Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
A trip up to the top of the scarily tall looking mountain that overlooks Chamonix. Thankfully, the resident Bond villain was out.
We started the day in the home of champagne and needed to get to the home of, well, I’m not sure. The first Winter Olympics. That should be enough to convince you.
Two days for the price of one here. We’d heard bad things about trying to get into the ferry terminal, so we set off the night before and stayed nearby.
A week of going up and down mountains and rediscovering school geography lessons, especially the ones about mountains and glaciers.
A day of fast cars, unhealthy food and no working.
Don’t tell them your name Pike ! Langdale has several Pikes, but none of them are gangly teenagers from Dad’s Army.
Cat Bells is nothing to do with campanological felines. It’s a mountain. Near Keswick. And we climbed it.
That weird day of each year when both kids have their birthday. Denise and Dave came over to see us.