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…?’

Una lunga strada a Laureana Cilento

All good things must come to an end, we finally packed the car and said goodbye to Pinetrees at Cardedu and our hosts, Carlo & Rita, who even went to the trouble of taking us to a fabulous restaurant in the next bay..., we were truly sad to leave: we will return that is for sure.

Carlo & Rita with MOG

Our next island was to be the rugged and historic Island of Sicily. Sometimes situations and circumstances blend in such a way as to give you a negative and often wrong impression of a place…we experienced this with Sicily. The ferry was old, knackered and very cramped. The lounge was heaving and Female Old Git (FOG) had quite a tussle with a small French party who had commandeered a huge amount of seats and had spread their belongings over a wide area while the rest of the passengers stood and jostled for space. FOG politely asked for a couple of seats, which were empty of course, for a few minutes while we finished our drinks… Well, you would thought she had mentioned Agincourt, Trafalgar and Waterloo in the same sentence…b******ds! (Incidentally FOG bought a children’s history book of France…Trafalgar wasn’t mentioned; now that’s brainwashing).

The next morning we awoke with frostbite, only to find that we had the aircon on full blast all night…we hadn’t noticed the large knob on the grill saying “off”…our sight must have still been impaired by the red mist in our eyes caused by our Gallic friends. The exit from the hold of the ferry resulted in running over a large rubber ‘chock’ which totally ripped the underneath of the Mercedes. A rather loud grinding noise accompanied our departure from the dock and necessitated MOG lying underneath the car to implement some temporary repairs, fortunately the damage was superficial but it would require yet another visit to a garage.

Even docking in Sicily wasn’t straight forward

The roads in Sicily are heavily ridged so our route eastwards was unpleasant and noisy but what disappointed us both was the amount of rubbish strewn along the waysides, scarring the countryside. In addition the skips were all overflowing with rubbish and clearly had not been emptied for some considerable time. We had an appointment with an owner of an apartment in Fondacello near Tiaromino, on the coast, or as the brochure said, 3 minutes drive from the beach. It was also meant to be nestling underneath Mount Etna and boasted some stunning views of this active and largest volcano in Europe. As we approached the Catanian area and Mount Etna, so the black clouds appeared and the rain started. We met the couple just off the autostrada and they showed us the way to Cell Block H, opps sorry, the apartment. The road to the ‘gated complex with swimming pool’ could only be described as an ex-WWII runway which had been abandoned since 1945…except for the fly-tippers, who had clearly been out in force.

Cell Block H (On the right is the swimming pool, empty of course and clearly hadn’t been used for some time)

The Beach…easy 3 minutes drive away…you wouldn’t want visit here even if it was 3 seconds walk…

Why we didn’t just turn around and find somewhere else to stay is a mystery, but old English manners prevailed. We nodded politely, handed over our money and, when alone, sank into depression still trying to encourage each other with remarks like; “Well it is very cheap…”; “It may look better in the sunshine…”

In order to escape this dingy place we decided to take a sight seeing trip to Taormina which had been highly recommended.

Typical Taormina street & lemon stall

Despite the continuing rain and dark clouds this was a beautiful town, but a real tourist trap and the consequential high prices; however it did have a real charm about the place. MOG found an old Roman amphitheatre which had just been discovered…under some old houses!

Roman amphitheatre…not a bad cellar

We sat in silence on our return to Cell Block H, but things were about to deteriorate further. The whole complex was empty, with over grown gardens and an atmosphere of complete desolation. We suddenly realised that when they described a gated community it meant that the ‘gate’ must have been trying to keep people in!

The only other apartment being used was, of course, the one directly below us and its inmates were the family from hell; this included all grand parents, uncles, aunts, cousins…you name it they where there in force and their vocal cords were on full volume and in constant use. Upstairs, the Old Gits sat in a total and stunned silence. The next day we managed to manoeuvre our car around the howling kids and ventured south to Siracusa.

On leaving the Etna region the dark clouds diminished and the sun appeared and we spent a pleasant day strolling around this ancient city with its origins not in Romans times but the Greeks 500 BC! Dear old Archimedes lived and worked here only to be so engrossed in his work that he failed to hear the warning shouts that the Romans were attacking and was promptly run through by a legionnaire…he didn’t shout “Eureka!” that time…

Siracusa’s Duomo

Modern art flourishes here, as well as the ancient, but is this someone else who might have stayed at Cell Block H?

Conversation diminished as we returned northwards and encountered the black clouds and rain and as we opened the gate to our self made prison we could see the other inmates hadn’t escaped and their numbers had if anything increased. On our ‘terrace’ constructed of ‘ancient’, or more accurately crumbling, breeze block we sat gazing upon where Mount Etna was suppose to be, while trying to ignore the pandemonium that was unveiling below us…it was nearing feeding time. Etna, as a young virgin bride, had coyly kept herself veiled in her clouds only occasionally revealing a glimpse of her shoulder… Suddenly MOG snapped and jumped up, grabbed his mobile, proceeded to the noisy terrace, and called the owner, who could clearly hear the pandemonium from the apartment below. A few minutes later he had negotiated the release of the Old Gits and the balance of our payment…, we couldn’t wait for the morning.

Morning did finally arrive to a watery sun and for a few short minutes the clouds cleared to reveal the snowed capped Mount Etna…, in her glory…it gave us pangs to go skiing!

Mount Etna reveals herself…at last

MOG drove swiftly northwards heading for the islands off the north coast of Sicily only to experience yet more rumbling from underneath the car and even more dark clouds and bad weather ahead. A brief discussion resulted and we decided to cut our losses and we found our selves, not on the ferry to the Isole Eolie, but on a ferry to Villa San Giovanni, on the mainland. We had always wanted to take a serious look at the National Park of Cilento and Vallo di Diano, south of Salerno, a reputedly unspoilt area of Italy. After an overnight stop in a lovely hotel in Marina di Maratea, and even more stunning coastal views…, some quite scary especially for FOG, we moved towards our goal.

FOG will be up dating the sister blog:

http://www.facts-oldgitsgapyear.blogspot.com/

in the next few weeks…


Coastline around Sapri: (note where the road goes!)

The next day we had found a house, owned by an Englishman, in Laureana Cilento. Our ‘sat-nav’ had been ‘off the mark’ in Sardinia and Sicily, and she wasn’t doing too well in the south of Italy. She had real problems trying to find this remote hill top town and had us going down tracks that farm vehicles wouldn’t have attempted!

Signposts weren’t that clear!

Finally, with the engine nearly overheating, we stumbled into a tiny piazza and there in front of us was “Blu di Prussia Café”, where we were to pick up our key.

All that can be said at this point is, after a superb lunch and several carafes of wine later with the owners Mimmo (a renowned artist and quite eccentric, more on him later!) & Teresa, his beautiful Australian/Italian wife, that we have fallen on our feet again… I can’t wait to write the next posting…; I’ve just got a feeling this is going to be bit of a crazy week…

View from Laureana Cilento towards Agripoli

Mimmo & MOG – Two artists…one uses a paint brush…!

Mi piace moltissimo, Sardegne

I brought a dictionary but not the Thesaurus; a bit of an error on Male Old Git’s (MOG) part, for I have run out of adjectives and superlatives to describe this fascinating island. I cannot try and describe the rock formations…

























The vast open valleys…












The flora…




















The fauna…
























A rare breed of visiting bird from England…!






The majestic cliffs…



To be woken by a cuckoo and the local pigeons in our villa, (They have an Italian accent as well; for their sentences end in ‘oo’), which apart from the occasional noisy dog, is very tranquil.

















Our apartment within the Villa, Pinetrees, whose owners Carlo & Rita have been the most hospitable hosts anyone could wish for…every time we have been to play tennis at their house Carlo has a cold beer at hand…now that’s hospitality MOG style.
















It has been a joy to stay still for a couple of weeks although we have ventured out locally, one day MOG drove for seven hours down to the South West of the island and back. We did encounter what is reputed to be some of the best beaches in the Mediterranean. I’ll let you be the judged of that…

Who needs to fly all the way to the Caribbean…?

























As we had quickly made up our mind to stay here for 2 weeks we went down to the ‘supermacato’ and stocked up accordingly. MOG bought a huge quantity of minced beef which was not only good quality but a real bargain to boot…however we are sick of the sight of Bolognese, home made beef burgers, chilly…, 4 kilos (9lbs in real money) goes a b*****dy long way! We have however also taken the opportunity to do a lot of walking, playing tennis and explore this quiet part of Sardegna…, mainly to work off all that meat!

Dawn with local ‘guard dog’, Scruffino with the usual back drop of Vine Yards…
















We also went around our area visiting some of the old towns and more Italian seaside areas. The ancient town Osimi Antico was abandoned due to flooding and mud slides from the towering cliffs that stand menacing over it….there are some good bargains for that holiday home though…

Old ruins – may need some attention!
















However with all this peace and tranquillity we have sat down and started to plan what we will do when we return home…we’ve not reached 6 months of the Gap Year yet!

FOG will be updating the Facts-Old Gits Gap Year shortly…

www.facts-oldgitsgapyear.blogspot.com

But, for MOG, the best visit was to the local wine producer…MOG’s ‘barrel’ is on the right…however no such luck…the car suspension just wouldn’t take it…there again I could get rid of FOG…now that’s a thought!