The decision

Although the hotel outside Rome airport looked remarkably similar to a 60’s tower block in Skelmesdale; the restaurant, where we sat pondering our future, was very good. The suggestion of ending our travels after 6 months had snowballed from a whisper to a clear decision…, we had thoroughly enjoyed the adventure but we both felt it was time to go home; two realities had transpired over the last 6 months. Firstly we are never going to ‘retire’ and secondly travel is much more acceptable in five star accommodations and in smaller bursts!

We left Rome at nine o’clock on Monday morning and arrived in central London 24 hours later…the Mercedes which had taken so much ‘stick’ in the snow & ice of the Alps and struggled on the ferries of the Mediterranean, now proved its worth. The journey went smoothly and even in the dead of night she was a joy to drive. Naturally we discussed at great lengths our decision to halt OGGY but with our home rented out…what were we to do?

Our first task was to assist our siblings who had found a property and needed help with further research; plus it did seem as if the worst of the recession had passed and we felt it was time for us to go back into the ‘market’; what or where this will mean for us, only time will tell. I never thought the day would come where I had tired of travelling but living out of a suitcase for 6 months had started to take its toll.

We are regularly asked the same question; “where was the best place you visited?” Frankly there is one day that really sticks out above all others.

No, it wasn’t the paradise island of Bequia in the Grenadines…

Bequia's clear waters

and as usual the sunset...













Nor the stunning and peaceful Sardinia where the excellent food and wine was the norm and not the exception…

Valleys and beaches of Sardinia























Or the breathtaking views of snow clad mountains on Pont du Soleil

FOG skiing in Les Gets




















Not forgetting the boys visit...

















But we are getting close…

Even the day we skied 60 km, with our Italian friends, to Champoluc.

FOG in Alagna



It may have been -25oC at the peaks and the pistes tested our skiing ‘skills’ to the maximum but watching my friend skiing with his daughter and grandson under the back drop of the Matterhorn. Unfortunately there is no photograph of this moment as it was too cold to take my gloves off to retrieve the camera…, but this image has been imprinted on my memory forever…





However the memory that will remain with me forever was the Sunday Service at Sandhurst Military College with our two sons; no words will ever give justice to the feeling that cascaded through my mind that day…

FOG dressed to the 9's for the Sandhurst Ball



We were returning anyway this week for the Sandhurst Ball, which before the days of PC used to be the Father’s dinner. A scare of Swine Flu had put the event in doubt but our journey across Europe was not in vain and we booked in our ‘usual’ hotel just outside Camberley. It was now half way through their course and the change in these young men was remarkable. Although confident, fit and maturing, the experience had not affected their ‘core’ character, nor had the thought of leaving these shores for Afghanistan…, their morale was high. The dinner was a fantastic experience for us ‘Civvies’ and we didn’t let our son down…, we were the last guests in the bar, much to our son’s approval!



MOG and youngest awaiting drill...


However the funniest moment was at 07.00 hours the following morning being ‘drilled’ by a Colour Sergeant and then ‘marching’ to the chapel to the stirring sound of the Military Band…, we did try our best but the cadets humbled us by showing us how it really should be done, or should I say, humiliated us! Dear old FOG managed it in high heels and was rewarded with a blister for her efforts…!




Our son was captaining the Sandhurst 11 against an invitation MCC side and sitting in the pavilion, with Old College as a backdrop, hearing the sound of cork on willow…; well it doesn’t get much better than that…














Youngest in action with bat and ball...he hit his first half century...










Proud Mum...



I suppose this should be the best moment of the trip but our eldest was missing and it was that occasion of all being together that made the Sunday Service in February so special.








We had stayed in 46 different places, driven over 12,000 miles; skied for 10 weeks virtually non stop, seen the unknown part of the Caribbean but guess what…? It just re-emphasised what we already knew…, it didn’t match up to our little bubble in central Cheshire…

Cheshire Plain...our home is here!




It seems we’re home birds after all!















The Facts-Old Gits Gap Year will be undated shortly with our experiences and where we stayed.

However if nothing transpires well maybe OGGY 2?

Avanti, Ischia

Firstly, sorry for the long delay between posts, but internet connections have been limited and at such slow speeds it was not possibly to upload a posting.

We had ambitions to ‘live’ in a hilltop town in Italy and Laureana Cilento was certainly that. A fantastic view over Agripoli, the Sorrento peninsula and the Mediterranean, with tiny streets and that air of tranquillity you only find in the mountains.

View from a hilltop town













Sunset highlights Amalfi coastline













Our apartment was typically Italian, the entrance through a very old heavy door into a courtyard and very large rooms with one metre thick walls with high ceilings helping it to keep cool in the summer; I would imagine very cold in the winter! The higgledy piggledy rooms had a rustic Italian charm about them.

MOG at apartment doorway






Mimmo, the owner of “Blu di Prussia”, was a true eccentric. We tend to think this is a very British phenomenon, well Mimmo is in a league of his own; but he does have two very good reasons form his character. Firstly he is a painter, and a very good one at that: we all know about artists! Secondly he’s married to an Australian…, no more said… (Sorry Teresa!)






Mimmo and ‘his’ painting
















This small business is a café, shop, furniture restoration, art gallery, residence and B&B all rolled into one. Fortunately as MOG was looking for a job Mimmo allowed me to work behind the bar on election night… not for wages, just free drink…it cost him dearly!

MOG being paid, in kind















and entertaining the customers. ..















Mimmo, Teresa (Keeping her eye on the till – you can’t trust a Pom!) and MOG.














Mimmo with "Alba"...FOG to us.




We used the apartment as a base to explore this unspoilt region of Italy. Most of the roads we travelled weren’t even on our Sat-Nav, so we reverted to the ancient art of map reading! This area was inhabited by the Magna Greeks in 500 BC. Paestum especially was a real delight to visit. The temples and ‘ruins’ were in a remarkably well preserved condition and surprisingly there were few tourists; which enabled us to wander through the ancient streets being transported back in time 2,500 years. We were still in mud huts when this civilisation was erecting temples that we would struggle to construct today, even with all our mechanical know-how…

Paestum












Velia was even older and had been lost in time until rediscovered a couple of hundred years ago, but even here the mosaic swimming pools and under floor heating meant we are only just catching up technology wise!

One evening we were invited down to the local church for a Saint’s Day feast and in very English style the heavens opened. It didn’t just rain, it poured and all the preparations were soon abandoned as the place turned into a mud bath…

MOG outside 'chiesa' with the goldfish won by Mimmo’s daughter












We enjoyed the hilltop experience but there is very little to do except walk…, so it was time to move on. We had envisaged staying for longer periods in such a place but we now found out you must have a purpose for a long stay and we had seen enough culture to keep us going for awhile... However we did experience a lot of excitement on the final night. We retired early, as usual, when suddenly all hell broke loose in the little square. Tanoys were blaring, music thumping and the piazza was suddenly filled with cars and people. Quickly we dressed and entered the fray where a sparkling wine was thrust into our hands by Mimmo who informed us they were celebrating the election result. Suddenly, just as quickly as they had arrived, they piled back into their cars and were gone leaving Mimmo, Teresa and the Old Gits to clear up the mess. MOG was just getting into the mood for a party but Mimmo was shutting up the bar and FOG marched her protesting husband away…

Our drive through Naples for the ferry to Ischia was nowhere near as bad we had feared. Yes, there were still many cars that looked as if they had spent the last weekend at a stockcar racing circuit, but the driving was possibly no worse than London… You never indicate in this part of Italy and when you enter the main road you wait until a host of cars are nearly upon you then slowly pull out in front of them. Horns are obligatory and must be tested every 30 seconds and used at every occasion, especially when a pretty girl is walking down the street. MOG did oblige with this particular local custom!

The ferry to Ischia was full of Germans and, we were soon to discover, so was the whole island. I do have a resemblance to our German cousins, having a very square head, but if I hear one more ‘Bitte’ from an Italian thinking I am ‘Un Tedesco’, I’ll go barking…

I always had an image of Ischia as a quiet island with small villages and a few scooters bustling around. This came from a film starring Jack Lemon called (I think), “Avanti”. If you want to understand the culture of the Neapolitan then this film will explain all; it is hilarious. On reflection I suppose this film must have been made 30-40 years ago and there has been considerable development of the island since then. We are only just at the beginning of the season and the island was heaving! It is a beautiful island but the roads are full of manic Italians or bumbling tourists…this combination led to a few waving arms and, of course, horns blaring as we toured around the island.

Naples and yet another volcano...plus the ferry









Ischia Castle












We were the only English in our hotel; Germans being the main contingent. One morning I couldn’t sleep so as dawn broke I wondered up to the pool area to watch the sun rise only to be trampled by the horde of Germans, towels and novels in hand, all bagging the best sun beds; then they all promptly left for a day’s excursion!



Departing Ischia was a truly nightmare ferry journey. Stupidly we had decided to leave on a Saturday…change over day. The port was jammed solid. An officious little Italian screaming at everyone, only managed to compound the chaos…men like that are the same the world over…give them an ounce of power…

Over the last couple of weeks there had developed a new sense of unease on the Old Gits travels; it is difficult to exactly pin point the shift in emphasis. Discussions had switched from our travels to what we would do when we returned home. The constant ‘battle’ with hotels trying to obtain a ‘fair’ deal had become, to say the least, irritating. Our two siblings had called as they had found a property that really interested them and required some help with the research. A business opportunity had also transpired so our planned short return trip, for a Sandhurst Ball, was duly extended with flights altered; at some cost of course. Then the two Old Gits looked at each other and a long silence filled the stifling hot, cramped hotel bedroom outside Rome airport which, incidentally, was in an area that resembled Basra…

Finally MOG whispered, ‘Is it time to go home? Shall we drive back tomorrow…?’