Mamma Mia!! Italy Part 2

Here is the second part of the Italian Blog, where in you will find details of the second weeks doings. If you missed it, which you shouldn't have, you can find part one here. The first week was over and it was time for Frida and I to move further up north, up to the area of Val Rendena where Frida's family lives. It was a rather long train journey, but in the company of Frida it seemed to pass pretty quickly...

There must be a scientific reason why train journeys pass quicker in Frida's company, but I'm damned if I know what it is...

After arriving in Roverto we met Cinzia, Frida's oldest sister. The girls were more than pleased to sate my Appetite for Destruction by taking me to see the Maria Dolen, the massive bell on the hillside forged from the cannons of the First World War. The bell is the largest outside of Russia and Asia and rings everyday for Peace.

You can ring my beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell, ring my bell...

After which, despite my protestations they would be bored, the girls allowed me to indulge myself in the Museo Storico Italiano Della Guerra and the attached Artillery Museum. Man, what a great collection of killing stuff. I can spend days looking at instruments created for wholesale destruction, but after a while Cinzia was suffering from war fatigue. Frida, on the other hand, was taking an even more deeper interest than me. She seemed to be reading every caption on the displays. I, on the other hand, was at a slight disadvantage, as they were all in Italian and the only Italian words Frida had taught me was Porco Cane and Mamma Mia!

Frida does a good impression of being interested in War things!!

Arrival at the Pellegrino household was heralded by champagne corks popping, not a common occurrence I was told, so I felt privileged. Frida had told me that I was expected to teach English to her extended family. She said I was to give a speech in the town square and hoped that I had prepared something for it. Of course she was joking but when we arrived the entire family turned out to see the 'parlante Inglese'. Her uncles, aunts and cousins all came to look at me. The vast family had a barbecue and I was fed massive quantities of meat and booze all night. This was to become a fixture for the following week, Frida's mum would pile great tasting food on my plate whilst her father plied me with booze. An amusing anecdote: When we were in Padova Frida had mentioned going to MacDonald's for food. I immediately protested, asking her why would she rather eat meat flavoured sawdust than the beautiful food served up in Italy, to which she answered 'MacDonald's is Ethnic.' Priceless.

An unfortunate anagram of 'Ailing Vomit'...

With an early start, the next morning had been earmarked to tackle the hitherto unscaled heights of Mandrone Glacier, part of the Adamello mountain range. I had been led to believe this giant beast had never been tackled by humans before. We were to be the first to set foot on it's dizzying summit. A task unequalled proportions lay before us. I packed for the task, like Scott of the Antarctic, with bottled water, sun cream and an extra sweater. The first task was to gain entry to the park without paying for parking, a task made easy by zooming past the parking attendant at the gate at about 140kph. Frida and I were joined by Frida's sister Jessica, her boyfriend Emanuele (who was driving and had gained us free entry...) and their friend Stephano. Also along for the ride was Cinzia and her boyfriend Phillipe, whom we met later. This plucky band readied ourselves for the toughest challenge of our lives.

Frida is not daunted by the news that a party of German Mountaineers had died the previous day, attempting the fabled 'Mandrone Death Trap'...

Only the silent mountain knew how many had tried and how many had died attempting to tame this beast

The going was tough from the start, at the third camp we were forced to eat the Porters who had accompanied us on the journey.

Frida, after having enjoyed a meal of lightly braised porter

We passed graves of First World war Soldiers who had died on the route to the top

Finally we reached the roof of the world, the first ever to make it to the top. We celebrated by having a drink and a three hour long lunch at the refuge. After Emanuele had pointed where the Great War trench lines ran across the mountain tops we set off back down the mountain, weaker but wiser.

Conquered for the first time in Human history, Mandrone was no longer the oppressive beast shadowing the valley in death

Pah, Italy, who'd ever want to go there?

Monday was spent recovering and taking Lorena (Frida's other sister; If you're wondering, she has three sisters and one brother. Her father gets a hard time...) and her two kids out for a walk. Two year old Martina demanded to see horses the entire time until she was placated with a visit to a wooden hut. Tuesday found Frida and I walking down the Val Di Fumo, to find more First World War battlefields. Frida was also fixated on locating Care Alto, (Editor Update: my sources tell me Frida was fixated on locating Cavento, not Care Alto. My bad) much like Martina was fixated on locating horses, but there was no wooden huts around to placate her.

Is Care Alto that one, or is it that one? No, I'm sure it's that one....

We went to Val Di Fumo as Frida's father was building a cow shed there and could drop us off for the day to walk the length of the valley. After climbing up several large rocks, photographing flowers at Frida's demand and seeing only a school party we arrived at the end of the valley and the stood on snow that still hadn't melted since winter. With the source of the Chiese located, our work was done and we walked back.

'Take a photo of the flowers'
'But I don't want to take a photo of the flowers'
'Take a photo of the flowers or I will get my father's Sicilian Mafia connections to get you.'
I took a photo of the flowers

The mysterious source of the Chiese had been uncovered by the intrepid travellers

OK, there is still more to go, but to keep these posts short I will publish the last one soon, so hold on for further entertainment...

T.I.A. Baby!! Pt4

Finally the last part of TIA Baby!! Craig and I left the warm bosom of Barberton and flew to Johannesburg, back to Vivian and Derek’s place. We only had a couple of days left in South Africa and with nearly a week of inertia behind us we were determined to do some tourist shit! The first stop was the Apartheid museum. Which is where Apartheid belongs. The museum had a quite confusing path to follow, but was packed with information and brilliant footage of the times. I could have easily spent another few hours in there. The building stands a as a testament to a time when something as innocuous as a park bench can be used in such an offensive manner.

Bleurghhhhhh!!

After the museum, Derek, Vivian, Craig and I went on a tour of Soweto. The tour was taken by a funny guide in his taxi bus. He showed us the highlights, including Nelson and Winnie Mandela’s houses and Archbishop Tutu’s gaff. We drove past the open space where Hector Pieterson’s memorial is and saw his sister giving a talk about the incident. What luck! At another monument the local drunk/guide gave us a short tour, then played his flute through his nose. Bizarre. After a quick drive through downtown Johannesburg, where Derek tried to attract the attention of drug dealers, we arrived back home for dinner with Viv’s sister.

Stay in the car, lock the doors and close the windows, we're going in...

The following day was spent at Sterkfontein caves, where the earliest human relatives were found. The cradle of Humanity, if you will. The museum was good and the tour around the caves was interesting although lacked information. The tour guide Nola, Nolly or what ever her name was told us all humanity had originated in Africa. She asked who was on holiday and I put my hand up to which she said ‘welcome home!’ Thunderous laughter abounded. The marvels of Maropeng, which was basically a dumbed down museum for retarded children, consisted of the water ride, which we screamed all the way through and the revolving barrel room which made us feel sick.

Let me off! I’m going to throw up!

Help!! We’re stuck and my friend has drowned!

Craig and I headed out to the Lion Park where we saw a cheetah pace up and down in it’s cage out of boredom, a baby giraffe chewing a pole out of boredom, a meercat trying to look over it’s cage out of boredom and some lions sleeping, out of boredom.

If you let me out here, I’ll rip your fucking face off…

We did get to pet some baby lions, one of which had the same attitude as me when Craig shoved a camera in it’s face and took a swipe at him. I should have started doing that myself. The park had a small safari trail attached, but having seen the majesty of Kruger Park, this one seemed more like it was the size of Aberystwyth rather than Wales.

Meow

For my birthday treat the next day we called out to the South African National Museum of Millitary History, fucking brilliant. I saw an ME262, the only night fighter version left in the world, a load of great artillery pieces and an SE5A, something I never thought I’d see in my life. I was actually trying to get Craig to take photos of things for me, for reference, but he insisted I stood in front of everything I wanted a photo of. What is the use of that? I know what I look like, I want to see a real live SE5A, not some dumb bearded bloke mooning in front of it. I see myself everyday in the fucking mirror. Christ Craig, I’m interested in Military History, not Monkey History.

Just behind that big head is a very rare Aeroplane indeed

My birthday was finished off with a visit to Keith, Craig’s brother, and his cool and hospitable family, we talked into the night about bikes, music, travelling, and various other topics. A good end to a good day.

Which brought us to the final day where we met Barry, one of Craig’s dad’s comrades, again, very hospitable and full of funny stories from the Angolan Border Conflict. Like the time the Angolan forces over the river would mortar the SA positions on payday. The SA infantry got wise to it and dug an armoured car in the river bank to give them a surprise the next time they did it… Barry had built his own bar in his house, which was packed with militaria. What a man.

Barry; Gentleman, Soldier, Hero

So that’s it, this brings me to the end of the South African adventure. I had a blast, mostly thanks to my travelling companions. South Africa is somewhere I never thought I’d go, nor really had the inclination to visit before the opportunity arose, but I’m glad it did. The diversity of the country was staggering. The size of the place is unfathomable. The generosity and kindness of the people is almost unparalleled (more of this in the Italian blogs…) and over all I would urge anyone to take a trip down south!

T.I.A. Baby!! Pt3

Welcome to TIA Baby! Part Three; The final Italy piece will follow these final two African pieces, so Str8ev, you'll have to wait for more pictures of Frida. I'm sorry about the mixed up posts, but blame Craig, who only sent me the photos today... Craig has also written several blogs about our times in Africa, his differ somewhat to mine in that they are funnier and have better pictures, except for in this entry as I am using Craig’s pictures. My luck with digital cameras followed me to South Africa and I dropped and broke another one so was without a recording device for the last week. Find Craig’s blog entries here:

Mithrea

After the madness of the Drakensberg Mountains the weary travellers returned to Barberton and the relative safety of Fountain Baths. Fiona and Mark bid a farewell and Craig and I were left to our own devices. Word to the wise; if you don’t have a car, don’t go to Barberton. The town had given up it’s diamonds within five minutes of us arriving and we pretty much mooched about all week apart from a couple of field trips which I shall describe in due course. Lynne and Joyce seem to have settled into a lifestyle that revolves around lunch and Craig and I quickly fell into a similar 'Lunching Ladies'. role. I have never been to a place that sucks the life out of you so quickly as Barberton. We managed to escape one afternoon, in fact we escaped so far we even left South Africa altogether. Yes sir, we broke the border and ran to Swaziland.

Swaziland isn’t without corruption and of course we had to bribe the border guards by buying them a new TV before they let us in.

This was just one of many brides we had to make before we were allowed safe passage

How does one describe Swaziland? A land of beauty, untouched by development, rustic roads lead into untamed forests, this country of beautiful waitresses, extensive menus, charming and ethnic gifts and goods. The wild and unblemished land of the Swazi. It stretched out before us, offering us all its pearls and dreams. We responded and made much good our time in Swaziland. Well we had to, the border post back to South Africa closed at 4.00pm. An hour and a half in Swaziland passed like a whirlwind of emotion, but at least I got a new stamp in my passport.

The culinary delights of Swaziland: Yesterday's Today's and tomorrow's specials. In fact, the specials for the rest of the week...

Another highlight of Barberton life was a trip out Gold Panning with Danny. Danny had made his fortune with Barberton gold and lost it all again in Gin Soaked Fleshpots during the roaring ‘30s. His way of combating old age and dwindling resources was by teaching idiot tourists (i.e. Craig and I) how to pan for gold. This was a task that we both failed at miserably. Had this been our own source of income, both Craig and I would have starved to death before you could say ‘there’s gold in them there hills!’

Danny punched us upside the head everytime we tried, but failed, to find gold

'Please don't hit me again!'

After fruitlessly scratching about for about an hour, Danny tired of our failings and took us on a short tour of the entrances to the old mines, he showed us where men had carved out the living rock with tooth and claw. We saw the coco pans used to carry out the half-ton Gold Nuggets that Barberton was famed for. This was all a bonus to the gold panning tour and we ended up staying much longer than we should have. Lynne and Joyce had the police out looking for us, in case we had been raped or kidnapped, an every day occurrence in Barberton.

Once the richest Mine in the world, Danny’s workings had run dry and left him penniless living off the kindness of tourists…

Now we come to the highlight of the time in Barberton; the field trip to the ‘archaeological’ site of Adam's Calendar. Located just outside Kaapschehoop, this Ancient site of standing stones was ‘discovered’ when a rather careless pilot crashed his plane into the side of the hill. Obviously still mentally scarred from his ordeal, he recruited the help of the local Village Idiot to do some serious Archaeological research into the origins of this place. We met our guide, Enosh. I knew something was afoot when he didn’t have his own transport and had to ride with us in the car. The first stop off the main road was at a ‘standing stone’ which, Enosh informed us, had been moved from it’s original position within the ‘Calendar’. Who had moved it and why wasn’t made clear, a theme which was to run through the entire tour.

This was a ‘Male’ stone, he told us. How that was ascertained I have no idea, but things started to go downhill rapidly when we were told we could hug the stone if we liked.

‘Hug the stone!’ ‘But I don’t want to hug the stone!’ ‘Hug the stone or I will stab you!’

We stopped further up the dirt road and Enosh indicated into the valley below. Do you see those three hills down there?’ he asked us. ‘Well, Michael Tellinger has the belief that they are not hills at all but Pyramids…’ Enosh dropped the bombshell. We stood aghast. What the fuck did he just say? ‘Those hills are not hills, but they are pyramids. Not only are they pyramids, but they are a reflection of Orion's Belt here on Earth.’ I felt like I had been taking crazy pills. Nothing made sense anymore. These revelations were too much. How much was this tour costing me? Shaken and dazed we continued. The next stop was a little way along the path at the ‘altar’. A dry stone built structure, that Enosh assured us was the top of the Queen of Sheba's tomb. It had been built 75,000 years previously after humans overthrew their gold seeking tyrannical alien rulers.

Yes. Read that bit again:

It had been built 75,000 years previously after humans overthrew their gold seeking tyrannical alien rulers.

The evidence for this? Well for a start there was a tree that had taken root in the top of the structure. This species of tree, Enosh told us, was very slow growing and that it was growing out of the structure means we could date when the structure was no longer in use. I asked how slow growing? Enosh told me the tree had been alive for about forty years.

I’ll just put a pause here to let you take this in.

A structure was dated to 75,000 years old on the basis that a tree was growing out of it. A tree that was no older than forty years.

Further to this empirical dating evidence, ‘expert’ psychics had said that the structure was a sacrificial altar that was in line with the rest of the calendar, further along the track. To lessen the damage caused by wild horses a fence had been thrown up around the ‘monument’. The money must have run out as the fence only ran around three quarters of the structure. Enosh also pointed out the ‘sacrificial path’ that ran from a group of stones along the cliff edge towards the ‘altar’. Now, having working for nearly a decade in archaeology, I deduced that the altar and sacrificial path were nothing more than something tied into the mine workings close to the other stone structures. I felt the path was nothing more than a modern pipe trench and the altar something to do with collection of water or an air escape. The fact that the mining operations closed down about sixty years ago may tie in with the fact that the tree began growing out of the 'altar'. But what the fuck do I know, I’m no expert Psychic, after all. I started to espouse my theories at the first group of stones that were in a dip in the cliff edge. We were accompanied by a group of gullible Rock Spiders and my sound archaeological theories fell on deaf ears. There were some large Dolomite rocks that Enosh suggested had been moved to the site from a few kilometres away in ancient times. I suggested they may have been moved out of place when the mine operations were in full swing. The lead Rock Spider asked me how could they move such big rocks in the 19^th century when they only had horses and wagons. I said, well how were the pyramids built? She said no one knows. I said ‘I have a reasonable idea it was something to do with Nubian Slaves.’

'I think the pyramids were built by aliens'

'I think you're an idiot'

We moved on to the top cluster of stones, which amounted to a group of stones laid on the floor. I could see no obvious alignments but we were told this was another group of important rocks. Looking back across the cliff edge we could see the sacrificial Altar and Adam’s Calendar before us. Enosh told us about the importance of the alignments of these three ‘structures’ and that a straight line ran between all three. When I pointed out that, quite obviously, they were not actually in line, Enosh explained it away by saying soil erosion had moved the structures out of line. The problem with this theory was that the centre structure was UPHILL from the central line. Again, with nearly a decade in dealing with archaeology, I have yet to see uphill erosion.

Me completely baffled by the lack of any evidence to support any of Tellinger's theories

At the main central stone structure we were told that psychics had identified sacrificial stones and ‘birthing’ stones within the group of rocks. The birthing stone lay at the edge of the cliff and I was quite sure that most women wouldn’t want to go through the trauma of childbirth with the entire valley bottom watching. But again, my reasoning was dismissed as blinkered thinking. Apparently a pot sherd had been found in this group of stones and was dated by the Barberton museum as about 1500 years old. Michael's conspiracy theory was that since the pot sherd had been taken into care of the museum and not given back to his female cohort (whom had found it) it meant the museum was in league with covering up the truth that all these structures dated back to 75,000,000,0000,000yrs ago, or whatever number you want to pluck out of the air. Nothing to do with the fact that museum probably just wanted to conserve and catalogue an ancient artefact. I also think that the biggest conspiracy here is why Michael tells us he is twenty years old on his Profile...

The struggle of attempting to get people to understand his outlandish theories had taken it's toll on young Michael...

I was quite happy to have said the middle structure was an ancient monument, probably constructed by an unidentified tribe or group of tribes from the area at some unknown date for a some unknown purpose. It was in no way 75,000yrs old, neither was it connected to any anti-Alien uprising or Egyptians who had come south to bury their queen, which seemed to be another theory floating about. Enosh was very unclear about several things. The problem with the tour, besides paying nearly thirty pounds to be insulted, was that Enosh was only a guide and was only saying what he’d been told to say. I couldn’t be too hard on him, but Michael had not been available that day to take us, so a lot of my comments went unanswered.

'So Enosh, tell me again how you can date a structure to 75,000 years old with evidence from a 40 year old tree?'

'Wow! Look an Eagle!'

On the way back to Barberton, Craig and I spotted hundreds of other Pyramids, also known as hills...

OK there is only one more part of Africa left, then the final part of Italy and then I can get back to telling you about the mundainity of my daily life...

Porco Cane!

This is the first Italy post. It would have been the last African post, but Craig is too lazy to send me the photos to illustrate it, so you will just have to wait...

Anyway, what can be said about Italy that hasn't already. I keep finding myself drawn back to it's sheer beauty, this is my third visit in four years. This time through Frida, whom I haven't seen for six years. She was to be my tour guide for the next two weeks and she didn't disappoint...

The best tour guide Norther Italy has to offer

After a quite late arrival to Padova on Sunday, Frida and I had some food and some drink then I forced her to take a taxi back to hers. She spent the entire journey with her head below the window, in case one of her fellow students saw her. Taxis are not the done thing in Padova... The following day was a tour around Frida's university city. It was graduation day and the Padovan streets were awash with students being ritually humiliated by their friends and family.

That'll teach you to be clever...

Whilst in Padova we went on a tour of the oldest university in the world, where we saw Galileo's pulpit from which he used to teach. I kept trying to get Frida to touch it, but she was too frightened of the dour looking security guard behind us. Also on the tourist trail list was the famous Scrovegni chapel painted by Giotto. After a short wait in a decompression chamber we were allowed into the chapel. Frida and I made straight for the back wall and the depiction of Hell like the blaspheming bastards we are.

Why serve in Heaven when you can rule in Hell?

The chapel was absolutely beautiful, Giotto's depictions of various biblical stories were amazing in detail and technical aspects. I normally don't like churches as I am against what they stand for, but I can see the beauty in such art as this. The problem with this chapel is, it is said if you visit it before you graduate from Padova University, you will never get a degree. That's Frida screwed then.

We met Frida's friend Lucy for coffee and then visited the botanical gardens, which Frida found out was free for her as a student. She's been in Padova for four years and had never realised it. Students. Pah.

A flower at the botanical gardens, sorry Craig, it's not backlit

Venice was next on list, a beautiful city, but so incredibly crowded with tourists. Obviously we went into the San Marco Basilica and Doge's Palace, the two biggest tourist draws in the city. Within the Palace they had the original of Bosch's Hell, an unbelievably staggering piece of work from a genius. In an attempt to get away from the maddening crowds, Frida and I found ourselves a nice quiet spot by the Arsenal and talked shit for an hour or so. Well, it was very hot and we had been walking around the Palace for what seemed like forty hours...

Even gondoliers need their rest in this heat...

Continuing the speed tourism theme, Frida took me to Verona, with it's wealth of Roman archaeology. First stop was the amphitheatre, all decked out ready for Aida that evening. I had fun pretending I was in the People's Front of Judea, by hating the Romans already.

'Are you the Judean People's Front?'
'fuck off!'

Juliet's window was next on the itinery, but we declined the prospect of having our photos taken in what is possibly the most famous balcony in the world. After being dragged into more churches than I would ever wish for in a lifetime, we called in on the Roman Theatre, on the edge of the old city over the Roman Bridge Ponte Pietra. It was a beautiful building still being used for performances, most recently the Merchant of Venice. The museum above the theatre was packed with more Roman Archaeology than you could shake a stick at.

'I can see my house from here!'

Frida busied herself with translating every inscription in the place, whilst I feigned interest.

'It says "Alex is a cunt"'

So as punishment I made her pose for some photos:


The castle was closed and despite Frida swearing at the security guard in language that would make a sailor blush, we didn't get in. Again the evening was ended by lying next to the river soaking our weary feet and talking rubbish.

Starting off pretty late the next morning we took the train out to Bologna, this was Frida's favourite place of the week (mine was Verona, but that doesn't count, apparently...). I thought it too noisy as they allow vehicles into the centre of the city, which is something not done in the other places we visited.

Scooters, Coffee and Towers. Italy in three words...

After gazing at the fountains and buildings in the centre we set off up the Asinelli tower. Bologna was famed for it's towers in the Medieval period, everyone and their dog had one. A house wasn't a house without a tower. Nowadays only a few remain, but the Asinelli is one of the largest in Italy at nearly 100m tall. Not something for vertigo sufferers to ascend. After climbing the, what seemed like, 1,000,000 stairs to get to the top we were rewarded with a beautiful view of Bologna. Stretching out before me, it made me think of what a Roman city would have looked like, what with the red tile roofs and enclosed courtyards. Mind you, there would have been less buses in the Roman period...

An USAAF Bomber's view of Bologna, but with less Flak...

The Medieval Museum made a welcome relief from the 39 degree heat, as did the Resistance Museum, which was all in Italian. The pictures were good though.

The train went through Ferrara on the way back to Padova so we stopped for Pizza and a look at the beautiful Medieval town centre. One of the highlights was this massive cannon:

'Take what you want, just don't shoot the face!'

We missed our train home by seconds, so I convinced Frida to break the law by getting on another train which we didn't have a ticket for. Frida told me if the conductor came around I had to talk to him. If it looked like I was an idiot tourist we'd get away with it. She spent the entire journey home with her eyes closed feigning sleep in absolute fear of being caught. In the event the tickets weren't even checked and Frida took a step into a wider world of criminality...

Friday was so hot that Frida decided to ignore her pressing student work and we took off for the beach at Jesolo. After doing our good deed for the day by helping an American couple find the beach ('I think it's near that big blue wobbly thing' I told them, helpfully) Frida settled down for a couple of hours of hardcore sunbathing whilst I floated in the Adriatic. And thus ends part one of the Italian Blog, there is more to come, mountains, World War One, babies, food and prehistoric houses. I bet you can't wait...

More photos from Italy can be found Here and Here and finally Here

T.I.A. Baby!! Pt2

Welcome to Part Two of the South Africa blog, if you missed it the first part can be found HERE. This one concerns the second week's doings and our trip to the Drakensburg Mountains in the KwaZulu-Natal Province and the Battlefields of the Anglo-Zulu and Anglo-Boer Wars.

It was Granny (Joyce) and Fiona's joint birthdays on the Sunday after we finished in Kruger Park. Granny's birthday was the reason I was actually in South Africa anyway. It was her 90th and Craig had asked me if I wanted to go over with him as he was going anyway. Quickly finding cheap flights I said yes. Any chance to travel and I'm on it like a rat up a drainpipe... Granny had her celebration at the Piccadilly Deli in Barberton and this is were I met Archie, the playboy millionaire of Barberton. The man with his many fingers in many pies around Barberton. Flash with his cash, this man lives the dream. Of the rest of the guests, Mark, Craig, Fiona and I were the youngest by many decades. Barberton is famed for having the oldest rocks in the world, some 3.5 billion years old, to be semi-precise. That afternoon the Piccadilly Deli appeared to be full of people who were around at the time the Barberton rocks were forming. Needless to say, it turned into a drunken orgy of violence.

The oldest rocks in the world in Barberton, with the obligatory 'Asian Pose' Number 23 'Heart Shape'

The next morning we (Fiona, Mark, Craig, Lynne and I) set off for the Drakensberg Mountains. We stopped outside Dundee in KwaZulu-Natal and had lunch in the shadow of Talana Hill. In fact I had what was presented as 'London Fish and Chips'. Whether the fish and chips had been flown in from London especially for the occasion was unclear, but they were by no means as tasty as the Osbaldwick chippy's fish and chips in York which I covered in a previous entry. In other food related news, I tried no less than three different types of Chutney flavoured crisps on the way to Kwazulu-Natal. The Simba 'Mrs H.S. Ball's Chutney' flavoured ones were the best.

Simba Crisps, probably illegal in the EU due to dangerously high levels of flavourings and preservatives

Passing through Ladysmith, where a relative of mine died during the siege between 1899 and 1900, we continued the journey. Over the coming week we passed through Ladysmith several times and everytime we did I mentioned that I had a relative who had died there during the siege. There is nothing like spreading a bit of Sotheran family history. The place which we were staying at was Cayley Lodge thanks to Lynne's shady time share dealings. We were booked in by a rather pleasant Zulu, who told us all about the local services and entertainments rather than shoving an Assegai into our faces, thankfully.

The view from my window at Cayley Lodge. Jealous yet?

Before I left the UK, I had insisted to Craig that I would have to visit Rorke's Drift if I was to go to South Africa, so this was one of the reasons we had gone to the Drakensburg as it was close to the old battlefields. Tied in with this was the battlefield at Isandlwana, scene of the massive British defeat at the hands (literally) of the Zulu army. We followed almost the precise route of Chelmsford's army when they advanced into Zululand that fateful January in 1879. Down a dirt road where it appeared to be grass burning day inKwaZulu-Natal as everyone and his dog was at it.

One starts it and everyone else joins in. Bloody typical.

We rounded the Shiyane Hill and the missionary station stood before us. It was actually amazing to see the place, which until then had only been visualised in my mind by the film Zulu. Although all the original buildings were either destroyed or pulled down after the battle, the ones that stand there now are pretty much on the originals footprints, so one can get a real sense of the tiny compound and how much balls it took to stand and fight in the face of an oncoming Zulu army.

'Zulus Sir! Thousands of them!'

'Where?'

Craig and I climbed up Shiyane Hill and looked down on the complex from the point of view of the Zulu sharpshooters. In fact we were pretending to be Zulu sharpshooters when a jogger turned up and spoiled our fun.

'Now there's a bitter pill. Our own damned rifles!'

Rorke's drift was definitely one of the highlights of the trip and somewhere I never thought I would see. People kept saying 'there's nothing at Rorke's Drift', but without knowledge of the ground and the turn of events battlefields are just fields. When you have an understanding of what went on at a particular time and place, then they come alive and you can almost see the fighting men. At Rorke's Drift this was how I felt. You could picture the men helping the wounded across the open courtyard under constant rifle fire from the surrounding hills. You could feel the desperation of the Zulu attacks against the hospital veranda. You could almost summon the gallantry and fear of the defenders as they pulled back into the tiny final mealie bagged position. It must have felt as though all hope had gone, the last position of fighting with no fall backs. But after hours of fighting off repeated attacks the British still stood. Both sides showed enormous gallantry that day and night of January 22/23 and Rorke's drift stands as a testament to it.

The British Monument at Rorke's Drift

The Zulu Monument at Rorke's Drift

Continuing the Battlefield theme we continued on to Isandlwana, over the bridge where the original Pontoon bridge stood in 1879. Despite being told by an elderly Zulu that the place was closed, we saw the gates were open and a party of Welsh Rugby supporters were already there. We had made it just too late to get a proper look at the Battlefield and I would have liked a couple of more hours to get the feel of the place. Still, the poignancy of the cairns which scattered the area, marking where the British dead were found, lent an air of sadness to what would otherwise is a beautiful spot. The hill of Isandlwana towered above the battlefield and one could easily imagine the Zulu army streaming down the surrounding hills and up the valley towards the British camp.

One of the many Memorials at Isandlwana with the famous hill behind

Whilst staying at Cayley Lodge there was an organised hike, so Mark, Fiona, Craig and I signed up. The guide showed us some Bushmen paintings in a small cave overlooking a waterfall. It's strange how people always want to make their surroundings better no matter where and in what time they lived.

It's DIY for the first millenium

As we hiked through a small Zulu village, Craig overheard one of the fat tourists that made up most of our party spouting shit. The dumb cunt said 'why has that shack got corrugated tin on the roof? Why couldn't they have used thatch like some of the the others? Corrugated tin ruins the ambiance.' It just exemplified the difference in South Africa (and other parts of the world) between rich and poor. There we were heading back to our safe, fenced off multi-million Rand holiday complex, back to our cars, computers and TVs, whilst some kids were playing with a broken plastic bottle in a stream because they had nothing else in the world.

These kids had literally NOTHING in the world, do you think they cared whether their tin roof ruined the ambiance?

Spion Kop was the next battlefield on the list and we visited it a couple of days after Isandlwana. Well, there was other people in our party who weren't interested in military history so we had to do some thing else in the intervening day. Unbelievable I know, but there it is. The most memorable part of this None-War day was seeing a newspaper headline which read 'Giraffe Horror Crash' I wanted to know what the Hell a giraffe was doing in a car anyway, is it just me or do we need tighter controls on allowing animals to drive around like they own the road?

Stop the Madness!!

After being saluted through the gate at Spion Kop, we made our way up the hill to follow the self guided tour the guard gave us. Again, the importance of visiting battlefields to understanding military history was clearly shown. The hill overlooks all the surrounding areas and controls access to Ladysmith. It was a very important position for reconnaissance. This is something that a lot of people don't understand. A South African family we bumped into got chatting to Craig and I, and one of them asked why were the Boers and the British fighting over what they thought was just a hill? He was making the point that the guns wouldn't be able to hit people in the valleys below. I pointed out it was more important to SEE the enemy than kill them from this vantage point. The mass graves and the pre-CWGC battlefield monuments were testament to the fighting men there that lost their lives.

At the setting of the sun...

The Spion Kop trip wrapped up the visit to the Drakensburg Mountains, a beautiful part of the world, even if it was cold. We all headed back to Barberton the following day, saying goodbye to Mark and Fiona who were on their way back home to Sydney. Craig and I were destined to stay in Barberton the following week, but more about that in the next episode of T.I.A. Baby!!

The Dramatic Drakensberg