is there poodle in my noodle

Buongiorno from Liguria, a rugged limestone coastline that sits in front of a mountain range reaching up to 2,650 meters in altitude. That’s quite some height compared with Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain, which reaches just 978m. The dramatic verticality, where the Alps and Apennines seem to dive straight into the Mediterranean, provides endless running and climbing opportunities.

Every few miles a seaside town, often at the bottom of a steep hill covered in hairpin bends, provides a historic centre, a ubiquitous Lidls, and a beach – sometimes pebbly and sometimes sandy.

The towns vary greatly in personality, from high-end boutique shopping centres where trendy couples strut around in Armani, to more edgy agricultural and commercial centres dominated by a larger population of locals and immigrants.

Finale, about 15 minutes east of us, is a an epic climbing area with a concentration of more than 4,000 routes. Developed and super popular in the 1980s, it is famous for its technical slab and wall climbing. The area later went out of fashion when climbers wanted to get onto steeper Spanish walls.

It was initially quite disconcerting listening to the Italians shouting “die die die” at each other as they climbed, until we learnt it is roughly translated as “go on!”. 🤣

The urban area of Finale is really beautiful, with one of “Italy’s best preserved historical centres” Finalborgo up the road – a walled regional capital in the 12th century. Although jaw droppingly stunning, it was packed with tourists and outdoor enthusiasts, particularly mountain bikers.

On our way here we visited an old ghost town Bussana Vecchia, evacuated 1887 when a massive earthquake struck the region. The damage was so severe the Italian government declared it uninhabitable. It lay empty for decades before international artists took over the village in the 1960s, effectively as squatters. Now, it is being renovated, mostly funded by the artists themselves.

On our way back we found that the main road was closed and decided it would be a great idea to take the weaving hairpin bends over the valley. If we have nine lives then I am surely in deficit by now. Vertical drops, no barriers, crumbling tarmac and precipitous bends that required a 5 point turn provided us with more excitement than we wanted. When we got down we both had a little cry.

Overall we have loved being in this area. Last night we finally got out to have a real pizza. We have learned enough Italian now to really confuse folk and last night the restaurant manager spent quite a lot of time creating a VAT receipt for us when we just wanted the bill.

Really awesome pizza. They take their pizza so seriously here you have trouble finding fresh pizzas in the supermarket. Only the best will do!

We plan to stay here for a couple of days, do some more climbing, before heading east to briefly visit the posh bit of the coastline. We hope everyone is well at home. We miss you ❤️ 💙 💜

Murray Walker’s famed quote really sums up the thrill of visiting the “jewel in the crown” of F1 racing tracks. Snaking through multi-million pound properties, casinos, hotels and yachts of the ultra-salubrious Monte Carlo, the track attracts throngs of visitors even out of racing season.

It was a joy to watch Jem bouncing through the iconic Fairmont Tunnel, and then the Fairmont Hairpin, getting quite emotional.

In Monaco – the world’s second smallest country measuring in at just over 2 square km – propety prices exceed €50,000 per square metre, and flats can sell for more than €20 million.

Nestled at the bottom of a super steep cliff riddled with hairpin bends, it is a haven for supercars, plastic surgery, ridiculously fluffy minature dogs whose outfits match their owners, opulent jewellery, and pretentious humans who want to be SEEN.

Thoroughly underwhelmed at the grotesque display of wealth and narcissism, we stayed for an hour or two before heading into the Gorbio. This medieval hilltop village above Monaco, flanked by limestone cliffs, was a true gift.

As we leave France, in a nutshell, we can conclude that the French Riviera was not to our taste. With achingly self-conscious and claustrophobic towns, snaking traffic and influencer types abound, it was great for some voyeurism but we think we shan’t stay any longer.

Similarly, our trip to the famous cliffs of Calanques – a renowned climbing destination below Marseille – was aborted having read about the “car crime epidemic targeting foreign vehicles”. Instead we found some glorious running in the Alpilles national park, where we ended up on some exciting via ferrata by mistake. Hurrah!

But no matter – it has brought our entry into Italy a few days nearer, and off we head towards Finale.

Finale Ligure is one of the hidden gems of the Italian Riviera. Known for its stunning beaches, charming old town, world-class rock climbing, and scenic hiking and biking trails, this Ligurian coastal town offers an exciting mix of culture and outdoor adventure. It even has an annual knitting festival! We are PSYCHED.

The Côte d’Azur has provided a very welcome moment of quiet after getting embroiled in Spain’s five-day national Easter break, when hundreds of folk rush to the mountains to access the below-the-snow-line walks with the family.

We spent two splendid nights in hilltop towns, the first sampling the local brandy in a bar frequented by the Spanish mullet brigade, with obligatory dog on a string. By 10pm we had intricately planned a ridiculous 12-hour expedition involving crampons, ice axes and vertical drops into the valley of 600 metres.

By 6am the next morning and with sore heads the ambitious and potentially suicidal plan had been downgraded, and off we set up the valley floor from Torla to find a waterfall.

When we hit sheet ice on steep slopes I regretted not bringing winter gear, but my fears were allayed when kids and grannies motored past us wearing Adidas. I have come to believe that the UK takes health and safety much more seriously than anywhere else on the globe.

The walk was glorious; about 10 miles, gaining elevation all the way; from alpine forests at the base, up to a snowy plateau in the deep valley flanked by vertical cliffs of more than 500 metres high.

The region was madly busy and the carpark tip to toe with campers, so we hotfooted to the French Med coast as quickly as possible; through the Pyrenees and straight across to the south coast of France. As we winded through the countryside with the ‘no tolls’ option set on Googlemaps, we spent hours amongst French vineyards, rolling green fields, swathes of swaying oilseed rape, medieval hill top towns, and the backdrop the the snow-capped pyrenees.

France, it turns out, is comparitively expensive to Spain, especially for fuel; a litre in some garages was priced at €2.45 a litre (£2.14)!! Luckily this is offset by Côte du Rhone red wine, a snip at €1.99 a bottle in Lidl.

What with #vanlife getting hijacked by retirees who flock to southern France for winter sun in their huge motorhomes, the area understandably isn’t so camper-friendly for campsite dodgers, and finding a parking spot without a 2-metre height barrier proved a problem. So we decided to give a nudist campsite a go and see what happened. Long and short of it is that Jem will now refuse to go anywhere his balls can’t sway in the breeze. Happily I don’t think that will be a problem in France.

So for the next few days we are going to enjoy the view and get in the sea. The van still needs fixing but we think it can wait another few days.

Thinking of our compadres battling Storm Dave 👊 much love, lu and jem x

Hello faithful followers from Ainsa in Aragon, a Spanish medieval town located roughly half way between the Atlantic and Mediterranean Oceans. The area is renowned for its roast lamb, and the dramatic backdrop of the towering Pyreneen mountain range to the north.

Highlights in the region include the Ordesa y Monte Perdido National Park; a canyon and waterfall-strewn conservation area in a setting worthy of the American West, with peaks reaching over 3,000m.

The 34-hour ferry journey to Santander gave us a chance to rest our legs and enjoy spectacular views across the ocean from our microscopic cabin.

Recuperation was in need after last weekend’s run on the rolling Jurassic Coast in Dorset, starting near Lyme Regis and culminating in Poole.

Set as a multi-stage event over three days, the 84-mile “challenge” advertised itself as a non-competitive affair with plentiful cake and sandwiches. Great, we thought, that sounds like a low-octane glorified picnic where we could rumble along with other middle-aged folk and discuss our growing inventory of running-related ailments.

The format of the event set about 40 ‘walkers and slow joggers’ off first, with the remaining 40 ‘faster joggers and runners’ leaving two hours later each day. Brimming with misplaced self-confidence and a deep misunderstanding of the racing pedigree, we opted for the latter group.

During registration – a rather intimidating and serious affair – it quickly became evident that our category was designed exclusively for elite waddage; athletes of the highest calibre and those in training for the UTMB in Chamonix.
The race organiser’s insistence that it was not, in fact, a race brought little comfort as our cohort of nimble mountain goats sped out from the starting gates, and we were left eating their dust. Meanwhile the slowest walkers in the first group were averaging 18 minute miles – that’s really quite fast for a race that packs in almost 5,000 metres of ascent.
Still reeling from the fallout of March’s extended birthday celebrations and an underwhelming training regime, we spent almost the entire race alone, and minced in at the back each day as the sun was setting on our comparitively woeful efforts.

But what a great time we had! Sunshine, stunning views, and good vibes abound – and I think overall we placed somewhere in the middle (despite feeling like the biggest losers each day 😂). We were really lucky to have Kiki meet us on the finishing line and buy us a pint of restorative ale.

With shredded quads, blistered feet, and a sliver of dignity still intact, we drove off to Portsmouth to catch our ferry.

Plans for the next few weeks include heading over the French Riviera, where we will do our best voyeuring at super yachts and haughty Frenchies, and also get stuck in with some easy multi-pitch climbing, before winding our way through Italy and down to Greece. But not before calling out the RAC tomorrow after a myriad of warning lights came on. Glad we got the gold standard breakdown insurance! You couldn’t make it up 😂

Good morning friends and family from a rubbish-strewn car park in Dorchester, where we look out upon a gloomy and overcast Tuesday morning. A delapidated public toilet door swings sadly on its broken hinges and melancholy seagulls mew overhead, while rush-hour traffic rumbles by a few metres away. The stuff of sadness and despair you may think. But no; for us, it represents the first day of our European adventure; a blank canvass and an as-yet unwritten story of do and dare.

We have, since not long after our serendipitous rendez-vous on Tinder, been planning this excursion into the unknown. A journey that would put a bomb under our old predictable lives and force us to make big decisions about the next chapter. We would just see where the shrapnel fell; maybe it would conclude back in the familiar routines of the UK – or perhaps to a new life in sunnier climes. After six years of talking about it, here we are, peering out at this miserable car park, our excitement levels vibrating off the chart like a box of randy hamsters.

Longer-term van life is a concept we have regularly discussed with curious parties. The concept of quitting jobs, renting the house out, and living in a 10m² box with another human invites a host of responses ranging from ‘you lucky bastards’ to ‘have you completely lost your minds’.

Admittedly having no real bills to pay, no job and no commitments allows an enviable existence. Meanwhile it is also true that it presents a cohort of challenges which really counter the romantic notions of #vanlife. Living cheek by jowl with your beloved through times of extended inclement weather, unexpected bowel movements and raging PMT can push the most devoted couple to their limits. Maintaining a dignified standard of physical presentation, ensuring you don’t somehow end up in a commune with a mono-dread and dream catchers woven into a home-knitted stripey onesy. Last night, for example, I had to remind Jem that it was a sackable offence to wear crusty whiffy running trainers out for a birthday meal at Pizza Express as he could not be bothered to rummage around in the inpenetrable chocka-block boot for his fancy kicks.

We have taken up new hobbies to fill downtime. Jem has so far kitted himself a fancy new scarf and I have taken up crochet and am creating a mystery project 🤔

Crochet has become some kind of existential metaphor, where sometimes the outcome can look quite pleasing, and sometimes, with no rhyme or reason, it is just a wonky and slightly embarrassing mass of interlocking yet indistinguishable fluffy threads which unravel while flipping the proverbial bird.

My project, which started out as a 3 inch x 3 inch square, is growing legs and this morning Jem threatened to banish it from his beloved knitting bag as it was infringing on his wool stash. What will this wooly behemoth become? Who knows. The most important thing is to sit back and enjoy the process.

Anyway, we are now off into the grey mists of Dorchester, which hosts the Maumbury Rings, a Neolithic henge created some 2,500 years ago. Photos to follow!

(Believe it or not) we are back on the blog by popular demand! AND we have special guests this week!

As the next few months see us roaming about in our van we have been tasked with keeping family – and the most dedicated of friends – up to date on our exploits. 

The last couple of weeks in the Philippines went by without much incident; some surfing and running action, with a fireworks display for New Year. 

We visited an underground cave that navigated right under the main road; had I known we would be swimming through it in the dark with nibbling fish I may have thought twice before entering.

The immersive excursion culminated in a plunge pool where Jem showed the kids how it is done.

Biblical rain for the last couple of days inspired us to craft a raft to get from our bed to the bathroom after the ceiling gave way, and then we found a toad in Jem’s shoe the size of small pig. We spent the last day in the tattoo parlour to get commemorative designs for our trip. Jem spent about six hours getting violated by the tattoo gun which was nothing short of heroic.

It was by some small miracle we made our four flights home without incident, arriving back into rainy -2 degrees Manchester with flip flops on.

A whistle stop tour of Sheffield, Cambridge and the Dales has been an awesome reacclimatisation, with belated Christmas celebrations and merriment.

So, was there Poodle in the Noodle? – I know everyone is desperate to know. One backstreet restaurant in Yangshuo, China rose to the challenge, where Jem ordered an unidentified and highly suspicious meat that wagged its tail on arrival 🫣

Philippines was great fun, though we found it to be a bit low-octane, with surfing being the main activity. Our favourite destinations were by far China and Thailand – both such welcoming and friendly countries, but also with the ease of travel, mod cons, climbing, and so much to do.

So – to the future. An MOT, timing belt change and service, and Frankie looks good as new for the next part of our adventure. Next week will see a trip to the Lakes to continue training for our upcoming race, before heading down south for work.

For now, we chill in the Dales, where sideways rain and frozen bogs help us to grow hairs on our chests.

A very happy Christmas from Siargao, one of the most easterly of the 7,641 islands which make up the Philippines archipelago.

Siargao (pronounced Shar-gow) is internationally famous for its surfing, turquoise waters and sandy beaches, and hosts a renowned break called Cloud 9 which is reserved for the most skilled surfers.

The island’s main tourist town, General Luna, is also home to hoards of exquisitely good-looking, bronzed and ripped surfer types, most of whom wear not much more than an eye-watering shoe string. Needless to say we are fitting right in 😂

Jem has been honing his skills on the baby waves which has, by his own admittance, been quite an ego-crushing experience having not surfed in more than a decade. As promised I gave it a go; a brief and somewhat embarrassing excursion involving escalating panic, flailing arms and an unceremonious dismount, before flashing my nipples to the beach. Think I’ll leave surfing to Jem.

It is lucky then that there are many other activities to do, including finding more creative ways to crash the scooter, sampling the local beverages, snorkeling, and continuing our epic backgammon tournament.

The Philippines has a fascinating and cruel history. The country was colonised by the Spanish for 300 years from the 1500s. During this period, in the 1760s, the British captured the capital Manila for four years but were fought off by the Spanish. The country was then sold to the USA for $20 million in 1898 following Spain’s defeat in the Spanish-American War. This outraged the Filipinos, who declared independence and staged years of rebellion and resistance against American rule.

The country was then occupied by Japan for almost four years during WW2. Although Japan granted the Philippines its “independence” in 1943, the Filipinos suffered greatly from atrocities inflicted not only on suspected guerrillas but on many innocent civilians. Torture, rape, pillage, and massacres, sometimes of entire villages, took place all over the country.

During WW2, the Filipinos fought for the Americans and made huge sacrafices; tens of thousands died in battle, and of starvation and disease. Manila, once considered one of the most beautiful cities in the world, was the battleground for huge deadly conflicts between the Allieds and Japanese. More than 100,000 Filipino men and 20,000 Americans died and the capital was utterly demolished. It was not until 1946 that the United States officially granted full independence.

The Philippines is the only former Spanish colony that doesn’t speak Spanish. It has been surprising how little Spanish influence we have seen; the majority of the Spanish-speaking population was killed during WW2, as well as the language and culture dwindling during American rule. There are however more than 3,000 Spanish words in the local language Tagalog, which is primarily spoken amongst locals. Due to its island geography and turbulent history, the culture and linguistics nationwide are fragmented and there is no one prevalent national identity – in fact, there are more than 170 regional languages spoken across the nation. One consistent feature we have noted is just how friendly the Filipinos are; on the whole very laid back, kind and helpful.

It is extremely hot and humid here, interspersed with one or two downpours each day. Plans include watching Jem surf from the safety of the beach, heading out on a boat trip to surrounding islands, and exploring Siargao on our scooters. To give an impression of size, it would take about 5 hours to drive around the entire island.

A big cheers and bottoms up to everyone at home, we hope you are enjoying your festivities!

Bags packed and ready for the off! It’s been a wonderful last few days here in Tonsai, punctuated by climbing and backgammon. Our stellar luck in avoiding travel-related sickness caught up with me this week; there’s nothing like spending your last day in paradise shuttling between the toilet and the bed during a nasty bout of food poisoning 🤢 Luckily for me Jem is extremely forgiving as I was supposed to belay him on his climbing project  ❤️ 💙 💜

Jem has otherwise been busy honing his new teenage wardrobe, I think perfectly capturing that Love Island circa 2018 vibe.

This week saw an awesome kayak/climb adventure to Ao Nang Tower, a sea stack located about 30 minute’s paddle from Ton Sai beach.

Navigating through the longtail shipping channel to reach the stack at dawn was a hair-raising challenge, with the main aim of not throwing all the climbing gear into the sea. Embarking and disembarking the kayaks were similarly nail biting, timing the climbing perfectly so we could access the platform over high tide.

The route is about 100 metres long and entails three pitches of easy/moderate climbing up the western face, before abseiling back down to the kayak. It was pretty exciting and Jem smashed the hard sections like a sponsored hero 💪 💪 💪 

We are flying to the Philippines today via Bangkok, including a 10-hour layover in Manilla before arriving on Siargao Island in a couple of days. Siargao is famous for its waves, laid back way of life, and golden beaches. Jem is really excited to do some surfing (there’s a famous break called Cloud 9) and we are going to start training again after entering a 3-day race in March over the Jurassic Coast which I hear is quite hilly.

We are sad to be leaving Thailand and its glorious humans, climbing and Pad Thai (classic noodles), it has been awesome!

If there’s something I particularly like about Tonsai, in addition to everything else, it’s the fact that there is a cute monkey around every corner. They sit watching from the rafters over breakfast and in the afternoon gather in the bush next to our house to eat the leaves. These are the chillest monkeys you’ve ever seen.

The Dusky leaf monkey’s population is declining due to habitat loss, poaching, and land use, and now it is classified as endangered. Luckily, the woman at the corner shop provides a solid supply of bananas throughout the week.

Tonsai is treating us well, with daily climbing, swimming, and back gammon tournaments. In the evenings, to avoid battalions of mosquitos, we watch a lot of Netflix and have adopted the sleep schedule of toddlers.

We went for an exciting journey right through the middle of the peninsula today, via a huge cave from one side of Thaiwand Wall to the other.

Its a very chilled existence here and we are doing a few routes each day.

We only intended on climbing a few easy routes here, but the perfect limestone is like a red rag to a bull, and we are getting a bit stronger.

Some of the best climbing is in the beach roof area; a row of near-perfect overhanging lines, with grades ranging from pretty hard to extremely hard.  The wall is where the climbing glitterati strut about, mincing around on the hard stuff, flexing their huge muscles and omitting the occasional power scream.

Yesterday we braved it out, sweating and grunting our way up the easiest route at the crag, with limited success and some excellent whining. It was some kind of miracle that this morning we turned up and both completed it second go.

In animal news, I saw a hornbill in the tree yesterday.

There are also some cool crabs who reside in sand potholes.

We have another six days here before we head to the Philippines. Another while to enjoy all this, and climb some hard route Jem has his eye on.

Much love to all at home 😘😘

I made a wager with Jem about two months ago that by December he would be sporting a ‘wrap-around’ of some description, to great protests of, “as if I’d ever wear a wrap-around, I’m not a total hippy” etc. Lo and behold, this evening, Jem presents.

I think it’s just for domestic use  👀

We hear the weather is really awful at home, so apologies in advance for a report full of sunshine and joy.

The last few days have been brilliant, mostly involving a 6.30am start, at the crag by 8am, and then in the bar by 4pm.

A couple of days ago, we went to a local lagoon; a very exciting expedition that involves some scrambling into the base of a crater.

We have spent the last few days looking for a clipstick as the first bolts on the routes here are generally high. On day 3 of the search, we found a local climbing store, and the Thai guy inside told us they wouldn’t rent or sell us a stick, but we could have it for free, as well as a guide book, and to make a donation to the bolting fund at the end of our trip. He was such a dude 🌈 total restoration of faith in humankind!

Climbing isn’t very interesting for most people, so without much explanation, here are some photos of stuff we’ve done:

The climbing is really unbelievable, and we are both completely psyched out of our minds . Almost as unbelievable as when a 5-foot Monitor Lizard ran up the beach yesterday just inches from us… turns out he was just one of a benign local lizard gang who swan about looking hopefully for leftovers.

In other animal news, we saw some Golden Orb Weavers, who are from the VIP area of the spider world, and make amazing webs that would be really terrifying to walk into at night.

And here are some monkeys

There is not too much more to report really. Miss you all at home, massive lobes to everyone! ❤️ 💙 💜