Sunday morning: I smiled sweetly at the man on the desk and managed to get the both of them in; into the North Lounge, British Airways, Terminal 5. They were Dave (airline pilot for twenty years and now Stable Boy to his wife’s horses and Mike, former European CEO of Fortune 500 enterprise and now selling smoke salmon on Borough Market. We three were off to Scotland to meet up with my super-chum Richard. We had hired a 10 metre sailing boat and planned to sail along the Caledonian Canal which links the east coast at Inverness with the west coast near Fort William, about 62 miles.  We were to collect our boat at Laggan Locks about a third of the way up, just north of Fort William.

Richard met us at Glasgow Airport and we drove via Loch Lomond and Glen Coe for three hours or so to Mallaig, a port in Lochaber, on the west coast linked to Fort William by the A830 road known as the "Road to the Isles".  It was a warm sunny evening when we arrived at the house Glasnacardoch Lodge a SOE training school during World War II and were weapons stored, serviced and checked for accuracy. The Special Operations Executive, SOE, was a British World War II organisation initiated by Churchill to conduct warfare by means other than direct military engagement. Agents destined to serve in the field underwent commando training in this part of Scotland including specialist skills such as demolition techniques or Morse code telegraphy.

Monday:  Bright and clear. Whilst Richard was arranging the last of our provisions for the voyage I ran Mike and Dave around the local coast to Arisaig which is farther along the coast and farther still to Rhue, now deserted, with views across to the Western Isles of Eigg, Muck and Rum. Emigrants from this area founded Arisaig, Nova Scotia (new Scotland) in Canada.

We set off, stopping briefly at Fort William for gin and whisky and onto Laggan Lochs, to West Highland Sailing’s dock, to collect the boat; the good ship ‘Rosie’. With Richard at the helm we were soon on the water, slowly motoring north up Loch Oich, part of the Caledonian Canal that connects to Loch Ness. It is all part the Great Glen, a large geological fault which bisects the Scottish Highlands.

 It clouded over as we moored up for the evening, just by the Aberchalder swing bridge in readiness for when it would swing open for us at 08:30 the next morning. We enjoyed a Spaghetti Bolognese and I slipped easily into the role of ship’s cook as well of cabin boy; plates cleared away we opened the whisky Caol Ila from a small distillery situated on the north eastern shores of Islay on the west coast, delicious and addictive.

Tuesday: Despite the Caol Ila I rose early and dived off the boat for a dip, it was shockingly cold even by my standards and I was soon back on board. Before breakfast, croissants, strong coffee and black tea for Richard, I make a drawing of the Bridge of Oich.  It was build in 1852, a flight of fancy suspension in wrought iron, its filigree-like supports designed by brewer turned engineer James Dredge. Dredge’s lasting claim to fame was that he was pipped to the post in the competition to design the Clifton Suspension Bridge in Bristol by none other than the great Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

We motored through the Locks of Cullochy and Kytra; there was no other craft on the water.  We had the locks to ourselves as we chatted amiably to the lock keepers who saw us safely through and onto Fort Augustus. This town is at the point where Loch Ness meets the Caledonian Canal. The canal bisects Fort Augustus with an impressive flight of five locks. The name dates from the building of a fort after the defeat of the 1715 Jacobite Rising. The fort was named after one of George II's sons who was later to become the notorious Duke of Cumberland of the '45 Jacobite Rising!  Arriving at 10:20 we were let into the first lock at 11:50 and through the fifth and out into Loch Ness by 13:00. We lunched on quiches, distressed leaves drizzled with olive oil with hot tomato soup and crusty bread.

Once into Loch Ness we were immediately buffeted by the headwind blowing across the 56 km² stretch of water.  This loch contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined. Nessie the monster did not show, or we might have missed it as we took it turns to duck below to the cabin to put on more layers of clothing. We motored on through the winds and swell, past Urquhart Castle, one of the largest strongholds of medieval Scotland, impressively towering above us as we sailed north. Then at the far end of the Loch we saw clear sky and moored 5 miles south of Inverness at Dochgarroch by the lock. We were soon joined by a couple of other boats including one full of Swiss chaps also hired from West Highland Sailing.  They seemed to be merry long before us, as dusk fell.

Supper on the second nightfall was steak in oil, red wine and garlic with cheese board to follow all with a couple of bottles of red wine. The chocolate which Mike had purchased in Fort Augustus served as an excellent desert.

Day 3: Wednesday dawned bright and clear. The canal was like a mill pond, the boat’s sails and outline, every feature reflected perfectly. We breakfasted on sausage, beacon, mushrooms and toast. The toast was not perfect but neither was the crew! We decided not to head any further north. We left our mooring and the Swiss boat and returned south back down the short stretch of canal that would lead us back into Loch Ness.  The wind we had hoped for to enable us to cut engines and hoist the sails was not in the loch either.

We moored up at Urquhart Castle to wait for the wind where sure would come! The earliest history of the castle began in the time of St. Columba in the 6th century, when he visited King Brude a northern Pict. It is not known precisely when the castle was built, but records show the existence of a castle on this site from the early 1200s. It was certainly in existence in 1296 when it was captured by Edward I of England.

In 1509 it was given as a gift to the Grants, whose ownership lasted until 1912. The opposing MacDonalds captured the castle in 1545. The castle was then largely destroyed in 1692 by troops loyal to William II of England who had been holding the castle against Jacobite forces. The vast castle plan lay stretched out in the morning sun. We toured the site, enjoyed the full Urquhart video experience in a splendid Visitors Centre which was carved into the hillside above the ruins. We avoided the temptation of the mugs and bowls, ashtrays, egg timers, spoons and notepads, DVDs, CDs, post cards, outfits, hats, and all manner of clothing and hardware designed to make one resemble a Jacobite soldier.

By midday, with the sun high, we re-boarded the Rosie and continued south. As if to order the wind picked up as I was making lunch of smoked salmon and smoked sea trout sandwiches with Carlsberg Lager.

The engines were silenced and the sails hoisted and we were off!  The air stream was with us, the tacks across the loch were not too shallow and we made good progress. We moored up in Fort William for the evening. The cook was given the night off and we set forth for foaming ale and hearty fare.  There are few pubs hereabouts. One excellent one, The Bothey, ran out of beer after pouring our four pints.  Not flustered we walked a little to the Lock Inn and Gilligorm Restaurant. Again after our beers were served the management were turning other beer orders away. It was the night of the Premier League final – Chelsea FC .v. Manchester United and this must have led to a run on beer stocks in these parts. We enjoyed a great meal of fish and chips, eaten at a real table in area that did not move. Happy and tired after some real sailing we retired to bed, noting that the Swiss were moored several boats below us. Indeed the pontoon had a festive air as a large hire cruiser crewed by Rotarians from Germany were enjoying their evening.

Next morning, our final day on the water, we all trooped towards the showers and toilets that are a part of every major mooring point along the Caledonian. The wind was still with us as entered the lowest loch. And as we slipped our lines the Swiss and German boats motored quickly past to be ahead of all other boats entering Fort Augustus lochs.  We saw this as the boating equivalent of our mainland European friends reserving the best sun loungers with their bathing towels. Unperturbed, we fell in behind them both.

Augustus has five locks, thus the water pressure on the lowest lock is considerable. This fifth lock is the lowest and the turbulence as we prepared to move from five to four was huge. The Germans and Swiss, ahead of the rest of the pack were unprepared for this. We enjoyed and photographed the surprised crews of both as they struggled fending each vessel away from the other and apportioning blame for the confusion!

Going through the locks is a process that took about an hour. The other boats raced off while we bought, wrote and mailed postcards and I contemplated what to offer the crew for the midday repast.

So now we were in the final few hours of our journey. We sailed back through Kytra Lock, and then back down to where the boat Rosie was berthed at Laggan

We sailed past as the wind was in our favour for a brief opportunity to be under sail for a hour or so longer, and  we entered Loch Lochy at the north-eastern end, site of a clan battle: the MacDonalds, MacDonnells and Camerons against the Frasers in 1544. This encounter is known as the Battle of the Shirts -Battle of Blar na Léine - and took place in the summer of 1544. Highland armies at this time were still wearing chain-mail hence the reference to shirts. The whole event seems to be a continuance of the fight factions coming down from Urquhart Castle.

The wind blew hard and changed direction at every moment so the helmsmen, Mike and Dave’s new found helming skills were severely tested. When back at the house in Mallaig, Fiona, lady of the Glasnacardoch Lodge, provided a seafood feast of baked oysters, langoustines, scampi tails and razor clams. The perfect last supper washed down with Cuvée des Amandiers Blanc 2007 Vin de Pays du Comté Tolosan, Richard and Fi’s favourite tipple!

On Friday we returned south. A train service took us all the way from Mallaig to Fort William (The West Highland Line) and on to Glasgow.  The West Highland Line is one of the most scenic railway lines in Britain. From our carriage we saw The Glenfinnan Monument situated at the head of Loch Shiel that the place where Prince Charles Edward Stuart ("Bonnie Prince Charlie") raised his standard, at the beginning of the 1745 Jacobite Rising. A little farther on we crossed the Glenfinnan viaduct as featured in the Harry Potter films when the steam train that runs on this line in the summer was  transformed into the Hogwarts Express.

At Fort William, with a stop-over of seven minutes Mike and I disembarked and sprinted for the buffet bar; three coffees and some cake. Re-boarding the train was pandemonium, we had been told to use the front carriage no seat reservations were evident. Regaining the carriage we saw an anxious Dave trying to retain our seats from senior citizens waving tickets and claiming the seats;  a Conductor entered into arbitration and directed the fretful new passengers where the might sit.

Three hours later we eventually arrived in Queen Street Station in Glasgow, having enjoyed the north-westerly shores of Loch Lomond.

It was a great trip, kind weather, fair winds some of the time and wonderful company all of the time.

The highland locks, their deep waters coloured peat brown at the waters’ edge, clouds scudding across the sky, and the magic of the sun breaking through, turning the water  to sparkling diamonds. And now we are planning were to sail next May. The River Shannon in Ireland is a strong contender.

For Melissa, Luis, Juan Carlos, Jose Miguel and Barry, who always guides me.

Some people start every Monday this way, sitting in the BA lounge in Terminal 5. As I waited for super –colleague Melissa I re-read the email:

‘There are significant issues in traveling to Colombia. It is for that reason that such travel should be closely examined to ensure that all prudent precautions are taken.  The primary security concern/issue, of course, is the FARC and its 40 years of experience in terrorism’.

The note read more like a CV than a call to precaution. We boarded the plane for Miami, where we would transfer to American Airlines flight to Bogota. This represented 6,000 miles of the 16,000 miles M and I would cover in the next five days. We were to work with colleagues in Bogotá on Tuesday and Buenos Aires on Thursday. Sales training, I was the facilitator, Melissa was the expert.

In the (merry) month of May the BA in-flight films were excellent and the nine hours past quickly. The euphoria was quickly broken as we entered the US; Homeland Security harried me for loitering around after Passport Control. I was only waiting for Melissa; everyone knows Australians take longer at any immigration point. Paying for drinks in business lounge (American Airlines) was also a shock.

Bogotá four hours later; we were met by dear colleagues Jose Miguel  and Juan Carlos as we left the terminal in the warm evening air and were whisked away in Juan Carlos’s car. At the Hotel Casa Medina, where ex President Clinton and the King of Spain always stay; we registered and turned in for the evening. Tomorrow would be a big day we had to be brilliant.

  Bogotá — is the capital city of Colombia, with 7 million inhabitants. The city today has a lower murder rate than Caracas, São Paulo, Mexico City and Rio de Janeiro. The situation in Bogotá seems to be "greatly improved in terms of security and public safety from five years ago, and the atmosphere is much more relaxed", said Marshall Louis, a spokesman for the United States Embassy.

Luis Alberto Gonzalez our guide, co-presenter and friend over the remaining days was waiting in the hotel lobby the next morning. Based in Argentina he looks after the programme content from MSN’s websites in Columbia. We three walked to the offices, through security and travelled up the elevator of glass tour, like the glass and steel towers that our company occupies in every city in every country throughout the known world. 

It was a great day: working with great sales people, attentive, questioning and discursive. At the end of the session we saw the sun breathe its last on Tuesday, a particular light I have seen in every South American city and only in this part of the world. It was special here; as this city nestles between mountains and forests, the trees appear glow at dusk.

Later that evening we enjoyed the city’s special cuisine in the Club Columbia. The place was a handsome old residence converted into a restaurant by the country’s main brewery. We were graciously thanked for visiting Columbia by our hosts.

The city was quieter as we left the hotel at four-thirty the next morning for the flight to Buenos Aires. Coffee in a wonderfully empty and clean airport terminal was welcome. The sun, shining red to highlight the tail fins of the local airline’s 737’s and overalls of their ground crews.

Luis was held up at passport control which is a regular occurrence for him.  The authorities in Columbia have five people the name of Luis Alberto Gonzalez on their wanted list. Our Luis Alberto Gonzalez eventually joined us for the flight.

Touching down in Lima for two hours and then off again we were in Buenos Aires by late afternoon and took a taxi to the Hilton. Luis left us at the airport to go home and see his family! 

Later Melissa and I walked along the side of the Puerto Madero one of the coolest barrios of Buenos Aires, regenerated from red brick warehouses were all but abandoned when the port left the city in the 1930’s. We found a restaurant, waited briefly for a table outside looking across the waterfront.  The steak was great as was the half bottle of red wine we enjoyed. In a warm evening we walked back to the Hilton for another early night to be ready for our Chilean and Argentinean colleagues the next day.

In our final training session of the week we acquitted ourselves well. We were guests that evening of sales director Agustin and the regional executive producer Greg Hayes. Greg had worked his way across the media world from the shores of Sydney, up through Asia, working in TV and radio. Having made his home in Seattle, with his wife from Chile he has close ties to the region. Both friends entertained us in the locos por el fũtbol sports bar against a backdrop of 28 TV screens showing a local soccer derby with incessant commentary.

Friday footnote:

Melissa was remaining behind, taking some holiday. She planned to explore the icebergs, towering peaks and the drama of the Perito Moreno Glacier in the far south of Argentina.

It was grey and dull as the taxi took me back out the airport. I remember it this way when I was here two years ago. I said good bye to the Aussie Concierge on the front desk as he again provided stamps for my post cards as he had on the last trip. Adios Bogotá, adios Buenos Aires, thank you for your warmth, your energy, attention and hospitality.

 (For my friends here, especially M)

January and 32 degrees of heat

Everyone noticeably more tanned than me

Energy and colour still the same in San Paulo

Traffic still crazy

People still friendly

Now the place is familiar and the rhythm is right.

I have the same driver at the airport, Elaine

She greets me with a big smile

We hug and make the pact:

To rendezvous on time for the journey back in three days time

I know where I am are going

Into the Hilton at 8am and the Bell Boy organises a coffee

It arrives before you have finished checking in

Service and miles my home for three days

Glass marble and pale pale wood

Chocolates from the manager

Across the plaza from the hotel and into the office

A second home for the duration

San Paulo,

Energy and heat and wonderful women

Brazil so famous for fabulous womanhood

Travel the greatest privilege, the work there too

Be grateful for only the minutes or hours you have to step out

To soak up the culture

Travelling is being open and appreciative.

Can there be a better evening than in the company of a friend?

The best of warm conversation

Just two bars full of Paulistos,

In both I am the only gringo in the Mercearia and Posto Seis

M and I talk of work, talk of history and culture,

I hear about Luiz de Camões,

His book Os Lusíadas

Portugal’s Chaucer

Learning that Portuguese was born out of Spanish

That the former can understand the latter but not the other way around

Discovering how big and beautiful this country really is

Travel is learning.

In each and every bar the same energy, People out talking, enjoying the warm summer evening,

Music, music oozing out of every pore

Brazilian beer and small side dishes

Sustenance as substantive as any banquet

Flavoured and garnished with laughter and conversation

Oh lucky traveller.

Thank you M.

Proud Rome the capital city of Italy, within it four million proud Romans and within Rome the State of the Vatican City, the sovereign territory of the Holy See; this metropolis, so essentially Renaissance and Baroque with its 400 churches.

We arrived for four days in warm February sunshine which remained with us throughout. Our first day was mostly travel, with the Leonardo Express whisking from Rome airport to city centre giving  us a good afternoon, starting at the top of the Spanish Steps and walking down into the arms of Dolce & Gabbana. The sun set as I sipped espresso in the Café Canova in the Piazza de Popolo. Canova is a popular place and once the meeting room of the city’s fascists. Popolo one of the great squares with its two churches - Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria in Montesanto, by Bernini, standing sentential.

COLISEUM

Tuesday was designated ancient Rome tour day (the following being ‘religious Rome’ day and our final day ‘retail Rome’).

The coliseum large and impressive was heaving with people. Originally it was capable of seating around 50,000 spectators; it seemed there were that many trying to get in, all like us, the victims of cheap air travel.

And the same hoards followed us across the road to the Forum. I sat down to capture the ruins of Temples, Basilicas and the Arch of Septimus Severus – knowing we would see more commemorating his victories when we visit Libya in November.

Lunch is to be recommended is the Gino Al Funari restaurant five minutes’ walk from the Forum where the pizza was mouth-watering and served with a smile and joke by the elderly maitre d’ (perhaps Gino himself?).

More than 30 years ago I first came to Rome and the Piazza Navona was one of my earliest memories.  I was unprepared, this afternoon, for the number of traders and sellers and the poor Borromini fountain of the Four Rivers covered in cladding. However the Sian and Bron, post-pizza, dozed in the sun whilst I drew the basilica Sant’Agnese built on the site where Saint Agnes was martyred in the Circus of Domitian - now the Piazza Navona.

COFFEE CLUB

Each morning I rose early and went in search of something to draw and coffee. The independent café is thriving in Rome each one, regardless of size, has neatly turned-out men in white shirts and black aprons to produce wonderful, thick creamy espresso served in double-quick time. The overcomplicated coffee menus, with too much choice, offered by the likes of Starbucks have not entered Rome

CROSSING INTO THE VATICAN: DAY 3

Vatican City at approximately 44 hectares and with a population of around 900, it is the smallest independent state in the world. Again, thirty year ago I gained access through staying with a community of Franciscan Brothers in Gianicolo Hills a mile or so south of St Peter’s. My hosts had a free access into the Vatican and went there to shop. With them was that was the first time I had seen the Sistine Chapel best known for being the location where the election of a new pope is conducted. At that time the place was deserted

SILENZIO!  IN THE SISTINE

Central to the chapel’s ceiling decoration are nine scenes from the Book of Genesis of which the Creation of Adam has iconic standing. All this was Michael Angelo’s lasting achievement, the most famous frescos in the world completed in little over four years. The place was packed and one of the guards stood near the high alter hissing “silenzio!” every five minutes and “no photos” to the crowd that swarmed in, eddied with craned necks, and still took photographs!

PROUD ST PETERS

Dear Mother Church of Rome and the largest church in the world even London’s St Paul’s Cathedral is knee high to this impressive place – fitting as the architectural matriarch to the Roman faith. A famous as a place of pilgrimage, as a work of splendid architecture associated with numerous artists, most significantly Michelangelo.

I hunkered down at the far end of the church behind the high altar and started to draw the massive columns with their ant-like visitors crawling around between. Two guards walked over to where I was standing and looked over my shoulder, complimenting me on my work - “eccellente”.

SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE

I had visited Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the four major or four papal basilicas, on one of my before breakfast morning excursions earlier in the week. We returned again, Sian was keen to discover the links to the Borgia Family which we failed to do. We did discovered that after the Avignon papacy ended and the Papacy returned to Rome, Santa Maria Maggiore became a temporary Palace before the papal residence later moved to the Vatican.

Proud Rome with its Cafés still independent and espresso sublime, stationary shops that sell attractive and stylish fountain pens some still actually made in Italy, four hundred churches and almost many baroque facades and men’s clothing that still takes pride in itself – all in this most eternal of cities.

Dedicated to Dominique, my most favourite and the most chic ‘frog’ and Karen who put the whole trip together and got us a great table at the World Place

It was Bronwen’s choice, we wanted a half term trip, she wanted to speak French and go to Johnny Depp’s restaurant.

The flight, withdrawn from the Air Miles account was uneventfully late in arriving in CDG and caught the train into the city. We trundled through the suburbs of northern Paris with their high rise housing blocks and burn out cars, past the Stad de France scene of England’s defeat at the hands of the South Africans a day or two before and eventually emerged into a warm sunlight on the left bank of the Seine. We crossed the road and into the arms of the Pizza Iolanda for lunch. It was good to see people smoking in a restaurant; obviously the French have set aside their 12 month old ruling on smoking in bars and restaurants.

I rose early the next day and wandered around the area near our Novotel and entered into the Bistrot Linois warm and full of transient local residents quickly consuming a coffee and croissant before disappearing into the Metro.

THE RADIO MAST

The Tour Eiffel, I stood underneath it centre and looked up into the infinity of wrought iron like some great extraordinary tree. Sian and Bron bought a ticket for the top leaving me to nurse my vertigo and try to capture this amazing iron work on paper. Built in 1899 it was nearly torn down twenty years later until someone suggested it would make a great radio mast. Crowds queued for tickets, girls from northern Africa wandered around each trying to make people to read their postcards detailing their poverty. Several pairs of soldiers ambled across the piazza formed by the Tower’s four giant legs; safety catches on, posing for the occasional photograph.

Travelling along the Seine, up stream to Notre Dame, I was befriended by a delightful Korean student who caught me drawing her. We disembarked beneath the great cathedral in the heart of Paris, the heart of France, as all road distances are measured from a point not far from the steps of the West door.

Grand gothic on the grand scale, a masterpiece which begun in 1163 and took nearly two centuries to complete. Like the Eiffel its intricate exterior and interior was difficult to get down on paper. And inside it was packed with people making their way round the aisles and filing past the side chapels.

CAFÉ JOHNNY

Monsieur Depp’s magnificent restaurant, called the World Place, aka Man Ray. All major credit cards accepted.  The World Place is a vast floor space, glitzy and very 50’s. We were expecting to see Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Frank Sinatra, Bing and the rest of the Brat Pack descend the sweeping double stair case. 

Around the room tall, luscious coloured women, on the arms of men with impossibly broad shoulders and tiny waists paraded, flamingo-like between the tables whilst on stage the young pianist played the occasional flat note; Sian and I gawped while Bron disappeared into the wash room to talk her photograph.

ART TRAIL

The Louvre: after the French Revolution, the salve of culture was needed and thus the majestic Louvre was transformed from palace to picture house. In 1793 the Museum Central des Arts opened to the public in the Grande (that word again) Galerie from where the collections gradually spread to take over the entire building. Anne of Austria’s apartments were taken housed the antique sculpture galleries and she was, presumably housed elsewhere in the palace!

More recently sticking a glass pyramid in front of this Baroque facade is the ultimate gesture, only in Paris. And so the Louvre, fabled for its vastness, continues to grow this day, art on the grand scale, a building on the grand scale the Louvre is a city within a city. As we make our way to the entrance ticket machines we pass through a shopping mall (all art stuff), past the Post Office and the temptation of Starbucks.

Everyone wants to see the Mona Lisa. The gallery is, like Notre Dame, full to capacity and the lady with the enigmatic smile is cordoned off so people can file past, gaze and move one, occasional an out stretched hand rises above the heads in the queue to fire off a digital camera.

Artistic counterpoint: Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris. A wonderful collection housed in part of the Palais de Tokyo which was built as part of the International Exhibition of 1937. the Museum of Modern Art was officially opened in 1961, before entering take time to admire the post modern fascist architectural exterior, spray paint typography and skateboards. Inside, build in a moment for an excellent brownie in the Musée cafe!

Then you can see works by Robert Delaunay, Jean Fautrier, Christian Boltanski, Georges Rouault, Robert and Sonia Delaunay, Raoul Dufy, Marcel Gromaire and notably two of the three Henri Matisse triptychs of La Danse (1931-33) and La Fée Electricité (1937) by Raoul Dufy.

Finally our time was running out: Service is again something that Paris does on a grand scale or rather it takes a big delight in providing its unique blend of surly waiting on table, the prelude to the most excellent Steak Frites, with a dainty half bottle of Médoc. So my proposal to return to the Linois was accepted by the girls for our last meal in Paris before returning home early the next morning.

LA PUSH

Acrylic on board - 30 x 50 cm October 2007

Commissioned by friend and super-patron Carrie Bogner

La Push is a small community in Washington State coastline. Four hours drive from Seattle it is home to the Quileute Indian Tribe and is located along the Quileute River. It is known for its surfing and whaling and incredible natural beauty.

The strange name, La Push, is an infusion of the French la bouche, meaning "mouth", into Chinook Jargon. It describes the town's location at the mouth of the river. La Push is home to the westernmost ZIP Code in the United States, 98350.

Carrie handed over some photographs of this spiritual place, immediately I was struck by the magic and feeling of prehistory with temperate forests that run up to the waters edge and driftwood on the beach with almost human form. The colour palette evening from these pictures was so very different from any other coastline I have ever painted.

TWO MEN IN A BOAT

THE VOYAGE OF THE LADY WOODMOUSE

We quietly motored along the river; at 10 in the morning it was already hot as we passed the banks on either side, as green as Shrek in the May sun. A heron left its perch; a moorhen escorted her brood gently away from our path, with the furious flapping of wings a Swan took off ahead of us; May flies came and went.

This was the second day of our journey up the River Thames aboard the good Lady Woodmouse, Richard’s boat which he had brought down from the Loch’s of Scotland. Now we were on some very different water.

Yesterday we had put in the water at Cookham, launching from the Sailing Club’s slipway, with a whoosh the boat hit the water like a lifeboat. A few final checks, warps secure, motor tested, fenders to hand and spars stowed and we push off. Cookham, thirty three miles upstream from London Bridge was where the Romans often crossed the River, being Monday there was not one in sight or indeed anyone to witness our beginning.

It was a dull day, grey, clouds scudding across the sky, past Bourne End and the Upper Thames Sailing club, fierce competitors of us Cookham sailors. As the Iron suspension bridge of Marlow came into sight it was time for a stop. We moored up in the town centre hopped off the good Lady W in search of good coffee and maybe a chocolate brownie. Satisfied in Marlow we pushed on.

Our first day was the only one where we actually had the sails up, just past Bisham Abbey. The rust red sails (‘the rags’) looked handsome against the grey sky. For the remaining days they lay wrapped around our masts in the gunnels for, as the weather improved, the wind died down or came from completely the wrong direction.

Relying on the motor again we looked for a late lunch. A large sign proclaimed The Flower Pot. Located some 300 yards up a track from the river this gem with its tiny public bar and grunting regulars provided a welcome and good pint of the local stuff – Brakespears.

We finished up our first leg of the voyage in Henley, already busily preparing for the Regatta, tents and seating being erected, piles being driven in to support additional landing stages. Tying up behind a house boat we met Malcolm the Australian owner who promised to keep an eye on the Lady over night. We went back to the house.

Tuesday was sunny, we drove back to Henley. The boat was safe, Malcolm was sitting on his favourite bench next to his boat greeting and exchanging words with each dog owner and jogger or walk who passed by. Malcolm was a fixture. As we were busy readying the Lady for another day Malcolm proceed with chapter and verse on the river conditions, names of Lock Keepers we would encounter on our next leg. When it came to the upper reaches of the Thames Malcolm was a Player or so he would have us think.

On, on and into Reading past technology parks, gasometers and red brick and we make a short diversion: off the Thames and into the mouth of the River Kennet, the beginnings of the Kennet and Avon Canal for we’d spotted an enticing landmark on the map – The Jolly Angler public house. We were able to tie up right outside and scrambled up the steep wall on the path and into the pub and some excellent beer.

We had rather got the taste for this spot-pub-tie-up-have-a-pint thing so we pulled off a double two hours later upstream from Reading town The Swan at Pangbourne came into view and again being on the edge of the river it was silly not to tie up and rest with a pint in the shade.

The evening of day two we finished up in Streatley; the night before we had called ahead and booked a room at The Bull Hotel. The Bull is a comfortable place, five minutes from the river up the hill. An excellent mix grill for supper, Richard had the fish. Later that evening we were joined by my friends David and Mike who had driven over to meet us for a beer.

We rose early on Day 3, a comfortable night, in the same bed; we had booked a double room and assumed it to be twin-bedded, no matter Richard and I had known each other for nigh on forty years and he didn’t snore!

A walk down to the river to fine the Lady Woodmouse secure after another evening moored just downstream from the bridge. Overnight bags back on the boat, check the engine and then off and through Goring Lock. Again, early in the morning it was hot and sunny as we motored upstream. Through the locks, Cleeve and Benson, Benson Lock was unmanned so we had the task of opening up at one end, water in, close, open and close again and we were through! We soon had the down to fine art and better still going through with another boat which made the hard work of working the gates easier as a shared task.

Wallingford was the next town now we were not too short of our destination for the evening and when were aimed to pull out. Then we discovered a fuel crisis, going under Hampden Bridge the engine cut out. We had to tilt the fuel tank on its side to ensure the last drop of petrol was available to us and got ready to use the oars if we had too!

Abingdon by mid afternoon and again we were able to tie up right in the town centre with three tasks in short order;  find fuel, find a pub open and fix some overnight accommodation. All three were soon completed and we settled into our lodgings for the night the comfortable St Ethelwold’s House in East Helen Street an excellent Bed and Breakfast establishment with breakfast arrangements made for us in and equally lovely house six doors up in the same street.

With all this achieved and time on our hands before the need for an evening meal we returned to the boat for a small two hour jaunt up stream. We entered Abingdon Lock squeezed in with precision by the lock keeper right up close to an impossibly large pleasure cruising boat. Looking up from our boat its stern was threatening, were we going to get crushed as the lock filled. The keeper knew what he was doing and soon big boat and the little one were moving upstream.

A lovely evening, insects buzzing round, eights were practising out on the river; from Radley College, we guessed they readying themselves for Henley Regatta. We cut the engine and drifted up on to a shallow bank of sand, opened some Ginger Beer and watched the young teams exerting to the encouraging shouts from their coach in a small pursuit boat.

We turned around and returned to Abingdon and stopped for a pint at the Nags Head, a lovely pub with an appalling selection of beer. With half points of lager we did not stay long.

The next day, our final day was focused on collecting the boat and taking her out of the water and home to Scotland. Every means of transport was employed. We took a taxi with its overpowering smell of pine air freshener five miles to Didcot station on the main London-Bristol line, a train to Twford, changed onto another for Henley, collected the car, drove the Cookham collected the trailer and drove back west to Abingdon. Richard dropped me off and I motored the good Lady Woodmouse round to the Marina where Richard arrived soon after and we pulled the boat out and up onto the trailer for the ride home.

In three and a bit days we had passed through sixteen locks and covered forty or so miles of lovely river with its banks steep and wooded, sometimes giving views of wide flat fields with grazing cattle, wild flowers in May, imposing and isolated country houses. A great trip, reunited with a great mate, in a pretty looking boat, blessed with some great weather, pubs and other stopping places.

ISLAMIC ART AND COMMERCE

Three days in the heat and dust punctuated by the sights of Moroccan women in their dazzlingly bright abaya’s an over garment - the traditional form of hijab or jilbab. More Islamic colour, more muted was noticeable in our lovely Riyad - the Nora – a 17^th century house, ten minutes walk from the famous Jema El Fnaa central square. The Nora has tiny peaceful courtyard and fountain; we were given cool room with impossibly high ceilings and rose petals strewn on our bed each morning.

Getting to the Nora necessitated buying a bottle of airport water for £16, until we realised that we had been given the wrong amount of change and paying three times over the going rate for the taxi from the airport, until we realised that it was to only way to get out of the airport.

Commerce is always at your elbow in Marrakesh, literally; there seem to be people employed to eves drop on you, especially when you are discussing where to eat and then drag you to their restaurant. In each street and square there are self-appointed tour guides who if inadvertently commissioned become overly aggressive if you refuse to part with some cash. Shops and stalls are populated with owners who are making you “best price” usually because “you are the first customer of the day”. We had one ‘best price’ from one man who had been on Michael Palin’s ‘Sahara’ TV series. On several occasions failure on our part to make the necessary buying signals or purchase saw us swiftly ejected from several emporia.

Our first outing from the Nora was to The Bahia Palace created in the late 19th century, the name means 'brilliance'. Built by Si Moussa, who was grand vizier to the sultan. He brought in craftsmen from Fez to build this richly decorated place bearing the name of one of his wives.

Contrast the Bahir with gentle ruins of the El Badi Palace (its name means the ‘incomparable’). All that remains of a magnificent palace built by the Saadian king Ahmed el-Mansour in 1578. The original building, influenced by the Alhambra in Granada, is thought to have consisted of 360 rooms! A courtyard of 135m by 110m and a pool of 90m by 20m once richly decorated with Italian marbles and large amounts of gold imported from Sudan. So beautiful to just be there amongst what’s left, staring out through the mid morning heat.

A Gemstone: The Majorelle Garden designed by the French artist Jacques Majorelle in 1924, during the colonial period when Morocco was occupied by France. He fashioned a garden in which his special shade of bold cobalt is blue used extensively amongst an amazing collection of cactuses, palms, bamboos, the pots in bloom and the aquatic plants. Majorelle also houses the Islamic Art Museum; a collection that includes North African textiles as well as ceramics, jewellery, and paintings by Majorelle himself.

We were often in the Jema El Fnaa. By day predominantly occupied by orange juice stalls, chained Barbary apes, water sellers and snake charmers. In the evening the snake charmers depart, and in is crowded, with Chleuh dancing-boys story-tellers, magicians, and peddlers of traditional medicines, and dozens of food-stalls. The whole area glows with lamps hung from hundreds of stalls and tents.

Marrakesh is so rich in art and colour in contrast this with hustle and bustle, five times the call to prayer each day, and each moment, everywhere the buzzing of small motorcycles and men ready to sell much.

INDIAN SUMMER:  MUMBAI, DELHI AREND SINGAPORE – PART 2

TRAFFIC REPORT

Lets talk traffic in India; Nothing would have prepared me for the d