:: Wog Blog ::

:: WHAT AM I THINKING ABOUT? ::

:: Friday, 29 September 2006 ::

WOGFROG06 THE HANDOVER, THE DEBRIEF

ByeByeBuddy.

Handed him back at half 12, exactly 14 days after collecting the little buddy.

We did over 3000 miles together, many of them really memorable for the gorgeousness of scenery and the sublime funcitonality of the car. What an engine, what handling, how comfortable, top stereo, goodenuff bootage, good security, supereasy soft-top roofage, oil pressure always great, excellent mileage, brakes (never really tested hard) felt very solid.

I see entirely why it has made Car of the Year 2006.

We did not see a single twin in over 3000 miles. Not one. Closest I came was to a red 1989 MX5 parked round the corner from my digs in London. And that was Car of the Year back then too. Synchronicity. Perfect.

What have we learned?

That driving France and Spain is eminently doable. The tunneltrain is quick and simple. The destinations are really worthwhile for the scenery, the architecture, the quality of the light. You can really get into the drive, or you can tootle and stop and see fascinating stuff whenever and wherever you are. You can mix it up and do both.

Driving those zones in a reliable sporty car that is not too big is definitely the way to go. In Oz there is so much room, so much space. But the continent - tiny carparking spaces; eleventeen point turns to change directions; squeeezing into spaces, into streets. "Phew", is a common sentiment. Because man, oh man, the carparks, the lanes, they are all just a bit too tight, relative to Oz, say. And the lanes on roads are real tight too.

There are many many trucks that one has to share the roads with - I never did understand why I was always - and I do mean always - getting lights flashed at me after overtaking a truck. Any truck. I was not speeding (..... not always) I was not lurching out from hiding behind the truck, or anything untoward. I understood the flashing lights coming the other way - that is a freindly French habit to warn oncoming drivers of the presence of roadcoppers round the bend/over the rise etc.

But the flashing once I have gone past - were they being friendly? I figured so, so made it a habit to wave. Either they appreciated that or thought me out of my gourd.

Did not see too many police. There were definitely speed radars, but always sign posted in advance.

Spaniards are lead footed but the French mostly tootle. They - the French (and the Spanish a bit too) have fallen utterly in love with the Renault Megane. Ubiquitous. And often a kind of dirty cream colour. A bit off, really. Only saw one Citroen DS - the Charles de Gaulle hydrolics special.

Friendliness is definitely a terrific characteristic of both folks. Had beers with French folks, talking all Segolene Royale and Nicolas Sarkozy - smart money is on Sarko according to my "sources". And for the Spaniards? The big issue she is the immigrations, oh yes.

All the good hotels are in the centre of town. So just go there and drive round. You will be fine. I have not made a single booking on this trip. Not one. Only missed a spot one night at Amiens and took it as a sign to get the heck outta there and move on to the next town, Abbeville. My criteria for a hostelry - check that they have internet and parking and you know you have decent joint. One only of those things, and the odds are it ain't so good.

Make an effort with language if you want to, but most of the folks I came across spoke English so there was not a moment of feeling isolated or uncomfortable.

If any of youse feel encouraged to do a drive like this, or like last year's LEJOGLE escapade performed in a little green Morgan 4/4, consider it highly recommended. In fact, it might be appropriate, albeit a bit sombre, to think that these sorts of drives might start to not be so much fun in future. So now or never, eh?

I mean, who among us can imagine feeling any joy at all at driving over 3000 miles in a car that does not operate using a 100% combustion engine.

I mean, what would be the point?

Really, what is the point of moving about in a vehicle that is designed with its focus entirely on the bloody tank at the rear of the car, instead of the motor up the front where all the fun happens?

And plus too, as places like the UK and France and Spain just get too durned filled up with people, people everywhere, and stuff that people need everywhere as well, you have to wonder where the wild wilderness, dare I say it, the "environment" in which to perform some A-grade distance driving is all gonna go.

...

O. Mo. Go.

I just said "environment" and not in a bad way.

Am I going green? Well, only if "green" can mean protecting roads and roadside stuff so it can enjoyed by roadenthusiasts. Yeah, that is better. That I can live with. I reckon that if we all, youse all and me, we want to have drivey fun we have to use roads for good stuff - enthusiastically, yeah? - not just that whole boring [pinched nose voice]: "cars are just for getting me from a to b". Because from that empty headed bollocks comes [that voice again]: "car theft is a victimless crime. Insurance you know".

Zif.

See, the Mazda is a little mechanical person made by loads of actual folks and designed with mucho care and attention and, likely as not, affection. He has feelings. He does not want to live his life on motorways or doing a school run. He wants forests, and mountains, and all his gears given a good old workout. He wants the novente-ocho perciento unleaded stuff. Oh he can tolerate the blistering heat of a Madrid traffic jam and the howling wind and torrential rainyrain of a French motorway. But he stays in the relationship for the good stuff. The fast hairpins turns, high revs and loud music. Good living.

You know, the renty place where I found him is just going to sell him off.

Turnover turnover for those guys. It is all about the residual and the insurance. Do not get me wrong, that is fair enuff - it is business. Really, no offense. It is a big world and we cannot all be overly emotional wogs about cars.

But Jeez. Swear to God, I got so sad there were tears welling. I mean, that car has taken me places I have never seen before. He has made me a better person. And he kept me safe. When I see a real good car I see every person who ever worked to make it. I see its previous models and its history. The folks for my MX5 should all take a bow. I do think that if you are the sort of person who alls you can see when you see a car is an inamimate thing, you should have another look and see a bit more of it. There is a an awful lot to like. And if you cannae bring yourself to really like 'em, at least respect them. Things - cars a heap - absolutely reflect the people who design and make them. And sports cars absolutely reflect history, innovation, engineering, design, art, passion, psychology, religion - the lot of life. And what is not to like about all that?

In London after dropping off the car I needed something to lift my spirits. So I stopped by the Victoria & Albert museum for the Leonardo Da Vinci notebooks exhibition. All his scribbles showing how stuff worked. You know he even had an amoured car thing in mind.

I reckon Leonardo, with his passion for things that go, he would have loved the Mazda.

Would he have loved a hybrid car?

Gi. Fa.

Thanks for reading, all. Out.
:: WB 8:55 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG 06 DAY 14 PART 2 ABBEVILLE TO LONDON

I like getting around Englerland by car cos the visual cliches of red phone boxes
and
absurdly narrow and green country roads
is all 100% true and you do not even have to be careful about trying to find this stuff. The oppsite, I reckon. You would have to do so some serious motorway hugging to avoid the fun in the Engerland and particularly in Kent, the Garden of Englerland.

Reminds me, my Pa Gino never took Australian citizenship because he maintained he would never ever pledge allegiance to "the English Queen and her bunch of Germans family" or words to that effect. And he loathed old Oz Prime Minister Robert Menzies, who he used to mock terribly cos menzies was a Queen worshipper and an Engerland snob to boot. "I did but see her passing by" said Menzies of ol' Queenie, and "Heaven is a cottage in Kent".

Let us just note that Gino found neither statement, nor their respective concepts, ....how to say, impressive.

So, drivey drivey and the laneways and loveliness are all terrific. iPod powering, and then
Chubby Brown.

Perfect. But things got weird after that.

Nice car Wog.

You're not too bad yourself, you know.

Lordy, those guys were absolutely unafraid. I revved that Mazda but good. And they seemed to like it. Get those guys a flat on Conrod Straight, eh?

Anyhoo, mucho more
super narrow lanesways went by, as I pondered the English sheep.

Why do they all look so ... alarmed and alarming?

A question for the ages, eh readers? Well, enuff of a question to keep my drivey mind occupied as I kept driving.

I decided Canterbury would do the trick for a Cathedral fix so tried to work out where the sun was under the thick English clouds. And I went driving on.

And with no effort at all, I came upon some of Englands finest mad cows.
The Kentish Black Spazz.

And the little seen Long Haired Red Dorset Nutter.

And then I went on to
Canterbury Cathedral - this is a lovely open quadrangle.

Beautiful but quite a lot of work is being done in it and around it right now which I did feel detracted from the place. It is also right touristy around the Cathedral and not car friendly, which, natch, offended both me and the Mazda.

Anhoo, after lighting some candles - what the heck, it is Anglican, right? CofE, right? But candles are nice anyways - I hooned it up to London, ignoring Red Ken Livingstone's anti-driving congestion nonsense for the city. I was all over the shop, lane changing late, figuring if I could just get to the Amercian Embassy area in Mayfair, there I would be bound to see 'Sheratons' and Intercontinentals' and such hotels. Never driven in London before. Do not know the town well.

The plan worked fine.

Tomorrow, last post on this journey, as part 3 sees me part with the Mazda.

...

I think I might be getting the blues about it.

Out.
:: WB 4:11 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 14 PART 1 ABBEVILLE TO LONDON

Time to head Mazda back to his home in Londinium so it was

bye bye Abbeville Cathedral
last of my Cathedral visits in France.

But first, a quick stop to the south, only half an hour or so, to Le Chateaux de Rambure.

I had no idea when it might be open but figured on 10, as much of France seems to funciton on that rather civilised hour as a start time. I got there a bit before but there was a fab girlie in the booth, and I asked her if I could entrez with the Mazda pour make le photo, yeah? S'il vous plait?

And she said "oui".

So kind.

It is such a charming and exquisite medieval brick building, beautifully preserved, and excellently presented too - I went on the tour and the guide spoke French and kindly did so slowly enuff for me to comprehend as well as occasionally in English. It contains an 18thC billiard table that is so cleverly designed that mechanical catches open up in the wood to reveal the sunk balls. Plus a wooden spinning top game table with all sorts of obstructions on it - the unmechanised precursor to the pinball machine. Noice.

So, finally heeding Ol' Billy-Bin-Laded I headed north to Calais and the train tunnel. All very diligent about getting the Mazda home, right? Imagine my concern when another
Talibanny Goat
appeared demanding an end to the FranceFun of 06.

So, back on the tunnellytrain me and Mazda duly went.

No problems at all, except for a hugely long queue caused by an English family in a weirdo cheapo looking Mercedes wagon thing, who apparently were insisting on bringing 3 "animales" (that is all the toll operator would tell me) onto the train without the right money to cover them....their fare, presumably. Who knows. Whatever. No problemo for the Mazda getting on the train, enuff time for me to scarf some quick foie gras and apple tart tartine, then a pleasant nap on the crossover and then into Englerland.

Kent, atchally, cos it is an easy kind of 'go right off the train' sort of direction according to my map. And plus cos I gained an hour on the cross-over I figured I could have some jolly English driving fun before getting to wherever I felt like getting to for the night, bearing in mind the need to deliver car with fuel tank o' gas to Kensington by 1 p.m on the morrow.

A couple hours of fun English driving in a fun car - perfect.
:: WB 3:38 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 13 DIJON TO ABBEVILLE

Another stupendously gorgeous day's drive today.

A forest for hours.

Hours I tell you, of fourth gear fun driving.

And then you come out of the forest and you get
into high up country, all rolling hills,
the land of Julius Caesar as he crushed the Gauls, who were led by

Vercincetorice.

A stunning and huge statue, really quite moving.

But I had to get moving on and I did. Me and Mazda, zoom zoom.

And then.

...

Then this.

Followed by the baleful stare.

Get the Hell outta France, Wog.

I hear ya my climby mountain pal. I am gone tomorrow, to Ol' Blightey.

Out.
:: WB 1:13 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 12 CLERMONT-FERRAND TO DIJON

Okay. Outta Clermont-Ferrand and O. Mo. Go.

Chateaux Billy.

I shit you not.

Chateaux Frickin' Billy.

Closed Mardi, natch. But that's okeedoke with me. I know a Good Doctor who makes a wee table wine called "Good Morning Billy". Apparently undrinkable. I believe the Chateaux is prolly unliveable. Synchronicity, n'est pas?

Another terrific day of driving, and finally some
saw some A-grade French Beef.

Everywhere that beef is on the menu the French go to great pains to declare that the beef is French, and local and the abbattoir is local and French and all that.

You can see why they are so particular about it.

So Dijon for the Mustard.

Regrettably, unlike the Americains, they do not make their mustard available in superparge jug sizes. I had really wanted to buy a superhuge jug of the stuff to use as a kind of scale against the mazda, but sadly not to be.

What Dijon does have is dogs and dog shit by the kilogramoko.
Utilise the Sac, Peoples!

It also has lovely coloured rooftops.

A very pretty town, the capital of Burgundy, or the Bourgogne, as the French are want to call it 9with their different words for everything, hat tip Steve Martin).

Plus it has the Rampant Coloured Cockerell of the Poste & telegraph & Phones.

I always celebrate communication technology with big proud chickens. Nice to others do so too.

So, tomorrow, orf thru' a forest. Do check in.

Out.
:: WB 12:18 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 11 PART 3 ALBI TO CLERMONT-FERRAND VIA MILLAU

The holy Millau Viaduct
complete with celestial sudden ray of sunshine.

Designed by genuis architect Norman Foster of Engerland, made entirely with private money, brought in early and under budget and paid for by affordable tolls. It is a shiny capitalistic success.

And it is just magically high and slender and crosses the Tarn.

Of course, down Tarn-side you can drive right under it.

And, being such an icon, there is a viewing joint with an information spot
where I got a jigsaw puzzle, cos I used to love doing those as a kid - old maps a real preference - and I wonder if you become dumberer with age so that they take longer? Hope so.

Then it was orf south to get on the thing by getting on to the big autoroute, of which it now forms a part, so the Mazda and I could power north.

Getting on it.

Overtook the slowpoke and kept on hooning.

And clicking, natch.

Me and Mazda had it all to ourselves. Song of choice on iPod? Air's "Femme d'Argent". French. Modern. Fitting.

It is sure windy up there, and those barriers at the side prevent the driver from seeing the humongous drop that would happen if you just let yourself and your car go and stopped concentrating. Sometimes, it is higher than the clouds. Imagine that. Driving above clouds.

It is such a beautiful design that you feel the same sort of joy on it and you feel inside a fabulous cathedral.

It's a Church in the Sky, I reckon.

Every driver, every petrolhead, should make a pilgrimage.
:: WB 11:09 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 11 PART 2 ALBI TO CLERMONT-FERRAND VIA MILLAU

Thankyou Jeebus.

Now, the Tarn, she stays always strong.

She is all red and that, I guess, must be the clay from which all the red brick of Albi cathedral came. Yeah?

And the Tarn has some hydrodamming action on it too, which makes the air all round feel fresh and nice.

But the Tarn has some odd ol' bridges.

I mean, do consider this. It is sweet but one car wide and made of wood, and while the 2006 Mazda MX5 is as light as ever, the 2006 Wog is carrying extra weight so I decided against crossing this in the car. But isn't it ridiculously lovely? Gotta cross it sometime. Hmmmm, maybe in a MiniMoke.

So, driving on, all really quite hypnotic and spiritual.

Then, it suddenly appears.

The Grail.
:: WB 10:48 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 11 PART 1 ALBI TO CLERMONT-FERRAND VIA MILLAU VIADUCT

The main aim of the whole driveydrive was to get to Millau.

But first, a vist to
the Toulouse-lautrec museum
in Albi to see the artist's sensational painting/study of the head of a grey horse. An absolute favorite work of the little man for mine and if you scroll down the link you'll see it has made a stamp in Mali. Only image I can locate on the innernut. Durn my basic skillz.

Filled up the Mazda, got some Euros outta a hole in the wall - fabulous how my Sydney pin works just like at home, pas de probleme, at an Albigensian ATM. I love the 21st Century - and set off to follow the river Tarn outta town and all the way to Millau.

This drive is quite simply the Best. Drive. Ever.

Ever.

Took me and the Mazda about 4 hours, cos it is all winding seriously around and second and third gear always with the river on one side, plus sights along the way. It is lush and green and the roads are a bit bumpy and barely wide enuff for the Mazda much less the other cars coming the other way - very very occasionally but - this is not a popular drive, I guess, except for those who have to do it to get from teeny village to teeny village, cos it is so time consuming.

The sights along the way are just lovely.

Some of them were worrying.

That tunnel is one car wide and black as night. It is gorgeously curved and I figured "the sound of the Mazda in there would be tops". But it is one car wide and black as night.

Hmmmm. Could I sucessfully back out of it - Lordy only knows how long it is - if I met a car coming the other way?

Good luck Wog.
:: WB 11:27 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 10 TARRAGONA TO ALBI

A big drive from Spain, just south of Barcelona, to France, just North East of Toulouse. Major highway action, except for the bit out of Tarragona where I went past a totally oddball bar in the middle of a blasted nowhere zone, called, get this, "Bar Betty Boop" with BB all done in huge neon. Going too fast and with traffic both ways so no shots taken cos the dang joint just appeared outta nowhere and I was hardly expecting a Betty Boop bar on my trip.

First stop out the hotel was to the
Dali Museumin Figueres right up in Northern Spain and it was wonderful. I am a huge fan of Dali's paintings and drawings. Not the rubbish sculpture and wankery.

Isn't this wonderful? The man was a genius.

Anyhoo, after the art stop was drive drive time and the drive up into France on the east bit of the joining borders is really delightful, the highways winding around alot, good real good quality tarmac and happy French folks taking tolls on the other side.

And when you get into France, you get to see these
fabulous free Michelin Man air stops at each toll
so you can top up your tyres if you wish. Neato. No needo for the MX5, but, which is running on Yokohamas and they seem to be holding up quite well, thanks all the same Frenchie.

The oddball thing of the day, appart from Betty Boop, was having the iPod, which lives on shuffle function, suddenly come round to a song I did not even know I owned. "Jungle Love" is one the dumbest songest ever recorded and it was made known to me via "Everybody Loves Raymond" because Ray's brother, whatsisname, played by that tall guy, really loves the song and cannot resist dancing like a spazz to it. Made me laff up a storm when I saw that episode and alls I have ever known about the song was the lyric "Jungle Love, it's driving mad it's making me craazy". Turns out it is a Steve Miller song, and it's so dumb it's deeply deeply catchy.

Arrived into Albi about 5 in the p.m and it is without doubt my favorite spot of the trip so far, a gorgeous university town on The Tarn river, beautifully kept and intimate while still feeling spacious and happening.

And why Albi? Because it is the home town of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and I adore his horse paintings plus I have always secretly wanted to go to a French hotel and say, in a Peter-Sellers-Revenge-of-the-Pink-Panther accent, "I want a rreum". [Cannae find a pic on the innernut of Sellers in his Toulouse-Lautrec get up. Dang. A fave movie scene for me.]

So, Albi Cathedral is simply wonderful. Turns out Albigensians derives from the town, meaning Cathars, meaning folks who thought they were ver so much closer to God than the Roman Catholic folks.

...

Needless to say, Rome won.

But Albi Cathedral is a sensation and winner all its own.
Its exterior
is all red brick and kind of impenetrable looking, but
its interior is such a surprising jewel,
every surface painted, and so many chapels. It is an absolute wonder and worth visiting. I made it, in the rain, to the last of mass, so it was filled with people and priests and beautiful music. Fabulous. Photos cannae do it justice, and certainly not my shaky stuff.

Here is a bit of the organ and the column beside it all painted
with folks in hell and those above. So detailed. Incroyable.

So, hotel fabulouse, right on the water, terrific restaurant, much cheese enjoyed. I am loving the Languedoc. Tomorrow awaits, though, the biggest big day of the whole trip. The point, actually.

Out til then.
:: WB 9:50 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 9 MURCIA TO TARRAGONA

Major motorway action today, trying to make up ground into my last Spanish stop, the Roman town of Tarragona on the Mediterranean coast. And in driving rain to boot. Whoo-hoo. The iPod certainly got its workout today cos it was the only entertainment - I could not face any more Spanish madness on the radio and the landscape up out of the south and up the coast northwards changes a little but not a heap.

Landed at Tarragona late afternoon and checked into a casino hotel to be told "it may be a little noisy tonight because there is a festa going on". No problemo Juan", thought I. I like a festa as much as the next guy.

Checked in to find
a very well preserved Roman amphitheatre within spitting distance.

Dropped the bags and headed orf following crowds to find myself in the middle of a truy weirdo bit of celebration.

Strangely dressed young folks danced
to the tunes of very old, medieval instruments played by other young people and

crazy animal puppets covered in firecrackers

made their way through the crowds.

Super fun and an occupational health and safety nightmare that would never pass muster in Oz.

I copped a full on firecracker into the lense of the glasses I thankfully was wearing that afternoon. And my perfectly natural inclination to yell "merda" (in English of course) got the man next to me all laughing and happy. So we got chatting as much as my very basic Spanish would allow. And he gave me some sweeties.

Then the rain came down. Loads of it. So, back to the casino hotel to watch some teevee and check out the fireworks that went off. Not a patch on Sydney, I am afraid. But being a Sydneysider nowadays, I cannae resist the lure of colourful harmless explosives in the sky.

It would have been restful, but it was "Los Simpsons".

There are simply no words.

Tomorrow, yet more driving, back to Frogland. For now, out.
:: WB 12:20 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 8 CAPILEIRA TO MURCIA

Five and a half hours of windiness up high in the Sierra Nevada mountains, leaving Capileira and getting to Murcia quite late. That was my day.

Here is the Mazda in Capileira.

All along the way I took many many of my traditional low quality but 100% enthusiastic road snaps but it ain't easy at speed on tight roads.

Many blind turns.

Superfun. All 2nd and 3rd gear flat out high revs all the time. I seriously recommend this drive for any petrolheads in good sporty cars because
how can you not have fun when the road ahead is all like this?

The pics cannae do it justice. Just imagine a climb up so high as you drive that your ears pop - twice. Imagine turning left and right over and over, changing gears, getting queasy from all the poving around, and smiling the whole time.

Atachally, I can think of one non-fun thing that could happen to you on this drive. It happened to me. You could lock in to a Spanish radio station that played...well, I will just come out and type it.

I have never heard Jethro Tull's Aqualung before. It is like Zappa. But without the humour.

Sitting on a park bench, eyeing.... Urgh.

I think I know a barrister who went to see Tull two times when they played Melbourne not long ago. Hmmmm.

In any case, from the Spanish I could make out, I would say that announcer has a high opinion of Tull, so mebbe I need to give it another chance.

....

Anyhoo, Tabernas is north of where I got out of Las Alpujarras, in the Almeria deserty bit of Spain and Tabernas is where Sergio Leone made his "Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo", "Per un Pugno di Dollari", "Per Qualche Dollari in Piu" and one of my all time favorites with Rod Steiger and James Coburn "A Fistful of Dynamite".

Spaghetti Western territory, complete with cheesy 'western hollywoodland'. Saw it from the road. No offence, but I drove on by.

So, into Murcia for rest - check in check out - with the road beckoning all over again next day. One more stop in Spain.

Out doodles.
:: WB 1:19 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 7 GRANADA

Got chauffered into Granada for a spot of lunch - carpaccio of cod and prawns followed by duck terrine salada with foie gras, and sangria to wash it all down. Not particularly Spanish but quite enjoyable nevertheless.

Caught a bit of the Alhambra from my dining table at lunch.

Apparently it's a nightmare getting tickets and you need to be organised and day-in-advance about it all. Another time maybe.

Granada cathedral but. I did queue for an up close and personal tour.

Man oh man. What a joint.

And what a bunch of gold.

A bit gauche, to my mind. And I am told Madrid is even crazier with the gold. That will be a must see for me on some future trip.

Included within the delights of the Cathedral are about 12 or so

large vellum volumes of really early music.
You can scrutinise the opened pages closely behind glass and they are simply wonderful. I remember learning about early notation - invented by an Italian, natch - on the teevee (never listen to anyone who tells you the teevee is the idiot box, they have not got a clue what they are talking about).

The whole Cathedral is delightful. Granada town is a bit of alright too, but like the bits of Spain I have passed through it is a town getting bigger and bigger with bucketloads of building going on outside everywhere. Makes it feel hot and bit grubby. But still lovely.

Headed back to Caplieira for a light dinner and cuddly sleep again, in pre for the next day's drive through all the las Alpujarras and then north.

Out doodles. Post later.
:: WB 2:00 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 6 TOLEDO TO CAPILEIRA

A very long drive on Day 7, many many hours in the Mazda, to get South East down from Toledo past Granada and high up into the Sierra Nevada supaMountains to a teeny village called Capileira, there to rest for a couple days. Got in to Cap late and was welcomed by top skippy hosts.

But first, there was a pressing need to make slight detour out of Toledo

What's that I spy? A dragon?

Yeee, its Don Quixote's Windmills...with Mazda MX5, as nature intends.

Lordy, this made me happy. I always lerved that story of madness and Dulcinea and Sancho Panza and the skinny horse. I think my Pa read it to me...or maybe I read it. But I do recall that terrible melted nail art of the 1970's - you know the stuff, all hunks of black melted nails made into sculptures, and my parents had a littlish sculpture of Don Q. Plus there was a musical for sure.

Anyhoo, a lot of motorway action south towards Motril before the turnoff into the Las Alpujarras zone, which is just superwinding high up roads, all sheer cliffs and hairpin turns, up up to Capileira. No shots on that drive - I did that on day 8 and I'll post about that in a bit.

But I did get a very important shot.

It's the Big Black Spanish Beastie and he's bin caught quite perfectly by my camera.

Finalmente! Damn thing's bin haunting me.

So, plenty of gin and tonics and a late night dinner of chitterchat on a terrace close to the stars in Capileira and a sleep in a bed so soft it was like being hugged to slumber. That was my Day 7 night.

And I do mean close to the stars.

Day 8? Well, you will need to read on.
:: WB 12:44 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 5 BURGOS TO TOLEDO

Holy Toledo!, that is.

What a drive! To get down to absolutely gorgeous Toledo - and whoa, that cathedral simply wonderful - from Burgos there was no choice but to get down to Madrid and the further south. The countryside of Castilla y Leon where Burgos is, is mostly flatlands of absolute brownness and dryness, very blasted, not much growing, not much to see, except of course the one major sight that my fumbly fingers managed not to capture.

But it's an icon so here it is anyhoo for youse.

El Toro Nero.

Pretty fab, really.

Which is a noice thing to observe about this part of Spain cos Madrid - well, what the hell? That was the most hair-raising part of the drive to date. There is a major building boom going on and the signage is just shot to pieces as a result. I have seen some shows in the Discovery Channel about huge building works in Madrid and that's all well and good from the comfort of my loungeroom. But from the comfort of the Mazda it was not well and good. There are loads of bollards everywhere, and sheets of ripped fabric that appeared to be staped to chickenwire, obscruing the turns. Add concrete borders to roads that have lanes that are way too thin for cars like the little MX5 and certainly too thin from the hundreds of craazy trucks on, and then thrown in Spanish leadfooted drivers and you have got yourself one heck of a terrifying drive.

So, finaly signs start to appear for Toledo and I join leadfooted fray and get the hell southbound as quick as possible, and then start to go through yet more brown and blasted landscape, this time in Castilla-La Mancha. Nothing to see really, except there is another Toro on the other side of Madrid - fumbly camera work missed that one too. Sheesh. Gotta stop pressing the off button instead of the shutter button. That would really do my camera work a load of good. G'uh.

Still, at 120 kilometrokos per hour - very civilised - it's prolly best not to do too much car-camera work, eh?

So, Toledo. What a delight. On a hilltop. Tiny streets, far too much touristcrap of swords and knives, but balanced by loads of El Greco art - not sure what I think of his works, you know. There is something vaguely velvet-painting about them, if you know what I mean. They are definitely beautiful, but so....odd for the 17th C. There is something really quite modern about them. Cheesy nearly.

Another thing about Toledo is
they really lerv their marzipan.

And Toledo tourism magnates sure did fall for
Segway silliness for tourists to get around town.

...

See what I mean about a sense of cheese to the place?

Not this but.
Coolest name for a hotel ever.

So, tomorrow, orf to Sierra Nevada country. See if I can fumble the shutter on some of Don Quixote's famous windmills that are south of Toledo, on the way to my destincion.

...

And see if I can get goshdurned Procul Harums "Conquistador" outta my head. Urgh. Which is Basque for "What drugs were the boys of Procul Harum on, anyways?"

Out.
:: WB 12:16 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 4 BORDEAUX TO BURGOS

I know, I know. Burgos is in Spain. Not France, so "Frog" is hardly right, eh? Yeah, well, yeah. I cannae find a decent rhyming slur for the Spanish leg of my drive - Spic just isn't the right sound. So, whatever. I will stick with the existing title and youse can all get over it.

So it was
bye-bye Bordeaux on a gorgeous morning, and all big drive down to Burgos in Spain.

Went through some weird squally weather - weird cos it only lasted in spershort spurts, then the sun would be back out. But it was mostly sun. And saw a lot of these looming lumber trucks as I rolled along. Needless to say, a convertible's nightmare to be stuck behind one of these trucks, cos the loads look so precarious, it's all heartstopping and they are best overtaken at speed.

Speaking of speed, for any petrolheads, you gotta put this drive on your list cos the highway going out of the south of France at Bayonne and into Northern Spain is absolutely fantastic. It winds all around and about and goes through the seriously big Pyrenees mountains so there is loads of beautiful scenery and fun tunnels to be enjoyed - the Mazda sounds soo good in the tunnels - and the raod quality, while not as supergreat as the French stuff is pretty durned good indeed.

One of these drives I am going to have to pre-install a mounted videocam on the dash so youse can see what I see properly, cos it really it breathtaking.

There was, however, boiling rage during this trip, caused by the objective disgrace that is the Basque "language". Yetcht. Ha - that's probably the Basque word for butterfly. Takes something beautiful and make it sound like you're spitting up.

I tell you, this stuff is pure bullshit. Sadly it pollutes most of the signs along the drive so one has to endure the sight of the words of this stupid language (its verb endings are, I shit you not, "-ek" and "-ak") alongside helpful words that are perfectly understandable to everybody because they are essentially Italian words.

Like "Attencion". "Kasu egitea?" How about "exit". "Irteera" (that's the one that set me off.)

Or this kicker "speed 50 kilometres per hour".

In Basque? "Orduko 50 kilometroko abiaduran." What the ..?

"Kilometroko". Isn't that just priceless. Natch, they're too "proud" of their "cultue" to just say "kilometro". Idiots in the mountains who the Romans could not be bothered to ever chase, would never have had a word to describe the distance of 1000 metres. But having been presented with one, they naturally shit all over it.

It is an objective truth that language spoken in France and Spain should be variants of Italian. Full stop. End of story. I got no problem with the Poles and the Czechs and Hungarians et al speaking their own stuff with all the "w's" and the "k's". In fact, I think I can pinpoint my hatred - it is the excessive use of the letter "k". There is no "k" in the Italian alphabet. As nature intends.

Anyhoo, enuff already. Once I got the hell out that zone I powered on down into Castilla y Leon and into Burgos, a big ol' town that is just lovely. Stayed at a top shelf hotel on the river that included this perfect painting:

Just says "Spain" to me

And natch had a wander in the cooler evening, for a few hours, along with all sorts of Spaniards out taking the air in beautifully lit plazas. Including the plaza in front of
Burgos Cathedral. Gorgeous.

Then back to hotel room for restiness, in front of the box seeing a pretty terrific Spanish Talk Show all very very mucho mucho supportivo of Il Papa. Lots of footage of Benedict speaking in Rome, and getting whooping applause from loads of folks for not apologising to Muslims.

He really did not. He is sorry for their reaction - a very different thing. But enuff of that - other bloggers have it covered plenty.

Tomorrow, more road action. Out til then.
:: WB 11:17 PM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 3 POITIERS TO BORDEAUX

Thank Jeebus for the power steering on the Mazda cos it took me about elenteen attempts before I was able to release him unharmed from the holding pen he was stuck in last night. It was an early start, natch, but I did deign to enjoy a croissant and a cafe for petite dejeuner this a.m with my hotelier host who seemed much more cheerful this morning than he did last night. Don't know what might have changed between the night and the morning, but I am reminded somehow to record that I did go past a town called Fouqueveille. Whatever.

So, sunshine, all setting of the earth, and much enjoyment on the French radio that I finally managed to get sorted on the Mazda this morning, as I motored along. But it seemed every few kiometres I'd enter a really dense mistyfoggyness that required a slowing down and a putting on of headlights. On and off, fast slow, quite a bit of effort. The saving grace being some kind of communist radio station, I am certain.

The announcers were blathering in superfast French but I could make out "communist", "apparatchik", "salope bourgeois(ie)", "Trotsky", then they played the Internationale. if that ain't a red radio show orunno what is. I mean, 'The International'? Urgh. What a freakin' durge, eh? You ever want an explanation for the loss of the Cold War, just consider the music. No sentient being could bear the soundtrack of the commies.)

Got into Bordeaux early afternoon and made my way immediatement
to the Cathedral
where some Monsignor was getting ecumenical ordination, so lovely signing and cameras everywhere. Noice.

Bonus exhibition of lovely old cars

nearby made for a pleasant afternoon of walking about, til the rain came. It's a wonderful big historic town, well preserved, very clean, easy to get around. Fabulous. Then it was back to very comfy hotel for some fabulous white wine and "Les Simpsons" on the telly, the latter which is, to be blunt, a travesty of an injustice. Really. There are no words. Not even the wine can make it better.

Time to restez. Out doodles.
:: WB 11:35 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 2 ROUEN TO POITIERS

Big drivey day in sunshiney goodness. But first a stop to
Rouen Cathedral

which has
the biggest door snake I have ever seen.

Then big drivey day including a terrific aside into Grande Couronne and environs where there used to be a Formula One racetrack on public roads, but all the fun stopped in 1994. There is no signage I could find to indicate where the fun used to happen but it was sure fun to scoot round teeny streets all the way from there and on down to L'Aigle (which reminds me of "the Glavin", for some reason).

Only strageness was the constant presence of
this signage.

....Yes. That is all I have to say about it.

Now, not sure how it came to pass but the only radio I could pick up on the Mazda was the football tragic's channel from the UK, so I got to hear a called game, around the grounds reports, and then, best of all, for a lovely weekend drive as the earth rises slowly in the West (thanks, Galileo) I got to hear the scores report:

Sheffield Wednesday 1, Everton Nil
Dum-de-dum 3,....Everton Nil

Just like when my Pa was driving the Alfa with me scrunched up in the back, all the way home on a Sunday night.

Like a cup of cocoa that sound of calling soccer scores is. Love it.

Acthally, I heard the Wigan 2 Everton 2 game and it was quite the corker, all goals scored in second half. None by Timmy Cahill, little Oz battler that he is. But he had a good game nevertheless.

So, drivey drivey, scoot scoot, listening to crazed Englanders talk about how Arsen Venger has every right to be a jackass, cos he's just that kind of winning sort, and they're all jackasses, right? Right? Whatever. Time to give away a leaf shredder to the next called who can name the entire winning squad of Whatever FC(might as well have been Barnstoneworth United, really, I am not kidding, that radio station is outta control. Honestly, they seemed always on the verge of saying: Hagarty A, Hagarty F, MacIntyre, Treadmore, Davitt ....and I don't remember anymore. Anyone does and can be bothered, do drop the full list into comments.)

So, the sun starts setting and I pop the roof up and head into Poitiers, driving on past the shiney big neon sign of the perfectly respectable Mercure Hotel located at Chatellrault and on into the big town of Poitiers which seems to make not the slightest effort at being welcoming or nice even to look at. Through a kind of French EastLA vibey area and up up on thin mean damp streets, as the rain started to come down a bit. Not a hotel in sight - wha'? This town is meant to be the region's capital city - no nice hoteley action for Mazda and me?

Now, being as I was feeling all kind of nostalgie for my youth as a passenger on weekend nights listening to the soccer with my Pa, I started thinking about the ol' man, and it just popped into my head. Pure subconscious I guess, or, as I prefer to think, Gino from the other side sending me a sign and making his usual mischief. I started thinking about a weirdo story that he really liked, that was French. All about a strange town and a strange hotel where weary travellers would go and, although they felt uneasy about the hoteliers, they would press on and would be shown to their room, and found it contained a large four-poster bed. Happy happy joy joy thought they.

But.

In the night, as the weary travellers slept the sleep of the sleepy in the big bed, the four posts would slowly turn turn, screwing downwards, to suffocate the weary travellers, so the hoteliers could rob them. And pass off the corpses as having passed away of natural causes in the night.

Probably of weariness.

How Gino laughed and laughed at that story. Well, I thought to myself, let's see if we can find ourselves an authentic terrifying French Auberge where there's something amiss about the proprietor.

Pas de probem. Found it on the first go. When I asked if I could have 'a chambre avec internet and security parking pour La Mazda' he spat and gestured dismissively 'No internet. Carpark, turn right, 5 minutes it shuts. 50 Euro cash. No breakfast.'

Heaven. Things had started badly and it only got worse. It was 'security parking' from the street, alright. That was ecure as all get out. Doors made in the 18th century, unlikely to be scaled or perforated by any modern menace. It was the awning over the carpark and the fact that crammed in there were 7 other cars, in a space that in Oz would never shoehorn in more than 5 cars, tops. Not even in Sydney. And the awning looked to be an earlier relic than the security doors.

Would it hold for the night? Maybe. Would I hold up, though, with the obvious drug den in the room beside me, with the loud African music and the loud Africans in and out of their room and into the hallway, always screaming with the "Allez Allez".

Hurry Hurry? For what? For the lift at the end of the hall? It was on of those that can only hold 2 tiny French people. It held me and my bags - just barely - and inched its way upwards and downwards as the enviro-friendly lights cut out every few seconds leaving me in a confined space and in the pitch dark. Joy.

No soap, 1 tiny towel, a teevee chained to wall and walls as paper thin as all get out. I didn't so much sleep as lie there waiting for the Africans to pass out, which they duly did at about 1 which was civilsed for a Satdy night. Anyhoo, the upshot, I have stayed in an 18th C divey hotel that has had all the charm beaten out of it, except the lovely windows and high ceilings and uneven floors. I have experienced malevolent French 'hospitality' and I can so get that weary traveller story better than ever. Seriously, even if I hadn't read the story, I would have taken that room - cos when you're weary, you're weary, right?

....

Look at the size of that thing! It's gotta be 7 foot across.
:: WB 10:23 AM [link+] ::

WOGFROG06 DAY 1 LONDON TO ROUEN

At 1 p.m 15 September I got my hands on a lovely new Mazda MX5 (Car of the Year 2006)

and by 5 p.m

it and I were on the train

crossing the tunnel into France.

Superfun drivey day of appallingly heavy traffic out of London (guh, Friday afternoon....g'uh) in wonderful sunshine and fabulous drivey fun in sunshine again on French motorways from Calais down into Rouen, where Joan of Arc was burned to death by the English. Am about to go wondering for the obligatory WogShot of the Cathedral. Love a Cathedral, me.

Traditional English pessimism and relentless negativity was in full force, I am delighted to report. It just wouldn't be a trip to Ol' Blightey without some Marvin the Robot dourness. Makes me smile, it does.

It began at the beginning. I got the "Oh, there's no Mazda I'm afraid, but we can upgrade you into an Audi A4 convertible, leather seats, automatic".

....

Hmmm. It is not so much that there were upberwog tears or howls of anger, smashing of the phone onto a hard surface, threats to killkillkill or anything. There was a sense of frustration I experienced, no doubt. But mostly there was a kind of steely, quiet Don Corleone kind of "I am unhappy; 'upgrade' is not the word I would use in these circumstances; and would you please ring around and do what you can to find me a Mazda". They did find me a Mazda. Problem averted. Well, there was no problem at all had they bothered to ring around before calling me.

I got the "Oh you'll never get a cab to take you to the carenty place, it's such a short journey. they'll refuse for sure. And this from a concierge! Natch, a cab came and the driver was lovely and asked me all the trip and we chatted happily for 5 minutes or so.

I got the "Oh, you'll never make it on to the train tunnel today. Friday afternoon? It'll be a half day wait for sure. Nightime before you get out."

Down the M4 into the train place, on the next train, pas de problems.

I adore the English.

Anyhoo, car is, natch, a fabulous thing, only 5k miles on the clock and all comfortable and clean. SarfEast Engerland is also a wonderful thing, all motorway and rolling hils with blackfaced sheep and cows all about the gentle stink of country poo everywhichway you turn. Fecund, it is. Turns out France from Calais to Rouen is rather the stinkysame.

Reminds me of The Royal Show, where my Pa used to take me very year, so we could go see the magnificent bulls and I could clamber all over them as they slept on beds of haycovered concrete. Ahh, good times.

The French motorways have a very sensible design element that could do with some adoption everywhere - there's a railing in the middle, between the two traffic directions, that's set at just the right height to block headlights, but enough to let the softish aura glow on around. What this means is that the motorways don't need to be lit up so much, cos you can keep your high beams on, lighting up everything comfortably without having to constantly turn 'em on and off as traffic approaches, to avoid blinding your fellow travellers coming the other way. You get to see the aura of the lights on the side of the partition but not the glare, and it's all kind of The Cure's "A Forest", you know? Kinda cool.

Oh, and their tunnels are tops too, cos they are the most rudimentary circleyarches of solid concrete with no tiles anywhere and just bunches of lights hangin' off the ceilings and huge fans hanging there too, to keep the air moving about as necessary.

All very form is function. Good stuff.

Good stuff too, for petite dejeuner - that's collazione to youse - of croissants and coffee. Molto bene, tres bon.

So, long drive today hopefully into Bordeaux and hopefully with a bit of off-the-motorway action to see some misty rainy countryside but not craaazy abandonned-ape action. No. Thank. You.

But before that, maybe just one more episode of Inspector Rex. Swear to God - the God of reason, that is - it is like Europe has a 24hour Rex channel, cos in Italy too, if you're jonesin' for Rex, you can always get a fix on any teevee anytime.

Whatever.

Zoom zoom.
:: WB 1:05 AM [link+] ::

SMAKERMAN DOWN

A top exchange of pure bile.

Some commenter:
I’d be interested in seeing what Nareshi Dire (and you Piers) think about similar activities in Liberal seats. When you got the Opus Dei mob running the Liberal party and certain state and federal members beholden to Hillsong, things aren’t good. The religious right wing crowd are just as dangerous because they are extremists. Or are extremists only dangerous if they’re non Christian extremists?
Ah.... ain’t hypocrasy grand.

Piers Akerman replied on Thu 14 Sep 06 at 01:56pm:
Grow up. When someone from Hillsong straps on a bomb vest and starts reciting the Lord's Prayer in a bus full of school children you may gain some credibility. Till then you're a simpleton, with a spelling problem and full of garbage.

Claps and whoops for Piers.
:: WB 2:50 AM [link+] ::

HERE'S AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH FOR YOU, ALGORE

Oz has had floods and a drought and the humidity.

For ever.

And we love it.


MY COUNTRY
Dorothea McKellar

The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-
I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again
The drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country, a wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her, you will not understand -
Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly.

Written in 1904.

And just for fun here's another one from one of my fave skippies, A.B Paterson:


A Mountain Station


I bought a run a while ago,
On country rough and ridgy,
Where wallaroos and wombats grow --
The Upper Murrumbidgee.
The grass is rather scant, it's true,
But this a fair exchange is,
The sheep can see a lovely view
By climbing up the ranges.

And She-oak Flat's the station's name,
I'm not surprised at that, sirs:
The oaks were there before I came,
And I supplied the flat, sirs.
A man would wonder how it's done,
The stock so soon decreases --
They sometimes tumble off the run
And break themselves to pieces.

I've tried to make expenses meet,
But wasted all my labours,
The sheep the dingoes didn't eat
Were stolen by the neighbours.
They stole my pears -- my native pears --
Those thrice-convicted felons,
And ravished from me unawares
My crop of paddy-melons.

And sometimes under sunny skies,
Without an explanation,
The Murrumbidgee used to rise
And overflow the station.
But this was caused (as now I know)
When summer sunshine glowing
Had melted all Kiandra's snow
And set the river going.

And in the news, perhaps you read:
`Stock passings. Puckawidgee,
Fat cattle: Seven hundred head
Swept down the Murrumbidgee;
Their destination's quite obscure,
But, somehow, there's a notion,
Unless the river falls, they're sure
To reach the Southern Ocean.'

So after that I'll give it best;
No more with Fate I'll battle.
I'll let the river take the rest,
For those were all my cattle.
And with one comprehensive curse
I close my brief narration,
And advertise it in my verse --
`For Sale! A Mountain Station.'

Can you read bold AlGore?

That man is truly a horse's arse.
:: WB 3:14 PM [link+] ::

SEPTEMBER 11, 2006 QF465 BOEING 727 SYDNEY-MELBOURNE-SYDNEY

Choke on it, Osama.

Right, having proved my "stones" (...ahem.. so to speak...and not that I had much choice in the matter - I want the glory of law public speaking, I gotta take the free flights where and when I can get 'em) I can now get down with the proper memorial program befitting the digusting murder of 2996 people for no reason 5 years back.

Martin Amis is apparently quite the wanker. Orunno. He looks like one. But, apart from the tedious aethiest's conceit of lecturing us all not to believe in God, he nails a bunch of stuff about Sept 11 in the Observer that is really worth reading.

He reckons Muslim men need to start treating their women equal.

Yah, fer sure.

The men and the women, but, need to recognise that Israel is a State and not going to disappear, that the Holocaust did happen and there is nothing to 'debate' about, that poofs are people, that music and dancing and figurative art won't kill you, and that Osama and Nasrallah and Sadr and Khomeini are nuts. Nutbags. A few Roo's loose in the top paddock. Some sandwiches shy of a picnic. Firing on no cylinders. Dumb as boxes of hair. Not chic. Not civil. Not clever. Lousy lays. Madmaniacal jackasses.

Gonna happen anytime soon? Not if the West just gets all introspective.

What is the West to do?

Argue with every Mad Muslim we come across. Call 'em out for being crazy.

Me? I am getting a car shortly. A very sporty car. With no top...the car, that is, fiancee, so stop worrying.

And I am driving it into the Caliphate.

....

And straight the heck out again, natch.

Atchally, my "stones" being quite small, I am driving it into Southern Spain, beloved Al-Andalus of stinky Al Qaeda. Not sure I am going to encounter too many Mad Muslims. Hope I do not encounter any. Hope I do encounter fine folks who are okay with the the women and the Jews and the poofs. And the tapas and the sherry.

Anyhoo, you can choke on all that too, Osama.

Out doodles.
:: WB 5:59 AM [link+] ::