I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I love travelling with kids, at least, with my kids!!

We had to get up at sparrow fart this morning, after almost no sleep (is this a trend...) and the girls were up without complaint. The airport at Malaga was a breeze, no weapons of mass destruction, or maths instruction, hidden in the girls' pencil cases, and we easily made our gate in time to be the first on the flight.

The flight itself was uneventful, and we arrived in a chilly Helvetica about 20 mins early, which is to say just after noon.

It is great seeing David again, and Switzerland is as beautiful as I remember it. Oh, the cities are pretty, but they're very much the same as all other cities. The true beauty of Switzerland is in the country, were all of the senses have an association: The sound of the cow bells on the wind, the scent of the grass, violet, and vanilla on the breeze; the awe-inspiring vistas and valleys; and of course the taste of the cheese.

Despite the cloud and chill, I am delighted to be in this country, and only wish Lu were here to enjoy it with us.

As with seeing David again, it was great to catch up with Natacha, and their new son Noah too. Then they sprung their surprise on us....

We wouldn't be staying with them, due to space restrictions, but rather in a chalet, overlooking the Gruyere valley. This split level, Swiss home, high on the side of a mountain, is a treat beyond compare.

After an extremely long day, we headed back to the Pasquier's for Raclette! This is a traditional Swiss meal, where a half-cheese is melted under a special grill, then the melted bit scraped onto your plate, to eat with boiled potatoes, various meats, mushrooms, and gherkins. It is a relatively heavy meal, but delicious in the extreme.

 

It is great to be here, a total contrast to Spain (not to mention Morocco). Tomorrow, a chocolate factory!!

R42
30082007-2230 Zulu
30082007-2330 Local
"Pasquier Residence," Ville de Paquier, Gruyeres, Switzerland 

 

Every place on the planet has something that remains with you. With Sydney it may be the prettiness of the harbour, with Cape Town it's Table Mountain, Delhi associates with the noise of the car and moped hooters. Well, for me with Tangiers, it was the overpowering, pungent smell of the raw sewers that just hangs in the air. But I get ahead of myself.

We decided that as we were so close to the straits of Gibraltar, hence Africa, that we'd take the girls for a day trip there. This suited Gaz and Michelle, who were planning a couple of days in Morocco, and looking for a cheap way down to the ferry.

As with all last minute plans, there were none. That is to say, dedicated plans. We kind've headed down to Algeciras (next to Gibraltar) in the hope to catch a ferry. It was an early morning (up at 7:30, out by 8am) but we still missed the 9am ferry. This was mainly because of the counter-intuitive road signs in Algeciras. After 3 loops of the harbour, an enterprising tout recognised we were lost, and pointed us in the direction of his "friend," a travel agent who could give us a cheap price on a ticket.

There are only 3 ferries a day from Algeciras, but 1 every couple of hours from Tarifa, some "20" minutes further South-West. So we purchased our ticket, and climbed back in the van. We also exchanged our Euro's for Durham's, "without commission" at a rate of 10 to 1. More on that later.

We got on the 11am ferry (complete with very dodgy tender) in Tarifa, with the promise of a 35 min, high-speed trip in the "Thunder Cat" It's true we arrived in Tangier at 11:30am - only Moroccan time - which was GMT without daylight savings, i.e. 2 hours (& 30 years) behind. Yep the trip took us over 2 hours. Much of which we spent in the Passport control queue on the ferry.

Still I'd much rather have stood in this queue on the ferry, than in the African sun on the other side.

Our first acquaintance was Joseph, a very well-spoken, official, tour guide. Just E100 for a van, driver, and guide for the day. I attempted to negotiate, as I was back in Africa after all, but he politely informed me that you only haggle in the market, not for the tour guide. Joseph was all smiles, and well articulated English, and intimated that he would be our guide for the day. Not so (of course), but none other than his "brother" Hassan, with about 15 words of English, and nary the need to take a breath.

So we headed out on our "official" tour. Hassan's poor English used a few words for punctuation, e.g. "for instance," "Government," and "please." As I say, these words were never used in a context other than preceding, or completing, a sentence. I use sentence in the loosest possible sense as well, Hassan spoke more in stanza's than sentences and paragraphs. This man truly did for instance have the lungs of a camel please.

I did learn a lot that I didn't know about Morocco, you'll be pleased to know that we're onto Muhammed VI, who seems a benign king. Hassan also took great pains to educate us in the Moslem faith, being sure to highlight that Mohammed (the prophet) didn't harm a fly, and would never condone Muslim extremist terrorism. I was convinced, if not converted.

The first part of the day was relatively boring, this palace, and that palace. Residences belonging to the rich and not so famous. There were two small highlights: A camel ride for the girls ("boring - not like in Port Macquarie, where you ride for a long time across the beach") and the Pet Cemetery. I kid you not, the British, during their occupation, some couple of 100 years ago, created a cemetery for their dogs and cats (which I guess didn't have an African constitution). Very cute, and not insignificant in size either.

After this we got drinks at one of the bazaars, and I couldn't help but notice the taxi rank, all beige Mercedes Benz's. Much like Cologne, but stuck in the 70's. The girls were enamoured with the coke cans in Arabic. What will they think of next?

Lunch was a treat. Of course we were taken to a "non-tourist" restaurant, which belonged to a friend/cousin/arch-enemy or some relation to Hassan. Of course we were one of three groups of tourists in this restaurant which we were assured was "off the beaten track." I will say, however, that the 5 course meal, including the service, was superlative. Vegetable Soup or Salad to start; followed by a sweet almond coated chicken something - delicious; then shish kebab skewers (chicken again) = amongst the best I've had. When they pulled out the 6 plates of "Targine" and cous-cous, we were already stuffed. But wait, there was more, a platter of fresh watermelon and grapes to cleanse the palate. The meal was worth the 12 euros a head, even if that was a little steep for this "local" haunt. It was here that we discovered two things: we were ripped off in Spain at 10 to 1, it should've been 11 to 1. Also, we really didn't need to change Euros, everyone wanted them, and you can survive more easily (at least in Tangier) with E's than D's.

The rest of the afternoon was devoted to successfully fleecing us of every spare bit of cash in our wallets, and potentially some that wasn't too. First stop the Rug Merchant. That we weren't in the market didn't seem to bother Hassan, this was all part of the authentic tour, and anyway, the Rug Merchant was an uncle/aunt/cousin.

He actually did manage to sell my mum and Les a carpet, much to my bemusement. Then turned his charm on me (using the girls, which was not fair) and sold me two rugs for their rooms. I wasn't expecting that. At all! We were allowed up onto his roof, which showed the other side of Tangier. The dichotomy of the filth and squalor, combined with everyone boasting Satellite and Terrestrial TV.

Then the trinket shop. Here Amanzi and Charis had their go at haggling. They acquitted themselves admirably, although my wallet was still bleeding like a stuck pig.

 

Finally the Pharmacie please thank-you for instance. Here we learned all about the Moroccan, and other, spices and natural remedies for everything, including snoring and old age. Nothing for enlargement, which the Internet promises, but everything else could be served. We did actually buy stuff in there. I'll update on the success of these remedies (snoring at least) next week, once I'm back with Lu.

If by now our wallets weren't empty, the street hawkers definitely worked on completing that job as we hurried back to the 5pm (7pm Spanish time) ferry. We had been really worried about the girl's safety, what with all the horror stories of white slavery, and had a policy of having one of the blokes hold their hand at all times. Well, despite the extremely narrow streets, and even the hawkers, I never once felt worried, or concerned for our safety. In fact less so than at the Boat show or a rugby match...

We made the ferry by 3:40, that is to say a full hour before we needed to. But that was ok, as we had another Passport Control queue to stand in. With just 8 people ahead of us, we stood for 30 minutes. Then when it was our turn, our Immigration Office left her cubicle without a word. Apparently she'd run out of ink for the stamp, or she was going to the loo, perhaps both. Perhaps the stamps are replenished in the loo, I don't know, this is Morocco.... But she was gone a good 20 minutes. So now we were minutes away from departure. Or so we thought...

We weren't allowed down to the ferry, as "people need to disembark first." Great, but at 10 to the hour, I was a little anxious. The ferry staff seemed to sense the mood in the (hot and sultry) departure "lounge" so let us out into the terminal with a roll of the eyes. Here we discovered that our previous passengers indeed hadn't yet disembarked. This mainly due to the ferry not actually in the port yet. So another 30 minutes in the sun, with the smell of raw sewage wafting gently over everyone.

 

When we boarded, there were no queues (of course - mobs rule in Africa), so it was every man and girl for themselves. But we had to have another passport check! Finally we were on, and I went on deck to watch the cast-off. But nay, they were loading cars for another full hour, in the poo ridden port. Which is why when I think of Tangier, I'll always remember the smell of poo.

At 18:45 we cast off, and reached the welcoming saint at Tarifa at 21:30 (local time). Disembarking was fraught with the same mob trying to get through a single Passport control doorway. This was worse than Gatwick.

We eventually got home at 23:30, which made our last day (not) in Spain, a very, very long one indeed. I then still had to pack, and make a DVD, and be up at 5:30 for tomorrow, the trip to Switzerland.

R42
30082007-0030 Zulu
30082007-0130 Local
Ave del Prado, Marbella, Spain 

 

Finally, I'm done. You can now check out the slide show, save (if you register with Kodak gallery - free) and/or order genuine photo reprints of Jan and Les' Wedding Photo's here

There are 282 photo's in the collection, so enough for everyone...

R42
28082007-2239 Zulu
28082007-2339 Local
Ave del Prado, Marbella, Spain 

Lions and Tigers are always majestic, even in zoo's. But the closer they are to their natural habitat, the more you appreciate their power and awe-inspiring majesty. Selwo is a zoo, but the closest to the natural habitat I've seen. It is definitely an experience, and one well worth exploring if you're in this neck of the woods.

There's the standard Zoos, Johannesburg, London, Taronga (Sydney), where the animals are in enclosures. Then there are the "Safari" type zoos, where animals can "roam" a bit more, Singapore Night Zoo, Great Plains Western Zoo (Dubbo, Australia). Selwo falls in this latter category, but takes it to a whole other scale than these others.

Getting around is a very "African" experience in itself, as everyone is unceremoniously driven around in the back of a safari lorry. Bench seats, no seatbelts, steep windy dirt roads, pretty much exactly like in Africa actually. We all enjoyed this, even the most travelled South Africans, whom had been to the great parks (myself, Gaz and Michelle). The girls were squealing with delight.

There were 3 things that the producers at Selwo got right. Firstly the animals, all of which are healthy, robust specimens, not the bored, tired animals I've seen in other parks.

Secondly the habitats for the animals are huge, and very natural. For all but the carnivores, the trucks actually drive through the enclosures right next to the animals, without a separating fence.

Thirdly, the simplicity of the theming. Of course choosing Africa is a good start, but where in other parks in the USA, UK, and Australia, there is an over-abundance of false rock walls, complete with electric lighting (and exit signs all over the place); here there are simple crude wooden fences, and traditional thatched huts. The theming is the most authentic I've seen. That's refreshing.

Apart from the four-legged variety, there is the largest enclosed Aviary I've seen, must be one of the largest in the world, and this alone is worth the entry fee into the park. It comprises an absolutely ginormous area, covered with netting to prevent the birds flying away.

 

In addition to the animals, there are "adventurous activities" including: archery, aerial runway, and jumping. They all cost more, but the prices weren't exorbitant. In fact that held true for the food sales as well, unlike other theme parks where the captive audience is exploited, here the prices were in-line with shopping mall food courts.

The archery turned into a spirited competition. First to get an arrow actually onto the target (how did Robin Hood do that), once we'd mastered this, getting to the bulls-eye was hotly contested.

At the Aerial Runway, the signs simply mentioned that a child of under 10 needed accompanying by an adult. Once we got to the top of the ramp, however, and the front of the queue, we were told that you had to be 40kg to ride. This was much to Amanzi and Charis' chagrin.

Fortunately the "Jumping" (trampolines with bungy harnesses) was both open, and catered for excited little girls.

A fantastic day. Another on this holiday overwhelming the senses. 

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27082007-1730 Zulu
27082007-1830 Local
Gibraltar, UK 

Lu headed off this evening to spend some time with her parents, as a daughter. I.e. just to spend time with them, without the care and responsibilities of being a wife and mother as well. We dropped her off at Malaga Airport after getting back from Gibraltar.

From now, the girls and I won't see her again until next Tuesday morning.

R42
27082007-2000 Zulu
27082007-2100 Local
Pablo Ruis Picasso Terminale, Aeropuerto Malaga, Malaga, Spain

Anyone who's ever read any British history, or sailing chronicles, has come upon the idiosyncrasy that is Gibraltar. A small 6km x 1km (yep, just 6km2) enclave at the end of Spain, which has belonged to the British for the last 303 years.

From all the reading, I had certain pretty strong expectations, and they were all wrong. For some reason I imagined that Gibraltar was the Southernmost point of the Iberian peninsular, but it isn't. That distinction belongs to Tarifa, about 35 mins further West.

Still, we're just 45 mins drive from Gibraltar here in Marbella, and it would be a travesty not to visit this iconic outpost whilst here. So we headed out in the morning, stopping only for diesel and victuals. It's easy to miss the turning at San Roque. This is because of the Spanish disdain for the British ownership of the Rock, so although places like Algeciras and La Linea are heavily signposted, there are about 2 signs to Gibraltar. Neither outstanding, and both on the exit ramps themselves.

Of course, we are in the 21st century, and like everywhere else, the Golden Arches have made it here.

It is considered another country, and you have to go through Passport control. We took good advice not to drive through, in case the Spanish closed the border on the way out, but to park in Spain and enter the protectorate by foot.

Once through the border, of course, the change is remarkable. From Red Telephone boxes, to everyone charging in British Pounds. Our next recommendation was to use a taxi to take us on "the tour" up the rock. This is brilliant, if somewhat expensive, advice, as the taxi drivers know the history, and give a running commentary throughout the trip. From the Moorish fort, to the Spanish walls, Trafalgar cemetery, all the dates, names, and wonderfully human stories that make up a local history are recounted with enthusiasm. The Spanish only held the rock for about 200 and something years, the British have owned it for 303. The Siege tunnel took 9 years to build, and all the rock excavated from these was used to reclaim land from the sea. etc. etc. more and more fascinating history.

There are the Pillars of Hercules, a monument dedicated to the ancient and modern 7 wonders of the world, overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar.

Then there was St Michael's cave, a natural formation in the belly of the rock, with the standard stalactite and stalagmite calcium formations typical in caves of this nature. What is amazing though is the natural amphitheatre that has been converted to a theatre. Here the military and other government officials have staged opera, concerts, and even weddings.

 

You exit St Michael's into a shop (of course), where it was time to get the first ice-cream of the day. The shop-keeper warned us to be careful of the Barbary Apes, as they "steal" food from people. Well, we've camped in many places before where animals steal food, and the girls are well versed in making themselves taller (raising their hands above their heads etc) which usually scares most animals away. Not so here.

Amanzi and I exited the shop, and a mother ape, complete with baby, leaped onto Amanzi's shoulder, reached up and snatched her half-finished Cornetto right out of her hand. To say we got a fright is to understate the matter. So back into the shop for another ice-cream, and then an almost military like evacuation to the waiting taxi. But this wasn't the last encounter with the apes.

Next stop was the "Top of the Rock." Apart from the amazing vista, there wasn't much to view here from a historical sense. But it is obvious why this was so strategic to the 19th century (and older) nations. The rock certainly commands the area, and to ahve a gun placement here secures the gateway into and out of the Med. Before the Suez, and the Panama, this was the only way for European Merchants to get to America, Africa, the Orient, and the Indies. When you consider that Britain controlled both this, and the Cape of Good Hope at the tip of Africa, you realise just how important these places were to expand and maintain an Empire.

More topical, however, were the apes. Our driver opened his window slightly to feed an Ape nuts, which was very cute and entertaining. Right until he stopped to allow us to walk to the top to see the view. He opened the sliding door, and quicker than anyone could react the ape had bounded into the back of the van, over Lucy and Charis, to snatch the last of Amanzi's 2nd ice-cream!!! Everyone in the van got a fright, and Charis and Amanzi where shaking and crying with fear. I made a point of getting them out the car (with encouragement and cuddles of course). They needed to know that the monkeys weren't to be feared, and to get over their fright.

 

Next stop was the Seige Caves. These were commissioned by the Royal Navy to serve as gun emplacements against the Spaniards, whom were trying to wrest back the Rock in the 18th century. The scale of the project is impressive, without explosives or power tools, the Engineering Corps took 9 years to excavate these, and they were used for various activities right up until the 2nd world war.

From the gun emplacements you get a great view of the Gibraltar Airport, which boasts a tiny (6000 foot) runway. The only working runway in the world that crosses a road. We were privileged to watch one of the daily BA flights take-off whilst we were up in the tunnels.

Back on down the rock into Gibraltar for shopping. Here, once again, the actual Britishness of the place shone through. Although it was Monday, it was a public holiday in the UK, and so it was in Gibraltar. This meant most of the shops were closed. Doh!!

Anyway, it had been a long day without much to eat, so we stopped off in an English pub for what turned out to be the largest pub mean I think I've ever had.

We spent the next hour or so wandering the High Street browsing the duty free shops. Then made the mistake of walking back to the Frontier. This is a very hot and thirsty walk, especially for those with little legs, although the highlight of course, was walking across a working international airport runway.

Worth the visit? Definitely! If you ever get the chance, this is an impressive bit of British history, and well worth the visit. Doubt I'd think of moving there in any hurry though.

R42
27082007-1730 Zulu
27082007-1830 Local
Gibraltar, UK 

 

So the week has been great, with plenty of highs, and a seeming continuous emotional intensity, that despite the late mornings and relaxed nature of Spain, was unending. Simply put, we needed space.

We also needed to eat Spanish food, and Lu in particular wanted her Paella.

So we headed to the Playa del Fountainilla in Marbella. The beach. Where we could relax apart from the rest of the family. Giving them, and us, a well needed break.

Surprisingly there was actually surf. I say surf, but in the loosest possible sense of the word. I mean there was a shore-break, and even the odd body surfable wave, but nothing that would attract a real surfer. Enough to bash Amanzi about for an hour or so, however. The water wasn't too cold either, probably 20 deg or so, but it was dirty.

 

I actually headed in as well, and managed to cut my foot on the rocks. It looks sandy, but about 20m out, it's pure volcanic rock.

Charis is following in the footsteps of her elder sister, Em, in picking up all the waifs and strays at any public place. She managed to befriend a young Spanish girl of about 6 or 7, who had absolutely no English. Of course, Charis, with absolutely no Spanish, was an ideal companion. Other differences included their respective sizes (a bit like Laurel and Hardy) which was good, and their wanting to play on the beach (Charis) or in the sea (friend), which was bad. Unfortunately, the friend also had a limited understanding of the need for personal space, and started dragging Charis into the water. Not for long though, Lu managed to communicate the need to let her daughter go in no uncertain terms.

We found what we thought would be a reasonable Spanish restaurant to take Mum and Les to in the evening. We took Gaz, Michelle, and Ray, back to the apartment, with what is now becoming my standard 3 loops of Puerto Banus and the N340, complete with irate, hooting Spaniard drivers. Much hilarity is had by all at my driving antics and poor Northern Hemisphere navigation.

I got Les to drive us back into town (and a firm promise from him to be the designated driver). We successfully navigated back to the restaurant we'd found in the Plaza Del Mare, only to discover that they were "out" of Paella. Well, that settled that, and we headed up the promenade in search of a true Spanish Restaurant.

Our wishes were finally met at "Ocean's Eleven," a beachfront restaurant and tapas bar. Finally we all had an authentic Spanish meal, Amanzi with Tapas, (Charis started with Tapas and moved to a Club Sandwich) and the rest of us adults with the largest Paella I've set eyes on.

 

Finally, we can now leave Spain. We've had the Spanish dish.

Afterwards we headed farther down the Promenade in search of an ice cream, and came across a street artist using aerosol paints to create the most amazing landscapes and planetary scenes. We were so impressed that the girls bought themselves a bookmark each, and Les bought the picture that was created in front of our very eyes. (much to Mum's chagrin....)

 

Tomorrow, Gibraltar...

R42
26082007-2300 Zulu
27082007-0000 Local
Playa del Fountainilla, Marbella, Spain

What is there to say for the morning after the party of the millennium? Now that I'm on the C8 insurance, it made sense for me to be pickup driver, and deliver people back to the apartments. Of course, this was pretty hilarious, as I'd only driven once to the hotel from the apartment, and never back. Marbella is a myriad of roundabouts, so with all my concentration on driving on the wrong side of the car, looking in mirrors placed incorrectly, remembering to change gear with my right hand (but still left foot on the clutch) driving on the wrong side of the road, and give way to the left on roundabouts; there wasn't much processor cycles left for navigating as well.

A couple of laughs, wrong turns, and illegal u-turns, and we made it back to the apartments.

The rest of the family had a lazy afternoon, whilst I started working on the long process of uploading, cataloguing, and editing the wedding photos. I'm finding it pretty important to try and stay on top of this, because the photos just keep adding up, and before long it becomes a week long task.

In the evening we went to Puerto Banus for dinner. Ostensibly this was to finally get our Spanish meal (we are in Spain, after all). Also, allegedly the restaurant we were booked in had "reasonable" prices. It turned out that the restaurant was Italian, and being on the shore front of the Marina del Puerto Banus, reasonable was the most expensive meal we've had on holiday to date.

Still Charis had a Pizza Tropicale, which with Cheese & Tomato base, sported banana, kiwi, strawberry, and pineapple. Needless to say, she loved it. Amanzi had a fancy sounding pasta dish, which for all intents and purposes was not much more than a Macaroni Cheese. We then noticed the Cheese Cake, balancing as if by magic, up in the display cabinet.

 

After dinner, we took the girls for a tour of the Puerto Banus marina. They enjoyed the mullet which flocked (schooled?) around the stern floodlights of the motor yacht (stinkpot) Lady Haya. All in all, a great lazy way to enjoy the day after.

R42
25082007-2200 Zulu
25082007-2300 Local
Puerto Banus, Marbella, Spain 

As is the tradition with these things, there was a reception party to celebrate the wedding. This one was an absolute stonker. My experience is that there are a few details to get right, simple things really, and if you don't get em right, the wedding is remembered forever for those things. If you do get them right, they fade into the background, and everyone remembers the party for the fantastic celebration.

There needs to be a balance between the formal/traditional aspect, and the down-to-earth/intimate family aspect. This reception hit the nail squarely on the head. The entrance, the speeches, the cutting of the cake, all were there, but they all were stamped with the Les & mum "lack of pretension."

Alec kicked off as "father of the bride" and brought a certain familial nostalgia to the affair. Not to mention a reminder of the Clark Scot, Malay, Dutch, South African, and Sussex heritage. Then Les, who should give up the day-job, had everyone in stitches - seriously Kenny has nothing on him. Finally, Nigel or "Squid" his best man brought down the house. He handed over to me to share a greeting from my dad, whom couldn't make it to the wedding.

The food was fantastic as well. It's not often that you enjoy every course at a meal catered for that many people, but we did. Prawn and Avocado starters, Medallions of Chicken, finished off with a chocolate mousse dessert. Even the kids were catered for, with pasta, chicken nuggets, and the same dessert as the adults.

Then the party. What's to say, we were all staying at the hotel, the bar was open, the the DJ/entertainer was brilliant.

The real kick-off was Jake the Peg, with his extra leg. Then Amanzi and Charis were invited to play another rendition of their pieces, with Lu accompanying on the piano. Lu stayed on the piano, playing along to a couple of numbers, and I was roped into singing backing vocals to a couple of them. Before long, Stu and Gaz joined in the singing, and the dance floor was packed. I can't remember when last I enjoyed a party as much, or laughed so hard.

Inside - disco, Outside - chatting around tables, all well lubricated throughout the night. The piece d'resistance came at 1am with a round of pizza's being served.

Of course there were the family tradition-making events, like the groomsmen attempting to climb the tallest palm tree in their underwear, but that happened long after this one hit the sack.

All in all this was a GREAT wedding, the party of the Millennium.

R42
25082007-0200 Zulu
25082007-0300 Local
Taberna del Alabardero, San Pedro, Spain 

To the strains of Celine Dion's "From This Moment", my mum and Uncle Alec (standing in for his Uncle Charlie, mum's dad), took a stroll down the red carpet to the altar. The red carpet was a reasonable facsimile for an aisle, and a trestle stood for the altar.

Sometime during the afternoon, Gaz, the youngest of my two brothers, identified that there weren't enough chairs out for the seating plan. The day was overcast, threatening rain, so the wedding planner had put half of the chairs inside a marquee as a contingency plan. However, as the afternoon wore on, it became obvious that rain wouldn't eventuate and we'd need the chairs outside.

The sky cleared as Stu (the eldest of my brothers), Gaz, and Ray ushered everyone to their seats. Suddenly the temperature soared, and the hotel staff fell over themselves trying to erect parasols to provide shade.

Ian, the DJ, hit play on the CD, just as a gust of wind blew, Don, the pastor's, notes off the altar. This led him to forget to ask everyone to stand. Les, Lucy, and I managed to attract his attention, and he asked us all to stand just as mum and Alec reached the red carpet. To the casual onlooker, this all looked relaxed and planned, but it was touch and go for a little while.

The ceremony itself was a simple affair, which was just as well. My mum asked me to do the reading, which came from 1 Corinthians 13 (vs 4 - 8 & 13), that famous text about Love. The appointed time was after the welcome, which was a lot shorter than I was expecting. In fact the Rev. Don said

 "Welcome everybody in the sight of God at the union of this man and woman."

and that was it, showtime! Of course I took it in my stride, stepped forward, stood at the mic, and read eloquently. It wasn't until afterwards that Lu pointed out I did the reading with my sunglasses on, and I discovered to my chagrin, that my zip was undone. As well, we all looked like something out of "The Godfather" anyway.

Don led Mum and Les through their vows, and gave an amazing address. I wish I could remember all of it, but some of the nuggets were:

"Always want each other, but don't be in want of each other
Always embrace each other, but never encircle each other"

Amanzi and Charis, accompanied by Lu on the keyboard, played their pieces during the signing of the register. For those that were still dry-eyed after mum coming down the aisle, it all ended here. They stepped up, and after a minor confusion over where they were to stand, and which way they would face, they played brilliantly. Everyone was tapping along to "When I'm 64" and got all teary to "Wonderful World." Charis kept glancing at her Granny Jan, and smirking into her trumpet.

 After that we headed off across the lawn, to the hotel dining room and terrace for cocktails. Of course for mum, Les, and and us, the family, it was also time for the photo's.

R42
24082007-1830 Zulu
24082007-1930 Local
San Pedro, Spain

Evening actually.

This is the big day, and as with all weddings, there are a million details to plan and execute. Of course, with the number of people that are involved, there are items that need sorting that haven't even been considered yet. Little things like mixing the keyboard, violin, and trumpet; or "Hollywood" tape for all of the strapless dresses.

Mum decided to stay at the hotel for the night before the wedding, which meant that we all had a stress free morning having a late breakfast.

Les and I went off to add me to the insurance on the people mover, so I could ferry people across to the hotel. This gave Les a welcome respite from being the local taxi driver. Then all the guests checked into the hotel in the mid-afternoon, and relaxed at the pool before preparing themselves for the big event.

Slowly through the afternoon, bit by bit, people made ready. Mum had a make-up artist and a hairdresser on hand.

Unfortunately, our Spanish waiter (don't mind him, he's from Marbella), misunderstood that although everyone was part of the wedding party, the afternoon drinks and meals weren't meant to be part of the wedding experience. So we got presented with a bill for 17 meals (at about E10 per meal), and 24 beers. We managed to sort it out in the end, and it's amazing just how difficult it is to communicate simple concepts like that in two totally different languages.

Before we knew it, it was time for the event of the Millennium.

R42
24082007-1700 Zulu
24082007-1800 Local
San Pedro, Spain

Perfect. And today was the day of the great wedding rehearsal. This is clearly going to be a production bigger than Ben Hur. It seemed that anyone who has had anything to do with the family for the last 2 decades was required to attend the rehearsal. Why? I have no idea, but there you go.

The location is spectacular, I must say. In the gardens of the Taberna del Alabardero, next to the swimming pool. But it was hot! Really hot! I was pouring sweat in just my t-shirt and shorts, and quail at the thought of wearing a dinner jacket in this heat.

 

The practice went well, despite the throngs of people asked to attend who were not much more than bemused spectators (myself included). Amanzi and Charis ran through their pieces, and realised just how long it's been since they last played their instruments.

Still, we're all a-flutter now for the big day tomorrow.

R42
23082007-1900 Zulu
23082007-2000 Local
San Pedro, Spain

After dinner, we decided to take Les out for his stag do. The destination was Puerto Banus, the playground of the (very) rich and famous.

We caught up with some of Les' friends at the entrance to this narrow, but exclusive strip of land, and took a wander down past the luxury yachts. Only two sailboats, neither of which I recognised from my days of sailing (although that was 13 years ago now, and in the Caribbean). The waterfront was littered with Ferrari's, Maserati's, Bentley's, an Aston Martin, and a Hummer H2. Most of the crew, let alone the owners and guests, are worth more than treble my financial worth. This little bit of knowledge puts an interesting perspective on the whole area, and there is a very frenetic atmosphere of the very wealthy rubbing shoulders with the very hopeful.

We headed down "the strip," which is literally a street of about 500m crammed with clubs, pubs, and merry-makers. It's a stag night dream, though. After 10pm, every pub offers free shots for everyone buying a drink. So it didn't take long for our group to get very merry as we wended our way to the Irish pubs that demarcated the end of the strip.

On our way back, we went into Premier, a strip-club on the strip. After all, what else does one do on a stag night, but get the buck a lap-dance? Or at least that was the sentiment from this group. Inside was one of the more pathetic experiences I've encountered.

Around the bar were the requisite scantily clad girls, mostly in G-strings with either a bikini or halter-neck top. One by one they would approach our group and try to solicit one of us to go for a private lap-dance. Just E30. It was easy to tell the experience of the girls, by their technique. Once they realised that they weren't going to earn their E30, they'd lose interest. But the less experienced girls took longer to discern those that were going to part with their money and those that weren't.

Here I met Jessica, whom was in her early twenties, not much older than my eldest, Leah. She hailed from East Berlin, and had been working the clubs for about 3 years, only a few months in Puerto Banus. Where most of the other girls had tried dancing suggestively, or speaking erotically to persuade us, Jessica seemed happy to actually sit and chat about herself. Like the other girls, she had the usual suggestive adornments: the the ankle tattoo, belly button ring, and other sensual piercings. Unlike the other girls, she was happy to accept that "no thanks" was a valid asnwer, and still sit and chat about herself.

I asked what she enjoyed about her job, and got a real sense of her being trapped in her situation. Oh, her answers included: Never having to get up early, and earning "plenty" of money for only 5 - 6 hrs of work. But this was more about controlling her situation, rather than enjoying what she does.

When I asked about the lowlights the conversation ended. I certainly didn't get the impression that she had a huge amount of respect for her customers, and of course, despite our chat, I was still a potential customer. Being explicit about the desperate men that frequented her world was probably not the best sales technique.

Overall, Jessica left me with a sense of deep sadness. I still don't get strip-clubs. Or lap-dances. Even if I wasn't a Christian, or a happily married man (neither of which has stopped others I know) I don't understand why people would pay money to not get what they could get for free with a little conversational skill. In fact in Puerto Banus I'm not even sure that conversational skill is needed. It was, as they say, a "target-rich environment." But for all her earning power, and late mornings, I don't think that Jessica enjoys her job very much, or gets a deep sense of significance. She was a very pretty girl (which makes sense), with a sharp wit, and could easily be at uni, or working elsewhere. In fact, she could've been a stewardess on one of the luxury yachts, just 500m away.

Of the evening, which was hugely enjoyable, our hour at Premier was wasted. Our next stop was the Disco Inferno Bar, where the table d'jour was 70's and 80's, eminently singable disco music. For our group it was an invitation to let our hair down, dance terribly, and sing at the top of our very false voices. This was a fun club, and somewhere I'd recommend. But then, I'm old and married. You of course, may wish to ignore my poor recommendation about Premier, and good recommendation about Disco Inferno.

This was a great end to Les' stag night.

R42
23082007-0130 Zulu
23082007-0230 Local
Puerto Banus, Spain

 

We all piled into the people mover, apart from myself and Amanzi, who took the Smart Car, and headed for the Pasta Caffe for dinner. Mum remembered that you could get a set menu for E9.50, which is a steal for a 3 course meal pretty much anywhere in Europe.

Turned out this was a lunchtime deal only. Still, we'd booked the table, so decided to stay. There was a bit of debate over whether we should sit outside (threat of rain, all the women were cold) or go in (overly hot and stuffy, all the men were hot). We decided, noble gentlemen that we were, to head inside. Of course it didn't rain, and we all overheated. Proving that adage:

Good decisions are the result of experience,
Experience is the result of bad decisions.

The food was, however, fantastic. Great, authentic Italian flavours. This still means that 3 days in, and I've yet to have a Spanish meal...

R42
22082007-2100 Zulu
22082007-2200 Local
Marbella, Spain

So 3 days into Marbella, and we finally got to the beach. I've been looking forward to this moment since we planned to come to Spain.

It turned out this morning, however, that contrary to common knowledge, the rains in Spain fell mainly on the coast. It absolutely bucketed down in the morning. So hardly beach weather.

Nevertheless, it cleared up by lunchtime. Which meant by the time we actually got out to the beach, the weather was clear(ish).

I can't imagine what this beach must be like in the heat of the Spanish summer though. Overcrowded would be an understatement. Even Bondi on Christmas Day would be preferable to the thousands that would crowd onto these tiny beaches. I get that the Brits like them, after all, compared to the pebbles of Brighton, or the dirty brown cliffs of Dover, this is positively tropical. But pure white, unencumbered paradise it isn't.

Of course this in on the Mediterranean, which means negligible tide, no concept of surf, relatively cold (16 degC), and comparatively dirty. Clearly, I'm not painting the rosiest of pictures here, but I guess I'm spoilt after Australia, South Africa, and the Caribbean.

Charis and I ventured into the water. Not for long, but enough to add the Med to the oceans we've dipped into. It was good to get into the sea, and I remembered what I miss about that. Considering where I live, it's something I intend to rectify when I get back home.

We also caught up with a bunch of Les' friends, and had a couple of drinks watching one of the locals cooking Sardines the traditional way.

On the way back to the car we caught some of the local historic and more contemporary waterfront art.

All in all a good day out, albeit not what I was expecting. I think this would be much improved with good weather. So I am looking forward to coming to the beach again, when we have less expectations about meeting people, and more sun.

R42
22082007-1700 Zulu
22082007-1800 Local
Marbella, Spain

So most of the social activities happen in mum and Les' apartment up on the 2nd floor. We're staying in a fabulous apartment, down on the 1st. Of course we're on holiday, very relaxed, in a safe environment. So we've taken to letting the girls exercise their independence, and letting them head down to our apartment without a chaperone when they want time on their own, or to change etc.

That all came to a sticky end last night when Amanzi accidentally locked our apartment keys inside the unit. This was after the agents had closed (even though they only close at about 9:30pm), and the security guard on-site doesn't carry a master key.

We tried breaking in, to discover that, actually, these flats are indeed pretty secure, even when not deadlocked. Even to the sons of a locksmith.

We ended up bunking down in Les' sister's place, Lu and I on an inflatable mattress. So all was well in the end.

R42
21082007-2200 Zulu
21082007-2300 Local
Marbella, Spain

It happens less than once a year, and usually involves a fair amount of expense transporting people from all corners of the globe (Australia, South Africa, East Grinstead, and Milton Keynes), but last night we all caught up. That is, all of the close and tenuously connected family members of mine, were all in the same location at the same time.

Typically, when mum caters, there's enough for everyone, and that horde of hungry Russian Kossaks (hiding just around the corner). Unfortunately on this occasion we were barbecuing, or rather, I was barbecuing. That in itself is ok. What wasn't ok was the barbeque was tiny, and ran on charcoal. I haven't barbecued on charcoal since before moving to Australia.

Still, I did ok. Not too many sausages you could write with.

There was the usual catching up. Exclamations of "you've grown" (acceptable when you're 11, embarrassing when you're almost 40), and meeting all of the new people in the family: babies, boyfriends, girlfriends, and fiances.

There were the traditional arguments. The subject may change, but the pattern remains. Good food, great conversations, and fun had by all.

R42
21082007-2100 Zulu
21082007-2200 Local
Marbella, Spain

 

Eat like the English. Or at least that's what it seemed on our first day here. We went to a pub near our apartment, called Links. Great pub, managed (owned?) by a friendly Scott, Jason. And it served fantastic food - good portions, reasonably priced (for Europe), and amazing flavours. Except that there wasn't a Spanish dish on the menu.

Still, it's fantastic to catch up, and spend time in the hot Mediterranean sun, surrounded by this fantastic architecture.

Good times.

R42
21082007-1430 Zulu
21082007-1530 Local
Marbella, Spain

 

My mum and Les met us at Malaga Airport, after what seemed like an incredibly short 2hr30 flight. Then Les whisked us to their apartment in Marbella. What a beautiful 3 bedroom place, with all the requisite Mediterranean balconies, stucco, and floor tiles.

Mum waited for an hour or so to meet Stuart, who was flying in from Luton. We then all gathered for our first family meal together since Stuie's wedding last April.

Unfortunately something happened between the arriving and the cooking, so we only ended up eating at 1:30am. As the girls had been awake since 3am (UK time) due to jetlag, we were tired bunnies indeed.

Mum and Les have rented an identical unit for us downstairs, which is truly magnificent. This is a great start to a fantastic holiday.

R42
21082007-0200 Zulu
21082007-0200 Local
Marbella, Spain

 

The most frustrating part of the entire journey from Sydney to Marbella happened at Gatwick airport. There were a number of things that highlighted the "rat's in a cage" principle that is so evident in the UK.

The first was at check-in at Gatwick. Despite our flight being a short-haul trip within the EU, which usually would only have warranted a 30 min check-in, we were warned that with EasyJet, things would take significantly longer. So for our 18:00 flight, we arrived to check-in at 14:30, that's earlier than we would check-in for the flight from Sydney. The reason was two-fold: 1) EasyJet has unallocated seating, so it's a good idea to get there early and ensure a good place in the queue, especially when travelling with kids. 2) Security at Gatwick is ridiculous.

After going through security in a number of US cities (Denver, CO being the absolute worst) I have never come across such hopeless crowd control. The queue was a good 35 mins long, and although the security personnel were friendly and courteous, the checks were ludicrous. The English simply have no idea when it comes to being efficient, or managing scale. None of the airports in Europe bother with the ridiculous checks that the UK does, and none of the airports in Asia-Pacific, whom do bother, show such a lack of care for the important things.

Security by inconvenience. If we inconvenience those that would use nail scissors or deodarant or have a drink, then we will be safe. Am I the only person in the world that sees the total idiocy of this approach?

I wonder what the metrics are:

• How long we can make the security queue? Length of delay in terrorists getting to aircraft.
• How many items of personal hygiene we can confiscate? Facilitating terrorist identification through body odour and toenail length.

Perhaps we need someone with intelligence and creativity to look at how we can make the skies safer, as well as more convenient. I wonder if there is any evidence whatsoever that more terrorists and potential hijackers have travelled from less 'secure' airports, or that less have travelled from the more 'secure' ones.

The EasyJet flight itself was ok. Quick is my abiding impression, which I guess makes sense after 2 longhaul flights.

R42
20082007-2045 Zulu
20082007-2145 Local
Malaga Airport, Malaga, Spain