A Morning in Zell-am-See

Tuesday 15 August 2000. Tuesday morning found us back in Zell-am-See for a couple of hours free time.

The bus dropped us off just a short way from the Grand Hotel that we saw last night in the distance as we sat by the lake in the twilight.

The lake was as spectacular by daylight as it had been by night. The railway was laid alongside the lake and we had to cross the lines to get into the town. Two seperate lines went into the station. The main line went through but a second light railway line that we saw last night terminated at the station, from Krimml through Shüttdorf where we were staying. Following our stay in Zell the afternoon will be a train ride on the Gisela Express to Kitzbühel.

We have to stand at the level crossing whilst a train goes through to the station on our right. Then we can walk into the town and take in the sights and smells of the main street.

We'll start with the sights. Zell was a wonderful place, with only a few buildings such as the Grand Hotel that were not the by now familiar chalet design. We were fascinated by the number of buildings in the famous music box shape. Houses, hotels, petrol stations, shops, sheds and barns were all the same basic shape. I wondered if they played music if you lifted the roof...

Now the smells. Shops had set up displays along the streets and smoked meat of various kinds added their aroma to the clear mountain air. Sausages, salamis, bacon rolls and rashers...

Miss Franny doesn't like smoked food and it wouldn't have been the easiest souvenir to transport home, but the next shop helped fill her bag with a cow bell and a yodelling teddy bear... In fact half the people on the coach seemed to buy a yodelling teddy! We knew this because they set off singing "Yodel-ay-delayee-oh!" at every slightest movement - which made for a hilarious moment at the end of the week when drivers John and Keith were loading bags into the coach, most of which went "Yodel-ay-delayee-oh!" as soon as they were picked up!

The tallest building in the town was this old tower, now a museum, rising above the yellow umbrella. The Vogt tower is the oldest building in the town and was first referenced in 926 CE, making it well over 1,000 years old. It was described then as an escape tower both for local military and town residents, though whether they were expected to escape from an attacking force or whether it was a contest to see if, once in, they could get out again I'm not sure... It has four floors of local historical displays and artifacts.

It was a festival holiday in Austria. By the church the locals were dressed in their finery and there were plenty of national costumes in evidence. The three ladies were pleased to pose - well, two of them anyway - even after my horrendous attempts to speak their language! Or maybe it was pity...

The men, meanwhile, were playing soldiers - dragging a small brass cannon around. You could tell from the air of excitement amongst them that it was going to be fired! They marched in a twin file with a marching band to the square, set up the cannon with as much fussing and pomp they could muster until the urge to fire it was too much. It made a loud crack, sad to say nothing more, but they all seemed satisfied and there was much laughter and comradely back-slapping. Their wives looked on with expressions of forbearance and indulgance. There was now an air of "They'll be satisfied again now until next year..."

Time was marching on though and with a last look at the square and the old museum we went back down to the lake, setting off towards the station. We had time to cross the lines again for a look at the lake.

By gum, they don't half feed up the livestock! This oversized swan was made for a festival and then afterwards when no one could think of what to do with it, it was left on the lake to keep an eye on speeding pedalloes...

Ok! Back to the station! It's time for us to board the Gisela Express that will take us on a train ride through the Alps to the resort or town of Kitzbühel. Food is provided onboard and will cause not a little hilarity. Join us for the next thrilling instalment!

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HMS Warrior

Sunday, 18 February 1996, continued. Yes, four articles in and it's still the same day!

If you have read the others you will know that we are in Portsmouth's Historic Dockyard and have seen HMS Victory, the remains of HMS Mary Rose and have taken a boat trip around the dockyard to see several serving warships including the aircraft carrier HMS Invincible. We now come to HMS Warrior. Unlike HMS Victory the Warrior was open to exploring. Visitors were given a map of the decks and were free to wander around the ship at will.

Built 1859-1860, launched in 1860 and commissioned in 1861, she was the Royal Navy's first ironclad warship, a frigate with 40 guns and steam propulsion. Three masts allowed for additional sail power in ship rigging format for long distance cruising.

She carried guns ranging from 40 pound to 110 pound with mid range guns firing 68 pound. All of her guns could fire both solid round shot or explosive shells and the 68 pounders were also capable of firing shells filled with molten iron from a furnace.

On the deck I am accosted by a small chap with a broad American accent who thrusts a small Olympus camera at me and asks me to take his picture "...with plenty of rigging - I'm interested in rigging" So ok, I stood up and he legs it at top speed towards the other end of the ship with me having to trot reluctantly and somewhat bewildered behind him. "No stay over there, I don't mind if I'm just a dot - I want the rigging in..." Well if he was going to be just a dot, why not take the pic himself and claim any old short person was him???

I take a couple of pix and kneel down to take one so he could have the rigging with himself as a small dot right at the bottom of the pic. He seems to appreciate that. "Where are you from?" I ask on the long trek back to where Fran is standing, wondering why I have deserted her. "The U S of A!" comes the answer. My dry voice gets switched on... "Well, yes, I'd gathered that..." Anyway he is from Delaware which he isn't expecting me to have heard of. I feel it may not be the time to mention the Perry Como song...

I take this picture by available light which requires an exposure of six seconds. To keep the camera still I stand it on a cannon and use the self-timer. As it finishes, the third lunatic of the week taps my shoulder and says "How does that work?" A bit taken aback I say "It was on a timer". "No - the cannon..." "The cannon?!?" I ask, even more taken aback. "You know - the sight!" What? "You just look down it and generally it hits whatever you are looking at!" I explain. "Oh!" he says, disappointment in every shade of voice and demeanor.

"Sea battles were generally fought at very close quarters," I try to explain. "The idea was to batter the opposing ship whilst your own sailors jumped from your ship onto the other!" But, disillusioned, he has already moved on... Over each gun are the stowed hammocks of its crew - this was workplace, sleeping quarters and dining room.

Also overhead are racks of cutlasses - you know - for use in boarding or repelling enemy boarders... But my latest friend is busy searching for similarly-sized forks, no doubt convinced they were cutlery for mealtimes...

It's a crowded ceiling: also overhead are the gunners' equipment. From left to right, a wormer for getting bits of wadding out (paper, card, bits of anything designed to hold roundshot against the bag of gunpowder that shot it out), sponge to be dipped in water to cool out the guns and make sure no remaining burning remnants of wadding or powder bag remained to set off the next charge as soon as it was put into the barrel, and a ramrod to poke the charge bag down to where the fuse could set it alight and then to ram the shot against it and yet again to ram wadding to prevent a roundshot from rolling away from the powder charge.

Even the Captain's cabin was furnished with cannon. Bulkheads or windows were removeable so that it had a nice hole to shoot through when needed. It would still probably scorch a bit of paintwork... The cannon is roped to the wall at either side so as not to roll too far away from the wall with the recoil after firing. Crushed gun crews are seldom as effective as ones with the required number of legs and arms.

The gun does have to roll back far enough to be sponged out and reloaded though. It is heavy enough that the pulley system is needed for the sailors to be able to haul it forwards again once loaded. The brass rod at the back along with the more decorative one halfway down make up the sight that our friend above was so bewildered by. The rear one is calibrated and can be raised or lowered to account for distance if needs be.

Whilst the French Navy tended to try to shoot at masts and sails, the Royal Navy generally thought that blasting holes at waterline was more effective at sinking the enemy... Which reminds me of a funny story told to me by someone else who had done the HMS Victory guided tour. A French visitor had looked at the pyramids of cannonballs on deck and asked if they were the ones used at the Battle of Trafalgar. The Naval Officer conducting the tour answered, "No, Sir, your own navy still has those..."

The Captain's table where the senior officers would dine. The floor covering includes a rug over canvas sailcloth which has a thoughtful design painted on it to look like linoleum - ooh, luxury!

Our visit to the Historic Dockyard has made for an interesting day. On a warmer day we may have been inclined to stay a bit longer but walking around the open areas of docks is chilly in February so we head into town in search of a cafe. Later, back at the hotel, we find with some relief that the deaf couple have left along with the rest of their coach party and it is a much quieter night!

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Pilgrims and Pubs, Cannon and Lighthouses in Plymouth

Thursday 17 September 2016. We had originally set off to go to Falmouth but, instead of looking at the map, I remembered seeing signs on the way to Polperro so headed 90 degrees in the wrong direction and subsequently the wrong direction by 180 degrees on joining the A30 and we ended up deciding to carry on to Plymouth once we realised we had gone irreparably wrong!

So we crossed the Tamar Bridge with Brunel's famous Royal Albert Bridge to our side and found ourselves in Devon. Plymouth has one of those approaches that confuses the hell out of any drivers not from around those parts. You seem to describe several figures of eight before you get to where you want to be. In our case I had to do a nifty U-turn to avoid entering the Naval Dockyard...

We parked under a rather dubious sky near the Barbican and walked down to the waterside to this view of the Mayflower Steps. A boat trip was just waiting to go out with a party off a Shearings coach. There seemed to be a bit of a flap on because there were two people fewer on the boat than there had been on the coach...

The Mayflower was a 3-masted square rigger and by no means new by the year 1620. Whilst Plymouth has traditionally been thought of as her last port before setting out (she first picked up passengers in both London and Southampton), it is now thought that she called into Newlyn in Cornwall to replace water casks, the water loaded in Plymouth having found to have been responsible for illness in the city.

The Mayflower Steps, where those first brave pilgrims, 102 in number, embarked for the voyage. "Are we on the all-inclusive?" came a voice from the back. "Look at the size of that ship! God preserve us, it must be three decks at least!"

Whilst the other passengers argued as to who had booked the best excursions, the Purser checked in the hold to ensure the cask of Milk of Magnesia was safely stowed. He knew that they might have to settle the New World...

The Barbican these days plays host to a modern marina. There are a few empty places evident against the nearest jetty. Either no one has yet bought a boat to go there or the owners of the boats that moor there are unaware of the rule that boats in a marina should never ever move...

There are a couple of modern buildings on the wharf. One is the Mayflower Museum, another has shops. Thankfully though many of Plymouth's old buildings still stand and add character to the Barbican.

Many of them, it has to be said, are pubs. In the days when Plymouth was a busy port those sailors off the many ships that came in were a thirsty bunch. And a motley one too - there would have been a few different languages adding to the noise of the area. The French would be demandez-ing vin blanc et vin rouge; the Danes would be snatching off their horned helmets to be filled with lager ("Lager, ye swab?" What the heineken is that?"). Even our own brave Jack Tars would be given a swift kick for ordering beer ("That's for childer ye lubbers! We serves good English ale here!")

The Three Crowns pub sits on the opposite side of the harbour to most of the other pubs. I'm not sure how old it is - there was quite a bit of bombing here in the Second World War and certainly Wikipedia ignores this pub which is usually a sign that it's not that old. If anyone knows better, please do tell.

Similarly the Navy Inn, despite the great name seems to boast no history on either Wikipedia or its own website. It does have live music though - yay!

Sigh... And it's more of the same at the Maritime too. All these pubs do look the business though. I was driving so couldn't really afford to go for a pint in each one. In fact, had I not been driving I'm still no good at pub crawling. I enjoy a pint - dark mild is a favourite tipple but rather hard to find these days - but two pints is enough to make me feel slightly bloated and queasy. Three and you would be carrying me home... I have to say I've never thought of this as a handicap...

As well as all the drinking places, there are a good number of eating places. The big difference about these in the South West that we noticed from previous visits is that the small traditional tea rooms seem to be a dying breed. All the cafes want you to buy a huge cooked dinner no matter what the time of day and regardless of whether you might prefer to eat your main meal in the evening.

We did find a great tea room though behind a tiny area with benches set back from the waterfront. It had lots of framed prints of the Royals of England from the Middle Ages onwards and in the background Bing Crosby was crooning from a tape or CD recorded from his old radio shows of the 1930s and 40s. An American man in his 40s was sitting alone at a table, happily immersed in the sounds of his own country's past. He was enthusiastic in complimenting the owner about the music as he left.

The tea rooms was at the back of the little square behind and to the right of the green umbrella. When we came out the sun had made an appearance and we sat for a while here with three Frenchmen chattering away on the next bench.

We had a look round the shop of the Mayflower Museum without going into the museum itself and then a walk around the headland to Plymouth Hoe...

...where preparations are still in place should those rascals the Spanish decide to have another go.

We had an ice cream from the van - 80p each and they tasted wonderful. The woman in front of me ordered a tub with a big dollop of clotted cream on the side. That looked as though it would have tasted wonderful too...

The walls are those of the Royal Citadel, constructed by Charles II after his restoration to the throne. Nominally to protect the port in case the Spanish or anyone else did come for another go, King Charles was also giving a warning to the people of Plymouth who had veered towards the Roundhead side of the tiff between the Royals and Parliament. The fort remains in military use even today. I know... I almost drove into it by mistake...

The lighthouse tower on Plymouth Hoe is known as Smeaton's Tower. It is in fact the upper portion of John Smeaton's lighthouse that was the third lighthouse to be built on the Eddystone Rocks. It was built there in 1759 and was replaced by the current Eddystone Lighthouse in 1877 and the people of Plymouth paid for it to be moved stone by stone to this spot.

We returned to Newquay for our evening meal which repast was served up in grand traditional style in a typical seaside cafe called Bunter's.

It was very windy and therefore not all that warm in Newquay and we decided to take to the car once again and head north along the coast for a little run out. This is Watergate Bay,

Tomorrow we'll have another attempt to get to Falmouth. It's an early night back at the B&B - I need to consult a map...

Cornwall Holiday Index

The Principality of Monaco

Our excursion coach comes to Monaco and we climb out and climb on upwards, past the Oceanographic Museum of Jacques Cousteau to Monaco Ville - the old town up on it's promontary rock overlooking Monaco and Monte Carlo.

We come first to the Cathedral St Nicholas. This is the resting place of Grimaldi princes and princesses.

Inside the cathedral. There were fresh flowers on the graves of Prince Rainier and Princess Grace. Considerably more for ex-film star Grace Kelly in fact.

The Royal Palace of Monaco. Currently the home of Prince Albert II, the Sovereign Prince of Monaco.

Monaco is small and does not have an army of its own. The Royal Guard - the Compagnie des Carabiniers du Prince - are "borrowed" from France. Which at least ensures that it is extremely unlikely that Monaco would ever declare war on France...

Looking over the edge of the promontary in the opposite direction to Monte Carlo we see the ancient defences of Monaco. Whilst the chap in charge of the cannon asked which way to point it, the lookout fumbled for another 20p as the binoculars went dead...

Along this coast you see most of the old towns up on high steep hills. There were many pirates on the Mediterranean and it was easier to run into low lying towns for a spot of looting, rape and pillage than it was to run up a hill, grab a likely wench and then say "Hang on a minute love, I'm all out o' puff..." Also there's a limit to how high the cannon on a ship can point!

Looking down from Monaco Ville to Monte Carlo and the harbour.

The huge yacht in the centre is Lady Moura the yacht of Prince Albert.

The Constitution of Monaco had to be re-written a while ago. Whilst Prince Albert has two children, they were both born out of wedlock and cannot be heirs to the throne. He is now married to Princess Charlene, formerly Charlene Wittstock, a South African Olympic swimmer though no children have yet come from the marriage. The former Constitution stated that only direct children from the last prince could inherit the throne so there was a danger of there being no eligible heir. The Constitution now allows siblings who are direct descendants from the previous prince to inherit, so the current heir to the Grimaldi dynasty is Princess Caroline of Hanover, Albert's sister.

Ah... Princess Caroline... I fancied her from my early teens... She was easily the most beautiful of all the world's eligible princesses before Miss Franny came along and took me off the market! Had she ever popped into our local I might have been Prince Consort-in-Waiting by now...

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The Monastery on Corfu

Tuesday, 5 May 2009. Ocean Village Two sails into Corfu, Greece.

It is our first time in both Greece and Corfu, but over the next few years we will join several cruises here.

The disks slotted over the ship's cables are put there to stop any dockside rats from running up the cables onto the ship.

We are doing an excursion today. It is taking us to several places in Corfu but we start off with a trip up the coast to a monastery. The coach passes by a gorgeously beautiful cove. I snatch a couple of photos from the window as we drive past, but needn't have worried. We will get time for a photo stop on our way back!

First stop is at this Greek Orthodox monastery with a small number of monks, one of whom greeted our guide warmly as we walked up towards the monastery. The church was quite small, but richly decorated. A large silver chandelier hung from the ceiling.

There were a lot of icons lining the walls, most of them gilded. Guid-i-poos is getting boring... We bob out of the church and race through the museum - huh? It contained mostly another collection of richly gilded icons. It did have some whale bones which were worth seeing - more interesting to me than the rows of icons, which to a non-Catholic become just so many portraits, mainly of old men sitting amongst immense richness whilst their "flock" live in abject poverty.

The monks were called to their various offices or meals, not by the ringing of a bell, but by a pattern of knocking rapped out on this piece of wood, hanging in a small courtyard. Fran was all for giving it a bang, but with the thought of half a dozen confused monks appearing and asking all sorts of questions in a foreign language, I thought it was perhaps not the best of ideas!

The monks who originally founded the monastery had certainly chosen their site well. It had some lovely views over the top of the cliff.

They had also created an attractive, pleasant and peaceful abode for themselves. It was much nicer enjoying the peace than listening to the droning voice talking about saints... I'm not a good follower of tourist guides I'm afraid.

The only inhabitants we saw though were a collection of scraggy cats, one curled up with some tiny kittens and a thin alsation dog. Another mystery...

Our last discovery before being called back to the coach was this ancient monastic cannon, used every second Tuesday during the 18th Century when the monks would gather to chortle and chant and blast the barnacles off every passing ship... We get back on the coach, unspeakably thrilled when guid-i-poos promises us another church to look at, in a tone that suggests she expects us to be thrilled.

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