Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad: More France

I went to France again, this time for two actual weeks. I made a number of important discoveries to supplement the important knowledge I gained on my last visit.

  1. France has almost no vegetables. Eating green things is considered suspicious and even ordering a “salad” in a restaurant will cause you to be served with a steak, a large portion of chips, a thick peppercorn sauce and a single leaf of curly lettuce. This is not a bad thing in itself, but I am concerned that the majority of the French population may be permanently constipated.
  2. My skin, especially the skin on the top of my head which has only really been able to see daylight for the last year or two, is liable to burn even when protected by a hat and a layer of factor 30 suncream thick enough to dip crisps in.
  3. I am suffering pastry withdrawal symptoms.
  4. French kitties who live in flowerbeds in the street do not want to be your friend.
  5. Forgetting to post to the Beans while away will cause you to lose one bean on the Bean Counter. The Bean Counter is unforgiving of holiday time.

I was hoping to gather more information over a two week period, but the French are a crafty people, and ensured I was plied with excellent beers, wines and artisanal ciders, so to be honest I don’t really remember much of it and the four points above are all I came away with.

Avatar A taste of Scotland

Where’s this guy been? He’s been taking a month off, is the answer, choosing to suffer the ignominy of a nasty dried pea on the Bean Counter for the sake of enjoying a month free of the obligations of blogging and commenting. Those arduous tasks take their toll on a man, even one as handsome as me, and a few weeks away from it make all the difference. I’m back now, fully recharged and ready to write more glittering blog jewels.

If you want a more literal answer to the question “where’s this guy been?”, then the answer is Edinburgh.

Edinburgh is a city in Scotland, famous for the coldness of the weather, the vivid orange of the Irn Bru, the fakeness of the tartan sold in tourist shops and the whisky. The other thing it’s famous for is its castle, an amazing fortress sitting high atop a rocky mountain in the centre of the city, and though few believed me when I told them, it is made entirely of whisky.

I tasted it, and it was delicious. Then I went home. #tastinghistory #edinburghmems

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – Spain

“Da da de something something da,” as the song goes, “viva España!” Well, I am in Spaiñ now and it certainly seems to still be viving tolerably well.

This is a flying visit to a far-off land, so in many ways my assessment of the country and its people may be hasty or perhaps based on an incomplete assessment of the facts. But I see no reason why that should stop me passing judgement on the place.

So far, the main thing I have noticed are the number of English people here. English people appear to be not only visiting, but also living here and running almost all the businesses. I am growing concerned for the safety and welfare of the 46 million people who are native to Spain because as far as I can tell they are not here and I find myself wondering where they are.

Aside from that, the weather here seems nice and it is easier to procure bacon sandwiches, beefburgers and a decent curry than in the UK, so on the whole this place has its upsides. The downside appears to be that, if we leave the European Union, we will also leave behind most of the population of England.

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – Italy

I have arrived in Italy, land of many very ancient histories, of pasta, of scooters, and of Europe’s most cheerfully remembered fascist dictatorship.

My surroundings here are extremely pleasant but I have to admit to being a little bit disappointed by the food in what is supposed to be the home of one of the world’s most popular cuisines.

It turns out that all food here comes from a shop called Gonad. I have to say that I am not altogether comfortable eating anything that has come out of a Gonad.

If that makes me narrow minded then so be it. If that makes me seem closed to the wider world and the glorious differences between our nations and our cultures then that is fine. I am simply not happy here knowing that every sip of juice is Gonad juice and every mouthful of tender, juicy meat is Gonad meat.

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad: Futuristic Edition

Tomorrow morning I set sail for Greece. But what do we know of this far-off land of mystery? Until recently, perhaps only that everyone there was a god and they eat a lot of yogurt. But now it’s all over the news. Just look at some of these recent headlines:

  • Greece Is In A Right Old State (The Telegraph, 28 June 2015)
  • No Money Left In Greece At All (The Mirror, 30 June 2015)
  • Official Greek Currency Now Yogurt (Financial Times, 2 July 2015)

With this in mind, I have taken the latest Foreign Office advice and will be taking all the money I will need in the form of cold, hard cash, in a range of denominations and currencies. In the event that the Euro is scrapped and Greece returns to the Drachma, I have spent several evenings drawing my own Drachma notes and will be taking those with me. I am also taking a considerable amount of yogurt in the hopes that I can use it to barter for basic goods and services.

I’m not sure whether this approach will be enough to see me through a holiday or even if I will actually survive the trip, but I will attempt to keep you updated when I return as to whether I am still alive or whether I have been confiscated by the Bank of Greece as a hostage due to the deteriorating state of negotiations with the European Union.

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – France (Part 4)

Having discovered a secret tunnel under the sea, I passed quietly across the border into France undetected, arriving in their capital city, “Paris”, in the early afternoon. I took an apartment in the 16th arrondissement and started my new life cycling around parks and examining museums for clues. Nothing. Then one day, in the lift, someone else rode all the way up to the 8th floor with me. An enemy agent? One of their informers? I couldn’t be sure.

I packed my bags and left early the next morning, covering my trail with stories of a poorly relative in Geneva. It was a bittersweet departure; my apartment had the finest coffee machine I’ve experienced in recent years and I couldn’t fit it into my suitcase. I will remember it always.

I took a train somewhere, anywhere, ending up in the far west of the country where I spent the last two weeks hiding in a barn before negotiating my return to Plymouth on a fishing smack, hidden under a pile of nets and fish.

I’m never leaving England again. I am a scarred man. I still smell a bit like fish. So much for France.

Avatar Trekkin’ Abroad – France (Part 3)

I awoke without the bearings of a hangover. There was something muzzling the back of my brain but for the moment it was being held back by the medication in my bloodstream and my unwillingness to succumb to the rum. There wasn’t much time for hanging around though as we had to ditch my sister’s flat and finally haul ass out of there for good.

A few curious other oddities about France. For some reason they really cherish granola because the price is much more expensive there than it is in Britain. I expect it has nothing to do with exchange rates and where it was made; I believe the French just don’t want people to eat it. It belongs to the government and they will continue to hoik up the price as and when required.

The local prostitutes, according to information gathered by my sister via her friend, do not hang around in bars. They do not have a red light district. They do not expose themselves in windows for foreign businessmen to oggle for pleasure. In Lyon, for some reason, they hang outside the local Lidl. Having walked past the supermarket in question several times I rarely saw anyone pertaining to be a prostitute. Once there was a woman eating a sandwich however I don’t think we can jump to conclusions there, unless French ladies of the evening do freaky things with bread. The only other occasion was there was an attractive woman perched on the corner yelling into her mobile. Even then I hardly think that’s conclusive proof. Whether it’s true or not I can’t really say. My sister is adamant that they were protesting not so long ago though. Protesting for better digs? Possibly.

If you leave cans of carbonated beverages in the freezer for long enough they will explode. I’m not quite sure about the science, and I’m hoping that Wrong Science might be able to offer assistance.

There are not a lot of music or games shops in Lyon. There are, however, a surprisingly large number of piano shops. This may explain why there was a piano in the park. Perhaps the French enjoy tinkling the ivories more than blasting aliens or zombies or listening to electro pop music. If we’re ever invaded they may struggle and we must remember this and offer our help in any way we can. I’m a dab hand at Ghost Squad and House of the Dead.

The only last anecdote I can offer is after we had packed all the last of my sister’s crud into her bags, after we had pushed them all through Lyon onto a plane, after we had landed in Stansted airport and waited for them to appear on the turning gizmo, after several hours transferring between trains and my sister had disappeared at York into the arms of Big Dave I’m alone whizzing through the night back to the North East. I’ve been travelling all day and as my hands had mostly been pushing heavy bags there had been no chance to indulge in a little coffee. I’m alone now so I ask the trolley lady for a coffee and whether I can pay on my card. She jokingly says the machine isn’t working. So I get my card out only to be told, no sorry, even though it sounded like I was winding you up the machine can’t take any card payments. No payments in coin euros either. Bugger. She does, however, offer me a cup of boiling water. I’ll take what I can get round about now so I accept. She then says because I had been so nice about it that she’ll give me the drink for free. My heart leaps. I want to dance. My smile turns to a wince turns to a struggle to maintain a happy expression as she passes me my drink and I return to my seat. For whatever reason she’s made me a tea.

I asked for coffee. I specifically asked for coffee, but you can’t pass up a free drink. Do I want to be the arse who got a free drink and then said, “Actually, sorry, I don’t mean to be ungrateful but I asked for coffee.” No, of course not. That’s not what the British do. I’m sat and so as not to be ungrateful I wait for it to cool and then force it down my throat. It’s awful; every taste like I’m drinking liquid gravel.

This is not what I wanted. I did not ask for tea yet this is what I got. It’s a struggle but I finish it like a man and throw the cup on the floor in triumph! So ended my trek, with a bad taste in my mouth.