FLORENCE

3rd Sept 2015

Dave's Bum

Florence, the city of a thousand marble willies. I have never seen so many marble statues invariably  boasting remarkably small male appendages assembled and on show in one city. But more about that later.

Group on parade this morning outside the hotel in Montecatini for our briefing by the fragrant, and I  have to admit efficient, Adrian who was today exotically costumed for the heat in a figure hugging paisley patterned blousette and frighteningly tight denim shorts. The daily rigmarole began with his exuberant 'buongiorno' amid much flapping of hands and which we were commanded was the correct procedure here. This was dutifully and enthusiastically responded to in like style by (almost) all the assembled company. How amusing. Anyway, then it was off by train for the one hour train trip to Florence for a guided tour.

I feel obliged to note at this stage that several of our expeditionary force are afflicted by AIDS. These are predominantly of the hearing and walking variety and some of the worst cases find it difficult to keep up or hear most of any issued instructions. It adds to the excitement and a degree of fun searching for stragglers.

Met at the station by our Florentine guide, Mario. A likeable chap and obviously very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about all in Florence. He has written published books, it transpired. The best seller being about the great floods here sometime in the 60's which caused much damage. Sadly it was not translated into English.

Left: Mario (on the right in jacket) equipped with microphone and speaker starting his conducted tour. He kept up an impressive rate of informational chatter; hardly drew breath in fact. As such I only remember scant details and even they may be somewhat flawed. Any info I might provide are hardly a replacement for the Blue Guide or Lonely Planet publications.








We started at a large cathedral, the Basilica di St Maria Novella (right), just south of the railway station. I subsequently discovered that most of the churches/cathedrals in Italy are all of the St Maria designation, unless otherwise specified. This one is famous for being built by the Medici clan who were responsible for much of Florence's wealth (and their own) for several hundred years. I believe a Strozzi family also played a part somehow. The Medicis were a long line of nepotistic rulers who made their fortunes from banking and probably a bit of the old protection racketeering. Something also mentioned about Popes staying here...and they were also Medicis. Did I understand that they  introduced various pharmacies, hence the word 'medicine'? Don't quote me on that.



On down various narrow streets such as this (left), Via della Belle Donne. Apparently noted for 'lovely ladies' who frequented it at some time in the past. I didn't notice any.

Even at this point we (Adrian) had to send back a search party for some already lost en-route. Only gone about 500 yds.

I think this is the interior of the 'Palazzo Strozzi' (right), the challengers to the Medici boys. It has a large library attached in which I asked if they had a copy of that ghastly book 'Fifty Shades of Gray' (and yes, I spent tedious hours/weeks reading it). They didn't.

Did I mention that on tours such as this (as I have now discovered) there are always 'singlies' who yearn for company? I hasten to add that I am indeed a 'singly' who explicitly does not. The yearning singly will grasp any opportunity, without any malicious intention I hasten to add, to follow you around in the hope that you will join them to keep them company. Others on the tour may do likewise. They seem to think we are on some kind of 'team bonding' exercise. It is an ongoing hazard that just when you think you have escaped to go on a much desired solo wander, sitting down at a café to relax reading a hard sought-after English newspaper, you are tapped on the shoulder by one of them to ask "mind if I join you?" Effing irritating. Not sure how to deal with this without resorting to "Yes, now bugger off".

Passing a house which was used by the author George Eliot with a plaque over the door to tell us so, we entered the Piazza del Republica  (left) which was the first piazza to be built when Florence was founded in 59 BC by, if the big placard in the far right-hand corner is anything to go by,  Georgio Armani.

Florence was the capital city of Italy between 1865 - 1871 I think I heard.

Then to the Straw Market (right) which sells lots of straw hats. There is a big bronze statue of a wild boar on one side which, like a lot of bronze statues, brings you luck if you touch it's nose. It has a very shiny nose as a result.

Right: The pig with the shiny nose

Next into Piazza della Signaria which houses the Pallazzo Vecchio (left); the official residence of the Medicis before they moved to the even grander Palazzo Pitti on the other side of the river. This is where most major ceremonial events are held. Around this and under the portico to the right  are several impressive statues (with small willies) by famous sculptors with names like Michelangelo, Ferrini, Lamborghini, Ducati, Zabaglione, Porcini, Campari, Gnocchi, Lambretta, Martini, Cornetto, Salami, Cinzano and many others whose names I failed to register.

Can't remember what this one was of (right). Probably by Michelangelo entitled 'getting home after a good night out'. I am puzzled as to why all Italians of this era had their statues done 'au naturel'. Did they strip off their togas at the sight of a chisel? The Italian fashion scene was obviously a long way off.

This one (left) is of Rolfo Harrisi by Linguini...or someone.

This one (right) is a copy of the original David. It stands outside the front door of the Palazzo where the original was positioned before being moved into to the Accademia museum. It's warmer in there.

Left. Perseus and Medina by Risotto. I think there a lots of statues around the world featuring this couple. Isis must have used it as their inspiration.

Right. 'The Rape of the Sabine Women' by Bolognese. Well, frankly, if everyone was gadding about naked in this country I'm not surprised that some of the local yobberati got a bit carried away after a heavy night out in the pub.

The north side of the Palazzo (left). The room behind the three prominent bay windows was, I think we were informed, where Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Dante and Machiavelli worked. Presumably not all at the same time. Or maybe they did...and bounced ideas, chisels, pens and brushes off one another.

On we marched, or in some cases shuffled, north up to the Piazza Duomo and the Cattedrale di St Maria (who else) del Flore; Maria of the Flowers, after whom the city was named (right). We were on our own from here. Our guide Mario had run out of puff by now and had filled us with so much information that I have forgotten nearly all of it. It has a tall bell tower (campanile) up which you can climb and an even higher dome/cupola up which I did. 483 steps. I counted. There was a long queue to get in. Long queues, as I came to discover, are a feature of most popular Italian venues. And cost 10 Euros.

Interestingly, there were several signs on the way up the narrow spiral staircase to the top of the cupola which commanded us not to write on the walls. They were erected too late, or maybe just to spite the order visitors had left little space to write much more. The walls were already almost completely covered with graffiti.

I suppose graffiti, being an Italian word, was invented in Italy. The local graffitistos are a prolific bunch. Most unprotected public vertical surfaces are covered in the stuff....even more so than in UK...and not much of it is very artistic. 

Right: Graffiti on the staircase walls.

Once on top there were pretty good views over Florence. This one (left) looks north-west over the bell tower and down to the Cathedral (Duomo) Piazza. 

After a very good lunch at one of the splendid outdoor cafés, and they do cafés rather well here, and thankfully without a "mind if we join you?", I moved on to visit the Accademia Gallery which houses the original Michelangelo statue of David. The entrance to this is on a rather drab street and when I arrived there was, inevitably, a long queue to buy tickets (12.50 Euros). I queued for about 40 mins in sweltering sunshine before getting in. Once inside it wasn't too crowded (I suppose that is why we queued) and the first gallery was filled predominantly with 'unfinished' statues by Michelangelo (as right). Given a big lump of marble and a hammer and chisel I'm sure I could have done just as well. Why didn't he finish them?...got bored I expect, or maybe chopped something off accidentally, with an Italian cry of "bugger!", and you can't just stick it back on..

Right: The original 'Dave' which Signore Michelangelo actually got around to finishing without a chiselling mishap.

Many other scantilly clad chisellings abounded and there was a large storeroom at the back with shelf upon shelf of marble busts and other statuary not on display. Could have been mass produced for all I know.

Then there was this thing....(left). I didn't recognise the 'artist' and was left a bit baffled as to what it is meant to represent. 'Jake the Peg's Extra Leg' perhaps. Perhaps Michelangelo or one of his colleagues had a wry sense of humour. Suggestions welcome.

Other than that, there was a rather dull section displaying old musical instruments and, of course, the gallery shop. I didn't stay very long as my time was limited and there were a few other things to see.

Right: Outside in the Piazza were several horses and carts to transport, at great expense no doubt, leg weary tourists. This nag is possibly one of Richard Hannon's cast-off racehorses.

Onwards, onwards to the Uffizi Gallery and another queue for about 30 mins (12.50 Euros). This is a vast gallery with long corridors on three floors; an annex to the Palazza Vecchio. Many of the rooms on the first floor were filled with ornate 'religious' pictures (as per left). I found them rather dull and repetitive. So quickly moved up to floor two...........

....which was devoted to hundreds, if not thousands, of nude statues and busts. The labelling of these was difficult to follow and I lost interest relatively quickly. As you gather, I am not a great expert, even less a fanatical admirer, of these artefacts. I think Signore Bellini featured here amongst many others.  One of the more impressive displays in a glassed off hexagonal room (right) is this collection of statues and paintings featuring 'The Tribune' which I believe is a famous piece of work.

Left: Quite an inspiring large sculpture of a reclining woman. Unusual for the fact that it was about the only one with any clothes on.

Right: Sleeping Hermaphrodite. I since gathered that there are many ancient copies of this. The acclaimed original being in the Louvre, Paris.

Left: A more entertaining statue of a youth picking his toenails.

Up to floor three and now into more interesting territory with (original) paintings by artists that I had actually heard of; Velázquez, Van Dyke, Breughel and many others including this well known daubing of 'The Birth of Venus' by Sandro Botticelli (right), commissioned by the Medicis in the mid 1480s.

One small room contained only this, a sort of bed (left). Either this was an ancient precursor to that ghastly 'installation' by Tracey Emin or, more likely, a place for the security guard to have a kip.

Right: A decent view, from an upstairs window in the Uffizi, of the Ponte Vecchio over the River Arno. This bridge was originally where medieval butchers operated and chucked offal and waste into the river. The Medicis, living in the Palazzo nearby, got fed up with the smell and kicked them off. It then became a place where gold and jewellery was sold, as it is now...rows of such shops lining the sides of the bridge.

It is also the only city bridge over the Arno not blown up by the Germans before the liberation of the city by the Brits in 1944.

Left: A view over the Ponte Vecchio showing the lines of, mainly, gold and jewellry shops

Directly on over the bridge is the vast Palazzo Pitti (right), the second official residence of the Medicis. It is now a museum, containing what I never discovered because by the time I got there it was closed.

That was my 'whistle stop' day touristing in Florence and I expect, given more time, I could have seen many other interesting things.

Back on a train (on time and only 3 Euros for an hour-long journey) to the hotel in Montecatini and then a good nosh outside in the town square. I must say, Italian towns are remarkably pleasant in the evenings with lots of people eating, drinking and just perambulating in a most civilised manner. 

More touristing tomorrow......

(PS. Message for Judith, if you read this: for some reason my machine will not allow me to reply to your comment. Don't understand why not. We could have met up!)

MULHOUSE TO MONTECATINI

2nd - 3rd Sept 2015

Mulhouse Town Hall

It would never normally have occurred to me to visit Mulhouse, near the French/Swiss border. After wandering around the place for a couple of hours before out next train was due to leave (at 10.19am) I discovered it to be a most delightful place. Splendid cafes, picturesque cobbly streets and clean and welcoming. Lots of boats on the canal, smart tram network and an elegant railway station.

Left: The railway station at Mulhouse.

Following on from yesterday I learnt that the lady casevaced home had been escorted by her 'partner'. That leaves 25 of us, not including Adrian our flamboyant guide who, this morning, appeared wearing a shiny pink jacket and floral shirt. He has a quiff. Give him his due, amongst all his floppy gesticulations he does give a good briefing on the plans for the day. He knows his stuff and is most popular, especially with the ladies, for insisting everyone shouts a loud 'bonjour' in response to his greeting. You get the picture.

Human beings come in all shapes and sizes but I have never before seen anyone with a figure quite like this (right), spotted on his way to the post office. He was perfectly normally built other than carrying the mother of all beer bellys. Not one of our group, I hasten to add. I wondered how he did up his shoe laces....which is probably why he is wearing flip-flops.

Next onto a commuter train to Basel. So far all these trains have been immaculate, uncrowded, smack on time and fast. Plenty of space and luggage room.

Left: the commuter train interior.

From Basel we hopped onto another fast train to Bern. It was here that we nearly suffered our next casualty. One of our party, a rather mature gent who was using a walking stick, got it stuck in the carriage door just as it was closing. He was inside, his bag outside and his stick in between. There was quite a struggle amid much pushing and shoving and blowing of whistles. Thanks to several helpers he survived this ordeal unscathed. I wonder what will strike whom next. I don't envy any travel guide/manager their job.

Coming into Bern the railway crosses the river Aare. In what I now realise is a common tour tradition, any such event calls for some form of group participation. The indefatigable Adrian trilled out "we are now crossing the river Aare". Everyone was expected to respond, and did (with the possible exception of grumpy old Uncle Matt) with a loud "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh". How amusing.

Another train change at Bern for a quite spectacular high speed run over and at many points through (lots of long tunnels.....impressive engineering) the mountains to Milan. Onto yet another train onwards to Florence (more long tunnels) and finally a 45 minute bus trip to our destination, Montecatini.

Right: Passing a bit of Lake Maggiore between Bern and Milan.

No delays, no further casualties (25 still standing), no incidents and we were sitting down to another rather good dinner in the smart Hotel Francia & Quirinale at 8.45pm. Having said that we sit at 'group' tables which can be a bit of a trial especially if, as I was, sitting next to someone called Bob whose specialist subject is 'World War 2 weapons systems 1939 -45'. Trapped next to him I was regaled for most of the meal by myriad details of the German V bomb system. The other somewhat tedious 'procedure', I discovered, is for everyone to introduce themselves and then challenge you to remember their names at the next meal. They also express undue curiosity as to where you come from and what you do, or did, for a living. I really put my foot in it here. Not wishing to be interrogated further, and no answer was not an option, I told them I was a retired poultry farmer from Essex. I don't know what came over me. I know bugger all about either poultry or Essex. Now having to look up 'chickens' and 'Essex' on the internet to maintain some form of credibility. My 'companions' are obviously experienced 'group' travellers who know the form while I am definitely a novice...and I think I will make every effort to remain so.

Off to explore the delights of Florence tomorrow. 

TUSCANY BY TRAIN

1st - 2nd Sept 2015

Eurostar. I didn't notice any obvious sign of migrants

This will be  a 'first' for me. An organised group tour of the 'Saga' variety which is due to take us by rail from London via France and Switzerland to Tuscany. I must be feeling my age.

The start point was St Pancras where I met our guide, or host, or facilitator or whatever his title; a youngish chap called Adrian. Dressed in a sky blue jacket, garish tie and tight fitting pink trousers he  seemed efficient and affable enough even if a touch 'light of hoof' as the saying goes. He told me that there were 28 of us on this trip...and I hadn't seen any of them thus far. Indeed we wouldn't meet up until arrival by Eurostar at Paris, Gare du Nord.

All on time after a comfortable ride in a rather upmarket carriage with delicious lunch and polite service we arrived at Gare du Nord and duly assembled at the behest of Adrian who wafted a hankerchief to attract our attention. Then by bus to Gare de Lyon for the connecting train to Mulhouse. As perhaps expected, my 26 travelling companions were all 'of a certain age' and perhaps unfairly, because I hadn't even spoken to any of them at this stage, I labelled as 'Sid and Doris' types.

We had a couple of hours to kill at Gare de Lyon where I went for a reviving beer, at vast cost, in the Train Bleu restaurant. A most elegant establishment with an incredibly ornate ceiling and despite only a couple of other customers, unbelievably, but typically French, slow service.

Left: Le Train Bleu restaurant, Gare de Lyon. Somewhat unsimilar to most eateries in London stations.

All aboard the double-decker TGV train, on the upper story, which was again most comfortable, quiet, with few and sensible announcements and incredibly speedy. They displayed the speed which at some points reached 312 kph. A very smooth ride despite that. My goodness, our creaking UK machines are light years behind.

It was a 3 hour journey to Mulhouse and then a quick walk over to the Mercure Hotel and a rather good dinner. This involved sitting at 'group' tables where one got (had) to chat with one's fellow tourists. We were all very polite to one another. I gathered at this point that one of our number had been taken ill en-route and is due to be casevaced home. One down already, 26 to go (not including Adrian).

After a walk around Mulhouse, on via Basel and Milan to Montecatini tomorrow. I am quivering with excitement.

  

THOSE BLASTED ANNOUNCEMENTS......

And another thing.............!!!!! It is often trivial irritants that make me 'eff and blind' rather more   profusely than the major ones. I suppose this is because many people, even those of influence, wax lyrical about the 'Big Issues' of the day and nobody, other than the likes of me, gets much worked up about the little bits of grit in life's vaseline. Regardless of all my 'constructive' outpourings and 'helpful' letters written to nameless functionaries in order to address such trivia, it stokes my boilers up even more either to get no reply or receive some 'standard' vapid explanation which doesn't even try to address my highly pertinent observations. A case in point, in my travelling mode, is the matter of those interminable blasted announcements we are bombarded with (a speciality of the UK I hasten to add) on the rail and underground networks which are all, it was explained in a rather condescending letter of complete claptrap I received from Transport for London, in the interests of our 'comfort and safety'.

Comfort and safety my arse! In the interest of covering their own arses more likely.  Most of these public announcements, often automated, are unnecessary, irrelevant, patronising, frequently incoherent, sometimes misleading, or just plain wrong. They occasionally overlap whereby none are audible and cause, at their maximum volume and output during peak rush hour periods, a cacophony of sound which only serves to increase the stress amongst an already over-stressed horde of manic commuters. In fact the only people who might possibly benefit from some of these announcements are foreigners, unfamiliar with our system, who make up a sizable proportion of travellers in and around London... but then as they probably don't speak much English, if any, they are unlikely to understand them. Whoopee. Having said that, one sometimes wonders if these announcements are indeed made in English such are the strange and unintelligible 'multi-cultural' accents (including Geordie unless you come from there) of the alien sounding persons making them. It all goes to make travelling, especially on the London Underground during the busy periods, an even more hellish experience. I often have great difficulty in stopping myself screaming at the ceiling: "please shut the f##k up!!"

And now for some examples of the most infuriating blather broadcast to the long-suffering captive platform audience:

How about those nannyish warnings when, in summer, the temperature, unsurprisingly, rises to moderately warm (considered in places like Baghdad to be a tadge on the chilly side) they caution you to make sure you have brought enough water to drink and if you feel unwell to "please contact a member of staff".  As if we are incapable of lasting a journey of less than 30 mins without a constant intake of water. I believe you can live for between 3 and 10 days without water, depending on varying factors.......and that we are considered incapable of deciding for ourselves when we are thirsty. Pathetic. I expect during the colder months they will now announce that we must wrap up warm and wear a scarf to save us from hypothermia. As for contacting a member of staff if you keel over (on evidence, usually affecting those who have had too much to drink)......how is that possible? Difficult to find one at the best of times let alone when you are semi-comatose. They broadcast warnings of "not to run and take special care as it has been raining and the platform might be slippery" (is that a surprise?) even when the rain stopped hours ago and the surface is now perfectly dry. Perhaps they should also warn us to breathe in and out regularly  to avoid becoming unconscious.

On longer train journeys, usually about 20 minutes after departure, along with the tedious, scripted and unnecessary 'welcome' aboard by some grandiosely entitled functionary (the conductor to you and me) advising you to read the safety instructions (I've never seen any and couldn't care less) you are informed, for example, that "this is the Newcastle train, calling at Peterborough, Doncaster, Darlington, Durham and arriving at....etc". Well it's a bit late to tell you that if you thought you were going to Plymouth or Exeter isn't it? For those incapable of boarding the correct train, perhaps it would make more sense to announce this vital information before departure! Some time following this, just as those passengers lucky enough to have a seat are (relatively) comfortably settled and want to be left in peace to snooze or read the newspaper we are rudely interrupted by Sharon or Tracey, the 'on-board catering manager,' to tell us that "the buffet car is now open for the sale of hot and cold beverages, sandwiches, snacks, crisps, cakes, wines, beer, soft drinks and other delicious delicacies". I mean, what the hell do we expect them to sell........tractor parts, cruise missiles, wellington boots? Anyway, if you are that desperate for sustenance and when you eventually locate this grotty little counter after staggering up and down miles of lurching narrow ailses, squeezing past, or more likely having to retreat from, oncoming passengers precariously balancing paper buckets of hot drinks, tripping over bags and outstretched legs and reach the end of a long queue being served incredibly slowly by a single rather disinterested attendant who has to keep going off to 'heat things up', and inevitably behind some woman with three small yowling children who can't decide what they want, they have inevitably sold out of whatever grossly over-priced comestible you had come for, and then to hear "the buffet car will now be closed for stock-taking". I suppose it passes the time if you haven't got a seat or a book to read and need a bit of exercise.

Then there is the Karaoke Syndrome. You may be aware of this affliction which is demonstrated by offering someone a microphone into which they experience the irresistible urge to talk, shout or sing, however badly or unnecessarily, without drawing breath. Once they start they cannot stop. This is most irritatingly apparent on the London Underground during the busy rush-hour periods when passengers (sorry customers) are at their most stressed and would really appreciate some peace and quiet, or perhaps just soothing background music. Train comes in, doors open, get on, doors close and go. Simple, you would have thought, but no. The platform staff are given radio-mics, plus instructions no doubt to harass the masses, and therefore enter enthusiastically into a non-stop 'bravura' performance telling us what to do, or not do, repeating themselves incessantly, loudly and often in some totally indecipherable dialect. When you can understand what they are saying amid their screaming bossy babble you realise that all of it is  entirely unnecessary.

Even on relatively uncrowded platforms we are regaled by such favourites as  "stand back from the yellow line" and "the next train is approaching" (well, I should jolly well hope so), "let all passengers off before boarding", "move down the carriage to make room"; commands which mostly seem to be stating the bleedin' obvious and only applicable to English speaking lunatics (OK there are a few) but I suspect even more so than everyone else the lunatics don't pay the blindest bit of attention, and anyway one wonders how the system seems to work perfectly well during periods without all these bossy instructions. There are other ridiculous and even more unnecessary 'dicta' to fill in any possibility of a pause in transmission.  One of the most baffling, to me, is the decree "use all available doors" when boarding. I mean, I tend only to use one door, preferably the one with the least number of people queuing at it. I once took them at their word and tried at best speed to 'use all available doors' and managed to get in and out of five before the train moved off, without me. What are they on about?
Then there is the frantic "stand clear of the closing doors, this train is about to depart, stand clear of the doors" repeated ad nauseam before you hear a clear 'beep-beep-beep' sound to indicate, even to non-English speakers and aforementioned lunatics, that the doors are about to close. What a waste of breath, but the minions with the mikes obviously much enjoy their moment of verbal power despite it serving no good purpose and driving the rest of us mad.

The Underground station PA announcements can be no better, unnecessary and just add to the  general mayhem...often blocking out all the other unnecessary announcements. Take that pre-recorded announcement that states, "There is a good service on all London Underground lines".  This statement deserves critical analysis:

1. "good service". Let me be the judge of that. I regard a 'good' service as one that provides a comfortable seat on a regular, frequent, smooth running, uncrowded train with minimum noisy announcements which is never subject to delays while being served complimentary coffee and buns, if not champagne, by a charming and attractive carriage stewardess. What I think they mean is a 'normal service'.

2. "There is". This is not necessarily the case. What the announcement means is that, at the time it was made (possibly several minutes before transmission) there were no reported faults on the lines. At any second subsequent to transmission there could be any number of reasons why the whole system goes tits up, and it frequently does. I have been caught by this......stranded on a platform with trains indefinitely suspended while the PA drones on "there is a good service etc...".

3. "On all London Underground lines". Why bother to point this out? Are they concerned that if they didn't mention it we might think they were referring to the Azerbaijan tram network?

What they mean to say is "At the time this announcement was recorded, five minutes ago, there was a normal service operating. We cannot guarantee that it is now or at any second in future". In fact this announcement is entirely superfluous. Why not just report line closures and delays when they are  actually in force and let us assume the rest are operating 'normally'. Idiots.

I often wonder, due to overload of information, if there were to be a really important announcement to make, such as "please evacuate the station quickly due to a nuclear device imminently about to explode on platform 2" that anyone would bother to listen, or understand, or care.

I could go on but will save you from any further 'announcements' save to say that I am about to embark on a railway journey to Italy which is an 'organised' tour. With the exception of North Korea I haven't been on one of these before. I will keep you posted from 1st September......assuming we make it through the Channel Tunnel.

Chin chin........

WE WISH TO APOLOGISE........

14th April 2015

Typical

I do enjoy a good whinge from time to time and I feel one coming on right now. People tend not to appreciate whingers, so let us call what follows a 'critical observation'. I was going to add 'constructive', but I don't think that would be strictly accurate.

I know I am not alone in railing about most of the transport systems in UK (amongst much else I hasten to add), especially those which actively involve rails, but I met someone the other day who commutes by train to London every day and was going apoplectic with rage about, in his case, First Great Western Railways. This hit a chord and prompted me to burst into print and have a bloody good 'critical observation'. I feel more people should do so but, in true British tradition, they tend just to shrug their shoulders, click their tongues and resign themselves to a "well, that's just how it is" sort of comment. Of course my observations will have absolutely no effect, but I find it quite therapeutic.

You might remember an old British Rail slogan back in the 70s 'Let the Train Take the Strain'. Nowadays, in the UK, it would be more pertinent to re-phrase that as 'Let the Train Cause the Strain'. Those with nothing better to do might have plumbed the depths of this long blog and perhaps appreciate that I have travelled on many railways throughout the world and therefore credit myself with substantial experience of Johnny Foreigner's railway systems. I feel qualified to make comparisons and there is no question in my mind that the British railway system is, in comparison with most others, appalling. Whatever bullshit the PR experts like to spin it is for the most part (comparatively) eye-wateringly expensive, inefficient, uncomfortable, overcrowded and, most frustratingly, unreliable. I have a theory regarding the reliability of British trains; they run just reliably enough to persuade you to use them. However, the likelyhood of a train being on time (or operating at all) is in inverse proportion to the urgency and importance of your journey.

OK, Britain does suffer from two main disadvantages, other than sheer bureaucratic inefficiency, which make improvements to the overland and underground systems difficult, if not impossible. Firstly we invented, installed and exported the damned things in early Victorian days. As a result the network is constrained by size of bridges, tunnels, stations and ancient engineering. Secondly, this country is overpopulated and crowded and becoming exponentially ever more so. Therefore the infrastructure seems continually to face a losing battle in keeping up with demand (same applies to roads, hospitals, housing and much else for that matter), let alone advance ahead into clear air. We have, effectively, run out of space and cannot, a la China, just flatten things at a stroke to put bigger and better stuff in place. I can think of many things which, if flattened, would benefit the country enormously. Hull springs to mind, and Basingstoke and Wolverhampton and Reading and ...........the list goes on. Sadly these places will just get bigger, uglier and nastier. I suppose one has to bear these restrictions in mind, but I won't let it hinder my rant.

What is the point of faster trains if they don't leave and arrive on time? I would much rather travel more slowly if it meant travelling in greater comfort on a regular service and getting there on time. One likes to be able to plan a journey to arrive on schedule having had a relaxing rest on board, not to travel at Mach 2 on a roller-coaster ride which, due to 'unforeseen technical problems' arrives late anyway, or maybe doesn't even start. Commuter routes into London have come under particular fire recently for scrum-like overcrowding and inevitable delays. Even the boss of one southern network remarked that the service is, in his own words.... "shit, and you would transport cattle more humanely". I remember the days when the journey time from London to Newcastle was about 7 hours. So slow perhaps, but they ran a sleeper service then and one  could have a night out in London, catch the 11.30pm train, travel/sleep in relative comfort, be woken in the morning with a cup of tea (in a proper china service) and disembark at Newcastle Central Station at 7.30am in time for a delicious served breakfast at what was then the smart, but inexpensive, Station Hotel before going to an appointment in the city at 9.00am. No longer. The best you can do is get a 6.15am service arriving, so quickly and inconveniently, in Newcastle at 9.45am, perhaps. Bloody inconvenient.

Aren't we all too often infuriated by the miriad delays and cancellations accompanied by automated  and thoroughly insincere apologetic announcements with, probably spurious, reasons for them. Frankly, I am really not interested in why the blasted thing is cancelled, delayed or which involves a bus journey half way. I suspect there is an overstaffed department whose sole responsibility is to make up ever more fatuous and imaginative reasons as to why we have been inconvenienced. We are all familiar with 'unforeseen engineering works', 'signal failure', 'debris on the line' (see previous blog), 'person on the line', 'animals on the line,' 'trees on the line', probably 'newts on the line', 'overhanging branches','overhanging bats', 'wrong type of of snow' (all two inches of it), 'wrong type of leaves', 'windy weather forecast', 'man overboard', 'staff delayed (ie slept in)' or the 'On-board Customer Services Manager (the conductor to you and me) having a nervous breakdown', etc. etc. The list is endless. I just want to leave and get there on time with the luxury of a comfortable and spacious seat without mortgaging the house to travel 1st Class. Some hope. As for planning to travel by rail on Sundays and public holidays; forget it.  Of course these peak travel times for the holidaying rabble are the periods carefully selected for 'ongoing scheduled maintenance' to 'further upgrade and enhance the modernisation of our network', no doubt inevitably for our 'safety and comfort', and which nearly always unexpectedly 'overun'. This 'ongoing maintenance' is, of course, like roadworks where you see lots of cones and speed restrictions but nobody actually working, and is never-ending. The result is often unruly and sometimes even violent scenes with heaving masses of furious delayed, diverted or just dumped passengers fighting to get somewhere; anywhere! Why do they bother, but then the roads and airports during these periods are probably an even worse option.

The trains in Switzerland are a good example of how it should be done. They really do run like Swiss clockwork, even during holiday periods, using printed timetables from pre-nominated (on paper) platforms, and almost invariably depart and arrive smack on time, with barely a rattle or jolt, despite, believe it or not, sometimes having quite a lot of snow to deal with. They, and all other European lines are not only more comfortable and efficient, they are also comparatively much cheaper than ours. British fares, despite the labyrinthine and random complexities of ticket types and pricing for which you need a degree in Applied Chaos Theory to begin to understand, are on average 3 times more expensive than in the rest of the world (with the possible exception of Australia.... a long 'critical observation' is warranted there (and given...see Ghan blog) where they sometimes throw in bed bugs, at no extra charge admittedly, to make your expensive overnight journeys that little bit more memorable. In fact I don't believe it is possible to keep track of British fares with their seemingly random increases well above the rate of inflation and the off-peak, super-off-peak and other combinations and the times when you can use them. A system which allows you to travel more cheaply on a 'split' journey (ie two single tickets using an intermediate station at which you don't get off) than one single straight through cannot be logical or fair. And why should a return ticket cost the same as a single? In most sensible countries a single price is simply half that of a return. Too logical perhaps, but I suppose here they would then just further increase the price of a return. As for those automatic ticket machines which, to the uninitiated, are more confusing and time consuming to operate than the control panel for a space shuttle....well don't get me onto that subject. The one (the only one on the platform catering for a busy commuter line) I regularly try to use is carefully positioned so that on a sunny day it is impossible to read the screen. A queue of three people normally takes about half an hour to clear and  involves much cursing and thumping of the screen, and at least one 'customer' fails to get a ticket at all. Normally me.

The inhuman crowding and cramped conditions on so many trains is unforgivable and probably dangerous. As you may have experienced, on most southern commuter trains and even on some longer distance routes, standing room only is the norm with baggage blocking the aisles. This is frequently the case if you happen to be travelling to a destination near which there is due to be an 'event', ie pop-concert or football match. The idea of putting on extra services or more carriages seems rarely to occur, or is impossible. Often when a long distance service is cancelled they even have the nerve to remove all seat reservations, for those with the foresight to book them, on the following train to cram on more victims from the cancelled one...for which they apologise of course. In any event the seats in standard class are designed for midgets and if they have a fold-down table it is barely big enough on which to balance a cup of coffee, let alone a book as well; many the occasions of overturned cup, soaked book and scalded lap. There is no space for the window passenger, even of normal size, to get out without the aisle occupant having to move, and at the seats facing each other over a table I have fought many an acrimonious under-the-table battle over leg-room supremacy. The central aisles are carefully designed to be narrow enough to prevent people passing in opposite directions or to become completely stuck behind the helpful 'buffet' trolley which, in turn, is probably stuck by luggage for which there is no room left in the luggage racks. Admittedly the situation is not helped by the increasing number of Very Fat People (VFP) whom you encounter. It really can be quite oppressive sitting next to someone with the proportions of a barrage balloon who literally overflows, sweating and grunting, into your space. The Amtrak trains in the USA don't have this problem. They take into consideration VFP of American proportions and design-in suitable space. OK, at the other end of the scale, I have travelled on one of those 'local' trains, in Sri Lanka as it happens, where people hang outside the windows and sit on the roof. They do this with good reason. I made the mistake of boarding early for a space inside the carriage on one of these and very nearly suffocated as a result. After 5 minutes into the journey I would have given anything for an outside perch, however precarious, if only I could have moved a muscle to get there, or indeed speak. But those trains tend to be short distance commuters and one can't complain as the fare is only about 2p. Or if you die en-route. The long distance express trains in India were excellent (and cheap) where, except in the very lowest class...and there are 8 classes....you buy a ticket which automatically includes a seat/bunk reservation. No seat available; get the next train. Ergo, no standing in the aisles. Same in China, Vietnam, Malaysia, Russia, USA, Canada, New Zealand, Australia and most other countries which operate big, or even not so big, networks.

Perhaps we should introduce a system, similar to restricting the size of carry-on baggage with airlines, whereby passengers are made to pass through a calibrated 'chute' and if too fat to get through it are escorted to a special freight style carriage with heavy-duty bench seats along the sides and no access to the rest of the train. I suspect this idea, like so many of my best, however practical, might not be politically acceptable.

Electronic timetable display boards at stations are another of my bêtes noire. These are essential to allow for efficient and flexible platform allocation, I was assured, and no doubt for our 'comfort and safety' of course. They are operated by railway staff with either a grudge against humanity or a particularly warped sense of humour.  I remember waiting for a train from Victoria due to depart at 1.10pm. I was pushing a friend in a wheelchair as it happened. By 1.00pm a crowd of us, like a colony of meercats, were craning our necks watching the electronic board which indicated 'no platform yet allocated'. At 1.05pm it suddenly flashed up the platform number. There was a mad stampede to get to the gates which, as it happened, were a considerable distance away. After a seriously knackering wheelchair sprint with a Paralympic qualifying time, we got onto the platform but, at the last minute, sweating profusely, I had to abandon my wheelchair-bound mate and dive into a carriage doorway just as it was closing to jam it open before the train left. An irate 'official' appeared (they do irate very well) and I had to convince him to load the wheelchair-bound person before I would let go of the electronically operated door. This might have been dangerous, but it was the only option if we were to get onto the train. I was probably lucky not to get arrested by the station gestapo for endangering myself. What were they playing at? Which reminds me of another theory; if you arrive for a train early, it will be delayed. If you arrive for a train slightly late it will have left on time.

On another occasion I was due to meet someone arriving at Euston. The electronic arrivals board indicated that the train was due in at platform 2. Several of us made our way to platform 2. No train arrived. We went back to the main hall to see that the board now indicated the arrival at platform 14. Our group ran over to platform 14. There was a train there but not the correct one. On returning rapidly to the hall we saw the board had changed indication back to platform 2! It was like one of those Benny Hill sketches as we all then scuttled back to platform 2. I'm not making this up. Some bored malignant joker at the controls was probably having a 'a bit of a laff' with his mates as he (or she) got us running back and forth across the station concourse.  This is not the sign of a civilised travel system.

It has been pointed out, frequently, that a major cause of much of this chaos is the result of the disparate organisations, with their vastly well paid and 'protected from shouldering any real blame' Übermensch, which are responsible (or more usually claim not to be responsible when it goes wrong) for various parts of the network operation. Network Rail (track infrastructure), Station management (station facilities), rolling-stock manufacturers (the machines), individual railway companies (schedules), ticketing organisations (confused pricing options), the Government (policy, I suppose) and, of course, the various Trade Unions who love to threaten, or carry out, strikes for yet more 'pie' just when you most need the system to operate efficiently at it's busiest periods. Pure blackmail of course. Can't wait for at least the Underground (as per the comparatively reliable DLR) to operate driverless trains.  I have probably missed a few other cogs in this complex wheel. No doubt there is an enormous 'Elf 'n Safety' organisation to stick it's oar in to further complicate the matter.... for your comfort and safety, of course.

What to do about all this? Sack the lot of them and start again? I haven't a clue, and anyway that is not the remit of this 'critical observation'.

I scratch the surface here, and have not yet even started on my pet subject;  the most irritating, stress inducing, tedious, mind-blowingly stupid aspect of rail travel, especially the Underground........namely those  ridiculous and patronising ANNOUNCEMENTS. To be continued and for which, I suppose, we wish to apologise in advance.

PS. Just back from a trip to London from Hungerford. Normal day return cost (with travel card) £17.45. Set off at 6.18am, peak period apparently (most sensible people are asleep then) when they do not accept travel cards; cost of day return; £54.50! I can fly from London to Aberdeen for less than that. There were only 4 other passengers on the 3 carriage train. I asked the conductor (sorry Customer Services Manager) "why so bleedin' expensive?". She said it was probably because so few people used it (am I surprised?) that they had to increase the price! Talk about a prime example of the Law of Diminishing Returns.

THE SAGA OF MY NEARLY LOST HAT

21st Jan 2015

My flat cap

I am very fond of my old tweed flat cap. It has been with me throughout my travels around the world for the past 10 years. It has survived attacks by high winds on ships, bridges, mountains and observation platforms (some on moving trains), the risks of sticking my head out of windows, the attentions of souvenir seekers and thieves, wild animals, my forgetfulness and, as far as I am aware, moths. Neither it nor I had considered South West Trains a particular risk.

A few days ago I was travelling on the last (delayed due to 'debris' on the line) train from Paddington to Hungerford. This involved a change at Reading. Being late arriving at Reading I sprinted across the whole width of the station to find the Hungerford train which, fortunately, was waiting for us London passengers and was imminently about to depart. On entering the carriage a sharp gust of wind blew my dear cap off and it fell, neatly, where else, between the edge of the platform and the side of the carriage. It came to rest on the gravel down next to the line. There was only a very narrow gap between the carriage and platform edge and it was below arms length. I contemplated squeezing my foot down to the gravel but my leg may not have been long enough and anyway the train was about to leave so I stood the risk of not only losing my cap but also my leg. If only I had my umbrella with me, but I lost that the previous week. There was no sign of any railway staff. I believe they go into hibernation at some point early in the evening, so no hope of assistance from that quarter. My cap was in sight, inside upwards, looking pleadingly up at me to rescue it. I couldn't do anything other than offer words of comfort and bid farewell and then board the train in a state of considerable grief and annoyance much to the bemusement of my fellow passengers. "Goodbye old friend" I sobbed quietly, "we have been so far for so long, done so much together and to lose you in such a banal way as this comes as a bitter blow". An old lady offered me a handkerchief and asked if there was anything she could do. She had a stick. Bugger! I could have used that, but the train was pulling out.

I searched the whole length of the train (only 3 carriages) for the conductor to whom I might be able to explain my grievous loss and hopefully persuade him to contact Reading station to effect a recovery. There was absolutely no conductor. I did not consider it wise to bang on the locked driver's door. So I sat in a state of misery and frustration for the rest of the journey. What to do?

On getting home I soon discovered that there are no direct telephone facilities for 'members of the public' to contact individual stations. I therefore resolved to cancel all appointments the following day and return by train to Reading railway station in the forlorn hope that my cap was still waiting for me somewhere. "Perhaps they have a lost property office to which some kind person had taken it", I mused optimistically. Some hope. I suspected that a member of the Reading station staff would now be strutting around the town showing off his/her newly acquired smart tweed cap.

The next day, uncomfortably bareheaded, taking a short broom handle with a hook on the end with me and, more in hope than expectation, I caught the train back to Reading. We arrived at the same platform from which I boarded the previous night. I went to the section of the train where I lost my cap and, wonders to behold there was my beloved cap lying, dry and undamaged, exactly in the same place on the gravel where it had fallen. I could now easily reach it with my broom handle. Morale was high, perhaps too high because, in my euphoria, it was then that I made a fatal mistake. There were several railway staff on the platform now, amongst whom was a group of three women wearing yellow high-vis vests. To the one standing near me I announced in gleeful tones that I was so happy that I had found my hat and could now recover it with this handy stick I had brought with me. Instead of a cheery reply the reaction this produced from Ms Yellow-Vest was akin to her being confronted by a swivel-eyed Jihadist announcing he was about to pick up his AK47 and suicide vest from the tracks below. Within seconds I was surrounded by her two colleagues and a further uniformed panjandrum who shouted at me that under no circumstances could I pick up what was on the track and to "stand back from the edge of the platform at once!". "What is the problem, why can't I retrieve my cap?" I queried politely to the grim faced panjandrum and the sour looking women. "Procedures", was the unsmiling reply. I again asked what was to stop me hooking my cap. "It's not safe" I was told grumpily, "the track might be electrified". "But it's not electrified, there are no electric rails or electric overhead wires and the train is a diesel one", I helpfully explained to him. At this point he was on his radio and had summoned two uniformed policemen. Quite a crowd was gathering to witness this, by now, interesting spectacle. It was apparent that the police and 'staff' now surrounding me were itching to find a reason to slap the old cuffs on me and whisk me off to an interrogation cell somewhere. As politely as possible, realising that one wrong word would see me spread-eagled in an arm lock on the platform while further reinforcements were called, I pitifully enquired as to how I could get my cap back. "You'll have to wait until the train leaves and then we might be able to get a qualified person to retrieve the object from the line" was the answer. I couldn't help but point out that my cap wasn't on the 'line' it was on the gravel. "It's on railway property and you are not permitted to trespass onto it", I was told in threatening manner.  I could see that any further form of question or request would only exacerbate an already hostile situation.  I could hardly believe that such a trivial matter could engender such a ridiculously over-the-top response and I was, understandably, becoming quite cross....but successfully managed to bite my tongue.

I noticed that the train was due to leave, back to Hungerford, at 1.48pm which gave me just under an hour to kill. I would obviously miss this train home but might rescue my cap after it had gone. I sloped off in bad temper to find a coffee and was carefully watched off the platform by the self-appointed 'security services'. I had no doubt that any early return would be monitored and a snatch squad dispatched with great glee to arrest me.

I went back to the platform at 1.45pm to find the train still there and the electronic signboard indicating it was now not due to depart until 2.48pm. I didn't dare sneak along the platform with my stick as I was convinced that a smirking polizei would be gazing at me on some CCTV screen. There was nobody around to ask why the delay (they were probably all waiting in ambush positions), so back to the cafe and a another hour's wait.

On the next trip back to the platform, the train was still there with a notice stating that departure time was further delayed to 3.48pm. Eventually I found a black uniformed goon who, when asked  the reason for the repeated delays of the Hungerford train, told me "It's been reported that there's an obstruction on the line". I didn't bother to ask "what obstruction?" and could I really be imagining that the presence of my cap on the trackside was the cause of this ridiculous situation. I had a horrible suspicion that it was.

By chance, on the way back to my season ticket seat in the cafe, I met another black uniformed personage who just happened to be carrying one of those spring-loaded litter sticks. I'm not sure whether he was on the way to my platform, but asked him whether he could do me a big favour and come with me to see if he could rescue my cap. He came along and I pointed out my cap on the the ground and asked if he could just pick it up. I noticed at this point that my previously unblemished cap was now covered in some brown coloured substance. With great reluctance and grim expression this employee of the railway company, after saying he was 'not really allowed to do this without supervision', simply picked it up. I resisted telling him that I could have done that 2 hours ago with my own stick. I suppose I'm grateful that he didn't think it necessary to call in the bomb squad.

So, much joy! My trusty cap and I were reunited. It was indeed covered with brown goo which on closer inspection and a wary sniff, fortuitously perhaps, turned out to be congealed chocolate drink. Who tipped that onto it? No passengers had boarded the train.  I have my suspicions.

As a final and totally unnecessary rejoinder, my litter-stick weilding 'saviour' told me "you must wash that hat before wearing it". "Oh thank you for that sound advice" I said "I was just going to put it on my head straight away because I really enjoy the sensation of slimy chocolate all over my balding swede". This statement was not well received.

I duly washed out the cap in the station loo. I think this was the first wash it had ever had, and then caught the now 'unobstructed' train back to Hungerford.....with mixed emotions.

Glad to get my beloved cap back, but utterly bemused by the sullen bunch of unhelpful, indeed hostile, jobsworths who made such an appalling fuss over such a trivial situation. I could never before have imagined such bureaucratic, humourless, rule-bound, elf 'n' safety ridden lack of initiative displayed by station staff together with their police back-up squad. From my worldwide travelling experiences, much of it on trains, I think only in the UK (with the possible exceptions of Russia and Australia...see Trans-Siberian and Ghan blogs) could you find such an unhelpful and bossy attitude. It's hardly surprising that our expensive and unreliable transport systems are plagued by unnecessary delays and cause so much frustration to passengers.

GAWD HELP US!

BUENOS AIRES - FINALE

8th - 10th Apr 2014

Argentine Air Force post Falklands.

Back to Buenos Aires in the rain. In fact it cleared up by mid-morning and the remaining two days I spent there were warm and sunny with blue skies. I noticed (that evening)  the weather reports on BBC World TV were telling us that storms and heavy rain were occurring here and the foul weather was to continue. It wasn't and didn't. Not only are these weather 'experts' unable to forecast remotely accurately, they can't even get the present weather correct. It makes me entirely cynical when reading weather reports, past, present and future.

A relaxing couple of days spent wandering around Town. Left: A delightful 'Oirish Bear', one of several in the city, but this one, in Thames St, Palermo district, was a particularly hospitable watering hole.

It served a selection of 'home brewed' beer (right) and excellent food. Definitely recommended.

I couldn't resist a return visit to the Tango 'milonga', the Canning Salon, in Palermo (left). Quite an extraordinary, and popular, venue. Very old-fashioned but the clientele varies from old-age pensioners to youngsters who all thoroughly enjoy their tangoing, some very good at it including a few extravagantly dressed 'poseurs' showing off their dancing and chat-up techniques. As with most Argentine entertainment it doesn't get busy until about 2.00am which is normally well past my bedtime. The drink is cheap, despite which I remained firmly a spectator.

Another common sight on the streets is the dog-walker (right). This lady had 10 in tow. I would imagine the scope for a major fur-flying bust up is quite high.

There are several large grassy parks in the north and north-west of the city including a botanical gardens (infested by cats) and a large zoological park. Left: A statue in the botanical gardens.












......and an impressive monument outside.

















Left: Horse-drawn carriages are available as per Central Park in New York.













Right and below: Modern art dotted around the parks. I was quite intrigued by the 'aeroplanes and aircrew' and the Don Quixote style horsemen, all made from scrap metal.

Right: The pilot...!

Right: "Don't Fry For Me Argentina"!

On the day I was due to get to the airport there was to be a full-scale General Strike in Buenos Aires. Typical! I had to hire a private car (no taxis, let alone metro or buses) and set off very early to avoid potential 'demos'. The streets at 6.00am were, understandably, remarkably empty. I got to the airport at 7.00am for a 12.15pm departure. Fortunately BA Intl. airport has a decent restaurant/cafe with free unlimited WiFi  so able to amuse myself adequately. I'm still a bit pissed-off that I had my Kindle nicked in Mendoza. I managed to spend my remaining pesos on a bottle of duty-free and pots of the rather disgusting sweet goo that is popular in Patagonia. They will make excellent Christmas presents.

Initially to Madrid, Barajos, airport. As explained at the beginning of this journal Barajos is one of the worst airports I have experienced. Bugger all facilities, no free WiFi, confusing signage and a rather bolshy lot of jobsworths to not help you (none of the information desks was manned). It put me in a bad mood. Of course, I had to re-check in my duty-free booze because it was not packed in an EU-compliant tamper-proof bag and also the 'dangerous' pots of potentially explosive Patagonian goo, and virtually strip-searched going through security. It involved lots of queuing. Actually it didn't really because I adopted my well tried and tested anti-queue  technique. This involves, quite simply, walking with great confidence up to the front of any queue and stepping in. I have yet to find anyone who objects; they either assume you have a right to be there or are just not prepared to 'make a scene'. It really works, believe me! Some call it 'queue barging'. I call it 'enterprising'.

So back to grotty Gatport Airwick at 8.00am the next morning. I was, however, pleasantly surprised at the passport/immigration check. The staff were actually wearing smart(ish) uniforms and an unusually polite lady directed me to the 'electronic' check-in. This was queue-less and simply involved scanning my passport while looking into a camera. Magic; in and out in less than 5 minutes. 

My observations on Argentina:

1. Travel. Excellent, good value, comfortable and reliable buses with good roads (other than parts of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego). No trains, even when advertised. Not ripped off by taxis (avoiding the obvious bandits). Flying as per Europe; expensive with tedious procedures and restrictions.

2. Food. Excellent steaks and 'empanadas' but not so hot on vegetables. A 'veggie' would find it challenging in Argentina. Monopoly of processed cheese and ham sandwiches at cafes (to the exclusion of all other). Cheese (processed) features largely on all menus. Although seemingly 'queso' obsessed they don't even appear to have a selection of other more exotic types. Poor breakfasts with a lack of hot food and, if anything other than tea/coffee with a sticky croissant, cold processed cheese and ham! Good cheap wine.

3. Accommodation. Generally excellent, lots available and great value at the lower end. Curiously, in the less than luxury places, no plugs in bathroom sinks! Always helpful and polite staff which are also apparent at bus stations, restaurants, information offices and just about everywhere else.

4. Comms. Free WiFi and often quick broadband at all hotels and many bars/cafes.

5. Money. Irritating necessity to hunt out 'blue market' exchange for your foreign currency. The rates varied inconsistently from around 12 pesos/USD in BA to 9 pesos/USD in El Calafate. The 'official' rate was 7.8 and thus ATMs were out of the question. I am not an economist so don't understand the complexities which underlie this system.

6. Things to see and do. Lots, with varied cultures, geography and climate. Slightly disappointed by the much acclaimed trout fishing down south!

In general a hassle-free (apart from losing my Kindle), safe, most enjoyable and educational journey. It was also great value for money, provided you got a good exchange rate!

That's it amigos! Hasta luego.........Where next?