Rhine Rhapsody

When sitting down to plan holiday destinations we have often considered a river cruise. There are some attractive ones out there, including the Danube, the Duro, the Nile, and, of course, the Rhine.

I usually got my way and we moved onto something else. I didn’t care what else we might look at but, please, not a river cruise.

I remember, and I can’t recall where we were, watching in horror as a boatful of old cotton-bud heads overran a river port somewhere. Ah, that’s it, I think it was Avignon. The average age, and I swear this is true, looked as if it might be closer to a hundred than fifty. Not for me, if you don’t mind.

Even now, I still considered myself too young for such an activity. On the plus side, as it was pointed out to me, there was a very high chance that there would not be children or dogs on board. All of a sudden I thought it sounded quite attractive.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like children or dogs, please don’t ask me to list them in order of preference, I think there is a place for both. In fact, if I am in the right mood, I can bring myself to quite like either. Due to this irrational view, therefore, I had a perverse disinclination to go on a river cruise, after all, it was nothing more than a rite of passage into a geriatric infirmity.

So, here we were, on the first day, 2.30 in the morning, we had already been up for 45 minutes, and our taxi arrived to take us to Heathrow Airport. I have to say, this is a thought I can never get my head around, the flight only takes about an hour and ten minutes, yet door-to-door is more like ten hours. Travelling days, in my view in any case, are extraordinarily tough and, therefore, tiring.

We did encounter a bizarre moment as we rocked up to the check-in at Heathrow. The lady on duty who, I am afraid, was rather wearing her chair as opposed to sitting in it, she should have chosen the next size up, probably XXL, asked us the usual questions about liquids, electronics and medicines.

When we said that neither of us were on medication she was astonished. “How do you get to your age without being on anything?” Not entirely sure whether it was a compliment or a criticism.

“No idea,” we said. “Just a bit of good luck.”

“Is it diet or exercise?”

“Probably both,” I responded. “In my case, I eat lots of vegetables, fruits and nuts, and do at least three hours of exercise every day.”

That is true if you count walking as exercise.

She was staggered and confessed that she did not do any exercise whatsoever, other than walk to the staff canteen, although she would like to. She didn’t really like fruit and vegetables, which I found strange from a lady of South Asian heritage. She had been on the weight-loss jabs and had managed to lose three stones. She did name the prescribed drugs that she was taking, but I cannot remember them all, certainly not well enough to list here anyway.

I hadn’t even heard of some of the conditions she had acquired thanks to her obesity. I cannot conceive how people can get in such a state and, it is safe to say, that if she got up to move about, I am pretty sure she would rattle.

“Good luck to you. I know you will do it.” I am not really sure I felt as confident as I sounded.

To be fair, the journey all went without a hitch, and we were on board MS Geoffrey Chaucer at just gone 12:30. Taxi to the airport, plane to Basel and, finally, a bus to the Rhine.

Here’s an interesting little aside. Talk about totally unimaginative, the name Rhine in the local vernacular means, wait for it, river; so, in effect it is called the River River. It is not alone in this, I understand that Avon comes from the Celtic for river, afon, so we also have a handful of rivers called River River.

When we boarded the plane, which wasn’t exclusive to Riviera, and we got our first glimpse of our potential fellow passengers, we tried to work out who might be going all the way to the cruise. It was a game ascertaining who we thought were going to be a damned good laugh as well as earmarking those to be avoided at all costs. You could tell the funny ones, you could spot the interesting ones and you could pick out the boring ones. It was lucky as we left all the boring ones at Basel Airport. I reckon they were bankers or some such. I knew who I wanted to spend the next week with!

Remember, we have just joined a cruise, so where do you think is the first port of call once we have got through the checking in process? Well done, that’s it, the restaurant. In our defence, we hadn’t had anything since leaving home other than a teeny-weeny cup of coffee, not worth a spit, and a pastry. Food was served buffet and you could eat, or so we thought, as much as you liked. Nobody took the time to disabuse us of this assumption so it was fill your boots time.

New readers of this will realise that I am not a fan of buffet. There is usually nothing wrong with the food but, due to my lack of eyesight, I am restricted. I do wish that the waiting staff would note that I have a white cane and use their imagination a bit. Never mind, Jane went up to get me some. A tasty side to the “Gastronomy Cruise of Switzerland,” even though the first morsel was of Italian heritage.

The city of Basel is actually in three separate countries: France, Germany and, more commonly known I think, Switzerland. Even the airport has exits that take you into different countries. We headed for the Swiss quarter, and I have to say, I was excited, it was a new country to be ticked off my list.

Our cabin, partly below the waterline, not quite steerage, even though I claimed it was to fellow passengers who resided on upper decks with balconies, was very well appointed. There was plenty of cupboard space, a sizeable enough bathroom with a shower large enough to hold a small party, and a jolly comfortable bed for when one was partied out.

After lunch, and a brief hello to some fellow passengers, including a couple from a nearby village in Norfolk who were awaiting their transfer back to the airport and their flights home, we took ourselves for a short stroll along the riverbank.

We went, say a kilometre in each direction, at a push. There were plenty of eateries, which I did not expect to be frequenting as all our food was included in the package along with a generous drinks deal. Other boats were moored up along the towpath, I’m not sure that is the right term as it is not a canal, giving the appearance of party boats, although they were a little on the sleepy side.

It was only Thursday and, just maybe, they came to life on Friday night and into the weekend. One intriguing attraction was the swimming area. I had had pre-warning of this from a parkrun friend who had recently visited this lovely little city, population 177,595, and although she extolled its virtues, I see nothing attractive about immersing myself in river water, never have, which I think is as a result of the filthy state of our own rivers.

We were later informed that the Rhine, as it runs through Basel, is incredibly clean and swimmers dip in every day including, as I understand it, during the winter months. Maybe I should have been brave enough to give it a go, after all, it is only a short journey from the glaciers from where meltwater enters the river and, I assume, is as clean as clean can be.

I have always been told never to assume, ass of u and me, and all that crap. Caution has played an important role in my first 65 years which, I hope, is the reason I have made it this far. As mentioned, the water should be fresh and clean coming, as it does, straight from the mountains, Basel is at the point where the High Rhine becomes the Upper Rhine.

On returning to the ship we went up to the top deck where we met a lovely couple, older than us, from Barnsley in Yorkshire. He was originally from the Cotswolds and she from, of all places, Ipswich.

Another lady joined us, but I can’t remember where she hailed from. It is quite a good trip for lone travellers, boasting a small number of single occupancy cabins. Eventually, it was time to go and shower in readiness for dinner. Despite our tiredness, it is always surprising how a shower brings one back to life. Maybe we should have gone for that dip in the Alpine waters after all.

We were shown to our table, one we shared with a pair of widows from Nottingham, friends from their time working for John Lewis back in the day. They quickly got on board with the fact that I don’t always treat my blindness with the reverence some think I should.

The taller one soon informed me that she was in her early forties, blonde with a svelte figure and full of the vigour of youth. Sound is very important to me and made me question her claim, slightly, as her voice sounded like it had a few miles under the hood. I was not about to resort to touch, smell and taste, it seemed wholly inappropriate.

Her mate claimed she was the same but brunette. I have heard that John Lewis are good employers, but to have retirement packages like our new friends had benefitted from was stupendous. Imagine retiring in your early forties! They were up for a crack though.

At the end of dinner we were invited, although it seemed more like a summons, to the lounge for a welcome from the Cruise Director, Gabor, who went through the itinerary with us. He seemed like a very capable man and the week ahead was exciting. His Cruise Concierge, Yvette, I am sure was equally as capable, appeared to be more like a second steering wheel. I don’t think we were left in any doubt, G was in charge.

During the briefing, we were informed that there was a scheduled radio broadcast to be live from the outdoor top deck on Monday, presented by Jason Forrest of WCRFM from Wolverhampton, a channel that appeared to have some sort of long term relationship with Riviera. Jane went off in search of him and had quickly secured me an interview to promote my work, more of that later.

At some time after eleven the day came to an end. We rolled into bed as tired as tired can be. Tomorrow was going to be a pretty tough day immediately on the back of a travelling one. Try and sleep tight.

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Eden Project Parkrun

I don’t think there is a more generous Parkrun anywhere in the country, maybe the world?

Now listen up, there were six of us turned up at this fabulous Parkrun: four adults and two children. Three of the grown-ups took part in the run whilst one volunteered as a marshal, one of our grandchildren ran whilst the other one volunteered.

After the event had been completed and we had stocked up on bacon rolls and coffee, we spent an amazing three or four hours around the attraction. Ordinarily, the admission charge would have been £200 for all of us to gain entry on the day. I realise that, if you pre-book online, if you are able to do so. There would be a saving on the aforementioned prices and, I daresay, there might be a family ticket for our son, his partner and the sproglets, but I think this is an amazing award for simply taking part in Parkrun.

I have to say, though, one could argue that it is slightly abused! I spoke to one lady afterward, who was finding it a little difficult to walk, and mentioned that she must have done Parkrun? She confirmed that she had, her family always do it to be fair, but this was her first and, most definitely, would be her last. She had only taken part to get in for free. Am I one to judge? Not sure.

This is nothing compared to the abuse that used to be prevalent. In times gone by, it wasn’t only the participant who earned free entry but the spectators as well. As with most things in life, you give some humans an inch and they will take a mile. The generosity of the Project management team in offering this gracious hand was bitten off at the elbow by some unscrupulous sorts.

On occasions a busload of visitors rocked up to the Parkrun, having only nominated one of their number to take part, with the clear intention of them all gaining entry for nothing. Thanks to these scum, and I don’t often use this word to describe my fellow human beings, this offer has now been withdrawn, and I can’t say I blame them. Some people, hey!

Half-an-hour before the start I met up with my VI Guide for the morning, as with all VI Guides who give up their time that people like me might take part, Paul Williams is a truly incredible individual.

I think I have mentioned previously in these pages that my regular guide, the equally incredible Nik Bryan, suffers from a condition known as Witzelsucht, and it appears to be terminal. Well, even though he doesn’t suffer as much as Nik, Paul certainly has it in the early stages! Like Nik, he is a great joke teller. Whoops, sorry! Like Nik he is a joke teller! Right up my strasse, as the Germans might say, and we had a great time.

Now, onto the course. The imaginary gun set us off at nine on the dot from outside the park itself, so the first bit, like a lollipop stick, took us into the attraction itself. At the top of, the rather wonky stick, we commenced three laps of the course, inside the park and against the spacelike background of the biospheres.

The laps themselves were not particularly long but, I have to say, were equally as easy and hard, downhills and uphills aplenty. The highlights, not sure that is the right description, were the switchbacks, I think there were eight or nine per circuit. It was more like traversing an Alpine pass than a running track. I would like to point out here, that a number of people said that their watches, I forget what they are called, game-bins or something, measured the course closer to 4.9km than the intended 5k.

I don’t wish to point out the glaringly obvious shortcomings in your conjoined observations but, to be blunt, you were all cheating. A scurrilous accusation, I hear you protest, but, I am sorry to say, the evidence was there for all to see. Many of you, and I include members of my own family in this, were jumping across the switchback turns about two metres before the intended turning point. ShaMe on you.

Well, that isn’t going to make that much difference, they all stated. I can only assume they didn’t show up to the maths classes because, it goes like this. Assuming there were nine of these turns to each completed lap, now there’s a term for later evaluation as well, the formula goes like this: 9 turns per lap (3 altogether) saving 4 metres per time= 108 metres. You might find that had you all taken the same route as us mere mortals, there might not have been so many PBs on the day! Right, the term “completed lap” means a loop of a course in its entirety. See what I mean. Perhaps they didn’t attend the English class either?

The Project, carved as it is out of an old China clay quarry provides an unparallelled backdrop and, even, I was in awe of the biospheres filling our vision on each pass. The only criticism of the course is that it is very narrow in places, which can prove obstructive to fellow participants who wished to pass Paul and I.

In effect, in places, running side-by-side and tethered together as we were, we provided an insurmountable human barrier which, in the most part, wasn’t too much of a problem to many but, I am afraid, those at the front and trying for a PB were a little less respectful.

This is a wee bit of a shame as a simple announcement at the start would have provided explanation to everyone taking part, especially those that had never encountered a VI runner and their guide running next to one another.

Paul approached the Run Director and explained how we would be running the course. She responded that it would not be an issue as the event already has a regular VI runner and guide. That’s great for those who are used to running with the VI community but for those who have never encountered this before it can prove perplexing. I don’t think it would have proved difficult to have announced this at the beginning or, even, as happens with my regular guide, invite the guide up to address the throng. That usually works very well.

One improvement I would like to see is that Parkruns are urged to keep their own register of VI Guides. I know VI runners are quite thin on the ground but it would be nice if when we contact a new event we can be immediately supplied with a list of guides who are already familiar with the nuances of that particular track.

I am not suggesting this be made compulsory but the more who adhere to this request, the more of the VI community who might come out of their shells to take part, after all, it is meant to be all inclusive. I have to say that this is the first Parkrun I have encountered that does not put runners in touch with guides, I was slightly surprised. Having said that I used the Parkrun VI Guides Facebook page and, luckily for me, Paul put himself forward. Thank you, a great service.

One tiny little post script, and this reflects badly on us, not the event, we lost the car. Technically speaking, that is not actually true, we had forgotten where we had parked it. Thank goodness for “Find MY” on I-phone. Trouble is, it took a little too long to engage brain with the app. Never mind, got there in the end.

White Cane Ratings*
Car Park: very good; free and a little large - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Welcome and Briefing: average; friendly but did not alert others - 🦯 🦯 (2)
Atmosphere: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Course: good; hard surface but narrow in places - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Marshalling: very good; - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
*These ratings are how the event suits a blind person, and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.