Sicily Winter 2013-2014

Blog on the starting blocks: destination Sicily

Dec 4^th: to Frejus

For the first leg of the journey, we set out to drive as far as Frejus on the French Riviera and then take a few days’ break. Travelling in December you can expect a selection of rain, fog, strong wind, freezing temperatures and snow. We weren’t disappointed, and got it all apart from the snow, also a huge traffic jam on the A14/ M11 around Cambridge that meant we missed our tunnel slot. None of this was a big deal: after 3 days and 900 miles, we are here safely in Frejus.  

This is Frejus, the old town, founded in Roman times as a trading port.

The sea has retreated since then so the town is a mile inland.  

 

The old town is engulfed by Frejus the holiday resort. The large boats in the large yacht marina indicate that it’s a destination for the in crowd. However, the smart set has obviously fallen on hard times; I was expecting to see a Ferrari parked on the quayside rather than a bike.

In an agency window fronting the marina we noticed that a boat similar to the nearest one in the photo was offered for charter at a mere 13,000 euros a day or 78,000 euros a week. That’s £11,000 and £66,000 respectively. This is a different world to the one in which we common folks dwell!

 

Next, onto the beach adjoining the marina.

 

 

It’s a good sandy beach and typically narrow Mediterranean because of the small tides. All beaches look best in sunny weather and the kids here were actually splashing in the sea. The weather has been great since we arrived and we’ve sat out in the sun in our deserted campsite every day between about 11.30 and 3.00pm. Here’s Jane sparing a moment to look up from her beading. That’s our caravan in the background.

This part of the campsite is sheltered by bushes and cork oaks. These are still harvested commercially by stripping off sections of bark, by hand, every 9 to 12 years for turning into cork products like wine corks and table mats. The tree behind Jane is one such tree where the area stripped can be clearly seen. If you were a female doing this work you’d need to be careful how you described your job.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 



 

May 6th: Moss Park

We are planning four days of complete relaxation before allowing a final two days at another campsite for cleaning the motorhome and packing for the return flight.  

Moss Park is owned and operated by Orange County as a wildlife reserve and campsite. The pitches are huge and around 30 yards apart. You sit at your picnic bench and the wildlife comes to you. This is where we are. The legs belong to Jane.

The picnic table itself provided the first visitor, a white furry caterpillar that went round and round the table. Just like Dougal from the Magic Roundabout.

A raccoon ambles past and makes for the two communal rubbish bins. Straight away it lifts each lid and hauls out a bag from one, quickly ripping it open and extracting an item of food. Hey, that’s our rubbish bag and he’s got our banana skin. Feeling now responsible for the raccoon’s mess, I run over. Raccoon bolts up the tree with banana skin. I repair bag and put back in bin. I jam both lids on tight. Here’s the culprit, the banana skin held under right paw.

I return to our picnic bench. Raccoon swiftly descends tree and equally swiftly removes lids “securely” wedged on by me a few minutes ago. Raccoon-1, Campers-Nil.

Now enter the cavalry, the Park Rangers rubbish collection truck, zooming round the corner in a cloud of dust. Raccoon bolts; rubbish bins are emptied; tranquillity returns to the jungle. 

A wild turkey appears from nowhere. It approaches warily. Any food? No? (Note: it’s forbidden to feed wildlife.) I’ll be off then. We didn’t need to shout “Christmas Dinner” at him.

There’s no particular order to my description of these encounters. The deer came late evening, in the low sunlight and long shadows, making an attractive forest canvas.

I’m giving the impression that we sat at our picnic bench all day. We didn’t. The reserve contained some lovely walks, with lakes and open woodland. One section was called Split Oak. One often wonders where these names originate, often without finding out. This time, after walking a couple of miles, we came upon a board that told the tale. About 50 years ago, a 200 year oak tree split down the middle due to the weight of its branches, but it continued to grow. This is what it looks like now.

This is a fox squirrel that we saw on another walk. These are bigger and sturdier than the common grey squirrel, and generally rare.

The evening light was quite magical, and this photo is a fitting final tribute to our four lovely days in Moss Park.

May 1st to May 6th: St Augustine

We’re back in Florida again, the Sunshine State. So far, three days of solid, torrential rain and gusty winds. But the forecast for our last day tomorrow is better, so we’re going to see St Augustine three miles down the road, the oldest continuously inhabited town in North America. 

St Augustine was founded in 1565 when Admiral Pedro Menendez de Aviles established a settlement to protect Spanish interests. He landed on St Augustine’s day in 1565, hence the town’s name, on the spot marked by this 208 foot steel cross. It’s the tallest in the world but doesn’t look it at this distance.

Since Columbus’ discovery of America in 1492 the New World was up for grabs. Spain was well ahead of other European countries and needed anchor towns from which to further expand and also to protect its domains from enemy raids.

St Augustine was to be one such town and was in fact attacked and destroyed by Sir Francis Drake in 1586. The English plundered it again in 1668 so Spain decided to protect the town with a much stronger fort. Work started in 1672 on the Castillo de San Marcos, a large, stone-built structure with a moat, garrison and cannon. Here’s the entrance.

Inside, the spacious central area was used for drill or to accommodate the townsfolk when attack threatened. The English laid siege to the town again in 1702 but this time the fort withheld the siege and protected all the townsfolk gathered within. The English did, however, destroy the town so there are no buildings pre-dating 1702.

The fort is a National Monument so is administered by the National Parks Service. The ranger did an excellent job of explaining its history, and we also saw also a live cannon firing. Here it is with the “Dad’s Army” squad in period costume loosing off a live round, less cannon ball. The whole platform shook. It was surely just a coincidence that the passing yacht sank.

There were some splendid old guns on the gun deck. This mortar cannon with its bronze patina looks more like an ornamental flower planter. The photo makes it appear that the gunner has just blasted a section out of the parapet wall. “Sorry, Sarge, I was distracted by the señoritas.”

These are the garrison quarters- not, I hasten to add, a ward in our local NHS Hinchingbrooke Hospital.

The fort was used as a prison for some of the American Indians who rebelled against the seizing of their tribal lands and compulsory relocation to reservations many hundreds of miles from their territory. The plaque here explains the object of their imprisonment here.

The Kiowa Indians in particular showed a talent for art and produced some work remarkably like our own L S Lowry’s matchstick style paintings. Maybe Lowry took his inspiration from him! This is an example.

After the fort, we looked at the town. I’m really doing two blogs in one here, so please bear with me as I’m trying to keep up to date as the end of the holiday is looming.

 

The town looks very Spanish as you might expect, and later buildings were added in the same style even after Florida became American. The church and square could be anywhere in Spain.

An example of one of these later Spanish-style buildings was this luxury hotel. It was built in1901 by Henry Flagler the oil magnate, whose investment and influence caused the east coast of Florida to be developed for winter tourism for the wealthy.

There were lots of pretty squares, like this one where we stopped for coffee. Jane looks like she’s being swallowed up by the foliage.

Many buildings in the town proclaim to be the oldest in the USA. The plaque says this is the oldest wooden schoolhouse in the USA. Presumably some other towns claim the oldest stone schoolhouse, the oldest brick schoolhouse, the oldest concrete schoolhouse and so on. This could be a great car game for the kids- see how many different types of schoolhouse you can create.

Now for a more magnificent building: the Memorial Presbyterian Church, also built by Flagler in 1889 to commemorate his daughter’s death. He’s also buried there.

St Augustine had a relaxed feel and was genuinely old and atmospheric, more Mediterranean than American. It was touristy, as expected, but not swamped by it. We enjoyed the town very much.

 

Tomorrow, Monday May 6^th, we travel the 120 mile south to Orland, firstly to Moss Park, a county wildlife reserve with camping facilities, but no internet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 



April 27th- May 1st: Savannah

We arrive at a campsite 6 miles from the city, and the next morning we catch the bus from outside the gates into the centre. It’s a rambling ride that takes a good half hour.

Savannah was founded in 1733 by this guy below, James Oglethorpe. He envisaged a haven for debtors, no Catholics, no lawyers, no hard liquor or slaves. His dream didn’t last long and within a few decades the town was a plantation centre based on slavery. These days, everyone’s in debt, there’s a Catholic cathedral, lots of lawyers, and it’s one of the few places in the USA where you can drink on the streets (New Orleans is another). Ogilvy’s statue must be shedding bronze tears at night.

Savannah is full of these delightful squares, 22 of them, with mossy trees and bordered by elegant houses.

The squares can be rented, as they frequently are for corporate events and weddings. We were lucky enough to see a wedding. The wedding guests were all dressed up to the nines, as expected, but the bride and escort surprisingly arrived in a pedal rickshaw. Maybe the cost of the square necessitated some economies.

There are some handsome buildings outside of the squares, like the town hall with its gold leaf dome.

The oldest premises is the Pirate’s House, dating from 1734, a year after the town’s foundation. It is said to be the inn referred to in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, where Cap’n Flint died and his first mate, Billy Bones, acquired the treasure map. In any event, it is now attached to a restaurant which fully capitalises on the tale.

Historic properties are so scarce in the US that they command big prices. This old cottage below, the size of a good garden shed, recently sold for $550,000 (£370,000)

Some elegant churches too. This is the Independent Presbyterian Church with the tallest spire in town. It’s a rebuild following the fire of 1889, but there was a church here from 1755.

Oglethorpe brought plants for experiment crops so his settlers would have commercial agriculture. These weren’t successful, but it was soon found that growing rice tended by slaves was profitable. Cotton came next. The port grew too, and Savannah prospered. It is today an important container handling facility.

This prosperity came to an abrupt end when Savannah was captured by General Sherman near the end of the Civil War. You may know the song “Marching Through Georgia”. His army’s march through Georgia destroyed everything in its path, but Savannah was lucky: he didn’t lay waste to the town as it had surrendered, and anyway he wanted the port. So we are lucky too that such a fine historic town was preserved intact for our enjoyment.

 

There is a civil rights museum that tells the story of Savannah’s effective non-violent civil rights campaign. It’s odd how particular things have unexpected impact. In the corner of the museum was an actual Ku Klux Klan outfit, donated anonymously. You wondered what sort of outrages the wearer had perpetrated or been witness to. No photos allowed unfortunately.

 

Perhaps, being surrounded by so much history, it rubs off on everyone, including the police. Outside the Savannah PD building was a collection of cars that the force had used through the years. The photo is of a 1950’s model Chevvy with a 60’s behind it.

It’s very much a town for strolling through, to admire the squares and buildings. We only scratched the surface, but a lovely place with its own individual personality.

 

Now we leave Georgia to return to Florida where we’ll be stopping a few days at St Augustine en route for Orlando.

April 16th – 25th: Fredericksburg, Virginia

We are visiting Claire, Scott and family. Lots of family chat, some outings and meals together. Here’s a good place to start, with Claire and Jane planting lavender bushes in the garden. I’m weeding, which is not at all photogenic, so I take the picture.

For a trip out we visited Potomac Mill Shopping Mall near Washington. This is one of the biggest malls, if not THE biggest, in America, with something like 220 shops all under one roof. It’s about ¾ mile long, with all the big fashion names. Even Clarks Shoes had a unit, so a real home from home. Also a huge eating area populated by some huge eaters. I left the ladies to the intricacies of fashion selection and checked out a large book store.

Also we went to a concert where Katie’s recent boyfriend was playing keyboard in his band. He gave an inspired keyboard performance and seems to have enough talent to make a career of it. His lead guitarist, who looked about 13 (blue shirt), was also impressive.

We mainly ate in, but did a fast food lunch at Five Guys. This has to be the very best burger and fries (i.e. chips) imaginable. They only do burgers and fries, but you can have the burgers with any salad and relish at no extra cost. The fries are cooked in peanut oil and are delicious. If you go to the States, this is the logo you need to look for, also showing three satisfied and bloated customers.

Nine days pass quickly and we’re now aiming for Savannah, Georgia, a two day drive, so we’ll pick up again from there.

 

April 16th: Chancellorsville Civil War Battle.

We’re nearly at Claire’s, but happen to spot a lunch stop in the car park of this Civil War battle visitor centre. Virginia was Civil War frontline for the whole four years of the conflict and Fredericksburg, Claire’s local town, saw four major battles nearby. This was one of them.
Battles are confusing to follow even with the charts and films provided by the visitor centre, so I won’t attempt it. There were also many interesting display cases and early photos that brought the people involved to life (perhaps an inappropriate phrase in the light of the war’s huge death toll of 650,000).
So step forward the exception, the man they couldn’t kill, Private Amos G. Bean. Shot eight times on separate occasions he survived the war. Such good fortune failed to put a smile on his face for the photo.

The outcome of most battle wounds was less happy. Many died from infection, but an even greater number died from disease, accounting for two thirds of all Civil War deaths. More Americans died in this war than any other, including WW1 and WW2.

It is understandable that those who came through the horrors of the war would want to relive their comradeship. Here’s a pamphlet advertising a fortieth reunion that includes a “Banquet and Campfire”, and no doubt a few drinks and choruses of ‘John Brown’s Body’ or ‘Dixie’ depending on which side you fought. 

Some people we talk to here in the South still seem to harbour a grudge against the North to this day. They say the war wasn’t really about slavery but about the North using slavery as an excuse to dominate the wealthy South, which they succeeded in doing by winning the war and in the process bankrupting it. The North has called the shots ever since, as they see it.

The battle of Chancellorsville was won by the South, whose territory this was. The Northern attack lacked sufficient cavalry to gather intelligence on enemy movements so were outflanked by Robert E. Lee’s Southerners who had the advantage of better cavalry numbers, better led, and a well-trained army also better led.  

The cavalry were the glamour boys on both sides and this display shows the dashing flag, weapons and uniform issued to the Northerners. This became the standard kit of the US cavalry after the war and should be familiar to all cowboy film and TV fans. I own up here.

Chancellorsville was just a large house, not even a village, destroyed by fire long after the war. The visitor centre was well laid out and quite absorbing but really needed a second visit to retain all the details. Who says America hasn’t got much history?

Rock City

Rock City is a complex of pathways threading through a vast, jumbled rock formation. It’s located on Lookout Mountain a few miles south of Chattanooga. Here’s the general idea,weaving through rock chasms with ornamental trees and shrubs enhancing the walk.

Approaching the top we have a rope bridge to cross, or a solid path for the vertigo sufferers.

At the top is a viewpoint where seven States are visible on a (very) clear day. Of course you take their word for it.

Here you can see what a precipice the top is. There’s even a waterfall to add to the tourist brownie points.

Many parts of Rock City are enhanced by cuddly gnomes, lots and lots of them. “Enhanced” is a debatable description, but I’d go along with that if I was allowed to bag a few along the way. Ideally with a shotgun (scattergun) but, in these politically sensitive times, I’ll happily settle for rocks. If management realised the potential here, they'd be selling the rocks for $1 each.

Descending via this staircase is not for the claustrophobic. No ledges even for the gnomes. It gets even narrower, so it’s also not for size XL and over either.

Rock city was opened in 1932 by Garnet and Frieda Carter. Frieda laid out the paths and gardens, and Garnet was the promoter. Frieda was also into European folk lore, particularly gnomes. So she definitely wouldn't have been selling rocks.

But how to attract visitors to what was then a remote mountainside? His solution was advertising, and he did it by employing a painter to negotiate with farmers to paint on their barn roof, where the barn was suitably visible, the lettering “See Rock City”. Altogether, he painted this simple slogan on over 900 barns, from Michigan to Texas. The venture prospered.

A unique place and worth the tortuous mountain drive in the motor home.

 

On Monday April 15th we leave for Fredericksburg, Virginia, to see Claire and family. It's a two day journey with an overnighter at Camping Walmart.