After nearly a week of eating French cuisine I am presented with a mystery and it is this: how are the French not yet extinct? Each meal appears to consist of a *minimum* of 3 courses. Each course contains enough calories, cholesterol and fat to give an elephant pause for thought. So how are these people still functioning let alone skinny? I have some vague notion that the French send themselves away to foreign countries every now and then where they find the cuisine so repulsive they abstain entirely from eating while their bodies return to healthier levels. A "detox trip" if you will; this may explain South Kensington. We see Lisette's (French) mum and (English) dad next week in Spain and so I intend to consult Annie on the matter. Perhaps that's what led her to make for Geordieland in the first place...

In an effort to fit in more with the locals I have been attempting to pepper my language with French colloqialisms. So there's been a lot of "comme ci comme ça" and "pourquoi" going on. I think it sounds terrific! Lisette, not so much.

So far we've travelled down from Paris and West along to Chinon. Since then we've turned tail and headed back East to Loches via Tour and today to our current location of Amboise. Along the way we've been battling the irregular and frankly downright odd public transport. Peculiarly there are train lines but only about 3 trains a day available to catch. The rest of the time you need to go to the train station, buy a train ticket, validate the train ticket on the train platform, and then catch a bus outside the front of the station... No clue as to why. Further to this we've found the signage quite perplexing. If you want to go somewhere, let's say the town centre for instance, all you need do is take a look around until you see a sign that reads "centre ville" with a helpful arrow pointing left. But wait! There is also a sign saying "centre ville" and pointing right... What to do? This situation has been repeated and repeated throughout the Loire (in fact throughout France I suspect). They may all technically be true in that it is indeed possible to circumnavigate the globe. That said, I would have thought that it would prove at least passingly useful to know which was the more, shall we say, "scenic" route in any given situation...

Last night in Loches, Lisette and I took the opportunity to eat a Medieval meal in a restaurant set in a 15th century chateaux. The meal began simply enough with goblets of mead and spiced wine (not dissimilar to the mulled wine of Christmas but taken cold). It continued with a sort of pea and garlic soup. At least that was the working assumption until we dredged up Kermit's leg from the bottom of the bowl... It was at this point that we realised it was a *different* sort of green soup. I should say though that it wasnt unpleasant and contrary to expectations it tasted nothing like chicken. More like fish really. This was followed up with the unusual combination of wood pidgeon and cooked grapes which was surprisingly tasty. To finish we were served prunes that had been steeped in alcohol. I did not like prunes before and do not like them now. I'm sure it's a useful life experience though. And healthy I dare say. love, John and Lisette

Dear all, Am typing this on the strangest keyboard I have ever encountered. It appears to be the standard French keyboard which for no reason that I can comprehend does not tally with any other computer keyboard on the face of the planet. Can't think why they made it like this other than to slow the non-French down. It's definitely working. Struggling to find the letters and have given up on punctuation. So if this reads a bit odd I apologise - it's this or insanity. Lisette and I arrived in Paris on Friday night and met up with our good friend Una who had just flown in from Belfast. It didnt start off as the most French of experiences. Due to the trains not running - maybe a strike - we had to catch a taxi into town. We ended up being driven by a man in gleaming white robes, strange hat and listening to "Africa 1" Radio which is about as local as it sounds. Una, Lisette and I had decided to venture into unknown waters on our weekend in Paris and were staying on a barge moored next to the Eiffel Tower. The barge was owned and normally lived in by a Parisien lady who lets it out on the occasional weekend to raise some spare cash. Its quite strange staying in what is clearly someone elses home. Particularly when the home in question is rammed to bursting with pictures of famous maharajas and, strangely, naked Indian ladies. Still we didnt dwell on the matter and ventured out onto the Seine in the early hours of Saturday morning in search of a drink. Our first port of call was a jolly looking nightclub facing onto the Seine. Not to be though, as we uttered "Bon Soir!" to the bouncer we were looked slowly up and down before he pronounced very definitely the phrase "Private party" and waved us off into the middle distance. Perhaps we should have got changed before venturing out. Una was outraged at this and could be seen mouthing the words "private party" to herself at numerous points over the weekend. It had clearly deeply affected her as she encouraged us to made a second attempt to gain entry on the Saturday night. Only bottling out at the last minute when it became clear that the same bouncer was in place and so our odds were at best unfavourable.

Paris has much to recommend it around the Notre Dame / Latin Quarter area. To my disappointment though Montmartre was nothing like in Moulin Rouge - granted, a film - it turned out seedier than a parrots breakfast. French men look mighty clean. There are also indecently enamoured of draping jumpers over their shoulders and wearing scarves. It should be noted that they dont approach the scarf in the manner of that mighty Doctor Who Tom Baker. No, instead the scarves are wrapped repeatedly round the neck until they resemble a member of that tribe (possibly African but not sure) which extends the length of their necks by wearing multiple metal bands betweeen their shoulders and their chin. Still - tres chic I'm sure.

Will be losing no weight on this holiday. Lisette and I have just emerged from a 2 hour lunch in a lovely restaurant in Chinon in the Loire region of Northern France. Alas I fear we are doing no good for the reputation of our people. We ordered the local sausage to start and, it being France, we were also presented with a bowl of sliced up baguette as well. Since we had been given the necessary components we decided to take the obvious next step and assemble the ingredients into a very superior hot dog. This is apparently not quite the done thing. The waitress clocked us doing this and her eyebrows shot up to the middle of her forehead and she blasphemed quite audibly. She then backed tentatively into the kitchen where she could be heard hissing "Jean Pierre, they are making *sandwiches*"! We tried to rescue the situation later by remembering to order espresso to finish rather than cappucino and eating the full sock drawer in the way of cheese but I fear the damage was already done. We are unquestionably Phillistines of the lowest order... Dinner time I think...

See you soon! love, John and Lisette

... Dalek. Hi all, Many things I am capable of but, as I discover, many things are unwise. Lisette and I were woken at the princely time of 1:50 am and tumbled out of bed, into clothes and into the blackness outside. The plan, such as it was, was to climb Adam's Peak which is either the fourth or fifth highest mountain in Sri Lanka (Asanga and the Lonely Planet are still arguing the toss on this point). The plan was to reach the summit and watch dawn break from the top. Also, Adam's Peak famously casts a shadow the shape of a roughly equilateral triangle just after dawn breaks which we were also hoping to see. Climbing a mountain in the dark is less fun than you might imagine. There's a lot of stumbling, wheezing and general bitter self-recrimination as to why you ever agreed to doing this in the first place. There's also a fairly worrying amount of losing the people you're travelling with as well. In the event we did finally make the ascent, reaching the Summit at roughly 6 am. It was a pretty impressive sight. However, for some reason I appear to be wired to be underwhelmed though. As Lisette bounced around like Tigger, delighted in the vistas abounding my own eyes were cast down gazing at the vast tract of pathway we had traversed and pondering the joys of doing the self-same trip in reverse. Oh exquisite agony here I come.

To complete the full round trip (bed to summit to bed) took about 7.5 hours - we hobbled back into our quarters around 9:30ish. And felt pretty bad. (Physically - obviously we were mentally quite impressed with our own derring do and what not) This pain was a mere taster though of what was to come; the next day came the real kicks. Lisette and I woke with legs which appeared unwilling to bend more than a fraction at the knee. And that with muscles protesting like Greeks. After no small amount of yelping we fashioned a way of transporting ourselves, shuffling much in the manner of penguins. So: Breakfast. Out the door, turn right, shuffle 10 paces, turn right, shuffle 10 paces, turn left. Stairs. Oh. It was then that Lisette and I realised that we had been transformed effectively into an early iteration of Doctor Who's finest adversary: Daleks. That's right, we can do *anything* - but we can't do stairs.... ---

In the words of Vincent Vega: "it's the little differences". Lisette and I were strolling round Kandy the other day and amongst all the completely foreign (well it is Sri Lanka) architecture we spotted a remarkably English looking church. In fact it looked very much like our own St Stephens - reason enough for us to poke our heads round the door. When we did we were presented with a church that looked indistinguishable from a church at home. We discovered the caretaker who was busy clearing up masses of broken glass on the floor. It turned out that this was the result of a tree hitting the building in the night. Thrown by the elephant that lived next door. You dont get that in Twickenham. Speaking of elephants, I have made an important discovery: not all elephants have tusks. I am relieved. Growing up I had always believed that elephants always had tusks. And if they didn't have tusks that meant only one thing: the evil ivory hunters had been plying their trade by plucking the teeth of the poor pachyderms. Since arriving in Sri Lanka I have been presented with a large number of tuskless elephants and had been busy mentally berating large swathes of the Sri Lankan population whom I believed to be responsible for elephant abuse. All without cause I am happy to say: only something like 3% of Sri Lankan elephants grow tusks. Shouldn't be so quick to judge.

Now staying in a hotel on the South coast of Sri Lanka. Quirky. The lock on the door is upside down. So to lock the door, you have to unlock the door - and vica versa. Other unique features: - a phone attached too the sink. Perhaps so you can talk while you brush your teeth. - a toilet roll holder fitted 10 centimetres from ground level. Possibly installed for Lilliputian customers? - a television set on which no channels work. For those that love the soothing sound of white noise. Oh dear, internet connection is going a little haywire here. Signing off while I still can. John and Lisette

...no - as it turns out I'm *all* woman... (thanks to the good Professor) Hi all, First up, thanks for your emails - apologies for not responding in kind but I've just recently (within the last half hour) been re-introduced to the world of "pre-broadband". Internet connection in Kandy is pretty much approximate to to internet connection in England in the early 90's. Maybe slower. And so each keystroke has alas become rationed for today.

Following about 12 hours of monsoon rain Sri Lanka has returned to levels of frankly dangerous heat and humidity. Even Lisette (bearing in mind her boundless enthusiasm for heat) has declared that it's "a bit much". If you'd like to paint a mental picture of me at present you should imagine a man in a sauna, fully clothed and eating curry. I'm hot.

I've been to Happyland. Happyland, it turns out, is a spice garden on the way to Kandy. We visited it yesterday and were greeted by quite a short man (even by Sri Lanka's somewhat petite standards). In the full heat of the day he dressed in manner of a character straight out of "Wall Street": full suit, a coloured shirt with white collar and cuffs, designer glasses, teeth whiter than the sun - and maybe even braces (but that might be my imagination running away with me). I never learned the mans name, but as he led us around his garden (lair?) and showed off various plants / seeds etc I mentally came to categorise him as one of the Bond-villains that has yet to be. For the sake of reference I shall refer to him as Professor Magic Plant (PMP). Apparently PMP has cured *everything*. His tour went something like this: "and here we have plant X, it cures the common cold. And here is fruit Y - it prevents cancer and makes you thin..." The tour concluded in a open air tent where we all perched upon benches in front of him, the great showman. We were told that we were to see some "great Asian magic" and that a lady was required. Ever shy and retiring it turned out that all the Tour-ettes were for some reason otherwise engaged. Possibly having made the same mental assessments that I had. PMP cast the net wider: "Perhaps a gentlemen would be obliging?" The Tour-ettes felt this was very good idea and my very own Tour-ette Lisette went so far as to nominate me saying "John will do it. Won't you John?"

I was then brought to the front of the tent and one of PMP's unlovely assistents smeared an unknown pink cream on the back of my right hand. I then returned to my seat. At this point Big George (one of the Tour-ees) decided he'd definitely got the measure of PMP and exited stage left (pursued by a bear?). Last seen heading in the direction of the tourbus. Whilst Lisette and I continued to stare at my hand a number of demonstrations took place. Some foul smelling liquid was passed round for tasting. Made from pineapples I think. Then a forced massage was given to all the remaining audience members save me and Lisette (who resisted the greased up assistants of PMP quite forcefully). Once the fellow audience members had been fleeced of their roupees PMP addressed us. "And now is time to see the great Asian magic... Come forward" (pointing at me). I went forward feeling no little trepidation. It's not every day that Paul Daniels evil Sri Lankan cousin experiments on me. From his pocket PMP dramatically pulled some Kleenex. He then rubbed the Kleenex on the back of my hand to reveal..... no hair. "Is all natural!" beamed PMP whilst I, somewhat forlornly, compared the hairiness of my left hand to the hairlessness of my right hand.

I've never felt so underwhelmed and yet relieved at the same time. Waving to you with a hairless hand from high in the hills of Kandy. John and Lisette

...and this is The Great Escape - I'll come back to that.... Hello Folks, Lisette and I have headed off for one of our adventures - this time to Sri Lanka. Unlike our usual approach to holidaying (buy tickets, catch plane and pray) we have decided to deviate. We are "on a tour". The tour started somewhat inauspiciously. We arrived after a 12 hour flight at 3 am on Valentines Day in Colombo. We were met by a man bearing an "Adventure Company" sign who bundled us into a van together with our fellow tour-ees/tour-ettes. All were pretty shattered at this point and pretty much hoping for instant bed. Not to be. Our tour guide (Asangha) drove us for quite some time and we were in some pretty ropey neighbourhoods by the time he confessed that he may have taken a wrong turn at some point. However, by 4am we were delivered to a hotel. The good. The bad: hotel was pitch black and it soon became apparent that we did not have reservations. The group mood did darken somewhat at this point, particularly as by now the flies (which dont need sight to detect human flesh it seems) were by now crawling upon us fairly profusely. Not much happened for quite a long time as I recall. Asangha made a lot of phone calls, essentially begging the hotel to open up and show us the love. Am delighted to say that, in the end, they turned on the lights and in due course delivered us to rooms where we collapsed. It was later revealed by Asangha that he had made reservations for us... but not at that hotel. Hey ho. Expectations suitably lowered.

In the time since our arrival I am proud to say that Lisette has been performing a valient service. She has selflessly allowed herself to be attacked by swarms of mosquitos thus sparing her loving husband from suffering the same fate. Given the choice between tough-skinned John and fair-of-leg Lisette the mozzies are in *no* doubt. They'll take Geordie meat any day. At last count Lisette had about 20 bites. I have a small one on the knuckle of my right hand. Lisette is truly my sacrificial anode.

The tour has properly kicked off now and we have been busy. So far we have: - Eaten some very hot food - proper "crikey-get me water" curries. Experienced some very hot and humid weather. - Been out on a boat at dawn watching a variety of dolphins hurl themselves out of the water like so many grey-skinned teenagers doing skateboard tricks - Travelled round several of the "most important archeological monuments in the world" (Asangha's words) - Inspected a number of "eighth wonders of the world" (also Asangha's words... hmmm) - Travelled from the coast of Sri Lanka to Habarana in the steep hill country. And it's in this last point that lies the rub. It has occurred to me that I have become a prisoner of circumstance. Lisette, I, (and the tour-ees / tour-ettes) are holed up in a hotel in Habarana. There is nothing in Habarana - it's a one-elephant town. Normally, Lisette and I like to get out and explore. See what the town has to offer. Go for a meal etc. Can't do any of that. So we're kind of stuck either doing stuff on the tour or stuck on hotel grounds. Not that it's an unpleasant hotel. It's kind of like a "nice" version of a World War II Prisoner-of-War camp. (Hence my allusions to the Great Escape - not too sure who Lisette would be in that scenario so lets skate over my inaccurate analogies). As well as this, we are caused to rise very early every morning to "get the best of the day". Tomorrow we're up at 5:30am. Today we were up at 6:30am. The day before yesterday we were up at 4am. Not quite my bag baby. So not sure yet if tours are "us". We shall have to see if this pans out...

That's me for now. I'm off to read my book as unfortunately (definitely from Lisette's point of view) the weather has turned. We have gone from a combination of body-melting mid-thirties sunshine and humidity to the monsoon season. (which I didn't think Sri Lanka had - but you learn something new every day) Toodle-pip. John and Lisette

Dear all, Never ones to sit back and relax, Lisette and I have been busily exerting ourselves in Santorini. It's a good way to break up the mealtimes. The most ambitious activity so far has been a hike from our digs, halfway up the island on the West side, to "Oia" - a town at the North-West tip of Santorini. Looking at the map on the morning before the hike we scoffed at what a short distance it was and made plans to complete said journey in under 2 hours. This was not to be.

"As the crow flies" is a fatal way of looking at the world in these parts. It fails to take on board the matter of scrabbling up hills, down mountainsides and also the furnace-like heat - none of which does the humble crow have to contend with. Shortly after departing Firostefani ("our digs") these points came sailing right home to us. Regular examination of the GPS map on my phone made us realise just how far we actually hadn't travelled. Nevertheless, we pressed on, and were indeed rewarded by many a fine view. About halfway through our hike we came upon a very beautiful chapel sitting on top of a peak. Looked straight out of Mammi Mia. (Which was I think filmed on a Greek island?) Lisette took time to take scenic photo's of the church. I sought shade and took time to empty the the last of the water bottle (gentleman that I am). It was at this point I became aware of dog scampering around the church in a jolly fashion. The breed of the fellow was unclear - "blonde mongrel" is probably the most apt description I can come up with. For some reason (and with no objection from me since I am a general fan of dogs) the dog decided that he was going to stick with us for a while. So we descended from the chapeled-hill, Lassie in tow - occasionally running ahead, occasionally drifting behind. The path which we had followed so far had basically been a footpath which wound through the hills of Santorini and passed through the occasional town. However, the path now came to an end and forced us to walk on the main road until a new path started later on. The dog was still with us at this point and was taking a turn at leading. Given the dog seemed to be several years old and still alive, we had every expectation that it had mastered road safety as a young pup. - Consequently, his actions when the first car rounded the corner were not less than staggering in our view. Traffic (the name we subsequently attached to the dog) reacted to the presence of a distant car in a rather different fashion to myself and Lisette. We, having observed the way the Santorinis drive, pretty much attached ourselves to the cliffside as we waited for the car to make it's way past. Traffic, on the other hand, made his way into the centre of the road. Hackles up and snarling he crouched, facing down the approaching car. Daring it to look him in the eyes, he pounced, leapt up, and raced, barking madly, directly at the car. Lisette and I were at this point screaming, watching in slow motion, imagining the only possible future that could present itself. And then with seconds to spare, the car swerved, narrowly avoided hitting Traffic, further narrowly avoided going off a mountainside and then slowly swerved left and right up the road until it returned to normality. Traffic, meanwhile, stared proudly at his bested conquest. That's right Ladies and Gents - we have found a dog that plays "chicken" with cars! I would like to say that this happened only once and that Traffic learned his lesson. He did not. With every car that came round the corner the same scenario was repeated. The only difference was that Lisette and my screams got louder each time. -Convinced with each iteration that this would be the one. This would be it. But no, Traffic lived to fight another day each time and for all we know may still be there doing the same. Lisette and I will never know though because as soon as we came upon the new path up from the road we legged it and didn't look back. For my part I am choosing to believe that Traffic has special powers and will live forever. John and Lisette

Greetings from Greece...... and Salutations from Santorini! I am writing to you from Fira - the island capital. Fira, is one of the few "vertical" towns which I've have had the pleasure to encounter. Nothing here is flat. Essentially Fira appears to be a cliff face onto which bits of shop, restaurant and pathway have been pinned - possibly by genial giants with an architectural bent. We are in a land truly unfamiliar to spirit-levels.

The net result of this means that everything feels like (and indeed is) exercise. Want a meal? Clamber up a cliff first. Want to go shopping? Go hiking first... And there are no shortage of shops / restaurants and similar here. Lisette and I were initially very worried upon arrival as despite having packed everything else we had left behind any kind of phrasebook. Normally we at least know a couple of numbers, "please", "thank you" and "could we have the bill please?" - not so this time. So our expectation was to spend our time here doing a lot of wild gesticulation and general mime just to get by. Fortunately for us everyone seems to speak English. I exaggerate though - I could remember 1 Greek phrase. Petros (university compadre) had advised me before my departure that "thanks" in Greek is "eff-Harry's-toe". I was a little suspect of this as it sounded quite long for just "thanks". As a result I decided to do a little market research before actually employing it willy-nilly. (In case Pet had been having a little joke...) Lisette and I were elbows deep in baklava at a very friendly cafe yesterday and, in conversation with the very jolly owner, confirmed that, yes indeed, "eff-Harry's-toe" was as promised. The jolly owner clearly felt that we were firm friends now that this had been established and seized me by the arm. "Come!!", he bellowed and pulled me inside the cafe, "you must see!!" I was a little concerned by the, to be frank, mania that was being emitted from the mans eyes but since he was very strong I went with him until the vice like grip on my arm slackened. Before us was a cardboard box, sitting on a table. "Birthday cake!" the cafe owner bellowed. He then flicked open the box to reveal a cake with an image emblazoned upon it which, were it published in a magazine in England, would land it straight on the top shelf - possibly even behind the counter in a brown paper bag. They clearly do birthdays differently in Greece. Alas there were no candles present and so I can't inform as to the age of the recipient. I'm assuming it wasn't a kiddies birthday cake but stranger things have (probably) happened.

We do appear to have landed on the island of strange cover versions. Lisette and I were sitting in a cafe the other afternoon and watching the cable cars go up and down from Fira to the port. There was the typical sort of background music playing over the cafe stereo - old Roxette tunes and whatnot. Then Lisette observed that we appeared to be listening to Gregorian monks chanting. Upon further examination the Gregorian monks were in fact chanting recognisable song lyrics. In fact, they were intoning the lyrics of REM's "Losing My Religion" - quite the unexpected song for a Gregorian monk (of all things) to chant, I think you'll agree. We're not sure if the Gregorian monks actually knew what they were chanting. It's possible that this was some kind of monk-ish ironic dig at Michael Stipe but they did sound very serious. And to be honest it's hard to imagine a monk standing up (presumably in a monestary somewhere) and saying (in a Michael Caine stylee) "hold on lads - I've got an idea..." before relaying plans to cover said song. There is also the possibility that the monks didn't speak English and didn't actually know what it was they were chanting... However given the general English ability of the island shopkeepers this seems somewhat unlikely... Perhaps we'll never know... The mystery grew ever stronger the next day as when examining the wares of some merchant or another we became aware of KRS-ONE's "Sound of da Police" being intoned in traditional Greek singing style. Sample lyrics: "Whoop - whoop, that's the sound of the police, Whoop - whoop, that's the sound of the beast...." Imagine, if you can, that being performed in the style of "Zorba the Greek", accompanied by a mandolin, and sung by a man who sounds imminently about to break plates and down gallons of ouzo. Very strange. We are now on "cover-version watch" - ever waiting for the next installment... love, John and Lisette

We have arrived in the Cinque Terre which is on the North West coast of Italy. The direct translation is "Five Towns" and the idea is that you stroll / hike from one town to the next marvelling in the sights of the sea and the beauty of the towns. And the towns are lovely - it is as if Walt Disney came here 80 years ago to get his ideas of what fairy castles etc should look like.

We are staying in the most Southerly town inside the Cinque Terre - Riomaggiore. There are no real hotels inside the Cinque Terre and the books (Lonely Planet and the "Rough

Rubbish Guide to Italy") advise staying with locals. Accordingly we found ourselves following a burly, and I thought rather scary, Italian man home from the station after we arrived. Despite initial trepidation we ended up at a lovely apartment with a view of the sea at a fair price and with a gushing landlady who is wont to say things like "you should-a make-a the hay while the sun-a.... shines!". I think that at other times of the year we would be sharing this accommodation with every man and his dog but this being the off season we've fallen on our feet. Our attempts at making hay are mixed. The best idea is to rise early and be on the walking trails by 9am. Lisette and I have not quite managed that being somewhat on the tired side as well as being foxed by the unusual behaviour of the sun in this neck of the woods. Bizarrely it is pitch black until about 7.30 here when it suddenly becomes all brightness in a matter of seconds. This generally leaves us a little stunned and it isn't until I have had a few restorative coffees (and Lisette, teas) that life seems normal again - around about 10. So we hit the trails at about 11-12 (incidentally "Hopalong Reilly" really is on the mend and could now more aptly be dubbed "Mountain-Goat Reilly"). At this point the sun starts its full beam effects which tends to leave us panting at the side of the path wondering why we appear to be walking on our own. The reason is simple - everyone has finished walking at this point and is enjoying a leisurely lunch. We tend to hove into town around about 3-4ish absolutely drenched in sweat and waving empty water bottles in the hope of serious refreshment. And here is the miscalculation. One tradition that continues unabated in this part of the world is "siesta". Just as we arrive in town looking for sustenance all the shops close their doors, the restaurants stop serving and Lisette and I stagger round much in the manner of people who have just gone 10 rounds in a boxing ring and lost on points.

The restaurants all open again at approximately 7pm by which point we have often found our way home and promptly collapsed. No more do we venture out as we simply do not have the energy. Consequently it seems that an easy way to lose weight is to go on a "John and Lisette-style" walking holiday. Exhaustion guaranteed. Your only meal is breakfast. Onwards and upwards!

I have little, in fact no, tolerance left for young women who sit with their legs crossed on public transport. Why they do it is beyond me - surely they know they are taking up more than their allotted space when they do so? I mean, i'd be bound to notice if i spent 50 minutes kneeing the person in front of me in the back and non-stop kicking the person next to me with every vibration of the bus - wouldn't you? It's as if they are completely unaware of their own bodies from the ankles down. Give me strength. (By the way apologies if you believe I am unfairly maligning the good name of "young women" - it is just that I havent yet encountered any men / older women / boys / girls / dogs / cats that exhibit the same objectionable behaviour)

Enough with the moaning. As you can probably gather Lisette and i have been spending a lot of time on buses of late - we have been a little over ambitious with this holiday in that we are travelling pretty much from the bottom of Italy to the bottom of France. Unfortunately bad planning (on my behalf), strikes and changes in ideas have meant that we have found ourselves travelling all day for the last couple of days, finding somewhere to sleep at night and then repeating the pattern. Its a bit like one of those Jason Bourne films - just with less killing and only minor occasional identity changes. That said Lisette had a haircut in the hill town of Orvieto that she was very pleased with at the time - hair very curly and buoyant by the end. (Now alas flattened somewhat by the absence of good curling tongs and a freak rain shower) I have decided that the localising of place names is a mistake. London to an Italian is Londres. Firenze to an English speaker is Florence. Naples to an Italian is Napoli. The list continues... In my opinion all these extra alternatives are confusing and a waste of good words that could otherwise be put to good purpose. And we've encountered at least one American that spent a full week circling central Italy in search of Florence... Speaking of other nationalities, we met our first ever Romanian one on the train (when the strike was over): Marion the Romanian Nurse - in fact we shared a rail carriage with Marion and an Italian family on the way up from Pisa. The name might mislead you into thinking that Marion is female - he is not. In fact Marion is an ex-construction worker with much the same build as a professional wrestler. Conversation with him was eye opening. Ever wondered why there are so many people from Eastern Europe (ie ex-Soviet Union countries) keen to get into England / Italy etc? Marions take on it was this: "So it (the USSR) finished and suddenly there are all these products in the shops from all over world instead of just all of the USSR. And the non-USSR products were much cheaper. So no-one buys the USSR products and all the USSR companies went bankrupt." Consequently, Marion and his family at least had went looking for work where there were jobs - and in their case that meant Italy not Romania. We gave Marion the rundown on where we had been so far. Sorreto, sunny. Orvieto, medieval in a good way. Napoli horrible (we were only there for 2 hours but long enough to form an opinion). The Italian woman next to us (who was studiously not paying attention to us) notably snorted to herself at this point - presumably she agreed with us that Napoli was grim. Marion then decided to give us a bit of tourist advice and told us that in Sicily (where we were originally going) they were thieves and muggers. The Italian woman did not snort at this - not sure if Marion had just offended a Sicilian (for which he would no doubt pay if he was right) or if she simply agreed... See you soon! John and Lisette

Each one the same face swathed in 90% black plastic, shielding the wearer from having to interface with the world. Oddly it appears that at roughly the age of 50 they all abandon their U2 ambitions and start to interact with people once again - reasons for this are not yet fully understood. Lisette is learning quickly that the term "local speciality" is not necessarily a recommendation. For lunch she had what is best described as "pig fat... on toast" and yesterday evening was a strange pasta dish that was so intensely green in colour that we have dubbed it "Kermit Pasta". Most of these strange menu choices have been down the fact that none of the restaurants have even a hint of an English translation and so we have been thrusting into the great unknown. Happily my choices have been much more pleasant - no fat on toast for me! However, Lisette has made me promise that we track down an English menu before we make a food choices for the next meal.

We took a trip on Tuesday to the town of Positano. We were assured by the book that it was an amazingly scenic and picturesque place. So it was. The slight (and unmentioned) quirk of Positano is that to get there one catches a bus. The buses weave a beautiful journey around some lovely coastline before finally dropping you at the side of the road. Once dropped off there appears to be nothing there at all - Positano doesn't appear to exist (Italys Brigadoon?). It is not until you look down that you identify the reason for this. Positano basically lives at the bottom of a sheer cliff face - it looks to the casual eye as though visiting is only possible for committed abseilers or parachutists.... After some rooting around we discovered that there was an alternative method of entry and that it was basically descending 9,999 steps. Maybe more. Naturally I had no fear of attempting this myself but I was worried for "Hopalong Reilly" (otherwise known as Lisette). Hopalong was still suffering from the foot injury obtained from dancing vigorously at David and Sarahs wedding. There was no real alternative though so over the period of about 2 hours Lisette and I descended (with many a yelp) into town. The happy discovery upon reaching town was that we could escape by boat rather than put my heart and Lisettes foot at risk on the re-ascent. Our journey home was consequently very scenic and was doubly improved by the fact that Lisette and I had managed to smuggle 2 restorative seafood pizzas onto the boat to sustain us. Think this irritated our fellow travellers though - jealousy is a terribly thing. By the way, for those wondering I havent forgotten how to use an apostrophe - I simply cant locate it on the Italian keyboard. Did devote some time to looking but at the end of the day it costs 6 euro an hour for the internet and so I have decided to put grammar (and no doubt spelling too) by the wayside. See you soon! John and Lisette

Dear all, I type this from the sunny town of Sorrento in Southern Italy where Lisette and I currently reside! We pulled into town late on Sunday night and since we are in the birthplace of pizza we have devoted much of yesterday and today to researching the topic in depth. The first part of our education took place last night when we went for dinner at midnight (the journey to Italy having taken somewhat longer than we anticipated). Unfortunately despite having that 'late Latin lunching' reputation almost all the restaurants were shut by the witching hour. In fact lots of places seemed to be open but all told us that they were shut and pointed us the to the main square. We had actually been deliberately avoiding the main square as each restaurant appeared to have extra zeros after the prices ( -Presumably this is for the pleasure of dining in the main square where all the Italians congregate with their motorbikes put-putting away in the background....) Anyway, since we had no option we attended one of the aforementioned restaurants in seach of sustenance. We both went for pizza and learned the first valuable lesson: 'Neopolitan' means that you get a pizza *completely* devoid of cheese! Apparently this is traditional but I was frankly disappointed when Lisettes pizza arrived without what I had personally always considered to be the traditional topping... Fortunately my own pizza was not lacking on this front and so between mouthfuls I was able to offer up my sympathies to Lisette (who was essentially eating ketchup on toast as far as I could tell). Lesson two was not so much pizza related as 'main square' related and, as mentioned, we had a hunch on this one already. The bill arrived at the end of the meal and seemed somewhat larger than expected. Closer examination of the bill revealed the cause: Lisettes glass of 'house white' was clocking in at 12 Euro a glass! Lest I come over all grumpy - I can assure that I am not - just a bit stunned... and my credit card is still gushing blood from overuse... Today has proved very pleasant though. We have sat around in the sun and read books and papers, then made friends by donating said papers to English tourists gasping for an update on the sports news. We have looked over the bay at the pollution hovering above Naples and congratulated ourselves at not staying there ourselves ('There but for the grace of God go I...') We have wandered the streets of Sorrento... well not quite true. It was my brother David's wedding on Saturday (now happily married to Sarah) which involved a Kaili... Kailee? Not sure how you spell it - lets call it a barn dance instead. Anyway, Lisette was delighted by this and got thoroughly involved - so enthusiastic was she that took a tumble and damaged her foot. As a result the 'wandering the streets of Sorrento' has been more 'hobbling the streets of Sorrento' including pauses for Lisette to put her foot in the air to relieve ... something. Not sure what but apparently putting your foot in the air is a good thing. I am now cut short as someone else has been hovering near this computer meaningfully... We are off to Pompei tomorrow to gaze in awe at the subject of so many history lessons. Will look learned and serious, nodding occasionally with true understanding of all things volcanic! John and Lisette (currently resting leg again)

But not for much longer! Currently a major component of the day still involves the seeking out of good coffee wherever we might be. Much as Indiana Jones seeks out historical treasures, I seek quality beverages! Rather than the standard coffee that I go for at home I´ve been instead imbibing iced coffee by the bucketload - partly for the heat and partly for this is truly the elixir of the annointed! To give you some idea of the affection in which I hold this drink I should say that I type these words in a cafe in which I have so far consumed 4 Cappucino Frio`s today. Ahhhh, life is good!

In general Merida was a dead loss on the coffee front, this may explain (at least partially) my lack of delight with the place. We actually spent most of our time in Merida going on trips to get out of Merida. And some of these trips were champion. I can now say that I`ve seen 24,000 flamingos in the flesh! (well more the pink feathers) To my surprise not one was standing on one leg. Was tempted to ask for half a refund. All were very pink indeed - we were told this has something to do with eating shrimp. Lisette and I have now reached our final destination before heading home. After 6 hours on buses yesterday watching "Pirates of the Caribbean" in Spanish (crap, by the way) we are in Puerto Morelos (back on the east coast of Mexico again). We´re staying in the Amar Inn. Given our experience of the establishment I reckon that "Amar Inn" translates to English as something like "Home of the BIG BIG dogs". The place is a small B & B which is overrun with very large hounds - Great Danes a favourite. They`re very friendly too - the most friendly is a golden retriever that appears to be part bear, such are her dimensions. Her name, ironically, is "Blondie"... The man who runs the place is also rather bear-like - it´s very possible that through his over-sized and over-muscled eyes she is but a cute yellow puppy - who can say? Lisette is very much in her element in Puerto Morelos as it contains the following: 1. Beach 2. Sun For me it´s good as it contains: 1. Hammocks 2. Shade So as I seek shelter from the sun Lisette comes to visit me every hour or so. Last time I saw her she had managed a new first - she has managed to tan 95% of her body - the only exception being the tops of her feet which are about the same colour as lobster that has failed to escape from the machinations of an enthusiastic chef... See you all soon - wonder if our luggage will make it back to Heathrow?? John and Lisette

But fear not you "Wind in the Willows" fans out there - "mole" as far as the Mexican people are concerned has nothing to do with cute brown burrowing creatures... Rather it´s a thick sauce that is poured liberally over tortillas. For added differentiation it's also pronounced "molay". So we've had endless fun repeating "moly moly moly moly" whilst sporting makeshift beauty spots constructed of compressed bread. Keeps us entertained. Surprisingly it (mole) tastes like chocolate. This is because it´s made of chocolate (amongst other things) - unusual in a main meal but very nice indeed. We´ve never quite got to grips with our jet-lag on this trip - mainly as I´m firmly convinced that Mexicans have got it dead wrong time-wise. The sun rises at about 5am. Early. However it sets at 5pm... Too early to my mind. I think personally that they should take a "let´s maximise the sun" approach to their lives and switch the clocks accordingly. Given that I don´t speak Spanish and I don´t know who to ask I´m still none the wiser as to their reasoning. We've decided that we want to see as much sun as possible and so we're early to bed and early to rise as a consequence. (Am also vaguely mindful of Dad's saying that "early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise" - not sure if there's anything in that or if he just liked the feel of the phrase on his tongue...)

When I last put fingers to keyboard Lisette and I were in Valledolid which is sort of in the middle of the Yucatan Peninsular (the East-most part of Mexico). We were staying in a nice hotel (pictures of which you may have seen) which appeared to be populated mostly by retired Americans and student Americans (around the age of 18 and searching for countries with less stringent licensing laws). As mentioned previously, we've been crashing early of an evening and so headed up the wooden hills to bedfordshire at about 8pm. The next thing we knew the world was erupting. It was dark outside as far as I could ascertain and we were very much in the company (separated only by a wall) of the American students. After listening to their output for about 5 minutes it seemed likely that they were attempting to make some kind of sequel to the 70´s film "Animal House". Maybe "Animal House 2 - they´re back and yet somehow less charming". Reasoning that interrupting them in their inebriated state would likely only lead to a difference of opinion Lisette and I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and vouched to take a midnight walk instead. A couple of minutes later, Lisette and I were in the square. Contrary to our expectations of a quiet walk the square was in full fiesta flow. A stage had been erected on one corner of the square and on it was a full band, multiple singers / dancers / drummers / horns - the list goes on! In the square itself the people of the town (from young to very old indeed) were dancing away in the midnight air. The noise was incredible. I can´t really describe properly what it was like - loud, energetic, pulsing... Mexican?? We watched for some time and even ventured the odd move ourselves (well Lisette more than me in all honesty). There seemed no likelihood that they would ever stop playing and so after an hour or so we drifted back to our hotel. Felt like a very cultural evening though.

Mexico appears to have no cats. Whereas cats wander the streets as if they own them at home there appear to be none here. In their place are dogs. Not dogs on leads pulling owners along after them. Rather dogs running free and begging for scraps - think "Tramp" - as in "Lady and the ....". However, we´ve found an exception. We are now staying in Merida (not our favourite town - for reasons I won´t bore you with) in an amazing b & b called the Casa Mexilio. The only 3 cats in Mexico live here. And at night Casa Mexilio becomes Catfight Club. We wake up about 4 or 5 times a night to catch the most interesting bits. A "Wroooooooowwwwlllll" indicating that Ginger has Mr Tiddles in a headlock. A "Hisssssssssssssssssss!!!" indicating that Duster is defending his territory from Ginger. Off to Puerto Morelos for our last adventure now... love John and Lisette

....Do you need more money? If so then I have the step-by-step plan for you: Step 1: Remove light fittings from rooms - no wasting money on expensive bulbs. Step 2: Remove plug sockets from rooms - let´s not have customers using that expensive electricity. Step 3: Stop changing the sheets and towels in the room - saves the environment and saves on the laundry Step 4: Treble your prices. Step 5: - And this is key - Change the name of your hotel. You are no longer the "Hotel Filthy Lucre" - you are the "Righteous (*not* miserly) Eco-Lodge". Now sit back and watch the cash roll in! :-) I can write this with some authority as Lisette and I have been staying in an eco-lodge (and staring with shock at various bills in the interim). We moved on from Isla Mujures on Monday. At this point I was still bagless and getting a little weary of the "wash clothes in sink before going to sleep" routine I´d adopted for sanity´s sake (and for that of the local air quality). When it came to checking out we decided to try our luck by phoning American Airlines one last time. Good news. Apparently, having finished its world tour, my bag had headed for Cancun and was waiting for me in the airport. Delighted, we breathlessly told AA that we were leaving our current hotel now and so they should deliver the bag to our new hotel - the Luna Maya in Tulum. AA confirmed that was fine. We asked the hotel staff of the "Maria Del Mar" to refuse our bag if it should be delivered by accident and we headed South to Tulum (via a half-hour boat-ride, a 2 hour coach-ride, 2 taxis and a bit of walking). About 6pm we arrived at our new hotel - sorry - eco-lodge to meet probably the surliest man in the eco-lodge business. We asked him if we could use the phone to ring AA. We didn´t think this was too much of an imposition - it was a toll-free number after all. "No phone" he gruffly informed us. It seemed there were no lengths to which the penny-pinching of an eco-lodge would extend. After some unsuccessful attempts with our mobile phones we prevailed upon his good nature once more (clearly a desperate move). Glaring at us, he threw his mobile phone in our direction so we could make the call. AA told us that the bag was still "in-transit". The next morning my bag still hadn´t shown - something of a mystery. Coupled with this, Tulum was absorbing the kind of rain that is usually reserved for Biblical floods. Lisette and I sought protection in an internet shop until the worst was over. To kill time we phoned AA once more - the bag was *still* in transit. Still! Apparently having circumnavigated the globe by air it was now attempting a tour of Mexico by land... We checked our email and found this waiting for us: *RE: Baggage it's in Cabanas Maria del Mar. From: CABANAS MARIA DEL MAR Sent:15 January 2008 16:45:14 To:mailto:xxxxxxxxxx@gmail.com Dear M. Jonh Reilly, Last night the company of American Airline brought the missing Bag at this hotel, the girl at the reception were thinking that still staying in the hotel and she received the bag, now you will have to come back at the Island for your bag. Kind Rgrds Clara. * Hmmmmmm........ I'll spare you grisly details of my reaction to this. Fate had made thrown us a curve ball and all we could do was biff it back to best of our ability. To that end: 2 boat-rides, 2 coach-rides, 4 taxis and about 8 hours later I had my bag by my (dishevelled) side once more. I have clothes!!!!!!!!! I have chargers!!!!! I have sandals!!!!! Since that time Lisette and I have investigated the Tulum Ruins (covered with iguanas and generally pretty), walked the beach, swam in an underwater cave with bats, climbed a Mayan pyramid, sacrificed a goat (well symbolically), abseiled (into the aforementioned cave), kayaked a river, eaten Mayan food, cycled the dodgiest bikes known to mankind and watched American tourists frolic next to a hungry looking crocodile (not nearly hungry enough as it turned out). We are now staying in Valladolid. I have no idea how to pronounce it. lots of love John and Lisette

Dear All, We're in Mexico. And clothes-wise all that I have is all that I'm wearing. If I could offer you a few pieces of advice to guide your life they might go something like this... 1. Don't go to Miami - ever 2. Don't fly American Airlines (Mangesh I should have listened) 3. Pack everything useful to you in your carry-on luggage 4. Don't buy liquids in an airport Let me elaborate. Lisette and I arrived in Miami yesterday afternoon en-route to Cancun (Mexico). We thought it would be a simple matter of changing planes and off we go. No such luck. Instead we were stuck in the longest slowest moving queue we've ever experienced so we could go through "immigration". Why we had to do this since we had no interest in the USA apart from treating it as a glorified petrol station I don't know. Anyway you can't argue (well you can but people that do that are rarely seen again) and so we bided our time,buttoned our lips and finally got through. Lisette had been shopping for shampoo and suncream back at Heathrow. This standard activity made Lisette a clear threat to America and these items were thus confiscated by a venomous harridan in Miami airport. Somewhat unreasonable we felt given that the aforementioned items had been purchased air-side at *Heathrow airport*. For some inexplicable reason we had to pick up our bags and carry them 20 metres for them to be put onto the flight. So off to baggage reclaim we went, picked up Lisette's bag and then paused. No sign of my bag. Nothing. Nada. Nowt. In a mood borne of anger, frustration, tiredness and general fatigue I asked the nearest staff member - "Where's my bag?". "Que?" "Bag?" "Que?" "Bag?!" "No Ingelese" More conversations of this nature occurred, each with a different person. I soon came to the conclusions that - even though this was Miami NO-ONE SPOKE ENGLISH - no-one knew about my bag or was remotely interested in it. Having done all we could (and achieved nothing) we boarded the plane for Cancun where we hoped to miraculously see my bag appearing on the baggage carousel. We didn't. Not only that but we didn't see Lisette's either. At 4pm yesterday Lisette and I realised that we were done for. No clothes, no chargers, no summer dresses (Lisette not me). With heavy hearts we left the airport having left our details with the American Airlines staff. We headed for our destination - the Isla Mujeres (the Island of Women) - feeling pretty much pot-less. This story does not have an entirely sad ending as we are staying in a beautiful room that fronts onto a beach (Lisette very pleased). What's more in the morning we turned up for breakfast to discover that Lisette's bag had miraculously arrived! We have eaten gorgeous Mexican food (tortillas / yucatan eggs) and we're sleeping well. Spent the afternoon today by the pool in hammocks watching the local wildlife (birds and iguanas) flap and stroll around us. Alas though I still have no bag and I have yet to find a shop that extends it's range beyond ceramics, hats and beer-logo-ed t-shirts. Am fervently praying that I will either find more varied shops or my bag will turn up. If neither happens then I fear I will soon be feeling none-too-fresh... But it's a new feeling to be standing wearing pretty much all the possessions that I have to hand. Yours hopefully, John and Lisette PS "All property is theft man"

Hi All,

Am 30!

Currently sitting in internet cafe prior to catching the bus to Siena for a day out. So far have been to Pisa, Lucce and Florence (where we are currently holed up in a very nice place indeed!)

Yesterday was spent cycling round Chianti with Keith (Irish) and Andy (Scottish) - for some reason Italians dont feel up to running bike tours themselves... Was very pleasant - we got to taste award winning wine and olive oil along the way made by a Count and Countess no less! (Not of the vampiric variety we have been assured) A fair portion of the days entertainment was provided by Andy who is possibly the most blatant of chat-up merchants I have ever seen in operation.

Sample quotes:

• This way people this way - and American blondes can sit just here...
• Everybody in the van - girls you sit next to me
• So Keith, the story is they dont like me very much but they do care for you. You talk them round and we'll see what we can do next...

Re-reading all of this makes his actions seem somewhat worrying. But the fact that each utterance was made in possibly the strongest Scottish accent known to mankind meant that the Americans (which was basically everyone apart from us) were putty in his hands... Very entertaining from a watchers point of view!

The leaning tower of Pisa still leans I can assure you. Lisette and I climbed it and surveyed the view (at an angle). Was great. Seems smaller than I remember it but the last time I visited it I was about 2 feet shorter I suppose.

See you all soon people!

love John and Lisette

Dear all,

Lisette and I have finally made it to Bologna - and have officially left Tuscany behind. Now that we've got here I'm increasingly of the opinion that we never should have left. Bologna seems somewhat industrial, hostile and - dare I say it - mugging territory. (For the more nervous of you I haven't actually seen direct evidence of this - it's just a feeling)

We pulled into town latish last night having caught the Eurostar from Firenze/Florence to make our journey. That in itself was a bit of a surprise - I was only aware of the Eurostar chugging along between Waterloo and Paris. Quite unexpected. Having arrived and hauled our stuff to the hotel we went for an evening saunter during which I made the following observations:

1. There's a lot of cars
2. There's some dodgy looking blokes and a distinct absence of women travelling by themselves (in stark contrast to previous destinations)
3. The graffitti here is excessive and depressing.

You might think that observation 3 is a bit odd. Surely all grafitti is depressing? However that's not my opinion; I'm highly in favour of the works of Banksy and the like. That said almost all grafitti is depressing. I don't wish to see another "Tox '04","Tox '05", "Tox '06" or "Tox '07" *anywhere*. "Tox", in case you are wondering, is the tag of some London sort who wanders around scribbling his chosen moniker and the year in which it was done pretty much anywhere he can in London. I'm not sure what he hopes to achieve by adding the year of defacement as a suffix to his tags. I can only assume that he genuinely believes he is an as yet unappreciated talent who's work will be toured by future art historians who will take great interest in the "progression" of his work. "Ah yes class, an '06' - truly the days when you can start to see Tox stretch himself. Note the positioning of this tag on a busy railway line. This would indeed have been quite a tricky spot to reach and great nerve would have been required in the execution of the 'tag' itself..."

I digress...

Anyway - Tuscany on the whole is not without grafitti. However there is a relatively small amount of it and if you would credit it, it is actually rather poignant. For a start, it's not "tag" orientated. That is to say, there are actually things written which you can read rather than simple "tags". Secondly, and for no obvious reason, the grafitti is in English. I don't why - it just is. Finally, that which is written is actually quite interesting... occasionally even moving! Here's some of the things we found written:

"Where is the happyness?" - written on the roof of a house in GIANT letters. We spied it from the top of a tower (we've climbed quite a few towers this holiday...) "I don't want to be alone - do you?" "I'll remember you" - written on a wall in Lucce.

Stirring sentiments don't you think? You could almost join together the different entries to form a story. Sad man is very lonely. Declaims "Where is the happiness?" to the empty world, emphasising further his solitary existence. Sad man meets someone passing through town and they get talking. After they've got to know each other a little, perhaps had a drink to reduce the inhibitions, the sad man opens up and says "I don't want to be alone - do you?". A friendship (maybe a romance?) begins between the two - the sad man is not sad anymore. Finally the other (whoever it may be) has to move on for whatever reason. The man (no longer sad) says to the other before they leave: "I'll remember you". A beautiful story... don't you think? I reckon there's a film in there somewhere...

Anyhow Lisette and I are doing our level best in the interim to avoid Bologna. Today we're visiting nearby Modena (home of Pavarotti and Balsamic vinegar) which is very charming. And tomorrow we move on to Lake Garda - about which we've heard very good things indeed.

See you all soon!

John

Because then I wouldn't feel so bad....

3 weeks in and we're feeling the pain of not being able to communicate. Last night we went to a Chinese restaurant for dinner (in Bocas del Toro - where we've been for 3 days now). I don't think anyone in the establishment actually was Chinese but that's still what it called itself.

The menu was presented and as with Chinese places the world over we were presented with a menu which was comparable in size to the complete works of Shakespeare. Not to be defeated we ordered some beers (we have at least learned the phrase "cevesa" during our travels). Further study of the menu didn't really render much hope apart from the fact that I identified "chow mein" which I thought might make a nice side dish to share. When the waitress came we decided to chance it and order with our fingers crossed....

This was a mistake.

When the meal finally came we discovered we had ordered the following:

• Strange crisps - sort of the Panamanian/Chinese answer to poppadoms I can only assume
• Spring rolls - traditionally these are filled with beansprouts and other things. In this part of the world bean-sprouts are hard to come by and so the Panamians are using a bean-sprout alternative: cabbage. I don't consider it an unqualified success
• Beef with rice noodles - a slightly bland main course for Lisette
• Chow mein to share - but after a mouthful I decided it was better to leave it
• A plate of fried rice. This was my main course. I distinctly heard the waitress cackling with laughter to herself as she strolled off. ("No tip for her", I thought at the time)

Depression and determination arrived in equal measure as I determined to eat the plate of fried rice. However, after many a forkful I finally had to admit defeat ... It was that or be riced to death. What a way to go.

We're now off to stay in our "eco-lodge" for 2 nights - out in the middle of nowhere!

It'll definitely be a change from Bocas town which is essentially full to bursting with young Americans ever in search of an "alternative lifestyle" - mostly expressed in the form of beads, bongos and piercings in unusual places. They have managed to furnish me with a second wooden wedding ring though (to replace the one that went under the bus in David). It 's a little on the unusual side this new wedding ring - it's in the style traditionally worn by "Ming the Merciless" (all you Flash Gordon fans). Though the I should say that the outlandish style of my new ring does not appear to have intimidated Lisette in any way - as yet....

In fact it's quite a nice town - particularly if you like dogs. (I do!) There are many many dogs that leisurely stroll the streets here, occasionally pausing to beg for food, stretch or scratch for fleas... There's one in the hostel where we're staying that sleeps underneath the sofa. It's also a nice town if you like vultures. Huge ungainly birds that stroll the roads looking like huge threatening bald ravens. I haven't seen them picking at any carcasses as yet - perhaps they live off rejected chow mein from the Chinese restaurant...

Take care people!

John and Lisette

Heard that song? Well that´s me (and Lisette) right now We signed ourselves up to do some white water rafting yesterday with a dutch girl in our hostel called Petri. The people doing the organising told us that the river was somewhere between the "6th and the 9th most dangerous in the world" ..... but that due to favourable weather conditions and rainfall recently "we should be fine". A little worried but still confident we signed up and set off early the next morning. It was at this point our guide started telling us things like "if you get caught underwater you should consider whether you want to die or break a bone to get free". Marvellous. By the time we actually got in the water it was with a large number of reservations and no small amount of fear. These fears seemed quite well justified once we´d been through the first couple of rapids and come fairly close to drowning. It was at this point I noticed that the strap that was supposed to anchor my left foot to the boat was missing... And that I was developing cramp in my left leg as I furiously held fast to the side of the dinghy for dear life... But I´ll not over-egg this story - we survived. We got sunburned. We got eaten by mosquitoes. We drank plenty of river water. We fell in the river. We were thrown in the river (our guides could be politely described as "mischievous"). We got scratched, bruised and battered.... but miraculously we didn´t die or suffer extensive injuries! But we hurt so much. It´s now about 24 hours since we finished and I feel I´ve aged about 70 years. I know what it´s like to be old now. I´ve had the sneak preview. Ouch. On the plus side we have at least picked a good spot in which to recuperate. Having spent our first 48 hours in Panama comparing the place to Gotham City on a dark night we have now reach a very pleasant spot. It´s like a Swiss mountain town but without the Swiss. It´s a village high up in the Western Panamanian hills called Boquete. I highly recommend it! Ít´s coffee country and we´ve toured a nearby coffee plantation and done a coffee tasting session. My sanity is definitely returning! I´m now off to have a Latte in one of the nearby cafes - at the respectable price of 1 US Dollar... thank you very much! I don´t think this place will stay like this long though. Americans that don´t like paying taxes have discovered this place with a vengeance and as I write this they are tearing down local coffee plantations to build gated communities. Bit sad really. Hope to bring you more cheerful news in our next missive, John and Lisette

After 7 hours on an overnight bus from Panama City we made it to David (pronounced Dah-veed) this morning. Slightly eerie journey - we were woken at 2am to show officers our passports. Then at 4am I had the surprise of my life when I stirred to see a golden retriever padding past me in the aisle of the coach... I can only assume that it was on some kind of unsuccessful narcotics hunt since no-one explained (even in Spanish) just what was going on. Eventually he/she was retrieved by a man in a uniform with a very big truncheon by his side. At the time I had other worries though as hypothermia was beginning to set in. The drivers response to the heat and humidity outside appeared to be setting the air-conditioning in the coach to "stun" and to hell with the passengers. So as the journey continued all that could be heard up and down the coach were muffled curses and chattering of teeth But we made it! Arrival at 5:30 am was slightly traumatic though as my wooden wedding ring went for a wander under the bus, never to be seen again... Now on the market for another wooden wedding ring - glad I only spent 3 dollars on the last one Thought I´d pass on 2 snaps from the wedding we´ve just received: Lisette looking frankly stunning and me looking in need of a good rest... Take care peoples!