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I pulled myself away from London and spent the weekend with my friend Lucy in the Peak District. After a heavily wine-fuelled catch up on the Friday night we headed up to Edale, nestled in the hills and set up camp in grumpy Mr Coopers farm. We went walking up on Kinder Scout, laughed at the sheep, then headed down to the Nag’s Head for some cool pear ciders. We ate so much food on the BBQ that I thought I would explode.
After we’d allowed dinner and beer to settle over night we mustered the energy to have a fry up at the Grindleford Cafe where I promised Lucy not to show her up by asking for a Cappucino. Then we headed up to watch the bright shiny rows of motorbikes lining the road through Matlock before heading back for a few riverside beers in Long Eaton.
   
Finally at the end of our trip we ended up back in Havana, staying in Varadero just down the hill from the rather majestic front of the Universidad de la Habana. I loved Havana. Varadero is a residential area of wide streets, crumbling old colonial house, cracked pavements and shady trees. From here we could walk along much of the length of the Malecon, the road along with sea wall that sweeps around and up to Habana Vieja. We had some very good food in a leafy plaza, browsed the book stalls and craft markets, wandered through romantically run down streets, smoked cigars (well just me), drank amazing hot chocolate and caught a few local bands playing for afternoon mojitos. We achieved full propaganda overload at the Revolutionary Museum although I did adore the prominent “Wall of the Cretins” in the entrance hall featuring cartoons of Batista, Regan and Bush thanking them for helping to Cuba to make, strengthen and consolidate their revolution! We also spent a morning in the Cuban Modern Art section of the Museo de Belles Artes which has some really wonderful, really weird and really interesting displays of Cuban Art through the decades. Our final night in Cuba was spent in the magnificent Gran Teatro watching a Cuban performance, in Spanish, of the Magic Flute. It was undoubtedly the funniest and most entertaining opera performance I’ve ever seen!
We left our final Cuban experience for our final hours before catching the flight home. We went to visit a Coppelia ice cream, a Government-subsidised ice cream chain aimed at keeping the communist masses happy. We queued up for about 40 minutes to get a table and then tucked in to a spread of six heaped bowls of excellent ice cream and three bowls of cake. Incredibly unhealthy and completely wonderful!
   
 Trinidad is a small and very beautiful colonial town near the south coast of Cuba. The centre is full of cobbled streets, brightly painted buildings with ornate iron grills and red tiled roofs. Above the main plaza there was a wide flights of stone steps with a large area half way up. On Saturday night we spent most of the evening sitting on the steps along with apparently everybody else in Trinidad listening to a local salsa band and dancing along with the locals with the help of two new-found friends from Santa Clara who were lovely and very patient!
   We managed to persuade Caz to try horse riding for the first time and we organised a trip out to a nearby farm. Unknown to us, the pleasant mornings ride would actually wind all the way up a series of highly steep stony paths in the hills and then all the way down equally steeply. Not the ideal terrain to be on a horse for the first time. Caz managed to look fairly calm during the ride but afterwards quite definitely announced that she didn’t think it was the really the activity for her! Afterwards we walked an hour through the forest to a small waterfall that fell into a wonderfully refreshing swimming hole where you could swim into the cave behind and look up at the stalactites or jump off the nearby rocks into the depths. I managed to face plant into the water whilst doing this which looked particularly graceful!
Trinidad is only 11km from Playa Ancon, a sandy peninsula with a few large all-inclusive hotels along the stretch. We spent the day further down from the main tourist area in a quiet stretch of rock strewn white sand. The girls happily read and worked on their tans and I spent the whole afternoon drinking Mojitos and playing a highly competitive game of cards with a Canadian guy called Mike who stayed in our Casa for a night. He taught me a brilliant card game, the name of which is a mystery but the girls later christened ‘Mike’ in his honour!
  The next day Kristy and Caz headed off to an offshore island of large Iguanas and I went diving for the day. The reefs around Ancon are cute but not quite the proliferation of colourful corals and fish that I’m used to. I still enjoyed the dives for the whole underwater environment and I did get to see a giant crab and lobster as well as playing around with Dad’s underwater camera housing! By the time I got back from the second dive and took off my short wetsuit I discovered my legs had helpfully tanned a very dark shade of brown below the suit line and the stripe was incredibly obvious. I decided to find a small palm tree along the beach and lay with my legs in the sun but with SPF30 on the bottom bits until the tan had evened out a little!
Here are some of my favourite photos from my Cuba holiday. It is a fascinating, friendly country with a bizarre combination of Latino spirit, Caribbean cool and communist control! We went from Havana to Santiago de Cuba, Trinidad, Santa Clara and back to the capital via many Casa Particulares, several Casa de la Musicas, a few buses, a beach, one terryfying (for Caz at least) horse riding trip, town plazas, waterfalls, ice cream, hundreds of eggs, castles, a black virgin and a whole lot of salsa. Details on the full trip to follow!
 Santiago de Cuba
We flew from Havana straight down to Santiago de Cuba in the cutest plane that I have ever seen - complete with painted on beach and palm trees. Our brief hosts in Havana had humorously described Santiago as hot, in more ways than one. The men, we were told, are good for a night, and not good for much more. Intriguing if nothing else!
Santiago de Cuba is an easy-going relaxed colonial town, we pottered around a few museums and galleries, visited the unassumingly beautiful Cementerio Santa Ifigenia and its bizarre Monty Python style changing of the guards and relaxed in Plaza de Dolores and Parque Cespedes conducting important research into Cuba’s finest beverages; Cristal (a light, tasty lunchtime beer), Bucanero (a slightly stronger beer with those of hardier tastes), the Mojito (a Cuban classic drinkable at literally all times of day), Pina Colada (personally I don’t see the necessity of spoiling the run with so much fruit but the other’s liked them) and finally the Daiquiri (see Pina Colada)!
It would be impossible to speak of Cuba without mentioning dancing and music in the same breadth. There seemed to be some kind of band playing wherever we walked during the day and so finding some live music in the evening was certainly not hard. In the Casa de la Musica we were hijacked by a huge family of Cubans’ distributed among the older men for dance partners and eventually ended up in another bar drinking neat dark rum with the band’s two bongo players, salsa dancing and in my case speaking increasingly more recklessly confident Spanish. The next morning the lady who owned the Casa Particular (private house) we were staying in, brought us two thermos flasks of coffee looking highly amused!
   Before leaving Santiago de Cuba (and our already beloved 4pm mojitos in the Casa de Te on the main square) we hired a car for a few hours. The car was an extremely battered piece of engineering in which was squeezed Rafael, a quiet guy with a stomach the size of Mount Olympus which he liked to expose to the elements, rolling up his t-shirt and letting the brown mound bask happily in the sun.
Rafael and his stomach drove us down to the Castillo de San Pedro del Morro, a seventeenth century fort built overlooking an endless expanse of ocean. We walked along the battlements and attempted to decode the Spanish stories of pirates, invaders, Corsicans and bandits of Cuba colonial past. We also took a small boat over to the nearby island of Cayo Granma where the only afternoon activity was a serious game of dominoes taking place on the main path.
Our other excursion out of the town took us to Cuba’s holiest site. Communism and religion aren’t usual bed fellows but since the Pope’s blessing in the past decade Christianity has apparently persisted under Fidel. The Basilica de Neustra Senora del Cobre is a fantastically situated church nestled among green hills and houses the Yoruba godess of dance and love. Cubans come here to pray and if those prayers are answered return to leave tokens of thanks. These tokens, all on display, included everything from locks of hair, graduation scrolls to olympic medals.
Day one
07.30 Huddled with coffee along the side of Trafalgar square in the pouring rain becoming rapidly aware that my waterproof wasn’t. But we braved the rain to take photos for the start of our trip and then (after Cameron’s rather late arrival!) set off through the streets of London and out to the country.
09.00 I was under the impression that London at any rate was fairly flat. This gets shot to pieces as we encounter our first hill (I point out my definition of the word hill changed dramatically over the four days) right outside Croydon. Surely suburbs should not involve hills?
12.00 All going well, cycling along chatting to the Ferg and enjoying the English countryside now the rain had stopped. Then alas I found out why Turner’s Hill is so named. One village, one huge hill but lunch was waiting at the top. Have ham and cheese sandwiches ever tasted so good.
16.00 A whole day of admirable map reading finally goes to my head. I zoom off over the bumps along the south downs and merrily follow the signs to Newhaven. Onto the motorway, or nearly. I managed to backtrack (back up the hill) and was the last person to turn up sheepishly in Newhaven. Despite Cameron’s three punctures and Paddy’s brush with death coming off his bike down a steep hill we are all pretty much in one piece.
Day two
09.00 Finally leaving the hole that is Newhaven and heading out to Dieppe on the ferry. Ate, slept, drank coffee and played cards and tried not let the legs stiffen up.
14.00 In the pretty totally un-Newhaven like town of Dieppe and after lunch setting off across the French countryside under blue skies, white clouds and bright sunshine. This surely is what it’s all about.
17.30 We arrive in the unbelievably cute little hotel in Montville where we have our own little cottage style split level rooms complete with fresh bread delivered to your door for breakfast. Found a great restaurant and four course meal for dinner - I ate so much that I hurt!
Day three
09.00 Feeling very glad of the padded shorts this morning as my bum has started to complain a bit at the relenting saddle action. We headed off through the cute French villages on the way to Rouen.
10.00 Unlike the hoards of hard core French lycred enthusiasts out on the road a few of us get tempted into a bakery for fresh pain au chocolat and a quick coffee. Didn’t we just have breakfast?
12.00 Realising just how up and down the french countryside really is, although the down hills are so much fun. A steep drop takes us into Rouen and then the rise on the other side nearly killed me. It maybe a hill but on a bike it feels like a mountain. I get half way up before finally resorting to my lowest gear and wondering if it would have ben quicker if I’d walked up.
13.00 Stop for lunch in the pouring rain and end up sheltering, all 17 of us in the van eating brie and chorizo sandwiches. After lunch we are following the Seine through the country. Kieren has a nightmare with bursting values and punctures and the tool repair kits come into their own.
17.00 We arrive on the banks of the Seine in Le Goulet for beers, food, wine, more wine, more wine. At midnight the owners wisely kick us out of the restaurant and shut up the bar. I wonder what cycling with a hangover will feel like…
  Day four
07.30 It’s not that I’m hung over but possibly regretting that fourth caraf of red wine!
09.00 No worries, the legs are on fire and it’s our final day.
11.00 Cycling through the cutest of the French villages with Olly, Julie and Ferg and hit some lovely down hill runs. Confidently decide I can go faster than this and speed off into the distance.
12.00 Coming up to Evencourt I approached my cycling nemesis, an 8km climbing road. Only of course, I didn’t know there were 8 kms, and each time it looked as if the summit had been reached, it just kept on going. I gasped, I panted, I promised my immortal soul for the ending of the hill and I had to eat half my Macaroon to get me through. I arrived in Boisemount rather quiet and sat reflectively eating my baguette, slightly scarred.
14.30 Zooming down a long stretch with the palace gates of St Germain visible ahead of us. From the gardens we could see across to Paris and our destination , le Tour Eiffel.
17.00 I took a while to get into Paris, all of us, wheel to wheel as we’d left London four days before. But finally there was the Seine and soon we were over the bridge and under the huge girders of the tower, drinking champagne, eating ice cream, exhausted but triumphant.
One of the wonderful things you can do with a spare week of holiday and the internet is play the cheapest holiday wins game. So take three girls; myself Nicky and Rachel, take a week in July 2006, a budget of £300 and plug it into the internet. The other foolishly left me in charge and as a result I obviously picked the furthest and most off the wall destination I could find. A few days later I emailed the girls, told them to stock up on Malaria tablets as I’d found a bargin deal for one week in Bakul in the Gambia during the final week of their holiday season.
    The Gambia is a bizarrely situated country, a slender wedge of land nestled in the midst of Senegal along the Atlantic coast of West Africa. Its borders allegedly were set by a canon’s flight from the river that runs almost it’s entire length. The country’s modest tourist industry is predominantly located in a series of hotels in Bakul, just south of the capital.We stayed in the African Village which, well the name gives it away.
People in the Gambia are massively friendly, the only drawback to which is a degree of over-friendliness. Groups of young guys hang around outside the hotels to befriend/guide/sell drugs to/chat up or with any foreigners emerging. In a bizarre twist to the usual sex tourism stereotype the most coupling seems to be middle aged of older white women with young toned Gambian men! We befriended a taxi driver who became our unofficial guide guide, taking us on trips to Abuko National Park and the local markets in Banjul. We also took advantage of a Nigerian guy who worked in the hotel who took us to visit the local crocodile pool and fish market.
    The local croc pool is an important part of Gambian village life. It serves a quasi religion/ritualistic role and is basically a well tended large pond and surrounding area which holds up to 100 crocodiles. It’s quite an initial shock to walk up just seeing the algae covered pool and then realise that the ground around you is be occupied by 20 or so large dozing crocodiles. They are very well fed and for the most part extremely lazy and seemed largely unperturbed by the odd visiting tourist.
We also took a day trip over the border into French-speaking Senegal via Jinack Island. We walked across the island for our return boat trip to the Gambia while our passports mysteriously disappeared with the truck driver to make the official border crossing - for some reason our presence wasn’t needed for this transaction! En route we crossed several similar fields of a low growing green plant. One of the women looked puzzled and then asked her husband what crop they were growing.
“It’s Marijuana, darling,” he replied rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous dear, you don’t have illegal plants just growing in a field for anyone to see.” She snapped back.
Clearly in the Gambia, you do.
   My favourite trip in the Gambia was a day we travelled by truck through the countryside in the south of Bakul visiting a countryside school and ending up with lunch on the beaches of South Komombo. The coastline was an long strip of white sand, waved with different colours, snaked with large leafed vines and backed by dark red cliffs. So much more impressive than palm fringed white sands, for me anyway.
Finally I can’t mention the Gambia without a passing comment to the time keeping. Whenever organising a taxi or an excursion everyone would add on GMT afterwards.
“10am GMT?” we asked, “Surely we aren’t on Greenwich meantime here?”
“Ah, no?” Would come the response. “GMT is Gambia Maybe Time.”
“Gambia Maybe Time?”
“Yes, maybe it will be 10am, maybe it will be 11am, nobody knows!”
    Cairo
Another year, another trip and this time my brother and I thought we’d go together, despite not having been on holiday together for around eight years. And surprisingly we didn’t argue and had a fantastic time even if I did pretty much loose every game of cribbage (4-2 up in Scrabble though!)
We began our trip playing computer games with the traffic in Cairo, the most densely populated city in the world (it feels like). Very crowded, a little crazy, but fascinating. We rode camel and horse around the famous pyramids at Giza and I very nearly fell off - cantering in flip flops - not such a hot idea. We strolled around mosques and the souk in Islamic Cairo and everybody thought James was Egyptian. We spent a morning in the Egyptian museum marveling at the sheer amount of STUFF in there, all the treasures of Tutankhamen, and the very spooky royal mummies
We caught the overnight train down from Cairo to Aswan, a slight slowing in pace from the hectic nature of the captial. We spent a leisurely morning sailing around Elphantine island and Kitchener island on the Nile before getting lost in the Nubian villges.
    Aswan and Abu Simbel
After persuading James to get up at 3am we took a mini trip down to see the immense temple of Ramses II at Abu Simbel in the early morning sunshine overlooking Lake Nassar. Officially dedicated to the most important gods of the Kingdom; Ptah, Amun-Re and Re-Harakhte, but given the four giant statues of Ramses outside as well as numerous victories and glories featuring the pharoh inside, one might be forgiven thinking that the temple was more a dedication to himself! Next door he did build a beautiful, if slightly smaller, temple for his wife, Nefertari. Afterwards we drove back north and stopped at the relatively tourist-free temples of Philae, a temple built for the goddess Isis.
   Luxor (Thebes)
Luxor on the banks of the Nile. We spent a day exploring the East bank at Luxor temple and Karnak before walking back into town at sunset avoiding the Felucca touts and replying for the millionth time that no, James wasn’t Egyptian, nor Nubian, nor Sudanese! We befriend Zacharia in a local shop and had tea and shisha while him and his friends dressed James up in a traditional Gallabah.
The following day we took a mini tour, with a very entertaining guide, over to the West bank and where all things were to glorify the dead; we began with the Colossi of Memnon, the beautiful princes’ tombs in the Valley of the Queens and then the magnificent and breathtaking paintings in the tombs of Ramses IX, Ramses IV and Ramses I. Then we visited Deir el-Bahri, the temple Queen Hatshepsut, the only woman to rule as Pharoh, having sneakily assumed the throne from her infant son Tuthmosis.
   Diving in Dahab
After a slight mishap with the canceling of the boat across from Hurghada to Sharm El-Sheik, we managed to squeeze into the final seats of an overnight bus to Dahab and, by eleven the following morning, were relaxing happily with lemonade on the banks of the Red Sea . After all the temples, tombs and pyramids it was nice to have five days of resting, relaxing, diving…and a spot of partying (but I entirely blame that on the Kiwis)!
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