Sunday exploration...

Just when I was nasty about our lack of blue skies... voilà! A sparkly blue Sunday, time to explore...



Music by Olivia Ruiz off her album La Femme Chocolat

City of light

It seems a little clichéd to to show pictures of Paris, it must reflect the most capture photons in the world, what with the 70 million odd camera wielding tourists that stroll its streets annually. Nevertheless one can't help but be overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounds one. Well, there must be a reason why the tourists flock here, it sure as hell ain't the blue winter sky... (and customs wouldn't let you take the cheese home). So, even if you have seen these many times in adverts, movies, postcards or been lucky enough to be one of the 70 mega, here are a few of my own in the city of light...

An evening stroll... no, I wasn't on the Da Vinci code tour... apparently everyone is now taking photos under the pyramid in the Louvre, a previously cool spot, but not that photogenic. How fickle is man?

Hope I never get blasé...

Full-time wekk

I am pleased to let you know I have full time work, not that difficult to find... My new title is... well, not sure I have a title, but I am the hired help for a beautiful Persian princess. Occasionally she allows me the feeling of hob nobbing with royalty, but mostly I know my place as a lesser mortal. Duties include seeing to the drinking water and, what I must admit to as a pleasure, giving massages... life isn't too schabby!

Getting the drip rate equal to the lick rate isn't as easy as it looks... and I'll be darned if I can find the button to change the lick rate...

















This means rub my tummy... or even better bury head in tummy (if you don't mind coughing up fur balls that is)

















How to look down on someone from below them...

So that's Princess, the 'little one' in the house. Yet more proof that cats have staff instead of owners. Now that I have work it motivates me to find employment rather.

Wishing you fuzz therapy...

Cheeses

Been a month of Francing, filled with experiences much the same as one would find anywhere in the world, but somehow different... the wines are a little bit more special, the Christmas dinner self retrieved from the forest, oh and cheeses... lots of cheeses. Its not all high-end different though, the humble baguette has eased it way into an important part of my day, and on the really low end, so has pavement scanning, pleased to report a whitewash result against the dog doo thus far...

A month of overindulgence what with 'welcome to France' excuses and then the silly season, at times I have felt a little like the day would arrive when I would get sold to a white aproned butcher type for my liver. In retrospect a noble way to go, the festive season has deepened the friendship I have with foie gras, some things about French culture should not be messed with.

As for new experiences, it was my first almost white Christmas in the Jura. Much to the disappointment of the proud owners of pre-booked ski packages, the weather is unseasonably dry and warm, so only -5 °C'ish and mainly blue skies. Didn't stop the ice though, a pleasure to be above the fog that seemed to grey the rest of France.

Being from Africa you can normally lead the civilised world along with the stories of wild animals that stroll our streets, so strange to come to one of the more developed countries in the world to have my first encounter with wild boar, admittedly encountered for Christmas dinner. Another slightly less wild animal that I regularly encounter is one of the adopted kids that rule the house.

Meet Pacha, one of the kids, must have been a hard night, although difficult to tell with cats.

Just before Christmas we took a trip to Avilley, a small village near Vesoul. France seems to be the chaotic mass of humanity called Paris and then zillions of little villages that still lurk in times gone by.
















A view of Avilley in the winter light.

And when in a village it seems like you try to keep the wild boar in check by getting out of the house with your dog. The French equivalent of fishing. Perhaps it has nothing to do with actually shooting boar.
















I tagged along on a day of hunting, down from the mountain into the fog. Seemed like fishing really, only occasionally did the animals seem important, guys bonded, ate, drank and then headed home in the evening. Well, a duck did see his demise, three quick wild boars scuttled to safety across a field and there was this very confused chevreuil who couldn't understand why three orange jacketed guys just let him run on by... guess he didn't read the quota sheet. He will tell that escape story to his grandbambies for many years to come.





















A good thing about fishing is getting out into the fresh air and are able to just take in the trees while you wait for the next boar to bite.
















Petite Chatel a little village in the Jura, beautiful winter blue skies, don't let that fool you to thinking it was warm.






















I guess if you chose a thing to symbolise France it would have to include a church, all types... but I like the old stone ones.
















Christmas day with the frost on the lawn and trees, it didn't often get above zero... luckily Santa's reindeer are used to landing in the ice.
















The Jura mountains usually skiable by this time of year had only a smattering of snow. Walking up the road from the wedding reception spot.
















Ice skating in the arvies on a lake near the town of La Moura, this becomes a cross country ski piste once the snow gets into full swing.
















New years, loved one, bubbly and the Eiffel tower - pretty cool.

Wishing all the best for 2007, trust you will make it a wicked year!

Chile to chilly

As Raul reminded me the other day, there is nothing much sadder than an out of date blog. It has been ages, and as usual, quiet blog times mean less than quiet real times, the past month has been quite busy.

Since the last bout of blogging, and my farewell to the hills, I have traded summer for winter, new for old and Spanish for French. So, I am afraid the days of mountain on the doorstep photies are over, no more commentary on the gringo life in Santiago, the good news is I will be able to share photies of my new home, Paris, and will do my bit to let you know what being a 'gringo' in France is all about.

It has been a month that needs more than a blog entry to get you up to date, so easier if the photos tell the tale...

Bye bye Santiago, an especially beautiful day that turned up to say cheers.

















You have to get to see them at some stage, magic mountains!

















BBrrrrrrr
















Argentina in the distance, miles and miles of patchwork farms.
















The fairest cape of them all, the one of good hope...
















The reward for a little pedalling.
















Llandudno beach
















Camps bay beach





















Anandale strawberry farm, outside Stellenbosch.
















Night time from Pont Neuf
















Christmas = more lights in the city of lights






















Looking towards Place Vendome from the Opera.

I will miss Chile, my good friends there and of course the beautiful scenery, but there are some things in life that you just have to do, what a pleasure. I look forward to sharing my new adventures.

Marmelejo

I am lucky to have friends that believe in the concept of 'The Mission'. It helps get my lazy backside out my bed after a night that was late enough to notice. As the end of the year approaches here in Chile the months disintegrate with public holidays, last week was bisected by just such an event. This called for The Mission.

A while back some nutters headed up the hill to go cycle in horizontal snow, quite unsuccessfully. Now that the mountains are rapidly reverting to being mainly brown, the same said nutters decided it was time to reinact the mission to Marmelejo. If you thrown enough criteria and anything you can make it unique, well Marmelejo is the most southerly + 6 000 m peak in the world. No, we didn't expect to summit, but it gave us an excuse to get out the city. Besides, apart from jocks on the outside, every mission needs a subject that justifies the rude awakening.

This time last year, my bike was pondering the meaning of life. Wednesday was its rite of passage to respect. It was swamped, iced and rocked by real mountains and lived to tell the tale. To tell the truth it didn't work so lekker by the end of it, but nothing that a good wash and plenty of lube can't cure. After a little TLC, it is shiny again (btw, according to Raul, shiny is a state of being rather than a reference to bling). Shiny!

We were rewarded by spectacular views, solitude and that 'I have been on a mission' worn out body feeling. Oh, we saw a Chilean mountain fox as well, it looks very much like a Tooting Broadway urban fox, except I think it has a cooler back garden. Ok enough chit chat...

On the way there...





















The iced part, power slides in a bicycle... cool!
















Time for lunch, Marmelejo in the background, this is at just over 3 000 m, halfway there ;)
















Marmelejo in the clouds...brrr

















Spot the fox (yes I know Spot is normally the dog, and the red ball is behind him)

An excellent way to break the week, and a fitting way to bid farewell to such awe inspiring mountains.

Wishing you mud...

Petrol head

As the title suggests today was car day. The annual auto show is in town and along with it are the occasional beautiful, and many hiddious, curves on show, that goes for the cars as well.

The Red Bull F1 team had a car here and tried, at the last minute, to organise a demonstration in the streets. The obvious choice, and their first thought was the Costenera Norte, the relatively new freeway with cool tunnels and a great surface, about the only road in Santiago guaranteed to not destroy the car. The authorities decided that this was a bum idea, as it would encourage all those neanderthals in their suped up Nissans to try go at 300 km/h down the freeway... So, a compromise was arranged to use a stretch of road between Parque Forestal and Rio Mapocho, between where the potholes stop and the bumps start.

The sound was magic and the smell tell-tale, but after pass number 3 it all came to an abrupt halt when said petrol head neanderthals decided that jumping the barrier and running after an F1 car was a good idea. I have yet to understand the human being and his desire to be so bloody stupid, needless to say that is most likely the first and last time that an F1 car will do its thing in Santiago, all three minutes of it - what a waste, of waterproof skin I mean.

It was pretty popular and everyone was out to take in the spectacle, good luck to those early enough to literally find a perch.

'The Track'. Photo courtesy of el Mercurio (www.emol.com)

The pretty Belles Artes gallery in the background. Photo courtesy of el Mercurio (www.emol.com)

Smokin'!. Photo courtesy of el Mercurio (www.emol.com)

So instead of running down the road like everyone else we decided to head down to the showground and check out some cars we might actually be able to afford..

wwwwhhhhhhh hhhhmmmm (how do you write a whimpering puppy sound???), enough said.

Not too schabby Nige! One of the prettier on show I think, the floor seemed quite white still, not sure if the fixed the oil leak, maybe they just drained the oil out.

Porsche seems to be quite a favourite in Chile, apparently good for doing figure eights and doughnuts. Somehow not quite a spectator sport... behind the wheel would be fun though! Glad I'm not paying for those tyres.

First in show: Alfa styling, Subaru engine and Hyundai promotion girls
Miss congeniality: SsangYong styling, Hyundai engine and neanderthal spectators

Wishing you a screeching F1 engine week.

Snow chasers

It must be true, the web page said so. A new dump down south at Chillan followed by two blue ski, wind free days. Not only great weather but also happened to coincide with that all too short a phenomenon, a weekend. Weekends must have been behind the door when god was handing out days... anyone could have seen that two just wouldn't be enough. Well, we had to make do, besides who could ignore the coming together of so many good omens.

After 5 hours of duelling on the pan american highway we arrived, late Friday, our lovely log cabin a few km's from the ski pistes of Chillan, stoked up the fire and got some z's.

Snow-forecast.com did not let us down, the day that followed was perfect.

The few km's from the wood cabin to the ski pistes. Chillan has a pretty different feel from other Chilean ski spots in that there are trees, well at least low down. Not that I know what an American or European piste looks like, but it kinda felt like one of those.

















Volcan Chillan, with it's two vents, the view from the top of the highest operating lift






















Criss crosses and sun haloes. The ride on an old 2 and a bit km long diesel engine powered lift... takes a while, not like you don't have beautiful scenery to keep you company though.

















mush mush... ok or just rest there if you prefer...






















The lift up through the woods, a common sight me seeing the backs of my ski buddies.










Ah to be in the Andes












Looking out towards the ocean, with the playground down below. Chillan is home to the longest southern hemisphere run of about 13 km, the legs can testify to that.










Looking up from the lunch spot, anitcuchos and wine, not too schabby.

The moral of the story when a weekend and weather get together, Go fo it! What a beautiful spot!