London Calling

(I wonder how many times that song will be played at Olympic venues?)

We originally were planning on coming home in late June to give ourselves a full two months to get back into the swing of Vancouver life and do mundane things like figure out a place to live. London didn’t really hold a big appeal, as we had all been before. That all changed when we experienced the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. We had such a good time that the idea of being so close to a Summer Olympics and not going seemed like a gigantic lost opportunity. Our Olympic dream was ultimately enabled by Heather’s cousin Sara, her husband David and son George, who very kindly let us invade their peaceful surroundings for the past few days.

Team GB's Biggest Fan

As we eagerly anticipate our upcoming 9 hour flight to the Big Apple from the cold, somewhat sterile confines of Frankfurt International, I thought it would be a good time to share some observations of our London and Olympic experience.

I know there are all sorts of “Olympics are bad/corrupt/evil” beliefs out there, but after now seeing two of them, I admit I am a big fan and would happily go again. Seeing so many very friendly people over the past few days from so many places made me realize that there is great value in how the event brings people from all over together in an friendly, social atmosphere.

Best Dressed GB Fan

It's always easy to spot the Dutch fans

A chance meeting with members of the Cuba track team

Aside from the Games we took time to search out a couple of unique British locations. The first part of Day 1 had us on a Harry Potter tour until we walked right into the Olympic torch route and decided to hang out. 

Heading into "Honeydukes"

Shopping in "Diagon Alley"

Chloe's off to catch the train to summer school

We also went in search of street art done by the renowned artist Banksy, who was featured in the Oscar-nominated film “Exit Through The Gift Shop.” His art pops up throughout London and while most pieces are destroyed some manage to stick around. While we were there he announced two Olympic-themed pieces online, although the locations were unknown. So we had to settle to try and find this one.

Looking up at the Falling Shopper

We landed in London without any event tickets since as a Canadian you can’t use the London 2012 ticket site. A slight bit of skullduggery enabled me access and we were fortunate enough to get tickets to a couple of events. We saw Women’s Hockey which featured an upset (I think) win by the Kiwi’s over the Aussies and an impressive display by the Dutch in handily beating Belgium. I wonder if New Zealand/Australia is our version of Canada/USA? That event also showed us the unpredictability of the London summer, as we started off in bright hot sun but before the hockey was over I would have to briefly flee the stands to escape the rain. 

The Dutch applying pressure

We also were fortunate to see Men’s Handball, which was just awesome (aside from spending one half right behind a TV camera operator). Fast, physical, lots of goals, and a rocking atmosphere (boy those Hungarians can be loud) made for a great time. Even if we really didn’t know the rules. 

Hungary for a goal?

We also saw the non-ticketed Men’s cycle road race. Just like the Tour de France - one second they are there and the next gone. At least it was easier to see who was from what country. 

A very crowded roadway

London volunteers were simply brilliant. Super nice and always wanting to help out. Sadly the London ticket site was the complete opposite. A couple of times I thought I was in for Men’s basketball (yep - the USA team) and Tennis at Wimbledon (an event that I am now convinced I need to add to my amended bucket list) but then got rejected at the last minute. There’s a simple fix London - if there are no tickets available, don’t have the event display as one that has tickets when a customer does an event search. Massive uproar here though on the scores of empty seats being shown on TV. Not good. They ended up releasing sponsor and other VIP seats - just sadly too late for our Games experience. 

Us and the Volunteers

On the topic of uproar (or lack thereof), we were very surprised to find out that people couldn’t go and see the Olympic flame. It is tucked away in the Stadium, which is not open until the Track & Field events next week. Apparently this is not a story here, which is way different than Vancouver two years ago and the fuss with the fences.

The Tower of London was very cool to see and walk at night. But I did think Vancouver (with its neon lit rings) did it better. 

We spent some quality time in the London Live site at Hyde Park. Very well set-up and with the four big screens it was easy to keep track of things, or have a quick nap in the sun. 

The mascot statues were all over town, and we quickly got into the habit of taking pictures with them. Of course - there were way more than we thought there would be. 

I think Heather can take him/her/it

BTW - Nothing gets you through a long Olympic day quite like the Starbucks Mocha Cookie Crumble frapachino. If I got drug tested for caffeine there is no way I would have passed.

To escape the rain at the Olympic Park between hockey and handball we hid out forst in the massive McDonalds. Since we were hiding out it felt only right to eat while we were there. We later found our way into the London 2012 Mega-Store, which even on Day 2 was getting picked clean by fans. I include myself in that group - I was so cold I ended up with a Team GB hoodie to go with my Canada t-shirt. We also searched in vain for a Canada flag for Chloe to wear. Lots of other countries flags available though. Like really - it’s Canada. Fellow Commonwealth nation. I know we don’t rock the Summer Games quite like the Winter ones, but no flags? Next time we don’t leave home without one.

And on that note it’s time to catch a plane for North America and officially complete our round the world tour with a few days in the Big Apple!

Tour de Wales (and England)

We are here in Porthcawl with Jacqueline finishing off the final leg of our tour of Wales and our visits with my cousins and their children.

As some of you may know Aunt Peg, my mom's sister, was taken to Wales at a young age and grew up here with her aunt and uncle. She was married and had 3 girls by the time my mom finally met her in 1977 (at the age of 45). Their relationship quickly solidified and they wrote regularly and visited each other a number of times before they passed away.

While Paul was running with the bulls in Spain and visiting his good friend Todd and his family in France, Chloe and I took the opportunity to visit all of my Welsh cousins and meet or reacquaint ourselves with almost all of their children.

We walked along the city walls of York and discovered a little Gallilee family history in Whitby with Sarah and Ed.

We had a lovely afternoon out with Carys, Matthew and 7 month old Evelyn in Manchester. They kindly drove from Huddersfield for a visit and we were so grateful that they did!

We spent a day with Josie, Alice and 2year old Alfie visiting the science and technology centre, shopping for a Manchester City jersey for Paul (to the chagrin of Josie's husband Mark) and meeting Summer (Alice's horse).

We had a great time riding horses (well, Chloe did) and checking out castle keeps near Angela and Andrew's home in Pennygroes, Northern Wales. It was good fun playing cards and visiting with Robyn, Carys, Sophie and Rob.

A stop at Alma and Philip's in Ystrad Mynach, a short train ride from Cardiff, gave us a chance to see Helen (thanks for dinner), Fudgie and Peter. We also toured Castle Coch, big Pit mine, and enjoyed some good hikes (rambles) in the valley area. instead of riding horses Chloe got to ride in Philips cool sports car!

And that brings us to St. Fagan's and the Welsh open air museum where we met up with Jacqueline and made the transfer to her car to drive to Porthcawl. A visit with John in the Gower area and 1 final night at Jacqueline's will bring us to the end of our visit with the Welsh cousins.

We would like to thank all of our welsh relations for opening up their homes to us, showing us their Beautiful country and treating us so well. Chloe has especially enjoyed discovering a side of her family she's never known and a connection to a country that she has really enjoyed.

We will look forward to hosting you in Canada in the future.

Pamplona - It's Not All Bull

(yes - the blog is out of sequence. This took place before Provence. Also - if you are offended by bullfighting this post may not be for you as there are some pictures)

Ok - maybe a lot of it is about the bulls. The Festival of San Fermin is an annual event that honors Saint Fermin, the co-patron of Navarre and was immortalized in Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises.” It is better known for the annual ritual of running packs of very large bulls through the streets in the company of whomever seems to be of the mind that running with them is a good idea.

Every year I would invariably catch the news coverage that accompanies the festival. Every year I would think to myself that if I ever had the chance that this would be interesting to check out, and maybe even run.

The thing about this trip is that it has empowered those kind of “what if” thoughts into becoming reality. Now granted on the scale of every kind of “what if” thought this could be considered to be a bit out there. But hey - it was my dream. I make no apologies.

At least I was sensible enough to figure that there would be some value not just showing up solo (Heather and Chloe decided to leave me be and instead head to the UK so as I didn’t have to deal with their nervousness about this in person) but instead join up with a tour. At least that way my insanity would have company. And there would be someone looking for me if the run didn’t go exactly as planned. I settled on Spyns Tours, who specialize in the festival (as well as the Tour de France). I’m glad I took advantage of their expertise. Here’s a retro-look at my experience:

Day 1 - Getting Settled In

The first day was very basic. Get in, learn a bit and get some white pants were the day’s objectives. A walking tour of Pamplona’s “old town” area where the festival takes place taught me:

• that the bulls were brought to the “starting line” from the river the night before the run. This has been going on for 700 years. Somewhere along the line the locals decided to go for a run, and the rest (as they say) is history.

The Start Line

• that bulls are attracted to movement, and contrary to belief are actually color-blind. This was a valuable piece of intel that I put to great use later. 

• that I didn’t want to start my run at the beginning section along Cuesta de Santo Domingo. Not only is there no place to bail (solid rock wall on one side, building on another), but the first part of the run is deceptively uphill. I knew that adrenalin was only going to take me so far.

Getting the Scoop on the start of the run

• that listening for the rockets would be important. The first rocket launched in the morning signifies the opening of the bull’s gate. The second (and much more important rocket) says that the bulls are now on the move. 

• that the dress-code for the festival is for real. All over there were people dressed all in white with the red sash and bandanna. If you weren’t in costume you really did stand out. I think that was one thing that really made the event unique for me - that everyone got on the same page with their attire. I grabbed my white pants that night and thoroughly enjoyed wearing the festival uniform. 

• that on run day you needed to wait in the first town square for the police to give the all-clear. Go too far up the course and the police would toss you off when they did their sweep. Be drunk or on drugs and you would also get the boot. The one that surprised me was cameras. If they saw you with a camera on the course you would be tossed. Even if your camera was hands-free (i.e. strapped to your chest). I saw quite a few people get the boot on run day.

• that if you wanted to get off the course during the run do not climb over a fence. All that does is put your sensitive areas directly on the same plane as the bull’s sharp horns. Instead climb under the fence. I classified that as an important safety tip

• that if you went down during the run then stay down until you get tapped. This I think was my biggest concern - somehow falling to the hard road and getting trampled. 

• that if you somehow managed to stay vertical you may end up at the finish line, the local bullfighting ring. It is the third largest in the world behind Mexico City and Madrid. It was there that the fun would really begin (more later). 15,000 people would gather in the stands to watch the runners come in. If you arrived too early for the crowd’s liking (i.e. you chickened out of actually running with the bulls) the crowd would show their displeasure by pelting you with solid food items, and push you back into the ring if you tried to depart. 

Interior of Plaza de Toros

After the walk and dinner outside Cafe Irina (one of Hemingway’s favorites) I retired back to the hotel briefly before deciding to head back into town wearing the whites to check out the festivities

At night its amazing how many people talk of having ran that day...

 

All throughout the night I was struck by the vast number of partiers, the vast number of families, the total lack of anything even remotely resembling trouble, and how when I was leaving the old town around 1:00 am there were still droves of people coming into town.

Day 2 - aka “OMG What Am I Thinking?”

The day started with an early 0600h departure to get to the staging point for our walk into the city. Today was Balcony Day. A chance to see the mayhem up close, albeit from a safe distance. Once we got to the course we walked past Dead Man's Corner and onto the final straightaway of Calle Estafeta that led to the Plaza de Toro (aka the bull ring).

We walked past the amazing clean-up crew and many who were still caught up in last night's festivities. Some who were still going strong, some who were done (the pair of guys leaning/sleeping in a doorway) and those who should have been done (the guy who had his pants underwear yanked off him).

The balcony let us see the process of the police cleaning out the course, how the green-shirted shepherd's are treated like heroes (they try and keep the bulls and steers under some semblance of control) and something I didn't know - that the course is inspected each morning before the rockets are fired.

Clean up time

Suddenly there was a rush of movement and it was on. A mass of humanity moved down Estafeta followed closely by the bulls and then the steers. Chaos. And the speed in which it all transpired was just a wee bit scary. It all moved a lot quicker that I thought.

   

The rest of the day was spent wandering the streets taking in the sights and thinking about my plan for doing the run. Did I want to start before or after Dead Man's Corner? Did I want to get into the arena? Was this still something I wanted to do?

That night I was able to arrange for a ticket to the bull fight. I wasn't planning on going originally, but I thought that to miss it was to miss out on an essential aspect of the festival. Thankfully the hotel was able to arrange for a ticket on the shaded side. That was important, because if you happen to be on the sunny (i.e. the party side) things can get a bit messy and your clothes (and camera) can get a bit dirty.

I have to admit that I found the bullfight to be quite fascinating. I realized quite early that unless I was immediately prepared to renounce my long-term love affair with steak and embrace vegetarianism any thoughts as to animal cruelty should be set aside. 

The early part of the event featured many introductions of both the matadors and others involved, as well as introductions of the featured bulls.

 

I want Javier's nickname

Once the fight commenced it seemed to have 4 stages. When the bull was first let into the ring the "Peones" would  encourage the bull to run around so as to allow for the bullfighter to gauge the animal. 

Once the assessment was over, the "Picador" comes in on horseback. The horse is blindfolded so as to not get spooked by the bull and is padded on the sides. The "Picador's" role is to stab the back of the bull with his lance to weaken it. This guy is not well-liked by the crowd, as they are concerned he will weaken the bull too much and deprive them of a good show (of course, the bullfighter probably doesn't mind a too-weak bull).

After that the "Banderilleros" step in. It's their job to run at the bull and stick it with large steel darts in order to further weaken the bull. And of course to avoid being gored by the bull while they are doing this.

Now it's time for the Matador to take centre stage. He and the bull do an intricate dance all over the arena as the Matador attempts to dominate the bull, and then ultimately kill it as cleanly as possible.

Once the last bull is finished off the crowd then descends to the bull ring floor to savour the moment and maybe even pretend to be a bullfighter. Me? After a quick stop to collect some sand and take some pics I was off to get some sleep for the big morning.

Day 3 - It's Go Time

The whole get up/clean up/eat/get picked up thing just seems like a blur now. We got the pep talk from the Spyns boss on checking in post-run (otherwise they assume you are hurt and start looking for you) and checked so that we were not wearing anything that could get hooked on the horns. Then we were off to the waiting square. Still lots of discussion about where to start, as veterans would give their advice and all us rookies would soak it up while we waited for the rest of the course to open.

Confidence is high

I decided on skipping my initial plan to position myself just before Dead Man's Corner. After walking the course (a lot) the day before I realized if I wanted to make the arena I would have to be a bit more realistic about my capability. I settled on getting a position after Dead Man's Corner on Calle Estafeta, right where the balcony from yesterday was located. I figured that would leave me about 400 meters to the arena.

What followed was lots of waiting, joking, and most of all stretching. This was one run where I definitely did not want to pull up lame. Then it came....BOOM. Then another. Then the waiting. You could almost hear the wave of people coming before you actually could see them. You had the resist the urge to start running too soon.  Then suddenly you start to move forward, your brain shuts off and what follows is just instinctual action based on two ideas - keep moving forward and don't eat pavement. I think I was more concerned with dodging people than I was the bulls. I recall a few times looking over my left should and seeing a bull. I recall stepping over many bodies and nudging and even pushing my way through the crowd. I remember a guy in front of me elbowing someone out of the way and that guy coming up swinging as I ran past. Then the arena appeared in front of me and I used up everything to get inside before the door closed. Here's the video of the whole run:

 

Over right? Not quite. For once inside the arena the real show for the crowd starts. The "baby bulls" are released onto the floor (only one at a time) to race around and cause havoc with their rubber-capped horns. People try to touch the bull, play it, or even leap over it in a single bound. As you can imagine this doesn't always go well for the person. And to top it off, there are apparently very strict rules for interaction with the baby bulls. As one guy found out, the crowd doesn't take kindly to those who are viewed to have abused the baby bull. Me? I just found what I hoped was a nice quiet spot by the wall, not move (see - I do learn) and shoot some video. I admit there were occasional moments of fear when the baby came into my 'hood' and some goofball would be dancing around right in front of me while I remained still. My fear - he'd attract the bull and jump out of the way, leaving me as the target.

Glad I didn't end up like this guy

   

 I managed though to escape unscathed and as the last baby bull was moved out of the arena floor it was over. Like so many other moments in the past year it was now done. Time to pack up and head back to Barcelona for some beach time and to reflect on what it means to now be able to say that I have run with the bulls. 

And yes - I would do it again....

24 Hours en Provence

When you are a kid you think a year is forever. The period of time between birthdays would go by excruciatingly slowly. School seemed to never end. The significance of “being old enough to...” was a concept that was always there. We were always keen to reach a new milestone and the patience required would seem to stretch the clock out even longer.

When we were first thinking of this trip the idea of going for a year took a firm hold early on. Unlike traveling 20 years ago, where contact from friends and family was occasional at best, the impact of leaving for a year didn’t seem too significant. It’s easy to keep in touch now if you want (and have a good wifi connection). It’s no big deal to leave.

It’s not until I had a chance to see a friendly face that I realized it is a big deal. it’s special when you have the opportunity to cross paths with an old friend in person, even if it’s just for a day. It makes you remember the incalculable value of that familiar interaction and connection, even if you are maybe not exactly the same person that you were when you last happened to see them in person.

A while back my friend Todd (yes - that Todd - the one who was responsible albeit from a great distance for a very rough morning in Cusco for many people. I still blame him) told me that he and his family would be Europe-bound for a few weeks this summer. We figured out that they would be in the Avignon area of France a few days after I hopefully survived those pesky bulls. Being the veteran rail user I planed my route and determined that I would make my way to Avignon on July 17th.

Aside from some last-minute adjustments brought on by the France railway not allowing you to print your tickets at home I was on my way. First from Barcelona to a small border town called Cerbere, where I then purchased my ticket to get me to Avignon.

It wasn’t until I got off the train in Avignon that I realized I felt a bit nervous. After all, I’m not quite the same. I now have not one but 2 tattoos (BTW - sorry to all the Aunts and Uncles who may now be dealing with the “I want a tattoo” discussions from my various nieces and nephews). What if our dynamic had changed?

It took all of a millisecond after seeing Todd, his wife Jen and their kids Will and Josie for that nervousness to vanish. Some hugs, hello’s, and an inspection of the tattoos were quickly completed, and we were off to explore Avignon.

We had the good fortune to be there in the midst of their annual theatre festival. Posters were everywhere. Street performers were abundant and the actors were all out promoting their shows. At dinner so many dropped by our cafe table to leave promotional material that after waving the first few off we just decided to relax and start a collection.

The Avignon town square

It was soon time to head out. They were staying a ways outside of Avignon in a rural Provence town called Menerbes. 

The hillside town of Menerbes

Unfortunately the only hotel I could arrange for was also outside Avignon, just nowhere close to where they were. Didn’t matter - we were off to find my hotel.

Once we got there I had a very unique thing happen. For one of the only times on this trip the hotel was not honoring my reservation. After finally finding the email and the response from them confirming my room, I asked the essential question...”Do you even have a room available tonight?” Unsurprising, and after an attempt by the hotel to lecture me and make me think the error was mine, the answer was “Non.”

Thankfully Todd was present for the entire debacle, and had rebuffed my statements that I would be fine and he should get the family back to Menerbes. He quickly stepped in and told me I was coming back with them, and they would make room.

Under the cover of darkness they snuck me in, and we all quickly settled in for the night. The morning featured some planning around how to not have me discovered (and risk additional payment). The kids even played their part by reconnoitering the pathway from the room to the parking lot, coming back with pictures and reports as to whether the coast was clear. Finally it was go time, and we wheeled out of the Menerbes in search of our destination for the morning, the small picturesque ochre-crusted town of Roussillon.

The local church

The local hiking trail 

Todd, Jen, Will and Josie

After a too short morning of sightseeing, coffee, ice cream, sandwiches and of course a pain au chocolate it was time to move on and bid Jen and the kids adieu. Todd very kindly took me back to the Avignon train station and then it was over. He was gone to an afternoon of being poolside with his family and I was on my way to Amsterdam with the feeling that I am very lucky to be able to have him as a friend (even if he did challenge me to tweet a haiku). 

Chasing Le Tour

A very unexpected side benefit of spending a week in Hirtzbach was the news from Heather’s cousin that we would be in the vicinity of one of the stages of the Tour de France. To back up a bit, when we were in South Africa and had our fateful day of driving with Cam Brown, one of the things Cam shared was that he and his family were big into the cycling world. When we said we would be in France in early July, he pointed out to us that was when the Tour de France was on. He spoke of how cool an event it is, and encouraged us to check it out if possible. So ever since South Africa it has been a blip on our radar screen. Not enough of a blip to purposefully adjust our itinerary, but hey, if it was going to be in our backyard then we would be foolish not to go!

A bit of research on the Tour de France site showed that the local segment would start in a town called Belfort and wrap up at a place called Porrentruy. The cyclists would be traveling 157km for the day, but since we had a car we figured we would head for the start line and then make our way as well to the finish. One good way to sell the idea to the kids was emphasizing one aspect of the tour that I wasn’t aware of - the caravan. Cam had explained to us that a caravan of sponsor vehicles goes out in front of the cyclists and tosses promotional goodies to the crowds that line the route.

Once we arrived in Belfort it quickly became apparent how big a deal this was. The tour route changes every year, and it is a big boost to the smaller towns to be one of the stops. We saw posters advertising not just the tour, but the specifics of the Belfort stage.

We came across the finish/start staging area as well as the riders village and of course, the souvenir booth.

After a little exploration, shopping, and staking out our space, it was time for the caravan. Back home we are used to things like these moving in a somewhat slow pace, casually handing out items to bystanders. Not here. The cars whooshed by us as small projectiles were hurled our way. After a bit we realized that if the car was beside us already when it threw something it was already too late. We started to adjust our sights, when poof - suddenly the caravan had moved on down the road. Got to admit - just a bit disappointing.

Next up after a brief wait was the actual race. We had were stationed around the corner and down a bit from the actual start line. We saw the flashing lights and the motorcycles coming, and then suddenly there was a mass grouping of people in spandex. As we looked to focus on the famous “yellow jersey” we were struck by two things - how tightly packed the riders were, and how quickly they were gone. They were followed by their entourages with other bikes and equipment, as well as numerous other vehicles.

Once Belfort was done it was time to move onto Porrentruy. We had rented a GPS for our week in the Alsace to relieve some driving stress and were surprised that it didn’t come up when we tried to enter it. We had already seen directional signs, so off we went going old-school on how to get there. After a couple of turns we realized the error - Porrentruy wasn’t in France after all. It was in Switzerland! A recalibration of the GPS quickly followed as we again embraced the new school.

Once there we found our spot and awaited the riders. I wandered down to have a look at the finish line and was again amazed at the logistics involved in setting this up. Especially as they do this for 23 days!

I made my way back as the caravan was passing by. We were there too late to get the good hat/shirt schwag, but I was able to catch a couple of the flung projectiles and bring them back to the kids. They were already well in hand scooping up assorted goodies.

Suddenly we could hear the whirl of the helicopters that we had seen at the start of the section and we knew the riders were on their way.

This time the pack was well spaced out (as you would expect after 157km). The stage leader rode by on his own, accompanied by 4 motorbikes and a car with back-up bikes. 

We saw the second and third place riders locked in a dead heat, and from there on there would be smatterings of riders coming by, some closer than perhaps we expected!

It was truly amazing just how close you could get! But just like at the start, the last rider went by and it was now time to trek back to France and continue our Alsace adventure.