Ticking on by

Time goes slowly in the Van, Steve hasn’t yet ventured outside to bivy yet and so the van still feels a little cramped at night. The weather is sporadic, no sooner are you in your t-shirt then the wind makes you put your sweater back on. We seem to get two good days of climbing, then a rest day then it either rains or snows. We woke up the other day psyched for a day on rock to find everything covered in snow and the stuff still pouring from the sky. But things dry quickly and we are normally back climbing the next day.The Belgium's trying to top out a highball, the next day one broke their ankle trying it.
Easter brought the hordes to Albarracin, but the relentless rain soon drove most away, they creep back when it gets a bit sunnier, but not in the droves we were predicted. In Albarracin Easter is bit of a festival and they march their statues of various Saints and the guy on the cross through the streets with a group of drummers dressed in bright purple cassocks. We took this opportunity to get something to eat. Everything is Tapas based, unless of course you can understand the menus, I’ve only got as far as Bocodillos on that one. And everything Tapas based will have both a bit of pig and Olive oil in it. Even if its stewed beef in Olive oil, it will still have some bacon in it. Or mushrooms and beans in Olive oil, you can be guaranteed some bacon. But trying all the little dishes over a cold beer for an hour wasn’t a bad way to spend the evening and then finished off with chocolate cake.
The Snow Arrives
The climbing is still going well and the strenuous nature of the many roofs and overhangs is leaving us very sore the next day and always in need of more rest. We’ve found some amazing lines and got stuck into a couple of 8A projects which will hopefully be done this trip. Sometimes the climbing can be frustrating as we have the assistance of probably the worst guidebook ever produced. ‘Bouldertopo Espana’ by the Roker brothers must be the most poorly researched guide of all times. While there topo and directions are pretty good and you can always find the boulder whether they have given the boulder the right grade, name of both is very rare. Often they just give a 6/7? For the grade, what does that mean? The locals have great fun writing in the correct grades and names for us. It’s a shame that there isn’t another guide available otherwise this one would go straight in the bin.
Me Climbing Well on a 7B
Hopefully the rain will hold off so we can get a second day of climbing and it was be even more amazing if it was sunny on a rest day so we could actually wash and dry some clothes.

Albarracin

We are parked up 2 miles from Albarracin in the Serrania de Cuenca. The landscape is rolling hills with dark red sandstone cliffs and boulders intermingled around a sparse pine forest. The pine trees are of the large needle variety with huge pine cones that litter the floor with the lavender bushes giving the forest a pine and lavender scent. The snow which had covered the forest for the past few days is slowly disappearing and all around us in the sound of song birds, no other animal life is visible, but the numerous tracks around our van suggest a lot goes unseen at night whilst we’re sleeping.

During the week we are virtually undisturbed except for a few other climbers and the odd tourist bus which comes to see the Stone Age paintings in some of the caves. We’ve stopped to look at a few, although very hard to see when found they are of amazing detail and complexity and not the simple line drawing I expected.

The town of Alarracin is the epitome of Spanish Medieval heritage. Originally a tiny Islamic state from 1012 to 1104AD, then an independent Christian kingdom 1170 to 1285AD it sits nestled high on the cliffs, houses perched on top of each cliff, tiny cobbled streets and stairs with houses cascading above you. Towering city walls surround the town and brightly painted cathedral spires dominate the centre. Unusually for a Spanish town the centre is completely intact, nothing seems to suggest the encroachment of modern life except a few cars and the odd washing line. New buildings are kept away from the walled city and you feel as if you could be walking through a city as it was five hundred years ago.

Having spent a morning exploring Albarracin we are now enjoying the afternoon sun and quite of the forest. There is little else to do here, a bar in town is recommended for climbers in the evening and the local campsite has free internet, although rather un-sportingly our request to buy a shower was turned down as they are only for campers and we where then charged when we tried to fill up our 25ltr water container. We will return for the free internet, but won’t be recommending the campsite to anyone else.

The climbing is often on steep roofs and walls, using pockets, sharp edges and sloppers, often some of the holds feel very fragile under your grip and there are frequent scars in the rock where holds have snapped. The problems are often dynamic and very athletic, although the problems are first class the rock is not of the same quality as Font and is unlikely to last with the amount of traffic it currently gets. Often when your grip fails you get a puff of sand ripping off the rock, suggesting its fragile nature. You almost feel selfish enjoying a rock which you know future climbers will not be able to enjoy in the same way. But hopefully with respect from the locals it will last.

Austria

I meant to stay a week in Magic Wood and ended up saying a month. I think that above everything else explains the power of the place. No place has so many amazing problems to climb as there. Magic aptly describes the climbing, although the wood is far for Magic with its plentiful opportunities to break your ankle, why this name is now being marketed for the red socks walking brigade I don’t know as for a walking place Magic Wood is probably the worst name. The company I kept was also Magical and I had many big goodbyes to make on Monday before hitting the road, and I’ve promised myself I will meet them again! I never thought I would be sad to see the back of Switzerland.

Before I crossed the border into Austria I took one last touristic opportunity in Switzerland and visited St Gaellen, a town with one of the best preserved medieval towns in Switzerland, lined with fresco’s and ornately carved balconies it was a good way to break up the journey, but already it felt very Germanic, I was vigorously tutted whilst crossing the empty roads whilst the residents waited patiently for the little green man to appear. Beside this I seemed to spent more time looking for a public toilet, something I don’t believe actually exists here, as bins seem to be seriously lacking as well (how the streets are kept tidy is a miracle).

Then onto Austria and with a few time consuming diversions as the motorway was closed I head onto Zillatal and the village of Ginzling where a free campsite beside the river will be my base for the next week. To describe the place is hard, it’s a combination of Magic Wood and Val di Mello (Italy), I am surrounding my snow capped peaks, but often the valley is to narrow to see them above the cliffs, the villages look Swiss like with their organised Chalets, but there is more happening here, more bars, information centres, the rules which seem to stifle small businesses in Switzerland are more lax here and so everywhere people opening up and selling beer and food. Almost my first port of call was the Gasthouse for the local brew, possibly slightly stronger than the Swiss beer I guess by the cross eyed effect it had on me, but the most refreshing end to a long days driving.

With my beer inside me I was able to get dinner going at the campsite, Jonny the Spanish dog from Magic Wood has been replaced by Mr Fox, a young fox with shiny coat, bushy tail and pointy nose that happily sniffs through my rubbish bag whilst I read my book. The plan then was to put down my mat and just sleep out under the stars, this was aborted after Mr Fox decided to chew on my shoe with my foot still in it whilst I read some more. I decided to put up the tent encase my nose or other appendages look suitably edible during the night.

That is pretty much it, my night sleep was on the chilly side, but I should have expected that with the snow layer only being a few hundred metres above me. The next day I went exploring and managed to get quite a bit of climbing in and finished the day perfectly with another beer.

Supernova

Everyone seems to be grumpy at the campsite, I’ve so far born the brunt of an American doctor with the personality of the Amoeba, look down his nose at me as I talked about my nutritional work in Kenya; A sort of ‘I’m a doctor, what possible good is nutrition’ look. An angry Argentinean asked me when we are going to give independence to the Falklands, and to top it off a Spanish girl (sorry Basque) tried to give me a lecture on the wrongs of the British Empire. Something which is fun to talk about when everyone has an opinion they would like to express and listen to others opinions, but a horrible conversation normally as it seems to galvanise people to extremes. Her other favourite conversation is the moans of the wronged Basque country and their demand for independence. I think England has probably got more rights to parts of France than Basque have for independence. God I wish for long nights of just playing Uno.

'Right Hand of Darkness' my new project

Back to the mish mash of other things I’ve been doing, I’ve pushed the climbing a bit further with Supernova a Font 7C. Considering that when I first got here I couldn’t pull the first move on this problem on sick slopers I am very impressed with myself. I also seem close to other 7C problems and have started work on an amazing 8A. Whether this is possible for me, who knows, guess only time will tell, with only a week left here, probably not possible this trip. Between writing this and publishing it I also managed another 7C, although the guide gives it 7C+.

Bellinzona

Tim left and needed a lift to Bellinzona, as good an excuse as any to enter back into civilization. We entered civilization, whether we looked civilized is another matter. I’m not sure I’d washed very recently and we both sported a thick beard. Compared to the glitzy Italian/Swiss residents we looked a mess. Even with my uncivilized looks I could appreciate Bellinzona, no longer the mundane imperial Swiss towns, this was a taste of Italian renaissance. Frescoed houses, large squares with fountains, gargoyles, gelateries and cafes: If all with Swiss prices. I sat myself down for my first meal out in 3 weeks, unfortunately my taste buds could still remember the food of Italy and it was close, but not close enough. Although the service was more Italian, my cheese starter arriving half way through my main course.

Back to the beard, everyone tells you how itchy a beard is to grow and I can agree. I kept it up to the point when the moustache kept attracting everything I was eating and drinking and then decided it had to go. What no one tells you is how hard it is to get rid of a beard, no simple shave! My Gillet razor worked so hard, every square centimetre clogged the blades, I had to re-soap three times and the ordeal took a good half an hour. But it was worth it.

In this last week here I’m looking back on what i’ve done. Climbing wise a lot, culturally very little and linguistically nearly nothing. Being very international everyone at the campsite speaks English, occasionally a German speaks to me and I just look back blankly, considering how well I was getting on with my Italian, it’s a shame to have been able to keep the languages going. Occasionally Raul and Sabina teach me new Spanish words and I can speak to Jonny the dog fluently in Spanish. Well, as fluently as you need to get a dog to drop the stick and come here and not get run over on the road. Although I did manage to practice my Italian a bit in Bellinzona. I also looked back on a few of the savings graces of staying here in Switzerland, yes almost everything is expensive, except Petrol which is under a £1 a litre, good chocolate is also very cheap and my daily treat, a 100g bar which would cost over £1 in England is 50p for the Coop own brand and 25p if you go for the supersaver, both very good and surprisingly unsickly, where in England a large bar would leave me nauseous here I find myself almost immediately reaching for the second bar. Enough talk of chocolate, hopefully next time I write I will have some more interesting explorations, unfortunately I think the most interesting part of the trip will come in the last 5 days as I cruise through Germany and Belgium then France back to the UK. Probably too much to remember all the details to write it up, but should get some good photos!

Magic Wood

I settled in pretty quickly to the daily routines of Magic Wood (Averstal), the cheap campground by the side of the road, with its 4 portaloos (for around 100 happy campers which are changed once a week....) and a stream which is now reduced to a trickle that provides us with the water for drinking, washing up and washing ourselves. The inhabitants are a mix of various nationalities, my first friends two Canadians travelling alone, Tim, whose stopped over for a couple of weeks whilst travelling Europe this Summer and Etienne, a ridiculously strong climber who is touring the main bouldering destinations this year. The Spaniards are the next bunch I spend most of my days with, with their tanned skin and long black hair they look gypsy like and would be given a wide berth by your xenophobic Brit, but in truth they are the most friendly of all nationalities. Number 10 Magic Wood Crescent the home of Raul and Sabina is the usual evening destination, in their camper van we relax and watch slide shows of the latest climbing photos or play Uno, a game Rauol is particularly fond off. Next come the Austrians with their thick banana pancakes that they cook up and share around every morning. Mixed in with this we have small groups of Dutch who come over for tea in the morning or borrow a stove when their gas has run out. The favour is quickly returned with bread and cream cheese, chocolate and even once a beer. Although the beer was more of a celebration as Suzie had climbed her first 7B. The Eastern Europeans stand out from the crowd with the neo-nazi style shaved heads, while the Germans stick rigorously to the rules, ensuring their tents fill up the smallest gaps in the campsite, rather than the nice open spaces on the sides. More than once I have had to suggest that half a metre between their tent and my front door is just a little bit to close. But, apparently this is the norm across Europe and every other nationality has their German jokes. The only nationality really lacking here is the Swis.The Campsite

Campsite routine seems to be to get up as the sun turns your tent into an oven, hope Bella and the other Austrians are up and already making pancakes. Make myself a coffee and pull up a chair outside Raul and Sabina’s van. Breakfast is usually a long affair and usually blends into lunch, if Pancakes aren’t on offer than its scrambled eggs. In most other climbing destinations everyone would be rushing into climb by now, but here we would rather wait till the cool of the afternoon and evening. Lunch isn’t often till 2.00 and any time in between is given up to sunbathing and reading. Only at 3.00 do we venture into the forest, returning at 8.00 to cook then retire back to the social centre of Rauol’s van or the Campfire if one has been lit.

The Social Centre of Raul and Sabina's Van

Unlike any other campsite I have been in this one exudes respect, although packed with an age group of 18 to 30 there is never trouble or cause for complaint. No screaming children at 7.00 in the morning, music is kept to a bit of quite guitar playing and singing some evenings, a stereo is unheard of and at 11.00pm everything drifts nicely into silence.

Damon on a more vertical problem

But Magic Woods gives me a conundrum, I am travelling for a few reasons, the first to improve my climbing, for this Magic Wood is unequalled in its numerous steep and hard lines which leave you exhausted after every session. The second was to travel and explore. Switzerland and this area offers little for this unless your bank balance has more zero’s after it that mine. The final reason was photography, although much of Switzerland is full of amazing scenery, this area, stuck deep in a valley offers few opportunities and my collection of Landscape photos is already numerous and I need to move into other areas. So I guess the conundrum is, what to do, do I stay and get better at climbing, but sacrifice the travel and photography or travel more and sacrifice the climbing. At present I am unwilling to depart the social scene of this campsite.

Thunder and Lightning

It’s been getting hotter and hotter here and the freezing glacial streams look more and more tempting for a quick dip to cool off. I’ve been introducing some visiting Brits and Swedes to the boulders and managed a huge sessions of repeats and then worked a 7A in the cool of the forest of Bagni until a crystal slashed my finger tip. I was so close and a new sequence discovered by one of the Swedes am sure would have guaranteed success, but with a 7B in the bag a couple of days before I am feeling quite content about how my climbing has improved.

The hot days have produced an incredible violent reaction from the surrounding mountains, vast thunder and lightning storms. The current one has raged for two days, at night the pour of the rain drums constantly into the tent and flooding the campsite. The lightning comes in blinding flashes, piercing sealed eye lids and preventing any sleep, outside the flashes can be separated into blues, reds, oranges and brilliant whites. Inside the tent it feels like some strobe lighting. You find yourself counting the seconds from the lightning flash to the thunder which machine guns around the valley its cracks echoing off the Granite walls. You count not because of some school boy science experiment, but because you earnestly want to know how close the lightning is, feeling incredible vulnerable inside the tent, unable to sleep from the rain, thunder and lightning you try not to even reach up, hoping the insulation of your rubber mat will be of some use. Even with my rational brain telling me that there are plenty of other higher and better conductors out there, your brain still goes around in circles. Suddenly those long hot and greasy days when climbing seems almost impossible seem a blessing to those longs days stuck in the campsite bar, trying not to spend anything and playing Monopoly against the computer.

With the thunder and lightning hopefully ending Yvette is coming over for a five day climbing trip, this gives me the opportunity to take in the shores of Lake Como as I head down to Milan to pick her up and with her departure my time and Val di Mello ends. It’s on to Magic Woods and those magic grades and the tedium and organisation of Switzerland.

Some Bouldering Photos from Val di Mello

Stephan on a 7A dyno

Stephan on a powerful 6B crack climb

Raphael on a roadside 6c

Sam on the first 6C in Val di Mello

Chris warming up on a 5C

Val di Bagni

It’s hot here, so hot. At weekends it gets busier and busier as the crowds escape from Milan which apparently is even hotter. The rivers still carry some of their glacial cool with them and plummet the temperature by a good 10 degrees, making bouldering next to them a pleasure, but away from the rivers you can’t last more than 20 minutes. I have taken to starting climbing at 5.00, just as the evening cool comes in.

Val di Bagni

But there is one hidden gem, Val di Bagni, breaking west out of Val di Massino instead of east to Val di Melo this Valley is the opposite of Melo, where Melo is wide meadows, with stone villages, sporadic forests and boulders catching the full glare of the sun. Bagni is tall dark Beech and Pine forests, glacial streams pouring through it off the alpine summit of Piz Baldie into a raging torrent at the bottom. The forest floor is covered in moss and the forest is dark and very cool. The boulders are often very high here, making a fine line between a boulder problem and a solo. As with much of the area many of the problems are reverting back to nature, simply not enough boulders to keep the moss at bay. The best problems tend to remain clean, but I would bring a wire brush next time I visit.

More Val di Bagni

The cool of the forest has allowed me to release a bit more energy into the bouldering and feeling back on form managed a 6c+. It was typical of the local problems, low sit start with one tiny foothold which this time was in a position I could use. One hand on the sloping arête and other crimping a small undercling, then a lightning slap up to another crimp for the right hand, reposition my body and throw again with my right for the finishing hold and topping it out. The perfect combination of static control from my left arm and dynamic snatches with my right!

Unfortunately I don’t have any photos of me in action on the boulders as it is hard to climb and take photos of myself. I thought of getting the tripod out and using the self timer, but this would look blatantly posed. So I’ve only got more photos of the scenery, sorry for yet more alpine streams, but hopefully this set of photos will illustrate the difference between Bagni and Val di Mello.

I seem to have written this blog in two parts and haven’t been able to think of away to link them without rewriting the above, so just going to launch into the next section.

Every fourth day I have as a rest day, this rest day I should decided I should be a bit more active. With so many mountains around there is loads of good walks. So up I headed to Bagni after a sleepless night thanks to the tent load of kids and a dog which are camped feet away from my head. I soon found a path signposted to the refugio of Omio, a nice trail with the odd painted boulders so you don’t get lost and even a time estimate on a sign of two and a half hours. For those of you who know me, years of canoeing and climbing have done a tremendous amount to unnuture my legs, and bean poles is an apt description. Unknown to me this hike took me nicely from the valley floor of Bagni as 1200 metres up to the refugio Omio at 2500 metres; it was one long hard slog uphill the whole way. I only made it by sheer will power as my fitness and muscles had given up somewhere down in the forests. The estimate of two and half hours was spot on for me, although someone with legs could probably do it in half the time.

The Refugio at 2500m

My only saving grace was the walking poles I had bought last year when Yvette and I went to Switzerland. They helped a tremendous amount to pull me up the hills and even more to soften the impact on the long two hour descent. I probably won’t do this sort of masochistic exercise every rest day, but for a one off, being able to walk through forested valleys, into the alpine meadows then into the rough highlands and see the nature slowly change is quite remarkable and probably only possible in a walk which increases in altitude so quickly. On route it is pretty much just you and nature, the odd ‘fitter’ walker would amble past and apart from a long green snake which slithered out of my way and one herd of cows I was pretty much alone.

Walkers approaching the Refugio

Enough of the romanticisms! Reckon my legs are going to ache something terrible tomorrow.

Over the Alps and into Italy

Our last few days in France passed very slowly, we moved from Annecy to Cluses near Chamonix, a good location for me to start my journey to Italy and also to drop Yvette at Geneva airport. The bad weather continued, although we managed to get some climbing in and whilst the weather held took a scenic drive along some of Europe’s highest roads to take in the snow capped mountains.

The Mont Blanc Range, Grey and Misty

Monday was Yvette’s final day and also my thirtieth birthday, not quite the way I envisaged my thirtieth, but it was the way we planned it. I dropped Yvette off at Geneva airport and promptly had the car searched by the French police on re-entry into France. Apparently a single guy in a British car is suspicious. After numerous questions in broken French and English about where I was going and where I had been I was let go. The only good part of the day so far was that it was sunny, but as I entered the Alps a massive storm sat directly over Cluses, flooding the little campsite and making any possibility of cooking disappear. I opted for a table for one at the local pizza restaurant and then a beer in town, it was only nine o’clock when I returned; probably the earliest to bed I have ever been on my birthday.

I left as soon as I could the next day, In front of me loomed Mont Blanc, with its snow capped peaks and glaciers stretching down into the valley it was magnificent, but you couldn’t help but notice the factories and warehouses littered on either side of the road. I left the French Alps through the Mont Blanc tunnel, stunned by the scenery, but disappointed by the ramshackle towns and industrial estates in the valleys. Once through the Tunnel and Italy the architecture changed, although the industrial estates still littered the valleys picturesque castles loomed on top of hills and minareted churches clung to the side of the mountains. The driving became much more unpredictable, road works suddenly loomed up without warnings and you always had to be alert to what lane to go in. Drivers tended to start their manoeuvres without looking, although they always seemed to notice you before causing a collision. My Sat Nav worked perfectly until I had the only tricky section around Milan, somehow I scrapped through.

Routes in Sasso Remano, the largest boulder in Europe

Next was lake Como, with the mountains crashing down into its shores I made a note to get back here on a rest day to have a look around. Soon I was winding my way up the mountains to San Martino and the Val di Mello. This is what you want alpine valleys to look like. Lush flowering meadows, a mountain stream cascading through the middle, steep granite cliffs on either side and in the distance snowed capped peaks with their Glaciers winding down to the ancient villages in the valley. Suddenly everything felt good again, and it was sunny. This is going to be my base for the next month, climbing the boulder fields on the valley floor and chilling in the alpine villages. I’m enjoying it already.

Bouldering in Val di Melo

The Different Faces of France

My big road trip of Europe has started and has so far been a wet one. Yvette has joined me for the first 10 days of my planned 3 month expedition and our first port of call was a return to Fontainebleau, a month earlier it had been almost too hot to climb. Now it was too wet, our first day was almost completely rained off and we had a forced tour of the herb market at Milly la Foret. At least the evening cleared up, allowing us to cook dinner in the dry. Unfortunately the next day was more of the same, although we did get a bit more climbing in as the sun finally came out in the afternoon.

Sleepy Little Bourgogne and then Busy Bourgogne

Our next stop was a couple of hours further south at Saussois in the Bourgogne (Burgundy) region. Just near Auxerre this is sleepy little France, a France where everything opens and closes on the whim of the shopkeeper. Villages which in England would be guaranteed at least one Pub or bar are ghost towns, you have to travel through a few villages till you find one which has a bar open to wait until the rain stops. Shops might open for a few hours in the morning, just enough time to get your groceries or a baguette. Saying goodbye to sleepy France was a relief after our one night stop. We now headed south to the Cote d’ Or, the heart of Bourgogne wine production with names such as Nuit St George, Gevrey Chambertin, Brochon and Fixin. Acres and acres of vineyards stretch from the dense forests towards the distance horizons, chateau’s peep out from in between vineyards and this is definitely not sleepy France. Everywhere is busy, the vineyards are constantly being checked, tractors and even horse drawn ploughs are in action everywhere. You get the impression of everyone working hard to produce their world famous wine.

The Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy and Cafe Culture in the Centre of Dijon

We take an afternoon off and head into Dijon the regions capital, famous for its mustard and wine. This is the heart of trendy France, the wide medieval street are lined with all the latest fashions, the roofs of the buildings are tiled in bright colours and in the centre sits the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy with the city laid out neatly around it. The wealth of the city is portrayed in the vast number of churches and cathedrals , some dating back to the 13^th Century and some of the facades designed to rival the best in Italy. To me I find churches depressing, reflecting to me the persecution and psychological imprisonment that religion brings to the world. With the touristy bit out the way we treated ourselves to what the French do best, food and Yvette had her first taste of Snails! Although for all those who have eaten then they tend to just taste of the strong garlic sauce they come in.

The next day we managed to squeeze in a bit of climbing and then headed down to the capital of the Cote d’ Or, Beaune, this walled Medieval town is the heart of Pretentious France, the patisserie owners looks down their noses at our dirty (climbers) attire and we feel very out of place amongst load Americans and the dressed up French. I was relieved to escape back to our campsite.

Our time in the Bourgogne finished we headed on down to the Alps, to Yvette’s final port of call before I drop her off at the Airport and I head into Italy to continue my tour. The trend of this trip continues. Rain blocks out all views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. We arrive at lunch time and find all the shops closed, preventing us from getting more gas for our cooker and a guide for the climbing, encase its stops raining and we get the opportunity. We’ve opted to have a few nights of luxury in Annecy, with its fast flowing canals and tall ancient buildings it is beautiful and would be impressive to see it on a sunny day. As I finish writing this I have my fingers crossed hoping that this crap weather will blow over us and we can get on with the job of having a holiday!

Historique, Wet, Beautifull, but some how Soleless Annecy

Jon & Steve’s Pasta Pot a la JoSiTo

This was our Tuesday night dinner and has been voted the meal of the trip.

Take your three small Aubergine, an onion and two carrots, slowly fry these on your stove with olive oil for 15 minutes till soft, add a red pepper, courgette and three green peppers and let the flavour stew. Add four tomatoes, coriander and pepper and leave. Cook your pasta and when ready add to the vegetable mix and bring back up to the boil. Take off the heat, add crumbled Feta cheese and serve immediately. For added effect toast sum bread on the campfire and top with Avocado!

Think this dish is helped by the strong Feta cheese you get out here, this can be anything from creamy and more like mozzarella to crumbly and excessively goaty (think of ground goat, hooves, hair and all).

Back to Climbing

Quite a bit’s happened since I last wrote, one of the crag dogs got shot by the nice goat herder from my previous post. Turns out he might not have been that nice. We said goodbye to Garren and Sophie with a nice meal at the trout restaurant down the road. Unfortunately they have been replaced by an elderly Sheffield lady whose booming Yorkshire tones can be heard for miles around. Luckily Vera and Fred, a Dutch photographer and his girlfriend arrived at the same time and have been great company (The Dutch seem to understand English humour much better than the Germans).

Around the campfire

On the climbing front things have been steadily improving, I have moved in the 7’th grade climbs and Steve has just kept pulling harder and harder, although not much separates us on the onsight, on the redpoint he is in another league, pushing 7b+ and looking confidently towards 8a before the end of the trip. For me, I’ve wired together the moves on a 7b+, but failed to feel motivated enough to push on through to the end, maybe soon!

On our rest day we hitched and then bussed ourselves into central Antalya for a day of touristy bits. Antalya is one of the central players in Turkeys mass tourist industry and the drive in takes you through tower blocks of flats supplying cheap accommodation for tourists. Miraculously after this crowded modern hell hole Antlaya opens up into a small harbour with its combination of Roman and medieval architecture largely still intact. Old Byzantium churches, now converted to mosques and medieval walls guard the entrance to the old town. The harbour houses a combination of charter yachts, tourist boats and small fishing boats with their crew painting hulls or mending nets on the quays.

Cheap food of Antalya

Unfortunately cities means the friendly Turkey we have grown to love in the rural villages we have been climbing in is replaced by the hardnosed city reality, on every corner waiters try and hustle you into restaurants, carpet sales men and street vendors try and barter their wares. Lunch of roast lamb was ruined by the modern demands of tipping, photography opportunities tainted by boat cruise salesmen. It was a relief to get back on the bus to Geyikbayiri and the rural tranquillity of Turkey.

The Harbour of Antalya

Rural life is more relaxing, the shack up the road sales delicious grilled lamb chops, served by its owner who proudly shows of photos that tourists have sent back to him. We follow tradition and take photos of him with us and take his address so we can send him the photos. A local patron freely discusses the relaxed and tolerant views on alcohol in a country with a massive Muslim majority and chastises the stupidity of radical Islam. All washed down with some great Turkish beer and Raki.

The Shack owner with Steve and I

Eating out tends to be rare at the moment, our trip to the Shack an exception, we made another trip to the Trout restaurant, but once again this was for farewells, this time, Katherine, Nic, Carissa, Vera and Fred where off. Sad to see them go, but a great opportunity to stock on campsite booty. We have managed to inherit a table with benches, two lots of chocolate spread, cheese and olives. Free food, always good.

Market Day

It is 5 miles down to Pazar and its open Market, open once a week. Unfortunately Sunday’s isn’t a good day to hitchhike, but the weather was good so neither I nor Steve minded. The Trek started off interestingly with an encounter with the local shepherd. He was straight out of Ernest Hemmingway, cheque shirt, corduroy trousers held up my some hold hemp rope. A cloth sack tied across his back and thick Mediterranean skin which aged him way beyond his years, topped off with a flat cap and ancient shot gun. We gestured to take his photo and I clicked a couple of frames. Steve recommended it would be polite to give him some money, unfortunately all I had was 25cents or 5 Turkish Lira, one nothing and the other far too much. He waved his hands and picked up a stick and wrote Tarkin in the dirt, gesturing he indicated it was his name. He followed this with his address up the road in Geyikbayiri and that we should post the photo to him. So please someone remind me to post the photo to this charming relic of another time.

Goat Herder

Hitchhiking to Pazar wasn’t too bad, we only had to walk for 20 minutes and two cars before a pickup truck pulled over and we joined four German climbers for the ride. The market was mainly fruit and vegetables, with the odd goats udder crammed with Feta Cheese. Between market stalls families work around clay ovens producing Gosleme, the Turkish version of Crepes. One lady cut the dough in round lumps, a second and third rolled this into a very fine circle then filled this with your choice of fillings; either feta and herbs, mince and herbs, spinach or another cheese and herbs. Once this was folded and sealed into the middle it was toasted on the clay oven. Alternatively a thicker dough made a pizza with the same fillings sealed into the middle. This was all washed down with a pot of tea.

Lunch beıng made

The one thing that strikes you about the Market and so far Turkey is how friendly everyone is. This must be the most friendly country I have every visited. At the Market everyone was helping us with our translations and orders for Fruit and Vegetables. No one hassled us, everyone was more than happy for me to take photos. Although lunch proved difficult with the language barrier, a local was found who could speak English to help translate. All this with lifts being freely available a trip to the market every Sunday is looking a likely occurrence.
The other thing that strikes you at the market is the two cultures living so comfortably beside each other. The older more conservative generation, with their head scarves, often working in the restaurants rolling the dough, would mingle freely with the younger generation in their jeans and t-shirt. Everyone was in perfect harmony and finished with a hours stroll back up hill to burn off the tea buzz and Gosleme the trip was over.

The Market

Jo-Si-To

If you want to know what it’s like to live in a council estate, then fly Thomas Cook. It’s like being in that dodgy pub down the road, any form of eye contact could result in pain! When the seat belt sign is on they need the toilet, when we’re about to land, they all need the toilet. Might be something to do with the beer.......But, it was uneventful, I managed to not to make contact with the guy with the scary eyes and not mention to the heavily tattooed guy in front that bouncing around in his seat like an excited school boy was really irritating.

Jo-Si-To Campsite
However, we were met by pouring rain, not the winter sun we had been expecting and transported up to the mountains and the campsite which will be our home for the next 24 days. The campsite is nestled between the steep limestone cliffs and the surrounding mountains. http://www.climbingcamp-antalya.com/ Run by three Germans it is the picture of organisation. Breakfast is at 8.00 to 9.00 and dinner is served promptly at 8.00. But! what a dinner, great food, great location, hot showers and so far brilliant climbing! It’s got to be on everyone’s list of places to go at least once.

Steve and I opened up the first day climbing with probably one of the best routes of its grade in the world. Saxafon is a 40 degree limestone cave, dripping with Tufa’s. The climb goes straight through this impressive terrain and features major jug pulling and a beautiful hands of rest at ¾ height as your rest your bank against a gigantic stalactite. The route is then finished off with more jug pulling and the crux in the last moves. The great part of all this is the 15 minutes maximum walk in.

Although we haven’t found another climb to match Saxafon there seem to be plenty of potential candidates waiting for us to have a go.

Katherine Schirrmacher on Geyıbekı Games

Back to the campsite, it’s currently slowly filling up as we approach Easter. From the continent are plenty of Germans, Austrians and a few Slovenians. From the UK are the usual bunch of Sheffield Trad boys and girls getting some winter sun. Katherine Schirrmacher is here with Nic Sellers checking out potential routes for her coaching holiday http://www.lovetoclimb.co.uk/ here in September with Steve McClure to pass on their wealth of information to us mortals. Better get back to the climbing, my lunch time break from the sun has finished and it’s off to find a crag in the shade for the afternoon.

Crag Tortoise