While the river-bank weeps to the old willow tree*

After a leisurely breakfast on our third day the itinerary was to go caching in mainland Europe for the first time. It was a bit drizzly so it took some time for the GPS to pick up satellites:

(Doesn't the picture make the bridge look high?)

We'd only taken the details of one cache, and it was a straightforward find, but not an easy retrieve. The office workers having a cigarette break on the overlooking balcony might have thought we were a bit strange lying down on the wet road, so we lurked around the corner till they'd gone in. Then it was a quick grab and sign (no travel bugs, unfortunately) then on to the Hermitage museum to see the Van Gogh exhibition. Sadly they didn't allow photography because there was a gorgeous version of 'Irises' which I could have stood and looked at for ages. In fact I could sit in my own sitting room for hours and gaze at it hanging on the wall and never tire of it.

It was wonderful to be able to get really close (but keep your hands behind your back so it's clear you're not going to touch it or the gallery guards get touchy!). At art college we were taught that when painting watercolours you paint the foreground before the background because the paint is transparent, but that with gouache and oils and other opaque colours you do the background first then overpaint the detailed foreground. This 'Irises' is done the other way; the subject was painted first (the flowers were originally more purple, apparently, but the red has faded away just leaving the blue) then the yellow background swirled on afterwards.

When we were paintinged out  we went for lunch at the Luxembourg, where the waiter offered to take a photo of us together "as long as you're partners and it's all right being seen together!"

 (I don't remember being quite so out-of-focus at the time!)

Then we took a canal tour, first going past the multi-storey bike park (where there are spaces for about 2500 cycles)

and then the most extraordinary pink-wrapped building

before being shown the best unemployment scheme I've ever come across; the creation of the 'Amsterdam'. It would have been nice to have gone round it and see what they'd done inside.

 There were interesting views when you peeped under the bridges

When the tour finished it was time to get to the restaurant for dinner, although it was early; but there was still time to admire the scenery on the way.

This everning we'd booked to eat at the Bouchon du centre, a quirky little place we'd read about, so decided to try it. It seats a maximum of 24 people, and the whole shebang is a one-woman enterprise. She's front-of-house, cook and waitress all in one, and it all functions in the one room; she serves diners whilst cooking more meals. You need to get there early - she starts serving at 6 and likes to be done by 8 so she can have a quiet evening. There's a limited menu and just a choice of three wines, house red, white or rosé. Oh, and cash only. We had a really good meal: the welcome is warm and natural, and the food delicious. The wine was more than adequate and the atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable.

The stroll back afterwards gave more images of this watery city;

It's a slightly crazy place! Do I want to go back? Yes, I think so. It's offbeat and very intriguing. And why do the Dutch lishp when they shpeak English but not when they speak Dutch (which seems to involve a lot of throat-clearing)?

*And I've even provided a link to the title!

She sang every morning, "How lucky I am"

So, on our second day in Amsterdam, after a breakfast of fresh orange juice, oatmeal cookie (nearly cereal) and a coffee, we decided to visit the Rijksmuseum. We were surprised and pleased to see that they didn't mind people taking photographs. There were some terrific paintings: these two were obviously planned to be Christmas cards from the outset;

 'The Night Watch' is a huge painting; the main figures are pretty much lifesize. Though I must admit I couldn't help looking for Discworld characters in it!

 This Vermeer just took our breath away. It's stunning. It's only a little painting but the quality is superb. Just by  looking you know exactly what the fabric of her clothing felt like and you can almost hear the pouring of the milk. A real joy to see it 'in the real', and realise that even the best reproduction just doesn't do it justice.

I should really have taken a picture of the portrait of the obese young man who looked so spoilt and arrogant and sneery that I just itched to slap his fat face. He looked as though he was his parents' pride and joy and had been over-indulged in everything for his entire life. Edit: Hurrah! I've just found a copy on Google:

After a few hours in the museum we browsed in the flower market. I could have spent a fortune on some of the more exotic plants and corms and bulbs.

  The amaryllis bulbs were the biggest I've ever seen.

Gosh! I don't think Customs would be terribly happy if we tried bringing one of these back.

Oo-er!

On the other side of the road to the flower stalls there were other shops. If you want cheese this is the place to come.

The cheese shop

"Cheeeeeeeese, Gromit!"

Green cheese. Really?

 And then we wandered some more, passing some cafés that smelt very strange. We didn't like to go in because we thought there might not be enough oxygen in there to sustain life; the smell hung like a solid curtain by the open doorways.

While making our way back to the hotel we saw the perfect bike for Tammy!

A bike for Tammy

 There are so many amazing narrow little houses; some plots are as little as 2 metres wide but the houses are four or five storeys high, but with the ground floor below street level. They all have hoists at the roof for getting furniture in and out of the windows, because the stairs are far too steep and narrow to get anything but the smallest of belongings in that way!

Sweet little house on the corner

 Very few of the houses have their floors on the same level as their neighbour.

Inconsistent floor levels!

We saw this odd little clog-boat; I doubt it's very stable!

Clog-boat.

For dinner in the evening we asked the receptionist if she knew of anywhere that did traditional Dutch food; she couldn't think of anywhere like that but said we'd get a good meal at a reasonable price at the Eetkamer in the Jordaan district. We managed to get a tram most of the way there (you NEARLY DIE when you try to catch a tram; the tram stops are in the middle of the road, so you need to get through the cavalcades of mad cyclists with no lights and the cars to get to the island in the middle), and she was right; the food was indeed very good. We decided to walk back although it was quite a long way, because houses looked like dolls' houses from across the canals, with their lights on so you could see inside.

The camera setting makes it look as though Amsterdam was on fire; it didn't look like that really!

Mark well what I do say

For our anniversary this year we decided to push the boat out and have a city-break abroad, and decided on Amsterdam, because of the number of great museums and art galleries. Ned had been there many years ago but it was all new to me. After a minor heart attack at the cost of leaving the car at the airport (they cleverly only tell you the price once you're committed) an uneventful flight saw us at Schipol, trying to find the best way to get to the city.

That done, and the hotel found successfully after our initiation with the trams, we set out to explore. One of the first things we learned is that not only are there more bicycles in Amsterdam than in the whole of the rest of the universe, they seem to obey no rules of the road that we could see. This gave sightseeing an added frisson of fear because you never knew when you were likely to be run down. Like the outsiders we were we thought that staying on the pavement would be sensible, but when that's blocked with parked bikes you have no option but to risk almost certain death. They're generally very sturdy old-fashioned 'sit-up-and-beg' type contraptions, but we did see some wooden ones for hire!

Eventually we decided that a little 'Dutch courage' (d'you see what I did there?) was called for, and found a very nice old-fashioned bar, with leather curtains at the doorway and sand on the floor. And no, it wasn't one of those 'perfumed' bars for which the city is famed, either!

They have an odd way of pouring a beer; sloosh it into the glass, and when the head gets too high they slice it off with a knife and hand it over.Apparently there's an official measure but it still looked awfully random. However it girded our loins nicely for the next foray into the streets.

As it was latish afternoon by this time we didn't have a lot of time in the Amsterdam Museum but it gave us a broad overview of the history of the city. There was a strange area where they'd set up the front half of a suit of armour, with a ruff above it, so that you could stand behind it and have your photo taken 'dressed up', with the photos published on Flickr. We thought this rather jolly so dutifully stood there ... but the camera seems to be set too high and the only image is of your face and the ruff, and none of the armour at all, so that's a bit disappointing. However on the way out there was a strange corridor of mirrors which called for a photograph/

For dinner that night we went to an Indonesian restaurant (not as strange as it might seem when you realise that Indonesia was a Dutch colony for 300 years) near our hotel and had a very pleasant meal, then were thrilled to discover, back in our hotel room, that the BBC channels are shown on Dutch TV and with the hour time difference it meant we could watch the final of the Great British Bake Off; a very satisfactory end to the first day.

I didn't know what day it was

May 15th

Heathrow Terminal 5 is a disaster. Despite being built only recently it's shabby, dated and user-unfriendly. It was obviously designed by someone who flies a lot and so knows the ropes, and who is wealthy or well-connected enough not to have to fly cattle-class. They really should have tested it out on guinea-pigs like us who haven't a clue - and we weren't the only ones getting confused.

1. Why on earth would you have direction signs for Baggage Reclaim (which you're not allowed to go to before being dealt with by immigration) before you get to the signs for Immigration?

2. Why on earth aren't the signs for UK/EU passports and Other passports clearly differentiated?

3. Why don't the new biometric passport-recognition machines, designed to save time, work? (To be fair, passport photos are bad enough, but after a 10-hour night flight you look even worse than your picture.)

4. Why, once you've negotiated Immigration (1 person manning two desks, with two people on another, isn't efficient) and make your way to Baggage Reclaim (the directions for which are harder to find now that you need them) is there no large, clear sign as soon as you enter the huge hall as to which carousel your luggage should be deposited on?

After the comfort, cleanliness and efficiency of Vancouver airport, this is an embarrassment.

Trains and boats and planes

May 14th; Day 15

Our last day in Canada; this is a lovely place and we're rather sorry to be going home. We checked out after breakfast, leaving our luggage at the hotel to collect later because our flight isn't till this evening. We took the car to fill it up (Ned cleverly guessed very accurately how much petrol we needed) and returned it to the hire company. Delivering it took more time than anticipated because four enormous cruise ships had docked in the same area and were disgorging 19,000 passengers into the city. Thankfully there were plenty of traffic controllers managing the umpteen cars, coaches and taxis.

That done, the rest of the day was our own. It was a bit showery so we strolled through the shops. The Granville Street/Canada Place area is similar to Regents Street/Oxford Street in London; lovely stuff but we could only afford to window-shop, and then only if we didn't stop for long. We were delighted to find the Hudson's Bay Company shop still has an area, albeit small, where they have their famous blankets ($350!!) and canoes. Ned took some convincing that we wouldn't be able to take one as hand luggage.




There was a very extravagantly-decorated VW beetle parked at the side of the road;


obviously the owner is a Canucks (Vancouver Ice-hockey team) supporter. To be fair, though, I think it's compulsory. The Stanley Cup is on (it seems to be on a par with the FA Cup) and every bar has a TV showing ice-hockey.

By lunchtime the sun had come out again and after indulging in a Starbucks we spent a very pleasant hour sitting on a bench in the sun at English Bay, soaking up the sun and listening to the waves on the sand.



On our way back to collect our luggage to head to the airport we stopped at the weird, creepy set of statues on the corner. I don't know what they're supposed to be about but I think they're horrid!





We were slightly puzzled to discover that the Skytrain (an excellent underground/overground rail system, spotlessly clean, and totally automated so there's no driver. The unions here would never allow it) tickets are $7.50 from the airport to the city, but only $2.50 from the city to the airport.

Things we've learned about Canada:

1. The natives are friendly

2. The drivers are courteous; they give way to pedestrians, obey the speed limit and hardly ever use their horns

3. The light switches are upside down

4. People are capable of either using litter bins or taking their litter home for disposal

5. There are lots of TV channels but not much worth watching (unless you like ice hockey. Needs must, and we got quite keen)

6. Recycling and 'green' concerns are very high on the agenda; even TV adverts stress the eco-friendliness of the products

7. The buses have cycle racks on the front

8. We like it and want to come back

I would walk 500 miles

May 13th: Day 14

Friday the Thirteenth. We had a disturbed night last night; at 4.30 am the phone rang in the room next door. And rang and rang. And rang some more then stopped. Then it rang again a few times then stopped. Then it did it again. Then someone started knocking on their door. Honestly, if you've arranged an alarm call the least you could do is acknowledge it.

As it was another beautiful day we drove over the Lions Gate Bridge again to North Vancouver and after visiting a Wal-Mart (just to see what it was like; yes, it's Asda) we went to Lynn Canyon. Many people have heard of the Capilano suspension bridge, but there's another one here which has far fewer visitors. It's slightly smaller, but still wobbly enough to give me the heebie-jeebies!





This is a beautiful place with lovely trails along the river which gushes through a gorge and over rocks.








We thought about dropping off the hire car on our way back but had quite a lot to carry so went back to the hotel to unload. We strolled to a little shop around the corner that was advertising 'Bubble tea', which we'd heard about years ago and were intrigued to try. It's very strange; imagine iced milky tea with large purple tapioca 'bubbles'. You have to suck really hard and then the tapioca bubbles suddenly shoot up the straw and nearly choke you. Interesting, but not something I'd choose to repeat.

Then for some reason we chose to carry on our stroll to find out where we should drop the car off; behind the commercial streets there are lovely residential areas, so it made a pleasant walk. We found out where the car needed to be left, and located a garage to fill it up (another challenge; in BC the law is that you pay for your petrol before it's been dispensed, so when you don't know how big your tank is but it needs to be completely filled you have to be good at guessing). Then of course we had to walk back to pick the car up again. That was too much for me - I'm surprised my feet weren't bleeding. We'll drop it off tomorrow.

I walk the line

12th May: Day 13

Today the weather was beautiful again - it certainly isn't boring and predictable! - so we decided to drive inland to Harrison Hot Springs up the Fraser River, both to see a bit of more rural Canada and hopefully visit some of the places that RWH would have known. We only got lost once finding our way out of Vancouver (although we thought we must have got lost when driving through the town of Langley when, instead of the main Highway 1A that we were on - and was a straight road with no turnings - we were in a narrow shopping street. But no, it was still the main road. Bizarre.) Once at Harrison we enjoyed a wander around (failing to find a couple of caches) and visiting the hot spring itself. And yes, that water is really hot - the sign said it's 140ºF coming out of the ground.



All around the edge of the public pool, which says it's fed with water piped from the hot spring but it seemed to be low tide for our visit, there are memorial benches placed so that people can sit and enjoy the view over the lake.



Only two of the people remembered on the plaques were older than us. How depressing.

On the return journey we made a slight detour to a place called Sumas, right on the Canada/US border. RWH wrote a letter home from here on 5th May 1859, so we nearly got the date right for the anniversary. I can't tell you how thrilled I was to be able to get to 'Boundary Road' and take a photo to show that the cleared border line is still maintained. It seems to be colder in America than in Canada, judging by the snow!



We didn't have time to visit Fort Langley - a settlement that RWH knew well and which has been reconstructed on the original foundations; that'll have to wait till next time.

Tonight we went round the corner to eat at the Banana Leaf on Denman Street, a Malayan restaurant. You don't make reservations; when you arrive you write your name and number in your party on a blackboard by the door, and when a suitable table becomes available it's your turn. An odd system but it seems to work well; and the food was lovely. Thoroughly recommended.

When you're on the street

11th May: Day 12

A damp, drizzly day to say goodbye to Vancouver Island and return to the mainland. It was a very calm crossing and the short drive from the ferry terminal over the Lions Gate bridge (gosh, that's high!) into Stanley Park and back to our hotel (the same one as at the beginning of the holiday) was wet but uneventful. It's funny; when we were here last week the hotel seemed quite swish. Now in comparison with some of the others (the last one in particular) it seems almost ordinary - although it's still very comfortable!

After checking in we went for another explore, despite the rain, this time taking the little ferry (very like the ones we saw in Victoria) over to Granville Island, watching cormorants fishing for weed then flying up to build their nests beneath the road bridge high above the river. This odd little place is home to a great number of art galleries and up-market craft-type shops.



We saw lots of wonderful stuff, but you need to be rich! It's very much an outlet for quality artisan products, not tat.

Then rather than take the ferry back we managed to find our way through a housing area (stopping to read the notice warning about the presence of coyotes!) to the steps up to the road bridge - gosh, that's another high one - back over the river to the main part of the city.

Some people might say my life's in a rut

May 10th; Day 11

It was cooler today, our last full day on the Island and we decided to go and visit the local(ish) caves at Horne Lake. We were told that we needed to leave the Highway at Exit 75, and as we got on at Exit 60 we were prepared for a long drive. However it turned out to be the next junction; it was only at this point we realised that the exits are numbered according to how many kilometres they are from the start. This must be a cause for great confusion for Canadians visiting the UK!

The cave tour was great! There was only Ned and me and the two guides, Miles (from Alberta) and Sean (or Wayne - why is it I always get those names muddled?) from Australia. When they came out to meet us you could see their spirits sinking at the prospect of taking a middle-aged couple who'd probably be real drips. They soon changed their minds when, on the steep hike up to the cave entrance Ned and I set a brisk pace and the boys got out of breath trying to keep up; we were quietly amused.

It wasn't a cave tour like Wookey Hole, with walkways and ropes and atmospheric lighting. This involved helmets and headtorches and scrambling ("Make sure you always maintain three points of contact and don't touch the calcite"). We were very proud to uphold the honour of the Empire and didn't slip or get claustrophobic or scared in the dark!

Many of the stalagmites and stalactites are given names, some being more fanciful than others. The 'howling wolf' was okay at the right angle as was the 'bacon slices'. There was one unnamed one that reminded me very much of Nursey (from Blackadder)'s fancy-dress cow outfit.

The 'Buddha' formation (if you look carefully)





Miles and Sean/Wayne were very impressed and told us that we'd have been fine on the longer tour that involves a lot more squeezing, but I'm not sure they were right!

Something that struck us as being rather odd. They do several types of tour of the cave systems; the 'family' one that we did, the 'Wet & Wild Adventure', the 'High Adventure' and 'Extreme Rappel' and, bizarrely, night caving. Bearing in mind that it's pitch dark in the caves even in the middle of the day I really can't see the point of going at night.