View from stern of old boat restaurant.
View from the old boat restaurant as deluge engulfed the lake. We took refuge for a spot of lunch.
Swedish minesweeper that sailed the Baltic at the height of the Cold War. How many hands rang this bell, and what are their stories to tell?
Tall ship which acts as the Polish merchant marine training vessel, based in Gdynia.
Road trip to be continued. Sweden. Outbound from Gdynia, part of the Three Towns which include Sopot and Gdansk. The plan was to sail to Karlskrona, cycle into the town and around the peninsula, then back to The Three Towns for more of the same. When we got to Gdynia we were given funky high visibility tops to wear. Little did we know that we would be visible in them for quite some time. First the lorries, then the trucks, after that the American-style RVs, then smaller caravans, vans and then cars, followed on by motorbikes. Two classes, those that do real motor cylcing, and those with old fashioned lookalikes that make a specific poseur sound. Then last the ecological and smallest elements to board, roll on drums, the CYCLISTS!
We took up one tine corner of the vehicle deck, frantically lashing our eco-bikes before the storm wave crashed over the bows of our majestic Longship. Okay, tad I wax lyrical. But rather silly and in Sweden they did not give us the visibilty tops. Why? Because the sensible Swedes boarded us first, bless them;-)
As we left harbour this Polish Warship, probably a Kaszub class corvette, was entering harbour with a beautiful sunset as a welcome.
I never try to put too much trust in technology. Brought up pulling plugs out at night has kind of stayed with me. My point, well, purchasing a GPS is a point in question. In the old days I would lift my quill and scratch directions, turn -offs (politics, curtain shops) and have all to hand in my grubby little mitts.
Resplendent on our dashboard was a GPS. It kept slipping off so it was put on the windscreen, ”No, not here dear, I need to see the road.”
And this device with its purple thick line seductively led us successfully from Avignon to a small roundabout outside Arles, we could actually see Arles. But it was but a tease. GPS went into meltdown, or as far as I’m concerned. Up a narrow street, that then became narrower, twisted, turned almost back on itself. Look, we’ve already seen that cigarette pack already. Just in case it wasn’t narrow enough the locals had planted bollards. We we’re close enough to pass the time of day with an elderly lady leaning through her window. Wonderful shutters. Blue. Must get a picture later.
I protested about the route, then spied a sign from history to the village/town centre. Back and round, and round and back. Finally onto a road wider than a bow legged women doing the splits. Breathe. The road, not the bow legged woman, you understand??And the good news, the GPS took us out the same way out. I still know somewhere there is a proper way into Arles. Park and debuss amongst calls from the children for food, toilets and drink, but not necessarily in that order.
Hey, well done Arles. Why? For they had a delightful young lady wearing hint of Goth, in the information centre, who spoke English, was helpful and actually suggested what we should visit. She was doing great until she mentioned the football;-)
To walk around and see the buildings painted by an Gogh was amazing. The cafe where he stood and painted with a pencil behind his ear, no the other ear.
The ancient arena a delight and the prices frightening, and outside the arena a dog with all real talent. Bless it!
Wonderful to visit, but don’t trust the technology.
Adding atmosphere with his jaunty renditions to age old classics, all opposite the former papal palace in Avignon.