31st August 2005

No claims, nothing. Not going to get caught out again. If I don't finish, I don't finish.

An overnight bus to Krakow, another early morning walking from hostel to hostel to find a bed. We found a bed but couldn't check in for quite some time to strolled the streets of town centre getting an early morning view of where we would be spending the next couple of days. During the course of our walk we found another hostel, an apparently better hostel, one with less than seven flights of stairs to get you to the door, one which did your laundry for free, my bag was stinky. They didn't have any rooms for that night but we went back to our hostel, I collected my laundry and we returned to the second hostel and booked in for the following night.

Needing to be in Berlin in a few days we ventured to the bus and the railway station and began preliminary enquiries about the cheapest tickets heading that way. Of course, the buses were cheapest but arrived at incredibly inconvenient times in the early morning. We were going to stay with my friend Christian, who you might remember from my tales of Indonesia the first time round, and asking him to cross the city to meet us at 2am seemed a little harsh especially as I hadn't seen him for nearly two years and then had only spent a couple of weeks with him. Obviously once he found out that we intend to hang out at the bus station and contact him when the sun was up he insisted that he came to meet us - he obviously remembered that I had taught him how to ride a moped! (and had forgotten that it was my accident that ensured that we didn't manage to climb Rinjani because of my subsequent accident!)

Krakow is a beautiful city. The huge market square encompassing the incredible cathedral as well as the market building is staggering. It is surrounded on all sides by suitably statuesque and ancient buildings which in turn are ringed by narrowish streets lined with interesting shops. All this is overhung by the picture perfect castle with stands on higher ground to one side and provides and impressive backdrop. We didn't do too much within the city having little time and Tim wishing to go and view the horrors of Auschwitz and Birkenau for himself (I had been previously some ten years ago). But I can tell you that you should avoid changing travellers cheques at the banks (about an hour and a half), that it has a nightlife that lasts as long as you can drink (5.30am for us) and that the pigeons are surprisingly quick and evasive (drunken fool lying on hard ground with bruises having attempted to kick one into a double shop doorway - the goal - at 5.30am on the way home having enjoyed the nightlife). I can also state that the food is both cheap and tasty.

Auschwitz was as important, staggering and incomprehensible as I remember it. The last time that I went we had a superb guide whose Father or Grandfather (I can't remember which) had been killed there. This time we had another superb guide (looked a little like Bill Davidson actually) who led us round offering us insights beyond those which are immediately apparent or take a little reading. This time the group was respectful, the first time I was there we had a couple of Americans in our group who were talking loudly, had caps on back to front and were chewing gum, until our guide put them straight in an incredibly powerful and moving telling off. I remember coming away last time and being unsure as to whether such a remnant of such an awful atrocity should be left standing and not destroyed. I am sure now that it should remain as a lesson to us all.

Arriving in Berlin, as we did a couple of days later, we were aware that this was the beginning of the end. Tim was to be leaving in a couple of days and Germany marked the real beginning of western Europe where almost everything is a knownish quantity. Of course, things are a little different, there are variations but they tend to be on a theme. The biggest realisation for me, in Berlin, in Bavaria, in France and in Spain was how good a lifestyle these Europeans live. Life seems to be a little cheaper and expectations of quality higher, that added to the weather seems to make a mockery of our belief that we have it so very good! Why am I qualifying in a subject that means I can only work in this country (well, without retraining to a certain extent)?

Berlin is such a vibrant, energetic city. It suffers from a very high unemployment rate and yet whereas in the UK this would undoubtedly be to a cities detriment, Berlin seems to thrive. This seems strange and as I write it and read it back sounds foolish yet I think there is some truth to it. Perhaps someone cleverer than I could explain why this might be the case or indeed tell me that I am a fool with reasons explaining my shortsightedness. It's an alternative city, or at least the bits that we say in the eastern sector of the city are and this is why I think that the unemployment is such a factor.

Christian did us proud as host. We spent a lot of time walking around the city and he certainly knows a lot of its history - this is one of his many interests. We also had a great great night out. He knows the city's nightlife incredibly well too and even though his music taste might be considered a little dodgy he did take us to a great underground (although up in an apartment) club. We did some shopping - I bought a pair of baseball boots, ate some good food, explored the areas in which he lives as well as the more obvious choices such as the Brandenburg gates and Reichstag (which is quite an amazing piece of architecture, even I was impressed and I know nothing about these things). Tim visited the museum at Checkpoint Charlie (I have been before) and we drank plenty of cocktails.

Christian, thank you. I look forward to repaying the favour and showing you around either Cardiff or Oswestry when you wish. Obviously Oswestry would be easier for me as there is little to see. It does have "Bonkers" though.

Evi, who you have no doubt heard about through these pages and subsequently from my horse-like mouth had come up to Berlin to have a look about - although I'm not quite sure how bothered she was about this - and primarily to be lovely and take me back to Bavaria with her, to Nurenburg, where she could run around happily in her durndal without other Germans laughing at her. We had a night out with both her and Christian before Tim left. I want to write this for my own memory and not for public consumption and so it shall have no explanation other than to say that it did in no way shape or form involve Evi! On this night out there was a madman who had obviously decided to bring a dildo out with him!

Tim left the following day. Evi, Christian and I headed up and into the Reichstag, enjoyed a pleasant evening. Evi and I left the following day for the south of Germany and enjoyed a pleasant journey save that the hitchhiker that we picked up seemed to smell rather more than he should.

Nurenburg is another beautiful walled town/city. Of course its reputation has been slightly tarnished by its links with the Nazis. This was one reason why I was so interested in visiting - the other being Evi of course. During my time there we went out to the old Nazi parade grounds and amphitheatre that was never quite completed and visited and absolutely superb museum charting the rise and fall of Nazi Germany with reference to Nuremburg's involvement. The museum cannot be praised enough and is indicative of the way that Germany has sought to deal with its troubling past in an open and frank manner in the hope that no other country will have to go through what it went through seventy years ago. Nuremburg would be a place to visit in the snow. It really is beautiful and Evi, having lived there her whole life, knows it like I know Oswestry and we had a really good look around. On other days we went to the lake to swim and sunbathe, evenings were spent eating great traditional Bavarian food (lots of meat and potatoes - perfect) specially prepared by her Mum, who is a great cook, in their lovely garden. The warmth of the day would last well into the night and surrounded by flowers and candlelight we would eat under the starry sky. I felt incredibly welcome and really really enjoyed my stay. Beware, I might be back.

After about a week, Evi and I set off on a mammoth day drive across Germany and almost the whole of France to Pau. Obviously I was going to have to drive but didn't really think about it until actually presented with the scenario. It was going to be strange to drive anyway but I had done this before, it was going to be stranger to drive in Europe on the right hand side of the road but I had done this before, what I had never done was drive for the first time in a long time, in a right hand drive country in a left hand drive car! Evi did very well keeping her panicked comments to the level that she did. Safe to say that Evi did more than her fair share of driving that day.

I headed into another week of being pampered. We had been up at 5am to commence the drive having been incredibly unsensible and stayed up late the night before (I was being shown off like a new pony to yet another friend/family member!). We arrived on the French national music day and Stefan, being Stefan, wasn't going to miss that. The French, happily ignoring concerns of all people who might have to work the next day, have a national music day in the middle of the week if that is how it lands. The party goes on until morning and I can tell you that the wide variety of music being played out in the open is played at very loud volumes. You wouldn't be happy if you lived in the town centre and had to go to work the next day. We got back to bed at about 5am. Needless to say we slept long and hard the next day.

I moved from German regional food to French regional food, from one great cook to another, from one lovely family to another and from one beautiful garden under a starry sky on balmy nights to another. Back here I have a lovely family, I even have a great cook (three in this house actually, four if you count one meal a year on Christmas Eve!), we also have a beautiful garden but I would sure love to have those balmy nights a little more often. We ate out in the garden late, every night, in shorts and t-shirts. The French know how to cook and we ate superb local duck and even some cool think where you heat cheese up on little pans before putting it on potatoes - very groovy, eating and playing at the same time.

During the days we went to the mountains or to the coast (to an endless stretch of beach to the north of Biarritz) as well as looking around the beautiful town of Pau by daylight and hanging out at one of Stefan's friends who has a pool. It was another great week. I shall remember the petit train for a long time as well as the barbecue at Stefan's cottage on the coast. But I shall mostly remember the ease with which Stefan and I picked up our friendship started in Sydney a long time ago - a friendship that I suspect will last a lifetime. My thanks must also go to Fabien, Stefan's girlfriend and constant companion who helped facilitate such a wonderful time and was utterly delightful and made real efforts to communicate despite being displeased with own level of English which was, of course, very good.

I had had a taste of Spain when we popped over the border from Pau to pick up some salami and such for Stefan's household but after a week in Pau I found myself on the overnight train and after considerably less than a week found myself arriving in Madrid and being met by Helen who I hadn't seen since Luke and Sussanah's wedding 2 years and nine months previously.

I do feel incredibly lucky with my friendships. The more people that I meet and discuss these things with the luckier I feel. More often than not people have a good group of friends - of course they do - but usually they stem from one source, either school or university. I couldn't, wouldn't and needn't pick between my friends but I would find it impossible anyway. My friends at university are as good as the friends that I still retain from school. I only mention this because over the past few weeks I have pretty much seen all of them and each meeting was exactly the same as the one with Helen. It was like I had never been away. And I don't mean she wasn't interested in what I had been doing or had forgotten but immediately the old way in which we talk to each other, the way that we have talked to each other since we were eleven (ok, Helen's level of conversation and maturity has improved but you know what I mean), was there. And I have found that with all my friends.

So, as you no doubt can guess, I had a ball in Madrid. I told Helen on day one that being in Madrid wasn't about doing tourist things, in fact I positively shyed away from them, it was about hanging out with her and relaxing. To this end we gave Madrid centre (or somewhere like it that she chose - I do know it included the palace and Don Quixote) the once over and spent the rest of the time playing tennis, going to the outdoor swimming pool, spying on the good Catholic boyfriends and girlfriends (who live with their parents) dry humping in public places, eating great food on balmy evenings in pavement cafes and generally just having a great time. There was an art gallery I went to - the day that Helen so rudely left Madrid to go back to Scotland before I was even out of the city limits - which was good but I was glad these had been kept to a minimum.

Then there was an awful overnight bus journey to Paris. Then there was a wonderful few days with Si, Guilietta, Sascha and Elena in Paris where I always always enjoy my stays which, like the rest of my European trip this time, make me question why we in the UK think we have it so good. It was great to see Si et al again (that had been 2 years 9 months as well) but especially to see the proper little girl that Sascha has grown into and the more independent young girl that Elena is. They didn't really know me of course, and Elena was a little suspicious of me for a while but I think I did ok because this summer, when they all came to stay at Pen-y-llan, my relationship with Elena had reached the stage where she felt happy to shout "Dog. Swing." at me knowing that I would go and help her try to grab leaves! Sascha's response to me, which was great, probably has a lot to do with Elena's quickly found trust in this strange, long haired, slightly overweight, previously unseen man who one day after a long time turned up at their door.

2 years 9 months after shutting Luke and Sussanah's door in London and posting the keys back through the door, an act which left to weeks of worrying about whether or not I had turned the gas off, I returned to England, on a day of terror in London. Standing outside John Lennon Airport in Liverpool and as yet unaware of the carnage that had been unfolding on the tube and buses of the capital I felt happy to be back, and even after hearing the horrible scouse accents of my fellow waitees, I still felt sort of good to be back! No, my heart did drop a little when I had to listen to my fellow countrymen saying that they would rather have been to a part of Spain that was a little more like England, but when your Mum is coming to pick you up, how can it bother you too much! It actually made me glad to travel, hearing people talk like that.

This was my travel log. It should have finished when, or shortly after, my trip finished. It has taken a little while longer than that for which I am sure you will forgive me. It was never going to just be a diary, but had it been, it would have recorded that I have had a fantastic summer and that it is great to be back and to have seen you all. It's still great to be here.

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this over the last long while and am actually a little emotional about finishing it. I hope you have enjoyed reading the content as much as I have enjoyed putting it on the screen for you.

Peace out, Rabbit.

Lots of love,

Chris xx

P.S. As this is the last entry, I'm going to spell check it for you. That doesn't help with the punctuation of course but you'd be upset if it read as it should!

22nd August 2005 - this is taking a while, isn't it?

Another stab at finishing this off then. We'll see how I go.

Mum and Dad arrived on time which was a little of a shame because their baggage didn't. (It did turn up 24 hours later.) Tim and I had arrived in Vilnius the previous day and had got our bearings in the small city by going for a couple of beers. Such meticulous preparation is one of the main reasons that my tours are so efficient even if it means that I am occasionally more grumpy than I should be.

Vilnius is a pretty small, pretty city, once again overlooked by a castle. It differs from the other Baltic state capital cities in that it is not on the coast. It is also the only city of the three that isn't yet served by EasyJet. The combined effect of these two facts is that the city suffers less from tourists waddling off cruise ships and stag dos taking over the town at weekends than Tallinn and Riga. It too has the windy, cobbled streets of the others but isn't quite as picturesque as Tallinn and isn't as big as Riga meaning that there is probably a little less to see in the old town.

We spent the first couple of days having a look around and most interestingly visited the old KGB cells that has been converterted into a museum charting the occupation of the country by the Russians and resistance thereto. It was a similar thing to the museums that Tim and I had already visited in the Baltics but I think for Mum and Dad it will have been of particular interest. It had been very well done and the final room in the downstairs cells - the execution room - ensured that you were left with a suitable sense of disgust and contempt for what people can do to each other when offered the excuse of politics (as well as religion).

In a similar vein we also went to the Jewish museum in the town. Alongside these depressing tourist sites we visited the cathedral, the castle, had a look around the shops and made sure that we were taking plenty of icecream and coffee breaks. The apartment that we stayed in wasn't the best, although it was very cheap, but this was no bad thing because it ensured that we were out and about and, best of all, ate out. We ate some really really good food in the time that Mum and Dad were out with us. The other advantage of our cheap apartment was that later in the week when we decided to go on a small tour of the country - literally driving from one end to the other in a couple of days - the fact that we weren't spending the night in the apartment and indeed would be paying for alternative accommodation didn't seem to matter. Not at £7 per person per night anyway.

We ventured north first, as I remember it, to the Centre of Europe Sculpture Park which was a collection of outdoor installations (is that possible?) spread over several acres of Lithuanian forest and fields. It was a pleasant stroll around some unusual exhibits including a maze of televisions stacked into walls that expressed a view on propoganda. The park will probably be remembered for Mum taking a quick pee in the woods and in the short time that her bum was uncovered being bitted several times by some lucky mosquitoes in the swarms that inhabit Lithuanian forests at this time of the year.

Some 200 or so kilometres further up the road, right in the north of the country, we encountered, although that makes it sound like it happened by chance, which of course it didn't the rather spooky and surreal Hill of Crosses. I understand that in the world of Christianity Catholics might be considered to be the most superstitious but in the world of Catholics it the Lithuanians aren't strong contenders for the "most superstitious Catholics" title I would be very surprised. The first thing to be said about the Hill of Crosses is that the hill probably wouldn't really count as a hill in most places. On the north German coast it might, in the Baltics it might, in Norfolk it might, but anywhere the entirety of the surrounding scenery isn't as flat as a pancake the Hill of Crosses would probably be renamed to incorporate the words, hillock, hump, rise or slight bump in a field in its title. You will be pleased to hear that on this "hill" there are at least crosses. It's too long since I read up in the guide book about the site for me to remember exactly how long the crosses have been there but it is quite a while - oh, alright, I'll look it up on the internet - ......since the 14th century actually. Of course, Lithuania wasn't Lithuania for all of this time and indeed nor has the knoll. During the Russian occupation when religion wasn't tolerated the hill was bulldozed time and time again. Crosses appeared time and time again and eventually religion won out. So, perhaps I wrong and it did use to be a Hill of Crosses.

The place freaked Mum out a little. There are hundreds of thousands of crosses erected or hung across what is a very small area of land. (For the first time here is a link for you to have a look www.sacredsites.com/europe/lithuania/lithuania.html). It is an extremely interesting place to photograph as I am sure you will appreciate once you have seen a picture of it yourself. Fortunately my camera broke for the third time on the trip - timing is everything.

We drove halfway back down the country and spent the night in a basic but acceptable hotel on the edge of a lake outside Kaunus (recent victims of Liverpool FC in the Champion's League). The setting of the hotel was very nice and the food in the restaurant attached to the Yachting Club excellent. The following day we headed right down south stopping briefly in the morning in Kaunus to have a look at some fine architecture that keeps the heads of the local nuns dry.

There is a multi-millionaire in Lithuania who has made all his money from the sail of fungus and mushrooms. As the Communist machine broke up this entrepeneur took advantage of the increasing financial freedoms and opportunities (and I am sure contacts and croneys) to establish a mushroom empire. He latterly had another idea and when they were auctioned by the Lithuanian government, bought up as many old Communist statues as he could. These are statues of, amongst many others some of whom were local to Lithuania, Stalin and Lenin. He has now opened south Lithuania's number one tourist site (sorry, I can't find a decent link) with the extensive collection of statues placed around a circular walkway through the forest. It is a little theme parky but I think his idea and intentions are good. There is a lot of debate in Lithuania as to whether this park is a good thing or not. It's true that he is making money out of a time of misery for most but he is also reminding the children of Lithuania (or indeed telling them for the first time) that the freedom that they are enjoying at the moment is almost unprecedented in modern history. It was certainly interesting for us in any event.

That was the end of our little tour and we headed back to Vilnius that evening.

The following day we went out of town again, although this time by public transport, to the town of Trakai whose picturesque castle has effectively become the symbol of Lithuania (http://www.traveladventures.org/continents/europe/trakai01.shtml). The location is as impressive as the cone turretted castle and we enjoyed a lovely time both wandering around it and sitting across the water from it having a drink. The Pare men enjoyed a crossbow shooting competition within the grounds, a crooked bolt being the only thing stopping Chris Pare from following up his best placed first round bolt with another winner and allowing Johnny P to steal his crown. Tim talks some rubbish about this subject so if you see him and are unfortunate enough to have to hear him going on about it then you should smile pleasantly, make the right sounds and ignore him completely!

Another day of just pottering around not doing much and it was time for Mum and Dad to depart leaving Tim and I to catch an evening bus to Krakow in Poland. We even managed to get to this one on time.

The funny thing about writing this now is that even catching that bus to Poland seems a lifetime ago. The start of the trip, being in Sri Lanka, almost feels as if it never happened. Very strange.

I'm obviously not going to finish this today either. Feeling sleepy I am.

Bye for now!

13th July 2005 – It’s good to be home, other than facing up to financial realities of course

But now is not the time to talk about arriving home. Now is the time to attempt to catch up on a month-and-a-half’s travelling about which there has been little word. Now is the time to bore you for the last time – a shame though it is.

St. Petersburg (without remembering the theft of Tim’s bag) was an incredible city. Grand on a magnificent scale and apparently a little more sophisticated than Moscow, St. Pete’s (as I heard one cool traveller call it) was a great place to spend a week. Although it may no longer be the centre of power in Russia the streets certainly retain the authority that once flowed through it. All the central buildings were obviously built to impart power and wealth through their architecture. The city is not intimate, that is not the atmosphere that has been created, the buildings are a demonstration of Tsarist power. The centrepiece of the city is Palace Square that is surrounded by the Admiralty and Winter Palace (which has now been turned into the Hermitage Museum). The square is also overlooked by St. Isaac’s Cathedral a massive structure commissioned by Alexander 1 sometime at the start of the 19th century. The massive dome is gilded with over 100kg of gold and is clearly visible far out into the Gulf of Finland and still dominates the St. Petersburg skyline (which remains very low rise). The view from the top was equally stunning overlooking, as it did, the mainland city to the south and the island city and bridges to the north with the Palace Square in the foreground.

The city is built around the Gulf of Finland and there are a series of canals crisscrossing the centre of the city. Numerous islands to the north extending the city add further differences to your average city. I am a big fan of cities on the water, Sydney and Istanbul are two of my favourite, I like the change of pace that water brings, I also think that cities on and that make use of the water are incredibly picturesque. This is certainly the case with St. Petersburg where the views out across from behind the Admiralty and Hermitage across to St. Peter and Paul’s Fortress (the first substantial building in the city) and huge columns that used to be aflame constantly to guide ships into port are memorable. The city also looks fantastic coming the other way when the Admiralty, St. Isaac’s Cathedral and the Hermitage return the viewing favour.

We did the usual tourist tour enjoying the Hermitage in particular. This is a truly incredible museum reckoned by those who know to be one of the three greatest in the world (the other contenders from memory being the Louvre and one in New York). It isn’t just the sheer volume of quality exhibits, nor the diversity of them, the incredible thing is the combination of these two factors added to the fact that the museum is set inside a Tsar’s palace. The setting is as impressive as the exhibits. Really one could do with the funds and the time to go back there time and time again. I find that my concentration span for such things lasts for about 2-and-a-half hours after which I find myself simply strolling past things that really should be wondered at. I found the artwork exhibited in the Hermitage really fantastic despite my relatively recent admission to myself that I am not a massive painting fan. I would much rather go and look at a photography exhibition than I would an oil-painting one, perhaps because I can relate to photography far more easily than I can painting.

Peter the Great’s Summer Palace and gardens were also a huge highlight despite the grey day on which we chose to visit. The Rough Guide stipulated that one really ought to approach by boat and being keen readers we did just that taking a catamaran from the seafront just behind the Hermitage and three minutes from our flat. It might have been the day and lack of visibility but we were relatively under whelmed and fairly glad that we had not chosen to double the expense by buying a return but had decided to do the cheap arse thing and head back by bus. Luckily for us fountain season had started early and all the fountains were on even though we had expecting the reverse to be the case. The fountains were magnificent especially the collection directly outside the front of the palace which were the centrepiece of the gardens and climbed the steps from the canal that brought Peter’s barge up near to the front door to the front door that he was aiming for. The main fountain depicted a Herculean Tsar wrestling (and obviously on the way to defeating) a lion representing Sweden (who I assume must have been the unlucky whipping boys of a recent campaign).

In other less cultural outings we discovered The Red Lion Pub which served as a little of a base in the evenings, one in particular which I will never forget - despite my drinking – where an absolutely hammered, partially English speaking, massively fat, massive breasted local tried to chat me up whilst blowing smoke in my face. I could barely have understood a word she was saying when she was sober let alone when she was drunk enough to fall over and especially not when I was incredibly conscious of the weight of her massive breasts on my thigh where she had chosen to rest them.

The Red Lion was also the reason for the worst travelling error that I made on the trip (or that we made on our trip). Having seen Greta off at the airport Tim came back to join me in this fantastic pub to watch the last Premiership Saturday of the football season expecting it (as it turned out) to be full of incident and excitement, the perfect ending to our week in St. Petersburg prior to hopping on the late night over night bus to Tallinn in Estonia.

The trouble started (as it often does) with the booze and the length of the afternoon. We got a little comfortable and having watched West Bromwich Albion somehow pull an elephant out of the hat moved next door to watch the band that had just started up. Now our only time device had been stolen along with Tim’s camera but we hadn’t really noticed the loss because we were with Greta who wears a watch and was kind enough to give us the time all the time. We missed it now. On hearing in faltering English that it was ten o’clock we panicked slightly and looked to run from the pub. However, as it seemed that time had really flown and we couldn’t have been having that much fun we checked the time again with the bouncer on the way out. He informed us that it was in fact nine o’clock (a seemingly more likely scenario). The pressure was now off but we still being cautious forsook another pint and made our way sedately (being the only option when Tim is map reading) to the bus station.

We arrived two minutes after the bus had left (and we really had been moving sedately). The first time that we got must have been correct and we had been foolish not to check again.

Actually, rereading the above I can’t believe that we were that stupid so perhaps my memory has played tricks on me after all this time and things happened differently. I will have to check with Tim but I think that the above is probably correct. Remember kids, alcohol makes you stupid.

We were left with the uncomfortable decision of either going back into the city (it was now about midnight) and without a guide book or previous experience (Greta had the guide book and we had been staying in an apartment) trying to find somewhere cheap to stay the five hours before we had to be up to get back out to the bus station to catch the next Baltic State bound bus or to sit on the floor outside the train/bus station and wait. Being skint backpackers who had just been drinking beer we decided on the latter and whilst the setting was fairly scary we were helped by the fact that at this time of the year in St. Petersburg it is barely getting dark at all and was relatively warm. We thought that we had problems when the police turned up, especially as we had registered ourselves in Irkustk for two weeks despite really having to register ourselves in each town/city we spent more than three business days in. Every time we went anywhere where there might be police we adjusted our story to ensure that we had only arrived in the city a couple of days before and were leaving shortly. Could these men blow it all? Would they really believe that we had spent a week-and-a-half in Irkustk before travelling directly to St. Petersburg and leaving within three days? The important thing was that they couldn’t prove otherwise. The bad thing was that the police in Russia have a reputation of getting money from tourists even when their papers are perfect.

We were frisked for weapons (you can easily end up drinking in a pub next to a man who has a handgun in his pocket – clearly visible), asked what we were doing there, wished luck and told that we would be better off not falling asleep in this area by two really nice (massive) policeman and then left to pursue our vigil.

We didn’t see much of the countryside on the way to Tallinn which was to become a bit of a pattern across the Baltic States as Tim and I took our last chance to live it up on the way back to normality. The bus journey was slept through and we encountered none of the expected problems at the border with regard to our registration.

I end up saying that everywhere was beautiful and picturesque but this is not because I have a lack of adjectives or a need to make out that everywhere I visited was great but simply because most of the places that I did visit were great. Those that weren’t don’t tend to get a mention anyway unless they were truly appalling.

Tallinn is a very atmospheric medieval town. The walls that protected it for so long and made it a key Hanseatic League stronghold are still standing in part and the town stands in two distinct parts, lower and upper. The windy streets that will one to get lost make for charming walks along the cobbled streets from gate to gate and square to square. These days Tallinn, like both other Baltic capitals, is a bit of a venue for stag and hen nights and that means that getting cheap accommodation on a weekend can prove difficult. We had booked ahead and found a pleasant hostel in the centre. We shared with an elderly Polish gentleman called Chris who having led an extraordinary life had sort of settled down taking photographs and selling them to the Photograph Library allowing him to fund his travel.

We cooked a little for ourselves trying to keep costs down and didn’t really go out. Tallinn itself is good for a couple of days sightseeing, the perfect weekend break in many ways (if it weren’t for the drunken idiots dressed as cows etc), but we struggled to find much to do on the third day and decided to head into the centre of the country to Tartu, the academic centre of Estonia and another old town.

This proved an inspired move as we encountered a town with virtually no tourists (at that time anyway) and accommodation prices much below those in Tallinn the standard of which was far, far better. The university was old and interesting and we found it much easier to get good local food. We also encountered a younger, more energetic feel (predictable). This together with the fact that the F.A. Cup final was taking place ensured that we caught up on our good nights out. Having had a few by the end of the final we were encouraged to stay by some expat students who were going to watch the Eurovision Song Contest. We stayed to play and ended up with an Estonian girl in a really dodgy little bar at 4am in the morning before realising that we had to get back to our room to pick up our bags (washing still drying on a line between beds) and back into the centre (about four miles round trip) for 6ish. There followed a drunken run (though still finding time to pause and sit on top of the arch of a bridge) to the room and back. At the station we encountered the same man that Tim had spent some time with that night encouraging him not to kill himself. He looked happy enough and it seemed that perhaps it had all been a ruse to get some drinks out of Tim. Nevertheless, watching Tim deal with the man and the situation was an incredible thing which showed humanity at its best. It actually brought tears to my eyes.

Now this was a blur of a bus ride. I remember sitting down; waking up to hand my passport to somebody and then waking up with the passport on my lap it obviously having been returned to me even though I had been unable to keep my eyes open long enough to take it back off the border guard.

With three hours sleep and a blinding headache finding a hostel proved difficult. Luckily it was Sunday and the 20-strong-rugby-lad-stag-do was heading home as we arrived. After waiting for the tip of a dormitory to be reset (the stag do had spent the early hours of the morning harassing the poor girl on the desk and running around naked) we had a quick look around the city and did a fair amount of lounging around before being in bed for about 7pm! Sorry, I should have mentioned, we were now in Riga in Latvia. This is a city that all of my male readers should note down be they in committed relationships or not (sometimes people break up!). Of anywhere I have ever been Riga has the hottest women I have ever seen. The meat and potato diet combined with the highest rate of ethnic Russians in the Baltics has ensured that girl after girl has been turned out with mind-numbing figures and the need to show them off in the skimpiest clothing (see my comments regarding Moscow and St. Petersberg). As Tim so graciously put it, it was not a problem to walk anywhere. Getting lost was a pleasure.

The city itself is great. Built on a grander scale that Tallinn it doesn’t quite have the intimacy, nor indeed does it have the hill or walls, but the cobbled streets are still a delight to walk whether the women are out or not. Our trip across the Baltics focussed, almost deliberately, on the oppression of the locals and Jews by both the Soviets, then the Nazis, then the Soviets again. In Tartu, Estonia, we visited the KGB cells, which incorporated a museum to the memory of those lost, and in Riga we visited the absolutely superb occupation museum and took a bus out to the very moving tribute to Jewish loss. Later, with Mum and Dad, we visited some more KGB cells in Vilnius and another centre celebrating and commemorating Jewish history in Lithuania.

We also took a day trip out to a couple of market towns complete with castles and did some walking. In one of these towns we met a rather strange couple (in fact I think they both had learning disabilities) who had shared our dormitory the night before – and unbeknownst to us were actually one of the reasons that we were leaving! We met them on the street and involved ourselves in polite conversation during which we mentioned the strange noises that we had heard the night before. I hadn’t been sleepy and had simply been lying there without my earplugs in when I heard this strange noise and a clapping sound. Neither were particularly loud and could barely be heard over the ripping snores coming out of the man sleeping above Tim. The noises were sporadic and indescribable think. The closest I can get to describing them is to compare them to the noises emitted by some type of lizard in South East Asia. Obviously, deep down, I knew that there wasn’t such a lizard in the room, but still the sound confused me and I couldn’t really imagine where else it might have come from. The strangest thing was the fact that its sounding was accompanied by an irregular and out of time clapping pattern. Tim was obviously still awake and after quite some time, unable to control himself, queried out loud what the hell was going on. Nobody in the 15 bed dorm replied and the noises continued for a while afterwards. It turned out to our surprise that the girl knew exactly what had been going on. She had been making them in what can only be described as a poor attempt at waking the snorer up. Even after her explanation as to what she had been trying to do Tim and I were still unable to understand what had happened the previous night.

Of course, the biggest thing that happened in Riga, and probably the greatest thing that happened to me on the entire trip both pre and post Australia (sad as it is to admit) was Liverpool winning the Champion’s League Final against A.C. Milan in Instanbul having been three nil down at half-time and having been played off the park. What a night! It was topped off by going for drinks with the Estonian U21 (or something similar) Women’s Basketball team! Very strange.

We headed for Lithuania and Vilnius the following day in to prepare for my parent’s arrival.

That's all for now,

Love Chris xx

25th May 2005 - The day that Liverpool return to the glory days of yesteryear!

Really might have some trouble writing this so nervous am I of what the next seven hours have in store. We have our table reserved at "Paddy Whelans" (obviously a true Latvian establishment) and have to get there for eight and endure two hours of build up (that bit might actually be ok because it'll be reliving the route to the final, although that in itself will increase the nerves) and then at least and hour and a half of hell. That said, if we are getting stuffed 3-0 at half time, that should take the edge off the nerves. Not feeling particularly confident as I read all of the prematch articles that I can get my mouse on but my heart says we might be lucky. Prinz is a wise man, at least I know some people with learning difficulties who think so, and it is his policy that he is just going to enjoy the build up to, and the final, because it might be the only one that he ever witnesses Liverpool compete in. He might be clever, he must be a pessimist but more worryingly he doesn't seem to know anything about himself having lived in his own body for the last 27/28 years. I've seen the man get wound up over pre season friendlies let alone Champion League Cup Finals. But I see what he means and I am going to try to do the same!

Tim's bag was gone but he managed to lift himself admirably, after a few hours crying and dribbling, and although the day was a little tarnished the week was great. We had another great apartment, this time on Millionaire's Street, as the translation goes, literally 3 minutes from the main square outside The Hermitage and Winter Palace, one row back from the water. Actually, just thinking about it, I'm not sure that I really appreciated how good a location and flat it was.

The highlights of my week would have to be The Hermitage which would be an incredible place even if it didn't have any exhibits. Great then that it has over 3 million with some of the world's best art and sculpture among them. The size and scale of the place is incredible. The whole centre of the city is beautiful though. I always love cities with water, Instanbul and Sydney would probably go down as my favourite cities (although I realise there are a lot to visit yet) and St. Petersburg showed once again that water is a key component if you wish to receive the Chris Pare City Seal of Approval (and let's face it, who wouldn't want one of my many different seals of approval). So simply walking around in St. Petersburg, down the grand avenues past the grander buildings, memorials and statues was a pleasure.

My other highlight was an evening I spent with a Belgian girl that we met in Irkustk and her Palestinian boyfriend. We had a really nice evening chatting over cups of tea, so unlike my usual social meet-up. They both spoke great English and he in particular was incredibly interesting being, as he is, an aired documentary film maker present and filming both at the Jinin (don't want to call it a war crime but it probably was) clashes with the Israeli soldiers and at the Arafat's Ramallah complex when the Israeli's encircled and destroyed most of it making him a prisoner in his own country. Not bitter and incredibly reasoned he had some very thought provoking insights and an incredible photograph collection showing (in particular in Jinin) the horror of Israel's actions. Equally of note was the fact that he is the first Palestinian that I have ever met! He is, unsurprisingly, not in a rush to come to the UK!

What else did we do? We spent an afternoon at Peter the Great's Summer Palace which was set out in fantastic grounds topped by the fact that they had recently turned the spectacular fountains on. The approach by sea may have been more enjoyable had we been having better weather but it was fun to be out on the water in any case.

So, at the end of the week we said goodbye to Greta and headed to the pub to watch some football prior to catching the 11.45pm overnight bus to Tallinn, Estonia. We had seven hours to get there and boy did we need them. Having been told the wrong time - an hour out - we meandered our way to the station to find that we had missed the bus by two minutes. Not wanting to spend any more money on accommodation when we were eventually going to have to buy a new ticket to Tallinn we decided (under my heavy influence it has to be said) to brave the night and sit out the front of the station. It was a long night and we thought the worst was going to happen when we were approached by policemen. We had studiously avoided any engagement with the police due to our lack of recent registration in Russia. The rules say that you must register in the first city that you arrive at within three working days, and then in any subsequent place that you stay for more than three business days. Now, having arrived in Irkustk we had registered there, deliberately dating it to cover the entirety of our stay. We had then hoped not to be stopped in Moscow and if we were planned to state that we had only arrived the day before. We planned to do the same thing in St. Petersburg if stopped. But this had never been put to the test. Would the policemen believe that we had spent a week in Irkustk, spent four nights on the Trans-Siberian and then only a couple of days in each of Moscow and St. Petersburg? It seems improbable. Luckily for us, they checked us for weapons, a big problem in Russia where you can easily, as we did, sit in a pub next to a man with a handgun in his pocket, examined our passports to make sure that we had registered us once, told us not to go to sleep because the area was dangerous and wished us a good night!

The bloody bus official in the morning was a git and made us pay again despite our lies about the tube breaking down and despite the fact that the bus was half empty. And so we arrived exhaused in Tallinn, another beautiful city. This Baltic coast really is a great place to visit. St. Petersburg was beautiful and now Tallinn and Riga have not disappointed and indeed provided us with great sunny weather - I got a little sunburnt yesterday.

Tallinn is the smaller of the two Hanseatic League cities and situated both atop and around the bottom of a hill and lined with mazy little lanes is the instantly more manageable and likeable. But there is definately more to do in Riga which itself has beautiful cobbled streets twisting and turning amongst each other and incredible art nouveau architecture. I think perhaps I simply preferred Tallinn to look at because it had a hill.

We spent a couple of days in Tallinn enjoying the cobble stones, tracking down cheap eats local and otherwise, visiting museums and churches before we moved onto Tartu, a very small town but the heart of academic Estonia as its most eminent university.

We managed to find ourselves some incredibly cheap and incredibly good university accommodation for visiting lecturers etc and spent a really nice day wandering around the institution. We also visited the local KGB cells and attached museum and watched Revenge of the Sith - if you've seen the film you'll know the two highlights of the day. The next day was Saturday and FA Cup day so we spent some time looking for somewhere could watch it, some more time watching it, some more time watching the Eurovision Song Contest and meeting locals, some more time drinking, some time at a dodgy little bar in the early hours of the morning, some time (at about 4am) siting on the concrete arch of a bridge over the river, some time walking the 20 minutes back to our accommodation drunkenly, very little time packing, some more time (with more whingeing from me) walking back to the bus station, some time asleep on my rucksack (at least I was, I can't account for what Tim was doing) and 4 hours on the 6am bus from Tallinn to Riga stinking and waking only to hand over passports at the border.

I felt truly awful all day and just wanted to get the day out of the way which I did by going to bed at about 7pm.

So far in Riga we've visited the Occupation Museum, a very good museum that sets out the tortured history of Latvia and the other Baltic States over the last 60 or so years during which time they have swapped Russian occupation for Nazi occupation for Russian occupation. The museum highlighted in detail the deportations, torture and murder undergone by the Latvian citizens together with the brave resistance of its people followed by the peaceful revolution restoring independence. A really great if somewhat disturbing museum. Eastern Europe is full of this history. We've also journeyed out of town to a market town a couple of miles away and then stopped at another on the way back in the hope of doing some summer bobsleighing only to find that you can only hurtle down the track at the weekend. We settled on a pleasant walk from the town to the castle perched on hill across the valley catching the bus back from there.

Today we've been to the Museum of Latvian Jews another heart-wreching experience. Now I'm here and next I'm going to watch Liverpool lift the cup!

That might find me up to date! Alas, no. I need to tell you about our night in the first hostel we had in Riga, an entertaining story of mosquitos and mysterious noises in the night. Next time.

Lots of love to you all,

Chris xx

P.S. Come on the Mighty Reds.
P.P.S. For some reason the spell checker thing, that for once I have time for, is refusing to participate in this wonderful piece of writing, and I know I've spelt things wrong. Sorry.

23rd May 2005

I'm afraid that you need to hear a little more about Joey before I can tell you anything more about St. Petersburg or Moscow (or Tallinn, Tartu or Riga!).

As I said before we had previously met him in Ulan Batuur and went for a night's drinking with him in Irkustk only to find that he was on the same train as us for four days. On arrival in Moscow we decided to go for breakfast together and, as we do at these times, headed for McDonalds (that being the easiest place in the world to loiter all morning over a cup of cheap coffee). Loitering is often important to the traveller and no more so than this time with an arrival time in Moscow of 5am and a check-in time at the apartment we were hiring of 2pm. Time wasn't an issue and as the only McDonalds that we knew the location of was near the apartment/hostel that Joey was planning on staying in, we all decided to go together. Now, Joey had picked up the name of this "hostel" from a French couple who had also given him a map. At $10 a night it must have been the cheapest in Moscow and he was very happy to have found the place. When he walked into the apartment at 6am in the morning he couldn't be sure that it was a hostel but on waking the lady sleeping in a bedroom (!) was glad to find out that it was. She was very surprised and a little unhappy to see him as he hadn't booked ahead (I don't think that she liked the idea that the name was being bandied around all sorts of travellers who could get her in trouble with the authorities) but agreed that he could stay. As we were exiting the compound Tim suggested that perhaps Joey should go back and leave his digital camera which now had a flat battery on recharge while he was out. Joey promptly ran back upstairs and to his surprise was told that the lady had reconsidered and he no longer had anywhere to stay - all the beds were suddenly full!

Homeless Joey gladly accepted our invitation of a place to stay if he was prepared to wait until 2pm and sit out on the pavement whilst we sorted the paperwork (we had to pay extra for extra guests).

So we ended up spending another three days with Joey and what fun it was. Greta arrived that evening after we had taken control of our 22 floor apartment which looked entirely council estate from the outside but was actually lovely. We all went for a meal and then Joey and I hit the town giving Tim and Greta some time alone after so long apart. And what a night we had! I am not the greatest at getting chatting to girls at any time but especially not in a nightclub situation. You might correctly compare my predatory skills to one of two things; a blind one armed koala in the jungle, or Tim Pare with a sitter outside the six yard box. To put it more clearly for those who know nothing about animals or football, or simply don't deal in similes, I am not lethal.

So, I can be especially grateful that I was out with Joey who having toured America in a punk rock band for 8 years has little to no problem about going up and chatting to women. I had a very interesting night talking to a sucession of women whom he passed on to me having decided that he wasn't going to get lucky for whatever reason. Two of the girls were particularly lovely, they were friends, and it was with them that I spent the majority of the early hours of the morning.

We caught the first tube home in the morning and walked the last 500m. Unfortunately this involved passing a kebab shop that I had spyed previously. They were closing but I managed to convince the man that he should make me a kebad from some mushrooms and potatoes that he had cooked. With the immortal words, "If this man doesn't rip me off, he is a fool!" I purchased this strange kebab off him for about 6GBP! That is how drunk I was. But what a night. I said to Joey after I sobered up that it was the best first night in a city (and so I suppose country) that I have ever had. It was.

Moscow was great although unfortunately Red Square was off limits for the whole time we were there due to preparations for the celebrations to mark 60 years since the end of the Second World War. As I believe I mentioned before this ensured that I couldn't complete my hattrick of dead dictators.

We did visit the Kremlin which was very impressive - although perhaps a little smaller than I imagined. It is a strange mix of the religious and secular in side one compound, especially when you consider that the Communists are atheist (at least when it suited them). Then again, I don't suppose even they could have just pulled it down. St Basil's Cathedral is even more spectacular in situ than it is in the pictures and we were lucky on the first day to see it with a clear blue sky behind when it looks even more surreal and candyworldish. We didn't get to go inside but apparently it is relatively plain compared to its exterior.

On a grey drissly day we went to the famous Gorky Park which has to go down as a disappointment although I'd have to admit that our choice of day for a funfair/park combination wasn't the best. We took a ride in a space shuttle that had actually been to space and left feeling sorry that the shuttle had been cheapened. Joey and Greta proved that they were excellent shots at the shooting range and we had a great lunch in a Mexican restaurant.

Here is the real story about Joey though starts here. Joey had arranged to meet a friend of his in Bucharest. His friend was flying in from the USA and had a week's vacation. Joey has had several months to get there. Our arrival in Moscow coincided with two consecutive long weekends ensuring that embassies (who are the laziest of all institutions) would be open as little as possible for 14 or so days. Joey's plan was to take a direct train from Moscow to Bucharest making the most cursory of pauses in Kiev, Ukraine. However, for this he would need a transit visa. Or would he? He couldn't get an answer from the Ukranians as they were out partying and his own embassy told him that they didn't know the score as there was actually unsigned paperwork on the table that would in the very near future mean that citizens of the USA didn't need any sort of visa. One of the few important words in that sentence that Joey chose to ignore was unsigned. Joey could have flown but wouldn't think of it. Not only does he have a fear of flying but one of the rules of his trip is that he doesn't fly. He took a container ship over to Singapore from the States and is taking the Queen Mary cruise ship from Southampton back. No flying. He somehow managed to get himself a ticket for the train without anyone asking him for a look at his non-existant transit visa despite the fact that there was a notice stipulating that everybody would be asked for their visas before being sold a ticket.

We advised him against it but also suggested that should he make it having bribed a couple of border officials (his intention) he would be somewhat of a legend whilst weakening our belief in the rule of law.

Needless to say, we got the following email a few days later:

Hey boys,
This will be short and sweet but as you would've told me I didnt' get into Ukraine, my bribe was returned to me and now I'm in St. Pete after spending yesterday in holding cells in Ukraine and then again in Russia after trying to reenter without a valid visa. It was really funny actually. I"m going to go around ukraine and belarus, leaving tonight (hopefully). It was awesome meeting you guys and I'll talk to y'all soon. Did your team win the big game?

Cheers, Joey

You'll have to agree that it is genius!

Enough of Joey and enough of Moscow. We took the overnight to St. Petersburg without a hitch and once again hit McDonalds early in the morning to wait for our next apartment (aren't we posh) to become available.

It was approaching our time to leave McDonalds when an awful thing happened. Tim had his small backpack with his camera and minidisc player in it stolen. Other than just being a rubbish thing to have happened this meant that Tim had to spend the next 8 hours down a the police station whilst Greta slept and I caught up on world news and marvelled at the array of porn channels on the satellite system in our apartment.

Helen Bain has just logged on and so that is this piece of writing done for! More tomorrow.

Lots of love,

Chris xx

15th May 2005 - With Greta gone the last leg has officially commenced

Yes folks, it is true. As we leave St. Petersburg by bus in the late hours of this evening my thoughts will further turn towards home. Not that there isn't some really cool stuff coming up but I am increasingly finding that I am wanting to be home. Not going to let myself though. The Baltic states are going to be interesting, if not a little expensive, then there is going to be the sad interlude in Poland as we quickly visit Auschwitz before moving onto Berlin where we shall say hello to Christian (who I travelled with in Indonesia for a couple of weeks). Of course saying hello to Christian also means saying goodbye to Tim. But saying goodbye to Tim will mean saying hello to Evi who I am going to stay with for a few days in Nurenburg before journeying onto Pau in France to visit Stefan (a true Frenchman who I spent many months in the company of in Australia), possibly squeezing in a side trip to Madrid to see Helen for the weekend before finishing my trip on foreign shores with the French arm of the Pare family.

So as not to do anything to fast and to allow a little aclimatisation I am pausing mid Channel to stay with Steve Ip on Jersey before trying to find the cheapest way back up to Pen-y-llan. So, less than two months to go, which is lucky because money is becoming an issue.

Russia has been great. Moscow and St. Petersburg are both impressive grand cities crowded with buildings and monuments built on a massive scale to display the majesty of the Tsars and the superiority of Communism. Irkustk wouldn't go down as a highlight save for our meeting of Joey, an American that we had previously met in Mongolia and who added some much needed colour to our days on the Trans-Siberian and later topped off our time in Moscow. Lake Baikal was much as my eldest brother, Simon, said it would be, a lake. Semi covered in splintering ice it made for an interesting walk and I think with more time would have made for great hiking territory. However, for a day the stop would probably not have been worth it had it not broken up our time our Siberian journey which I think was important having now spent four days and nights on a train.

The train journey was in the main uninspiring. Views from the window consisted of a vast flat landscape mostly containing nothing and sometimes containing stretches of silver birches. The emptiness is in itself impressive but as a means for amusement, lacking. I suppose there is some wonder to having completed the nearly 8000km or Russian track and more so in having come all the way from China, but given my time again I would have flown from Irkustk to Moscow - about the same price!

We managed to pick a carriage containing one of the 100 or so soldiers on board. He had been placed in coupe (four beds) rather than platscart (54 beds) as a prize for being the best recruit. He was actually very nice but because he lived where he did for the week that he was on the train his friends always came down to visit him. The only problem with this was that it entailed having 7 or 8 other people in our compartment all of whom were completely drunk. They were travelling from one end of Russia to the other and not one of them had brought a book or anything to amuse themselves although this was unimportant as all they wanted to do was drink. When we got on the train some of them had already been on it for four days and had been drunk the whole time. They continued in that mode. They were short of money and initially often asked us to drink with them so that we would buy them beers. When we refused their advances they simply asked us for money so that they could drink. It was a strange sensation as they were definitely interested in talking to us and being friendly but you also had the feeling that it was mostly about the money.

Poor Joey bore the brunt of it as he was in platscart with these drunken huge lads full of testosterone whose only other way of passing the time other than by drinking was armwrestling!

These soldiers are not alone in their wish to drink at all times of the day. In Russia people walk down the street drinking a beer on the way to work in the same way that you might pick up a coffee. The government estimates that 15% of the population are alcoholic, a figure that seems incredibly low. The interesting thing is that it is (rightly) just as acceptable for a girl to be drinking on the street as it is a man and quite a lot of dates seem to involve the man taking the girl to a park with a big back of beer and sitting on the bench and getting wasted. After the presentation of the rose of course. Flower giving is also a big thing in Russia.

The women are beautiful, absolutely beautiful. And although they dress better in St. Petersburg than they do in Moscow the look can really still only be described as whorish! Imagine Newcastle on a Saturday night and you have Russia on Monday morning going to work!

Going to have to post just this I am afraid. Will complete it later.

Greta - I hope you got back ok and hope that you had a good time. It was fun.

Lots of love to you all,

Chris xx

P.S. I know that I am a liar and said that I would be up to date. Sorry.

13th May 2005 - rainy days in St. Petersburg, longing for an British summer

After a bit of a mix up with regard to accommodation we spent a great couple of days in and around Xian. Well really around Xian. On the day that we arrived there was another demonstration of not wasting a second when we half an hour after we had checked in to the hotel we were off and about in a hired minibus having made an A-team type stop at McDonalds - Tim playing the part of foolish Murdoch, I was, of course, Face, suave and cool to his idiot.

The Terracotta Warriors were truly amazing. Discovered as recently as the 70s by the peasant that signed books to the museum the warriors were in strict formation still encased in hanger sized roofed pits divided into separate columns by ten partitioning walls. The walls were reinforced by stout beams which were then covered by reads and earth to enclose the soldiers completely. There were I think three excavation sites all complete with different and various ranks of warrior dependant on where real life soldiers of the time would have been positioned. Their job, simply to guard the corpse of the Emperor. Pit number 1 was the most impressive containing as it did the majority and best preserved soldiers, an incredible six thousand in number all different sizes and with different facial characteristics and originally carrying real (as in not clay) weapons. The attention to detail also entailed dressing the outside soldiers of each squad in the appropriate military dress.

It is an awesome spectacle despite the actual museum being fairly poorly designed and explained. Much much more could and should have been made of the warriors who are part of Emperor Qin's highly elaborate mausoleum complex that took over 35 years to complete (starting around 246 BC). It was a fantastic experience none the less and let's face it, China wouldn't be China if it hadn't all been a little slip-shod (including of course the translations!).

For those who can't afford the airfare to or time in China, there is a much more cost effective way of getting up close and personal with a Terracotta Warrior, simply visit Pen-y-llan Hall where it is believed that Graham and Sheila Barker will be presenting their own display of a warrior for interested viewers. Obviously once Graham has paid the appropriate extortionate taxes and travelled the length of the country to bring him to his new home!

The following day we again headed off in our own personal minibus, this time unfortunately containing another passenger (a deliberate use of the word as I would hesitate to call her a guide due to both her lack of knowledge of the sites that we visited and her inability to converse at any decent level in English - she could apparently sing though). I'm not sure what pantaloons Mr Pare was dressed in but it can only be assumed that they were both fantastic and outrageous. The highlight of this trip that was both entertaining and annoying at turns (depending whether you were watching others being tortured by the guide or being tortured yourself) was Famen Temple, a vast living Buddhist complex which housed the finger bone of Buddha (I reckon that on this trip I have seen enough parts to make at least 1.5 Buddhas) once again only belatedly discovered, this time in 1985. The value of these late discoveries (i.e. the finger and the warriors) are that they easily survived the Cultural Revolution that swept China in the 60s, a survival that might otherwise have been doubtful.

The following morning we split into shopping and walking parties, the better one of which performed, with aplomb, a short stroll along one of the better sections of the Xian wall. We caught an afternoon train for the long ride to Pinyao, a town picked to demonstrate to the POs that not all of China was industrial city and that some remnants of the picture you have in your mind remains. The long ride turned longer than expected as the train stopped and started its way to its conclusion. Luckily we had arranged to be met at the railway station and were whisked quickly to our waiting beds in the early hours of the morning and awoke to find ourselves in a very charming hotel in a very charming small town. Those that have seen "Raise the Red Lantern" (Zhang Yimou) will be able to picture the setting very easily, the hotel was very similar to the house in which the protagonist of the story lives/is imprisoned. In fact, that very house is some 30km from the city. The city is a beautiful walled grid (maze would have sounded so much better but would have been untrue) of Ming and Qing dynasty streets. In fact, Pingyao is the only truly original walled city remaining in China. There wasn't so much to do there other than shop (plenty of that was done I can tell you), walk the walls, enjoy the tranquility of our courtyarded hotel, visit a couple of similar shop houses and marvel at Johhny P's fantastic pantaloons which by this time were occasionally being offset with a Salmon Pink sweater!

Beijing was the next and final checkpoint of our whistle stop tour of China and despite further problems with accommodation (we had wanted to stay in a courtyard hotel in the centre of old Beijing that had been bulldozed between publication of the book and our arrival) I think we were all quite relieved that this was going to be the end to the constant moving and were looking forward perhaps to a few days of not rushing around not so much. Not the case I am afraid to report. We were equally busy whether it was shopping, visiting Mr Mao, watching Chinese acrobatics, walking The Great Wall of China (which had never seen a pair of trousers like my Father's, I can tell you), strolling through the grounds of the Summer Palace, taking the linear route through the Forbidden City and climbing a hill to look down on it (you risk these type of things when you travel with Graham - even since his heart attack) or eating Beijing Duck in a cool little courtyard restaurant in the hutongs.

The stand out moment of the time in Beijing was of course walking 10km of the Great Wall from Shimitai to Jingshan. We chose carefully and went away from the stretch that attracts the majority of tourists and has been completely renovated and went to a stretch that on occasions is all but broken down. This requires you to watch your step from time to time and even make the odd daring jump but you can't get away from the antiquity of the site and don't stop marvelling at the feat of engineering this would have been today let alone 2000 years ago. Honestly, you cannot imagine the peaks and troughs that this wall climbs and lowers itself to whilst at all times retaining the same height from the land on which it is founded. Just to astound you, the wall was once a complete, unbroken, 6,700kms long which is almost as far as Tim and I have just travelled on the Trans-Siberian. It is sometimes described as a gigantic dragon by the Chinese (who like to compare a lot of things to dragons) but when you consider that it winds up and down moutains, across deserts, grasslands and plateaus you might be able to see where they are coming from.

The weather was also under our control and we took time ensuring that we went on the wettest and mistiest day to ensure the best photographic opportunities! The weather hardly detracted from this truly memorable experience and hey, the photographs are not the most important part of it. I walked with a fantastic group of people including a man with a pair of pantaloons which must have mystical qualities. We were trailed and sometimes led by ladies who tagged along for the first 5kms trying to sell us stuff and engratiating themselves with Mum and Sheila by showing them key shortcuts around the highest and least safe of the towers and from time to time actually pushed and pulled them up steps.

Johnny P and his amazing pair of pantaloons were of course responsible for the most amusing moment of the day. Having seen him razzing off ahead and having tried to catch him on numerous occasions we were surprised when we did finally catch up with him to find him a complete state. On further investigation it turned out that the had been trying to catch us up as he thought we were ahead of him! He had had to stop at least once and put his head between his legs because he had felt so out of breath in his efforts, bless him. He must have been confused as to how he wasn't gaining on us. We, on the other hand had been amazed at the speed that he seemed to be applying to a particularly steep part of the wall and had even compared him to a mountain goat! Even more amusing was that he did in fact think that Tim was behind him - and obviously wasn't interested in walking with him

Just to correct a Canadian I once taught with, the highlight of The Great Wall of China is not the flying fox (or zip line) at the end down over the lake. It is in fact the wall itself.

The rest of our time in Beijing was also cool and I was grateful to the others for wanting to come and see Mr Mao who let's face it, is no longer very active. The Chinese might well be the tackiest race on earth (although they would be hard pushed by the Vietnamese) and I am pleased to report that Mr Mau isn't spared the treatment with all sorts of odds, ends and rubbish on display to be sold directly outside his mausoleum. I was a little disappointed with the Forbidden City although impressed with the scale and obvious history of it and much of this disappointment will stem from the fact that almost the entire compound was being spruced up, one would assume for the Olympic Games that are coming, and was therefore off limits to those tourists paying good money at the moment. The Summer Palace made for a nice stroll although once again, aside from the marble boat, there was little of architectural note for me.

The Chinese acrobats were also amazing although I would struggle in words to portray exactly what it was that they did. All I can tell you is that bending a ball like Beckham must be peanuts compared to what they can do and yet, they will be the ones who are paid peanuts.

There ends my write up of time spent with the POs who, wherever I am, are able to upstage the surroundings. One of my sorrows at finishing this trip will be the fact that I won't get to spend the quality time alone with them in these wonderful destinations as I have over the past couple of years. But to make up for this, I am looking forward to the following:

• Ice Coffees (obviously not made by me) on the patio at Pen-y-llan
• Sunday Roasts, Beef Stroganov (the stuff in Russia is not a patch on hers), the stew with the floating French bread and many other dishes including Lemon Marangue Pie made by Mum
• Cheeseburgers and Chocolate cake made by Sheila
• Prawn Curry made by Dad
• Whipping Dad (and Graham if his wrists are up to it) at tennis on the newly surfaced court
• Friday night curries (be it Thai or otherwise these days)
• Long, lazy summer days

So, what I am really longing for is "Pen-y-llan Life", and especially a "Pen-y-llan Summer".

Next time, the Trans-Siberian - there is little to tell other than flat land and birch trees, oh, and alcoholic soldiers, Moscow and St. Petersburg.

Lots of love,

Chris xx

P.S. Can't be arsed to even proof read this in the slightest. Live with it.