Making a mountain out of a mountain

 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!' was the wail on repeat as we clambered up chunky, uneven rock steps towards the top of Mount Snowdon's summit. We were in the guts of a thick cloud smothering the top of the 1085m peak creating zero visibility at best.

Not only couldn't we see anything but this stratus cloud was kindly soaking, freezing and battering us on our final final ascent to the peak.

'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!'

There it was again and I have to admit feeling bad. We'd lied to our eight-year-old that there was 'one last push' on a number of occasions and now, with just 10 minutes to glory she'd done believing us.

'Seriously you don't want to come all this way and not reach the top,' I said in a tone that even I felt excruciatingly annoying as soon as it left my lips. 'Nooooo!!!' she wailed.

More concerning than my eight-year-old was my six-year-old boy who'd been worryingly mute for the last 30 minutes of walking. A look of horror etched into his face as we trudged through cloud on a path surrounded by cloud under a roof of cloud.

Rewind 45 minutes and the climb up the Llanberis path - known as being the easiest, most popular and least attractive route - had been a dream. In fact our whole stay in North Wales was incredible, staying in arguably the nicest hostel - The Rocks in Capel Curig - we'd experience beach, castle, glacial lake, theme park, waterfall and of course...mountain.

'From rugged mountain trails and historic train lines to World Heritage castles and rejuvenated seaside towns, Wales' north holds its own against the arguably more famous attractions down south,' says Lonely Planet about North Wales.  

I couldn't agree more!

It was two weeks ago today we made the early start to Mount Snowdon. 5am early to be clear. We wolfed down breakfast and an all important coffee before slinging backpacks - packed within an inch of their life - to our backs and set out.

There was ample parking at the base of the Llanberis route, presumably because of its popularity and the station to cheat your way up or down on the Snowdon Mountain Railway. Because it was soooo early, humans were few and far between as we edged up the opening near-vertical road which takes you up to a breakout to the left and into the true mountain climb.

We were overtaken by a family of fell runners - as lean as greyhounds they were. Even the dad, who was trailing ever so slightly behind his kids, was as fit as a fiddle. I felt sluggish, carrying my lockdown kilo, until we saw some familiar, non-fell runners overtaking us. The competitive side of me said they didn't have two kids in tow, who incidentally were absolutely fascinated by EVERYTHING. We hadn't even hit the mountain path yet.

This was going to be a loooong old hike.

A range of groups continued to overtake us as we climbed, which was fine given the size of our tiny people's legs and Oscar's inability to just walk... needing to jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes. 'Very funny Oscar,' we said as time ticked away. We'd clocked 1km; he'd done about 4.

Our first warning of cloud at the summit actually came from an ill-prepared Bristolian dressed in his tracky on his way down. He'd lost his small black mongrel called Penny in the summit fog for half an hour. Luckily for him she was retrieved by a couple of runners who, we guessed, were the fell runners we'd seen earlier.

Dogs were in the masses on the walk. One of our favourites was Rex who we rejoined at the Halfway Hut after chatting earlier to his owners. Rex was a beautiful Alsatian who the kids were fascinated by asking numerous questions. How old is he? What's his name again? Have you any other animals? Are you from here? Do you have a hot-tub? They never fail to throw a random question in.

In fact questions to walkers were a common theme up to the Halfway Hut. A lot were happy to answer them, well one or two questions. But they had a mountain to climb and wanted to stride away, so there were times where Oscar was literally running behind people continuing his line of questioning.

A few kind, (very) patient walkers slowed to chat properly and let the kids have a pat of their canine friend.

The path had begun with a steep, rocky incline before flattening out and weaving up to the Halfway Hut. The sky was still clear and the views were incredible looking back towards lakes Llyn Padarn and Llyn Peris, with bright green mountains on either side of us. Then straight ahead with its tip currently (and constantly as it would turn out) smothered by a fluffy cloud stood Snowdon.

After a wrap, banana and chocolate, a drink and a relax of the legs at Halfway Hut, we were off for Part 2. However, at this point, unaware Part 2 was a longer, tougher, colder, wetter, ridiculouser version of Part 1.

                        

It wasn't long before we could see the kids would need a push through this section. They went from total hysteria, to friendly chats with groups (mainly with dogs) and mucking about with one another. Then back to hysteria.

The Haribo bribes worked to a point. The chocolate resources were running low. But to be fair to them as we entered an actual cloud after a long relentless steep incline to the final train station, this was actually pretty tough.

The stretch from the last train station to the summit was the most painful. We were wet, actually in a cloud so zero visibility, legs were aching and kids (mainly Jude) were upset and wanted to turn back.

We asked a man and his girlfriend how far to go who said '30 minutes...you're nearly there.' They were lying. Their intentions were good...but they were lying.

An hour later (approximately) we summited. Well, we sort of did. There was a queue for the small stairs to the summit landmark, but there was absolutely no way we were joining a queue for a photo of us looking like total shite surrounded by cloud.

We had done it though.

The mood changed instantly as we negotiated back down the unused trainline to the final station where the weather snapped back into bearable and the visibility visible as we reappeared out of the bottom of the cloud.

From there it was plain-sailing smugness as those on the incline asked us how long to go and we lied '30 minutes.' 'You're nearly there' (they weren't). 'You're doing really well' (they were struggling).

We knew the kids were back to normal as they majorly fell out en route to Halfway Hut. Jude took a route along the grass parallel to the path with a face like thunder. 'She won't be coming again,' a passer-by helpfully pointed out. Jude growled!

As we closed in on Halfway Hut we noticed people passing us with takeaway coffee cups which seemed totally bizarre. The cafe was open for takeaway at the hut, so we treated ourselves to a brew (adults) and hot chocolate (kids).

That final stretch was incredibly enjoyable. The kids were tired but in fine form realising they'd done it...oh, and they'd get ice cream at the base! We were also able to properly take in the views, stroll down at our own pace and chat to people as they passed us as Oscar would jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes.

At the base an ice cream van was conveniently and incredibly parked like an oasis in a desert right next to our car park. 99s all round and the 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK' a distant memory as we devoured them and felt dead proud of our achievement. 

Marrakech - ten years on

Our last time in Marrakech was ten and a half years prior.

Layla and I took the FRS ferry from mainland Europe (Farifa) to North Africa, mooring in Tangiers before travelling down the north east of Morrocco, through the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen to the country's cultural capital, Fez.

We then hitchhiked to Marrakech via Merzouga for a night in the Sahara and a Lawrence of Arabia-esque sunset camel ride into the famous Erg Chebbi dunes.

In Marrakech we stayed in a beautiful, traditional riad called L'Orangerie, before trekking into the Atlas Mountains where we summited the 4,167 metres of Jebel Toubkel.

Sounds peculiar even writing that. In fact, I hate the 30 year old me, he's a right tosser!

I'm saying this, here in Marrakech with mum, dad, brother, wife and two kids (8 and 6) celebrating my dad's 70th. A very different adventure, set with very different challenges.

It would have been very easy to constantly try and compare our previous visit to this. There was the danger of time exaggerating the experience we'd enjoyed in 2009 through rose-tinted Ray Bans. However, our start typified domestic, family life setting off from Birmingham after resolving a plumbing issue and refereeing a sibling boxing bout on the back seat en route to Manchester airport.

All this seemed inconsequential as we mazed through the Marrekech Medina, escorted by our host through the rabbit warren of alleyways to the door of our riad. A modest set of doors with the name Dar Damana above it opened up to an incredibly ornate palatial retreat.

After picking our jaws up off the beautifully detailed porcelain tiled floors, we ventured out, escorted initially by our amazing housekeeper Saida. First a pep-talk. Dos and don'ts (mainly don'ts) explained in French and translated through the art of hand gestures. She then helped identify six key landmarks which would help us navigate back from the iconic Jamaa El-Fnaa square to our riad.

Then we were thrust into the Medina lanes. Teems of people made up of Moroccan locals, daytrippers, street traders, tourists, bikes, scooters, motorbikes, tuk-tuks, trailers, were all bustling in, around, weaving and bobbing within the width of a street pavement. And it sort of seemed to work...if you stuck to Saida's rules of course.

Once we arrived at Jamaa El-Fnaa, we were delicately released into the wild by our kind housekeeper, into the main square where we waved, turned and got hit with chaos - and chaos it was - utter carnage in fact. But in a good way.

The kids faces were a picture as they were faced with snake charmers, monkeys on leads and all sorts of artefacts thrust upon them for 'very good price'. Add to this the smells of spices wafting and the sounds of the pungi echoing around the square, they were mesmerised.

A circuit of the square before a coffee overlooking said square must surely be THE first morning thing to do in Marrakech. We did this before successfully ticking off each Saida inspired landmark on our orientation challenge back to the riad.

Yves Saint Lauren was never my brand of choice. More of a Fred Perry man when it came to polo shirts. However, the fella sure knows how to pick a garden. I can say this now I've visited Jardins Majorelle - gardens the former fashion designer used to own.

It was definitely full of the Marrakech hip-brigade. The gardens had 'great Insta-fodder' written all over them. In fact I caught Tom Bowell say: 'Beautiful spot though and incredible use of the Majorelle blue which flowed through the whole experience.'

Once the gardens were ticked off the Lonely Planet Top Tips list, we headed back for food on the infamous rooftop of Cafe Arabe. The Casablanca beer didn't hit the sides and the tangines were to die for. The bill was also to die for, but we justified it as our 'premium brand' day.

Day two saw us part ways with my folks and brother. They hit the Badia Palace and we ventured out of the city walls to waterpark Oasiria. Only, there was one problem realised upon arrival - it was closed for the winter.

Fortunately there was a large heated pool we could pay to use, and this kept the kids content. There were six visitors to the park that day...and we were four of them. I'd never visited a closed slide park before and the kids had a ball with free reign using the water slides as normal slides. I'm pretty sure I had dreams of this sort of scenario as a kid.

Next day was a full day tour into the Atlas Mountains. Accompanied by our amazing driver Khalid from Trendy Travel, we ventured up into Berber villages where we got to witness the making of Argan Oil used for cooking and cosmetics.

We continued on, welcomed into a Berber home. Whilst slightly uncomfortable and a tad contrived, the lunch they cooked us was sensational with views from 2,000 feet down to the lake. Paragliders were in their masses hovering over our heads, offering lunchtime entertainment as we tucked into charcoaled chicken skewers, cous cous, lamb tangines.

Next up we wound down the hillside to the lake, before heading for a sunset camel ride. My camel aptly named Matthew had had 15 wives, our guide informed me. 'How many wives have you had Matthew?' our camel handler asked me. How we laughed!

Sunset was a photographer's dream as we enjoyed dunes with the backdrop of the snowcapped Atlas Mountains. We then drove back to Marrakech having had an amazing day outside the city walls.

The final day was spent shop-shop-shopping. We'd been eyeing up our purchases over the course of our trip - each Medina venture further refined our shopping list. The day was therefore spent converting our purchases through the art of haggling. The routine was haggle, have a breather and then haggle some more. Rugs, lamps, throws, belts, shoes, drums, we got the lot.

Full of adrenaline and excitement about our home mimicking a poor man's riad, the highlight of the day was in-fact landing on a value lunch option where we clambered up to an attic-like rooftop to be served Moroccan scram that filled the ever-expanding belly for £15 for all the family. Take THAT Harvester!

The ladies enjoyed some spa action on the morning before our flight at Hammam De La Rose. Scolded and scrubbed down in the name of pampering. They loved it!

The last task of the trip, blagging our ridiculously inflated baggage as hand luggage onto our EasyJet back home. We did it! Where we're going to put it all is a job we'll worry about back in Birmingham.

How did our trip compare to 2009? Totally incomparable on so many levels. But what a place to take kids. In fact, tear up every preconceived idea you have about Marrakech and give the sucker a go.

Is Santorini a gem for you AND your kids?

We’re in a bar. A bar called Magic Bus. Laid back, hippy vibe on the beach owned by tanned, tattooed, vest-wearing middle age ex-pats. Oscar, our four year old boy, is banging a bongo with his plastic stick from his orange juice while Jude, our six year old girl, is mid-show with her friend Amelia swirling and dancing on the raised area of the bar to the sound of bongos and Phil Collins on their playlist. 

Two local women squeeze past Jude to get to the bar at the show’s most crucial point knocking our girl off her stride and ‘totally ruining’ (her words) the show. It was irretrievable. Jude lost it in a diva-esque hissy fit. Meanwhile Lauren, Amelia’s four year old sister, wanted a piece of the action on the bongos. Oscar wasn’t exactly open to this. We concluded that this was the case as he used the plastic stick / drumstick to joust the bongo impostor. 

In a flash we paid the bill, herd the feral gang up and quickly moved on. 

To be fair it was the last day of our holiday in Santorini, Greece. The kids had been staying up late-late most nights as a treat, culminating in the wedding of two close friends two nights prior. It had all caught up with them after the most incredible holiday on arguably the most stunning of Greek islands. 

We were hesitant about Santorini as a destination. Initially down to cost, but also the perception of the island as primarily targeted at couples and honeymooners. Our phase of holidaying was still ‘if the kids are happy, we’re happy’. However, there was no way we were going to miss this wedding and built the trip around the event to see two close friends tie the knot in the pinnacle of wedding destinations. 

Safe to say we were pleasantly surprised. We stayed in a family-friendly beach area located in the south-east of the island called Perissa. Here we booked to stay at Hotel Aretousa - a family-run hotel who bent over backwards to make our stay enjoyable. Yes, we were the only families staying here. And yes, we weren’t exactly low-maintenance. But George, his wife, daughter and son - who each had a role to play in the running of the hotel - made us feel very welcome and like nothing was too much trouble. 

Like the time we arrived late on arrival and George waited patiently to pick us up. Like the time Oscar launched a strawberry yogurt off the first floor balcony exploding on the floor. The time we needed picking up from the wedding at midnight. And the time the kids bombed the pool at the end where the model couples were sunbathing. But there was an understanding and this understanding was rewarded with a lot of love from the kids...and hugs. Big hugs.

A four minute walk to the beach, the sea was perfect temperature and intensity for the kids to swim. The sand a strange small stone meant it didn’t stick to you like the normal stuff. Although you did find it in strange places later in the day when taking items of clothing off or showering. Much like the black rubber particles you find on AstroTurf football pitches. 

There were a stack of places to eat along the front. I was a big fan of the food. From a pork gyros on the first night - essentially a high-end kebab with chips wrapped in amongst the meat - to big plentiful salads, homemade moussaka, tasty fish and seafood right through to bakeries selling an array of sweet and savoury delights.

The lack of kids entertainment on the beachfront outside the sea was made up for by a water park being a short walk away. We spent two full days here. The kids absolutely loved it. We also did a day trip to Thira, the stunning main town on the island crammed with bright white buildings chiselled into the cliff face with iconic blue roofs the finishing touch on the picture-perfect back drop. 

Finally, the wedding. Santorini Gem is located on the outskirts of a small town called Pyrgos. We were met on arrival by a simple four poster canopy on the edge of a cliff overlooking the turquoise sea and famous volcano. It really was magical. The highlight being the famous sunset all to ourselves, slurping fizz with the couple’s sunset playlist the soundtrack to this amazing moment. 

So, is Santorini for kids? No, not if you're used to child-focused entertainment everywhere you look on your summer holiday. Will your kids enjoy it? Well, pick Perissa and Hotel Aretousa and I'd say yes, there's a very good chance they will. Oh, and you'll enjoy it too.

Hong Kong Phooey - a day exploring this gem with kids

Anyone looking to push their travel experimentation beyond Center Parcs with two kids in toe would be hard-pressed to find a better destination than Hong Kong.

Our decision was based on it being a) a convenient stop-over from Australia to England (where we had just visited family) and b) a place we’d both wanted to visit that would give our six and four year old a taste of somewhere a little more diverse.

The good news is there’s a whole heap to explore, the people are dead friendly, the food is yummy and I’m pretty sure your kids would have a blast too.

After flying the day before from Brisbane, Australia, day one saw us up at the crack of sparrows. We were actually too early for our first stop (Peak Tram) so killed 30 minutes in Hong Kong Park. When I say ‘killed 30 minutes’ we found the best kids playground I’ve ever seen - multi-layered and chiselled into the side of a cliff overlooking the Hong Kong sky-rise. We then stumbled into a colossal aviary, negotiating ourselves down a wooden walkway surrounded by a range of different bird life.

Literally everybody who’s Hong Kong’d recommended Peak Tram on our visit. Arguably the most iconic tourist attraction in Hong Kong, Peak Tram is on old tram/cable car that takes you perilously vertical up a cliff-side to one of the highest peaks on Hong Kong Island. Once at the top - subject to minimal haze - you get stunning panoramic views over the bay. Definitely worth a visit but we’d recommend getting their early (pre-10am) as the queues later in the day were absurd.

Next up we hit the good ol’ open top tourist bus. Completely new to this seemingly spralled-out place, we thought it’d be a great way to be delivered neatly onto the doorstep of some key spots we wanted to visit, as well as a feeble attempt to get our bearings.

First stop was Mid-Level Escalators with the sole intention to get a good noodle joint. Lonely Planet had recommended a legendary place called Mak’s Noodles on Wellington Street in Central. Yes, the noodles were superb but more importantly the staff were brilliant with the kids and the place was relaxed enough to let them slurp and burp their way through a bowl of noodles.

We then turned a corner and fell upon an incredible looking coffee house off Wellington Street on Cochrane Street. Turns out the Cupping Room is the number one place to get a posh coffee. I’m sure Layla sniffed it out. The Barista in fact recently picked up the third spot in the World Barista Championships. Layla was happy!

Back to the open top bus, we decided to cruise around the city, pretty much doing a 180 degree to the Star Ferry terminal which would take us to the next closest island, Kowloon. We disembarked and jumped on the top-deck giving us the opportunity to look back on Hong Kong Island and take in the enormity of the city. Kowloon would wait to be explored another day as we literately disembarked walked around the port and boarded the next boat back to Hong Kong Island.

By this point the kids were beat so we got onto the top-deck of the bus, our littlest crashed, our oldest went into a trance as we were transported around the remaining half of the bus loop taking in the sights. You could choose to listen to a tour guide by plugging in your ear phones. I chose not to.

We got off at the Man Mo Temple and took a peak inside. The kids were mesmerised by the incense and fascinated by the rituals performed by locals dropping in on their post-work commute.

Finally we strolled back to our accommodation located in Sai Ying Pun west towards Kennedy Town. Our Air BnB was literally the size of a wardrobe, but to be fair the home made great use of the space and our family of four had a nice comfortable stay.

Totally hammered from our first day in Hong Kong, we still had three more of the buggers to go. Jet-lagged, dazed and feet throbbing we collapsed in our wardrobe-cum-apartment contemplating whether to re-energise and head out for dinn...zzzzz.

Family holiday first-timers - day one in Skiathos

Here we were on the small island of Skiathos, and here I was lying next to our Villa pool disappearing into a Greek haze of sun, song and tranquility. Then SMACK. Semi-consciousness shattered by a thump, an all too familiar silence, followed by a wail.

My wife filled me in on the 20-second scene of devastation. The clues - Daisy the doll, face down floating in the pool; a poo lodged in the swimming pool filter; trail of wetness heading into the house; missing handle from the log burner with pool of water at its foot; crying child in arms of mother.

Yes, we're family holiday first-timers. We're well travelled by all accounts my wife and I, but travelling with an 18-month child is a completely different animal, as we duly found out in 20 seconds on our first day of holidaying as a three.

Lesson one: the tiled floor, which keeps the villa beautifully cool, also becomes a temporary ice rink on application of pool water. Lesson two: anything loose, left lying around the pool will end up in it. Lesson three: leaving a nappy off around a pool, even in hot climes, is a recipe for filter blockage. Lesson four: any loose levers, handles or slightly shoddy workmanship within a holiday abode will be punished.

Onwards and upwards we thought, and off we went to try and make a small dent in the 60 beaches to be discovered. On accessing beach number one that first morning of our holiday, we hit another snag. Our girl decided she didn't like walking on sand. In fact, any foot-on-sand contact was met with a squirm, a 'no' and an 'up,' meaning lift me up… lift me up now. This was a beach holiday. We were in trouble.

However, once in the turquoise-coloured sea all was ok with the world as schools of fish circled our girl’s feet as she strengthened her doggy paddle in the calm ocean. Talking of doggies, our afternoon was spent at Skiathos Dog Shelter. Set up to house homeless canines on the island, you could volunteer to walk them along a scenic cliff-top path.

Our hound of choice, Rocky, loved us....so it seemed, until he came face-to-face with our daughter, a coiled spring of excitement raring to go as Rocky was led out of the pen. Lets just say Rocky was awfully tolerant.

Day one was complete with an evening meal in the old harbour of Skiathos Town. It was here we discovered the charm of the locals. A group of old Greek men on the table next to us were making our daughter laugh pulling funny faces before leaving her with a ruffle of the hair, a tickle of the chin and three fresh figs as a gift.

For family holiday first-timers who overcame our 20-second introduction, lesson learned from day one in Skiathos is having a child CAN benefit rather than hinder your holiday....honest.

Itchy Feet

Feet are getting itchy....feet are getting itchy : )

An average morning in Ethiopia

Sunday 6th December 2009
Day 161

I reckon our time in Ethiopia, well Africa in general can be summed up by the events of this morning. '7.30 will be fine' said reception when asking what time we should set off in the airport shuttle to Lalibela airport en route to Addis Abba to ultimately get our evening flight to the UK.

Little did we know a quarter of the way into our journey, the arse would drop out the back of the minibus!

You could tell the minibus wasn't the best, and it wasn't as though we were staying in a crappy hotel. Nevertheless we had no choice but to pile onto this tin can shuttle. The clutch had been burnt out, the suspension was none existent and we were later to find out from a Guatamalen couple on board that this same bus had broken down twice the day before visiting some out of town churches. In fact the Guatamalen guy (a Graphic Designer) had been left to try and fix it and to the joy of everybody on board, he succeeded. However this breakdown needed more than a Guatamalen Graphic Designer. The heavy clunk and subsequent scraping sound suggested a major organ had given up the ghost and dropped out of the vehicle.

There we were stranded in the hills of Lalibela's surrounds, on the side of the road with only a couple of farmers with their hay for company alongside driver and passengers.

We were told a mechanic was on his way but we needed more than a mechanic if we were to catch our flight. We needed a new vehicle and quick. The wait seemed to take forever but eventually the mechanic arrived quite nonchently, in no particular rush and we crammed on board his vehicle and sped off at breakneck speed airport-bound.

Lalibela airport seemed ten times the distance as the way from the airport but we played it cool talkin Seatle and Melbourne with the couple who were now based in the States. Inside we were a trifle panic stricken to say the least.

At last we got to the airport, showed our passports to airport security at the gates before Layla sped in while I grabbed the bags off the roof. An argument about payment for the minibus ensued (which we'd already paid for). I held my ground got our stuff and head in to find Layla still searching for the check in officer. Passengers were well checked-in and the last passengers were boarding the plane witnessed through a thick sheet of glass that separated the terminal to departures lounge.

Still no one in sight meaning no way through Layla made a last ditch attempt running through security and the departures lounge returning with an official in tow kicking and screaming. He was angry and hardnosed and said 'No- you are too late!' He wasn't going to budge even after our sob story. 'You should have left more time,' he said. No flight meant we'd miss our connecting flight to the UK and were pretty much screwed.

There was only one thing for it.....'Pleeeaaase' Ppplllleeeeaaassse let us on the flight' we begged pathetically. Much to our surprise, it seemed to be working. We could sense a change in his expression. A chink in his armour. He actually seemed to like it. We looked at each other in astonishment and continued 'Plleeeaase'. 'GIVE ME YOUR BAGS!' he shouted. We were on.

We rushed our bags through, got onto the already boarded plane and within five minutes of taking our seats we were off. Phew!