The great thing about the Easter break here is that it is a real break. Both Friday and Monday are holidays, one ends up with a four-day weekend. All rather civilized. As the weekend had two different themes, I’m going to break it up into two blogs. Here then is part two. Part one will follow later.

With a long weekend spread out before us, we had to plan something other than watching Scrubs on our 12” telly in our 18” flat. Where better than the seaside? I had been to Portsmouth for the day on business and although it had been a little raw and cold, it seemed quite picturesque. Our day trip back was on a warm sunny spring day.

As this was a long weekend, we didn’t get up too early and left Waterloo station at reasonable o’clock. As for being civilized, I would like to cast my vote for a ride on the train with a cup of coffee and a Sunday paper. There are three rail stations in Portsmouth. The last one on the line lets you out right by the Historic Naval Dockyards.

We bought the all-inclusive pass to the Dockyards and wandered in to look around. As at was still fairly early by tourist attraction standards, there was only a few seniors milling about. The first attraction was the catamaran tour of the harbour. (Mum keep reading – it was a smooth ride). Nobody had lined up for the first tour of the day, so off we went.

The harbour in Portsmouth is a main base for the Royal Navy. We were quite lucky that weekend as a large portion of the fleet was in port, so there were many Naval ships to see. There were three aircraft carriers, some destroyers that had served in the Falklands and a training ship.

We toured around the Warrior. It was the finest and most formidable warship of its time. It was launched in 1860. It had a steel plated hull that was impervious to the armaments of the day. The Warrior also featured both steam and sail power. This was a first and allowed a speed of 17.5 knots. It was restored at fabulous cost and is a very interesting tour. The guides on board, in period costume, are very knowledgeable and help you imagine what it was like living and working on the ship.

The newest attraction is the Portsmouth Tower. It was recently opened and boasts the world’s fifth largest glass floor. Two questions; does that include the new balcony over the Grand Canyon and who keeps track of this stuff anyway? It does cut an impressive figure over the harbour, shaped like a spinnaker sail.

We stopped in for lunch in a little pub near the mouth of the harbour. It was located on a little spit of land called Spice Island, because that is where the Spice Girls are from. No – actually it is called that because it is where the spice ships used to unload. Lunch was lovely and we watched the ferries pass back and forth on their way to the Isle of Wight.

After lunch, we walked along the Millennium Parade that has been recently completed. It follows the coast and gives a great view of the Isle of Wight. We carried on and walked along the Clarence Parade that was a favourite of the Victorians. It has a great carnival atmosphere. We dodged the kids on the bouncy stilts and wandered along through the portly crowd. There is a fun fair with cheesy rides, win-a-teddy games and every kind of food you can imagine but deep fried.

Along the Clarence Parade is the Southsea Castle. It was originally built by Henry VIII in the early 1500’s to defend England from the French. It was enlarged in the 1700’s. After going to some glitzy attractions with slickly produced presentations, Southsea Castle was, in a way, refreshing. It has the most ghetto “walk through history” area featuring mouldy old mannequins, bad lighting and, at one point, a smoke machine. So bad it was good. The castle itself was interesting and afforded great views of the harbour. As it was kind of late in the day, we had it to ourselves almost.


We walked up from the sea shore through the town centre. We arrived at a different train station than the one at which we arrived. Handy to have the choice.

/rant on.

As kids, probably 30 years ago, there was a recycling program in Richmond Hill. I can remember cutting the lids off of the tin cans and gleefully squashing them with my feet on my mother's linoleum floor. These along with glass bottles and bundled newspaper were then taken to a barn on the edge of town where, who were most likely hippies, ran a volunteer recycling program.

Not that I am the most environmentally friendly creature. I've left the car running all night because I knew I was going out again in the morning. Hey, I think nothing of flying across Europe now just because it's cheap. However, you can see that the urge to separate waste was ingrained early. I will even make the odd purchasing decision for the packaging, not just the shiny label on the box.

So maybe my ire is out of place, or I'm making mountains out of molehills. Or maybe I'm relying too heavily on metaphors. But my recycling box has been stolen. The recycling box that took two attempts and two months for the local council to finally deliver is gone. Vanished on recycling day.

So, as you would, I investigate. By that I mean ask the neighbours. It turns out that, instead of leaving the green box just inside the gate, where it doesn't block anyone's way, it is supposed to be left on the sidewalk. This is in spite of the instructions on the Camden Council website. We were apparently warned the week before with a cheeky note left by the muppets that pick up the recycling.

The punishmennt for my transgression is that I no longer am allowed the privilege of participating in the recycling program. This in a time when the lead story in the free newspaper, that gets thrown away by the millions, everyday is about global warming. The TV news falls all over themselves to terrify with stories of climate change and the internet is clogged with websites that allow one to calculate one's carbon footprint.

I am currently writing a stiffly worded note to the local authorities to bring my green box home. And I have a good mind to write it on an old style styrofoam Big Mac container. At least I would be recycling it.

/rant off.

Those who do not learn from history, it has been said, are destined to repeat it. After almost habitually starting our trips at stupid o’clock, this one was different. We started our journey as usual, up at some reasonable hour, quick breakfast and on the Tube. This time it was to the Heathrow Express at Paddington Station and a British Airways flight to Nice. Landing in Nice brought the usual smile to our faces. A new city to explore, new things to see. We were greeted by 19 degree sun and palm trees. Some of our favourite things.

We jumped on the local bus at the airport which took us to the centre of the City. The bus travelled along the Promenade des Anglais which overlooks the Mediterranean. There are no tall buildings in Nice. Everything is 6 stories or less. We strolled along the Promenade des Anglais and the stony beach all afternoon. Nothing like the sea and warm sunshine to soothe a traveller’s breast. A little slice of Heaven!

Although we were soothed to be in the sunshine our tummies were soon telling us that it was time to eat. There is, without question, a definite Niçoise style of cuisine. There is a common theme of ingredients. One can expect to find white bread, cheese, tomato, fish and, alarmingly, some parts of the sheep best left unmentioned.

One thing that caused no bother at all was the lovely, tiny cups of delicious espresso. From the coffee cart on the street to the high street restaurants, espresso is a work of art in Nice. The café au lait in the hotel was some of the best I’ve ever had. Warm milk and coffee with a strong taste that envelopes your head cannot be beat.

It was easy to tell the locals from the tourists. One way is that the tourists, like us, were enjoying the sunshine in our t-shirt sleeves. The locals were still swathed in their fur coats and scarves. French women have such style! We found some dinner in a restaurant near the hotel. Our high school French served us well once again and a nice thin crust pizza (no one has really heard of multi-grain in this country) and salad was served.

Our second day started with a lovely breakfast in our hotel. Including, of course, a lovely cup of coffee. Another very warm day and we placed ourselves among the tourist with our shirt sleeves and sunglasses. The locals were still unsure so fur coats for all of them!

We walked to the Matisse museum only to find it closed for renovation. This lead us to the Archaeology Museum and some very interesting Roman ruins. We immediately recognized the Roman baths and the same construction we found in Bath, England, which we visited in February. We explored a Roman amphitheatre and village ruins. Some of it dates from before those in Bath. The later additions are clearly similar to the construction in Bath.

There were signs around Nice advertising the Paris to Nice Bicycle Race and today was the finish. We stood near the finish line for an hour only to watch the pack fly by in about 10 seconds in a final sprint to the finish line. The race was won by Alberto Contadore from Spain. We were caught up in the spirit of the race and it was a very exciting finish. Our day ended with a tiny cup of the delicious dark elixir.

On the third day, we look the train to Monaco. The rails run along the edge of the ocean providing magnificent views. You travel high on the mountain looking down on the beautiful colour of the ocean.

Monaco is just like the pictures you see in books. Built up the mountain overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. A 3 room flat would probably set you back a few million Euro, if you can prove yourself worthy to own property in Monaco. Monaco can prove to be a bit tricky to navigate. There are public elevators that take you up to the top of the mountain and attractions are not terribly well marked. I guess they like tourists, however only a little bit. We visited the Oceanographic Museum which was very interesting. The whale skeletons were my favourite. There was a very interesting aquarium and an exhibition of expeditions to the Arctic Circle by Prince Albert I in 1906 and Prince Albert II in 2005. These expeditions were in the name of exploration and conservation.

I can confirm that Monaco also serves a delightful tiny cup of espresso. We walked around the old part of the City, toured the Cathedral where Grace Kelly and Prince Rainer were married and now buried. We also saw the Palace which overlooks the harbour which houses some of the biggest yachts in the world. We visited the casino in Monte Carlo which was opulent, but we were in over our heads there to be sure.

The French just ran the fastest train in the world. Five hundred kilometres and more an hour. Turns out that while the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak. On the fourth day, we intended to visit Menton which is a village by the sea. We purchased our ticket from the kiosk and presented it to the conductor. We were informed, in monosyllabic fashion, there was a strike! Lots of other trains seemed to be working, just not the one that we wanted to go on. Little in the way of explanation, or trains.

Plan B involved a visit to the Modern Art Museum. Modern art is not my favourite thing and this simply confirmed it. Packing tape stuck to a red canvas and lumpy burlap cloth bound with string just isn’t something I can wrap my head around. Anyway the day went by quickly enough and before we knew it, it was time to gather our things and head for home.

We have learned to plan something for our last day on any of our journeys. Too often we have found ourselves with nothing to do on the last day but head for the airport so we have taken to ensuring that there is a plan of action. This morning we were off to the Chagall Museum. What a treat for our last day. His work is an explosion of colour. It is exhibited in a wonderful modern space. Chagall specified that the paintings be displayed with no glass or barriers to allow the most unencumbered access to his work. It is a wonderful museum.

We hopped back on the bus and headed to the airport. Another successful journey and another page in the adventure book.