DAY 1: SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2000

I hate getting up early so, when the clock-radio switched itself on at 06h00, I was not a happy person. As usual, Debs was up first and in and out of the shower in a flash. I then dragged myself downstairs and into the womb-like security of the warm shower. It was minus ten degrees Celsius outdoors, and Prague was not the place where I really wanted to be!

Cleansed and kick-started with a cup of sweet "Five Roses" tea from South Africa, I stood in the entrance hall of our apartment, surveying the results of the previous night's packing frenzy. We were certainly not travelling light on this our first trip to the Canary Islands! I had the Manfrotto tripod packed in as well as my Poseidon diving regulator. The motorcycle leathers were there too. As were the golf gloves and our beach wear. We were not taking any chances - our intention was to enjoy everything the island of Gran Canaria had to offer!

Profi Taxi dispatched a driver who made it to Holesovice by 07h10. We were off, but the driver maintained a frustratingly low speed. Pedestrians waved as they passed us, and I could sense Debbie's blood pressure rising! At the airport I had my favourite Samsonite case shrink-wrapped for extra protection while Debs headed for the Fischer Air check-in counter. Boarding passes issued, we made it through passport control without a hitch, and headed for departure gate B2. Charter flight 8F-3633Y was scheduled to depart at 08h20 with boarding set for 07h50�we had 20 minutes to spare.

Hmmm! By 09h30 we were still waiting, and had just read on the "Departures" monitor that we would only be leaving at 10h30. Jesus Christ�I could have got in an additional three hours sleep!!! Anyway, I kept myself amused by sending SMS and e-mail updates to my friends around the world using the free terminal sponsored by GSM service provider, Eurotel (the anti-Christ for my wife who works for the superior opposition, RadioMobil!). I then pulled out my notebook computer and worked on a number of work- related e-mails.

Movement! By 10h30 we boarded and Debs and I were allocated seats 19A and B. I took the window option and was asleep before the Boeing 737-300 left the ground! Yup - I really hate early mornings. We were roused for drinks and breakfast and, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised with the quality of the "Air Chefs" meal. Scrambled eggs, a pair of sausages, two warm bread rolls, some fruit, and nice selection of cheese, and a delicate desert to finish off with. The cutlery was real, not plastic, and the tea was passable for airways-instant. Good stuff. With my primary needs satisfied, I needed to occupy my mind, and pulled out Ken Stewart's book entitled "The Glider Pilot's Manual" (ISBN 1-84037-064-X). I thought it would be a good idea to refresh my gliding theory before recommencing my training in South Africa at the end of January. During today's flight I managed to study up to page 90 (out of approximately 300).

En route to the Canaries, our plane landed at Palma de Mallorca (at 14h15) where weary passengers disembarked, and fresh Economy Class fodder embarked. I shot a few pictures out of the port-rear door of the Boeing before everyone was ushered back to their seats in compliance with the global regulations associated with the refuelling process. After an hour, we resumed our journey, flying over Ibiza. My GPS told me that we were flying just off of the coast of mainland Spain, to the south of Valencia�the city where I was conceived back in April 1960. I must visit there one day.

Probably the most interesting part of the flight to Gran Canaria was the airspace over Morocco. The sun was shining, the visibility was endless, and we had a magnificent view of the desert. At about 17h00 (Prague time) we flew over Marakesh (what would I do without my GPS)! It blended in perfectly with the desert, and the words of Mike Batt's song "The Ride To Agadir" ("Schizophonia", 1977) came back to me:

I can confirm that Mike Batt was factually accurate. The Atlas Mountains run parallel to the coast and Marakesh is in the foothills. From out vantage point we could see not only the foothills, but all the way to the eastern horizon. The mountains are more impressive than I imagined - a rugged, eroded beauty that reminded me of the Altoplano in Peru/Bolivia and the desolation of the high altitude desert of Ladakh. Beautiful. I shot a couple of shots through the aircraft window. We'll have to visit Morocco.

I caught a bit of sleep, and we finally arrived at the Aeropuerto de Gando situated half way between Las Palmas and Maspalomas on the east coast of Gran Canaria. We put our watches back one hour to 17h00. It was still warm this late in the day - in the lower 20's at least - but we were not complaining considering what we had left behind us in Prague. The civil servants at passport control were a little taken aback by our South African passports, but we made it onto Spanish territory without incident. After collecting our luggage we made our way to the arrivals area where we met up with our Fischer Reisen representative. He immediately insulted Debs and I by branding us Americans, but we quickly corrected him! ;-)

        

Moving outside we found our coach in row A2 and sat right at the back. Before meeting the Fischer rep, we had absolutely no idea where we were staying, and what kind of accommodation was arranged for us. All we knew now was that we were going to something called the Princess Bungalows. Hmmm�sounded risky! At 18h00 the coach headed south down road GC1. When we dropped the first load of people off at what was definitely a put-put course, I started getting decidedly nervous. I decided to sit up straight and start paying more attention. We were off at the next stop - and I was relieved that there was no miniature golf in sight!

We were in a resort settlement called Playa del Inglés and the Princess wasn't bad for the money we were paying. We checked in quickly, and were allocated to bungalow 117. Hmmmm�again, better than expected - an equipped kitchen, a small dining room that adjoined a large lounge (with TV), an adequate bathroom and an ample bedroom. The only grip was that we had two single beds instead of a double, but some quick re-arranging of the furniture soon fixed that.

In the reception I had picked up a brochure advertising a company called "Moto & Bike" who were renting out motorcycles, scooters and bicycles:

I gave them a call at 18h45 and explained that I was interested in renting a BMW F650GS for 6 days. No problem they advised me, just be at their shop at 11h00 the following morning (and be first in line for the single BMW that they had) and the bike would be mine. On yeah - they also do not rent their BMW to anyone below the age of 30. I easily met that wretched criterion. :-(

After a chilly bath, Debs and I wondered back to reception to find out where we could get some currency. The friendly guy at reception directed us to the Faro 2 shopping centre about 20 minutes walk from the Princess. We left immediately. The centre reminded Debs and I of a typical South African coastal resort�bars, restaurants, supermarkets, souvenir stores, bars, restaurants and more of the same! We drew Pts 25,000 (exchange rate approximately Pts 265 = GBP 1) and started wondering around the centre, keen to part with our new gained wealth. First stop was a supermarket - a bottle of white, a bottle of red, a bottle of Freixenet cava, and three miniatures of the same just for in-between. A few postcards, a map of the island, and am English guidebook completed the evening's shopping (total Pts 4,805).

We stopped at a bar for a couple of drinks and both of us opted for local specialities - Debs had a glass of Sangria (complete with tropical fruits and flaming sparkler) and I had a very traditional Erdinger "Hefe" Weissbier!! Local? Yeah right!! ;-) Getting into the swing of things, we decided to try one of the dozen restaurants in the shopping centre. We settled for the Restaurante Mamas & Papas and ordered paella for two and a litre and a half of sangria. The food was acceptable, but nothing to really write home about. At Pts 6,463 I don't really think it was worth the money but, hey, we had a good time and left with VERY full stomachs!

We walked back to the Princess and I started work on this report, deciding that it was time for bed when I started falling asleep over my keyboard!

DAY 2: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2000

The European and Latin Christmas day. I do think I've ever figured out why some countries celebrate the birth of Christ on December 24 and others on the 25th. This requires some more investigation!

Debs and I both slept well, and were ready for our first full day on the Tropic of Cancer. We caught the arse end of breakfast, as all the Poms and Germans had demolished all the good stuff by the time we got there. Not a worry for me though, and I settler into a bowl of muesli and a cup of pretty good tea. Debs opted for the cold meats and cheese, which didn't look very appetising to me. After breakfast we caught a taxi to Moto & Bike and got there at 10h45. The owner arrived, opened up, and we got the BMW F650GS as discussed the previous evening. With just over 3,000 km on the clock, the bike was in great condition, but we couldn't say the same for the dicey helmets! I don't think I really understood the pricing structure, but I ended up signing a credit card slip to the value of Pts 69,700. Scary!

After a quick acclimatisation run I picked Debs up and we found our way back to the Princess only after calling in the assistance of the trusty Garmin GPS III. The roads are a little confusing to say the least! Back at our bungalow we changed into our leathers, packed in all the cameras and headed south on the GC1. Our first impression of Playa del Inglés and Maspalomas is that they are massive construction sites, and just one huge holiday resort. Hotel after hotel after time-share after time-share�with as many more under construction I don't think we saw any "homes" at all. As this part of the island seemed fairly desolate (rocky, barren and very dry) I guess that tourism is the primary source of income here. It definitely seems to be the destination of choice for sun-starved Germans and Poms. Although we also encountered a gaggle of Netherlanders and a brace of Scandinavians, just about everything is written in German and English�in fact, there are British fish and chip shops at regular intervals for the whinging Poms, and the occasional Hofbrau Haus for the homesick Germans! All very strange, and all VERY oriented to the package tourist. Not our style at all.

Yes the environment is desolate, with almost no vegetation at all. This doesn't bother Debs or I as some of our favourite places are like this - the Karoo in South Africa, the Nazca desert in Peru, the Altoplano of Bolivia and the austerity of the Himalayas and high plateau of Tibet. I guess we love the purity, extremes and harsh beauty of these places. The coastline on this part of Gran Canaria is rugged, and also very steep. The majority of resorts and timeshares are built almost vertically up cliff faces�much in the style of the Inca terraces of Machu Picchu in Peru. As there is an infinite supply of stone close at hand, some of the more memorable buildings are hewn into the rock face and then constructed of it�very rustic and very aesthetically pleasing.

It started raining and we pulled over, taking cover in a bus shelter. Not that we're scared of a little water or anything ;-) but we did not bring our Cordura/Gore-Tex jackets along, nor our waterproof pants. Also we had four cameras on us and, and no warm watertight jackets to hide them under. It was just a brief thunderstorm and we were soon back on track.

The terrain was fascinating - layer upon layer of lava and all of them very different. This was topped by a thick covering of glacial moraine. It must be a geologist's delight out here. I was thinking that this must be the kind of terrain where an organisation like NASA would come to test Lunar and Martian landers. It's that rugged, and I could imagine that riding a motorcycle off-road here could be a great deal of fun. We stopped to take some photos and I remember consciously cutting out what looked like a small radio telescope dish that was creeping into a shot I was taking of Debs and the GS. Looking at the map as I write this I see an area designated as "Estacion Especial NASA" in the same area! So it seems that NASA has a presence here, and I would suspect that the island is used to test inter-planetary ATV's!

I was getting more comfortable with the F650GS now, and the mountain roads were perfect for playing. Constant turns with no real opportunity to build significant speed. Left, right, left, right, downhill, hairpin, uphill, hairpin and so on. Owning a R80GS I found the 650 easy to handle. It is far lighter than the "Gummikuh", the seat height is far lower, as is the centre of gravity. It's REALLY easy to ride, and the nose goes exactly where it's pointed. All very predictable and manageable. I can understand how this sophisticated package managed a clean sweep of last year's Paris-Dakar Rally - it does not appear to have any idiosyncrasies and is a very "civilised" ride.

In fact both Debs and I found it a bit�boring! It's just too sterile! For me I think the primary adjustment was being on a lower capacity single as opposed to my customary big-bore boxer. The 650 just does not have the low end "grunt" of the 800 and is definitely not as forgiving as the 800 when you select an inappropriate gear for the gradient. Debs found the seat far more comfortable than our bike (as I did), but she did not like the sound of the bike! I must admit that Japanese (and even Indian) singles sound a lot better. The F650 just fails to excite, and the sound will certainly not raise any adrenaline. Hey - but I shouldn't be too critical. The bike I am on is still being ridden-in (do you still have to do that with these high-tech machines?) and it's styling is striking. Fuel tank under the seat is a great idea. I think that it could make a great little run-about, but I think it's just too over-priced to acquire as a second bike. Nevertheless, I think that Debs and I were on the best bike on the island, and we were enjoying our first day in the sun for some time!

Wow�a whole lot of familiar name on the southern coast - Playa de Balito, Punta de la Hondura, Playa del Puerto Rico. The latter is one of the youngest holiday resorts on the island and has a great little harbour. Apparently there is a scuba outfit operating here�we noted it down as a place to be investigated through the course of the week, but also a place to be enjoyed here and now. We rode into town, cruised the main drag, spotted an cash machine and pulled over. Armed with another Pts 25,000 we strode into the local mall. Much of the same - dozens of kitsch bars and restaurants, tacky souvenir shops, sleazy Sub-Saharans selling imitation Rolex watches, and heard of fat, red skinned Poms and Germans out to "have fun". It was scary!!

We found the least offensive place in the complex and sat down, hoping to order a quick drink. The fat waitress with the Santa hat was absolutely useless. Not only did she have the ugliest black mole in the world, but she wore the "Mullet" hairstyle from hell and was a useless bar-person. She eventually took our order, and it arrived a decade later bearing the 2nd worst Gin & Tonic in the world (the honour going to the Summit Hotel in Kathmandu) and a foot-long monstrosity of a Harvey-Wallbanger! Hmmmm�the joys of package tourism!! We paid up our Pts 1,300 and were out of the "Disco Pub Bora Bora" as quickly as our leather-clad legs would carry us!

We made one more stop on this, our first day with the motorcycle. We rode further down the 812 and to Puerto de Mogán. This intimate little port was far less "touristy" than all we had seen thus far. There were old people around - and NOT retired Bavarians on tour! People actually lived and worked here�fisher folk, and NOT Fischer folk! ;-) The houses were old, traditional and well maintained. The place was naturally cute with very few of the resort trappings. We rode right into the harbour and past the fishing trawlers and super-yachts of the mega-rich, to the end of the quay. There moored at N 27°48'57.5" W 015°45'52.2" was one of the island's interesting attractions - the "Yellow Submarine". This is a real submarine built for tourist joy-rides. To quote the brochure:

"An exciting excursion where the bottom of the sea discovers you its secrets. The thrilling trip to the bottom of the sea starts in Mogán on board a submarine equipped with the most advanced technology. Come to Puerto de Mogán and live this unforgettable adventure".

Hmmm�"discovers you its secrets"?�I might just do that.

The ride back to Playa del Inglés was brisk, as we raced to beat the setting sun. In Maspalomas we stopped to fill up the tank in preparation for our excursion the following day. The GPS once again got us back to the Princess where we parked and locked the BMW for the night. The buffet supper was average to forgettable, the vino blanco was barely palatable, but our beds were comfortable! I made use of the latter after watching King Juan Carlos' Seasonal address to the nation. It was the end of a fine Spanish Christmas Day.

DAY 3: MONDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2000

Aaahhh�Christmas Day!! After some festive "fraternising", Debs and I started the day with a hearty breakfast. Fed and fuelled, we packed all the photo gear and headed out to the bike. From Playa del Inglés we rode north east, taking road 812 to the settlement of El Doctoral. En route we stopped to take a look at a WW-II coastal defence blockhouse. It was the first of many we would see during our week on the island. We also tried to get to see an impressive array of wind turbines, but couldn't find the road to the site and instead spent half an hour cruising around the impressive covered tomato plantations that characterise this part of the island. This was our first taste of the Canarian dirt-tracks, and I looked forward to more challenging off-road excursions!

From El Doctoral we took a north-west track to Era de Cardon. On the other side of this hamlet we came to a photogenic t-junction where we stopped to record the moment. It was rugged and dry, and looked as if we were in the middle of nowhere. Exposures completed we turned left onto road 815 and rode up the first (gentle) pass of the day. At the top of the hill, I stopped to shoot a panorama of the impressive view. There would be many more to come. Down the other side of the pass we pulled over at the "Roque Aguayro" vantage point where I shot another panorama in vertical orientation. The canyon was impressive to say the least, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon, and with a romantic, palm-fringed oasis in the cleft of the valley.

A few kilometres further down, I took the Fortaleza Grande turn-off, and rode to a towering knoll and cave/tunnel called "La Gran Fortaleza de Ansite". The way there is like a scene from a western movie - canyon-like rock faces dramatically stacked up by magma flows and eroded in a zigzag pattern by millions of years of weather. One also passes through native hamlets, wild spurges and terraced "fincas" full of lemon trees. The knoll towers over a fissured valley, and it was here in the tunnelled rock face that the Canarios and the Spanish fought their last battle in 1483. True to the principle "Rather dead than Spanish", the native inhabitants are said to have thrown themselves off the Fortaleza into the depths below. In front of the tunnel an amphitheatre and altar has been fashioned out of the natural rock. Every year on April 29 a fiesta is celebrated here to commemorate the bloody events. Debs and I parked in front of the tunnel, walked through it, and around the knoll back to the bike. Harsh topography.

     

It was hot - about 26 degrees Celsius - so we stopped in the town of Santa Lucia for a cold drink. The service was atrocious, but the Diet Cokes were ice cold and went down a treat. The oranges on display outside the general dealer looked good enough to eat, and certainly justified a few mega-pixels! The stretch of road from Santa Lucia, through San Bartolomé to Ayacata should be on every motorcyclist's "To Ride" list! An impeccable surface, high altitude, tight corners, sweeping bends, good chambering, challenging hairpins, and everything one would want from a mountain pass. Just a pity that it was drizzling a bit when we rode it - I will have to do it again!

At Ayacata we turned North-East onto road 811 up through stupendous high passes to "Roque Nublo". Canarians apparently love to go on picnics�and this Christmas Day was no exception! Despite the damp chill, dozens of families had made the steep climb from Ayacata past the "Roque Nublo" (the 80 metre high monolith which is the landmark of Gran Canaria) to the established picnic area in the dense pine forests on either side of the quiet road. We stopped for a snack, and then went up to the "Pico de las Nieves", the highest peak of the island at 1,949 meters. Considering that we were only about 20 kilometres from our hotel as the crow flies, which made it almost a 10:1 gradient. Not bad! Unfortunately we were in the clouds, it was misty and rainy and we could see nothing of the apparently magnificent view from the top.

  

We rode down the other side of the island to Tejeda. It was a GREAT road as well, but also COLD as the Arctic! We stopped to consult our map, feeling that we had screwed up somewhere. We confirmed this and, as the road we were on would not take us in the intended direction, we decided to turn back towards the coast, and retraced our route back to Ayacata. From there we turned South-West on the minor road to Cruz de San Antonia. Wow!!! This was more like it�narrower track, tight corners and fewer 4-wheelers. Yee-haaa!! At a particularly well positioned corner I pulled over to shoot some Fuji and to burn some SmartMedia. Heading out over the crash barriers I stumbled and fell face down in the dirt, somehow managing to keep my Pentax ME-Super out of the gravel, but spewing the FujiFilm Finepix 4700, mini-tripod and wallet out of my waist bag. I felt like a real arsehole, and Debs felt compelled to record the moment! Nevertheless, I also got some nice shots of the bike and a super 5-shot panorama of the mountains and valley.

At Embalse de Cueva de las Ninas, the road ran dead, and there was a Toyota Hi-Ace pulled over at the end of the road. The side windows were smoked, but the windscreen was not. Hmmm�.I noticed that it was all steamed up too. Wow�the whole van was bouncing rhythmically on its suspension too!!! I wonder what was going on in there!!?? ;-) He-he!! Lucky bonking-bastards!! At the dead-end we took a split to the right and joined a water logged dirt track. Two German hikers advised us not to ride down there as it got a lot worse. I thanked them and smiled�this was what I had been looking for!!

  

In fact the road was not as tough as the Prussian-Plodders had made it out to be. Nonetheless, it was excellent to be off-road again, and we had great fun for 10 winding kilometres until we reached the split at Risco Grande. There we branched left and onto a tarred road. 9 However, it was another exceptional road and it took us to El Barranquillo Andrés and beyond. It was still cold and miserable, but�WOW�we rode through a magnificent canyon on the road to El Sao. The mountain hairpins were extreme, and at one point I was able to look down from the road above and see three 180-degree turns almost directly below me. Fun, fun, fun!!!! Photo time!

After all that enjoyment it was an anti-climax to reach the coast at Arguineguin. There we turned left and onto the same stretch of southern coastal road that we had driven the day before. We stopped once more on our way back to the Princess, pulling over at Punta del Cometa (close to the NASA complex) just to prove that we actually saw the beach!! ;-) Some guys were barbequing lobster on the beach and�hmmm�it smelled so good! Photos taken, we rejoined the 812 that took us back to Playa del Inglés. In total we had taken the trip meter from 90 to 248 km, a total of 158 kilometres for the day. With the amount of cornering we had done, it felt like a whole lot more than that.

We enjoyed Christmas dinner at the hotel, together with a cold bottle of Torres white Vina Sol. A fun day.

DAY 4: TUESDAY, DECEMBER 26, 2000

We packed up after breakfast and left the Princess at 10h30, riding north on the 812 to Las Palmas. The traffic was pretty bad and particularly so in Telde where cars were backed up for the length of the town. I got pissed off with the stop-start riding, and go onto the GC1 where we caught up on lost time. The GS' characteristics became more apparent on the highway - 100 km/h at 4,000 rpm; 120 km/h at 5,000 rpm; 140 km/h at 6,000 rpm. All predictably effortless.

The lasting impression of the ride into Las Palmas is of the colourfully painted homes tightly stacked on the steep rock face on the approach to the city. The city centre was incredibly busy, and we rode about somewhat aimlessly trying to find the Old town. Half an hour later, sick of the smog and traffic, we decided to head westwards out of town. Soon we were on the 811 heading south west. About 9 kilometres out of the city I turned off to the right, taking the main road to San Lorenzo. Out here the landscape was very different to the south east. There it was dry and barren while out here it reminded us both of the south coast of Kwa-Zulu/Natal in South Africa - more tropical, more lush and overgrown. Banana trees started appearing. Yes, much like the area south of Durban, South Africa.

We got onto the 813 and rode a pleasant route to Arucas. It was 26° C and we felt the need for a drink, so we rode up to the lookout point - the Mirador de Arucas - the peak of which is 412 metres above sea level. This vantage point provided a good platform for series of panoramic photos, and the opportunity to crack another quarter bottle of Freixenet cava! From this height we got a better appreciation of just how extensive the banana plantations in this area are. Apparently the north coast has been a veritable banana garden for over 100 years and these days they are all grown under cover! Quite literally 100's of acres of banana trees are cocooned in opaque plastic sheeting - in some places it looks surreal, like a scene from a science fiction movie where an attempt is being made to isolate and contain some form of alien contamination! The neo-Gothic cathedral of St John is also clearly visible from the Mirador, and is about the same age as the banana plantations. It was started in 1907 but construction progressed at a leisurely pace and was only completed recently. All that hard work messed up siesta time I guess! We rode down to the cathedral but it was closed for business.

The road SSW from Arucas to Teror took us into more mountainous terrain, and the vegetation changed once again. Now majestic blue gum trees lined our route, reminding us of our roots in the old Transvaal (now called Gauteng, I believe). Teror itself is a pretty place - cobblestone streets, old buildings inlaid with ceramic tiles and with their characteristic wooden balconies and the picturesque basilica of the "Virgen del Pino". The marketers tell me that Teror is the "most Canarian" of all Canarian towns. The Virgin of the Pine Trees is at the centre of the town - she is the patron saint of Gran Canaria and sits enthroned in a magnificent receptacle above the altar. I tried to shoot a few pictures with my miniature tripod.

           

Unfortunately the place was packed with tourists when the light was good, and like a ghost town when it turned overcast! Murphy's law. I shot some photos nevertheless, and befriended a ginger cat who I tried to get to pose for pictures. All he wanted, however, was food!

The road from Teror to Vallesco was really interesting. The island is riddled with caves (you see them whenever you look up from the road) and here we started seeing homes built into the caves. It was getting a lot steeper and Debs said that the vegetation reminded her of Barberton in the Eastern Transvaal (now called Mpumulanga I believe). Blue gums, palms, banana trees and splendid forests greeted us. At one stage we wondered why a whole valley looked so colourless. On getting closer, we figured it out - all the trees and bushes were covered with a ghostly-pale hanging moss�just like in an old horror movie. We were now in the cloud base and things were getting decidedly damp. I was sure that this side of the mountains got as little rain as the southern face, but that it was the mist and cloud that sustained the abundant vegetation here. Despite the cold and wet, we were savouring the scenery, particularly the deep gorge to our right. Very pleasing, so we stopped to shoot a panorama.

Artenara is the highest village on the island (at 1,375 metres it's the same height as the Brenner Pass through which Debs, Don, Etienne and I had ridden through twice in September) and the road there from Vallesco was misty and cold. It would be a magnificent ride on a clear, sunny day. Most of the inhabitants of Artenara live in the womb of Mother Earth - in the caves provided by nature. It's an interesting place, but was very wet while we were there!

The Artenara - Tejeda road is another good mountain motorcycle road and one I would like to do again in better weather. We took a respite in Tejeda to stretch our legs and to shoot a panorama of the village nestled in the bowl of the valley. Hmmmm�I didn't think the road could get much better, but it did! Tejeda to Ayacata is stunning, with 1,500 metre vertical drop-offs and very little traffic. The mist made it feel even more challenging, as did the small rivers, rock falls and gravel patches that were forming on the otherwise excellent road. In the vicinity of La Solana del Chorrilla I pulled over and climbed up to a higher vantage point from which I shot some pictures of the misty vista. Some distance down the Ayacata - San Bartolomé road we stopped to shoot a few more pixels. Debs was having a problem setting the FujiFilm Finepix 4700, so I put the bike on it's side-stand and walked over to give her a hand. It was now raining harder than before. As I ambled back towards the bike I noticed it edging forward ever so slowly under the vibration of the engine. Uh-oh!! I leapt forward like the Duracell bunny and caught the bike as it slid off of its stand. As it fell into my arms I was expecting the weight of my R80GS�luckily it was an F650, and I easily saved a sure broken mirror!

     

The last 25 kilometers of the day were a joy. The road from San Bartolomé through Fataga to Maspalomas is an experience�even in the pouring rain! It was now bucketing down and my boots were filling up with water. I don't think this road is traveled that frequently and we encountered almost no traffic in either direction. Bar the rain (which screwed up my cornering!) it was great. As we approached the coast and the end of the mountain pass, we spotted a great rainbow to our left. We stopped to take it in - it had been years since we had seen one. They don't happen too frequently in Central Europe.

In total we had taken the bike from 248 km to 447 km - a ride of 199 kilometres. It seemed a LOT longer than that�a full day of mountain passes in the rain can really take it out of you! We had a quiet supper at the Princess and crashed.

DAY 5: WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 2000

Deciding that I was picking up weight on this trip, I skipped breakfast this morning, forcing down two cups of the insipid tea while Debs enjoyed a plate of cold meat and cheese. Today was to be a quiet and relaxing one.

Packing only skeleton camera gear (i.e. only the small bag instead of it plus the large Lowepro bag of bodies, lenses and accessories), and a carry bag with a few items of beach equipment we made our way to the bike. In the interests of travelling light, we had elected to leave our leather jackets and my gloves in the bungalow. It was a clear but crisp start to the day, and we initially wondered at our wisdom at leaving our protective gear back in our room!

We filled up the F650GS's tank and headed south for Mogán. The road was relatively free of traffic and the weather was good, so we thoroughly enjoyed the ride down the coast. We stopped on the road overlooking the beach at Playa de los Amadores so that I could shoot a panorama of the immaculate crescent shaped beach with it's ordered rows of sun-loungers. Package-tourist heaven! We reached our furthest point of the day, the far more natural Puerto de Mogán, and parked our bike towards the southern end of town. Walking through this compact port was a breath of fresh air - the natural tranquility of the place had not been too tarnished by rampant commercialism, and it maintained a lot of what I would consider its natural charm. Sure, they were selling postcards, lilo's, assorted beach junk and souvenirs, but everything was relatively understated, and presented in an aesthetically pleasing and uniform way. The Germans were there too, but less conspicuous than further north.

We made our way around to the "Yellow Submarine" and booked two tickets for the 13h00 trip at Pts 3,900 a piece. Back at the harbour, we both felt like a Weiss Bier�and so headed for the nearest German pub. Our waitress was a cute Bavarian (with the butt from heaven tightly shrink-wrapped in her Levi 501's) who brought us our yeasty delights with Teutonic efficiency. Aaahhh!! Hefe weisse in the sun! Now THIS was the real holiday feeling! ;-)

     

At 13h00 we rode around to the other side of the harbour, and to the Yellow Submarine for our only underwater excursion of the trip. We boarded through the aft hatch and made our way forward to the control area just ahead of the fore hatch. There were two pilots sitting on the inside of a spherical Perspex fishbowl with the ideal view of proceedings. Loaded up with about 50 one-time sum-mariners, we pulled away from the dock and made our way into the open sea. At a safe distance and depth we received the corny, "piped" dive command, and proceeded to dip below the surface. We could follow the whole event from inside the submarine as there was a video camera (in a diving housing) mounted on the outside of the conning tower that relayed live pictures to us in the body of the craft. It was great watching the sub descending and then to see the waves eventually dip over the camera.

The light in the submarine was special. Everything was in a blue monotone, and I got a great shot of a guy sitting next to me peering out of our porthole. Unfortunately the sea conditions were not that good and the visibility was poor. Nevertheless, we did get to see some tropical fish, and a wreck to starboard. We maxed out at about 25 metres, and I inched apart the curtain between the pilots and ourselves to shoot some pictures of them at work. Really interesting light! We returned to Puerto de Mogán, the whole trip taking about an hour. Expensive, but a pleasurable experience nonetheless.

It was now time to do "the beach thing"!! Uh-ohh! Not my strong point! We rode back to the manicured beach of Playa de la Amadores, and parked at the north end of the parking lot. We sleazed down to the toilets, and paid Pts 50 for the privilege of changing into our costumes in the incredibly "ripe" toilet stalls. The man in the cubicle before me must have killed his grandmother, I swear! Uuurrggghhh!! :-(

Ta-daaa!!! Let the truth be known�Mark Pautz bared his Speedo clad body on the beach! Shock-horror�paparazzi rushed for their cameras! Hmmmm!!! We found two unoccupied loungers in the yellow section of the beach, and made ourselves comfortable. After 90 seconds, boredom set in and I scrambled for a pen and a piece of paper, and started writing up the trip report of the day before! Yeah�..that was the panacea, and before I knew it, two hours were up, and the report was almost finished! Apparently there were rampant topless babes all around us on the beach, but I unfortunately missed them! ;-) I guess you have to be a beach-person to really be one with the vibe out there on the sand. I'm afraid it will take me a while.

We biked back to the Princess in Playa del Inglés, showered, and decided to go out for dinner. As we rode through the tourist hell of Maspalomas, we both reached a similar conclusion - rather than eat here, we'd rather go to a small, old and unassuming place we'd seen on the outskirts of town�out where all the new resorts where being built and that had obviously been there decades before them. We found the restaurant, and were only the second couple in the place:

Restaurante Mercurio
(Vega Vega)
Faro de Maspalomas
(Gran Canaria)
Tel: 14 11 96

This was the cantina that time forgot�an acid flashback to the honest kitsch of the 1960's! Split bamboo lined the walls and ceilings. Split logs made up the tables and stools. The knick-knacks were straight out of a "Hawaii-50" style B-movie, as were the faded scenic island prints on the walls. Nothing could have been more authentic and more anti-tourist! Not a crass cocktail in sight, and quite literally only a choice of two items on the fish menu. Debs took the sole and I took the crayfish! The food was OK but nothing special, and the bill worked out as follows:

Fed and wined, we rode back to the Princess where we watched the Spanish version of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" while downloading digital pictures and working on the trip report. It had been a relatively relaxing day and we covered 112 kilometres, taking the bike from 3,696 to 3,800 on the clock.

DAY 6: THURSDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2000

We decided to get up early this morning, and we actually did! In fact we were on the road a full hour earlier than usual. Our objective? To travel to the north-west of the island and back, riding some of the mountain passes that we had only seen in the rain earlier in the week.

From Arguineguin we took the road north, up the canyon through El Sao to El Barranquillo Andrés. With the sun still rising and creeping into the valley, we took it easy, firstly because it was cold and secondly because the view was improving all the time. At to El Barranquillo Andrés we decided to move into uncharted territory and to take a short cut and head north-east into uncharted territory to Soria and around the Embalse de Soria dam to Cruz de San Antonio. On the map it shows that there is no road from just after Soria, and only a track from the other side of the dam to Cruz de San Antonio. Despite this we figured that they must link up, and were going to find out!

The weather was perfect - sunshine and blue skies - and we stopped many times on the ride up the valley to shoot the unfolding landscape. Just before the wall of the Embalse de Soria dam, we pulled over at a vantage point to shoot a few pictures and to enjoy a quarter bottle of Freixenet cava that we had brought with us. Walking back to the bike, I noticed a grove of cactus plants off to the side of the road, all of them bearing ripe "prickly pears". Having gloves and a Swiss Army Knife with me, I decided to test my field craft! I found a healthy looking fruit, deftly removed it from the plant with my knife and gloved left hand, and rejoined Debs to peel and eat the spoils. Hmmmm! I got as far as removing half of the skin. The fruit was red and inviting, and I cut out tasty slices for the both of us. All good and well. Then I felt an uncomfortable prick on my tongue�yes, one of the fine thorns had made it's way into my mouth.

        

I tried to rectify the situation with my ungloved virgin right hand, but only succeeded in introducing another half dozen thorns to the soft and inviting surface of my tongue!! Shit! I stuck my tongue out and tried to communicate the problem to Debs�it was actually quite humorous�who eventually got the message. Phew. About 20 minutes later (and using the tweezers from my Swiss Army Knife) Debs had me back in shape. But this was not the end. The damned thorns kept on making their reappearance throughout the day. I was just very lucky that I did not have to take a leak through the course of the day!! ;-)

So, there we were on the dirt track that did not exist, according to the map. The dirt road was deeply rutted and full of boulders. It was great photographic territory, and we stopped regularly to record what we were experiencing. There were also pools of mud at regular intervals�ironic as the Embalse de Soria dam was totally dry. Moving through the largest mud obstacle of the day we lost the rear end of the bike, which spun out from under us to the left. Graceful pirouette around my right leg and�Splat! Two Africans in the Spanish mud!! My instincts took over, and the first thing I did was to hit the kill switch�and then I took a photo!! Old habits die hard! ;-) Debs and I were none the worse for wear, and muscled the bike from its side and out of the mud. I was SO glad that this was an F650GS and not an 800 or 1150! This bike is light as a feather by comparison.

There was no damage at all, and we had a good laugh. About a kilometre on, a small river flowed across the road, and we took the opportunity to wash away the worst of the mud. This was because the terms of the bike rental contract clearly specifies "NO OFFROAD RIDING"!! Hmmmm�but this is a GS for God's sake!!

The road was challenging and got rougher than before. At one stop I switched on the GPS, noticed that we were at 1,060 metres above sea level and calculated that the gradient must have been almost 12:1. Excellent! We finally got to Cruz de San Antonio, where an enterprising young Canario had set up a refreshments caravan at the vantage point just off the main road�the cold drinks were most welcome. We were back on the great road to Ayacata - the one that we had ridden two days previously, but in the other direction. This time it was dry and earlier in the day, and I had a great time. A magnificent ride.

     

Back on the 815 we rode towards Tejeda, stopping at the same spot we'd visited a few days earlier to shoot a panorama of the view between Roque Bentayga and Roque Nublo. The island of Tenerife was visible through the haze just to the left of Roque Bentayga. The route from Tejeda to Artenara took us from 1,049 meters to 1,250 metres above sea level, and is another of those roads to do again. This time we stopped to take a look at some of the cave houses in Artenara and to check where we would be going form there.

To cut a long story short, we cocked up and turned left earlier than we should have. Despite the error, we were on a memorable and almost deserted minor road. The unintentional route took us through La Coruna, Casas Las Hoyas, Los Lugarejos and Fagajestos, past three ambitious (but unfortunately empty) dams. The island clearly has a severe water problem. The road was now just over one car-width wide, the surface a little rougher than before, and offered a certain challenge for bike, rider and passenger.

We now headed north, on the winding roads going through Caideros, Saucillo, San Antonio and La Cuesta, and eventually pulled over at Cueva de las Cruces to take a few pictures of the Gáldar mountain that had just come into view. This volcanic cone rises to 1,700 meters above sea level and has a young crater on its side - the evidence of a "recent" eruption about 3,000 years ago. Gáldar's start slopes made an impressive backdrop for a series of pictures. We were now well and truly off of the tourist trail, and it felt so good.

We joined the perfectly surfaced road 810 from Gáldar to Agaete and south. Debs directed me to the Puerto de las Nieves at Agaete to take a look at the neat little harbour, and to view the Dedo de Dios, the "Finger of God". Because of the afternoon light, this slim rock pinnacle in the sea was almost invisible, so I took no pictures. The beach just adjacent the harbour was picture perfect, and justified a few exposures.

The weather was holding out, and I'm glad that it did because it gave us the opportunity to really enjoy the coastal ride from Agaete to San Nicholás. This road is a tribute to the Canario road-makers who carved a high altitude route out of the solid volcanic rock. It's wide, winding, well surfaced, and just a pleasure to drive. To quote from the road map that we bought:

Winding Wild West

Trips to the west of the island are the "most philosophical" on Gran Canaria. Philosophical? Right, and here's why: on the stretch from San Nicholás to Agaete, the C-810 winds along the cliffs for 40 kilometres between 400 and 600 meters above the sea. If anyone should come off the road here - God help him! Well, and now for the good news: this winding road, which changes constantly from climb to descent and is always in danger of falling rocks, has the least accidents on the whole island because every driver is automatically extremely careful. The reward for the anxiety is magnificent: you experience part of the solidified Creation story with fearsomely beautiful Cyclopean sheer rocks of the wildest nature, and with good visibility a view of the 3,718 meter- high Teide on Tenerife, Spain's highest mountain

The views are just outstanding, and we stopped at an observation point at Andén Verde, where could not only see Agaete and the perilous route we had just come, but also the breast and nipple of mount Teide on Tenerife. It was great!

The ride into San Nicholás is memorable for its cooperative farms that produce vegetables and tomatoes. From La Fajana onwards it feels as if you're approaching a lunar base or Martian outpost! Why? Well, the plantations there are massive, and every centimetre is under cover. Someone must have become very wealthy selling the San Nicholáns hundreds of square kilometres of plastic sheeting to build the gigantic greenhouses. It's surreal to see these sprawling, shimmering white structures in the harshness of the arid terrain as you ride into town. Very�different.

We wasted no time in San Nicholás as it was getting late in the day, and we stopped only to fill the GS' tank. The stretch to Mogán has aptly been described as a "fossilised thunderstorm"! Yes, the Martian analogy is certainly appropriate as this is harsh but beautiful terrain. The rock colours vary from brown, through red and green and every other shade in between. The magma strata have been tossed around like old sandwiches, and it's a geologist's paradise! I would have loved to have spent more time on this leg, but the light was fading, and we wanted to be out of the mountains before it got dark. Like most of the other Canarian roads we had travelled, the 810 was perfect for motorcycling�do it if you love mountain passes!!!

Mogán is a quaint place. We photographed the nice windmill in town, but not the dozen or so LARGE scale models of old domestic appliances that people have constructed over the years, and that decorate many of the gardens here. Giant sewing machines, irons, pots, pans, gramophones�you name it!

By the time we got to Puerto de Mogán, the sun was setting, and we had avoided being in the mountains in the dark. However, a worse fate awaited us - the tourist flock from the beaches back to their resorts! Shit! It was a 40 kilometre traffic jam from Puerto de Mogán to Playa del Inglés. Smoky busses, grotesque 4x4 RV's and half-fried and pissed European lager louts slobbering out of the windows of their rented Opel Corsas. I was SO happy that we were on a bike�LANE-SPLITTING FRENZY!!! : I have no doubt that we were back in Maspalomas at least an hour before the people we passed outside Puerto Rico.

     

Oh yeah - we did stop at the Playa de los Amadores on the way home to grab a quick Sangria and Tappas. A good way to wind down after an exciting ride. Debs got a great picture of me sunbathing...the only one in existence!

We survived another generic Princess dinner, and sloped back to our bungalow to savour some Spanish TV, download photos and work on this trip report. It had been a fine day and the odometer of the BMW had been shifted from 3,800 to 4,012 kilometres.

DAY 7: FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2000

Our last full day in the sun before returning to the frozen wastelands of Eastern Europe, and today was to be the laziest and most relaxed of the lot. Promising myself that I wasn't going to eat any breakfast, I did a good job of demolishing just about everything! Phew�too much. The next stop was to find a self-service auto-wash where we could wash away the off-road evidence before returning the bike to the rental shop. The Shell filling station on the northern edge of town was where we ended up, and Pts 400 later, all mud and incriminating evidence had been washed clean away!

We then rode into Playa del Inglés and to the Yumbo Centrum that we had spotted the previous evening. At night it had looked like a great place�bright light and a lot of shops and people. Now, in the harsh light of day, it looked like the sleazy, run down and decrepit complex it actually was. Sex clubs, swingers clubs, gay clubs and junk stores selling all kinds of cheap and nasty holiday garbage. Disappointing. To quote the Lonely Planet website: "By night the Yumbo Centrum transforms into the gay capital of Europe on hols, with gay bars, drag shows, saunas and sex shops doing a roaring trade".

Then we spotted a shop that seemed to have an African feel to it, and in we went. Right! It was a Moroccan guy selling items from his country, and beyond the tourist junk he had some really nice stuff - one floor standing lamp in particular caught our collective eye. Of metal construction and in the form of a sharp pyramid, it stood about a meter high and was covered in a fine, henna-painted lambskin. The simple geometric pattern caught our attention, as did the earthy translucence of the lambskin. The opening price was Pts 25,000. A little of our well-rehearsed manipulation and a bit of bargaining got the price down to Pts 15,000. He won, we won and (lamp now bubble-wrapped and packaged) we parted as African brothers who understood each other ;-) I really look forward to going to Morocco.

We went back to our bungalow to drop off our new possession and to grab a cold drink. We then rode back to Playa del Inglés to take a look at the beach that looked so impressive from the postcards. We parked on Alemania Street (yes, you're reading correctly, there are that many Germans in this part of town that the street is called "Germany") and took the pedestrian path to the promenade. The beach certainly is impressive�it's exceptionally wide and it's dunes a like those of a small desert! We had hoped to get down to the water, but I guess walking there would be a tough expedition (up and down dunes) of at least 20 to 30 minutes. To hell with that! In any event the wind was blowing and there was sand blowing all over the place. It really could not have been too pleasant out there on the sand.

We walked further down and watched people doing tandem parachute jumps and landing on the beach, and a couple of guys flying soma large "wing" kites. All this activity was making us thirsty so we decided to go back to the bike and to ride it around to the extensive drinking, eating and drinking complex built on the northern end of the beach. Once there, we realised just how bizarre this holiday resort is. Everything here is geared at niche markets - German restaurants with German waiters offering German menus and playing the worst of German "Schlager" music. Likewise for the Brits and (to a lesser extent) the Dutch and Scandinavians. Why, I ask you with tears in my eyes, do these people leave home at all?? They go abroad to drink their own beer, eat their own food and listen to their own music in a pseudo-home environment and pretend to be having fun? Huh? OK, the sun and beach and promise of sex are the attractions, but surely there's more to travel than that? Maybe Debs and I are the weirdo's, but for us TRAVEL is the experience; getting somewhere is the holiday. Experiencing new and exotic people, places, environments, cultures, food, drinks and music. I really didn't escape from the Czech Republic for a week and then spend my time in a smoky Czech restaurant eating dumplings and listening to Lucia Bila and Karel Gott CD's! Maybe it's because we're not Europeans, but I'm definitely missing something here!!

Surprise, surprise�of the dozens of restaurants in this complex, we found one that was selling (shock-horror!!) SPANISH food!! Hooo-haaa!!! We ordered two glasses of Sangria, a plate of calamari and a portion of paella. With a comfortable pew in the sun, looking out over the magnificent beach, the words of the Koos Kombuis cover version came back to me:

Hmmm�yes; sad but true.

The calamari was good, as was the paella and sangria. We ordered another round of drinks and amused ourselves by playing with the beach cats, and watching unsuspecting tandem skydivers leaping from aircraft at 3,000 metres and free-falling for 20-30 seconds before their jockey's pulled the rip-cord! I would have loved to have done a jump, but at Pts 26,000 a pop, I decided to give it a miss.

Our stomachs full, we made our way back to the BMW and blasted out on the Mogán road one last time. The sun was setting and, without any protective gear, it started getting a little chilly out there. We decided to head back to the Princess where we pulled yet another quarter bottle of Freixenet cava from our fridge, pulled on our costumes, and dragged our snow white bodies over to the open air jacuzzi to frighten our fellow holiday makers (this was the first time that we had been seen without our leathers for the entire week)!! Yeah, well, we did the bubbly water thing and, cava finished, we made our way back to the bungalow as quickly as we could! Phew�this holiday-making stuff is really quite stressful. I wonder if there's a package tourist training programme I can go on? ;-))

It was time to say goodbye to the BMW F650GS. We rode back to Moto & Bike where the team of three parked the bike under bright lights and THOROUGHY inspected it for dirt and damage. They noticed a slight scuff on the right-hand hand protector and then gave the right side of the bike a complete once over. "Did you fall off"? "Nooooooo"! Gulp! What they did spot was that I had forgotten to fill up the tank! I shot off to the nearest Texaco and did the necessary, before returning to the shop to finalise the transaction. In total Debs and I had done 870 kilometres in six days, and the odometer was now reading 4,100 kilometres�not nearly run in yet, and already soooooo many adventures!! ;-)

We caught one of the Mercedes Benz taxis (yes, another German touch) back to the Princess, where we had the best meal that they had prepared all week. Noodles, stew, calamari rings, sardines, avocado pear salad, rum & raisin ice cream, spicy olives and chicken legs (but not necessarily in that order!). Having over-eaten yet again, it was time to call it a day. Back in the room we opened a bottle of Torres "Vina Sol", wrote postcards to our family and friends, and talked about the day's experiences. Debs went to bed while I tackled the days digital photos and this trip report. An early night - I was in bed before 1 a.m.

DAY 8: SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2000

Two cups of tea for breakfast, the first far better than the second. We finished our departure packing and readied ourselves for checking out and the long trip back to Prague. We left our baggage at reception and caught a taxi to "Dunas Camel Safari" at the Dunas de Maspalomas. Yes, you heard right�just as she had managed to get me into a gondola in Venice, Debs had conned me into a camel ride on the Canaries!

OK, OK�so this was going to happen and I was going to make the best of it in terms of photo opportunities! The fact that the taxi driver ripped us off by Pts 100 was not a good start. The second downer was the pungent aroma of the lice-riddled camels!! Uuurgghhh!! I have tolerated some smells in my time, but very few have made the bile rise in my throat as the smell of these pestilent ships of the desert did. Smile. Enjoy the experience! Make the wife happy! ;-)

As our ships pulled away from the quay, the long eye-lashed beauty behind us unleashed the came sneeze from hell, spewing mucus across the back of our necks. Yeee-haaaa! This is the (package-tourist) life!! Mohammed the PR man for Camel Rides International, ran ahead of our camel train with his shoulder mounted video camera shooting this epic expedition for prosperity. "Happy! Happy! Hola! Hola! Hasta-lavista"!! His half-witted half-cousin, Mustapha, led the first camel by the nose, picking his own and wondering what the hell he was doing here in the first place. The same thought crossed my mind actually! The two Pomettes on the beast in front of ours were hysterical, as our sensitive beast could clearly tell that they were on heat, and all he wanted to do was stick his hairy nostrils into their over-full shorts!! I couldn't see from my perch, but I'm certain that our dromedary was�uuuhh�emotionally erect at the scent of these two slags on the pull.

Put it this way, I've had more fun at Disney World in Orlando, Florida�and, oh, how I hated that! The final straw was when we were ushered into a tent at the end of the ride and forced to watch the video. Aaarghhh!!! I got up and left when Mohammed started interviewing each of us. Mohammed's half-cousin tried to stop me and herd me back into the tent, but I told him where to go. And headed out into the bushes to take a leak!

     

We walked down to the Playa de Maspalomas and found an outdoor table at a restaurant right on the beach. The last two sangrias of the trip were great, and it was actually quite pleasant out there. What spoiled it just a little was the German grandmas with their naked breasts hanging down by their knees! Hooo-boy! Why don't the pretty young babes take off their tops??

We caught a taxi back to the Princess and headed back to our bungalow where we had a shower and changed into our comfortable travel gear. Debs spent the afternoon in the sun, picking up a bit of a tan, while I found a table close to a power socket where I could plug I my computer to upload pictures and write this report. We had a small altercation with the arse-hole DJ (who claimed to be the owner of the hotel) and who would not let us sit in the bar where he was setting us his mobile disco. Ignorant bastard�he really got my blood-pressure up! Apparently guests at the hotel do not pay his salary, and the internet has no impact on his business. Based on this one, unpleasant event my advice to anyone reading this is NOT TO GO TO THE PRINCESS BUNGALOWS�the hired help treat you like shit, and vegetarians are scorned (as we had witnessed on Christmas night).

The tour bus came to pick us up at 16h45, and we took a slow route past three other hotels picking up fellow leavers. At the airport we checked in without incident and made our way to departures. Debs read her book and I typed until we departed on flight 8F3644 at 19h30 (with our Moroccan lamp lying across three seats behind us). Once again we flew via Mallorca where we picked up some really cold people - the big chill had hit Europe in our absence, and we were flying right back into it. Despite some turbulence, I managed to read the .Net magazine from cover to cover and to get a few minutes sleep in between meals. The food was good.

We eventually arrived in a frosty Prague after 03h00 in the morning. Snow had fallen while we were away, and everything was white and pretty. Our luggage collected, we found a remarkably approachable airport taxi driver, who entertained us with small-talk all the way back to Holesovice. We dumped our luggage in the foyer, and collapsed on the sofa. I switched on the TV and we caught up on world events from Sky News, eventually getting to bed at about 04h30. The Millennium New Year's party started in only 12 hours! Hooo-boy�don't we ever rest?