Robyn and Mark's road trip

The Blog Awards

2009-12-17T05:21:00.000-08:00

We're home again. Happily. We've reunited with family (see below) and started putting down roots (tentatively). Some pics of homecoming below, followed by The Blog Awards and some highlights.

Me with my mum, sister and her baby Abigail (7 months).

The Blog Awards (Thank you and Goodnight)

Most avid blog supporter: Jeff Brovet/ Delene Richards
Most avid blog commenter: Christine Terry
Most enthusiastic blog-writer-encourager: Nicci O'Keeffe
Most unexpected blog commenter: Duncan Smallbones/ Nickie Wallace
Most cheeky blog comments: Glen Tyler

Best meal: Salmon and moose in the Arctic (with Patrick and the Hickers)
Best view: North Slope, Alaskan Arctic (also Corcovado National Park, Costa Rica- 40 degrees 100% humidity and jungle to the horizon)
Most romantic place: Log cabin, Shenandoah (Virginia)
Scariest experience: Robyn- Bear Night, Arctic, Mark- Me, scared?
Most mileage travelled in one day: 800 miles
Worst experience: Hiking in dust storm, Grand Canyon (Robyn howling, Mark bewildered)
Best night out: New Orleans: Zydeco dancing and then dinner with Don and Jenny
Most fun experience: Riding tsunami from calving glacier in kayak on Prince William Sound, Alaska (again!)
Best musical moment: Preservation Hall, New Orleans (jazz maestros making music for your feet)
Worst campsite: Pecos, Texas (also Monument Valley and also......)
Best night's sleep: the next night at the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin, Texas
Worst injury: Robyn impaling herself on multiple tree spikes in bog in Costa Rica (followed by Mark chuckling while watching pulsation as spikes removed from artery)
Favourite supermarket: Trader Joe's ("I thought we were only going in for broccoli!")
Hottest night: La Leona, Corcovado National Park.
Coldest night: Robyn- Natchez Trace, Mississippi Mark- Me, cold?
Worst fight: New Jersey Turnpike (rush hour, Robyn driving, Mark thinking he should be driving)
Most confusing moment: Lost in New York City (part of above)
Friendliest stranger: Gene, Road Worker, Dalton Highway, Arctic
Most beautiful bird: Black throated trogon (also Scarlet Macaw and Long tailed Jaeger)

Stats
Distance covered: 24 000 km (15000 miles)
Budget daily: $70-80
Highest altitude: 12000 feet (Wheeler Peak walk, Taos, New Mexico)
Coldest temperature: -8 C, Vermont
Hottest temperature: Overcountable in Costa Rica

So, we're signing out. If you're interested in hearing about life in Cape Town, email us on: mark.richards111@gmail.com and robynltyler@gmail.com.

Byeeeeeee...

One last (icy) blast

2009-12-15T15:53:00.000-08:00

It would be out of keeping with our record thus far to make a quiet exit from this road trip of a lifetime. Think selling our car 2 days before our departure, driving a car into a snowy ditch, twizzling gracefully across a frozen pond in Central Park and one last hell-bent careen down a ski slope.

Abandoning our lovemobile in Anneke and David's driveway, we hopped on the downtown train to the city on Thursday night. Courtesy of our fairygodmother and father in Seattle, we spent the night in an eclectic loft apartment BnB in lower Manhattan. Oh, the lights! The lights! The Rockefeller Christmas tree. The freezing wind funneling through the skyscrapers. Muffled up to our eyeballs we roamed the streets and sought refuge in the alluring shops and eateries around Union Square. A memorable meal was consumed at Joe's Shanghai in Chinatown before skeetering back to Pleasantville.

The Leffels had dangled a huge carrot of a chance to ski one last time with them at a resort in Vermont, but we had to sell our car. Phone calls flew back and forth and we were awoken on Saturday morning by a Nigerian paediatrician at the door. The deal was sealed then and there and before you could say 'off-piste', we were gunning it up the Taconic Parkway to join the Leffels for a morning of skiing on Sunday.

It was all going swimmingly until we lept into David's car to drive back to Pleasantville. The one piece of advice any experienced snow-and-ice driver tells you is: don't use the brakes. This works until you have to avoid an oncoming car in your lane. Mark cleverly chose the fluffiest snow drift to drive into, so no damage was done, but the wheels were firmly cemented into the ditch. A cold three hours passed before the last party was back on the road heading South in snow, sleet, rain and black ice to do our final pack and say goodbye to Uncle Sam.

We are currently in a jet-lagged fug, but happy to be with Nicci and Lyons to gird our loins for the final leg to Cape Town.

We are considering setting up a support group for our readers after our next and final blog. Some of you might be wondering: what will we do while sipping our morning coffee? how will we fulfil our need for escapism now? how will we get that psychological boost we're used to from comparing our settled, safe lives with the madness and risk of robynandmarksroadtrip? While of course others will be thinking...uh, where did you guys go again? No travel souvenirs for you lot. In any event, in our last blog, we'll be giving back to you loyal readers. Expect: The Blog Awards.

R

Cape Cod

2009-12-09T18:22:00.000-08:00

Leaving Narnia we nudged our ever loyal Veedub towards the coast to see how the Pilgrim Fathers took to their new land. A sort of ending of the north-easternmost leg of our journey. This time, having had our vows put to the test on the New Jersey Turnpike, we were armed with that miracle of marital bliss- a satellite navigator run by the inimitable Carla, she of silky smooth voice with ne'er a flicker of emotional perturbation at a wanton right turn instead of straight (she only gets mildly excited when you arrive at your destination).

Through Boston and down into the Cape we ran, savouring these hours of freedom and our own company after the days of merry thronging with friends and family that have marked our last few weeks. We had hoped to camp somewhere, but it appears that not all of America shares our passion for stars and frozen noses. Thus it was that we wended our way to the Provincetown Inn, an old establishment, empty passages still echoing summer gaiety.

It was here in Provincetown that the first Pilgrims first made landfall opting to carry on sailing to Plymouth. The beaches are wind swept and wide. Eider ducks bob in the water and only the most solitary of walkers passes by. It was good to wander along the miles of seashore together, a happy mix of silence and easy conversation- remembering, looking ahead, dreaming.

It is altogether a piece of America that lives for summer's throng- children in the sand, men in boats and picnic baskets. Now it is cold with a watery sun and we tilted our way to New York, the beginning of the end.

Snow and sleigh bells

2009-12-06T19:50:00.000-08:00

Being in New England at this time of year feels a little like Narnia. For us, in our memories, it will always be winter, but never Christmas. Everything is moving inexorably towards December 25th with mistletoe, tinsel and even snow in tow. But alas, we'll be missing the main event.

We've beaten a hasty path North from Raleigh via Virginia (a romantic stop in a woodsy cabin with a jacuzzi bath in the bedroom - Mark's birthday treat) to New Hampshire where we're visiting our friend John Cristando at Dartmouth College. A learning environment second to none with - my favourite - a glittering Christmas tree in the middle of the Green. We've rubbed shoulders with bright, handsome MBA students in John's class and gawked at the fluffy white stuff like we haven't since seeing it adorn the slopes of Meribel, France, in January.

It is chilly, though, and our chances of one more night camping on the coast are looking slim. Unless we want to risk having a sheriff shining his flashlight into our van window in the dead of night on the side of a highway. All shall be revealed in a few days. After Cape Cod, we'll be heading back to Pleasantville, New York until we fly to London on the 15th, with a short excursion into The City on the 10th.

We have our seatbelts securely fastened for the transition to South Africa. Hopefully the turbulence will be light. Come on Lovemobile, you can do it! (Or rather, come on Craigslist, work your magic!)

R

DC dreaming

2009-12-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

“We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights.” American Constitution

Lovemobile in general anaesthesia, warm home with the Brovets in Raleigh, Robyn and I headed up to Washington DC in a normal automobile. Landing deep in the travail of Thanksgiving highway gridlock we got to the Mall late in the afternoon as dusk on a wintry day fell. Our walking route took in the milestones of this great human experiment that is the USA. Washington, Jefferson, FDR and Lincoln, silent in their stone memorials. Men who saw clearly and with tenacity and the power of the word, written and spoken, laid down some of the yardposts of this thing we call democracy. As Jeff Brovet noted after we recounted our afternoon on the Mall, “It makes you want to go off and start your own country”.

Next to the memorials of these figures, stand those more solemn and disquieting. Vietnam, Korea, World War II. Less easy to place amid the triumphs earlier in our perambulation. A reminder of the discord between gilded words and human proclivity. But perhaps also a call to return again and again to the task of nation building.

A new day and to the other end of the Mall to realise the childhood dream of visiting the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. Apollo, Voyager, Hubble, Saturn V, Orville and Wilbur, Lindbergh, Yeager, X-15 among the pantheon. And even deeper into the psyche of closet petrol-head, boy-racer, eternal kid- an IMAX of an F-15 jet pilot zooming around with his buddies over Nevada. Brilliant. Left alone by my spouse, I became even more primal, finding my way to the Geology section of the Natural History Museum where for a happy two hours I crept amidst the prizes of asteroids, mantle and tectonic.

And then to the holy of holies. As icy winds whipped across the Capitol, we came as disciples from across the globe to that most sacrosanct. For we waited our cold two hours to enter into the chamber of the US Supreme Court. Negotiating our way through body searches and metal detectors we came to look through the heavy red curtains into the room where two people argued their cases before the nine assembled judges of the Court. It is here that all of us came to see the daily reminder of the task never finished, yet so eagerly embarked upon by Messrs Jefferson et al. No great potentate. Only men and women arguing the cases for freedom and obligation.

Outside, the wind was still icy, but we made our return to Raleigh inspired by this wonderful, perplexing country. Awaiting us, birthday tuna and a happy two year old.

M

A Turkey Tale

2009-11-26T19:53:00.000-08:00

The warmth of the hearth, grandma's pie and an overwhelmingly large stuffed bird in the oven - no, we haven't time-warped 5 weeks ahead to Christmas, it's Thanksgiving: that most American of holidays.

We are hunkering down at our friends the Brovets in Raleigh, North Carolina. Our happily extended stay with them is due to the Lovemobile demanding some love (I mean, honestly!) in the form of a new cleavis. I know that sounds like a growth you might expect to find in a nasty place, but it's actually a part of a transmission. So we'll make a foray to DC to get our fix of Smithsonianism and then come back to Raleigh for a last soiree with the Brovets and pick up our spanking new cleavis and attendant Lovemobile.

Mark has refound his love of the kitchen and has baked scones and rusks and tonight is cooking the quail he shot in Beaufort. Yes, we entered the life of the landed gentry for a day. I even had a go at sporting clay shooting. I managed to hit a few flying clay frisbees, which was a miracle seeing as my eyes were closed for many shots as I was recovering from the kick of the shotgun.

Erin, Jeff, Bongi and Ava have been facilitating our relaxation and recuperation of body and mind (this is becoming a theme on the East Coast) in the form of lots of good eating and drinking, a brand new uber guest bed and daily walks around the neighbourhood or local Shelly Lake. We have loved sharing family and extended-family time with the Brovets. Today Erin treated me to a true shopping spree to make sure I'm ready to hit 5th Avenue and the Kings Road in an upcoming episode of 'The Road Trip goes Upscale'.

R

Y'all come back now!

2009-11-22T18:52:00.000-08:00

'I am following the river, down the highway to the cradle of the Civil War' (Paul Simon)

We're hunting down the elusive SOUTH. Everybody tells you, 'over in Alabama/South Carolina/Georgia - that's the real South. Now, you're not gonna taste grits like you'll have them in North Carolina/Mississippi.' Every town seems to have some claim to a conclusive battle in the Civil War. Certainly every state has a few claims on literary or musical greats. So we're still hunting.

Admittedly, our main concern these days is mileage and hence we've sacrificed dalliances into history. From New Orleans we raced up the Natchez Trace parkway through Mississippi and Alabama to Tennessee and now we've wound our way through Georgia to Beaufort, South Carolina. A key feature of our roadtrip at the moment is catching up with old friends. In Sewanee, Tennessee, we stayed the night with my friend Cari who was a camp counsellor with me when I was 18. In Beaufort we are hosted by the Burtons. Paul and Mark grew up barefoot and carefree in Ladysmith together in the '70s.

This part of the world is dead beautiful. It is the opening shots of 'Prince of Tides' - indeed Pat Conroy is a veritable neighbour of the Burtons. The abundant water teems with scaly, shelly, befeelered things, which are all good eatin' - all excepting the 'gators which stop you being lulled into a false sense of paradise.

Winter is extending its tentacles, even in the balmy South, and we feel like we've turned towards home. And what a good feeling that is, despite the delights that still await us.

R

Music is the language of us all (Cat Empire)

2009-11-18T11:06:00.000-08:00

Emerging from the bayous of southern Louisiana a gearbox fixed with a spitball and something from the garbage, we were back on the road to our rendezvous with our friends Don and Jenny Broyles. They had once again arranged to lavish kindness on us with a stay with them in a grand old New Orleans hotel, replete with rooftop pool and PB&J sandwiches and milk at 10pm every night in the lobby.

New Orleans is like no other city we have experienced in the US. Bawdy, brazen and boozy. Dark alleys and Katrina's shadow only a part of a much longer shadow of travail. But somehow through these dark mills has sprung the defiant note of trumpet, trombone and ivory'd key. We have been privy to the clarion call of New Orleans' silky wee hours magic, sitting next to foot tappers from across the globe, revelling in husky crooners and the charms of ancient men behind drums, keys and reed. It is common knowledge here that one day ole Mistah St. Peter will revise his instrument of choice and welcome the glad throng of happy Saints marching in.

And then the food- gumbo, jambalaya, green tomatoes, shrimp, crawdad, crab and catfish po'boy fighting for the attention of my coronaries. Mere flailing on the hotel's treadmill in the gym upstairs to fight off slavery's most subtle revenge. Our trip also included a visit to a Creole sugar cane plantation, which not free from the 3 AM ring of the slave bell, was refreshingly different to the grand visions of the white columned facade of the English American plantation homes. Bright colours and a dark matriarch yelling at the Union battleship that cruised up the Mississippi lobbing shells at all the riverside mansions, "We fought with you against the English!". And a swamp cruise with a skipper who called gators out of the ooze like his children. And an evening of Zydeco dancing, merry men drawing us into the throng of Arcadian ritual and fun.

We eked out our last hours at the Preservation Hall, a humble room of only a few benches and standing room with walls carrying the rubbings of countless pilgrims to this shrine of syncopation and souls that soar.

Bayous, belles and biscuits

2009-11-13T16:48:00.000-08:00

Writing this post from our hotel room in Le Pavillon on Poydras Street in New Orleans, it seems unbelievable that the world of Acadia (that's the Cajun world) is just a swamp or two away. We wound our way east from Houston through Southwest Louisiana to get to the Big Easy and passed through at least three different cultural enclaves along the way.

Louisiana has the headiest mix of cultural influences I've come across in any state so far. Africans from Senegal, French-Canadian refugees, Spanish, Native American (by name only, it's hard to feel the presence of the indigenous people here) and a myriad others have sparked each other off to fuel greater and more wild culinary and musical fires than could be expected in such a saturated place.

On Wednesday we ate corn dogs, fried chicken and fried catfish. We listened to Cajun music in a restaurant and camped in a state park between a levee and a swamp. For our next blog, we may have to provide a glossary of terms. I'm struggling with the lingo almost as much as I struggled to decipher Costa Rican Spanish.

We had a first minor calamity with our beloved lovemobile which was quickly remedied by some excellent mechanics at 'Cajun Transmissions'. We lost a vital piece of rubber from our transmission on a dirt road and cruised around in 3rd and 4th for a good few miles before it got replaced. But we're back in the saddle again and hoping for a trouble-free passage to the Big Apple.

We're lapping up everything New Orleansian and thoroughly enjoying the company of Don and Jenny.

R

Bumpy Rides

2009-11-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

We’ve stowed our lovemobile and thrown ourselves upon the vagaries of public and self-powered transport while in Costa Rica. It has been an interesting change.

Our long distance bus rides from San Jose to Corcovado and back again and down to the Southern Caribbean coast have been painfully slow, but not bland. Indeed, food appears whenever the hunger pangs start to bite: on the bus in the form of oily pieces of dough handed out by migrant vendors or at wayside cafeterias set up for the purpose, serving chicken and rice – none of your Big Macs and Coke. On one trip we were entertained by a band of boy and girl scouts headed to a jamboree, toting flags and singing the Spanish equivalent of ‘Bobbejaan klim die berg, so hastig en so lastig…’

When things get really jungly, roads get really bad. To get into Corcovado National Park we jumped on a 4WD ‘collectivo’ and bounced around like so many sheep on their way to market. The road is 40km long, the trip takes 2 ½ hours.

Here in Manzanillo on the Caribbean coast we have had the pleasure of two-wheeled transport. Although ‘pleasure’ may be overstating it, as deciding whether to try to dodge potholes in the pitch dark or just go hell-for-leather and hope to skim over the top of them can be trying. But making the trip by full moon to eat at a bamboo-roofed Argentinian restaurant with four romantic tables open to the jungle was definitely worth it.

On Saturday we head north up to Volcan Arenal to, hopefully, catch a glimpse of some real, live lava. That's if we don't get carried away by one or other stinging, biting thing before then...

R

Living is a Miracle

2009-11-06T11:12:00.000-08:00

Barbara Kingsolver can write a person’s socks off. Perhaps a case of judging a book by its cover but one of her books, a collection of essays, has for its cover a pair of scarlet macaws flying across rainforest in Costa Rica. The text and the cover thus burned themselves into my hippocampus, biding time till present fruition.

I am sitting on our viewing deck, a warm rain dripping through the canopy high above me. Around our cottage are numerous hibisci and other flowering bushes, each it seems with its own resident hummingbird. I have seen four different species here. They are constantly engaged in high speed aerial combat fending off interlopers bent and on nectar and wife thievery. Then it is to their own tended flowers that they return, wings a blur with beak gently probing the flowers, David Attenborough all the while lending commentary. Out of sight amongst the tree tops, howler monkeys are are calling across the forest. The noise can be arresting, sounding more like a tyrannosaurus than a primate.

Nights are warm and buggy. Days mostly cloudy with long rainy hours in the evening. The daily cycle of returning water to a sodden earth. The sun when it appears is bright and very hot. The ocean clear and hilariously warm. The undergrowth, rank and ever decaying, as though life and return are in some great struggle. Nature’s red tooth and claw are evident to match each wild iridescence.

This is a generative world though, and as I sit up here it is as good as walking on water.

Costa Rica con pictures!

2009-11-02T13:58:00.000-08:00

Hot chick (literally - see that 'glow' on my arms) in the jungle (Corcovado).

Beach on the Pacific (West) coast.

Bolita hostel, border of Corcovado National Park, Osa Peninsula.

Costa Rica sans pictures

2009-10-31T22:11:00.000-07:00

I can see our popularity ratings are going to take a plunge since we left our camera cable in our Eurovan in Houston. You'll just have to believe without seeing for now.

We are bringing our body temperatures down in the air-conditioned internet cafe in Puerto Jiminez after three nights in the jungle. This particular jungle ("the most biologically diverse place on earth" - National Geographic) resides on the Osa Peninsula in the south-western corner of Costa Rica. It teems with wildlife. I mean, it feels like you're wandering around in zoo; they're that easy to spot. Only they're all real, wild, free-range beasts of the forest.

We faced a set-back on arriving in Puerto Jiminez - the departure point for Corcovado National Park. The main station in the park is closed for October. And on a two-week schedule, we didn't have time to hang around. So we had to put our plans to trek across the park on ice and make others. We camped for two nights on the park's boundary hiked a day hike into the park. We saw toucans, scarlet macaws, black birds with red heads that even Mark didn't know the names of. We saw raccoon-like cuartis, spider monkeys and an anteater. Our eyes were on stalks. We returned to our camp with serious dehydration headaches, even though we drank water all day. You just pour sweat in the jungle. Well, Mark pours sweat, I pour 'glow', of course.

Last night we spent a deux in a remote 'hostel' (sleeping platform) in the jungle. I woke Mark up to check he wasn't being eaten by a fer de lance - one of the world's deadliest snakes - but other than that it was a beautifully peaceful night. We were woken up by howler monkeys this morning and ate papaya and bananas for breakfast.

Gotta go as we're due for dinner with two Dutch travellers we've met. Off to the Caribbean tomorrow.

R

Texas and spare thoughts

2009-10-31T17:15:00.000-07:00

Of all the state caricatures that filled my mind,
perhaps the best defined was that of Texas.
Wide, brash, big hair, chiselled cowboy under a stetson, oil. Also that big belt buckle. So with some eager anticipation we floated down from our happy farm in New Mexico into west Texas, replete with cacti and prongorn antelope plodding along in a far away haze. Evening caught us in the fading light of Pecos where home was the wasteland on an RV park next to a big interstate. No matter as we travelled into our 16 wheeler dreams with plates of wonderful Mexican food in our bellies.

The following day's travels took us through a vast plane populated with oil pump jacks and tired old towns worthy of many a photographic anthology. Sky everwhere with a mere bump of hill many wagon days trail away. Those were my thoughts as I imagined myself on my steed wondering what I would have been thinking of were I that chiselled cowboy with my red bandana. I would certainly have noticed the road runner that scuttled across our car's path.

Then as though slipping through a door we emerged into the green and sea gifted breezes of Austin. And to see the shiny face of one Don Broyles who like a Scarlet Pimpernel dropped out of the sky to spend a wonderful 24 hours with us. Austin is an enticing city- lithe river runners, Dell, a university, green, vast clouds of bats, music and good food. But perhaps just the happy cloud of seeing Don again....drinking a beer and listening to great live music.

Onto Houston where we met the city on steroids (via 2 south africans and one bemused american eating a McDonalds (block your ears Tylers) meal on the lawn outside of said emporium). Vast with now what feels like terrifyingly highway driving. But from the hospitality of Don we drifted into the happy home of Cyndy and Howard (parents of an Alaskan friend) for more Mexican, great ice cream and a late night of packing before the adventure of Costa Rica.

-M

Eclectica

2009-10-23T22:12:00.000-07:00

After spending the morning in Santa Fe in a coffee shop with wireless, we encountered this beetle. I snapped these shots quickly and then voiced my appreciation to the owner. I said, “Hey, we should admit to this stuff more often.” A passing gent who saw me get the picture said, “if only it was that easy to carry around”.

R

Dragonfly and Infinity Farms, New Mexico

2009-10-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

We’ve been living off the earth and learning what it means to farm organic vegetables in this corner of New Mexico. It means a passion for growing things. It means knowing whether a lonesome cloud in the sky signals a thunderstorm with hail or just an aesthetic change. It means living enmeshed in the local environment. Both partners, Sheilah and Armand, moved to Ribera from the North East to join a neighbourhood of mostly white and some hispanic people living in their valley. The biggest annoyance in their lives at the moment is a landowner who has won the right to close part of the county road for his private use. This road is used by the public and they are outraged. It is a convoluted issue involving a local bully, nepotism and racism. We’ve had a good dose of local politics with our dinner on a few occasions. Along with a good dose of good ‘ole laffs.

I am really enjoying this experience. I love the naturalness of a daily routine which has in-built exercise and a good cycle of a big appetite and satisfying meals. The work is physically challenging and at times mentally too. I’ve used a power drill for three different tasks on three different settings – a first. It is fun to look up from your work to see a bird swooping low over the trees in the golden light of late afternoon. There are bugs in the earth and plants of every colour in the rainbow. The earth is dry as bones without irrigation and thorns and burrs proliferate. Sheilah and Armand grow nine varieties of tomato: big beef, yellow taxi, newgirls, Japanese blacks, orange blossoms, green zebra, amana oranges, German striped, Cherokee purple. Most of these are heirloom varieties. These are carted off to three different markets every week, accompanied by many other vegetables in Armand’s zebra striped van. When the supply outweighs demand, they bottle ‘summer sauce’. We had a very rainy day yesterday and helped with cooking and bottling the tomatoes.

Our week has ended with eight vegetable beds picked, weeded, turned over and stripped of irrigation tape and two new greenhouses erected. We’ve worked the ground when it was hard as a rock and, after the storm, as muddy as the Somme. We’ve been to market and to the river. We’ve met Spanish-speaking neighbours and Italian-Americans from Massachusetts. We’ve shared life with good people and we are bigger for it.

Now for Costa Rica – via South New Mexico and Houston, Texas. We return to Houston on 9th November.

R

Georgia O'Keeffe and the Light

2009-10-19T07:41:00.000-07:00

Not that I had the guts to sit out "No Country for Old Men", but there a shots of landscape in that film where you can feel the wind blowing and each sage bush stands clear and the sky removes you from your seat. That is how the landscape sits here. Light everywhere and the beginning and end of days are well marked.In the valley the cottonwoods cut a swathe of yellow while the mesas are dotted with juniper and low pine.

On our way into Taos last week the day was empty and the desert was blue and grey and wind heaved our car. Ghostly earthships emerged out of the plain, wind turbines spinning, windows and solar panes worshipping the sun's southerly
travels. Nights are crisp with each passing bringing Orion higher above our heads and the Big Dipper lower in the heavens. Days herald clear with solitary clouds threading their way above the mesas, suddenly find their way into UFO shapes for which Roswell and Area 51 lay dubious claim. So true are the days that Georgia O'Keeffe could scarce staunch the flow of paint in attempting to call the hours of each day. It was a happy few hours we spent wandering about the Santa Fe gallery of her work, looking at her vivid reds and raucous florals.She moved here from New York, tired of too much green and work needing fresh impetus, spending her last 50 years here, inspiring a legion of artists looking for their muses amdist the mesas.

It is good to be here. We have stopped on a farm about
an hour's drive from Santa Fe. We are workers. We till, hoe,
pluck, fold pipes, build greenhouses and also wander around in circles. We generally delight in the ordered bliss of a shower and an oven that bakes bread and a cat brushing up against your leg. (Last night an owl took an interest in one of the farm's cats and then sat defiantly on the fence as one of us moved closer, before floating off into the dusk). And of course we listen and watch the fields as the sun ends a working day.

Culinary and cultural delights in New Mexico

2009-10-15T09:33:00.000-07:00

From Moab we began to inch East via Mesa Verde National Park and into New Mexico. We have stayed in Taos and now Santa Fe and tomorrow we will begin our week-long volunteer stint on an organic farm in Ribera, just south of Santa Fe.

New Mexico is a whole different world. It was always an enigma to me when I pondered the map of the States. Just what will one find in New Mexico? I wondered. More malls and highways? Cacti and cowboys? Injuns? It turns out that New Mexico has specialised in turf wars and art since the 1600s. The indigenous Pueblo people have suffered similarly to the aboriginal people of Australia - forced off their land, made to live in reservations with their enemies the Navajo and Apaches, sent to mission schools at the age of three to have their culture beaten out of them (literally). However, they are a proud people and their leaders are constantly trying to forge a workable identity and place for them in the post-modern world. The Hispanic people have found themselves in turn citizens of Mexico and the United States depending on which treaty has been most recently signed. New Mexico became the 47th state in 1912 after a good few years of the federal government humming and haing over whether to admit such a 'Mexican' and poor territory.

Nowadays, it is a haven for mainstream dropouts and greenies. It has a distinctly Mexican feel, but don't ever call the natives Mexicans. One finds it hard to untangle the knot of European, Pueblo and Hispanic cultures. This is a good thing, no? In Taos and Santa Fe you can't walk down a street without passing at least four art galleries. It is vibrant, colourful stuff and expresses the tangled knot in a fascinating way. I still find the ubiquitous cheeky skeleton depictions baffling, but apparently they relate to the Mexican festival, The Day of the Dead.

The cuisine is similar to Mexican, but without the heat that you might expect. Don't get me wrong, the chile is excellent, just not very hot. We have partaken of blue corn enchiladas, burritos, chimichangas and nachos. Think lots of cheese, beans and chile sauce. Orlando's restaurant in Taos (featured in video) was where we supped on two evenings. It is so popular that on any given evening you can find ten or more people sitting around a fire in the courtyard sipping Marguaritas. We were happy to oblige and met some more interesting people in the process.

The pics represent the attractive adobe architecture which is standard, a typical Catholic church and, of course, a Marguarita made with REAL lime juice.

R

Two Moabites on bikes

2009-10-09T08:58:00.000-07:00

"In this active and outdoorsy town with legendary slickrock mountains, it seems as though every pedestrian clutches a Nalgene water bottle and every car totes a few dusty mountain bikes. Moab bills itself as Utah’s recreation capital, and it delivers." (Lonely Planet)

"Believe the hype: Moab has phenomenal singletrack, challenging slickrock, and some of the most spectacular vistas on the planet." (National Geographic Atlas)

We are reticent to believe the hype, even when it’s in the reputable Lonely Planet and even more reputable National Geographic. But in this case, we couldn’t agree more. Moab has scenery that reminds us of the Augrabies area in the Northern Cape. Massive sandstone rocks sprawling as far as the eye can see. We camped in Arches National Park and marvelled at the sandstone bulging out of the ground and forming 2300 named rock arches. When the wind finally died down, the sunset-viewing rivalled Clifton 4.

Slickrock is the local name for large areas of smooth rock with no vegetation growing on it. Ideal mountain biking surface for those in the know. We weren’t in the know, but were game to give it a try anyway. We got jolted, shaken, stirred, bumped, jarred and generally beaten-about for three hours on the single-track trails on the slickrock just outside of town. We limped back into ‘Poison Spider Bicycles’ to return our 2010-model fancy bikes only to hear that we’d done the kindergarten route and there were three more levels of difficulty beyond our small adventure. Pish, we say. Adventure is in the eyes (and joints and muscles) of the adventurers.

More Rocks and Flagstaff, Arizona

2009-10-08T15:13:00.000-07:00

Beaten but not broken, our merry wagon found it's way across a dream desert of colours, bright sun and Navajo horses in the scrubland. Crossing the Colorado River we made our way over the San Francisco volcnanic field to the town of Flagstaff, our oasis in the desert for a few days. I think we both craved the press of people, the lure of well made food and perhaps, as I found, the simple stimulation of walking into a large clean supermarket with its array of sensory delights. Checked into the Le Beau Motel next to the old Route 66 and now on the doorstep of one of the busiest fright train lines in the US. Oh yes brothers and sisters, all night that most evocative of sounds, a freight train giving it horns at all hours of the night at the crossings nary a hundred yards away. If not for them, then it was the bed bugs ("Have you been travelling in South America?"-proprietor before apologetically offering full refund) on walk-about in our bed.

But there was beer and mounds of delicious fries and sushi and coffee and lovely fried rice and...and... Second night in bona fide motel replete with deep ochre coloured walls and black bedclothes. Just couldn't shake that naughty feeling. Movie for Robyn- smiles all round.

Via a recently blown volcano we made our way to Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park where all the scenes from a dozen Westerns met us. The visit to the Navajo tribe run park sparked an animated discussion about the contrast between what I perceived to be a thinly veiled commercial racket and what may be my sniffy ideas about how a stunningly beautiful piece of natural earthscape should be looked after. Banks of tour buses with their passengers herded into flying guided tours about the park. No one was spared- agents stalk the parking lot and dream catchers spin their charms. My own tribes legacy perhaps even here.

We wended our way around the 17 mile loop amidst dusk lined great totemic pieces of rock with the most improbably balanced slabs of rock. The light was delicate, the breeze blowing and as the crowds and mad tours filtered away, ethereal set in and the moon found its home in a silver bedecked land.

That gentle breeze turned into a typhoon and by the witching hours, what had been a grim hanging on turned into a rout as we bundled our tent and made for our wagon. Out on that patch of dirt, as the wind howled and dust filled our airways, I harbored my first ignoble envious thought about those merry people in their fine RV's alongside. Brief, but true.

The Worst Hike Ever

2009-10-02T09:58:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought you were going to gag on all our effusivity (?), I thought you needed to know that things are not always rosey on a dream road trip.

After departing Zion with one pair of aching, unwalkable feet (RLT), we thoroughly enjoyed sitting in a car for 4 hours travelling to the Grand Canyon. Mark was then "led tenderly by the nose as asses are" (Willem Wikkelspies, 1594) with his eyes shut to the edge of the abyss. It was a treat to see his countenance on opening his eyes to behold what is one of the most awesome views on earth.

I can hear you're about to gag again, so let me hurry on to misery...

We spent the night camped by the side of the road as the National Parks campsite was full. Fresh and bright in the morning we presented ourselves to the backcountry desk to apply for a permit to hike a modest 5 miles to a remote place on the canyon rim to spend the night away from the crowds. All gung-ho and intrepid we set out at 3pm from where we'd parked our car in the spot that we guessed was the trailhead. This is a little-used path recommended because no-one else would be there. Oh we do love getting away from it all! Little did we know that no-one else had been there for about 5 years. The path was overgrown, a cold front was blowing in and picking up all sorts of millenia-old dust and throwing it in our faces, my feet were still killing me despite trying to be brave and all we saw for 3 hours was ponderosa pine trees as far as the eye could see.

When it was nearly dark, with one member of the party threatening mutiny and marital disharmony (ahem), we stumbled upon the canyon rim. We knew we weren't in the right spot as the view was not breathtaking as promised, that prerogative was left to the dust. Mark manfully set up the tent andI applied my mind to pasta and sauce to keep mutinous thoughts at bay.

The wind howled all night. I got a good chunk of my book read. Mark slept peacefully and awoke to remark on how much sand there was in the tent and then bounded out to look at the sunrise. He also, manfully again, offered to fetch the car. We hiked down and up a gulch to the road where I waited while Mark walked the 13 kms back to the car.

We have sinced been recovering in Flagstaff which has been thoroughly pleasant. We have eaten sushi, drunk micro-brewery beer, watched a movie (R), shopped, showered twice a day and slept in a bed. Ah, modern conveniences.

Vague itinerary from here is back up to Utah and then into New Mexico where we are volunteering on an organic farm for a week from 15-22 October.

R

The Rocks

2009-09-28T00:37:00.000-07:00

We have been venturing through a land of rocks and mostly thirst. The first cacti show their thorns and lizards scuttle in the sun. Yesterday and for the last few zillion years water and wind have been plying their slow arts to this corner of humungus Utah. From the salty flats around Salt Lake City to the granite and sandstone of Bryce and Zion Canyons we have once again offered our camera in awed appreciation. The days are hot and the nights cool with bright sun and stars crisp.

Bryce has the "hoodoos", all manner erosion stacks tanding in multi-coloured regiments,
their hues shifting with the hours. We had a splendid day of
clambouring around in the dust and columns, surrounded by any number of tourists, most of whom carried that glassy-eyed visually gob-smacked look.

From spectacle to splendour a mere few hours drive away in the shape of Zion Canyon, surely one of the world's most spectacular rock formations. At least in the hands of climbers who come here to bask in the towering faces of red rock. The Virgin River cuts its way from a high plateau through the hard Kayenta formation and through to the Navajo
Sandstone where the underbelly of long ago opens the canyon up to the flats below. Yesterday was a day of fording the Narrows from its source above for 25 km through a narrow canyon, filled with icy water and dappled light from on high. Our takkies (trainers) offered yeoman service, our feet burning last night from the re-perfusion of too long in icy submersion. But one of the most exhilarating days of walking in my life- dimensions stretched, senses revised, legs used, eyes glassy and tired 2 minute noodles the food of the gods.

All-American Folks

2009-09-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

Our count of friendly Americans increases each day. As we've trickled down into the more populated parts of the States, we've engaged with our camping neighbours more meaningfully. The result of this is that we met Dan in Grand Tetons, Dennis and Karen in Bryce Canyon National Park and Lawrence in Zion National Park.

Dan is a banker from Ann Arbor, Michigan, who is doing an open-ended road trip and camping for the first time. We met him at our campsite in Jenny Lake in the Grand Tetons and persuaded him to endure the 20-mile long loop up Cascade Canyon and down Paintbrush Canyon via Solitude Lake.

Dennis is from Colorado and Karen from South Africa (one of only three Saffers we've met so far). They have been on the road in their RV for over a year with no sign of stopping. They are travelling with two cats aged 14 and 17. We shared a bottle of vintage white (theirs) and freshly baked breakfast muffins - never be too disparaging of RVs when you're offered hot muffins from the oven.

Lawrence is originally from Raleigh, North Carolina (where we will be for Thanksgiving with our friends Erin and Jeff) and now lives in Seattle. He works as an equipment tester for our favourite US store, REI. Recreational Equipment Incorporated beats the pants off Cape Union Mart. We met Lawrence in the queue for a campsite here at Zion. He'd been backpacking (overnight hiking) for four days and was in need of some real food. He shared our chicken stir-fry and bestowed gifts of his test equipment on us. We now own a set of hiking poles, a topographical map of Zion, a magnesium, no-matches fire-lighter and, my favourite, a jetboil. Ooh, toys! South Africans, prepare to be awed by our style on the next hike up Table Mountain.

Road Trip by Numbers

2009-09-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

Well, folks, we've just left the heights and the bears of the Rockies behind and hit the dust and the heat of Utah. Coming to you live from Salt Lake City is our Road Trip by Numbers...

number of Vienna sausage dogs rescued from car wrecks and drunken owners in Alaska = 1 (both sausage dog and owner were in better shape than they should have been)

number of people giving Mark the bird for driving at the speed limit in national parks = 2

number of 30+km day-hikes completed with which Mark hopes to instill a love of hiking in his wife... with = 3

number of nights slept in our tent = 26

number of nights slept in a bed = 25

number of nights slept in lovemobile = 4

number of grizzly bear sightings = 11

number of black bear sightings = 5

number of possessions assumed lost and returned/recovered the next day = 3 (1 wedding ring, 1 folding table, 1 butter pat - stories on request)

number of miles driven = 7214

number of types of precipitation hiked in = 4 (rain, snow, hail and sleet)

number of friendly border officials = 6

number of unfriendly border officials = 1

number of feet of highest point hiked to = 10700

number of books read between us = 8

number of mice stowaways in lovemobile (eating our food)=1

number of friendly Americans= many

Yellowstone

2009-09-20T11:53:00.000-07:00

Arriving washed out by endless miles of Montana and roadworks, accompanied by dark thunder clouds, we sidled up to our drenched campsite. A new day brought a happy throng of RVs and geysers cheek-by-jowl. Dennis from Ohio plied his charms with Robyn and Marge from Missouri alighted from out of her terrestrial ship, squeezing all manner of earth's wonders through her lense. Today the sun shone on all of us. That is through billowing clouds of steam, walls of sulphur and across resplendent ponds of thermophillic bacteria adding their colour to the cauldrons of the deep.

Old Faithful beats to a temperamental clock - a futile sprint across the wasteland offering no horological reward. But dusk brought unexpected eruptions and high above Old Faithful's realm, we watched the sunset through smokestacks of vapour. Remote from the tailend of a season that saw 3 million wander wide-eyed across the roiling plain.

Rocky Mountain swimming

2009-09-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

‘You never regret a swim.’ This Mark Richards proverb has been proved time and again on our journey through the Rockies. Two particularly memorable ones will now be expounded upon.

We left Edmonton on a scorcher of a day with a rather wobbly start for our car (turned out to be dodgy fuel we were sold which had been watered down). But the Canadian Rockies embraced us with their munificence and coolth and we were soon oggling glaciers again and feeling quite at home. We camped that night in the wooded Icefields campsite of Jasper National Park. There was not much rest for the wicked, as our true destination was Yellowstone, 1000 miles or so away. Lunch that day was in Banff National Park on the shores of Bow Lake. It was a blue-bird day – to borrow a term from the Alaskans. The sunniest day you can imagine bestowed happiness as we skirted round the edge of the turqoise glacial lake and found our lunch spot. I had been resisting the urge to leap into the azure waters since we began our walk and now submerged myself with relish. We both shot out without our usual fulfilment of 3 submersions. Man, glaciers can leak frigid waters. The sidelong glance of a nearby fisherman expressed our hunch that we should have realised that.

The second thrilling swim occurred the next day after we’d camped just outside Banff National Park and partaken of Tim Horton’s doughnuts for breakfast again. It was another gorgeous day and we were driving around Flathead Lake, Montana. As we entered the town of Lakeside, I spotted a pretty jetty and bouys demarcating a swimming area. And…there was no-one there. The thrill of knowing that it is Monday morning and you’re the only couple of loafers lucky enough to be off school or work at 10:30 in the morning with a sparkling lake stretching out to a far shore in front of you is exquisite. It took a fair amount of cavorting about to convince my other half to come and join me without fear of frostbite.

The swimming has continued to be glorious as the following Yellowstone blog will reveal.

Alaskans

2009-09-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

"Congress passed a law that no mosquitoes could enter McKinley National Park." (Old Sourdough, 1931)

Watching a great tide of resistance to Barack Obama's attempts at healthcare reforms typifies so much of the spirit of the American psyche and nowhere is this more evident in that vast piece of the earth called Alaska, home to the ancestors of some of the most resilient and independently-minded people of this planet - and not least entrepreneurial if only for titbits of gold and reservoirs of oil. The spirit of a hundred thousand sourdoughs remains.

It calls forth today any number of camouflaged yahoos on ATVs whooping it up with their guns in the middle of the night (Knik River camping) to hardy folk plying lives in the teeth of frigid winters and mosquito borne summers. Nature in its extremes is unavoidable. It is fed on, played in, marvelled at, cowered before and lived in in a way that most of us are at far remove from. Swimming against the stream verges on obligation. Not so strange that Sarah Palin crept out of this woodwork to most Alaskans shame. But amongst them are people passionate about preserving a piece of glorious planet and living as far away from Washington while they're at it.

"There is one word of advice and caution to be given those intending to visit Alaska for pleasure. If you are old, go by all means. But if you are young, wait. The scenery of Alaska is much grander than anything else of the kind in the world and it is not well to dull one's capacity for enjoyment by seeing the finest first." (National Geographic Society President Henry Gannett, Member of the 1899 Harriman Expedition to Alaska)

M

Clean living and chipped teeth in Edmonton

2009-09-18T09:51:00.000-07:00

By the time we finally arrived in Edmonton, having circumnavigated the city due to highways in North America being named with multiple names to confuse the foreigners, we were rank. Wet, smelly in body and clothing (especially shoes) and DIRTY. But this did not deter our relatives who welcomed us and our laundry with open arms at 11pm. South Africans, remember that legendary Skip soap-powder ad where the youthful son arrives home from jolling overseas and his mom says, ‘You know we thought that bulging back-pack was full of presents, but it was jam-packed with dirty laundry!’ and then holds the Skip box up to the camera with a plastic smile? We were that prodigal son and the Nunes were the present-less family.

The next four days consisted of laundry, catch-up time with the Nunes, sitting in the sun (ooh those Arctic-frozen bones were happy), more laundry, partaking of the conveniences of modern Western life (such as all-you-can-soak-up hot water streaming out of a metal pipe), even more laundry and Mark getting another tooth fixed. Yip, another one. We’re wondering if our travel insurance will cover 2 dental emergencies in 3 weeks. The man showed characteristic fortitude and endured his 3-hour wait with the ‘people’ at the city hospital with good grace. He then showed characteristic delight at a good deal when reporting that this tooth repair cost a third of the Fairbanks one. One for state-subsidised health care. This episode delayed our departure for Jasper National Park by a day, but this proved a fortuitous eventuality as we sneaked a family Saturday morning with more juicy bites and chin-wagging with Jen, Abs, Michael and Timothy.

South to Edmonton

2009-09-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

The love-affair with Alaska had to come to an end. We bid farewell to Patrick in the early morning light at our road-side campsite just outside of Anchorage and began a four-day trek to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. We drove for 3 solid days and spent one day languishing in the hot springs and the rain at Liard. The 7th of September went by in a blur of one driving, one sleeping. We were revving our motor at the gates of the campground at Liard Hot Springs at 5:15am and we pulled sluggishly into the Nunes' driveway in Edmonton at 10:45pm. Granted, we lost an hour due to the time-zones, but it was still the mother of all drives. It's like driving from Cape Town to Joburg and then turning around immediately and driving back and then turning around immediately and driving back to Beaufort West. Aish.

The highlights along the way included whizzing past a doleful bison plodding along the highway, buying doughnuts from Tim Hortons (Mark's been fantasising about Hortons for most of our trip so far) and these cinnamon buns.

The Nunes (Mark's cousin Jen and family) have received us warmly (20 degrees C today) and cleanly (4 loads of washing done in one day!) and we've been enjoying a good catch up.

Onward to the Ice Highway of the Rockies and then back into the States for Yellowstone.

All things bright and beautiful

2009-09-11T16:05:00.000-07:00

Alaska, the Last Frontier, is crawling, buzzing and flapping with all sorts of amazing beasts. You never can tell what's around the next corner. After a short nap (no comment, Mark) on our trip from the Arctic back to Fairbanks, I woke up and cried, 'Hey look at that donkey on the side of the road!'. Familiar with my semi-comatose state on awakening and the strong possibility that this was a hallucination, Mark cast his eye lazily towards the hard shoulder. 'That's not a donkey. That's a female moose!' And sure as eggs, on making an about turn, I verified that it was indeed that morose-looking creature, which despite its bulk, was vanishing into the suburban forest on the outskirts of Fairbanks.

While on the Discovery, we were amazed to learn that Prince William Sound's temperate rainforest has a greater diversity of wildlife than its tropical counterparts. See pictured some Alaskan critters that we've ticked off our list: moose, brown bear(grizzly), black bear (pic courtesy of Patrick, see http://www.alaskaphotographics.com/ for more of his wonders), Pink salmon and Dall porpoises. And not pictured are bald eagles, a long-tailed jaeger, Dall sheep, sea otters, caribou, humpback whales, Silver salmon, trumpeter swans.

Holy Cow! Calving glaciers and their icebergs

2009-09-08T13:31:00.000-07:00

Probably the most awe-inspiring element of Prince William Sound for me (and this is a hard decision to come to given the competition) was watching glaciers calve into the sea. These monsters shave off at the end of their journeys leaving behind bobbing icebergs of differing sizes.

I had an exciting linguistic moment - bear with me here - when experiencing calving glaciers. I rushed to tell my fellow passengers that the glacier was calving. 'Carving?' came the response. 'No CAHVING' I said, yankeefying my accent to be understood. It makes much more sense to differentiate between 'calving' and 'carving' when pronouncing the words. I mean, why is that 'r' there otherwise?

We were privileged enough to kayak amongst the icebergs and, on the last day, get a little bit closer...

Prince William Sound on board Discovery

2009-09-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just land with your bum in the butter. Most of this year feels like that for us, but nothing exemplifies it more than our trip on the Discovery in Prince William Sound.

For 6 days, we plied the waters of the sound which was made famous by the damage it sustained from the Exxon-Valdez oil spill of 1989. It is beautiful beyond the singing of it (to steal a phrase from my countryman, Alan Paton). We were treated to up-close encounters with humpback whales, spawning salmon, black bears, eagles, otters, seals etc... It really was an interlude in paradise.

We were joined by our friend Patrick, who clicked away constantly, and 10 other passengers who were great company.

Big glacier, big family

2009-09-05T21:29:00.000-07:00

We arrived in McCarthy in the dark after travelling through dark trees and with Daniel and Rob and the quad bike weaving our way through rain and forest. Tim at the parking lot regaling us with McCarthy tales and moaning about the septuagenarian on the only pay phone having long conversations with his Philipino bride who has not come to this end of the road. But in our warm house replete with 4 (of the 7) Koenig children we had a bountiful welcome and warm room. To awake with one of the better views in the world out over the Wrangell wilderness and the twin Kennecott and Root glaciers throwing up their mounds in icy embrace. There is only so much adult hiking ambition that can be entertained when towed about by four children in the mountains above McCarthy- especially when attached to the hip with a length of rope. We, all of us and Boomer the dog (ex-sled dog of limitless running capacity), fumbling our anarchic happy way across a very big glacier.A day (after night of Robyn wrestling with her bear fears) dawned with the prospect of some serious glacier exploring under the trusty guiding of Jacob Schultz, spending his summer guiding in the Wrangell-St. Elias Park (the biggest in the USA). To the Ice Fall was our mantra and 30 km later we had coming as close to patting one of the highest icefalls in the world (lots of excesses here- it’s a big country) as you could hope. On the way, armed with our crampons and ice-axes, we peered into holes of blue with deep endings far away from our feet, drained glacial lakes with stranded icebergs and moulons (sp>) carrying waterfalls to rivers in the dark. Always not able appreciate distances and perspective as mere hillocks of ice and mountain play with your brain and bring on that old feeling of smallness and insignificance.A day ending with a wild wet ride on our quad bike through long dark avenues of tree and flying mud, creeping into our sleeping bags just shy of midnight, exhausted and hungry, but enough marvel in our eclipsing brains for deep dreaming.

Denali Park and Highway

2009-08-29T16:05:00.002-07:00

After much appreciated R&R, i.e. hot tub and more good food and wine, it has been onto Denali National Park a vast and imposing bit of wilderness straddling the Alaska Mountain Range, home of Mt. McKinley (largest rock in North America) and much brown bear. Camping next to Marge and Michael from Missouri (and Chucky the poodle) in their RV the size of any self-respecting bus we felt a tad self-righteous about our carbon footprint and our authentic wilderness experience as we froze away our nights in never abdicating rain. But we filled our days with trips into the wilds after the obligatory school bus trips into the park. One of us got to experience of Alaskan scree slope running for the first time, and after landing at the bottom, the other wasn’t too sure if he was being castigated or lauded for his remarkable (“weird”) sense of fun. All of activity in this beautiful autumnal land was accompanied by snow and sleet to the point of looking about of looking about for my rugby shorts and slops as yet another squall signalled the North’s intentions to wrap us in it’s icy embrace. But the colours. Great swathes to the horizon of all shades of ochre, red and yellow. And all about us again, space and sky of all shades. Mountains with glaciers snaking down to their shrouded feet in far off valleys- who goes there? Who is witness to this land- I catch myself asking a similar question when I look out at a clear night sky- all that lonely space- unnerving, exhilarating. These cavernous valleys riven by thousands years of glaciers and many ages of stone, and then we pass by in our car- a brief flicker of two souls travelling by in a car filled with good vibrations.

Living conditions

2009-08-24T16:22:00.000-07:00

When we purchased our rig in Seattle, we were incredibly mindful of the fact that it was to be our home for four months. Having said that, we have already been treated to some lovely abodes and hospitality by friends. Check out the cabin we stayed in at Patrick's place in Fairbanks. Can you spy the hot tub on the deck? Hard times, man, hard times.

However, we have been really enjoying our Eurovan and have a makeshift bed in the space behind the front seats. You have to sleep diagonally to have a decent night's rest, but it's fairly comfortable. When the temperature is above freezing, we do prefer our new tent. This was not the case the morning after our hike and we were glad of some steel to insulate us. Mark is fearless in the face of snow when he is making coffee for his beloved.

Our faithful friend was waiting for us on the Dalton Highway when we came out of the mountains. (Not forgetting the faithful cold beer!). I think we're doing pretty well as combi-mates. Mark?

Arctic communication systems pictured below. Patrick left this rag with a note for us and we responded to let him know our movements in the Brooks Range. Who needs cell phone reception?

A clip from our last campsite before returning to Fairbanks.

Hiking the Brooks Range (2)

2009-08-23T16:33:00.000-07:00

The tundra is alive with beautiful colours. It can be heavy going as a walking surface, however. It's very spongy and when tussocky it can feel like walking on a pool filled with basketballs.

Yes, those are bear prints below...

Hiking the Brooks Range

2009-08-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

These pics are from our trek in the tundra. We took a topographical map of the Brooks Range, pepper spray, a bear bell (which you can hear in the video clip below), a horn to scare away an inquisitive bear and good hiking food. The Hickers told us where to pull our car off at the West Fork of the North Fork of the Chandalar River and we set off keenly aware that civilisation was far, far away.

Can you spot our tent in the pic above? So isolated! Sublime, but nerve-wracking to hear the rock-falls at night and imagine hungry bears prowling...

Mark is using our new water-filter and I'm down shale at our highest point. We walked 20kms + to our car on the second day and paid for it with terrible blisters from our new hiking boots.

Muktuk, mushing and moose burgers

2009-08-21T16:07:00.001-07:00

The Brooks Range - Northern Alaska. The sunlit valley is where we began our 20 mile trek.

With the Hickers and Patrick at the Arctic Getaway. Sourdough pancakes and pick-up-sticks.

It's not often that I think back to my primary school days. But experiencing something of the way of life of the people who live within the Arctic circle reminded me of those lessons on 'Different houses around the world'. Igloos, reed huts and houses on stilts appeared exotic in the extreme when I was ten, and so too did the cabins in Wiseman, our first stop on our Arctic Adventure.

Our photographer friend, Patrick, who helped us plan our trip from Fairbanks up North to the Brooks Range, organised a bed for the night in Wiseman with his friends who run a B n B there. It's called 'Arctic Getaway Cabins and Breakfast'. This family of 4 comprises more than a quarter of the population of Wiseman. They receive a regular stream of guests in the summer (June, July, August), including a fair number of bikers doing the Prudhoe Bay to Florida Keys route, or a part thereof. In the winter they have school, taught by mum, and Dad goes mushing - running the dogs - and trapping. Dad shoots 2 moose a year for their food, and the wild Dall sheep are considered prize game for the freezer aswell. On Saturday evening we were treated to tales of survival and respect for the unforgiving world of the Brooks Range. The two children prefer moose to almost any meat and when faced with an enthusiastic young proponent of Macdonald's, apparently wrinkled their noses and said, 'Try home-cooked food!'.

Is that normal range of motion? At the crossing of the Arctic Circle.

Our diet looks somewhat different from our 'granola' days in Tamboerskloof. Patrick persuaded us to try 'muktuk' - dried whale blubber and whale skin. If it tastes bad, it must be good for you, right? This stuff is high in oil (no kidding) and sinuous and I found had a residual petroleum taste. Do you think there's something in that? It was procured from a whale in the Arctic Ocean where the Prudhoe Bay oilfield is. We much preferred moose burgers - gamey and good.

A bear, a rod, a fish.

2009-08-15T10:17:00.000-07:00

As the two Africans rolled up to their campsite in the woods, a mere half hour off the ferry, we were greeted by the spectacle of one bear and many humans partaking of that most mysterious of natural events, the salmon migration. The return to the birthing stream of thousands of salmon at the end of summer. It is both a time of renewal for salmon and the end of their lives at the hands of the river and all manner of creatures who subsist on this, before the long dark night of winter.

Thus it was that I found myself inexorably drawn to the Haines Outfitters, to ask a wild man of Alaska for the tools with which to catch me a salmon. I purchased a 24 hour fishing license and returned to the river.

Dressed in African shorts (surrounded by a more appropriately geared fishermen for a very cold river) I proceeded to cast my lure upon the waters. Two hours later, a few near misses and a 10 minute interlude for said bear to wander past, and I had my strike. It was the biggest I had ever felt and my rod seemed pitiful- not so much as being pulled about the river, but more a resistance with which only time had some leverage. I couldn't land it with the rod, so I handed it over to my faithful companion and waded out into the stream to land it with my hands. A magnificent Pink Salmon (a 'humpy').

In our clearing in the woods that eve, we enjoyed a salmon as fresh as ever could be, and like a San hunter gave thanks to our Maker for life passed and renewed.

Today's video

2009-08-14T23:57:00.000-07:00

Just for fun. What we've been thinking about today. We've only missed 2 day's videoing so far. Remember to have to wash your hair the night of our video-slideshow back home.

Into Wild Alaska

2009-08-14T23:38:00.000-07:00

It is 10:39 pm and dusk. I'm writing from Fairbanks, Alaska. Tomorrow we are heading further North to Wiseman, population: 13. We are planning to do some hiking in the 'backcountry'. This particular section is in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Mark's friend and photographer, Patrick Endres, has put us up for the last few days in his cabin in the woods with a hot tub on the porch. We could get used to it, but won't as we venture into the Arctic (within the Arctic circle) to live for a few days with only what we can carry on our back. This will include topographical maps of the area, dehydrated food, energy bars aplenty and our new hiking equipment which we're itching to try out.

A few pics to keep you green...

Ferry trip up the Inside Passage (my post on that seems to have disappeared). We camped on the deck and it rained for two days, but our new tent did us proud and kept us dry.

Within an hour of docking we had sighted a brown bear, a bald eagle, 2 harbour seals and lots of salmon and other birds.

Our campsite on Kluane Lake on the way to Fairbanks. Needless to say we both skinny-dipped in the glacier-melt lake.

New experiences in the last 48 hours include eating moose burgers and hiking 8.3 miles through alpine vegetation and taiga to the Chena Hot Springs to soak while the rain patters down all around.

The hot tub is calling...

Ferry through the Inside Passage

2009-08-11T15:29:00.000-07:00

The Inside Passage is a waterway which links Alaska to the North-West of the States, more specifically the Seattle area. We spent 3 nights and days on board the Columbia, a state-owned vessel which does the longest run of all routes on the Alaska Marine Highway System. Depsite my concerns over not having a cabin booked for the 3-night voyage, this journey turned out to be a real treat.

We drove our new (1993!) Eurovan on board and followed the other passengers without accommodation in erecting our tent on the deck in front of the solarium at the bow of the ship. It worked perfectly! We weathered two nights of rain in the fjords and got a bit of privacy which those who chose to sleep on loungers under the solarium, or inside in one of the lounges didn't. It was such a comfortable trip. We read, took photos and listened to presentations by the Tongass National Forest interpreter about the waters and lands we were passing. A much-needed break from preparing for our trip.

Next post - Mark's Fish.

R

The Lovemobile!

2009-08-11T15:12:00.000-07:00

Yes folks, we made our purchase. After umming and arhing over four campers/vans, we chose this beauty and bought her from a lovely couple 45 mins North of Seattle. They have 4 kids and are hauling them across the country to relocate in New York. Much gratefulness to Don and Jenny who trawled with us and gave sage advice about US vehicle rules and regulations.

I am writing to you from the public library of Haines, Alaska, where we have camped for the night and Mark caught a MUSSIVE salmon in the stream. All so exciting, but let me back up to the ferry trip (see next post). The demand for photos from our image-hungry readers means we must sacrifice literary expounding.

Randy Kamp Works For You!

2009-08-04T14:14:00.000-07:00

That's right folks. We're in North America. Randy Kamp is a councillor in British Colombia whose electoral campaign billboard read as per my title. He wore a bland suit and tie but I saw stars, dahling, and sequins and spandex and feather boas...

Although we haven't eaten at McDonald's yet, we are nevertheless 'Lovin' it!'. We've moved rather rapidly from Pleasantville, New York, to Seattle, Washington, with a short detour to Mission, Canada. So within a week we have already negotiated three border posts and feel like hardened travellers already.

In Pleasantville we visited Mark's cousin Anneke and David, Josh and Matthew.

Mark teaches the fine art of pasta making.

Josh and Matthew give it a go.

Dis plessent, ne?

Gorgeous bloom we saw on a farm near the rellies.

In Seattle we're staying with good friends Don and Jenny who live in a gorgeous house overlooking Lake Union - a short portage with kayaks from the water. This pic was taken outside Regent College, Vancouver, where Mark studied. We high-tailed it up to Canada for the night to visit varsity friends of Mark.

One of our travelling goals, inspired by my father-in-law, is to make a 1 min video diary each day - so far so good. I'm attempting to post one here today. Hope it doesn't crash your bandwidth.

Next blog - the purchase of the vehicle!

'Right, we're going on an adventure and I've got clean jocks!'

2009-07-30T15:31:00.000-07:00

Thus sayeth Mark on the occasion of packing our bags in our hotel room in the Bermondsey Square hotel the night before we flew to New York.

We had a brilliant weekend in London having extricated ourselves from Oxford in as smooth a fashion as we embedded ourselves there. We were three poster tubes, an iPod docking station and some books heavier. Not bad hey! We can highly recommend travelling light.

So we said goodbye and hello to good friends, pictured below, in London and now we are abiding in Pleasantville, New York for a few days. But more on Pleasantville anon...

Bakin' Bacon Boy!

2009-07-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

If he's not bringing home the bacon, he's bringing home the chelsea buns (and pitas, soda bread, kitka, farmhouse loaf, mince pies and jam tarts!).

Mark went on a bread-making course at Shipton Mill near Bristol last Wednesday courtesy of my aunt Valie who put him in touch with the right miller.

Does he not look like the cat who licked the cream? We could have a career change on our hands.

Hope you're all well and thanks for reading...

Summer days are gone too soon

2009-06-17T13:01:00.000-07:00

It seems summer lasts a total of two weeks in England. It has been raining all week.

But! We've had our fair share of sunshine and here are some pics to prove it.

Blenheim Palace - our local slice of 300 year old history in all its splendour. We just love going for walks in the park here. It is a total sanctuary just six miles up the drag.

Near the White Horse of Uffington - no pictures of the horse because it can only be seen in full from the air. People suppose, therefore, that the chalk outline was made in stone age times for the gods. I spent a lazy afternoon here the day after I returned from Cape Town. Easing myself in.

Thames Path near Oxford- we walked here on Sunday with Nicci and Lyons after a Sunday roast at the pub. Very hot with lots of buzzing things and pollen driving Mark's eyes crazy.

Dear hubby is working his socks off as usual, so, again, this is from just

A small miracle

2009-05-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

If you ever get the chance to fly 12 hours in a cramped and manky metal tube to a wintry city on the other side of the globe to meet your 9-day-old niece for a week, grab it by the scruff of the neck, bolt some sedatives for the flight, pack your raincoat and get there.

It is hard to describe the thrill of holding little Abigail in my arms. Of all the clever things Em and Al have done in their lives, this has to take the cake. Passing their matric geometry papers pales into insignificance. And we all know that is a Herculian feat. I mean honestly, I had to restrain myself constantly from chewing on her ear, elbow or foot (or any part that was exposed, actually). How do you like the pic of her 90-year old great-grandfather giving her a cautious cuddle?

Back in sunny Oxford and writing from my favourite Mark's-working-again-so-I-better-do-some-marking spot, Cafe Coco on Cowley Road. 'Bacon Boy', as he is affectionately known in our abode, has kept the home fires burning successfully for a week and that bacon keeps rolling in to satisfy budget requirements.

Our flight to New York is booked for 28 July and our conversation of late seems to veer towards which gas stove is best for use in Yellowstone National Park or whether to spend 3 or 5 weeks in Alaska. Tee hee. Lucky fishes we. (Please excuse my ancient Celtic grammar. Obviously influenced by all the antiquity around me in this town.)

PS Where have you all gone? Comments always welcome!

Weekend, wonderful Weekend!

2009-05-06T13:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's a case of enjoying the present (ie. work) only for the sake of how it can fund the weekend and forthcoming road trip at the moment. Confucius say, don't live for the moment, live for the weekend.

So, my job may be slightly stressful (watch Mark's eyebrows lifting beyond Botox levels), but we have had some great weekends of late to cheer me up. Attached please find pics from Ireland (Easter), Oxford (with Nicci, April) and Amsterdam (last weekend).

I am currently on tenterhooks - which (did you know?) means being stretched between hooks on a wooden frame like fabric, ouch - awaiting the birth of my niece in Cape Town. I'll be making a sneaky dash home (sshhhh) to see her in two weeks time. Let's hope she's arrived by then!

A long expected blog

2009-04-19T03:31:00.000-07:00

When you've neglected your blog for this long it becomes an albatross around your neck. So I'm wringing that there albatross' own neck by writing a shamefully short blog. Now I'm over the psychological barrier and hopefully you'll see a flood of entries in the near future.

Here's a pic of us at my birthday celebratory drinks at the Oxo Tower in London on Friday night with Leesen, Melina and Nicci and Lyons. For those who have forgotten it's near my birthday, never fear, you have 2 more days to send flowers, chocolates and bottles of wine to me. 22 April. Diarise.

Mark swears and promises to blog and hangs his head in shame. He is currently making scones downstairs, so you'll forgive me if I don't drag him away.

2nd anniversary and counting!

2009-03-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Hello from a chillier Oxford. I have included pics from a sunset we enjoyed last week in the hope that it won't be long before we see the sun again over the dreaming spires.

Yes, we have reached another milestone. 2 years of marriage seems long and short. Amazing to look back to our wedding day and know how we've been blessed right through our cotton socks over and over. We are galloping on to try and catch up with my grandparents who've been married 65 years (more or less). Now that is amazing!

The glorious daffodils that you see in the pics were photographed in the gardens of Hampton Court Palace on Sunday afternoon. Oh Wordsworth, you knew what you were talking about: "fluttering and dancing in the breeze". We spent a very cozy weekend with Nicci and Lyons. It's so wonderful being near enough to them to pop in.

This weekend we are celebrating our anni in Paris. Bring it on. Un petite romance never hurt any married couple.

On the hill in Oxford

2009-03-06T12:57:00.000-08:00

So many advancements in the cause of a life more fulfilling in the UK - where to begin? We now have: jobs, 2, tick; flat, 1, tick; elderly new friends, 2, tick and breadmaker, 1, tick. We are feeling rather chuffed.

Mark has been putting his body and mind on the line every night this week at the John Radcliffe Hospital's children's emergency area. Mostly, it seems he is dodging vomit from alcohol-poisoned 15 year-old girls - but you'll have to check that with him. A far cry from Somerset by all accounts. He's had shifts from 2pm-10pm each night except Wednesday, which he had off to source the afore-mentioned breadmaker, amongst other less important items such as sheets. This device is the first foray we've made into British cooking. The things are as ubiquitous as dassie droppings on Table Mountain over here. (I love having an excuse to whip out the "u" word.) We used Lin Lawrenson's machine whilst in Jersey and fell in love. Oh that smell that weedles its way into your nostrils as you try to hide under the duvet for one more minute. Some of you know what I mean.

So the pics attached this time are of Jersey (oysters by the fire, Mark shopping at the covered market, friends and the beach)

and of our new flat and neighbourhood on the hill in the suburb of Headington.

Note the paddle stairs at a rakish angle of must-be-more-than-45. The studio flat is attached to a big countryish house. (That's us huddling behind the green bins.) There are no street lights at night, so we will be using our bicycle lights plus the reflection off our high-vis clothing which we are purchasing tomorrow. Seems construction workers have lost the monopoly on the loudest clothing in the world. Oxford cyclists are now donning it too (I'm sorry, was that a pun?).

I acquired an English teaching job until the summer today at The Cherwell School, which does not have six permanent security guards dressed in black with walkie-talkies (to protect the staff from the children), unlike another school I taught at this week. Got to be a good sign. I start on Monday.

If you're wondering about our new elderly friends, they are Wendy and Jim Evans who hosted us in their home on a B n B basis for four nights until we could move into our flat. We are going to curry night at their favourite pub with them at the end of the month. When you're in a new town, what's wrong with buying your friends, hey?

Long live life-long learning!

2009-02-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

Being gainfully unemployed can be a challenge. But I've met it headlong with a challenge of my own. I have decided to catch up on my classics reading. This came about chiefly when I risked my English degree being revoked by unmasking my horrifying total of Jane Austen books read (viz. zero, wince) to some of my learned friends and my hubs. So I have begun to make amends. My first port of call has been Thomas Hardy. Much to Mark's surprise I have loved "Far from the madding crowd" because of his gorgeous takes on the foibles of human nature. Check it out:

"He wished she knew his impressions; but he would as soon have thought of carrying an odour in a net as of attempting to convey the intangibilities of his feeling in the coarse meshes of language. So he remained silent." (pg.20)

Delicious, hey?

But life-long learning doesn't stop at books. Oh no. Living with my tannie and oom has been an education in itself. They are seriously into sustainable eating and living. We went to hear a talk by Rob Hopkins called, "From Oil Dependency to Local Resilience". Very inspiring. The UK feels light-years ahead of South Africa in terms of the transition we have to make due to peak oil and climate change.

And lastly, to convince you that I am aspiring to the upper echelons of educated society (ahem), I include an extract from the job description for the Saturday Invigilator job I have applied for at the Bodleian Library in Oxford. Yes, THE Bodleian Library:

"Sensory and physical demands:
1. Fetch manuscripts, rare books and archival objects (some extremely heavy) from locations around the building, including areas accessible only by stairs.
2. Handle rare and fragile objects with care.
3. Operate specialist equipment (e.g. stairwalkers) in order to move manuscripts, rare books and archival objects from delivery points."

Can anybody out there stand as a referee of my ability to operate a stairwalker? If you could just let me know what it is, that would be appreciated.

R

2009-02-12T08:23:00.000-08:00

When it snows, find a steely grey lough

2009-02-12T08:06:00.000-08:00

2009-02-12T07:57:00.000-08:00

Taking Africa with me

2009-02-12T07:44:00.000-08:00

In a wood panelled pub whose walls have known countless evenings of sheep farmers, pipe smoke and ribaldry, I sat and read my book. A few locals at the counter nursing quiet conversation and their beers. Me drinking the finest pint of Guinness that ever did grace the green isle- snow outside- could almost hear the angels. Welcome to Ireland- I’ll forgo the Northern Ireland bit, but that is where I am.
Conscripted by myself away from the loving arms of my dearest who has remained in Bristol, to the strange little town of Enniskillen in Co. Fermanagh. I have been engaged with a two week locum in the hospital here. A 16 year old with Anorexia, a 12 year old with too much Vodka and a few wee wheezy ones. Good, kindly nurses and doctors. Myself, Raj and Sree shoot the breeze most evenings. It seems that most Indian doctors do the forced separation from wives and family to get that coveted Fellowship of the Royal what-not College.
The full force of British paranoia descended upon my disease burdened body as that blemish on my Chest x-ray performed at Heathrow finally caught up with me. Public health folk here in a tizz as I was barred from having patient contact until I had had a full once over by a pulmonologist (seems like I did have TB once upon a time). Wrought unexpected opportunity to have my lovely fly over to Emerald Land and gambol about a now snow covered Isle. More Guinness (she always leads me astray), folk music into the wee hours, chips and blood sausages, tea in Donegal and more gambolling in the heather in the far reaches of Ireland- and then that swim…

One more night and then back to my hearth and then onto Jersey ...

One half in Bristol

2009-02-05T02:17:00.000-08:00

The snow comes down relentlessly as I tickle away on the keys in this cosy home in Alveston, Bristol. I have attached some pics of "Whole Foods Mama" my snow woman, currently residing in the backyard of my aunt and uncle's house, of whom I am very proud. My aunt and uncle are organic, local produce people, hence her name. See if you can make out which veg have been used for which facial feature.
The British nation has gone mad with a mix of anxiety and a child-like thrill with all this white powdery stuff sifting down from the heavens. I watched a 2-minute long insert in a news programme on BBC where we heard three countdowns taking placing for the giant snowball to be launched down a hill on Hampstead Heath. Nothing happened during those 2-minutes but the anchors in the newsroom were flushed with excitement when the cameras cut back to them.

I'm supposed to be at an interview with another teaching agency in Bristol this morning but all bus services have been suspended. Hence, I was forced to spend half an hour building WFM. Snow people are back-breaking work, especially when there are no small people around to pack in the girth around hips and you have to keep bending down to thicken her out.

Mark is currently doing his ward round of the overwhelmingly daunting number of ... 4 children! in the paediatric ward in Enniskillen hospital in Northern Ireland. The highlight of his stay has been acquiring a cotton fitted sheet from M and S to replace the nylon he's been suffering on up 'til now. He's feeling much better since he moved from his room next to the boozing medical students and now goes around with an Indian doctor called Raj. "Is he Raj 1 or Raj 2?", I asked. But apparently he hasn't asked him because after promising to make Mark supper and then slotting two pieces of toast into the toaster, Mark felt perhaps the cultural barrier of commercials jokes might be a bit too much to overcome in this instance.

So, we continue to be two severed halves of the marital pear and are holding up bravely with only a few snivels into the pillow each night. Our reunion happens next week Friday, so what with Valentine's Day being the following day, if you feel the earth move...you know why.

PS What do you think of the new background? Cute or what?

Aching muscles in Fairyland

2009-01-27T09:48:00.001-08:00

Well, well, well...now we really do have something to write home about! Deep snow drifts, whizzing skis, chocolat chaux and the chalet to end all chalets with a view into Fairyland (see pic). The funny thing about all this storybook fantasy is the accompanying harsh reality of the bite in our thighs and shoulders. Man, skiing is a seriously tough sport! Robyn has taken three days of skiing lessons so far, and while being disappointed that her ski instructor was not named Jean-Pierre, but the rather less romantic, Frederik, she is enjoying them immensely. The foray onto the slopes with Mark in the afternoons have been slightly more of a challenge as Mark's motto is "if you're not scared out of your ski boots, you're not learning enough". Up, up we go onto ever icier blue slopes.

It is a holiday that is hard to describe if you haven't done it before. Sometimes you can get lost in all the excitement of skiing and forget to admire the fantabulous view of the Alps. While we gulp everytime we open our wallets to pay to everything, this is an experience not to be missed. What a pity we have to head back to the UK to work. Mark is going to be working in Northern Ireland for the first two weeks of Feb and Robyn will shack up with Tannie and Oom in Bristol and hopefully do a leetle bit of work.

Hope everyone is well. Loving the fact that we have 4 followers - nice one guys - and comments that are flowing. Keep 'em coming. Big love to you all.

Sunshine in London!

2009-01-22T10:10:00.000-08:00

Yep, you read that correctly. We landed over a Thames river sparkling in the sunlight. It was an amazing view that I'm sure few have the pleasure of seeing.

Robyn survived the flights (3!!) with the help of Tranquilite (highly recommended) and an excellent movie selection, and has decided that she has let go of her fear of flying. Mark is relieved that he will not longer have nail marks gouged into his palms during every take off and landing.

We're very happy to be with Nicci and Lyons in their flat in Putney. It is so homely with the newly-weds. We've had a day of interviews and phone calls about work. Mark has secured a 2-week consultant job in Jersey. So after the ski slopes, we'll be hitting the islands. Not bad, hey? So now we're looking for work for the first 2 weeks of February. There is lots on offer for both of us; we just need to keep our wits about us to avoid the dodgy stuff.

Just got back from a run on Wimbledon Common. We left at 5pm - in the dark.

Sorry for lack of photo. See next post.

It all began in Africa

2009-01-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

We're 3 days away from lift off - leaving Cape Town on Tuesday 20 January for London via Joburg and Doha. So this is why the picture of the idyllic South African bush made you look. We started our travels with a trip around South Africa to see friends and Mark's parents in Ladysmith. It was an epic trip, 4500kms in 10 days. These are pics from the travels.

We'll know more about where we'll be based in the UK by next week Friday and will give details as soon as we can.

Not to shock our systems into work too quickly, we are going skiing for a week from Saturday. Mark being a seasoned skier is excited; Robyn being a novice is poop-scared, but also excited. Besides, if she survives the flight to London without a nervous break-down, all other challenges will be putty in her hands. Let's hope all the geese have flown far South of Cape Town International already...

Rolling forth

2008-12-17T02:25:00.000-08:00

"The road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began..." (Bilbo)

Hello all interested and/or green-with-envy followers of our road trip.

The adventure beckons! We fly to London on the 20th of January. With no jobs awaiting us it will be a case of being up for anything and ready to head to the Outer Hebrides if need be. However, we are hoping that we will be able to be in Alveston, Bristol, staying with Robyn's aunt and uncle.

So happy New Year to all! Please keep in touch while we're away.

(PS: How to tell if it's Mark or Robyn writing: count the exclamations marks - no prizes for guessing who is who!)