downtown Philly from.
There’s a great statue at the bottom of these steps. Here’s Eric, between two animals native to his homeland. And below a near-naked lady. Nice.
Here I am, kissing a buffalo. Yeah I know, I just ran up the Rocky steps, must’ve been low on blood-sugar to my brain or something!

We walked down past the Rodin museum, here’s Eric posed by the statue of the man himself. Contemplation or constipation, you decide!
I particularly like how on pedestrian maps in Philadephia, they’ve circled a “5 minute” yellow circle in a circumference from where you’re standing. Pretty cool.

Our next stop was the Liberty Bell, but we passed this great fountain in front of the City Hall (or would I call this photo Two Dubiously Shaped Towers?)

I’ll be honest, Philadelphia is much nicer than I’d expected.
There are many murals, all depicting scenes of independence and American history.
Indeed, on our way to the Liberty Bell, we passed the Center of Independence (with the mall of independence therein) where you could buy a set of three historical papers: The Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights and the Constitution all printed on antique-look-n-feel parchment paper.
Hey look, you can have breakfast with Ben! I wonder if he has his eggs over-easy or sunny-side up, it’d be a chance to find out…..
The Liberty Bell is free to view. It’s been out of action for some time because alas, a sign of freedom it may be, but a good and functional bell it is not. I guess the Brits are to blame as it was cast in England. It’s so heavy that when it was mounted, it nearly toppled the steeple it was perched on when it was rung, and soon after it was placed there it cracked. It was repaired once, but cracked again fairly badly as you can see in my pictures.
I think it’s amazing that when commissioned, the cost of such a bell was estimated as “around One-hundred pounds (sterling)”. Oh, how times have changed!

Bike riding in Bar Harbor

2007-10-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful day for a bike ride in Maine, and Acadia National Park, about 5 miles West from where we docked is the place to take your rental out and put it through it's paces. We paid $15 each for our bikes because as is usual on our days ashore, one of us, this time it was Eric, had a rehearsal until noon, leaving us only a few hours to spare when you take into account the tender ride (here demonstrated by Eric, Duncan and the new trumpet-player Josh) and all-aboard at 4pm.

We turned from the Bar Harbor Bike Shop and onto Duck Brook Road, crossing a bridge after about a mile with gorgeous views of the turning leaves. Here we are on the bridge with our nice orange bikes. See, I had a difficult angle while I was setting the timer. We didn't really need to bend down, I see that now.

Here's our map. Our plan (which we executed perfectly, I-ah thankyou!) was to bike the 6 mile loop around Eagle Lake and take in the Port Description's write-up of the park: 'a wild, unspoiled paradise...John D. Rockefeller considered it one of the great views of the world.' There were signposts too, like these ones, and I instantly fall in love with names like Cadillac Mountain, Witch Hole Pond, Paradise Harbor, Aunty Betty Pond, The Tarn and Bubble Pond.

We talked about our favourite TV painter (come to think of it, I guess he's the only TV painter I know of!) Bob something-or-other, whom we both used to watch regularly as kids. He'd paint landscapes of trees, always calling them "Happy Little Trees", and describing the paints he was using and how he'd tap his brush to get the right effect. You were of course supposed to buy his paint-set and paint along with him, but his paints were never just called white, or light green. They had names like green ochre and titanium white.

If I were Bob, what would I have called these colours in my Happy Little Tree painting?

Sorrento Lime?

Tuscan sunset?

Honey-mustard?

Terracotta orange?

Cabernet Sauvignon?

I love taking pictures while biking, I like the motion you can see in the foreground of this picture. Then I swapped camera duty with Eric and realised he liked taking pics while riding his bike too (sorry Mum, I didn't wear a helmet, but look, I did wear gloves, a hat AND a scarf!)

We also saw some Tandem Bikers. The tandem I like. The fluorescent matching get-ups, in broad daylight, I do not.

When we got to the tip of Eagle Lake we took a pause for the cause, because the ride had contained more uphill sections than we'd anticipated. Quite frankly I was cream-crackered. It was serene and beautiful. Although I couldn't catch them in a shot, we saw Kingfishers too.

Just before we left the park, we stopped for another Kodak moment. What a gorgeous place. My man looks awful happy!

For being such a good girl and biking so far, Eric decided to take me for a surprise. By asking him just two questions ("Can I eat it?" and "Will the food be kind of pinkish?") I was able to deduce that he was taking me for a Lobster Roll! We are in Maine after all.

On our walk there, we encountered this woman, wearing these purple tie-dye effect tights. Lady, I salute you!

We went to the Lobster Claw, on 54 West St. The owner can do your lobster roll four ways, as you can see. I went for the butter version, meaning they serve you just the fresh lobster in a toasted roll with lettuce and home-made potato-chips, but you get a tub of melted butter for dipping, which I thought was well-deserved after my bike work-out, AND still better than the mayo option.

Mmmm....

I love this picture, check out the shadow: Chow Down, Eric!

It was so good, that having bought it for me Eric was keen to ask after my bread if I wasn't going to eat it (needless to say he was given short shrift for not giving a girl time enough to eat her lunch before jumping onto her plate) because we were given so much lobster in relation to carbs. The sign of a good sandwich, and a hungry boyfriend.

Grizzly Burr Cubs

2007-10-08T21:14:00.000-07:00

Oh my. One of these days I'm going to see one of these gorgeous creatures in the wild, and I don't care if they take my peanut-butter and jam sandwich hidden under the pillow in my tent if I left it there carelessly! They're beautiful.

This picture is taken from First People - LinkTo Us, it's a great site about Turtle Island and Canadian Indians, and they have a lovely gallery of pictures.

Je Reviens a Montreal!

2007-10-03T10:59:00.000-07:00

It's similar to the title of the song by Robert Charlebois (his is Je Reviendrai a Montreal, meaning "I WILL return") that Eric always likes to crank up on the stereo whenever he returns home, but quite frankly I'm getting to know it so well now that we both sang along really loud from the privacy of our hire-car as we drove from the Port Vieux (hey, my French IS getting better!) into downtown, and on to Saint. Sauveur where his dad lives.

The home of my favourite treat, Maple syrup (sirop d’erable) is in plentiful supply here. I love these frozen versions, you wait ‘til it begins to thaw, grab your lolly stick embedded in you treat, and chew! Our first trip after picking up the car was to Mont Royal (Mount Royal), with Eric’s mum. It’s a beautiful park on the mountain, where you can walk, jog or collect the falling leaves that are turning gorgeous shades of yellow, orange and red at this time of year. We walked to the terrace with great views over downtown, where between two buildings you can usually see the ship (that’s how used to docking here we are now!)
The squirrels here are seriously tame, if you talk to them they approach you, obviously thinking you’ll feed them. I struggled to convince myself not to feed them however cute they are.
This red squirrel was actually seen in Quebec, but I loved watching him as he checked if the coast was clear, worked out his straight path, then dived back into the trash can, grabbed his prize (a muffin case) and ran like the wind to safety!
Eric’s mum came back to the ship with us, and we went for a girlie chat in the Palm Court, before our run-through of the 50’s show.
Later that night Eric and I drove up North, to Saint-Sauver. I love driving at night, it must remind me of childhood road-trips to visit my grandparents or something. We listened to Michael Brecker on CD (in our CD player no less!) all the way, plus we stopped at a gas station for beef Jerky, chips and sugar-fixes. Ah, the small pleasures in life!
Hey, check out the Paint-your-own Jack O’Lantern pumpkins in grocery stores! I received this parcel from my Mum, she sent it for my Birthday to Canada (yes, I’m a year older, I’m trying to be positive about it!) and I bought this Bear-Cub (Burr Cub!) postcard to send to her as a Thankyou note. This is the TV listing of my Birthday onboard the ship. Thanks, captain.
We were fed a homemade chicken pie which Eric made short work out of, and slept in Eric’s bed at his Dad and Celine’s place, the best sleep I’ve had in ages.
The next morning, Eric cooked me pancakes, sausages and maple-syrup before driving me to Doncaster Park for the walk to see the changing leaves that he promised me.
Here’s our map, we’re being shown a 45-minute walk, a more challenging route that takes us alongside a stream.
Look, even Eric got bitten by a mosquito! But I thought it was a nice touch that he dressed so as to coordinate with his surroundings.
A kissing picture! How did that get in here?
The colours were beautiful. The leaves are turning, as I was promised they would be.
Here’s Eric by water. Look below him, yes, there’s a rock. Here he is again. I should’ve known. I turned my back and about thirty seconds later I heard a plaintive cry
“Becky…..Becky!” he’d tried to get to the rock, and gotten his feet very wet.

Apparently I'm obsessed with red squirrels, this one was just chilling with us in the park.
Back at the ship, Eric’s Dad Jean and Celine came onboard. Here we are, a bit tired but happy.
Eric’s friends, from left to right, Marc, J.P., Martin, Guillome, Julie and Melanie arrived later and they all stayed to watch the Welcome Aboard Show. This is truly embarrassing for me, because in the opening number I walk down through the house to the stage, wearing a practically see-through peche leotard, and a wig we’ve fondly named the “Soccer Mom”. Mmmm.
After both shows, Eric fulfilled another promise, to take me out for the best poutine I’ve ever had. This is his 24-hour, poutine joint of choice. Look at the selection!
Here’s my 3 Amigos Poutine, with 3 different types of Mexican sausage in addition to the fries, gravy and squeaky curd cheese typical of poutines. This is an excellent example. I forget what Eric chose, but he was pretty happy with it as you can see.
After our midnight mega-snack, Eric drove me to the lookout (read: make-out) spot. There was a great surprise awaiting a tourist like me, Racoons!
They really do look like their cartoon versions, I used to watch a show called the Getalong Gang when I was young and the racoon was always my favourite.
They were almost aggressive, Eric tempted them with a piece of paper and they weren’t happy when they realized they’d been tricked. I have a sneaky suspicion the racoons on the hill have become addicted to marijuana. I distinctly heard a woman yell “No, not my joint!” and when I turned around, I saw at least ten raccoons encircling the woman, fighting ferociously for the dropped article. Pot-head raccoons, what is the world coming to?
This is a racoon in a garbage can, I was too scared to try and re-take the picture! Here he is again. They’re big, and they’re living off our junk-food, folks!

Big Apple, Big Pizza

2007-09-20T12:00:00.001-07:00

What I love about docking in New York, is that we really do dock IN New York, it's a straight walk down 73rd st. to Times Square. Here I am with (from left to right) Eric (and his tongue) Duncan and Tyler (or Commissioner Jonas Shiloh Taylor to give him his full title) doing just that.

Here's one of those 'only in New York' things we saw on the sidewalk, three brown shoes, partnerless...it makes me kind of sad...

In New York, people really do sing as they walk along the street, rap with their friends on street corners, beep their horns uncontrollably and yell at each other for no apparent reason.

Here's Times Square. We were pretty excited even though we've been here before. The place exudes energy. It also busts out all over with stuff you need! One of my favourite places to browse is Colony, on Broadway, for sheet music. I bought the dots for Amy Winehouse's Back to Black album, plus a bunch of Rod Stewart tacks and Walking in Memphis, because I've always wanted to sing it, and you never know when the next jam session's going to happen at sea...a girl's got to stay ready and keep her material fresh!

So, I guess this is what a New York Brownstone looks like. I want one.

Hey everyone, let's do the Times Square Shuffle!

This store made Eric extremely happy. The guy let him try out a $3,000 floor-pod (only in NY, baby!) plus a seriously pricey bass. He eventualy bought a Tonebone 'Bassbone', much smaller and less pricey, which he's not entirely happy with, but in true high-consumerism style, the guy in the store said he could return it as long as it was in resaleable condition any time in the next month.

I bought some new dance trainers and jazz pants (my first since, um, 2001!) from this huge Capezio store near the ship. Dance stores just don't come this big in the U.K.!

But the thing we've been waiting all for all year, the thing New York (and in particular THIS store) does better than anywhere else, is pizza. And the name of the best pizza slice in town? Fat Sal's. Eric and I shared two mammoth pieces of this vegetarian, Duncan took the classic mozzarella and tomato and the Commissioner had a white pizza, so-named due to the lack of tomato sauce but with added ricotta balls. Looks weird, tastes amazing.

All Day Breakfast in the Comfy Corner Cafe, Halifax

2007-09-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

Halifax, ah Halifax. Eric was back on Canadian soil once again, and what lovely, er, soil it was. This graffitti "Happy City" was written on the side of a street. You just wouldn't get that it London....These are my favourite spots in Halifax: This bookstore for cheap 2nd hand books and strong coffee, this coffee store (a Canadian institution so I hear) Second Cup, because as well as great coffee they have all the free local papers and fliers you could possibly want to get you clued up on what's popping tonight, and this cafe. It's called the Comfy Corner Cafe, and does breakfast, all day, and that's it. It's all about the omellettes and big mugs of joe. Hung on the walls are various tea-towels from far-flung corners of the globe, all donations from regulars.

On our walk back through town, we were lucky enough to see a game of street hockey, my first ever. Eric wanted to play, but uttered sadly "I don't have my stick" and we carried on.

This place has a soul, I mean where else could you see a busker this well dressed?

Or signs outside a clothing store like this?

Or my boyfriend wearing this 'No Name' carrier bag when shopping in a Grocery Store, without fear of being arrested (I love how it says Spend Less right by his head, like a thought bubble!)

Take a little look at Nuuk

2007-09-10T14:23:00.000-07:00

Nuuk is the capital of Greenland, and on our visit was also a fairly rocky tender-boat ride away, owing to the fact that the dock was damaged in a recent storm.

On arriving in Nuuk, you are met with hundreds of shipping hangars, used worldwide. You feel like an ant amongst lego blocks. I couldn't help thinking that as the surrounding architecture uses many of the same materials, corrugated iron cubes are de rigeur as dwellings go, it almost feels as if the town has grown out of the hangars, like the hangars decided to morph into buildings to accommodate the people wishing to live and work in them. Check out this bus shelter and roadside cafe, see what I mean?

This is the town proper. In the pub in the second picture, the yellow one (yes, that's a pub), it became apparent that the smoking ban hasn't hit Greenland yet. At 2pm, we walked into a smoky-haze, with people well into their second, third or fourth rounds, and although I don't smoke I had a vague pang of longing for the smoke-filled English pubs of my youth.

This is the cemetary, quite beautiful and unlike any I've seen before.

This is the Thai restaurant next to it, where Eric and I ate really good coconut shrimp, surrounded by more smokers, drinkers, and gamblers on these slot machines that seem to be present in every eatery we go to. All the vices are here, folks!

Apparently, Santa Claus lives at 3900 Nuuk. He even has his own post box just behind his house, next to the Tourism office...and all these years I've been addressing my letters to the North Pole...I was too upset to even look for it. We did like this bench, however. It was a very peaceful, contemplative bench.

Danish is the language spoken here (although some say 'Ancient Norse') and this is what it looks like. They double up on the consonants quite frequently, and vowels too now I look at it.

So, the way to keep your boat fresh is to wrap it in cling film and leave it on dry land. And, I think that's all for now, reader!

Prins Christian Sund

2007-09-09T18:53:00.000-07:00

En route to Nuuk, Greenland, this gorgeous passage was our setting for around 4 hours, from around 9am 'til 1pm.
It's peaceful, it's calm (a welcome change, we've cancelled three shows in as many days due to rough weather) and the icebergs are any colour from beige to bright blue.

The thing I never really thought about, regarding icebergs, is the age of them. Many are around 400 years old, once part of something much larger, and now they just drift.

The mist was really low, and my hands were freezing.

Here's a tiny eskimo (or is it Inuit?) village. I counted 8 houses in total.

I was just discussing how hard it must be to live there, how cut off etc. with some of the crew when as if to answer in a defiant gesture of mobility, a yellow boat came speeding up towards us, from the village, and sped right past.

Reykjavik: geothermal spa, please!

2007-09-08T04:27:00.000-07:00

In the capital of Iceland, the biggest tourist attraction is this man-made but naturally supplied mineral rich, geothermal sea-water pool known as the Blue Lagoon.

It's been updated in the entrance and changing areas since I was here last year, and is now rather chic. This is the gift shop where you can buy various tubs and tubes of mineral-rich or mud-based products. They're all at least $60 each for a decent sized tube. This is expensive mud.
Having decided not to purchase, I took full advantage of the freebie trial packets of Mineral Moisture Lotion on the front desk, and headed for the baths. They’re pretty big, and you are supposed to shower beforehand en masse ( contrary to popular belief, nakedness during the actual showering is not mandatory. I kept my ‘kini on) before going down the steps with your towel to soak yourself.
Now, I seem to remember the temperature being hotter last time I was here, and the water was, dare I say it, slightly bluer rather than greyish (all those human bodies sharing one, er, body of water?) but because it is a natural source I suppose there’s little they can do about the heat or constitution of the water. The heat does come in waves, so although peaceful, your time in the lagoon will be peppered with triumphant calls of “Ooh! Over here’s hot! Ooh!” from fellow bathers.
There’s a quiet treatment section, where you can get a massage for an extra price, and for free, you can go to one of these stations dotted around the main pool that have buckets full of white silica mud paste underneath some decking for your enjoyment. You ladle yourself out some mud, rub it into your face/back/arms and leave for 10 minutes to impart natural healing properties. Mmm…
All too soon it was time to take our rejuvinated bodies out, and on to the 40 minute coach journey back to our port. If you’ve ever bathed in hot springs, you may notice the strange smell it leaves on your skin, an egg-like aroma, no matter how much you shower afterward. Although on reflection I’m slightly turned off (I mean, I don’t share my bath water with 200 people, right?) to the health benefits of such an activity, for a pure laugh-out loud at your mates in their swmming gear wearing a face mask in public, this is good value.

I WANT THIS (or, Project V-Dub!)

2007-09-02T02:29:00.000-07:00

eBay Motors: Volkswagen : Bus/Vanagon (item 280148740169 end time Sep-07-07 14:02:52 PDT)

Oh, my, how I want this thing. Dad, I KNOW I am saving for my flat (and inevitable unemployment) when I become a 'land' person again in December, but oh, how I would love this little beauty! Even though it's a lefty-drive (I love a challenge!) I'd be so happy.

It's got it's original tent and everything...I want to strap my board onto the original rack and hit the swells in Cornwall, or Wales, or chuck it on the Euro-whatsit and go to France!
Look on her. Fall in love with her, and then please don't bid on her because I WANT HER!

Ways to get V-Dub (legally):

-Beg/plead/cajole random individuals, friends and relatives on account of it being my Birthday soon (unlikely to get response)
-Play lottery (unlikely to win)
-Get very rich husband (issue of current boyfriend whom I quite like)
-Create wonderful show extravanganza and invite all my friends (that's 107 on Facebook, y'know...107 times £15 is.....) and bloggers to come, proceeds going to Project V-Dub (issue of bidding running out in 5 days, unlikely to get show together, perform AND get winning bid by then)

I'm open to suggestion, reader!

Belfast Black Taxi Tour

2007-08-30T03:20:00.000-07:00

I was very interested to visit Belfast, since I have been a Londoner all my life, and was very much exposed to the IRA bombings throughout my childhood and teenage years.

I also studied what was quickly named The Troubles in Northern Ireland at school, as part of History GCSE. What I am trying to tell you is that many of these images that people in Northern Ireland see every day, I saw on the news after school, and looked at in books during the day.

I wanted to take one of the Black Taxi Tours to BOTH sides of the Peace Wall divide (you have to look for a taxi with a yellow sticker on the front, white or green stickered taxis can only stay on one side, thus you only get half the story according to our man in the taxi) and our driver promised to try and get us all through the political history tour in one hour, for £25 (pounds sterling are used in Northern Ireland. In Eire, or Southern Ireland, it's Euros) and as he was an official guide, I thought it was something of a bargain.

We passed the port, where the Titanic was built incidentally, and went straight down the Cromwell Road to Cromwell Prison, where the first political prisoners were held. This row of houses is where, at the height of The Troubles, prison guards would live. Across the road is where the offenders were sentenced. As you can see, it has fallen into disrepair, and has been granted planning permission to be converted into an Hotel. The prison itself will be turned into a museum, it was supposed to be finished in June, but will not be finished 'for a while yet'. He told us that we'd find this Belfast in many respects "Fifteen years behind everyone else" but that since the ceasefire 9 years ago (it doesn't seem that long) they've been building up much of the town again. They've also paid Unionists £5,000 per painting, to change negative gunmen-type images on the murals on the end of terraced houses in favour of more positive yet still Unionist historical figures, like this one of William of Orange.

Belfast is famous for these murals, both Unionist (Protestant) and Republican (Catholic) beyond the wall, especially this one, which I remember from news bulletins when I was young. It's famous because the gun itself follows you around as you pass in front of it. Then there are the Unionist heros. This man, "Top Gun" is known to have been responsible for the murder of at least 20 people. He died of a drug overdose in '93, but the floral tributes and letters look as if they were left only yesterday.

This mural was only painted about 6 months ago apparently. The thing that struck me was that these images are all close together, and are seen every day by locals. It's just part of their life, and they live with the memories of the Troubles on a daily basis.

We drove on, looking up at this tower block on the way. The top two floors of this block were occupied by the British Army for 2 years at the height of The Troubles, because it's the highest vantage point in the city.

These gates are closed at 6pm to provide a barrier between Catholic and Protestant, South and North, every night. There are several gates through the Peace Wall, and only one remains open 24 hours a day. There were actually two barriers that we drove through in order to get over to the Catholic side.

Here are the remnants of the July 11th Orange Order march. There is also a fire here, and I couldn't help but think how sombre a day it must really be, a civil march through Ulster passing by neighbours with whom you have such a troubled past, just because you have the right.

On the Catholic side, of course the murals are somewhat different, and the main collection is on this road. This man was a famous political prisoner who refused to wear an HMS (Her Majesty's Service) prison uniform, on account of his belief that he was not under the rule of the British crown, and so took to his cell, wearing only his blanket, starting the Blanket Protests. Then there's Bobby Sands, the first Catholic to die on hunger strike in prison.

This is the Peace Wall, seen still from the Protestant side. It's been built up higher a number of times, and apparently is being made stronger even now. There are no plans to remove it. If you could see the dark, stained segment in the far of this picture (I realised it's just out of the shot!), that's where the last petrol bomb was thrown, 4 years ago. Here are the original 10 murals, put there in the late 70's which apparently are being removed soon. We were told it's now customary to sign the wall. Here's me, writing all I could think of , "Remember, but now please, move on."

In this bunker, in the wall, 5,000 British Army troops waited, and were needed to curb the violence we were told.

On the other side is a road on which our guide told us at least 83 people died. These 83 are remembered in the Clonard Memorial Gardens (the pamphlet on which, our guide helped to write. I'd been fearful of asking his political views, but I think he must be Catholic separatist, in order to have taken the time to write about this. His tour was, however, very thorough and without bias.) at the end of the street that backs onto the wall. Several of these tributes are heartbreaking, including one

"Sean O'Riordan was born in Oranmore Street on March 23rd 1972. At the age of 13 Sean was shot dead by the British Army in Cawnpore Street. He was subsequently buried in the Republican plot in Milltown."

It is amazing how people in this street still live. They have cages on the back of their houses, just to make sure no petrol bombs or explosives land, literally in their back gardens.

In the Republican neighbourhoods, post boxes are green, not red. This is to symbolize that they don't want to be associated with the UK, or Royal, postal service.

On this house the black flag is still being flown, to commemorate the day the last individual died on hunger strike in prison.

I'm not going to lie, it wasn't an easy day, but I'm glad I saw these places, and on the positive side the situation has improved to the point that there is a ceasefire which people genuinely believe will last. Eric was affected too, but in ways I cannot really comprehend. Canada has it's own issues with Britain, with separatist and loyalist camps, but as he said "It just hasn't got this bad."

And our driver did take us to a nice pub for our lunch, to mull over what we'd seen. He tried to charge us £40, for going 15 minutes over the agreed hour, but we harmoniously came to a £35 arrangement, and parted ways.