Sunshine On Craigleith

We're In

2011-12-23T19:59:00.001Z

A very Merry Christmas in Craigleith!

Building A New Home

2011-11-19T13:45:00.000Z

Six weeks in to the extension build. The roof is on and all of the ceilings and partition walls are in place. The basic floors are in (with insulation underneath them), and we will be selecting the final wood finish this week; probably a pale oak through the bulk of the new building.

Most of the rooms have the plaster board up on the walls, and now need door frames. The electrician is working over the weekend to finalise placing the wall switches, sockets and ceiling pendants before the plasters start their job on Monday. All the other electrics and plumbing are in place and we are running a new condensing boiler - fitted in to the new utility room.

The new side door will go on next week, but we are still a couple of weeks away from our 'Grand Designs' moment, when we see the sliding doors go in to the back of the house. The apex of the roof will also be glass - so the back room will be set to make the most of the south facing aspect. In the meantime it's been boarded (with the old back door) to keep the completed work inside sealed from the worsening weather.

We have chosen our kitchen and utility room units, and the kitchen could go in as soon as next week. The weekend job for Nina & I is finalising the selection of the new downstairs bathroom suite, and getting on with selecting tiles for the kitchen and bathroom.

The window at the front is Poppy's new room, and it will be painted next week. Apparently, the builders are on schedule, and it will be ready by Christmas. It's just like having a present under the tree.

Diary Entry 21st September 1915

2011-11-10T08:40:00.000Z

Diary Entry: Conditions in the Trenches

21^st September 1915

Today is my 3^rd day in the trenches. On the first day we arrived here, everyone was so excited to finally be holding a gun, instead of the broomsticks we had been practising with for so long!

Yesterday was our first proper day, and one of our men has been killed already, and he was only sixteen like me. It was his own fault really, he ran out into No Man’s Land during the night, and got shot by one of the German patrols. There’s talk of why he did it flying around the trench faster than the German bullets! Some men say he was trying to be a hero, but others say he took one look at the trenches and decided to commit suicide that night. Can’t say I blame him really. It’s disgusting here.

The main problem is rats, they scurry about eating whatever they can find, often human remains. They crawl over you in the night, carrying about their dirty diseases.

War isn’t really what I had expected if I’m honest. I thought it would be better than this. It’s already gone on much longer than the government said, so I guess they lied about the conditions, and everything else.

Today was hard work, but I’m looking forward to tomorrow. It might be horrible here, but I am proud to be fighting for my country.

22^nd September 1915

I am more tired than I have ever been in my life! We were up at the crack of dawn for ‘stand to.’ No shelling today though, the Germans must have slept in! Some of the other men are calling it ‘the daily hate’ which is a pretty good name for it if you ask me! Then it was ‘stand down’ and we all got to eat our breakfast of bacon and bread, which was better than I had expected! After we’d eaten we began our duties.

Today I had to fill sand bags to be placed around the trench. Once I’d finished that, we all got to write a letter home. Most of the guys have wives to write home to, but I just have mum and dad. I miss them so much already, but I guess I would have left home in a year or two anyway. I wanted dad to come with me out here, but he’s too old.

Everyone says that the letters home are checked, I don’t know what for, but I don’t want to get in trouble so I didn’t put in much detail. I hope mum and dad don’t mind, no doubt they’ll just be glad I’m still alive!

We’ve just finished a second stand to, and it’s now stand down. Some of the more experienced soldiers are going out into No Man’s Land to get information about the Germans. They’re very brave!

23^rd September 1915

I had a terrible night’s sleep last night. The rats were squeaking and scurrying all night long and the ‘beds’ are so uncomfortable. We sleep all squashed up in the dugout at the back of the trench. Not only does it smell in there, everybody’s snoring and moving about, trying to keep away from the puddles and rats!

We experienced our first shelling during the daily hate this morning. A trench not far from us got blown to pieces. It is now a massive crater full of water and blown up, mangled bodies. It’s disgusting and the rats are already all over it. I think I had better get used to this though.

On our duties, some of the men were talking about trench foot; it’s when your feet rot inside your boots, while you’re still alive. The mud, rats and waste cause it. You can’t take off your boots here to give them some air, so you can’t even stop it from happening! We put up duckboards today to try and prevent it, but they’ve already been destroyed after a few hours! I really hope I don’t get it, but in these conditions, it’s inevitable.

24^th September 1915

We were given the news this morning that tomorrow we’re ‘going over the top.’ Some men from another sector said that we’d most likely be shot or shelled the second we left the trench. God knows why they picked us group of amateurs! The Germans will have us dead in the blink of an eye! I wish they’d told us sooner though, so I could have told mum and dad. But we only get to write home once a week and I’ll be dead by tomorrow.

I don’t even understand the point of all this. The Germans are suffering as much as we British, no doubt, so why are we constantly showering each other with an endless rain of bullets? I’ve only been here a few days, and already I’m being sent out to my death, and for what reason? I didn’t even want to sign up for this, but if you don’t, you’re a coward. And who wants to be called a coward?

I’d better get some sleep, it’s going to be a difficult day tomorrow...

Poppy Apter, 3B2. November 2011.

Loch Tay Autumn Weekend

2011-09-20T11:13:00.000+01:00

On Friday we made a quick dash up the A9 to Perth, and then across to Aberfeldy, Kenmore and Loch Tay for a couple of nights in a tepee at Loch Tay Highland Lodges. The tepee turned out to be a shed with a pointy roof, but we'll continue to purvey the myth for future generations, as 'stayed in a shed' doesn't sound as romantic.

The weather was terrible when we arrived, so we made a quick dash down to the Boathouse - the on-site bar and restaurant. We were almost washed down to the shore of the loch - Poppy discovered that her gym pumps can't quite cope with a torrential downpour. Poppy & I both discovered that our waterproof jackets had lost their magic waterproofness, and Scarlett discovered the joy of leaping in out of puddles. Our bedraggled band of travellers found that The Boathouse supplied the basics for the evening - palatable pub grub, sticky toffee pudding, and red wine for the grown ups.

The weather on Saturday was much improved, and by the time Poppy had got up there were clear views across the Loch. We had a (brief) wander around Killin and admired the Falls Of Dochart, before trundling along the southern side of Loch Tay to Kenmore, where we had a late lunch and a walk along the edge of the River Tay, in full flow after all the rain.

The weather stayed fine, and even attempted 'warm' at times during the afternoon!

On Sunday we packed up at the tepee and headed to Pitlochry - Nina & I saw a stoat or a pine marten cross the road in front of the car on the road. On the way to Pitlochry we visited the (alleged) oldest living thing on the planet, the Fortingall Yew. The hotel at Fortingall looks like a very nice place to enjoy a quiet weekend in the country. We had a wander around Faskally Woods which was a nice easy walk for Scarlett around a small loch. There was an incredible variety and quantity of mushrooms for us all to inspect before we headed down the A9 to Dunkeld for lunch in the Tay Bank, a walk around the ruins of the cathedral, and then a sleepy drive home.

Fruit on the Firth of Forth

2011-09-04T20:35:00.001+01:00

Scarlett ate her own bodyweight on blackberries!

But we still managed to stuff a kilo down a tied up sleeve of Nina's cagoule...

Apparently a bird in the hand is worth two in a bush...

Grandma & Grandad helped on the way home.

And my little treasures posed in front of a national treasure.

Jungle City at the Botanics

2011-08-20T12:34:00.001+01:00

Edinburgh is about to be overrun by a menagerie of elaborately decorated jungle animals, courtesy of Jungle-City.org - an animal conservation charity principally concerned with elephant habitats, but helping other species in the process.

The animals are currently on display in the Botanic Gardens, before they're unleashed on the streets of the city in September. My menagerie met them this morning.

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T16:43:00.001+01:00

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Gormley

2011-02-19T14:56:00.002Z

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Poppy Has Got Beautiful New Hair!

2011-02-18T21:04:00.001Z

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Sunday Morning Exploring

2011-02-13T09:22:00.001Z

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Scarlett's New Best Friend!

2010-12-19T16:50:00.004Z

It snowed, again. And this time the snowman in the garden was a wee bit bigger than the last time!

I Smell Winter

2010-12-03T17:22:00.001Z

The sledge finally arrived in time for an afternoon off, most of which was spent clearing the snow off the drive and paths!

New Jim Jams

2010-11-27T18:23:00.001Z

And new slippers - great traction for tearing around the house and when climbing on the furniture!

Edinburgh Zoo Membership

2010-11-15T13:08:00.002Z

New inmates.

Halloween

2010-10-31T21:08:00.001Z

Trick or Treat?

Slide Away

2010-10-10T22:29:00.001+01:00

What Hides In The Dark

2010-09-20T11:47:00.003+01:00

What Hides in the Dark . . .

It was a dark, cold November night and I had been at my friend sharan's house and was supposed to be staying for a sleepover, but we’d had an argument. I had packed up my stuff and left, even though it was after midnight. I hadn’t told her mum I was leaving since she was asleep. I would have called my mum and asked her to come and pick me up, but I had forgotten my phone. The only person who knew I was out in this dark forest was Sharan and she hated me now. The thought of that sent a shiver down my spine.

I started to head back, but I was almost halfway home by then, so what was the point? I had to walk through a forest to get home and to be honest I was a bit scared. Even though I had walked through the forest about a million times before, there was something different and kind of creepy about the dark.

I didn’t have a torch so the only light was the moon. The wind started to blow a cold breeze which rustled the trees, I pulled my cardigan tighter around me.

CRACK. ‘What was that?’, I thought. I turned around, nothing, I must have stepped on a twig or something. I carried on walking. Usually it took about 5-10 minutes to get through the forest but this seemed to be taking forever.

Suddenly I heard something, I spun round, there was a shadow. I started to shake, I told myself that I was cold but I wasn’t I was really really scared. I knew I was just being silly, but as the shadow got closer I could see that it was a man with his head bent down looking at something he was holding in his hands. A phone, I guessed.

I kept walking, slightly faster than before. The man behind me started to walk fast too, so that after about half a minute he was right behind me. If I had stopped he would have tripped over the top of me.

I moved to the other side of the path and bent down, pretending to tie a shoelace. I looked up at the creepy man. The phone in his hand was on and the light was shining on his hands and face. As I looked at his hands I saw something dripping from them. I looked up to his face and couldn’t help but scream.

He had no face. All I saw was blood. Dripping down onto the ground. I looked behind him and there was a trail of liquid – blood.

I jumped to my feet and ran faster than I had ever run before. The man ran too. Finally I got out of the forest. The bright light of the streetlamps shone down on him. I could see him better now, as I looked I saw that the blood wasn’t red, it was clear. I looked up at him and all I saw was a normal person with a sweaty face. I looked at his hands they were sweaty too. I looked behind him, there was no trail of blood there was only leaves and litter.

Had I imagined everything? Was it just my mind playing tricks on me because it was dark and I was scared? It must have been because the man was just a normal person. I felt like such an idiot.

As I walked home I thought about how I would explain everything to my parents. I decided it was best if they didn’t know what happened in the woods. As I got to my front door I turned round to have one last look at the woods. It was too dark to see that far but one thing I did see was a man with his head bent down looking at something. A phone, I guessed. I quickly unlocked the door of my house and went in. I got into my pyjamas and climbed into bed. I thought about why the man had been following me, unless of course he lived near me. Then I thought back to what happened in the forest - when I had walked fast, so had the man and when I had started to run, so had he, and then he followed me home.

I tried to remove the last half hour from my head. It worked, for about 10 seconds. Then I heard a knock on the door. Normally I would think “who on earth would be knocking on the door at this time?”. I didn’t have to. I knew exactly who it was. I sat up in my bed to hear if my parents had got up to answer the door. They hadn’t, they probably hadn’t even woken up.

I didn’t know what to do. Go downstairs and answer the door and probably end up dead or in hospital? Or just stay in bed and try my best to get to sleep?

I crept downstairs and into the kitchen. I grabbed a breadknife and headed to the front door. I looked through the peep hole and saw a man with his head bent down looking at something. A phone, I guessed. I hid the knife behind my back and opened the door. “hello” , I said, “how can I help you?”. The man looked up from his phone. He smiled at me, his dentist white teeth shining in the moonlight. “Are you Scarlett Maud?”, the man said. “I am,“ I replied. “Come with me,” the man said, his voice soft and kind. I did as I was told. The man led me out into the street. We walked for ages until we arrived at some old deserted house.

Suddenly the man’s eyes lit up and shone red lasers onto the house. The door opened and we walked up the path and inside. I looked around me, there was nothing unusual, it was just a normal house. We went up the stairs and into the room on the left. He sat me down on the floor, took the bread knife from my hands and tied my hands together. “Repeat after me,” he said. “I am your prisoner, and I promise to do as you tell me.” I did as I was told. He left the room and turned off the light.

Suddenly a red laser shone down on me. It burned through me like fire. Then the room was dark again. The man came into the room, switched on the light and gave me a mirror. I looked at myself. I was a man with his head bent down looking at something. A phone, I guessed. I knew.

Poppy A S2 RHS

The Kop mourns Bill Shankly

2010-09-02T09:21:00.001+01:00

RIP Bill Shankly, born today in 1913.

Jupiter Artland

2010-09-01T20:03:00.004+01:00

Jupiter Artland is near Edinburgh and we went there on Sunday to see the sights - go and take a look!

Hairspray - The Musical. Poppy - The Star!

2010-08-20T22:40:00.001+01:00

Nina Goes Global

2010-08-17T10:37:00.004+01:00

Britain Goes Camping was repeated last Sunday (8th August) on BBC2 at 10.00pm. Despite being up against the middle episode of the awesomely good Sherlock, it pulled in an astonishing 1.6 MILLION viewers! This was 8.6% of the viewing audience, and makes Nina officially more popular than Alan Carr or indeed any of the guests on his show!

Nina Takes A Bow!

2010-07-26T11:15:00.006+01:00

Almost a million people watched the show according to The Guardian! My wife is more than twice as popular than footballer's wife Danielle Lineker.

Even more great reviews:

The Scotsman

The New Statesman

The Daily Express

And a warm welcome from various camping message boards and blogs.

Nina has had so many emails, phone calls and texts to congratulate her too!

We were under canvas in Tyninghame at the weekend at the annual Perth & Angus DA holiday meet. Nina had family friends and acquaintances running up and asking for her autograph - it seems that everyone enjoyed the programme, and most importantly felt that camping and campers were treated with some dignity rather than mocked.

Nina Goes Camping

2010-07-21T11:20:00.003+01:00

Nina's TV debut was a tour de force of academic prowess, wrapped in a straightforward and easy to understand presentation ideal for the BBC4 audience! The phone was red hot at 10pm last night as the immediate reviews came in from friends and family - uniformly wildly impressed with Nina's performance in front of the camera.

There are also a couple of very favourble reviews in today's Independent and the Telegraph, and elsewhere on the web at The Arts Desk

The show is on BBC4 several more times over the next week and is also available on iPlayer. And we've recorded it...

My Thoughts and Reflections on Bananas

2010-05-27T11:40:00.010+01:00

I LOVE BANANAS!

I don't want to even think about what life would be like without them!

I can eat a whole banana in just four mouthfuls.

I do some of my best thinking when I'm eating a banana.

Just sitting, chewing, thinking. Me and my banana...

Obviously, I only eat Fair Trade bananas.

The other great thing about bananas is that...

...they're full of fibre. Which reminds me...

...I need to go (really)!

Five Years On

2010-05-25T09:00:00.004+01:00

Dark peaty waters swirled around my foot, breaking and bubbling as it dropped away into the plunge pool six foot below me. I stood poised, Karate Kid style, one foot on the edge of the waterfall, one foot in mid air, arms balanced, ready to take a leap into the unknown. Common sense and self-preservation dictated that I really needed to concentrate on this, but I was thinking about Istanbul.

I was thinking about being in Istanbul with a broken leg. I was wondering why on earth I had thought that a canyoning trip, three days before the European Cup Final, was a good idea. I was wondering why I had thought that a canyoning trip was a good idea, full stop. But mainly I was thinking about Istanbul. The European Cup Final in Istanbul. I jumped...

It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a very big waterfall, but it was the biggest waterfall that I have ever jumped from. In fact, to date, it's the only waterfall that I have jumped from. When I resurfaced a few yards downstream I was grinning the kind of idiotic grin you don't see very often. The exhilaration of the moment was all consuming; or so it seemed at the time. But this was Sunday morning; by the early hours of Thursday morning I would be rewriting the Big Book Of Superlatives.

Two days later, and I am back on dry land. Work had brought me from Edinburgh to West London. In the weeks since we had beaten Chelsea I had had the attention span of a gnat. Concentration levels in London had not been assisted by the liquid hospitality of various members of my family. Finally, work done, I was able to get away, and meet my first travelling companion, my younger brother Mal. It was hot and sunny, and we were excitedly babbling at each other. We took a quick look at the match tickets in a daze of disbelief; we were on our way to the European Cup Final together. The European Cup Final.

We had flights from Heathrow to Frankfurt, where we would be staying with the third happy traveller, our very own RAWK rocket man - Gareth. For Mal and I, our journey together began in West London. We had to score some stuff for Gareth. I wasn't proud of what we were doing; indeed I felt sullied by the whole experience. So much so that it was Mal who actually carried out the transaction. However, once we had secured the Marmite, we were off to Heathrow, to Frankfurt, to Istanbul. In honour of our pposition, we ate pizza and drank Italian lager in departures, reminiscing, predicting, and nervously and excitedly discussing the trip, the match, and the prospect of winning. Consoling ourselves, even then, with the idea that the trip was the important thing, that the winning or the losing was secondary.

And yet…and yet…like many other fans, I had had a very peculiar sense that destiny was on our side. I firmly believe that you make your own luck in life, and yet since the Olympiakos home game I had had the feeling that events were taking a shape of their own, something that went beyond the mundane and everyday actions of mere mortals. The very stars themselves had been aligning themselves in our favour. Although I felt that this was something that I could not share with any one else for fear of jinxing my own predictions, I also felt that every other Liverpool fan was complicit in this inevitable fate. The idea of 20,000 travelling Reds in departure lounges across Europe merely heightened this sense of anticipation, that feeling that we were destined for something momentous.

Here I was, these feelings intact, 24 hours and 2000 miles from the Ataturk Stadium. Something was going very right, and as our flight hurtled across the skies of darkened Europe, beneath the stars I felt a sense of calm destiny - although it may well have been the lager kicking in. Certainly, an evening spent enjoying German Lager at Schloss Gareth contributed to the indulgent flight of fancy as the kick off drew ever nearer.

Istanbul Ataturk airport was like a slap across the face with a hot towel. It was humid and hot, a frantic and manic sensory overload, sponsored by UEFA. Banners for the Champions League brands hung suspended from pillars and ceilings around the arrival hall. It sent my jangling senses into overdrive. For weeks I had had a nameless, nagging, low-level drip of adrenalin pulsing through me; now I was in Istanbul, the match was hours away, and that steady drip had become a raging torrent of emotion, heightening the senses, and turning me into a jittery and nervous, sweat drenched panic monger. This anxiety was heightened when the car to the hotel was delayed. The driver spoke no English, the traffic was nuts, and sharing the hotel taxi we had a Polish born Chelsea fan who had flown in from Kyiv. Gareth had a migraine, and Mal was eating Magnum ice creams. We were already knackered; hot, sweaty and dehydrated (alright, hungover). As the taxi careered toward the Bosphorus, a peculiar set of circumstances became surreal when Gareth began fielding a series of phone calls from the BBC, which culminated in me being interviewed by Radio Scotland. The interviewer pushed me for a prediction, but I couldn't give a public voice to the quiet confidence that I felt whenever I thought about the game. The game that was now only a matter of hours away. In fact, the truth was that it was uncomfortably close to kick off, and a frantic scene developed in our hotel that was doubtless being replicated in hundreds of hotels across the city: colours, scarves, cash, tickets, taxi, BEER.

Shirts on, scarf around wrist, cash distributed in many pockets, tickets secured in my pants, I was ready. The hotel sorted us out with a car. Our driver spoke no English, and obviously we spoke no Turkish, but we rapidly established his support of newly crowned Turkish champions Fenerbahce, the need for an off licence, and the need for extreme haste. By this point, our transport sorted, my nerves were slightly less frazzled, in part due to the staggering response of the Turkish people that we met. Well, the Turkish people that we met at the off licence. Without fail they predicted a Liverpool victory; and wished us well with real passion. These people love their football, and as long as we were spending our money, they loved us too. Having achieved possession of a crate of Efes and, crucially, a couple of bottle openers, our driver negotiated his way through the city and out toward the Ataturk Stadium.

The road to the stadium was a twenty-odd mile procession of twenty-odd thousand Reds, utilising what seemed like every form of transport known to mankind. The Turks who lined the side of the road were selling beer and food, and taking scarves, shirts, HJC stickers, and holding up signs predicting a Liverpool victory. 5-0 was a popular prediction. I was still not prepared to predict anything, but the feeling grew that we were an all-conquering (and increasingly all pissed) army, as we slowly headed toward the stadium. It seemed inconceivable that we would do anything other than win. It wasn't overconfidence, or lack of respect for Milan; it was simply the weight of the anticipation of the thousands of Reds en route to the stadium.

It was an almost physical sense that there was a job to be done. This had already been a season like no other; so let us, in no particular order, have a brief recap. We had the great Thai noodle and Steve Morgan, the NWDA, EFC, and the ground share, the plans for a new Anfield, Ged's departure, Owen leaving, Stevie Gerrard's summer Strummer dither, broken legs, other injury nonsense, the shoddy League form, bloody Chelsea, beaten at Anfield South, Everton coming higher in the table, the Sun 'apology', the twentieth anniversary of Heysel, and then drawing Juve…and then bloody Chelsea again, and throughout the year Anfield had reverberated to the sound of the Rafalution. How could we come through so much, travel so far, without seeing Stevie lift that big shiny silver cup?

And, for many older Reds there was also the long shadow of Heysel to consider. I was conscious of a weight of responsibility upon my own shoulders, but there was a sense of determination and destiny amongst some of the older fans; the one who had been there, the ones with ghosts to lay to rest. There was a palpable sense of responsibility that the club and the fans owed to each other; to put us back amongst the great, but equally as importantly, the good, of European Football. I found it impossible to separate the thirty-odd year journey of my own personal history of support from the events unfolding around me in Istanbul. We were all making history, wiping clean the slate; how could it be anything other than Big Eared European Cup Number Five?

When, finally, our destination appeared in view at the end of that long winding road through the hills, I felt more than ever that the fates were on our side. Set against a barren and dusty landscape, the exodus of 25,000 Liverpool fans from the city took on a biblical feel. As the floodlights glared into the darkening night sky, the Ataturk was a surreal and beautiful sight - like a Coppola set from Apocalypse Now, but with Red flags.

The Efes had until that point just about cancelled out the adrenalin, but from the moment the stadium appeared, my veins ran ice cold with anticipation. Unfortunately the Efes was also causing my bladder to run swollen with beer, and so, along with several thousand fellow Reds, I found relief along the side of the road to Ataturk. The evening began to take a peculiar turn when brother Mal idly pointed at a bloke standing on a pile of rubble having a pee and said ' he looks like Bob K.' 'Nah' we chorused. Given the extraordinary circumstances of the day, it seemed natural that his suspicions were confirmed moments later when a car pulled up alongside us containing Bob, Dave W and Christine, the three of them also ferrying fine Turkish lagers to the thirsty and increasingly stroppy RAWKites at the stadium.

At this point we were still well ahead of kick off time, but the gentle flurry of text messages had become an avalanche, as those aforementioned thirsty RAWKites at the ground variously queried the whereabouts of the beer, and in the case of Spartacus, the whereabouts of Gareth. Christine had Gareth's ticket, and seemed, to us, to be super keen to get in ahead of kick off time. Gareth was fielding more and more questions about our arrival time, and so with the stadium in sight, the traffic in jam, and Gareth in trouble, we jumped out and sprinted and hopped the last half-mile to the stadium.

The beer was distributed to various inebriated RAWKites. Flags were admired, news exchanged, selves were pinched, Christine learned about all about international time lines, and line-ups were texted. Without doubt the team news sent a shudder through the assembled fans; no Didi, Harry starts. Bloody hell. I'm no tactician; the finer points of the beautiful game are often lost upon me. However I know that Didi Hamann is one of our most essential players, and that leaving him out of the starting line up in a European Cup Final was tantamount to conceding a goal before we had even kicked off…

The night before the game, Gareth and Mal and I had sat up talking and drinking. We were discussing the nature of our support, and how we all experience matches. Mal pays attention to transfer chatter, listens to the tacticians, and watches the game with one-eyed passion. Gareth and I both agreed that for us it is a more instinctive thing. For me personally, it is partly tribal; it gives me an identity, simultaneously a sense of self, and a sense of belonging. When I watch a game I see shapes and pattern and colour and movement. I enjoy the skill, I have a reasonable grasp of tactics; but for me it is the visceral sensation of passion; the unconfined, unrestrained catharsis of throwing yourself body and soul into the moments of transcendent delirium when we play, when we score, when we win. Well, at least that's what makes me go back again and again; I know a couple of people who are just partial to the pies.

And so for me, the match itself was a kaleidoscopic tumult of images and noise and emotions. I can vaguely remember all the pre-match nonsense from UEFA. And I had my first proper pangs of doubt when the Milan fans began their flag waving and chanting. They looked ace; especially considering how few of them there were…but when we started singing You'll Never Walk Alone, invincibility reasserted itself as the dominant emotion - 30,000 Reds on their feet, scarves swaying, I was confident again. And I found myself part of an iconic memory of my childhood - in amongst 35,000 Reds at a European Cup Final.

I remember hugging my brother before kick off. We had come a long way together from that couch in the front room back in 1977. Back then, we had watched history made from afar; tonight we were to be part of it. Standing side by side on a night like that meant a great deal to both us. Before kick off we were very much in self-congratulation mode. I remember the rush of adrenalin as the game kicked off - COME ON REDMEN! Which was swiftly followed by the sobering slap of Maldini's goal. Although coming that early on, it only served to make us sing louder. So we sang. And we sang when we went three nil down, but I'm not sure my heart was really in it by then. All this way, with so much weight of expectation, thrown away. Thoughts were already turning to the dismal prospect of the return trip, defeated. So much for fate; and so much for destiny; I knew I was wrong to believe in any of that sort of nonsense. 40,000 Victor Meldrews uttered four little words over and over again.

At half time, the talk was of saving face, and restoring some pride. The text messages from friends and family at heart were laden with sympathy; it was, quite clearly, all over. I have a clear and distinct memory of sitting on my seat alongside Mal. We were possibly lost in our own little reveries, maybe exchanging the odd word or two. From somewhere to my left, the first chants of '4-3, we're gonna win 4-3' drifted across the terrace. It raised a smile, and it raised a few chins. And although you never give up hope, I just couldn't see us scoring four goals. We had seen Didi warming up though, so there was still a chance…I still think I was sat down when the chant changed…Walk On. Come on. With Hope In Your Heart. I know that I was definitely back on my feet then, and then stood back up on my seat, with my arms up, scarf held aloft, chin up, lungs bursting. Under those foreign stars we spat every word defiantly out into the night sky, and breathed life back into the punctured dreams that lay around us. The teams returned to the pitch, and we began to believe all over again.

The second half started and although we had improved, we didn't look much like scoring. The elation began to dissipate; the noise was beginning to drop when, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he scored. Well, we jumped around, as you do. In fact, as we looked around it appeared that half of the stadium was jumping around with us; astoundingly it looked as if we had 40,000 fans in there.

I remember, will always remember to the grave, the look on my brother's face as we settled back to watch the game. He just raised a questioning eyebrow; and we were doing that idiotic grinning thing, and then it seemed that almost instantaneously, Vladi scored. The linesman didn't flag; but for some reason I was expecting a whistle, I think Vladi was too, simply because that sort of thing just doesn't happen outside of Fulchester. No whistle. Now this was elation, jumping in waterfalls was all very well, but, Jesus, 3-2. Incredible. Think about that word - something that is credible is something that is believable and conceivable. Incredible. Unbelievable. Inconceivable was just about right. Writing this now, trying to recapture that moment I realise the inadequacy of language in describing human emotion. You could swallow (and some have) a thesaurus and still struggle to encompass the depth and strength of feeling amongst the fans at that point in the evening.

I think that Vladi's goal was the moment at which Milan shrank from the task; even though we were still losing, there was only one team winning from that point on. The noise was insane; it was a barrage of sound and white noise that you could feel vibrating through your body as the stadium echoed to the sound of 45,000 Red men screaming for Milan's blood. I could hear the sounds echoing around my head for days afterwards. When the penalty was awarded, I remember being virtually rigid with fear; it felt as if every muscle was straining. When Xabi scored, the release was almost an out of body experience; I can almost see myself, even now, glassy eyed and to all intents and purposes having a shrieking, screaming seizure. The next hour was a torturous ordeal; having been drained by six minutes of madness. It seemed as if everyone in the entire stadium had been exhausted by the turning wheel fate. We sang You'll Never Walk Alone as a mantra for ourselves as much as for the players on the pitch. The punctuations of full time and half time in extra time were nothing more than breathless pauses in the inevitable and inexorable progress toward the penalty shoot out (which we won).

I don't believe in fate, but even looking back now I still cannot fully shake the feeling that these fantastical events were being shaped elsewhere. In fact I like to think that Emlyn Hughes had something to do with it. He had the nerve to sidle up to a supreme being and ask a cheeky favour; lets face it, he worked with Shanks for a few years…but I guess that it is just coincidence and superstitious nonsense - Popes, and Grand Slams and Star Wars and whatever else. To an extent, we certainly did make our own luck, but more than anything, I think that we believed single-mindedly in the inevitability of victory. It was a victory written for the pages of Roy Of The Rovers - an epic certainly, and unprecedented without a doubt.

However, despite the romance and the majesty, the machinations of fate and destiny, the comic strip script and comic style goalkeeping, this was very much a human victory. It was a drama wrought through the combined efforts of the Liverpool team, the manager, and the fans. We all made it happen because we believed that it would happen for us. Milan wavered, they stopped believing, and from the moment that Stevie scored they never recovered their self-confidence. Once they saw the look in the eyes of the Redmen on the pitch, and heard the noise of 50,000 travelling Kopites surrounding it, they were lost.

In all likelihood, none of us there that night will ever see a game like that ever again. Through, skill, and talent, and belief and passion, we achieved something that will be unsurpassed. It is a privilege and an honour to be able to say, down all the years to come, that 'I was there'.

John Wayne Says

2010-05-23T15:38:00.001+01:00

Get off your horse and drink your milk!

Giddy Up Horsey!

2010-05-23T15:04:00.001+01:00

Eleven months old today! Mummy and Daddy got me an early birthday present so I can play outside in the garden in tis beautiful weather!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Going Forth

2010-05-05T15:56:00.001+01:00

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:South Queensferry

It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me...

2010-05-05T15:55:00.002+01:00

A home town trip in glorious April sunshine, taking my girls on a pilgrimage around the 'Pool.

THIRTEEN!!!

2010-02-01T11:45:00.004Z

The first spin around the block on her brand new Trek bike - a thirteenth birthday present from Daddy, Nina & Scarlett and Grandma & Grandad. Cycle helmet courtesy of Uncle Mal, Aunite Al, Sophie & Emily, smashing drinks cup and holder from Robert & Nora. Jacket model's own.

Poppy's other sister Nancy looks on in appreciation. And possibly expectation of a hand me down in a few years time...

Bouncing is Fun!

2009-12-06T11:33:00.001Z

I can spin!

I can bounce!

I can throw my toys around!

Thankyou Grandma & Grandad Morris!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Cafe Society

2009-12-02T22:52:00.000Z

Scarlett had (solid) lunch out today...

It started well...

And she was certainly looking forward to lunch...

She made short work of her baby rice...

...but she needs to work on her table manners!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Twins - Twelve Years Apart

2009-11-15T12:10:00.000Z

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-30T21:04:00.000Z

From Spider Woman!

And her trusty sidekick Pumpkin Girl!

-- Posted from my iPhone

These are not the Apters that you are looking for...

2009-10-28T08:56:00.000Z

This van was parked near the shops this morning; the company belongs Keith Apter, who I met many years ago when we were introduced by a mutual friend. We were both amazed to meet someone with our surname who wasn't a family member. We went to the pub, got drunk, and decided that our grandfathers may have been cousins. I haven't seen Keith for ages, but he has a few vans around town so I hope he's doing well.

Keith has a daughter called Sophie, who just happens to go to the Royal High School. Poppy has had to field various questions from her teachers about her relationship with Sophie. They're also astonished that they have two unrelated Apters in the school! The fact that Poppy does have a cousin called Sophie Apter has merely complicated the matter even further!

-- Posted from my iPhone

The Marshmallow Factor

2009-10-18T21:19:00.000+01:00

An open fire, a toasting fork, a bag of marshmallows...and the X Factor! What more could a girl want?!

Lobbing rocks into Loch Tay

2009-10-17T18:41:00.000+01:00

At dusk. On our holidays. Then back to the lodge and Nina and Scarlett, sat in front of a roaring log fire.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Holiday Outfit!

2009-10-17T11:28:00.000+01:00

I'm off to Loch Tay in my lovely outfit from Uncle Mal & Auntie Al.

- Posted from my iPhone

Reckoning

2009-10-15T13:53:00.004+01:00

R.E.M. - Reckoning

Side one
"Harborcoat" – 3:54
"7 Chinese Bros." – 4:18
"So. CentralRain (I'm Sorry)" – 3:15
"Pretty Persuasion" – 3:50
"Time After Time (AnnElise)" – 3:31
Side Two
"Second Guessing" – 2:51
"Letter Never Sent" – 2:59
"Camera" – 5:52
"(Don't GoBack To) Rockville" – 4:32
"Little America" – 2:58

I spent most of the 1980's wilfully avoiding REM as I was far too busy being a sullen little English indie kid, despising America in general, and reserving my venom for the American Music Scene. Why waste time on college rock when there was an new EP by another sub-C86 band to track down?

I only got into REM when I started working in a record shop, and decided to educate myself prior to the release of Out Of Time in 1990. This was when Madchester ruled the world, and the record shop was in thrall to the be-flared delights of the Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses, the excesses of E culture and the rave scene. And Phil Collins. I'm still trying to forget Phil Collins. We decided to treat the customers of HMV Preston to the delights of REM every morning for weeks on end.

The back catalogue was duly raided, and in my opinion Reckoning stands out as their finest album from the IRS years, and despite the world behemoth that REM became in the 1990's, this album still stands up as a coherent reminder of why they became so big - they had the songwriting chops, the musical arrangements are so tight, the harmonies delicious, the choruses are verging on the anthemic grandeur of Green, Out Of Time and beyond. The subtlety of the songs on Reckoning also provide the cues for the more downbeat sounds of albums like Automatic for The People.

It clocks in under 40 minutes, and every song fits together perfectly. I love Time After Time (AnnElise); but Don't Go Back To Rockville remains one of my all time favourite songs of all time. Melancholy, wistful, deliberate, I still change the lyrics and replace 'Rockville' with 'Rochdale'.

I barely listen to REM again these days, it seems as if they're just another band from my youth - they meant so much back then, but they've been cast aside so cheaply, someone else to skip past in iTunes...

...and yet...this album has just taken me back nineteen years to my youth, the long hot summer of 1990, Italia 90 on the TV, promises delivered, opportunities knocked, squandered, seized; Stipe covering some of the universals truths of youth, wise before his time, refusing to waste another year...I listened. I never went back to Rochdale. I've never wasted another year.

A Model Pupil

2009-10-08T21:08:00.000+01:00

Poppy began her modelling career this evening at the Royal High School Fashion Show in front of a wildly appreciative audience of 400 people who were packed into the School assembly hall. Poppy wore a selection of outfits showcasing the versatility of her own wardrobe, across partywear, denim and casual fashions. Poppy's hair is by Philip Pollitti of Corstorphine, and her brand new brace has been fitted today by Edinburgh Orthodontics.

- Posted from my iPhone

Poppy Loves Her Brand New Hair!

2009-09-18T16:42:00.000+01:00

She's very happy!

-- Posted from my iPhone

Morning Dad!

2009-09-17T12:51:00.001+01:00

-- Posted from my iPhone

Scarlett Sups...

2009-09-02T18:07:00.001+01:00

Scarlett Sups, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

...my pint!

Poppy on CBBC Newsround today!

2009-08-21T10:34:00.004+01:00

See Poppy Dance!

Poppy's first day at the Royal High School

2009-08-19T08:41:00.001+01:00

photo.jpg, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

After a summer of Primary School Musical, Poppy starts at High School today. She looked very smart and very nervous this morning.

Primary School Musical!

2009-08-13T17:35:00.002+01:00

venue

te POOKa

Big Red Door

Lady Lawson Street

Edinburgh

August 2009

14 - 15 - 16

7pm - 2:30pm - 7pm

Tickets £6

available from venue

iPhone Photo Fun

2009-07-18T21:09:00.001+01:00

This pic has Scarlett looking wide eyed in the foreground, and Poppy looking very worldly in the background. The photo has been squeezed through two apps on the phone, firstly Tiltshift, which messes about with perspective and focus to alter the depth of field, and then the Camerabag app that offers several different finished to a photo. This pic above is the Polaroid look.

This is the original picture!

Below is a cinematic widescreen version of my film star girls!

The Queen (Bee) Is Dead

2009-07-17T17:17:00.004+01:00

This little game gave my brother Mal and I a great deal of entertainment and amusement during the Springwatch run last month. Mr Packham has secured legendary status amongst Morrissey fans by torturously working Smiths song titles into his live on screen banter with Kate Humble. My favourite is the when the wasps "Oscillate Wildly" to build their delicate nest.

I particularly enjoyed the line for Bill Oddie at the end - apparently the Springwatch crew loathed Bill Oddie for his curmudgeonly and difficult personality, whilst it seems that Oddie himself harbours similar feelings about Morrissey. So Packham's "William It Was Really Nothing" gave the not so Goodie former presenter a bit of a double whammy at the end of the show...

2009-07-15T13:22:00.000+01:00

I'm resurrecting Dexy's Midnight Runners today too.

Hanging out in the garden

2009-07-12T09:01:00.000+01:00

Poppy is home after a week in Northumberland and was first into the hammock this summer!

-- Post From My iPhone

Garden Girls - a flaming July morning

2009-07-11T10:27:00.001+01:00

photo.jpg, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Kisses for Everyone!

2009-06-28T11:25:00.001+01:00

photo.jpg, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

More Photos

2009-06-25T09:03:00.005+01:00

This is Scarlett being brought back to Mum after being weighed and measured(I asked the midwife to weigh her again because I couldn't believe my ears).

There are more photos on Flickr, if you click on the photo of Scarlett below, you will be taken to my Flickr pages. I'll keep adding pics when I get a couple of minutes to rub together. Thank you all so much for your kind words and messages over the last few days, we're all overwhelmed.

Poppy saw her sister last night and is completely enraptured with her, and vice versa; Scarlett seemed very taken with the idea of staring at someone with blonde hair for some contrast from Mum & Dad.

The sight of Poppy & Scarlett together had me in pieces, in fact I'm off again just thinking about all of my girls!

Scarlett Maud Apter 23/06/09

2009-06-23T23:43:00.001+01:00

Scarlett Maud Apter 23/06/09, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Scarlett Maud Apter born 23rd June 2009. 8lb 10oz, 52.5cm. Mother and baby are both doing fine!

Bump in the Botanics

2009-06-14T14:14:00.001+01:00

Bump in the Botanics, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Beardy Boy

2009-06-11T13:08:00.001+01:00

Beardy Boy, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

I'm not shaving until Bump turns up.

The Last Chance Saloon

2009-05-22T19:52:00.001+01:00

The Last Chance Saloon, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Cramond

2009-05-19T16:13:00.000+01:00

Cramond, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Tuesday, windswept on the River Almond

Sooner rather than later...

2009-05-15T23:12:00.000+01:00

Tiny tiny clothes

Steven Patrick in Stirling

2009-05-12T14:35:00.001+01:00

Steven Patrick in Stirling, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Twenty Years and still no Justice

2009-04-15T15:06:00.001+01:00

The wait for tickets for the game

The wait outside the Leppings Lane

The wait to chant and and sing and shout

The wait to cheer and let it out

The weight of hope inside the ground

The weight of playing for the crowd

The weight of bodies pressing down

The weight of guilt in a bizzie's frown

The wait at home for final score

The wait at home for the front door

The wait to hear a loved one phone

The wait to see them safe at home

The weight of a copper's boot on the path

The weight of knuckles rat tat tat

The weight of grief a city feels

The weight of tears could fill Anfield

The wait for Truth to be made plain

The wait for courts to ease the pain

The wait for tawdry politics

We want Justice For The 96

Nina Loves Her New Hair!

2009-03-06T19:40:00.000Z

photo.jpg, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Poppy Loves Her New Hair!

2009-03-04T18:07:00.001Z

Poppy Loves Her New Hair!, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, Barrowland, Glasgow

2009-03-04T12:23:00.001Z

Franz Ferdinand, Barrowland, Glasgow, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

Wednesday 4th March 2009

forton

2009-02-26T14:19:00.002Z

My Robot Dancers Are Coming

2009-02-14T14:42:00.001Z

Are We Human? Or Are We Dancer?

My Robots Are Coming

2009-02-14T10:28:00.002Z

Run.

Our President too?

2009-01-20T19:40:00.003Z

With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Bump's Second Appearance

2009-01-14T09:08:00.002Z

Nina had her second scan on Monday - at exactly nineteen weeks. This scan checks for skeletal and organ abnormalities and we're delighted and relieved that everything appears to be okay.

We could see the baby moving it's hands over it's face, and best of all we saw a huge yawn. In the picture above Bump is more or less in profile. You can clearly see a cheek bone, eyelid, nose, mouth and chin, and if you look at the image without focussing too much I think you can see a face!

Burnsy

2009-01-08T14:16:00.002Z

Spotted this excellent pastiche of the national poet Robert Burns and the national treasure Banksy. It's sprayed onto corrugated iron hoardings at the top of the West Bow, and it's actually all above board because it's advertising a Burns exhibition at the National Library on George IV Bridge.

Baby Heartbeat

2008-12-17T12:36:00.003Z

Our first trip to the midwife today, and all is well with mother and baby. We got to hear the baby heartbeat! It's running at virtually double the normal speed whilst in the womb, so it's the rapidly beating sound that you can hear on the clip. You can hear Nina say WOW! And then the midwife moves the machine around so that you can hear the slower beat of Nina's pulse as a comparison.

Heartbeat - click on this link and download the file - it's tiny so it should take no time at all. Once you've downloaded it double click the icon and it should play through iTunes or Windows Media Player.

Gedge

2008-12-12T12:41:00.000Z

Gedge, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

New News!

2008-12-03T13:24:00.007Z

We're very excited to announce that Nina is expecting our first baby, and is due in June 2009!

This scan was taken at 12 weeks and 3 days. Everything looks okay; 6cm long, and everything is now fully formed, the baby just grows for the next 28 weeks.

Junior was doing some serious high kicks, and moving around very quickly, but Nina can't feel a thing just yet.

Jarvis

2008-11-28T23:59:00.000Z

Jarvis, originally uploaded by Michael Apter.

The Crossing Of The River

2008-09-17T18:16:00.005+01:00

This was Poppy's short story for homework last week;

I'm sitting in the sampan, I can't believe the American has just given me 100 yen, it's too much. We left all of our money behind in the village. I just can't let go of it, it feels so precious. I'm so worried because if the American doesn't come back I will be stuck on the other side of the river from my parents. I just keep thinking ''will I ever see them again?'', but then I look down at the 100 yen in my hand, blowing in the wind, and I know what I did isn't so bad. The money reassures me, a bit. When my mother and father get back from work they will see the sampan on the other side of the river, I don't know what they will say. I am certain they won't trust me to look after the sampan alone again. Mother will stay with me and then only father will be able to work and we will have less money. I am so full of worry, even the100 yen won't help now, so I think I'll just drift of to sleep . . .

I'm sitting in our mud house grinding rice for my baby sister, Beauty of the Republic, it's just a normal day. The sun is shining through the door and is lovely and warm. My baby sister is sat in her seat smiling and singing a song mother taught her. Mother is out in the garden hanging out the washing and father will probably be fishing in the river. When suddenly I hear a drumming sound, it must be next door - but it's not sweet drumming, more terrible than sweet and it's coming from above my head not next door. Beauty of the Republic starts to cry. There's only one thing it could be. Aeroplanes, Japanese aeroplanes. My father told me they would come, but I didn't believe him. It's just something that happens to other people not me, I had said, but I only said that because I wanted to pretend it wouldn't happen. Inside I knew he was right, definitely. And it's happening right now to me and my family. No doubt about it the terrible noise is the Japanese I can hear terrible bangs from the loud, horrible Japanese guns followed by piercing screams of terror, pain and death.

My mother is calling me out of our house screaming and suddenly I see why and just in time too. I can see a flickering flame in our roof. I run out as fast as I can grabbing my baby sister and the rice grinder as I go. The roaring fire chases me out of our blazing home. The flames are too much for our little roof and it falls just where I had been sitting. All our village is alight with fire. Everywhere people are running around shouting and weeping, mothers gathering their children. All the time the heartless Japanese are shooting and shooting, not caring what their bullets hit as long it hits something.

All I can see is a blur of Japanese uniforms and Chinese people crying and dying. Everywhere around me people are screaming, screams of the worried, frightened, dying Chinese people. Not screams of laughter and joy as it would or should have been if it wasn't for the killers, the bloodthirsty Japanese. There are guns pounding on sampans and houses. They are aiming at people and shoot, BANG yet another person falls to the floor. Dead bodies lie all around. They are stealing animals and running away but there's nothing we can do, they are strong we are weak.

Every minute more and more aeroplanes zoom through the clouds like bees coming out of a hive, dropping dreadful bombs. Mother takes my baby sister from me, shoves our pig and ducklings into my arms and father takes the rice grinder whilst shouting at the top of his voice to his friends. We run to a clump of bamboo and hide. While still the Japanese shoot people and drop their terrible bombs down like rain from what seems to be thousands of planes. Their logos flashing like terrible traffic lights. Most people in the village are running to their sampans, but as more and more people climb into them, more and more bullets hit the sampans sinking them deeper and deeper into the water.

Soon every sampan is sunk in the water, all except for one. Just left empty. The Japanese won't be interested in one empty sampan but my father is. ''Now!'' he shouts. ''What?'' I ask. Before I can get an answer he pulls me into the river. He swims ahead lashing the water with his strong strokes. Mother and I follow him, the water is cold, numbingly cold. Now I see where he is heading for - the empty sampan. I swim over and my father pulls me in by my hair. It's really sore but I don't care. I'm safe finally, hopefully. As safe as I can be when the horrible Japanese are killing and destroying everything in their path. They're like bulls, on charge just running full steam ahead into everything. Once mother is in, father takes the oars and pushes through the current with all his might. I don't know where we are going, I don't think father does either because when I ask him he just says ''Away''.

Suddenly I wake up. The little pig is snuffling round my face, it tickles so I tickle him back then he snuffles me again. The little pig doesn't like this game and starts squealing and running away. I soon catch him and sit down under a tree. The shade is cool and I almost fall back to sleep again like the little pig has, tired after our game, but I can't sleep because I can hear a noise. A loud noise. Footsteps, I can hear footsteps and they remind me of the Japanese but I hope they aren't and are the Americans instead. And if not I will have to tackle the river alone and if I am not strong enough, I know exactly where I'll end up. Where no Chinese boy can be and live.

by Poppy Apter P7

The Professionals

2008-04-15T11:59:00.002+01:00

Getting married is a huge undertaking. There are vows involved, and they're legally binding.

There are also a whole load of other contracts to sign with all of the people and places that make the day happen around us.

I said it in my speech, and I'll reiterate the point here; Nina did 99% of the organisation, whilst I did useful stuff like tasting wine, trying the food for the wedding breakfast, and some significant pointing at things, and saying "I like that one'. Nina researched and sourced, Nina negotiated and organised, and her job was made easier by working with so many helpful people.

We tried to have a very 'Edinburgh' wedding, and sourced as many suppliers as possible from the people and businesses that we knew and respected, or who came highly recommended.

We're more than happy to give a glowing report for the following people and their businesses;

Elizabeth, Katie, and all the team at Lennoxlove

Richard, John, Lynsey and all of the staff who helped us at Heritage Portfolio

Graham from East Lothian Council who married us!

Susanne Ermann, the wedding dress designer for the dress from Rachel Scott Couture

Scott, my made to measure tailor at Walker Slater

Scott, my sharp scissored barber at Boombarber

Sharon & Monica for the hair and make up for Nina, her Mum and the bridesmaids from Made Up

Andrea Tumiotto, our Italian vintner at Rocco Venezia

Sharon, Susan and the florists at Lilium

Barry, Andrew, Robin & Sandra for printing our wedding stationery at CopyStop Edinburgh

Paul Raeburn, our professional photographer from Raeburn & Hamilton

Eric Laurier, our videographer from the University Of Edinburgh (even if that link takes you to Glasgow)

Richard Klein - our Dunbar troubadour, moonlighting from Garvald and Quixote

Robert and the folks from The Auld Reekie Ceilidh Band

Wendy for organising our honeymoon itinerary at the Castle Street branch of Trailfinders

I'd personally like to thank Boudiche for Nina's wedding underwear.

...and Nora Morris, who made the cake, made five bridesmaids dresses, and made a lovely daughter!

I'd like to claim the credit for slaving over a hot iPod in the weeks running up to the wedding. You were treated to one hour of Scottish Pop before the wedding ceremony, a selection of the finest Atlantic and Motown Soul during the reception, and two hours of all killer no filler disco dancing in the evening. I'm available for weddings parties, anything...

Breast Cancer Care

2008-04-14T23:59:00.005+01:00

We're delighted that so many of our wedding guests donated money to the Breast Cancer Care charity via our Just Giving webpage.

You can see the fund raising total and read the messages here.

James and Siobhan Kneale - Hope the honeymoon was good! Best wishes for your future together!

Betsy Olsen - We hope you had a wonderful honeymoon, and thanks for letting us donate for your gift!

Peter and Anita Holden - Wishing you both lots of luck and happiness. P.S. brilliant evening at Lennoxlove House. xx

Sally Till and Matt Nolan - With love and best wishes xxx

Roz and Adam - All our love and best wishes to you on your wedding

Emma McBride and Oli Philp - Hope you both have a lovely wedding day. Best wishes for a happy future together xxx

Alison, Mal, Sophie & Emily Apter - With lots of love from us all, we hope you have a great day and a wonderful life together!

Vickie Kneale - Love and best wishes to you both

John Lowthian & Pauline Giddins - Very best wishes for a long and happy future together

David, Sara and Marcus - All very best wishes for a long and happy future together

Grace & Paolo - Hope you have a fantastic day and future together.

Chris & Christine - Have a great day enjoy your future together

Mike Winn - All the best for the future together!

Charles & Linda Hill - We wish you happiness on the day & forever after

Liz Wilson - Relax & enjoy the big day, now the fun really starts..xx

Dan and Val Boon - We hope you will be very happy

Niamh and Conor -Have a fab wedding guys and great honeymoon xox

Paul, Margaret & Georgia Dutton - We wish you a very happy married life!

Nina's Great Aunt Margaret & Great Uncle Tom, and my Auntie Marjie and Uncle John also donated direct to the charity by cheque, so we're pleased to report that, including the Gift Aid, the charity will receive over £900 - thank you all so much!

Unexpected Gifts in the Post

2008-04-14T23:58:00.000+01:00

After the wedding, and after the honeymoon, wedding gifts kept arriving; in the post, in envelopes, in boxes. We were incredulous.

We received cash money (well, cheques, mainly) from the following friends and family;

Harry & Elsie Lever

John & Alison Johnson

Martin & Margaret Smith

Terry & Valerie Derbyshire

Neil & Eileen Greenwood

Moira Sced

We have ordered some new bedroom furniture for the conjugal quarters here at Craigleith Towers. There was only one possible source for furniture; Studio One in Morningside.

Very early on in the wedding planning we had spent an afternoon at highly respected retailer John Lewis in Edinburgh. We began to select items for the home, before deciding to use the Trailfinders Gift List instead. However one or two resourceful folk have done some detective work and we received two lovely unexpected boxes from the store a couple of weeks after the wedding. We'd like to thank;

Ma & Pa Apter (who had called us whilst we were in the shop) - vast quantities of kitchenware

Josh & Gill Miller (who really did some proper detective work!) - towels!

Isabella Miller & Andrew Murphy (Andrew is the John Lewis MD, and Isabella is the General Manager, so although they're both very resourceful people in their own right, they did have some inside knowledge!) - Sophie Conran Mugs

We also received gifts on the day, or in the days after we returned from holiday. We have been completely bowled over by the thoughtfulness of so many people;

Brian & Kelly & Nancy Donaldson - for the bottle stopper

Jane Jacobs & Stephen Cairns & Lorelei - for the art

Craig Murray & Sarah Plint - Guy's fruit bowl (at last!)

Monise Durrani - our magnolia tree

Stephen Bradley - MoMA bowl

Faye & Jimmy Swanson (our new neighbours) - garden plants

Gosh. We've been ruined. We had the best day of our lives. You all made that happen. Thank you.

Trailfinders Gift List - thank you, thank you, muchas gracias, thank you

2008-04-14T23:57:00.002+01:00

We had an amazing wedding day. we had an amazing honeymoon. We were amazed by the generosity of our guests.

Our honeymoon fund was significantly subsidised and allowed us to really take full advantage of everything that Nicaragua had to offer. The places that we chose to stay, and the things that we did were done in the knowledge that so many people had been so generous. We hope that you read about our honeymoon and realise how much we appreciate your honeymoon gifts and your kind wishes;

Robert and Nora Morris – Hope your luggage found you in time

Paul, Margaret and Georgia Dutton – All good wishes for your married life

Phil Rowsby – Hope you have a great holiday. I’m slightly jealous! Good luck in your ‘new’ life together

Dan and Val Boon – Congratulations to you both. We hope you have a fantastic day

Ray and Cath Miller – Congratulations to you both on your wedding day

Victoria Cochrane – Nina and Mike. Many congratulations on getting married. Have a fabulous honeymoon

Pete and Rachel Kneale – Many congratulations to you and happy travels

John and Marjorie Kneale - Best wishes for you future happiness

Pete Nienow and Ann Duncan (Ella and Ruby) –Hope this helps and that you have a fabulous time escaping to the wilds

Dave and Sara Atkinson – Dear Nina and Mike. With all best wishes on your wedding. Enjoy your travels (we’re very envious)! Bon voyage

Emma Cameron – Congratulations. Enjoy your travels!

Vickie Kneale – Congratulations! Have a wonderful day and a fabulous honeymoon

Mal, Al, Sophie and Emily Apter – Have a great time on your marvellous honeymoon!

Neil and Lorna Apter – To Mike and Nina. Congratulations. We hope you have a wonderful wedding, glorious honeymoon and long and loving marriage.

Paul Bennett and Andrew Tibbs – Many congratulations on your wedding day! We hope you have a great honeymoon.

Andy Shepherd and Claire Guirdham (Isla and Gabriel) – Best wishes Nina & Mike. Have a great honeymoon. Leave the books at home & take champagne instead :-)

Sally Till and Matt Nolan – Hope you have a wonderful honeymoon!

A special meal, a special place

2008-04-11T23:59:00.004+01:00

I spent a large chunk of the afternoon in a daze. The mosquitoes had made a meal of me during Turtle Watch, and I was suffering. I had procured some of the anti-histamine drug Benadryl from the hotel reception at lunch time, and had started to feel much better. After a couple of lunchtime beers I could barely feel anything, and stretched out comatose on a lounger until late afternoon, when Nina persuaded me to have one last dip in the Ocean that we had entirely to ourselves. I subsequently discovered that the US version of this drug contains different stuff from the UK version. Like sedatives. Sedatives that don't mix with Tona.

Of course, I didn't know this at the time, so I took a couple more before dinner that evening. So I'm totally sedated on the last night of our honeymoon. Thank goodness for the Macua!

Our last meal in the restaurant was lovely (from the little that I remember) although not the meal that we had expected. We were looking forward to grilled mackerel fillets, caught by our own fair hands that morning. When we arrived for dinner we were steered to a candlelit private table, set up alongside the pool. It was a charming touch, as was the special meal of lobster, which our friendly fisherman had caught earlier in the day. We were a bit disappointed to miss out on our own fishes, but the meal was great, and afterward we ambled up to the bar to make a start on the rum cocktails. We were just hitting our stride when the barman closed up for the night, and we were left alone in the bar, indeed the entire hotel, to finish our drinks.

For so much of our time at Morgan's Rock, we felt as if we had paradise to ourselves. The friendliness of the staff, the fabulous food, the amazing architecture, the beautiful location, the rich wildlife, the climate, the environmental credentials, the sheer attention to detail; they all create an ambience of utter relaxation and an atmosphere of contentment with life that is truly remarkable. We've been to some great places, stayed in some fabulous hotels, and enjoyed wonderful experiences in Europe and the USA, but our fortnight in Nicaragua has fundamentally shifted how we both view travel, and the experiences that we want from travelling.

Our week at Morgan's Rock passed by in the blink of an eye, and yet it seemed to last a lifetime. Our memories of our time there will last a lifetime, and will be rekindled by the return trips that we have promised to each other that we will take in the future.

We're so grateful to all of our friends and family who chose to make their wedding gifts through Trailfinders.

We had one last night in our bungalow, before our epic journey home. I'm not going to write about that bit; but we spent most of the journey home plotting our return to Nicaragua.

Gone Fishin'

2008-04-11T11:59:00.006+01:00

Another early start! We'd really got into the whole early start thing. This was our last day. We weren't thinking about it, but we were making the most of it. By fishing.

We ate breakfast at 6.30am, and we headed down with Fabian (again!) to meet our Captain and his trusty deck hand. We splashed through the surf and leapt into a wee launch, and then transferred to the fishing boat which, frankly, wasn't a whole lot bigger, but at least had the benefit of a sun roof. If you watched the Channel Five link earlier, it's the fishing boat silhouetted in the last scene of the travelogue.

We soon had our lines out, and Nina almost immediately felt a tug! She hauled in her first catch of the day; a 20 inch long mackerel that would make a Scottish fishmonger weep for joy. Another followed. Then another. The other guys on the trip pulled in a couple of mackerel each, but I was still forlornly sat on a gunwhale or something, empty handed. I handed the line over to Nina, and she more or less immediately caught another fish; one of the other guys landed a tuna. A little tuna.

I got another turn, but as the fisherman handed me the line he actually got a bite. I landed my first fish, but it felt like a hollow victory; I hadn't experienced the tug on the line, the hunter's instincts, the adrenalin rush. I just reeled in the biggest fish of the day - a sleek and shiny two foot long mackerel that almost escaped from the catch box until someone stood on the lid. Eventually, I managed to catch some fish all by myself; in fact by the time we headed home we had all caught about six fish each. Our catch was destined for the restaurant tables that evening, and for the hotel and hacienda staff on site.

The highlight of the day was the fresh ceviche prepared on the boat whilst we were still out at sea. Ceviche is basically a raw fish dish containing fish, onion, and red and green peppers. The key ingredient (besides the fish) is lemon and lime juice. The fish 'cooks' in the citric acid as it marinades. Our captain chopped everything up on the prow of the boat (right alongside that anchor in the photo), and left the fish to marinade for about ten minutes before serving it up in Tupperware dishes with very ritzy Ritz crackers. Nina had grave misgivings. I'm a relatively recent convert to sushi (I'm a relatively recent convert to eating meat again) and I was happy to give it a try; once we had tasted it we were fighting over the fork - it was really delicious. The acidity made our eyebrows curl, but the taste was so sharp and fresh, as you would expect from an ingredient that had been swimming in the Pacific just twenty minutes earlier.

We were out at sea for most of the morning. The views back toward the coast were beautiful; endless stretches of untouched coastline, with just the occasional house on a headland, or local people fishing from rocks. We had clear views to Costa Rica in the south, and great panoramic views of Playa Ocotal (our beach) and the ecolodge. It was difficult to avoid the end of holiday blues, so we consoled ourselves by entertaining the possibility of buying our own ecolodge in the next bay along.

A Turtley Amazing Night

2008-04-11T01:59:00.002+01:00

We got the knock. After signing up every day for the turtle run, we were woken by a tapping on the door at 1.00am. The cocktails were still swirling around our system, but when the Morgan's Rock staffer grinned through the hatch in the door and said "Tortuga!" we leapt into action, dashing around like idiots, grabbing clothes, torches, shoes. Nina dressed carefully in long trousers and long sleeved top. I dressed as mosquito bait and we both headed down to the beach, shaking with excitement.

The ranger met us at the beach and after covering our torch with red film we were lead along until we found the turtle, half submerged in the sand, right in front of our beach cabana. Busily laying eggs. It was an amazing sight; a complete 'Wildlife On One' moment that will stay with us forever. The ranger dug a hole behind her in the sand, and we watched the eggs dropping into the deep hole that she had dug to protect them. We wore gloves so that we could hold an egg, exactly the same size as a ping pong ball, but soft in the palms of our hands. We watched her gradually haul herself out of the hole, huffing and puffing, and then she meticulously and expertly fill it in with her flippers. Once the hole was filled, she rocked her shell from side to side to flatten the sand, and then moved around to cover her tracks.

After she had completed her work, she took an erratic course back down the beach, eventually disappearing into the waves. It was a real privilege to see something like this; it's easy to be cynical (well, for me) about communing with nature and the magic of the animal kingdom, but I was truly overwhelmed. The baby turtles are due to hatch on May 27th.

There are two photos up top; one of them is ours and two of them have been lifted from a professional website...can you guess which is which? By the way, these are Olive Ridley turtles. I'm reasonably sure that Olive Ridley supped halves of mild in the Rovers Return, but it apparently it refers to the colour.

We'll be thinking of those little lads and lasses dashing across the beach in a few weeks' time, and wishing we were back at Morgans Rock to give them a helping hand into the surf.

Discovery Channel Day

2008-04-10T23:59:00.000+01:00

After breakfast we decided to give the kayaks another outing. The fish were literally jumping as we rowed through the shallow waters, surrounded by egrets and herons who looked particularly well fed. There was plenty of other bird life, kingfishers and so forth, and if we saw one iguana, then we saw almost a dozen. Oh, and monkeys. Howler monkeys calling backward and forward through the canopy, occasionally visible on high branches.

After lunch we headed back to the bungalow to grab our beach stuff. The iguana in the photo had also headed up to our bungalow, and was acrobatically making it's way through the tree in front of the verandah. We stood and watched it for about fifteen minutes until it climbed down to the forest floor, and disappeared over the cliff toward the beach. We took the conventional route via a neatly built set of steps, stopping off for a cooler full of Tona on the way.

Behind the beach there is an extensive stand of coconut palms, and also a shower. After a bout of body boarding I headed back to rinse the salt off, and spotted a freaky little creature nosing around the palms. I asked the staff later in the day if they knew what it was, but it was only on my return home that I discovered that I had seen an agouti. In fact, I saw two of them; or the same agouti twice. Once was probably enough; they resemble a rabbit crossed with a rat.

Hermit crabs swarmed all over the beach and dunes, but they seemed especially smitten with the beach shower. The land crabs also seemed to like the sandy dunes, and were often found under the thoughtfully placed water coolers, fighting amongst themselves or fighting off the hermit crabs. On the beach itself, a species of super fast crabs dug very deep holes at the high water mark, which they dived in and out of between the waves, attempting to grab anything edible left gasping in the surf. Despite repeated attempts, Nina failed to dig any of them out. We had better luck with the bigger fellas like the one in the photo. They live in the surf, digging themselves in just below the surface of the sand each time the waves came in. These crabs can be quite big, and were responsible for a few nips when we were body boarding.

The greatest discovery of the day was made later in the evening, when we decided to kick loose and actually pay for drinks at the bar (all the beer and soft drinks were included). I was determined to drink the local rum (Cana De Flores) with a standard. Coke. Nina doesn't drink Coke on principle, so she asked for a rum cocktail. The barman duly obliged, and proudly offered up a magnificent macua - marvellous concoction named after a local bird (of the feathered variety). The key ingredient, besides the rum, is guava juice. Having discovered this drink so late on in the holiday we felt obligated to try a couple more, and eventually staggered off to bed at 10 o'clock! Which was when the bar closed.

Breakfast At The Farm

2008-04-10T09:59:00.002+01:00

Another early start. No turtles in the night, exchanging glances. It's not much of a hardship when you've fallen asleep to the sound of pacific rollers washing onto the beach, and then woken up to the sound of pacific rollers washing onto the beach...

We were off to the hacienda (that's Spanish for farm) for breakfast, to milk the cows dry and steal the eggs from the chickens and then flatten our own tortillas. So that's what we did. Fabian met us (again!) and took us along to meet Juan and his wife Mrs Juan and his son Juan Jr. Juan did the cows, Mrs Juan did the baking, and Juan Jr did the chickens and the ducks. We were taken straight into the cowshed, where the calves eyed us dolefully - they'd been separated from their mums during the morning milking. We were given a brief demonstration of the necessary udder technique. Before you could say 'teats out' I was squatting down on my haunches with an udder in each hand. Well, it was my honeymoon. Needless to say, I was a natural. Nina comes from fine Lancashire farming stock - once a milkmaid, always a milkmaid - and she impressed Juan with her manual dexterity.

Next, it was the chicken shed, where we donned our combat gear and conducted a dawn(ish) raid on the nesting boxes. We pilfered a couple of eggs each, but they were quite small, so we were encouraged to steal another one for the scrambled eggs. The ducks have their own residence alongside the chicken shed, and both forms of fowl are allowed to wander free across the range during the day.

We retired to the farmhouse kitchen with our spoils, and kneaded our tortillas flat for the fire, where they were cooked on a very hot earthenware dish. The milk was boiling up alongside, ready for more knockout coffee. Mrs Juan had already prepared gallo pinto and a fresh salsa, and we all sat down at the table for the freshest breakfast we'd ever eaten.

If it's Wednesday, it's beach day.

2008-04-09T23:59:00.008+01:00

No turtles. This morning, a monkey watched me shave. I was in the shower when Nina started yelling about the family of monkeys that were sitting in the tree right outside our verandah...we watched them climb and leap through the branches, and across the roof of the bungalow. Once they were out of sight I returned to the bathroom, only to catch sight of a monkey in the mirror, casually peering in through the roof space at me and my razor!

We had an early breakfast, as Nina was spending her morning in the saddle. I'm allergic to the brutes so I skipped this particular outing. I even broke out in a rash from standing downwind when Nina returned from the ride...

I spent my morning by the pool, drinking coffee and reading, then swimming, then reading and drinking papaya juice. Imagine my delight when my new wife returned from the stable to tell me that horseriding in the company of four cowboys had been the highlight of her honeymoon.

Once we'd got past that little marital glitch, we retired to our beach cabana for the afternoon. It was really hot, but we still enjoyed a walk along the beach at lowest tide of the week, poking around the rock pools.

We had to leave the beach early today; as we had to head back to the hotel for our massages. Tough one.

Giddy Up Nina!

2008-04-09T11:59:00.002+01:00

I was a bit nervous before the ride, partly from excitement and partly because I hadn't ridden for a while. When Fabian asked us all how much riding we'd done I told him I'd been riding since I was nine years old, but had never ridden 'American style' before; to which he quickly replied 'that's ok because we'll be riding 'Nicaraguan style'' ... oops.

We all jumped in the back of a waiting jeep and set off down the drive, following the same route as the walk from the day before. After a sharp right at the butterfly farm and a 10-15 minute drive into 'unknown territory' we arrived at the stables. Don Jesús, the Morgan's Rock horse trainer, was there to meet us, and after a nod of introduction he started telling Fabian which horses to bring out, and who was going to be on which horse. Whilst waiting we cooed over the two nearest horses, who were waiting sleepily under their shelter. They. Were. Gorgeous.

Mine was the second one out,and as far as I know he was called Churrio (although you might have to allow me a bit of artistic licence with the spelling ... that's what it sounded like) - he's the one with the orange bridle in the photos. After my initial 'aaaawwwww' I was slightly disconcerted to see that his bridle had no bit (the metal bit that goes in their mouth for the non-horsey types) - how would I stop?

Once up in the saddle, and after Fabian had given me a beginners guide to riding Nica-style, I quickly realised that I needn't have worried. Don Jesús was obviously a master as this horse was quickly turning out to be the best trained horse that I'd ever ridden. I barely had to pull on the reins before he obediently turned, set off, stopped. If I'd asked him, I think he'd have been capable of standing on two legs and performing a cartwheel (with me still on board!).

The ride itself was amazing. We walked and trotted through the dappled shady lanes, spotting butterflies (one of which was bright blue and the size of my hand!) and watching iguanas scuttle off into the undergrowth. We even got to see a couple of sloth. The first one was quite far away and was recognizable because it resembled a bag of rags hanging in the tree. The second was only about 10 metres away and you could just about see it's face. We were just thinking it was kind of cute when Fabian told us they only come down to the ground once a week to defecate at the bottom of the tree before heading back up again. Nice...maybe not so cute.

After a steep uphill trot, during which time we really got to appreciate why Nica saddles have fastenings round the neck and the tail, we arrived at one of the highest points on the property with a fantastic view out over the bay and on towards the new eco-houses and finally to a hazy Costa Rica on the horizon.

If we thought the way up was steep, the way down was even steeper and narrower. Trying to lean back whilst urging your horse upward, sitting on a flat Nica saddle with long leg straps when you're not used to it is no mean feat. We all got down in one piece though, and it felt really exhilarating to be back in the saddle, and feeling confident again after too long away from horse riding (if only all horses were as well trained).

After another meandering ride through the trees we arrived at the final destination - the beach. No galloping for us, but a pleasant trot along the sand was more than enough for someone who was, by now, seriously considering the possibility of selling up in Scotland, buying an eco-house and a horse, and spending the rest of my days sauntering along the beaches of Nicaragua.

I wasn't too popular when I got back though. I'm not sure if it was because I immediately said, with a big grin on my face, 'it's the best thing I've done ever, so far' or because Mike had an allergic reation to the horse hairs on my clothes which made him itch for the rest of the day ... ah well, it was worth it!

Going Ape at the Hacienda

2008-04-08T23:59:00.002+01:00

We enjoyed another great lunch. Around 90% of the menu is sourced on the farm or from the bay, and after lunch we planned to take a tour of the hacienda to see some of the animals and farming techniques that were keeping us happily fed.

The hacienda is pretty huge. The 1800 hectares of land include 800 hectares of reforested land containing over 1.5 million trees. How big is a hectare? Well, the pitch at Murrayfield Stadium is approximately a hectare in size.

The Hacienda walk began in reception, after we'd had a quick dip in the pool to cool down. Today was really hot, probably the hottest day of the holiday. We had already managed to get burned whilst kayaking, so we covered up in the heat of the day, and hit the track with some fellow guests and our guide for the day; Fabian.

Almost immediately, we were watching monkeys clamber through mango trees with baby monkeys holding on for dear life. The trees were already alive with feathered critters, and we literally lost track of the vast variety of species that we saw during our stay.

We walked through plantations of teak, oak and mahogany, growing for up to 12 years before they are harvested to provide materials for an associated furniture design business, a new eco development near Morgan's Rock (by the people behind the resort), and a surf board manufacturer. When we reached the stunning hacienda building (in the picture) we were shown the seedling nursery; row upon row of tiny wee trees, all sitting in growbags and waiting for transfer to the forest. For Morgan's Rock, money really does grow on trees.

The walk continued through more open pasture and grazing, and we began to see fruit trees, and cattle and sheep. At breakfast every morning we had to choose our dinner for the evening - a simple way of reducing waste, although occasionally it was difficult to imagine your appetite for dinner before you had begun your brekkie, but I was pleased to see that my lamb dinner was enjoying such a beautiful landscape before sacrificing itself to the common good.

We saw cashew nut trees here too. That's a cashew nut and it's fruit in the photo up top; a weird looking thing, but it's the tree that keeps on giving. The fruits are red or yellow, and they're edible, after a fashion. I tried one and found that the flesh was kind of waxy, and although it was really juicy, I felt very thirsty after eating it. Also, the juice stains your clothes. However, they're quite difficult to eat, so it's hard to avoid this happening. All in all, I'm going to avoid cashew nut fruits in future. The nut bit is definitely the best bit, although they are so labour intensive to make them edible that it's a wonder that our ancestors ever bothered.

Our long walk through the plantation took us too an organic shrimp farm and past a disused sugar cane refinery, where rum had been made until relatively recently and may be made again as soon as the hacienda figure out a way to make it worth their while. Our path began to head back toward the lodge, dodging the giant burrows of the land crabs.

We had been out and about in the heat of the afternoon for nearly four hours, and as we returned the sun was beginning to set. We were rewarded for our trekking by not one but two groups of howler monkeys; we thought we had seen plenty of monkeys already, but the first gang were literally hanging around just outside reception. We had to run underneath them really quickly to avoid them peeing on us!

We thanked our guides for the tour, and then headed to the bar for refreshments, where we had the privilege of watching a large family group sedately pick their way through a large tree alongside the swimming pool. There were very few guests at the lodge that night, but just about everyone was there to watch the spectacle. As the sun set the monkeys headed into the darkness, and we cooled down in the pool. Just another weary day in paradise!

Kayaking in the Lagoon

2008-04-08T13:59:00.003+01:00

The waves woke me up, not the turtles. The tide was turning, and the surf was crashing. Also, with nothing resembling proper windows or indeed curtains, daylight flooded in as soon as the sun rose. Se we were up early for breakfast, and we had headed down to the beach by 8.00am to get the kayak into the lagoon.

The lagoon is a mangrove swamp that becomes a proper river in the wet season. The wet season begins in May, and lasts until September. In the dry season, high tides top up the lagoon, so it's pretty brackish at this time of year. We saw the tide reach the lagoon on our first couple of days on the beach, but after that the tides were lower and the lagoon visibly contracted during the remainder of the week.

We had a two man kayak, so we rowed Canadian style around and along the channels, enjoying the early heat of the morning, and keeping a keen eye out for wildlife. Nina spotted the first iguana stalking the shoreline in search of breakfast. The whole area around Morgan's rock is a protected private nature reserve, complete with wardens to keep poachers away. Elsewhere in the country an iguana would be considered to be a bloody good dinner. These guys had been imported onto the estate and seemed to be taking a leaf from the skunks' book by breeding furiously; we saw iguanas on numerous occasions after this.

We also saw some loads of birds, most of which were impossible to identify, but we definitely saw egrets, kingfishers, hawks and vultures. we saw some monkeys, but we're so over the monkeys, or so we think. The flora is pretty cool too; huge cacti that take a hundred years to grow, mangrove trees, lush vegetation.

All that rowing was exhausting, so we rested at our cabana on the beach until lunch time!

Idling in an Idyll

2008-04-07T23:59:00.002+01:00

Nobody woke us up, so there were no turtles in the night. Nina woke up once, thinking that there had been a knock on the door, but it was just the geckos calling to each other in the rafters. On balance, I'd prefer house geckos to house mice.

The Thermos man had delivered our tea and coffee, so we sat in bed and watched the Pacific rollers roll on in to the Pacific beach just below our Pacific bungalow. At our Pacific hotel. It was peaceful. Then we sat on the verandah and drank more tea and coffee and watched the waves some more. I had another cup of coffee; it was delicious. All the coffee that I had drank so far in Nicaragua had been delicious. This coffee had been grown on plantations by the French family that owned Morgan's Rock. Their plantations. Their delicious coffee, their amazing hotel. Their startlingly strong coffee. By the time we headed down to breakfast I was jangling like crazy with the caffeine.

I needed a lie down whilst the palpitations subsided, , so we secured 'our' cabana on the beach, and then went for a walk amongst the rock pools, finding all sorts of wriggly little fishes and some cool shells for Poppy. Out at sea,great flocks of birds dived repeatedly into the waves, whilst close up we could sea the silhouettes of dozens of fish every time a wave broke; when the water cleared you could see them swimming around your feet. You don't get that when you're paddling on Tynninghame beach.

The rest of the day passed by in a pleasantly warm blur of beach, books, surf and beers, punctuated by fabulous food at the restaurant. On our way down to dinner, torch in hand, we could hear some high pitched squealing. We weren't the only honeymooners at Morgan's Rock, as in the beam of light we discovered two skunks, one pinned to the floor whilst the one on top clung on furiously to his, er, mate. We also saw scorpions, spiders, preying mantis, and a variety of freakish bug life including some that looked just like leaves. Until they leapt into the air.

After dinner, we walked down to the beach, and enjoyed the moonlight on the waves and the complete tranquility of the place. we didn't see any turtles.

Settling Into Paradise

2008-04-06T23:59:00.002+01:00

We had been here less than a day and already the rest of the world felt like a lifetime away. We had ambled back down for lunch (unsurprisingly amazing), enjoyed a couple of Tona, and then we grabbed some body boards and headed down to the beach.

We had the beach to ourselves, so we had the pick of any of the half dozen or so cabanas that are set along the edge of the palm tree lined beach. One of the most civilised inventions known to man is the Thermos cooler, a simple device which can be filled with ice and bottles of Tona, and taken anywhere you like. Like the beach. Bliss. We swam, sunned, surfed, drank, grinned like idiots, and took a leisurely stroll along the kilometre or so of beach, jumping in and out of the warm Pacific. At the far end of the beach, enormous lumps of conglomerate rock contained gigantic marine fossils that had been laid down in mind bogglingly older rocks before them. I was fascinated; you can take the boy out of geology, but you can't take geology out of the boy!

As the sun set over the ocean we watched a pair of pelicans dive for fish as the surf crashed onto the beach. It was alright here.

We enjoyed a quiet dinner in the open air restaurant,which overlooked the tastefully lit pool, which overlooked the ocean which we couldn't see (it was dark by now) but which we could hear. Afterward, we signed up at the bar for two critical overnight hotel services. The first service was the tea and coffee service, which is doorstep delivered any time you like from 7.00am onward. This service uses Thermos flasks, so this fine company were already proving invaluable on this holiday. The second service was the turtle service. Did we mention the turtles? The turtles that lay their eggs on the aforementioned Pacific beach? That's where they lay their eggs. The lodge has wildlife rangers who protect the various animals on the reserve, and, if a turtle pulls up on any given evening, and if you've asked, they will come and wake you up in the middle of the night and you can run down to the beach and commune with nature. We were out of turtle season, but they had had turtles laying eggs the previous week, so...

We headed back to the bungalow, where we found that the bed had been turned down and we had acquired a tiny decorated earthenware pot. We slept. All night. No turtles.

Bungalow Number 9 - Mora

2008-04-06T13:59:00.003+01:00

The door swung open, and we were floored for the umpteenth time inside half an hour. These photographs cannot do justice to the truly fabulous sight that awaited us. We stepped into the little rock garden, taking a moment to inspect the outdoor shower, before sliding back the screen door of the bungalow, and stepping inside. Although 'stepping inside' seems an odd description to use when the walls are mainly bug screens, and most of one side of the building consists of an enormous panoramic view of the Pacific.

Inside, the bed faces the ocean, with a split level drop down to a gigantic futon/sofa bed. A small writing desk in the corner begs you to sit down and write that difficult first novel (doubtless, it would be a breeze if you were sat here long enough). Another sliding door takes you out onto a verandah with breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean below, and then across the bay to the tropical dry forest surrounding the hotel. An enormous day bed hangs from ropes tied to the beams above, again thatched with palm leaves.

The bathroom is partitioned behind the bedroom area, with twin sinks and a walk in shower area, all finished in tropical hardwood and beautifully patinated copper fittings. It was beyond our wildest dreams; luxurious, fantastical, a truly astonishing honeymoon location. I had been harbouring high hopes for Morgan's Rock, but they had already been surpassed by a ridiculous margin.

We were told that lunch was currently being served, and we were left to unpack. Nina simply burst into tears, utterly emotionally overwhelmed by our good fortune. We hugged each other in misty eyed disbelief; this was going to be our home for the next week, and it was AMAZING!

Morgan's Rock - Paradise Beside the Pacific

2008-04-06T12:59:00.002+01:00

So we arrived, to a wonderful welcome, with four staff lining up alongside the van to help us, take our bags, and offer us delicious fruit cocktails. We had been there for less than thirty seconds, and we were already overwhelmed!

We were ushered into the reception area of the hotel, where the sheer unadulterated wonderfulness of Morgan's Rock became apparent. The huge open plan area was furnished with large comfortable sofas, set amongst low level volcanic stonework walls, beneath an overarching roof structure made of tropical hardwoods, and thatched with palm fronds. We sat reeling whilst we signed in, and we were told about "playing with time, working with nature" - the philosophy behind everything that they do at Morgan's Rock.

We were shown around the bar and restaurant area which overlook the pool, which overlooks the beach. We were gasping by now, stunned by the beauty of the buildings, captivated by the surroundings, marvelling at the views, and pinching ourselves in disbelief. We were lead out of the hotel area, through the woods, across a suspension bridge and then up a series of steps until we reached our bungalow. The door lock was a simple bolt opened with an Allen key. For the next week, bungalow number nine would be our home...

Transfer to Morgan's Rock

2008-04-06T11:59:00.001+01:00

We were up early again for the 9.00am ferry from Moyagalpa to San Jorge. We had a series of fantastically ridiculous 'conversations' with our driver, who had English that barely surpassed our Spanish. We did get a 'tour of the island' from him, which, as you can see from the photo, is clearly one of the best one liners on Ometepe. We'de missed breakfast at the hotel, so Nina summoned up all of her courage and bought some juice and biscuits from the tiny hatch on the ferry.

We'd had a pretty amazing time on Ometepe, and our day on Maderas was a truly unforgettable experience. We had seen more of the country and the people, and we had managed to see some fantastic (and deadly) wildlife. As the ferry left the terminal we had the promise of our next destination to excite us; Morgan's Rock had been the main reason for choosing Nicaragua, and we had an entire week of luxury ahead of us.

As the ferry approached the harbour, we could see dozens of people in the water of the lake. Fully clothed. As the ferry drew closer it appeared that they were some kind of congregation, seemingly in the midst of a Sunday baptism, en masse, in the lake. On the other side of the harbour the beach was filling up with families ready for a day of sand and swimming; as we left the port the traffic coming towards us consisted of pick up after truck after car full of picnicking Nica's ready heading for the beach.

At San Jorge we had been greeted by a very chirpy Elvis I, ready and waiting in his air conditioned minibus. We'd just like to say again that Careli Tours and all of their guys were impeccably mannered, courteous, smart, informative, happy and punctual. Trailfinders and Journey Latin America did a fine job for us, but the next time we head to Nicaragua (and there will be a next time!) we'll deal with them direct.

Even though it was Sunday, the Nicaraguan Highways Agency was hard at work, with substantial sections of the road to San Juan Del Sur undergoing reconstruction and resurfacing. It looks like hot and dirty work on a wet winter day in Edinburgh; in the heat of the tropics the tarmac gang were really earning their cordobas. Having said that, they've got a heck of a job on their hands; I reckon that Elvis virtually doubled his mileage by weaving is way backward and forward across the carriageway in order to avoid the frequent and frequently enormous potholes. That was on the main highway; we were soon on the Chocolata Road (no explanation available) which headed toward Morgan's Rock. To be frank, the views were far from auspicious. We passed an open dump, and there was rubbish strewn across the surrounding countryside, with carrier bags blowing in the branches of trees along the side of the road. Later in the week we discovered that the Lodge and other local businesses organise an annual clean up, alongside educational programmes on recycling and responsible waste management. On the evidence that we saw, they've got their work cut out...

We were close to the rapidly developing resort of San Juan Del Sur (SJDS), and the visual impact of this was apparent on every cliff top and hillside; either new properties, or 'Se Vende' estate agent boards hitched onto older shacks - type 'Nicaragua Real Estate' into Google (as I have whistfully done on a number of occasions) and you are inundated with developer's websites. There was a clear American influence, and although we didn't see the resort we kind of knew that we didn't need to see the resort. The Costa Rica/Nicaragua border is just a few miles south of SJDS and the developers have their eyes firmly fixed on the huge tourist market that currently holidays there. Unlike sleepy little Granada, the feeling around here was that the dollar was in charge. Except at Morgan's rock.

We finally reached the gates of our eco-resort, and then we drove through the forests and fields of the surrounding hacienda and nature reserve. And we drove, and drove, and then, after about twenty minutes, we saw the sign for reception. We'd arrived.

Achy Legs Saturday

2008-04-05T23:59:00.000+01:00

Today, we did nothing. Really.

We had a bit of a lie in. Achy limbs were in need of rest, knackered knees needed kneading.

We rose late for breakfast, and Nina ordered the 'Goliat' which involved a significant number of eggs. We sat in the shade and drank a lot of tea and coffee.

We managed to get it together long enough to gather ourselves up, and head down to the beach for a lazy morning, just before a leisurely and fairly liquid lunch. We saw some big green lizards.

After lunch, we took it in turns to lie on the hammock on the verandah. A squirrel watched us from above, whilst working it's way methodically through all of the nuts on the tree.

In the evening, after dinner, we walked along the beach in beautiful starlight, whilst failing to recognise a single constellation under this foreign sky. On the way back to our room a gigantic toad the size of dinner plate sat patiently at the side of the path until we had passed.

Volcan Maderas

2008-04-04T23:59:00.000+01:00

We had a terrible night’s sleep. Something odd had been going on with a gang of Nica guys who had been hanging around the hotel during the evening. Unfortunately, they were in the room next to us, and they played MTV Latin America at full volume all night, punctuated by shouting and loud arrivals and departures. It was intimidating, and we suddenly felt a very long way from home. We barely slept a wink. Not the most auspicious way to start a 1ok, 10 hour trek up a 1400metre volcano, but we were up, weary and breakfasting at 7.00am, ready to meet our guide.

We’d heard about the guide from Edgar. He had told us about ‘Soya’ the fabled Ometepe hardman who knew the volcano like the back of his hand. We were introduced to Douglas, a slight, wiry, diffident fella who spoke pretty good English, and seemed happy enough for me to ramble on about the Scottish origins of his name. I decided that he wasn't Soya. Douglas also supplied me with my first opportunity to introduce "my wife Nina" which was quite novel at the time. We also joined on our trek by a German girl named Kirsten, who was originally from Leipzig, but now lived in London.

All introduced, we were driven along the bumpy dirt road around the perimeter of the island to Finca Magdalena, for the start of the trek up the volcano. The finca is one of the oldest backpacker hostels in Nicaragua, owned and run by an agricultural collective, sprung from Sandinista ideals in the early 80's and still going strong 25 years on. The backpackers started turning up in the late 80's, and the hostel business now accounts for a significant chunk of turnover. A quick glance in one of the dormitories reminded me that I'm a creature who craves comfort; the trestle style beds in the bare concrete rooms did nothing for me, although the idyllic setting and the hammocks on the verandah might have persuaded me to stay the night. If I'd hammered the cheap rum that they had on sale...

We started our walk with a gentle amble through a tropical dry forest, almost like English woodland, lots of deciduous trees and grasses. The main difference was that we don't have howler monkeys in the trees in the UK. We'd seen a few monkeys in the Isletas, but they were essentially an imported gimmick for tourists; these guys in the trees above our heads were real live wild ones, picking their way through the treetops searching for fresh shoots.

As the trail got steeper, our attention was constantly taken by the fauna and flora; amazing butterflies, and leaf cutter ants carving tracks through the forest floor, plantains, wild bananas, the distant calls of the monkeys in the trees. We passed a section of forest that was being cleared in preparation for a coffee plantation, incredibly hard work for the folk from the cooperativa, but the volcanic soil is rich and fertile, as evidence by the bewildering profusion of trees and plants that hemmed in the trail.

We also got to see an ancient petroglyph carved with images of animals and a Native American figure who appeared to have a Saltire emblem on his chest. Douglas seemed a little non-plussed by my theory that Nicaragua had been founded by Scots immigrants, so we pushed onto our first rest stop, a couple of benches a mere one kilometre up the volcano. We were all dripping with sweat, gulping our water and munching on bananas. It was only 9.00am. Douglas kept a very close eye on a tiger ant that was wandering around the bench. This great brute of a thing has a painful bite that he was keen to avoid.

The trail became steeper, and then steeper and muddier. Soon we were covered in mud, slipping and sliding up and sometimes back down the trail as Douglas set a cracking pace. The two and three kilometre markers came and went, and we stopped again at a great viewpoint which looked across to Concepcion and down on to the lake far below. We had left the tropical deciduous forest far below us; and were ascending into the cloud layer.

It soon turned out that the steep and muddy bit that we had been scrambling up wasn't the steepest or indeed the muddiest bit of the volcano. The next hour or so was unremitting; at times the path was nearly vertical, and required the use of handholds and footholds to get up some sections. We were hot, dirty and muddy, when suddenly we heard voices. Coming down the path ahead of us there was a couple of young Americans with their guide, urging us on for the last few metres. They were clean from head to toe, immaculately dressed with not a hair out of place. How do some people manage to do this? We looked like we'd been dunked in a cesspit by this point. Douglas urged us on, until we finally reached the 'top' or at least the top of the bit we were ascending. Our delight at reaching this point was shortlived; we still had a thirty minute descent into the crater.

The drop into the crater needed as much concentration as the ascent; but between the slithering, the swinging from vines and the shinning down of the rocks, there was an occasional glimpse of the crater lagoon below. It looked amazing.

Suddenly we were at the lagoon, stepping out of the cover of the jungle into blazing hot sunshine and into a wide open bowl surrounded on all sides by thick verdant forest.

It was just like the Land That Time Forgot. If a pterodactyl had swooped across the lagoon I don't think that I would have blinked; it was primeval, the landscape was pristine, the silence was deafening. The only movement was from the stand-in pterodactyls - large vultures that drifted effortlessly around the crater using updrafts of warm air to rise and fall in search of a snack.

We needed to clean up, but Douglas warned us that the mud at the edge of the lagoon was thick, deep and sticky, although Nina felt obliged to test this out for herself. Cleaned up, kind of, we sat and ate our picnic in blazing sunshine, and wandered around the crater whilst our guide - all wrapped up and shivering in his coat - had a nap. My 'Scottish settlers' theory of the origins of the indigenous Amerindian peoples was virtually proven when I found an extensive clump of blue thistles near the edge of the forest.

After a couple of hours of snoozing, Douglas was ready to take us back down the volcano, which in practice meant ascending from the crater first of all. The descent was slow, tiring, jarring on the knees, and Douglas was keen to help both of the ladies on the way down. We only stopped twice, once to photograph a howler monkey, and then again at the viewpoint, before we slipped, slid and skidded back through the mud and reached the lesser inclines of the lower slopes. We saw more monkeys including briefly, at distance, a capuchin monkey, as well as more amazing butterflies, and a gigantic mass of army ants. This was an astonishing sight - they were swarming across the path so we had to jump and leap our way across them. Once we were beyond them, Douglas advised us to jump and stamp our feet to make sure we shook them off our shoes as they've got a nasty bite. They're voracious, with large armies of upto 20 million little soldiers who are capable of eating over 100,000 other creatures a day. I didn't fancy one of them getting down my socks. It had taken us about seven hours to ascend and then descend the volcano; we were feeling pretty pleased with ourselves, until Douglas casually informed us that his best time was two hours. Up and down...

We were almost back at the finca by now, and we thought that the ants had supplied an interesting diversion at the end of the walk. I was in the lead by now, tired and keen to get back to the hotel for a swim. We'd seen a few lizards slithering into the shadows as we headed along the path, so as something moved beneath my foot on the path, I assumed it was another little reptile; well it was a reptile, but it wasn't that little, and was in fact a snake. I jumped several feet upwards and simultaneously backwards, and Nina and Kirsten skipped back down the path. Douglas leapt forward, chasing the snake with his stick. I thought he was chasing it away, but then we realised he was trying to catch it. He failed, I don't really think that any of us were that bothered! He told me it was a corn snake, and that they're poisonous, and that if bitten you've got four hours to get the antidote or else it's 'cortinas' for you (that's Spanish for curtains).

Back at the hotel, we headed straight for a swim in the lago, a relaxing and cooling way to end an exhausting day on the volcano. As the sun set, the clouds began to form again around the peak, and we marvelled at the view, the height, the sheer grandeur of the scenery. We were stunned and shattered in equal measure.

In the hotel reception that evening we asked about rowdy guests from the previous evening; the receptionist had no English, so called for 'Soya'. Douglas appeared, and so we established that he was indeed the fabled Soya. We also noticed that this evening the hotel had two armed guards patrolling the grounds. So next time you're in Ometepe, ask for Soya! After enjoying a dinner shared with our fellow trekker Kirsten, we retired for an early (and quiet) night.

Hotel Villa Paraiso

2008-04-03T23:59:00.000+01:00

The ferry docked at Moyagalpa, 'place of the mosquitoes' in the indigenous tongue, although these days the mosquitoes are minimal, and the port is a bustly wee place that we zipped through in the hotel minibus. Our 45 minute trip to the hotel was dominated by the views of the twin volcanoes. School was out for lunch, and during our trip we marvelled about the hundreds of school children filling the road as we tootled along, passing one or two cows which were saddled up for riding in the particular Ometepe style. We drove around Concepcion toward the far side of the island, and Maderas loomed above us as the dirt track road bumped us along to Playa Santa Domingo, and our second hotel of the trip.

Villa Paraiso is the tourist hotel on Ometepe. In fact it's arguably the only hotel on the island, as most other places are either backpacker hostels, or very basic Nica style 'hospedajes' which are kind of like youth hostels, with varying quality and facilities. Our driver didn't speak any English, and nor did the receptionist. We managed to establish who we were, and were shown to our little cabin, close to the hotel, which in turn was close to the beach. We'd arrived just in time for lunch, and so began my mild addiction to plantains; fried on this occasion and served with pinto beans and cream, simple but delicious. Oh, and this was where we both developed a taste for Tona!

After lunch it seemed right and proper to head for the beach, which we had to ourselves. The lake stretches as far as the horizon. It doesn't really feel like a lake, because lakes are things with mountains around them, like Coniston. And it was warm. Really warm, like a bath. And of course it's freshwater, so you could swim around and duck under without having to cope with salt water in your eyes. And overlooking us, always, were Concepcion and Maderas.

In April it regularly tops 35c, which was lovely, but just a bit much around early afternoon! Even Nina had to sit under the parasols because it was so hot; even in the rainy season the temperature just about never drops below 20c, ever. Later, in the cool of early evening, a couple of cowboys brought their herd of cows down to the lake to drink, a bizarre sight to end a lazy day on the beach.

That night, subconsciously prompted by the herd, I had a delicious churrasco tenderloin steak grilled over an open fire. Nina had 'asado' (grilled) fish straight from the lake. It was pretty simple stuff, but incredibly fresh and delicious, and washed down with more Tona!

Ferry 'cross The Sweet Sea...

2008-04-03T11:59:00.000+01:00

...cause this land's a place I love.

We boarded the Ferry Ometepe No. 1 just before 10.ooam, surrounded by a group of Canadian Christians who were intent upon doing good works. Indeed, throughout our trip we constantly bumped into travelling church groups of all denominations, all determined to spread the gospel, all expenses paid, in a tropical idyll...

The little ferry in the photo is even smaller than the Mallaig to Armadale CalMac variety. The onboard entertainment is better; the dubbed and pirated (huh) edition of Pirates of the Caribbean was swiftly followed by a selection of Latin American music videos that fell into two categories.

The first category can be defined by the slightly older crooner style lead singer backed by a couple of other dodgy looking blokes in cheap suits and moustaches. There's usually a brass section, often found in long distance shots on rooftops, or looking gormless in a bar. Critically, all of the songs in this genre are maudlin, soul searching paeans to a lost love. Said lost love is shot in soft focus and short skirt in the background, whilst the aforementioned lovelorn lead emotes via clenched fists, furrowed brows and some serious screeching. Often, the couple are rapturously reunited in the final scene of the video. This stuff clearly influenced the works of Edinburgh japesters the Cuban Brothers, who appear to have robbed their act wholesale. [When I got home I wasted a good hour on YouTube trying to find a good example of this genre. I failed, but the perfectly named Carlos Ponce singing 'Woman With Pants' gives you a flavour!]

Artistically, the second style of Latin Pop video was significantly more stimulating. These invariably started with a gang of pumped up young fellas in tight t-shirts and four square formations, doing the syncopated soft shoe shuffle beloved of boy bands around the world. These lucky chaps invariably ended their videos at a beach party, where all the girls who had been invited had seen fit to wear tiny bikinis and, furthermore, seemed keen to get to know the boys intimately.

Diverting as the videos were, the views outside, I'm sorry to say, are somewhat more dramatic than the approach to Mallaig harbour.

Do You Know The Way To San Jorge?

2008-04-03T09:59:00.001+01:00

Another early start for our transfer to the Isla De Ometepe. It was a relief to pack our bags, simply because we had bags to pack. Edgar and Elvis I were waiting patiently in the lobby by the time we'd fruited up on our desayuno. We quickly left Granada behind as we headed out before the city had really woken up, and we were soon passing the brooding, bulky mass of Volcan Mombacho. This landscape was more lush that anything we had seen so far, benefitting from the clouds that often swirled around the peak of the volcano.

As we travelled through the countryside Edgar pointed out different types of agriculture in the area; rice paddies, sugar cane, papaya trees, banana and coffee plantations, and mango trees. We passed by a huge dry river bed, and when I asked about the rainy season, Edgar told us that this area had been badly affected by Hurricane Mitch which devastated the country in 1998. Some of the roads that we travelled on were at best patched up - a direct legacy of the power of this storm.

The drive brought home the sheer scale of Lago De Nicaragua. It took us over an hour to travel around the lake to get to San Jorge where we were due to catch the ferry to the island. As we drew near, the twin peaks of Concepcion and Maderas slowly grew in size on the horizon, losing their halo of clouds as the heat of the day began to burn them off. We zipped through busy Rivas, and arrived at the small, neat and colourful port, with plenty of time to spare. Edgar and Elvis I dutifully waited with us before waving us off on the ferry...

Boating with Elvis II

2008-04-02T23:59:00.002+01:00

At 2pm, we met Elvis II. He introduced himself "Buenas, I am Elvis; Elvis "La Pelvis". A theme was developing, except that this Elvis had the kind of chat you might associate with someone who bore the name of The King. he had his wraparound shades and his little sidekick, who was introduced to us as Vladimir. Fantastic! Vlad was the standard issue tanned Nica, wearing a brace, chuckling at all of Elvis' jokes, and living testament to the pure ideological background of his parents - non-god believing, Sandinista socialistas, conceived at the height of the Contra affair and raised on a diet of Leninist ideology. Maybe.

Our private guided tour was headed for the Isletas, 350+ lumps of Mombacho, explosively scattered across the shoreline of Lago De Nicaragua. Here, the extremes of Nica society were laid out in stark contrast. As our little boat chugged through the lake we saw million dollar dream homes owned by industrialists, politicians and ex-pat Yanks. A few oar strokes away there are the shacks of subsistence fishermen and their families - squatting on islands that are worth more and more with every passing year, and currently available for sale to interested investors from as little as $500,000 upward. We wrung out our western guilt in the boat, whilst they wrung out their laundry in the shallows. There are no parallels in modern Britain for extremes of society to live so close together; and yet this was something that we saw repeatedly over the course of our time in the country.

The area itself is beautiful. We visited an 18th century fort that had been built to protect Granada from marauding (British) pirates. We watched a tiger heron going about it's business, and some yellow tailed birds that build those ridiculous Dr Seuss style nests that hang from branches like hessian shopping bags. Elvis II rattled through his well honed patter, culminating in a trick with a plant stem that turned into a stunning flower - thankyouverymuch! As we headed back to the quay our Nica Elvis took a call on his cell phone; our bags were on the way back to the hotel! Well, hurrah! A shave for me, make up for Nina, clean clothes for both of us, proper toothbrushes and choice of footwear!

That evening we dressed up, kinda, and headed out for dinner at El Zaguan - the name of this restaurant has to be said out loud in the style of Antonio Banderas - where we ate like royalty until Nina succumbed quickly to jetlag. Still, I got my grilled guapote - the local lake fish, caught by the same fishermen we had seen mending their nets in the Isletas. There was a rapid descent into the Land of Nod, which was just as well, as we had to be up early to pack(!) and head off for Ometepe.

Excursions with Edgar & Elvis I

2008-04-02T13:59:00.001+01:00

Joy unconfined! The BA baggage tracker had located our luggage and had listed them as 'en route to destination' - whichever destination that may be. This morning we had an early start, fortified by another fresh fruit brekkie, and further ice related concerns from Nina. We were off to the nearest volcano, Masaya, which we were both looking forward to; followed by a trip to the nearby artisan market, which neither of us were that keen on. Despite our relaxed shopping experience the previous day, we both had visions of a manic, frantic, pushy haggling horror of ethnic ceramics and 'handmade' leather goods.

Our Careli guide Edgar met us in reception. He spoke excellent English and proved to be a really nice guy; we were immediately set at ease. He introduced to us to Elvis; Elvis "La Pelvis" the driver, who mainly smiled and nodded a lot, and then drove very carefully around every pothole on the road. There are a lot of potholes on Nicaraguan roads, so progress was sedate. We headed out of Granada and saw a little more of the city on our short drive to Masaya. Edgar chattered away about the area and the country; proud, enthusiastic and knowledgeable. By the time we arrived at the National Park Visitor Centre we were all getting along famously; although after a rambling discussion on plate tectonics Nina felt moved to tell him that she lectured on Geography at the university in Edinburgh. We were already inside the enormous caldera of the volcano, so we departed for the active Santiago crater, already visible amongst clouds of suplhur dioxide gas. On the way we (okay, Nina) spotted huge iguanas sunning themselves on great jagged lava flows, freshly laid in geological terms as Masaya has erupted properly as recently as 1772. It's had a few minor tantrums since; in 2001 it belched chunks of rock all over the immediate area and caught a few tourists out, and real live lava bubbles away far out of sight in the crater. Real live sulphur dioxide was making it's insidious way into our lungs as we peered over the rather insubstantial wall that separated us from the mouth of Hades. After twenty minutes or so of admiring the view, we were coughing like laboratory beagles, so we made the short descent back down the road, and headed for Masaya town.

The area is renowned for it's artisans and crafts, and we were headed for the tourist market, located in a former fort at the heart of the town. Our worst fears were realised when the van drew up and was immediately mobbed by half a dozen guys calling 'hey, amigo' through the window, until Edgar manoeuvred his considerable bulk into position and shepherded

us into the relative safety of the fort. We were immediately struck by how quiet it was. Despite this being high season, there only seemed to be half a dozen other visitors in the area, and we were able to wander around freely without any hassle at all, and take in the varying quality of the pottery, paintings, leather goods and hammocks. Despite being determined not to spend anything, we soon crumbled after an extended swing in a hammock seat. We both knew that Poppy would love it, and so we splashed out $17 on a a very Scottish blue and white one! After that we were (okay, I was) seduced by the Nica chocolate bars. And I bought a Sandinista badge. Edgar splashed out 20 cords on some rosquillas - a light gingery corn biscuit that were really tasty. I reasoned that they were a cereal, not a true biscuit, and had no guilty qualms as Edgar and I demolished the bag.

Back in Granada we were dropped at the hotel, just in time for lunch. I obsessively checked the bag checker website, and so by fluke, luck, fortune, serendipity and coincidence, we were in the hotel lobby when Managua airport rang to inform us that our bags were available for collection. This wasn't quite the BA promise to bring them to our door, but we were just beyond relieved to have them in the same latitude! The super helpful reception guy organised a letter, and a taxi, and we gave copies of our passports to a completely random stranger, who then headed off to collect all of our worldy goods. We just had time for another spot of lunch at The Garden Cafe before we headed out on our next excursion.