Just Do It

I look out over the sea of people who are full of good intentions.

They want to get more fit, or lose weight, or do something disciplined; even to just do something cool.

Don't put it off.

I picked up Jiu-Jitsu back in 2011 when I was a mere puppy of 55. I was a good candidate, being a regular runner, and biker, and generally active. Even so, I'd almost left it too late.

I'll make you a deal. If you come try Jiu-Jitsu (which is free for the first couple of weeks), and you are concerned about getting hurt, or overdoing it, or anything like that you can have me as your partner.

I'm a pretty good tutor, but even better at being a safe partner. I'm also remarkably durable, so you won't have to fret about hurting me, either.

If you don't want me for whatever reason, I can still fix you up with somebody great to work with. It won't hurt my feelings.

Tobias is great. Nervous about working with a man? How about Elizabeth?

Make it a challenge for the New Year. Come for AT LEAST every one of the free classes.

Even if you're not sure about everything, come to all.

If it seems OK after that. Sign up for some period of time that you can get yourself to commit to, then come to every one of those.

Try and make every class until you really, really know if you want to quit, or to keep it up. Then, make a solid decision of either;

A) I will stop now, or
B) I will continue until I reach this new goal that I am setting....

Don't put it off....

Old Fart Rolls

I love hearing how Rener Gracie talks about his grandfather's later years in Jiu-Jitsu.

His grandfather, of course, was the creator of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu, Helio Gracie. He was still on the mat well into his 90s.

He says that his Grandfather wasn't able to go around submitting athletic people, who were only a quarter of his age. He would still roll, and would be later express his delight in keeping the youngster from submitting him. With childlike delight, he would say things like, “See that young Purple Belt over there. He couldn't submit me.”

I think that's great.

That's kind of who I have to try and be.

Physically, when rolling with the young folks, it's like they are Spider Man, and I am a regular Joe.

I end up on the bottom most of the time. This means I am usually on the defensive. Being on the bottom, and defending, against somebody with a young person's strength, speed, and cardio is a distinct disadvantage, unless I have a significantly higher-level of skill.

At our school, we have basically people with two levels of technical knowledge and training. Against the newer advanced students, I have no problem. I can dominate them from the bottom, and can escape pretty much at will.

Against those with around my level of training, this doesn't work anymore. They have all that speed, strength, and cardio, and we all know the same stuff.

Therefore, I have to cheat.

The technical material our experienced advanced students are all trained in is called BBS1, and BBS2. There is a level above called BBS3, which had only been partially released, and which we are not yet training in during our group classes.

I am doing all I can to teach myself the material that's so far available in BBS3.

Last time we were in Los Angeles, I cheated another way. I had 4 private lessons with Gracie Headquarters Instructor, Jordan Collins. We spent every second of that time working on stuff for somebody from underneath to use against physically-dominant opponents.

I also review this material frequently.

I am certainly not Helio Gracie, the genius who created our form of Jiu-Jitsu, held the rank of 10^th Degree Black Belt, and who rolled well into his 90s.

I am only a lowly Blue Belt, who is able to roll competitively with my peers, while in my 60^th year.

Christmastime

This is our last training week before Christmas, as our school shuts down for 18 Jiu-Jitsu free days.

It's too long for my taste, but I think most really like the time off. Christmas is certainly a time for other sorts of things.

I do intend nibbling away at the beginning of the break. Our last class is two days from now, on Thursday.

Friday is the first day of closure, but I will be going in at the usual open-mat time. Maybe somebody will choose to join me, but maybe not. In any case, I will drill and review. This will shrink the closure for me by one day.

Saturday morning, I will again be on the mat with whoever wants to come. I've also found a partner who is wants to train Saturday evening, and again on Sunday.

My Jiu-Jitsu break will have shrunk from 18 days down to 15.

At the other end of the holiday season our head guy, Scott, wants to have a thing he calls a, "Hundred Minute Roll," on New Years Day. I don't know what our family schedule will be that far off, but if I am free, I'll be there. That would further shrink my Jiu-Jitsu break down to 11 days.

If I am rolling by New Years, I'll certainly be back on the mat the day after. That will be a Saturday, and a good time to open things up for open-mat again.

Instead of zero sessions during the official 18-day shut down, I might just end up having trained 6 times.

There will still be at least those 11 days of no training. It might be longer if getting to the, "Hundred Minute Roll," interferes with anything else more Christmassy.

Stupid Seventy

I am about to hit a glass ceiling at Jiu-Jitsu.

The belt system is quite demanding enough, and glacially slow. Getting a Blue Belt, which is the first awarded rank, takes typically one year. Each of the 3 other coloured belts (Purple, Brown, Black) is earned after progressing through 5 levels (zero through 4 stripes).

Perfect attendance would make the entire road from Blue to Black take ten years.

The road is never that smooth. I am hopefully approaching a Purple Belt, and that one alone will have taken me 3 years and 8 months. At that rate, my entire road to Black would take 11 years instead of 10.

Long enough, but nothing compared to what I am actually anticipating.

Students can only be promoted as high as one level below their instructor. I am currently close enough to Shawn that this presents a problem.

He is living in Mexico for more than the next year. Can't see the Gracies promoting him within that time. They only award instructor rank in person. After his Mexico time, he plans to return here late next winter. If he then travels to train with the Gracies at the very next instructor session, it will not occur until the following summer.

If he cannot go, or if they do not promote him, it will add another 6 months.

Instead of my next promotion after a Purple Belt coming 8 months later, it will likely take from a year-and-a-half to two years.

They also seem to award instructor rank at a pace 50% slower than students can earn. That would mean that I will also be progressing in rank at the same slow rate.

I will have trained for 3 years and 8 months to get Purple, which will be followed by about 5.5 years getting to Brown, and then 5 years to Black Belt. That's a total time of over 14 years.

The theoretical, fastest path would have me reaching Black Belt by age 66.

A prediction based on my actual speed of progress so far would see me getting there by 67.

My fastest actual, glass-ceiling arrival at Black Belt cannot occur until I am over 70.

Why does this matter?

If I were 30 years younger, it wouldn't. A Black Belt at 36, or 37, or 40 isn't all that different.

I've had lots of injuries. One of my knee wounds looked to be potentially Jiu-Jitsu ending, but it wasn't. The older I get, the more banged up I'll be, and the mending will be slower.

People in my age group get hurt doing chores, or lifting groceries. My wife had to give up the violin as it was too hard on her neck.

Jiu-Jitsu is a whole different magnitude of risk. Big, strong people try to choke me, or to rip off my legs, or arms, and to crush me will all of their weight. All the while, I wrench my neck out of their grasp, or whip my arms away, or explode from beneath and contest for the top position. It's remarkable I survive at all.

So to get a Black Belt all I have to do is to keep doing this for year after year, without injury.

It would be much nicer if I only had to do it until age 66, instead of 70.

Cold Time

I am not built for the cold. When winter temperatures arrive, my back tightens up and doesn't release until the weather warms up again in the spring.

Around here, that usually means November through March.

I used to live in Fort Saint John, where the temperatures in those months are typically -20 degrees, and a cold day is -40. Now we are on the Pacific coast and a nasty cold day is anything below freezing.

If I were Bill Gates rich, I'd want to be someplace warm for all five of those months, except for maybe a week or so to be with family wrapped tight around Christmas.

One winter we did two months in LA. We've also done Florida for a month, and a month in Arizona. All were smashing, and my cold-tightened back fully uncoiled each time.

Would I like to do five full months in any of those places? Hmmmm. An interesting thought.

Our month in Florida was a true “holiday.” We stayed in 5 different places and also a cruise. If we were to go for longer, likely we'd want to stay in one place for most of it, and to just “live.”

We did that in LA and in Arizona.

In LA we stayed in one hotel the entire two months. Helen joined a music group, and I did an average of two Jiu-Jitsu classes a day. We made a good friend, and when we returned to LA for two weeks last winter we stayed with her, and returned to our musical and martial routines.

In Arizona, we rented a mobile home in a retirement park, as did our great friends Lola and Bernie. We hung out together, and did craft things in the park. Bernie and Helen found music to join in with, and I trained at two Jiu-Jitsu schools in the city.

A five-month stint in any of those places would have to have at least one major change. In LA, and Florida, and for the vast majority of the Arizona time we ate out. That might kill us over a full 5 months.

The only problem with doing any of that for almost half the year is that we love our house, and our hometown. Neither of us wants to be away that much.

Like everything in life, one needs to strike just the right balance.

Belt Balance

I usually claim that getting a Purple Belt in Gracie Jiu-Jitsu is more-or-less the same as getting a Black Belt in most other martial arts.

This tends to upset Black Belts from other martial arts.

Let's look at three of my friends; Elizabeth, Tobias, and Rob. They all started training in Jiu-Jitsu at the same time that they started doing Hapkido.

All three will be testing for their Hapkido Black Belts about four months from now with every expectation of success. At that time, they should all have reached the Gracie Jiu-Jitsu rank of Blue Belt Stripe Three. For the most senior of them, Elizabeth, a Gracie Purple Belt will still be 3-12 months in the future.

When they get their Hapkido Black Belts, they will have done about 3.5 years training in both arts.

This, however, is only part of the picture. They also train twice as many hours per week in Gracie Jiu-Jitsu as they do in Hapkido.

If I pass for my own Purple Belt when I take my test in 2016, I will have done 4.5 years of Jiu-Jitsu training. I earned my Shotokan Karate Black Belt in just over 4 years.

I have already trained longer in Jiu-Jitsu that I did to earn my Shotokan Black Belt, and I am only a Blue Belt Stripe Four. Like my friends, I train more hours per week in Jiu-Jitsu than I did in Karate, but not twice as much.

If anything, a Gracie Purple Belt is a bigger deal than getting a Black Belt in either Shotokan Karate or Hapkido.

If that is true, what does it mean to get a get a Gracie Brown Belt, or even a Black one?

A Shotokan student keen to progress can take the test for Second Degree Black Belt after two years. Two years after earning a Gracie Purple Belt, a student can reasonably expect to receive their third stripe. The fastest they can get a Third Degree Black Belt would be three years after that, at which time a Gracie student would have reached a Brown Belt with three stripes.

Best to just round these things, and say that a Brown Belt is about the equivalent of a Second Degree Karate Black Belt, and a Gracie Black Belt is about the same as a Karate Third Degree.

Sunday

I've loved Sundays for all of my adult life.

I used to regularly work Saturdays, so maybe that set in my love of Sundays so much. Helen always preferred Saturdays, as it meant there was more of the weekend left.

Now, we are both retired and it's kind of silly to prefer one day of leisure over another, but I still really like Sundays.

For many years we used to head out for Sunday buffet brunch. That seems to have gone out of style around our home, as none of the restaurants do that anymore. Sometimes, we still go out for bacon and eggs, and it's always a fun treat.

Today it's Sunday, and the sky is bright. Helen has something written on her calendar, so I don't think a restaurant breakfast is in the cards. It doesn't matter. Things still have that lazy, Sunday feel.

These days I am remarkably scheduled up for a retired dude. I have Jiu-Jitsu classes to attend just about every day, sometimes two. None are on Sunday. I like Jiu-Jitsu a lot, and look forward to it, but it's kind of nice to have a day when none is possible. Rest day.

So, sooner or later Helen will head off to her activity, whatever it is. I might have pants on by then, but maybe not. In either my pyjamas or pants, I'll most probably still be lodged firmly in my big, puffy chair.

There are recorded fights to watch, and video games to play. It is possible that I'll feel like chores, but it's just as likely that I won't.

Sunday.

Refugees

I hate all the crap people throw up about the Syrian refugees that are about to be brought to Canada.

I know you've heard this one; “We can't even take care of our own homeless/veterans/poor and they should be first.”

Possibly, but we aren't going to take care of them wither or not refugees are let in. That's not how it works. It isn't a zero sum.

It's like people giving to charity at Christmas. It might be nice if we gave all year, but we don't. Some people get all preachy and loud about it, but all such an argument does is discourage people from being generous during the holidays. The overall effect is less for the poor, so just shut up about it.

Denying charity to the Syrian refugees doesn't mean more for Canada's existing poor, it just means we'll be doing less good in general.

And how did that argument about not taking care of Veterans creep in? Our former government did all it could get away with in cutting back on Veteran's care. That was before the Syrian crisis. It was a deliberate policy by a right-wing government to screw over a deserving portion of our population while cutting corporate and wealth taxes. That party, although defeated, still got the second largest portion of the vote. Not much voter outrage, it seems.

Or how about this? If you are using the “take care of our own” angle in your thinking, start writing to your MP and the PM telling them that you want spending increased enough to take care of all our own needy, and for Syrian refugees as well.

Think we can't afford it? That's nonsense. We can afford what ever we choose to. For the six years between 1939 and 1945 Canada put over a million men and women into uniform, and maintained them with a reasonable level of care, and paid them. This, at a time when our total population was just over 11 million. There are currently over three times as many of us, and if you think we can't find food and beds for 20,000 Syrian refugees for a little while, you're nuts.

I also really hate the anti-immigration argument that he foreigners are coming to take our jobs. Economies don't work that way. Let's say a country has a population of “x”, and they have “y” number jobs. Double the population to “2x”, you end up with “2y” jobs. Of course, the number of refugees coming in represents more like 0.05 percent of our population, so the increase in jobs will also be 0.05 percent. Granted, it is not instantaneous, but that's how it really works.

People also fear there are secret ISIS moles within the refugee population. There just might be, but they are saying that we should refrain from taking care of people that need help because we are afraid of a tiny threat.

And do you honestly think that an ISIS terrorist couldn't get to Canada without hiding amongst the refugees? That really seems like a ridiculously inefficient way to go about it.

Just when did Canada become such a land of cowards?

France was the victim of the recent attack, and they are refusing to be scared into denying the refugees safe haven. Their attitude seems to be that,“we decided to do what was right before we were attacked, and if it was the right thing to do then, it still is now. We will not be bullied into compromising our beliefs.”

At War?

Let's get one thing straight. If you are at war with somebody, and they kill some of your citizens, you should not be surprised.

And you also better get straight the difference between intentions and actions. When western countries say they are using surgical air strikes, they may be trying hard to hit only “military” targets, but they miss more than they hit. The bombs kill more innocent bystanders than they ever do the people they are meant to kill.

France has been involved in air strikes against ISIS in Syria for quite a while. They are one of the leading western nations in this regard.

Air strikes are an act of war. They are not a form of policing. They are death from the sky. Is it surprising that ISIS decided to strike back?

Clearly they can't launch air strikes of their own, so they use the limited tools they have available. This should also not have been a surprise.

They aimed at civilians, and killed civilians. Air strikes aim to cripple an enemy, and yet still kill civilians. In a balance sheet of death between by western airstrikes in Syria, and deaths in Paris, I'm confident that the western countries have killed many, many more people.

Our new Prime Minister pledged that he would end Canada's involvement in anti-ISIS airstrikes. He is sticking to this despite both domestic and international pressure not to.

I agree with his decision. Bombing is an act of war. Canada is not currently at war with anyone, and should not be conducting air strikes against anybody. To do so would be immoral.

If we decide that we are, in fact, at war, then we better be ready to take losses due to acts of terrorism. They will strike back, and their choices of methods are quite limited.

Perhaps you will have noticed in the news how much Britain seems to be reacting to the Paris bombings. This is because their contribution to the anti-ISIS air campaign is much greater than France's.

Russia has also exploded on the scene by getting involved in the air war. Within weeks they also had one of their civilian aircraft brought down, with no survivors, by an ISIS explosive device planted on board. Do you see a pattern?

War is not one-sided. You kill theirs, and they'll do whatever it takes to kill yours.

It this, they will succeed.

Genoa and Home

October 25-November 1

Genoa was a funny place. They kept claiming weird things. They claim to have invented foccacia bread. They also claim to know which house was Columbus's. It seems to be the only surviving residence from that era. Strange that in the real world the consensus is that there is no evidence linking him to Genoa other than his own claims. They also say they invented blue jeans, as opposed to everybody else's opinion that they were created during the 1848 California Gold Rush. There's a lot of that kinda thing here.

Anyhow, our days filled with street walks, mini train voyages, hunting around for food, and visiting museums.

Might be a good time to compare our rooms across the entire trip. The cruise will be left out.

All of the accommodations have been fine, but very different. In Vienna we had a shower and sink, but the toilet was communal and down the hall. Everyplace else we had sink, shower and toilet. Salzburg was exactly that, but every place in Italy seemed to think a bidet was a must. Venice, Monterosso, and Rapallo all had nice ones, which we got quite into using. The last stop, Genoa, was different. No separate bidet, but a horrifying looking nozzle built into a very strange and ancient toilet seat that we assume was supposed to fulfil the same function. We kept our hands off the controls.

Water pressure varied widely, but was good enough. We sink-washed laundry everywhere. Venice had a problem with drying due to humidity until we figured out how to blast the heater to Sahara level.

All of the breakfast setups were swell. In Salzburg, it wasn't included so we found our own downtown each day.

We ate differently in each town. In Vienna we had a slew of schnitzel meals. Helen had a few herring buns, and I had vaguely Asian noodles from fast-food stands. In Salzburg, we ate absolutely nothing but pretzels and pastry for three days. Venice was pizza and pasta. Monterosso we did pasta and calamari several times, and our one eat in Rapallo had Helen having a chicken salad and I had lamb and squid on sticks. In Genoa it was mostly stuff from wee shops that we ate on church steps or walking, and sometimes groceries in our room.

So finally our last day arrived. We were up at 4am to catch the 5:24 bus from the train station to the aeroporto. We were waddling up the street by 4:30. The only difficulty was that Helen's injured leg decided to hurt again. She was limping. Got to the bus stop in plenty of time. There was one other person waiting when a taxi came and offered to take us for the same price as the bus. We took him up on it.

The airport was small, and with a slightly non-traditional layout. We got to gate 2 with a comfortable margin.

The plan called for a flight to Paris, then another to Amsterdam, with the final ten-hour leg to follow.

The first flight was right on time; landing us in Paris's Charles de Gualle airport at terminal 2g. We had to figure out that we needed to go to building 2f to get to our gate. That entailed a bus ride, followed by a long walk for Helen's sore leg. We made it. I don't like tight connections at all.

So they loaded us on. The seat next to mine turned out to be empty, which gave me extra stretch-out space. The bad news came that we would be camping there a while due to heavy fog in Amsterdam. As they are KLM, they broke out sodas and snacks while we waited. We could only hope that our Canada-bound plane would still be there for us.

More snacks and drinks once we were in the air, but it turned out that Amsterdam was still a fog bank. We got as far as Rotterdam, and then had to circle, awaiting the OK to finish the flight. After a few loops, we did.

Just before landing, they announced the connecting flights that would be tight, and the two that were impossible. It seems the missed flight only mattered to 6 passengers, out of several hundred. They said all others were OK, but to hurry.

We hurried, and covered the hundred miles or so to our gate. Helen was amazing. We got there exactly at boarding time, and so got into the queue before most of the folks seated and waiting. Helen got another window seat, this time not directly over the wing. On our other four flights she always had an obstructed view. The flight was on the same kind of plane that we came on; 8 seats across. I think the middle 4 must suck. First thing, I got the trip-tracker view on the tiny screen on the seat-back in front of me.

Off we flew. I stopped caring about delay time, as our Vancouver ETA was 2:38pm. That worked for us. That made a 5:30pm ferry possible, and a 7:30 a definite certainty. Even the later boat would get us home before 10:00pm.

Racing like lunatics through airports, with three flights totalling over 13 hours crammed into very restricted spaces. It is doing no favours to Helen's leg injury, and also had my mildly arthritic knees nicely aching. This, even considering that these are the best airline seats for comfort that we've sat in for a good many years. KLM is wonderful compared to what North American airlines consider adequate leg room. Neither of us is even tall, or has any real mobility issues.

On a North American airline I can only really handle maybe Los Angeles range. Even going to Florida is a trial. Might have to at least investigate business class prices. I doubt we can choke those down, but sometimes there are Economy Plus seats with more room at less astronomical rates.

There was then customs to get by, and a skytrain to catch.

It all actually went very smoothly. Rode the train to town, and waited a bit in the rain for the bus to the ferry. After the boat, there was an express bus waiting to take us swiftly to our town. It being Sunday, there was no connecting bust to West Sechelt, but there was a taxi sitting nearby, which we grabbed for the last few miles to get home.

It all added up to about seven more hours of travel after we got off our flight from Europe.

Ronda Falls

Just watched the Ronda Rousey and Holly Holm fight.

It is being called the biggest upset ever, and here's my two cents about what I saw.

First off, the fighters' backgrounds.

Ronda Rousey is a Judo savant. Her takedowns and ground game are just about perfect. Since joining mma, she has worked hard to fill in the holes in her game, notably striking. She found herself a boxing coach that she likes, and has made him her top coach. As a result, she's a pretty fair banger now.

Holly Holm is a boxer, and is world class. She has also trained in kickboxing, and her mma fights clearly show that she has top-level kicking in her game. She says that she's been training with Rousey in mind just about forever. That implies a lot of work on take-down defence and on grappling.

Perhaps Ronda's biggest weakness is that she trains and fights on emotion, and has a very big ego.

Out the two women came, reached boxing range, and started to exchange. Both scored, but Holly clearly was getting the better of it, especially in hard shots landed.

For most of the first round, it was Ronda chasing after Holly, reaching punching range, and stopping to punch. Of the two, Holly was faster going backwards than Ronda was going forwards.

Ronda was moving her feet like a boxer, but Holly was not. She was moving fast, like a Karate or Tae Kwon Do fighter. She would dodge under a Rousey flurry and be half way across the ring before Ronda would get turned around again. Holly moved fast.

After a few exchanges, it became clear that Ronda wanted to grapple, but she kept moving like a boxer. She would chase Holly, catch up, slow down, and box while moving slowly forward. Holly would flee, let Ronda catch up, and punch while still moving backward too fast for Ronda to close on.

At one point, Ronda took Holly down, but Holm scrambled away fast. The few other times Ronda managed to grapple, Holly got out. Ronda should have never permitted that, but it seemed she was more concerned about throwing a few shots as Holly escaped rather than doing everything possible to stop her.

You could also see Ronda lose her level of comfort. She is usually totally composed in the ring, and even though intense she fights relaxed. Being all banged up and confused, she was burning way too much energy to no good effect. She was breathing hard on returning to her corner after round one. She never breaths hard.

Between the rounds, her top coach (the guy that has taught her to punch and to move slowly like a boxer), told her to keep doing what she was doing. What she was doing was getting her ass kicked.

So round two was a continuation of round one. At one point the exhausted Ronda slipped, and got up facing away from Holm. This was a rookie mistake caused by fatigue and confusion.

Bam; a headkick took her down, and it was all over.

Holly fought the perfect fight. Ronda did not. Holly has clearly trained in exactly the right way to fight Ronda, and the reverse was clearly not true.

For the rematch, the biggest thing Ronda needs to change is her understanding of distance.

In fighting Holm, she needs to be either safely out of range, or all the way in and grappling. Hanging around in punching range is not where she wants to be. This is something her boxing coach is not equipped to teach her. She has to learn how to blitz through the intervening distance, not plod.

She has also been training with too many distractions. She has become involved with Hollywood movie making nonsense, and has boyfriend issues. It is an axiom of fighting that too much of this sort of thing seriously compromises training focus.

Anyhow. That's my two cents.

Broken Trails

October 20-25


Monterosso is a sweet, twisty little place stuck on some steep hills beside the beautiful Mediterranean Sea. Both Google Maps and my gps map app agreed as to where our hotel was, and were both wrong, but we found it anyway. Very comfortable, and with the Gold Medal breakfast so far.

The town of Monterosso is the most northern in a series of similar, but unique, towns called the Cinque Terra (5 lands). In between are world-famous walking/hiking trails. During Mussolini's day, tunnels were blasted through the rugged terrain further connecting the towns by train, and also to the outside world. Later, roads were added.

On our first day we hiked to Vernazza. Hiked is sort of a misnomer, as half of the way involves climbing stairs up, and the next half is climbing stairs back down, and the third half is a regular rugged trail. I think there was a 4th half as well, and maybe a 5th. It was only 2.5 km, but took us three hours. I haven't thought about my knees in months, but this "walk" did them in. Very beautiful, though.

After getting to Vernazza, we strolled about gawking and taking pictures, then caught the train down to the southernmost town, Riomaggiore. The train took us home after that.

The next day we trained down to Manarola, and gave it the same treatment, followed by a swim in the Med. Is that the same as name dropping, I wonder?

Corniglia was the final town to visit. There, we went as far as we could on the closed coastal trail towards Manarola. It was a nice walk by the sea. We then climbed a million steps or two up to the tiny, non-coastal town. The guide books were correct about much smaller crowds. Had some kick-ass gelato there, then train rode home.

Time then, to move on to Rapallo for one night. No real reason, except I saw pictures of it that looked pretty, and it's halfway to our final destination of Genoa. The train tickets remained a bargain, but there was a warning that our train had a "delay 2," whatever that means. So we sat, hoping for the 10:07 regular time, and it showed up precisely as promised.

Rapallo is a very sweet, resort style town. Lots of small shops and eateries, and a nice promenade by the sea. It is our first Italian stop that doesn't cater to out-of-country visitors. It was bustling like a beehive when we arrived, but about 2pm it was as if a switch was thrown, and everybody vanished and everything closed. It was creepy. The switch flipped back late in the afternoon and all was hustling again. Final shutdown was 7pm-ish, but with the bars and eateries just getting started. Italian time.

Rapallo was just a one-night stand, then on to Genoa for the final week. It's a major city.

We were right in the Old Town, amidst the skinny, zigzag alleyways. The original plan for this stay was to take things as they came. Helen decided that she didn't want to miss anything, so that idea went out the window.

Vienna, Salzburg, Venice, Monterosso, and Rapallo all had good wifi, but our Genoa place did not. It did downstairs, but our room was five floors above that. The signal where we were was weak, slow, and intermittent. Only the cruise ship was worse, and that only because we won't pay their rates.

In the middle of our week I ordered Helen's new iphone, and an Apple TV box. I did that down in the breakfast room where the internet worked fine.

Olympia to Monterosso

October 15-20

So due to Helen's sore leg, I went on the bus tour to Olympia solo.

The ride there took about half an hour through interesting countryside, depositing us at the site about 11:30am. I was very glad Helen had let it go, as the walk from the bus to the ticket booth would already have been more walking than she would have been up for.

The archeological site was more-or-less a square one kilometre across. It was packed with tour groups. As my trip left me on my own to wander, I circled the entire site, snapping heaps of photos. The signage was almost all in Greek, and therefore unreadable to me.

After the site, I wandered through the museum, again photographing like a madman.

With time left, I walked to town, bought a tshirt, and sat in a cafe for a much-needed coffee. I like the European style of always bringing a glass of water with the coffee. On the way back to the bus area, I found a super cute owl statue for Helen. It's about the size of an aspirin bottle, so maybe calling it a statue is a bit grandiose.

Half an hour later, I was on foot headed up the gangway to our ship. Helen had been mostly resting while I was gone, and shooed me off to get some late lunch, which I did.

Then we scrolled through the pictures so she could almost do the tour. Her rest day seems to have helped, and her hobbling was much smoother. Slow, but easier on her. The next day was at sea, and continued restful for the wound.

On any typical day on board, I get up early, at maybe 6 or 6:30am. I get dressed, and slip out so that Helen can sleep longer. Then it's a search for coffee and someplace nice to sit. I return to the room to get her for breakfast at an appropriate time. We eat lunch either in the Windjammer buffet, or in the dining room. Dinner is at 6pm in the dining room, at the table we share with five either guests. After dinner, we catch the show and usually dance.

Having a cruise smack dab in the middle of our time in Europe was a wonderful vacation within a holiday (or is it a holiday within a vacation?). Everywhere else there have been hotels and sights to find, and food, and transportation networks to decode and learn. It is all great, but stress is involved. On the ship there is far less of all that. After the ship we had couple of weeks of on-our-own travel to go, but with freshly recharged batteries.

Following the ship time, we had three more nights in Venice, staying at our same Murano hotel. We found more areas with less tourists, and also visited the Doge's palace.

Helen got a little misty over the thought of our leaving. We had a week there altogether from our two stays, and that seems to be the length of time it takes for her to attach to a place.

The train trip out only had one connection, about halfway through the journey, at Milano. Our destination was Monterosso in the Cinque Terra region. We got out train tickets right after the cruise; three days early. I don't think locals ever do that. They get their tickets on the way to the train. We did get window seats, perhaps by booking early, so that was some kind of reward.

The downside of this was the heavy blast of air conditioning coming out of vents below the windows.

Milano is where we changed trains, peed, and grabbed snacks. It is the biggest city of our trip, but all we saw was the massive train station.

The second train ran us down the coast to our next home in Monterosso.

Trains and Ships and No Cars

October 7-15

Our 8:12am train departure had a 2:01pm scheduled arrival at Venice's Santa Lucia station. We only had a single connection to make. The only worry was that the connection had to be accomplished in 7 minutes. Several other non-Europeans were tense about this as well.

We arrived in the station, darted off pulling our wheelie bags, down the escalator, hurried across, up an escalator, found our car, got on and sat down. It all took 2 minutes; nothing like air travel. Smooth sailing.

Venice is like nowhere else. It is a maze of islands molded into a city. The lack of anything like automobiles makes it special enough. Boats make up the system of transportation. Everything is brought in that way, and moved on carts by human muscle.

We were staying on the nearby island of Murano. This cut our costs in half, and put us in a very quiet neighbourhood each night. As in Salzburg, we stayed for three sleeps.

We wandered over bridges, through open piazzazs, and down tiny, narrow alleys. I don't get disoriented easily, but in Venice I met my match.

St. Marks square was packed with huge bunches of tourists. I shudder to think what it would be like if we were not there in the off season. Helen does her photography; willing to wait a minute or two for a break in the crowds. If you ever get to see her pictures, they lie. Add about a billion more people.

When our time in Venice ended, we had one last breakfast, and headed to the Vapporato bus. We took line 4.2, walked the waterfront, and caught a private boat over to the cruise ship terminal.

Our ship was the Splendour of the Seas, and would take us through the Adriatic, Mediterranean, and Aegean Seas for seven days. Our cabin was a windowless one down on deck two; the lowest passenger deck. She is an older vessel, having been built 19 years ago. She will soon be sold out of the Royal Caribbean fleet.

Cruising was a way to add Croatia, Turkey, and two Greek isles to our trip without any of the hassles that doing so on our own would have entailed.

Boarding was very relaxed. The ship is still well kept up, and very pretty. She is 70,000 tons which is small for us these days, but nothing is wanting.

The first port of call was Debrovnik in Croatia. It is a gorgeous, walled town set between the sea and high, steep hills. It is remarkably preserved. We walked the town, and then the wall.

It was about this time that our room issue started to matter. The temperature was very low, and continued through the first night. It was uncomfortable. We mentioned it, and somebody came while we were out, and got the heat on. The problem now became an inability to turn it off. The thermostat was pretty useless. It was like sleeping in Vegas, in summer, outside in the sand. Another night and a few more complaints and technician visits got the heat off again.

We had a restful day at sea, mostly eating. This was followed by a visit to the Turkish town of Kudasaki. The draw here is some Greek ruins at Ephesus, nearby. We stayed and poked around the town, and shopped a little, and ate back on board after a morning ashore.

Technically, we were in Asia. According to the usual Canadian reckoning of continents, that was our third out of seven.

Santorini is one of a kind. In ancient times, a volcano exploded there, killing everyone and causing area-wide devastation. What remains are a few little islands, and one big one. The villages there cling to the top of very-high cliffs. The dominant colour of all the buildings is white.

Our ship anchored early. Helen and I were on the tender and halfway to shore before 8am.

There are three ways up the cliff-side. One can walk, or ride a donkey. We opted for the cable car.

We grabbed a local bus tour for a fraction of the price than what the cruise offers. It ran us over to Ioa, the cutest town, and also the most tourist-packed, and to a scenic vista, and back.

We walked a great distance in both Ioa and Fira before catching the cable car back down. This time there was a bit of a wait. Moments after reaching the bottom, disaster struck.

Walking on flat, paved ground, Helen hurt a muscle in her leg. At the time she said she had a charlie horse, but it was much more than that. She made it the short distance to the tender that took back to our ship. She was moving very slowly and unsteadily getting to our cabin, which was luckily very close to the entryway.

During the rest of the day she took it easy; soaking in the hot tub, and taking a muscle relaxant that she carries for her back. She went for supper, which is nearby, but nothing else. The heat in our room, luckily, was finally repaired by the installation of a new thermostat.

The next day we had a tour booked to go from the port of Katakolon to Olympia in Greece. As she wasn't significantly better, we popped down to the deck-one medical facility just before it opened at 8am. We like being first in line. The nurse said take it easy and not to overdue things, and asked if we wanted to see the doctor. We did.

He asked a lot of questions in his Italian scented English, and manipulated and measured Helen's legs. He said to take it easy and not to overdue things, and gave Helen some anti-inflammatory pills for the next few days. Back at our cabin, Helen wisely decided not to go on the tour. I would liked to have stayed with her, but she wanted me to do the trip for her, carrying the big camera.

Therefore, I went on the tour solo.

Impressions and Sound of Music

September 27-October 7

Vienna is very efficient.

The people are the same, but it isn't a smiley place; at least not for strangers.

Things are expensive, but the pricing is more honest than at home. Any taxes are inside the price. If a price is e4.5 then you pay 4.5.

Viennese people are slender, and dress well. Jeans are somewhat rare on locals. Pants are worn close to the leg, both by women and by men. No guys walk around showing off boxer shorts here. No tattoos, either.

Hairstyles are generally short as well. For men, similar to what a young Canadian lawyer might have. For younger women in Canada, 95% wear it long. In Vienna, 95% wear it short; many as short as the men, but with feminine flair.

Scarves are everywhere as a stylish accessory.

They identify us as tourists before we say a word. Our pants are baggy, or we're wearing runners, or a baseball cap, and have no scarf in sight. We could pick out tourists just as easily. Helen could pass, as she is sharp, but I certainly did not.

The only thing that detracts from the Viennese stylish presentation is the overuse of makeup by women in their twenties and thirties. It isn't heavy eye shadow or garish lip colouring. It is a heavy slathering of flesh tone material all over their faces in general. Even the most perfect colour matching of such products does not reproduce the semi-transparency of real skin. They look like they have pealed the faces off of store mannikins and glued them over their own. They look quite lifeless as a result. This is nor present in Viennese men.

Phones are everywhere, just like back home, but they seem to use them more for voice, not for texting. I don't think I saw anybody thumb typing.

We arrived on a Sunday, and left on the next. We Rode the Ubahn to the Westbahnhoff, and hopped right aboard a Salzburg bound train; paid for tickets on board.

It was an ordinary train for these parts, but still went licketty split and was smooth as silk over the perfect rails. I think it took about 2.5 hours. We had wifi on board, and I watched our progress live on Google Maps.

We got a little lost walking from the train to our hotel, but not bad. Once settled into our room, we did the kilometre or two walk to the old town.

Salzburg is nothing like Vienna, except that most of it is very old. We wandered the old town a lot over the next few days. Including the date of our arrival, we slept there three times.

The movie Sound of Music was set here, and much of it filmed on location. A minor industry exists catering to film fans. We took a Sound of Music bus tour. It was very well done, with a very happy guide-and-driver team.

Not understanding how the train system all works, I popped over to the station one morning ahead of our departure to sort it out. When we'd arrived, there were a number of Syrian refugees being housed there. I saw maybe a hundred boarding a train, leaving their little camp empty.

Old Imperial Capital

September 27-October 4

The Vienna elevator was very cool. There was exactly room for Helen, me, and our two tiny bags. People with bigger luggage would have to travel one-at-a-time.

The front desk was on the top floor, which was the 8th by European counting, or 9th by North America. Our room was a floor down, and was number 22. Travelocity didn't give any details, so we didn't know what to expect. The room was cute, and big enough, with a small washroom containing a sink and modern shower. No toilet. That was just down the hall to be shared with the rest of the floor. Some rooms do have toilets, and we never saw anybody using the hallway one during our entire stay. This makes me wonder is something other than wash water was going down the sinks and shower drains.

The key was a small disk that electronically opened the street door, hallway door, and room door by being placed next to the lock. Like everything in Austria, it worked flawlessly.

As at all pensions, breakfast is included.

So we got to our room, unpacked, and conked out.

We spent six full days in Vienna, not counting arrival or departure. I didn't keep track of the days in any sort of journal form, and so the descriptions will be of everything mushed together.

We did tours of both the Hofburg and Schunbrun palaces. It's fun to see how Emperors used to do things.

The Hofburg is where the emperors lived when in Vienna. We saw the collections of dinnerware and cutlery and such, and went through the Imperial private suites of Franz Josef, and his wife, Elizabeth. We were given portable audio tour machines where you punch in numbers for different displays. We also did a guide-lead walk through of the apartments in English.

Outside the front there are lots of little, horse-drawn carts to take the tourists for short spins? There are also just as many in the dead centre of the city, at Stephansplatz. They provide an overpowering sense of the city atmosphere from long ago; they also seriously stink of horse urine. They rinse it off every night, which helps a lot.

Schunbrun is an even larger palace, that used to be out of town when it was built in the 1700s, but is now just a few stops down the Ubahn, or subway line. It was considered the Summer Palace. You know; a thousand room cottage. The grounds there go on forever. The tour shows off 40 of the fanciest rooms, and some of the private Imperial suites as well. Some horse pee smell, but not bad.

They have museums dedicated to things unheard of in Canada, like clocks, dolls, and papyrus. We only did a few, and only the big ones. We saw the Wein City Museum at Karlzplatz. I visited the Military Museum, and the Arms and Armour Museums. Helen sat happily outside using their wifi.

All of the museums and Palaces supply little machines, that you can punch room or display numbers into and so provide a self-paced audio tour.

We saw Stephandom Carthedral, and popped our heads into another church or two. Somehow it seems wrong to wander around active places of worship to gawk.

Helen wanted to see the Vienna Boys Choir, and to perhaps watch a practice of the Lippazaner horses. How lucky was it to score tickets for a show at the Spanish Riding School that featured both?

There are millions of scenic streets, and squares, fountains and statues, buildings and gardens.

We also wandered the shopping streets. Travelling as light as we were, there was no space for collecting stuff. We resisted many urges.

Helen was in heaven when we found a three-story deli. Restaurants sold drinks with meals incredibly inexpensively; water at least $3 a bottle, and Coke $4.50 or more. The deli had 2 litres of Coke for $2.70, and similarly-sized bubble water (they call it prickled) for just under $.40. We stocked up in our room.

We ate a number of schnitzels, mostly fast-food. Helen likes pickled herring buns, and I had a few boxes of chow mein-like food from Happy Noodle. Our pension fed us breakfast everyday.

We also found many fine pretzels and pastries.

Flying there

September 26 2015

We fly a bit to the States, which uses one section of the airport. Canadian flights use another. Today we were "International," which we haven't done for almost 30 years. That part of the airport is gorgeous.

The flight was full. Helen and I had seats A and B. She got the window. Next to me was an isle, then 4 centre seats, another isle, and 2 seats by the far window. We had both a view and easy access for bathroom breaks.

I used to like flying, but hate it now with all the cut corners. This time we were with a European carrier, KLM, and I was interested to see how it compared to the abuse we get flying domestically or to the US.

It was wonderful. As we boarded, every seat already had sealed packages containing a pillow and a blanket. As they don't charge extra for luggage, there was plenty of storage for our carryons. Next they handed out FREE headphones to use with a huge selection of FREE movies and TV.

In no time the FREE drink carts were around handing out juice, water, pop, beer, and wine. Then they brought us dinner, and more drinks. It was delicious. At the exact appropriate time they picked up the trays again, and offered more drinks, now including coffee, tea, and COGNAC. We're used to airlines trying to sell us crappy sandwiches. I love KLM.

The flight is still very long. It took us across northern Canada, above Churchill Manitoba and Hudson Bay. We skirted south of Greenland as we averaged 1000 kph across the world.

It was time then to wrap up in my complimentary blanket, with my nice little pillow, and to polish off my cognac, and shut off my free movie, and try to catch some sleep.

The crew kept making periodic rounds, quietly providing water and such to the people not asleep. I caught an hour or two, but Helen did not. Over all the hours, my knees started to hurt, likely from restricted movement.

They gave us breakfast over Ireland, and we entered Britain directly over Blackpool. I had the in-flight tracking maps up on my screen pretty much the entire flight.

The Amsterdam airport sprawls on and on. We were shunted through another security check as soon as we were off the plane, which was weird. We wandered a bit to find our gate number, and then walked a marathon or two to reach it. Lots of stores and such on the way. In what what seemed a totally random location in the middle of the airport, we went through Passport Control, and got stamped. Hello, European Union.

Almost everything is one story up, at the level of the airplane doors. Our gate was all alone down on ground level. It was deserted except for a couple of airport employees on their breaks, hiding out. There were power outlets, so I charged up my ipad using our European plug converter. It worked as advertised.

There were also big puffy benches. Helen stretched out and got her first sleep of the trip. Plenty of time for that, as the layover was almost 7 hours.

Later, we did a very long walkabout, but only covered a fraction of the airport. We split a schnitzel with fries and mushroom gravy. Stuff here is expensive.

Back to our gate, and people started slowly arriving. They have free wifi here, so I texted a bit with Bernie, once his morning began back home.

When it was time to board, they funnelled us out and onto buses, that took us to our plane. Even on this short 1.5 hour flight, they handed out sandwiches and drinks, including beer and wine, at no charge. Yes, I like KLM. They did come through the cabin once with a cart full of watches and small electronic stuff, and had a credit card machine, but they didn't try and push the items, and nobody bought anything.

The flight was nice and short, under two hours. Vienna airport is any old airport, but they have an express train that runs lickitty split to a station right next to the ringstrasse in the centre of town. From there we walked a short ways to the inner stadt, and through some winding narrow passages to find Post Gasse; our own tiny alleyway. We found the pension, rang the intercome, and were buzzed in.

On Our Way: September 26

September 26 2015

I haven't been blogging much recently. This is because Helen and I were in Europe from September 26^th until November 1^st. Just no time to organize my thoughts to put on the web. I have been keeping a log of sorts and will be publishing from there now that we're home. On each I will have a title and an appropriate date.

So back in September....

The bus came right on time, and zipped us to town, where we climbed off, and then onto another that did the longer drive to the ferry. As always, Helen ran into somebody she knew and enjoyed a lovely conversation.

There was a short wait for the boat, but nothing major. On board we picked up a hot breakfast. Again, Helen found friends for us to chat with, and to catch up with; very pleasant.

Off the boat, and into a huge line that couldn't possibly fit onto the double-length city bus it was loading into. The line didn't fit, but we did, as we'd hurried off the boat with just this in mind. The doors closed on a standing-room-only crowd, leaving many behind. We had seats due to our rapid transfer.

So how does one move from ferry to bus so quicky hauling a month's worth of luggage? Simple, we are travelling ninja-light.

We each have one carry on, wheeled bag that fits all of the current, very-restrictive rules. Sometimes bigger ones get ignored by airlines, but sometimes not. Fully regulation bags are darn tiny.

In addition, passengers are allowed one other “personal item.” This is supposed to be things like purses, or laptop bags. We each take small luggage totes that fully exploit the allowable dimensions, and that latch on top of our wheelie bags.

It still isn't much luggage space, so we don't take much. Not counting what was on my body, I took 3 underpants, 4 pairs of socks, 1 pair of pants, a pair of shorts, 2 shirts, a hoodie, and a pair of sandals. As our trip was 35 days, it means that my shirts would all have to be worn and washed 12 times each.

All of the clothing except the socks and hoodie were made of fancy, quick-dry fabric. The usual procedure was to sink-wash everything before bed each night. Some items would be dry the next morning, but most required a second day to be ready to wear.

Turns out that next time I'll take even less. I like my sandals, but the high-quality runners I wore onto the plane got worn 90% of the time. Next time the sandals stay home, as will a few other things.

Our Vancouver-side bus hit construction in the city, but we were plenty early. We got off at the Burrard stop, and walked a half dozen blocks to catch our airport train. I love the train. I also love our tiny bags.

No airport hassles at all. With just small bags, we don't have to visit any desks or their lineups. We just headed straight for our gate with our home-printed boarding passes.