Hiking with altitude

With only a few weeks to go before the Jungfrau Marathon, Hilary wanted to hike at altitude. So we met up on a chilly summer morning in Andermatt (1436m), fuelled up with coffees, and set off, following an easy trail up through the Unteralp valley towards the Vermigel Hütte, at 2047m. We'd done this part last year, but then we went left up a crazy mountain biking trail and over to Oberalppass - Hils was in training for the Jungfrau last year too!
This time though, after a quick stop for an apple juice  at the hut, we continued right, following the steep trail up towards the Sella Pass. With Hilary setting her usual cracking pace, we were above the tree line in no time at all, crossing patches of sticky snow still trapped, even at summer's end, in the high reaches of the schisty slopes. The trail, though difficult, was superb, marker rocks freshly painted with their red and white stripes and, at times, carefully laid rocks defining the trail across the schist. It's a bleak landscape up there though, made even bleaker by the damp clouds rolling in over the top of the pass. But we reached the top at last, clambering the last few metres to the Giübin lookout at 2776m. We couldn't see much through the cloud, but we were famished, so huddled under rocks to eat our meagre lunch of bread, cheese and ham.
And then it was all downhill, skirting the Sella lake, where cows were gathering for milking, and back down to Gotthardhöhe, the top of the Gotthard Pass, where James was waiting to return us to civilisation - and beers in the sun while waiting for the train home.

The BCT Continues - the Jura Route

Four weeks had gone by, and the bikes were untouched since the epic ride from Schaffhausen to Basel. And now here we were again, just Hilary and I this time, aboard the train to Basel to begin the last stage of our circuit of Switzerland by velo (as the Swiss call their bicycles). And to complete the symmetry, it was raining. Ah well...

The BCT Part 2 - Day 1, Basel to St-Ursanne

St-Ursanne's bridge

It was still a bit cool and damp when we arrived in Basel, so we began our journey with a coffee and schoggigipfel at the legendary Cafe Frey. An easy flat route took us on Route 7 out of Basel and through farmland to Flüh, where a very helpful man in a conveniently located bikeshop pumped up our tires for us. The came the first big hill, 384m over 6.5km, as the rather intimidating sign informed us (we were to find many more of these ominous signs on Route 7). However, the muscle memory Hilary had promised kicked in, and up we surged. And then right back down again, to the French border, a long and rather tedious stretch of road alongside the river. Finally we arrived in Lucelle, a tiny French enclave where a friendly hostellerie owner made huge sandwiches for us. Then uphill again and back across the non-existent border into Switzerland, grateful to return to rolling hills and pretty farming villages. And more hills, another 380m over 5km. It was too tough for us this time, our feet slipping on the pedals in the light rain, and we pushed the bikes up the last few metres. And then straight back down again, a fierce descent to the river and the last few kilometres into pretty St-Ursanne. We even had time for a bit of shopping before dinner of truite meuniere, a local specialty, and bed.
5 hours, 65.21 km, 2184cal.

The BCT Part 2 - Day 2,  St-Ursanne to La Chaux de Fonds

La Chaux de Fond's cathedral

This day started with another hill, and another warning, 520m over 9km - and I'm sure the first 500 came in the first 4 kilometres! But after that arduous beginning it was a beautiful ride over rolling hills around 1000-1100 metres altitude - and, at last, sunshine. A horse festival was about to take place in the area, and we passed a number of people on horseback, and market stalls closing roads in Saignelégier, where we stopped for lunch. Another 250m climb took us to Mont Soleil, and a proliferation of wind and sun farms, scattered auberges and many hikers. Then down we went again, to La Chaux de Fonds and our hotel. This otherwise not particularly significant Swiss town is famous for its lack of a cathedral - in its place was a quite gorgeous fountain. And nearby, a delightful Italian wine bar, where we ate one of the best meals of this part of the tour. The it was an early night in preparation for tomorrow's big day.
5 hours 20, 59.75km, 2100cal.

The BCT Part 2 - Day 3,  La Chaux de Fonds to L'Abbaye on Lac de Joux
The Saturday morning market in La Chaux de Fonds set us up with our picnic lunch (bread, cheese, tomatoes, cherries). A gentle cruise up out of town and along former marshlands, with a stop for a "Glace de la Ferme" in the sun outside a pretty farmhouse, past pungent farm fromageries and fragrant fresh-cut grass. A gradual descent took us to Buttes and from there it was all uphill, 600m of it up to the Col de l'Aiguillon and the amazing white cliffs of Baulmes, the woods densely populated at this time of year with wild raspberry gatherers and the cliffs with rock-climbing families. We couldn't risk losing momentum by stopping for the raspberries, but Hilary made a note to return to the rocks - out of season.

And then we descended again - the whole 600m and more! And up again, another 330m on a nasty gravel trail, and finally downhill all the way to the Lac de Joux and a thoroughly well deserved beer or three in the last of the evening sunshine at our hotel in L'Abbaye, overlooking the lake.
96.7km, 7 hours 30, 2617cal.

The BCT Part 2 - Day 4, L'Abbaye to Nyon
Waking to rain and thunder - that wasn't planned! But by the time we'd breakfasted, loaded up the bikes and cycled through drizzle to Le Pont at the end of the lake, the day was beginning to look more promising. So we stopped for a leisurely coffee and croissants at the very cool Tea Room in Le Pont, and by the time we set off again the sun was shining and the road beginning to steam. Jackets off, sunglasses on, and we set off on a lovely gentle ride around the lake. The Joux valley isn't large, but it's rich in horlogeries and fromageries, large and small, and their attendant museums.

Parc Jurassien

330m sur 5km

At the end of the lake we came across the last of those dreaded "Montée" signs (this one read "330m sur 5km" but at least 300m of that must have been in the first 2km). And at last we arrived, at the highest point of the route, and the beginning of a glorious ride through the Parc Jurassien, a Swiss wonderland of stone walls, forests, wandering cows, small cottages and a gently meandering bike trail. Even the occasional bunker, poignant reminders of Switzerland's wartime paranoia, somehow added to the sense of serenity in the place.

Finally it ended, with a wonderful freewheeling ride down to sunny Nyon, where we toasted our journey with a local rosé and a large lakeside lunch, and packed our bikes onto the train for the journey home.
56.5km, 3 hours 50, 1019cal.

A Guatemala Experience

It wasn't the best of seasons to be in Guatemala - those famous blue skies and smoking volcanoes weren't often visible through the low clouds - but it was beautiful nevertheless. We'd arrived in search of another possible production area for avocado oil, and were travelling with Olivado's Canadian agent, Kim Hannam (no relation). Kim was barely able to contain his excitement as we landed at Guatemala airport, because this was the day he was finally to see the house he's sponsoring for a foundation supporting the children of mothers in jail, and various other abandoned children.

We were collected by Maurizio, Kim's friend, business partner and the man who introduced him to the foundation, a wonderfully entertaining and compassionate man. He took us first to a great Spanish lunch in Guatemala City, and then finally to the house, where we met Vanessa, the amazing woman who founded and runs the foundation, her husband Vladi, and all 32 of their "children".  It was an extraordinary experience. The foundation has been running for about ten years, and some of the girls have been there the entire time. A beautiful 20-year-old, who arrived as an abused 10-year-old and is now one of the house organisers, told us proudly that she's studying physiotherapy. Several of the children, mostly girls, arrived as very small babies and have known no life outside of this wonderfully caring community - the two toddlers we saw were thriving on the loving care of their 30 siblings. And all of them were incredibly happy and proud of their new home, a large house in a prosperous and secure part of Guatemala City.We were taken on a tour of the house, into the large bedrooms with rows of bunk beds immaculately made, spotless bathrooms and kitchen, and several large living rooms.
It was Vanessa's birthday, so we were all served cake, and then the children put on a series of little skits and songs in honour of their "mama". Finally, several inspirational hours later, the children farewelled each of us with hugs and kisses, gave Kim a pile of thank you cards they'd made for him, and we drove to our hotel in Antigua, marvelling at the small miracle of caring and compassion that we'd just witnessed. Kim calls his place an orphanage, but we insisted it was far more than that - an extraordinarily large and loving family.

The BCT Day 9 - Schaffhausen to Basel

This 9th day wasn't scheduled! But we'd enjoyed our ride so much, the weather was perfect and our fitness vastly improved - so it seemed a shame not to complete the Rhine Route. Gary and James joined us for this final leg (they didn't volunteer to carry our panniers, we noted) and we set off early in a fruitless attempt to avoid the heat. A few more hills than we anticipated, but the first 45km (the goal we'd set before stopping for a coffee break) were lovely, rolling fields and vineyards. And even, finally, fresh cherries from a farm!
Lunch was sandwiches and cherries by the river, watching people and boats float by, drawn by the Rhine's fierce rush to the sea. We jumped in cautiously, staying close to the bank. Even there the current was unnerving, and after a few vain attempts to fight it we got back on our bikes for the final haul to Basel.
At pretty Rheinfelden we stopped for ice creams while Gary cycled across the bridge into Germany, and then we all stood watching the young people of both riverside nations jumping from the bridge into the river, where the current took them several hundred meters downstream to the shore. Fun!
And so to Basel, and the train home in a summer thunderstorm. It was a big day, but we were happy!
121km, 2195 calories, 7 hours

The BCT Day 8 - Romanshorn to Schaffhausen

Another virtually flat ride along the well-kept and well-signposted bike trails of the Rhine/Bodensee Route.  At Steckborn I found the hotel we'd stayed in on our Bodensee visit two years ago - the Feldbach See and Park Hotel was a welcome sight back then, after a long day on the bikes, and we were no less happy to see it this time, with temperatures in the high 30s and lunch beckoning. Lunch was wonderful, including a glass of the superb local Müller Thurgau, looking across the Untersee, where the Bodensee narrows towards the river mouth, to Germany. A post-lunch swim set us going again, meandering through vineyards, orchards, market gardens and lakeside villages.

Picture perfect Stein am Rhein

Gorgeous Stein am Rhein was swarming with tourists - we joined them for a well-earned gelato. Then we stayed on the north bank of the river as far as Schaffhausen, cycling through Germany, past hundreds of people playing in their swiftly flowing river - more beaches on the German side than on the Swiss, we noticed.
And finally to our hotel in Schaffhausen, welcome beers in the garden and a delicious riverside dinner.
68km, 1100 calories, 4 hrs 30

The BCT Day 7 - Altstätten to Romanshorn

An easy day, flat and hot, as we followed the Rhine towards St Margrethen and across the border into Austria. We rode right up into the Rhine delta, a lush, protected land. Coffee in Rheineck and then back into Switzerland and the beginning of the Bodensee. A lakeside picnic lunch of smoked trout and cucumber, a welcome swim and a bit of sunbathing on the shores of the Bodensee, and then we followed the meandering lakeside trail to Romanshorn and Hotel Inseli, slightly dated but beautifully positioned. Kathy and Rodger brought champagne! and much much later, following a bottle or two of the local wine and a few games of birimba, we staggered off to bed.

55.6km, 741 calories, 3 hrs 30

The BCT Day 6 - Reichenau to Altstätten

An early start for our longest day to date. It began with a sharp little incline from Reichenau (and we delightedly surged past a group of young men on mountain bikes - fitness improving!) Another unpaved trail took us along the river banks to Chur, more meandering across river flats and finally a gentle incline up into the hidden dellights of the Graubündner vineyard villages. Far above the motorists passing by on the motorway below, oblivious to the beauty above them, we cycled along farm trails lined by vineyards and through quiet, charming villages. We stopped to fill our water bottles and marvel at pretty Malans, and for coffee and refreshing Holundersirup drinks in Senins.
A glorious freeewheel ride took us down towards Bad Ragaz, and then began the long ride along the stop bank towards Buchs and lunch. It could have been a pleasant enough ride, if somewhat tedious (17km of flat asphalt riverside) but the fierce, hot headwind made it very tough. At last we arrived in Buchs, hot, hungry and thirsty. A fortuitous bank stop took us to one of the best meals of our trip, in the historic and beautifully renovated Restaurant Traube.

Thirst quenchers

Refreshed, revived, and with a bit of retail therapy to boot (a shop selling swimwear - new bikinis for Hils and me, and ceramics - a set of teacups for Silvana) we set off again. Past Werden (the smallest town in Switzerland - a row of pretty houses overlooking a tiny lake), alongside a canal with children swinging from ropes and jumping off banks, and through farmland at last to Altstätten. A pretty old town, it's afflicted with a lot of passing traffic - particularly past our hotel above one of the old town gates. An excellent Indian meal in the hotel restaurant and an early night - with earplugs!
86km, 1655 calories, 7 hours

The BCT Day Five - Andermatt (Disentis) to Reichenau

Halfway through our journey, and on to Route 2, the Rhine Route. Now we were just the three "big birthday" celebrators, Mary having returned home from Andermatt the night before. We took the train from Andermatt to Disentis, to avoid the busy road descent. From Disentis, where we spotted a family on a 5-tandem cycle (not for the faint-hearted - or the contentious), we followed the steep descent to the river, and then another bumpy mountain bike trail towards Ilanz. Steep and rocky in parts, it was a stunning trail nevertheless. The Rhine, a much prettier river than its southern counterpart, a glacial green tumbling over boulders  and through magnificent gorges. From Ilanz it was a gradual uphill grind towards Versam, and finally we were high above the Rhine, at the lookout point (910m) down over the gorge. Another thrilling descent took us back down to the river, and a picnic lunch at another picturesque Graubündner village.

The first birimba lesson

Sooner than we expected, we arrived at Reichenau, our destination the delightful Schlosshotel at the confluence of  two rivers, both sources of the Rhine, a turbulent exchange of waters.
53km, 1190 calories, 4 hours 20.

The BCT Day Four - Salgesch to Andermatt

Camels!?

Not a promising start to our biggest day so far, as we took a wrong turning along the riverside and had to scramble back up onto the main road. And then, first mishap of the tour, I flew over the handlebars in a misjudged attempt to catch a travelling photo opportunity. However, only a few colourful bruises ensued - even the camera miraculously survived! On through farm roads we travelled, past a couple of camels happily ruminating in their Swiss field, traversing verdant river flats, with a stop for coffee in on of the many charming Walliser mountain villages, church and castle ruins perched on a rock, ancient wooden storehouses on stilts. The second mishap of the day as we set off again: Hilary's tire fell off - puncture or faulty valve? We couldn't tell, but in the time it would have taken Hilary and I to work out how to remove the wheel, Mary had the new tube in, wheel back on, and tire pumped up in a handily placed mechanic's garage.

Soaking the feet after the hill climb

So on to Brig and the train up the mountain to Lax and our first real hill test. It was a slow grind up to Ernen, feeling every gram of our heavy panniers, and finally we were on the tough but beautiful Gommer route to Oberwald. It was a mountain bike trail, a little too bumpy for our unsprung road bikes, but at last we approached the source of the Rhine, and the end of part one of our journey. The final few kilometres were a struggle into a fierce headwind, almost enough to blow us off the trail into the turbulent waters alongside. But at last we arrived at Oberwald, and the train to Andermatt - showers, laundry, and a long quiet sleep...
71.5km, 2010 calories. 6 hrs 30

The BCT Day Three - Vernayaz to Salgesch

We strolled through the gorges of Vernayaz before getting back on our bikes this fine Sunday morning. Sometime, we agreed, we'd come back and hike up the old diligences route towards Chamonix.

Cycling alongside the Rhone again, we stopped for coffee in Fully, and for a swim in the very popular lake of les Iles. In Sion we feasted on pizza and beer, and farewelled Gary and Scott, off home to Küssnacht by train.

Sierre's ode to cycling

The remaining three of us now rode on to Sierre and up through little country lanes lined with vineyards to Salgesch, our destination for the night. Plenty of caves for the degustation of the famous local wines - but it was Sunday! So instead we took the train and the vertically challenging bus ride up to Leukerbad, where we wallowed in the thermal baths under threatening clouds. Heavy rain eventually cooled our heads as our skin wrinkled in the 30°water. Limited opportunities to eat on this sleepy Sunday night saw us eventually being served a meal of sorts by a linguistically confused but friendly Albanian. And then it was back to Salgesch and our quaint but noisy hotel, about a metre from the busiest railway line in the country.
56km, 1174 calories, 4hrs 30.

The BCT Day Two - Montreux to Vernayaz

Our night in Montreux happened to coincide with the first day of the Jazz Festival, so it wasn't an early night. But at 8.30 next morning we gathered for breakfast. Now numbering 5, with the addition of Richard, and minus Scott and Mary, who had been sick all night (the prawns?) set off on an already hot morning, stopping to admire the pretty Chateau de Chillon, perched over the lake. We declined an offer to swim at the chateau's private beach, a decision we soon regretted, and rode on to the Rhone delta, all shady lanes and birdsong.
And suddenly we came across the seething, brown mass of the Rhone. No swimming opportunities here. But the cooling breeze from the water followed us as we cycled along the bank of the river whose path we were to follow for the next 3 days.

A suggested detour took us across the river and up to the pretty village of Aigle, and a gorgeous little chateau set amongst the vineyards. A degustation offer at one of the many caves was too hard to resist, and we left with a chilled bottle of Aigle Trois Tours to go with the bread, cheese and fruit we'd picked up at the market stall.
Lunch was in Saint-Maurice, under the shady trees of the village park. With the temperature now up to 36°, we were grateful again for the cooling waters of the ubiquitous village fountains, and, closer to our destination, the deliciously icy spray from the Vachepiss waterfall. And on we cycled to Vernayaz and our hosts at Reves Gourmands, who brought out a succulent platter of local meats and cheeses to accompany a bottle of wonderful Paien wine, from a grape grown only in this region.
Day Two: 52km, 812 calories, 3 hrs 20

The BCT (Big Cycle Trip) - Day One

The plan was conceived some time ago, but planning began over Christmas drinks in December. Three of us: Hilary (British), Silvana (Australian), and I (New Zealander), each celebrating a big birthday in 2010, a total of 160 years between us, would cycle around Switzerland, this beautiful country we now called home. In recent years we've hiked many a mountain together, but this was a different challenge, nine days on a bicycle, over 600 kilometres, carrying panniers with all necessities - and a little dress or two, just in case.

On a hot and sunny Friday in early July we piled bikes and panniers onto the early morning train to Geneva, and so began our BCT. Spouses were allowed to accompany us for the first couple of days, and a couple of superfit cycling friends came along too. So we were six as we cycled through the streets of Geneva, past the flag-bedecked UN building, past the American Embassy preparing for its July 4th garden party - marquees, white tablecloths, armed marines - past lakeside mansions and finally lakeside ourselves. Lunch at a busy lakeside cafe exercised long-dormant French vocabularies (though we all knew what "trente minutes" meant). Finally back on our bikes, we cycled through the pretty towns and villages lining the Swiss side of Lac Léman. Sleepy Saint-Prex's fountain filled our water bottles, and then the trail took us a little above the lake, through vineyards and past hillside chateaus.
In Morges we stopped to buy a helmet for Gary (his misplaced during the winter), and then we jumped on a train to Vevey, as advised by our route guide, (supposedly to avoid a busy road, though Mary and Scott, who cycled on, reported easy lakeside roads the entire way). From Vevey an easy last 7 km took us to Montreux, our hotel, a refreshing dip in the lake, and a bottle or two of prosecco to celebrate the beginning of our BCT!
Day One: 68km, 1382 calories (as measured on my Suunto watch) and around 4 hours in the saddle.

The Cretan Oil

Back home for less than 24 hours, just time enough to unpack the suitcase of Andalucian oils, do the laundry and pack again, this time for sunny Crete. Our Air Berlin flight took us from wet, cold Zurich to baking Heraklion. We stood gasping in the heat as we were introduced to our rental car, a battered Hyundai with barely functioning air conditioning, and made the first of many drives along the oleander-lined highway to our hotel in Rethymnon. The Mythos Hotel had been highly recommended, and when eventually we located it, in the heart of the pedestrian old town, it was indeed a gem, a cool haven of peace. But we were here in search of oil, and our search had us crisscrossing the island, from Rethymnon to Ierapetra and Kolymbari to Avgeniki. The oil, from the tiny koroneiki olives for which Crete is renowned, is delicious, smooth and sweet, and the producers we visited were as enthusiastic as their Andalucian counterparts, lamenting, like them, the damage done to the reputation of their oil by the large producers who label their cheap refined stuff "extra virgin".
But with temperatures soaring as high as 44 degrees, we made time as we travelled to languish in the shade of beachside tavernas, sipping icy ouzos and eating fresh Cretan salads and seafood, cooling off in the clear sparkling sea. In Kalives we found the best taverna of our trip, a heavenly shady refuge from the blistering heat, where we ate cheese pies with honey alongside a huge plate of the local salad, fresh leaves, crumbly goats cheese, olives, cucumbers, tomatoes...

Further on in Georgiopoli we stopped again for another cooling dip (and a beer). The long stretch of beach in the town was busy, but we found a sparsely populated cove between two river outlets, a tiny chapel perched on the rocks at either end. As we drank our beers, I was intrigued by the activities of an independent bare-bottomed toddler in a red dress, playing on the beach while her parents chatted in the taverna. As we went into the water she was there, on a toddler-steeply sloping shelf of gravel. Some long-dormant maternal instinct made me turn to check her, and
when I did the little red-dressed body was face down and weakly struggling in the water. I ran and plucked her out, wide-eyed and spluttering, and she toddled back up to the taverna. I still don't know if her parents realised how close they came to losing their little cutie.

An Andalucian aceite experience

We're looking for a good European olive oil to add to our brand,  in our continuing effort to educate the consumer on the wisdom of using only the best extra virgin oils. Andalucia was a likely prospect, its 165 million or so olive tree producing a large proportion of Europe's olive oil. And after weeks of miserable weather here in Switzerland, it seemed a good idea to head for the land of sunshine.
So early on a cold wet Tuesday early in June we flew out of Zurich for Madrid, and on into the city to catch the AVE down to Cordoba. The AVE, with its guarantee of getting you to your destination on time,  seemed like a good plan - but we hadn't taken into account the rolling strikes in Spain. For an hour, we and our fellow passengers staggered from platform to platform until finally a train was found for us and our trip began. In Cordoba we picked up our rental car and raced to Ubeda, where we were to meet our first olive oil producers.
A relatively new company, Gran Insignia had that very day won a contract to supply Carrefour, so were celebrating. And so began our olive oil education. We returned to our hotel in Ubeda, too exhausted to explore that old hilltop town until the following morning. Even then it was a quick tour, culminating in a great coffee in a little bar, and then we were on the road again, this time down to Pegalajar and the Melgarejo family's impressive operation. Like most of the oils we were to see, the Melgarejo family produce their oil solely from their own olives, and those of family friend and olive oil researcher, Dr Marino Uceda. They are passionate about their oil, and willing to share their vast experience. Here we learned the art of tasting oil, a serious business indeed. A small amount of the oil is poured into a small blue glass tasting cup, which is immediately covered with a crystal lid. The cup is then held in the hand to warm it, and the lid lifted and replaced until the oil has reached a temperature such that the aromas and flavours are fully released. And what aromas! Fresh cut grass, round sweet flavours, and that delicious peppery bite at the back of the throat. We tasted oil from the four  different varieties of olive grown by the Melgarejos: Frantoio, Arbequina, Hojiblanca,and the Andalucian staple, the Picual. Much maligned because it is so often poorly produced, the Picual, we learned, produces the most stable oil and is high in polyphenols. The Melgarejo Picual is labelled "Seleccion" to differentiate it from its less salubrious cousins, those mass-produced late pressings in their large plastic bottles. The real extra virgin oil, in this particular part of Andalucia at least, we were told, is produced only in the period between the 19th October and 20 November. The olives are hand picked and pressed the same day, the oil then stored in vast stainless steel tanks to preserve their quality. The production process is very similar to that we use to produce our avocado oil, and we were familiar with the equipment, the malaxers and centrifuges and tanks, but this was oil production on a massive scale. These family companies pride themselves on their extra virgin oils, but their bread and butter comes from the bulk oil produced from the latter stages of the harvest.
Back in the little rented Seat, we drove on down through rolling hills, carpeted with olive trees as far as the eye could see, to Tabernas and the "Olivar del Desierto" estate, a huge plantation of olive trees in the sun-drenched desert around the tiny town of Tabernas. Famous also as the location of a number of western movies, this area is purported to have the highest number of sunshine hours in Europe. And the oil produced here has a delicious sweet and fruity flavour.
Laden with bottles and samples, we drove on down to the coast, to a somewhat faded but still comfortable hotel where we slept to the sound of the sea crashing onto the beach. Because this wasn't the best week of Spain's summer. We managed to avoid the floods that plagued parts of the country, but it was cold, windy and occasionally wet as we traversed the province of sun. But we'd come for the oil, and we were delighted with our newfound knowledge.
Thursday's destination was Granada, but there was no time to visit the famed Alhambra. We joined the throngs of early evening flaneurs and found the tapas bar recommended by our new friends in Pegalajaro. No room inside the tiny bar so we shivered through a feast of tapas and wandered back to our hotel, preparing for Friday's full day of oil exploration.

Back up to Jean province we drove, this time to Sierra de Seguda, a starkly beautiful natural park of olive and pine trees. Here a cooperative of growers and producers has established an impressive oil production facility, producing both organic and conventional oils. At 900m and above, the trees yield only a fifth of those on the lower lands, and they're not irrigated, relying instead on the water-retention of the limestone. But the organic olives alone come from an area of over 2000 hectares and produce some 500,000kg, with a polyphenol and vitamin E count 50% higher than the lower-lying olives.  And the oil was delicious. The Oro de Genave, from organic piqual olives, smells of apples and grass, and has a smooth rounded green flavour.

After a long lunch at a welcoming restaurant in the local village, we drove back towards Cordoba and our final appointment the next day, in the area known as Los Pedroches.  Our contact there had recommended a hotel in the tiny town of Dos Torres and it was perfection. The Hotel los Usias is a lovingly restored building in the central square of the town, which was celebrating the feast day of its patron saint on the day we arrived. So we joined the inhabitants, strolling the streets and admiring the flower-strewn displays in doorways and parlours, before returning to the hotel and the best meal of our Andalucian odyssey.
Olivarera los Pedroches was our final destination, another vast organic production facility with a high quality oil, but our palates had been conquered by the Seguda oils. So we drove our carefully packed bags of oils back to Cordoba and the AVE, this time thankfully running without a hitch, on to Madrid and home. Briefly...

Spring in Finland

Last time we were in Helsinki (in February) the temperature hadn't risen above zero for two months. On our last morning there we woke to a chilling -24 degrees! But now, in early May, the snow and ice was gone, there were tiny greenish buds emerging on the trees - but it was still very cold. We were there for another "Meet the Press" day organised by our PR company. And as in Stockholm, the visiting journalists loved our avocado oil. Let's hope we get plenty of good press!
We were going to Copenhagen the following week, so we spent the weekend in Jakobstad, in the Swedish north of Finland. Our friend Sirkka has a house there, and as we flew up we marvelled at what appeared to be salt flats out at sea. Not salt, we later discovered - it was pack ice, left over from that frozen winter. Fortunately, we hadn't counted on any early summer swims  though we'd been told by our new Helsinki media friends that this is what Finns do at the weekend, ice notwithstanding. We did go out to see Sirkka's summer cottage, but the water wasn't yet connected to the sauna, and without a sauna to recover from the cold, we were spared the true Finnish experience of sauna and ice-swim.
So we just walked on the sand beaches, well wrapped up against the invigorating wind, and went for runs around the harbour, and took a boat to the island of Maskäar to join the locals for a Mother's Day lunch, and read a lot of books - a perfect weekend.

Summer returns - and so does the hiking

A glorious April weekend loomed, so, temporarily spouseless, three of us decided to celebrate with a two-day hike in the Graubünden, selected from many on the very useful wandersite.ch website. With snow still at around 1600m we chose a low route, the first day following the Burgenweg Domleschg, and the second the "Via Spluga".
The Burgenweg, famous, as its name suggests, for its proliferation of castles, was a gentle start to our hiking year, a three and a half hour wander through pretty villages, blossom-covered trees and flowered fields. We took a couple of detours upwards to stretch the limbs, and to continue our habit of getting "lost" on our hikes. And then we arrived in Thusis, to the welcoming and very comfortable Hotel Weiss Kreuz, in time for a beer or two on the sun-drenched terrace.
Our helpful hostess next morning explained that there were in fact two routes we could take to our next destination, and the two vertigo-sufferers in the group, paling merely at the photo of the famous Traversiner-Steg, opted for the easier western route through the Viamala gorge, on a narrow road between touring cliffs far above the Hinterrhein, famed for its Verlorene Loch, a tunnel cut through the rock in the early 19th century which opened up the trade route. We spotted the 60 metre long Traversiner-Steg from across the gorge and agreed that, for Rebecca at least, it would have been an impossibility. I'm tempted to try it next time - another test for the vertigo that seems to be improving slightly with age.
The rest of our walk followed the Via Spluga, through the pretty village of Zillis, famed for the 153 wooden paintings on its ceiling, depicting life in the middle ages. We ate our nuts and chocolate beside a pond broiling with tadpoles, and then made our way towards Andeer, crossing the covered wooden bridge leading into the village, stopping to buy cheese from a farm, and finally to the thermal pool, where we luxuriated in the warm waters and the stunning vistas.
We'll be back later in the summer, I think, to continue the hike across the Splügenpass and into Italy.

Turning 60 in Muriwai

The party was at Muriwai, at our friend Bo's amazing place, on one of those glorious late summer days that New Zealand does so well. But I'd been practising (the party thing, that is) since I arrived in New Zealand several weeks before. Sixty seemed such a milestone that it was impossible to let it pass unnoticed.
So daughter Sarah and I made a long-overdue pilgrimage to the South Island, visiting the whanau in Christchurch and Culverden, seat of the family for a number of generations, but now home to only one farming cousin. In the years since I was last there (not so long ago) an extraordinary transformation has taken place. So much so that, gazing out of the plane window as we flew over the Canterbury plains, I didn't recognise the farmland I grew up on. Those dry pastures that used to nourish thousands of sheep and grow crops that varied according to the vagaries of the infamous nor'westers have turned into lush green dairy farms; and the once rushing, tumbling, beautiful Hurunui river, which waters those monstrous farms, is little more than a stream. I guess it's progress, in a rather regrettable way...
Dinner with old school and university friends in Christchurch, parties with the cousins, it was a busy time in the south. And then we headed up to Wellington, and another gathering representative of another decade. What fun we had in the capital city during those wild 80s - and what fun we had reminiscing during a lengthy and raucous dinner party.

And then back to Auckland, and an unforgettable birthday party, Gary bringing all his producer skills to bear on a production that I at least won't quickly forget.
The day began with a hike, 15 of us taking the stunning Te Henga trail from Bethells Beach to Muriwai: an 8km meander along bush-covered cliffs with views down to hidden coves and rocky outcrops and the wild waters that separate us from our Australian neighbours.
A few beers and a civilised rush for the showers later, and the party began, the other, less-exercised guests arriving in time for sundowners. And in what a setting! A magic carpet-land, courtesy of Ellie and Phil and Talk of Turkey Carpets, on which we lounged drinking delicious cocktails of Gary's invention, and eating the first round of a vegetarian feast which continued through the evening, a couple of local musicians serenading us with saxophone and guitar.

Dinner continued upstairs as night fell and then we danced, our DJ working through the decades. Champagne and speeches - and the cake! Gary totally excelled with this one - or rather, the City Cake Company did, under his direction. My all-time favourite, their gin and lemon cake (they remembered it, eight years on from those days when we were retail neighbours in Mt Eden Village - indicative of their good memories, or the amount I used to eat?!) And iced in lime-green, naturally, topped with a cyclist struggling through the Swiss alps. It hurt to have to cut through that amazing picture! This was Gary's homage to the circuit of Switzerland that three of us hiker/cyclists are planning, to celebrate a total of 160 years of birthdays.
An incredible evening - thank you Bo and Gary. And the party continued next day, with Malcolm and Hayley's famous Mexican breakfast and more friends who hadn't been able to make it the night before.
And back in Switzerland, yet another party with the girls - turning 60 has been a huge amount of fun!

The Sennechilbi

It happens once in every six years, so Küssnacht's Sennechilbi (farmers' fair) is a big event. Last Sunday it began - heralded as these events always are, by a firing of the cannon at 6 a.m. Then came the first of the marches, a brass band marching through the streets. The real action for the tens of thousands of spectators started at two, with a huge parade through the Hauptplatz and along the main street. Amazing floats paraded past, with such extraordinary detail in their decoration that they'd need the entire six years to prepare. Between the floats strolled hordes of men, women and children, all in their festive costumes, handing cups of schnapps and apple juice to the happy punters, and further along a flock of goats, festive bells around their necks and flowers in their horns, then a herd of similarly festooned cows. It was pleasantly cacophonous, each of the floats representing some working element of farm life, with accompanying noises, and scattered throughout the parade a number of groups of musicians, from brass bands, to alphorn players.
And meanwhile, back in the Hauptplatz, young men (and some not so young) were climbing a 41 metre pole. This is another Sennechilbi tradition, though it's not clear to me how pole-climbing relates to alpine farming. But it was certainly awe-inspiring. No spike are involved in this mammoth climb - instead, contestants wear rubber gumboots and rubber gloves, coating themselves with sap to help their grip. At the base the tree's circumference was far greater than the length of the contestants' arms, so the first 30 metres weeded out the weaker men (no women tried it, not surprisingly - though I doubt they would have been invited!) Two resting places were provided on the way up, iron bars set into the pole, and most who made it to the first managed to get to the top. There, they were rewarded with a red handkerchief, 12 of which began the day fluttering from a ring of branches.
Four flags remained as the second day of the Sennechilbi began. This was a quieter day ("a day for Küssnachters", we were told), with a smaller parade, though all the magnificent floats returned for another outing. In the Hauptplatz, as the last of the contestants gave up his attempt to climb the pole, it was auctioned, fetching an extraordinary 11,000 francs! And so the party continued, as the free schnapps continued to flow, and the bread and sausages were followed by bowls of pure cream.
Today it's all over for another 6 years, the streets swept and washed, the stage and street bars dismantled, the pole gone to its new owner. And we feel privileged to have been part of this unforgettable event in our little village...

A quick trip to the south of France

It seemed an awful irony to be travelling in the south of France with a gastric upset. But there we were, in the land of cassoulet and tarte tatin, and I couldn't eat! We were there for just two days of meetings, and it was still a pleasure, despite the stomach turmoil.
Our first meeting was on Monday near Carcassonne, so we spent Sunday night in that marvellous medieval city. Our hotel was an elegant chambre d'hote, our host a most accommodating man who recommended several restaurants in the walled city - but it was a Sunday night in January and we were two of perhaps a mere 6 tourists in town. Not much was open, so we settled for a cozy little bistrot and Gary tucked into the cassoulet while I watched, sipping a glass of the local red.

Tuesday's meeting was at Goult  in Provence, so we drove east again on Monday afternoon, stopping in pretty Roussillon for the night. Another lovely hotel, le Clos de la Glycine, and an upgrade to a beautiful room, in classic provencal style, with simple painted furniture and a truly wonderful view down the valley over the ochre cliffs for which Roussillon is famous. We didn't have time to explore, sadly, but have made a note to return. Instead, we strolled through the narrow streets of the village just after sunset, when the ochre glow was fading from the walls and houses, and then returned for another solitary dinner in the hotel's superb restaurant. Gary was happy with his five course meal - mine was a bowl of lentil soup...
Our meeting in Goult was at the famous Cafe de la Poste. Famous, apparently, because Peter Mayle ate there - but fortunately on this January Tuesday, there were only locals, celebrating the cafe's re-opening after the Christmas break. We joined them, drinking endless cups of espresso (for once grateful that French espressos are so terribly weak) and then finally the plat du jour, a hearty portion of chicken breast, fries, and pureed vegetables - washed down, of course, with a bottle of Luberon red.