Profits before people

Photos: Clive Simpson

It’s all railways in this neck of the woods at the present. The past six months have seen major work by Network Rail to upgrade the local track, signalling and level crossings on the relatively under-used GNGE line across rural Lincolnshire between Peterborough and Lincoln.

All this is not for the benefit of the poorly served rural community with more commuter passenger trains to Peterborough and Lincoln.

It's to pave the way for goods trains currently using the main east coast line between London and Edinburgh to be diverted cross-country and thus free up more space on the fast track for lurative passenger traffic.

With its six level crossings and a railway line that splits off the area’s vast new housing developments from the services of the town centre, the true impact of frequent goods trains passing through the market town of Spalding remains to be seen.

 Network Rail reckons its multi-million pound investment will mean just six daytime and six over night good trains a day. All will become clearer once diversions start from the middle of December.

This week we have also learned that Virgin Trains and Stagecoach are to take over the running of passenger trains on the east coast mainline from next spring after being awarded the franchise for the re-privatised line.

The new company will be known as Inter City Railways, a separate joint venture 90 per cent owned by Stagecoach but with the trains being branded Virgin Trains East Coast. Sir Richard Branson retains a 10 per cent stake.

This is pertinent to Spalding too because the local line connects directly with mainline Peterborough and thus could be very convenient for the residents of South Lincolnshire wanting to travel to London or further afield by train.

In truth, those of us in the area and using Peterborough as our gateway both north and south have - once we’ve arrived in Peterborough by car - had a good run over the past five years or so with the inter city service provided by East Coast.

The line ended up depending less on public subsidies than any of the 15 privately run rail franchises elsewhere in the country and the franchise has proved a lucrative cash cow for the state, bringing in around £1bn to the exchequer since 2009.

East coast is no stranger to the rail franchising controversy. For some, its public ownership has been a rather embarrassing success story - a stark contrast to the general disaster of railway privatisation that is so often an Achilles’s heel for free-market ideologues.

Handing east coast to Stagecoach and Virgin represents an ‘up yours’ to British public opinion, which largely despairs of our over-crowded, fragmented and rip-off rail network.

According to a YouGov poll last year, two-thirds of people in the UK believe railway companies should be run in the public sector, with less than a quarter opting for privatisation.

And that is not just Labour supporters, either. More than half of Tory voters opted for public ownership, and pretentious Ukip voters also say they are more likely to support a nationalised network.

The government’s dogmatic policy could hardly be more divorced from the pragmatic commonsense of the British people - but then we know there is an election just around the corner.

And things could have been worse. Instead of being run by a tax exile and a Scottish businessman - the latter perhaps best known for campaigning against gay equality - the whole east coast line could have fallen into foreign hands.

For the record, about three-quarters of Britain's railways are now run in full or part by subsidiaries of foreign, state-owned rail firms, including DeutscheBahn's Arriva, the Dutch-owned Abellio and Keolis, 70 per cent owned by France’s SNCF. Our government is also preparing to sell its stake in Eurostar, almost certainly to the SNCF, the majority owner.

Unsurprisingly, Mick Cash, the acting general secretary of the RMT rail union, described re-privatisation as nothing short of a national disgrace.

“While domestic public ownership puts money back into the coffers that can be reinvested in our railways, the private operators, overwhelmingly owned and controlled by European state rail outfits, suck out colossal sums in subsidies and profits,” he says. “That’s what privatisation means.”

One thing is for sure - by the time of the election in May 2015 we’ll have a much clearer idea of whether Inter City Railways is really delivering the kind of services it has promised.

And the people of Spalding will either be grid-locked with frustration or celebrating the fact that traffic chaos in the town was something of the past. Oh, and did I mention that the town’s MP John Hayes is the government’s transport minister?

Trans-Atlantic dream

I flew into Toronto from London Heathrow T5 last month on one of BA’s new Boeing 787-8 Dreamliners. Was it a better experience? Well, if you want my honest opinion, not as good as I had expected.

I’m certainly not griping about the environmental credentials of this new mid-size, twin engine jet because the aircraft is 20 per cent more fuel efficient than similar sized aircraft it is designed to replace.

But sitting in BA’s tightly configured World Traveller class it seems that the commercial benefits of cramming in extra passengers have negated many of the design improvements touted to improve the experience of long distance air travel.

In sales-speak the Boeing 787-8 is a mid-size, dual aisle aircraft manufactured by then giant American aerospace company, Boeing. In normal conditions the Dreamliner will fly at Mach 0.85, or about 650 miles per hour, at a typical altitude of 40,000 feet.

Composite materials make up 50 per cent of the primary structure, including the fuselage and wing. The engine housings have serrated edges designed to reduce noise levels both inside and outside the cabin - and the aircraft also features stylishly raked wingtips to further aid fuel efficiency.

The windows are 30 per cent larger than those on most similarly sized aircraft and, instead of pulling shades up and down, passengers can adjust the incoming brightness with a button.

Using an electro-chromic dimming system, they turn from fully transparent to completely dimmed in gradual steps so, if you are lucky enough to have a window seat, the novelty certainly keeps you amused for a few minutes.

BA is steadily rolling out the Dreamliner to its fleet, promising a host of benefits to flyers, as well as a number of technological goodies for travellers to experience. But does travelling on the brand new aircraft make a difference?

The passenger cabin focuses on four areas of improvement - noise, lighting, air and 'comfort'. All this, British Airways says, will make for a much better in-flight experience, and one that leaves you refreshed when you get off the plane.

Comfort is supposed to come by way of new seats and the air part via better air conditioning. A mood lighting system and bigger windows are definite improvements but the success of the air conditioning seems much more down to the skills of the cabin crew.

More consideration might have been given to the piercing LED brightness of the individual overhead reading lights. It’s a bit all or nothing and, like with the windows, some kind of adjustment would have been nice to avoid the glaring dazzle when the rest of the cabin is in darkness.       

With its new engine design and improved sound dampening materials, Boeing has worked hard to reduce noise. The 787 was, indeed, quieter on take-off but the experience was less noticeable when it came to in-flight noise levels.

Dehydration can often be an issue on long-haul flights and British Airways says it has tried to address this by pressurising the cabin 2,000 feet 'lower' than on other aircraft which, in theory, retains more moisture in the air.

Like many who have posted their own comments on various travel websites, I was disappointed with the new seating design. I am average build and height with no excess weight but still found the seats snug and the leg-room cramped.

And, as soon as the seat in front was tilted backwards slightly, my personal entertainment screen became much too close for comfort, providing me with neck ache and eye strain for most of the eight hour flight.

No such worries for TV personality Lisa Snowden (BA publicity shot)

All these improvements are supposed to help fight jet lag but that was lost on me. I’m wide awake and writing this in my Toronto hotel room at 4 am the next morning. It’s very dark outside and the illuminated CN Tower dominates the view from my window.

The Dreamliner is definitely not a cure for jet lag and, if anything, I stepped onto Canadian soil feeling more wiped out than normal. I’ll need convincing otherwise - or the offer of a seat upgrade - before I consider one of BA’s Dreamliners for my next trans-Atlantic flight.

Après ski

The clouds are low and swirl in a playful way over the mountains on this late August summer’s day, teasing the landscape with short-lived shafts of light.

With day upon day of grey cloud and rain it has been a poor season in this part of the French Alps - but thankfully the jet stream has re-aligned itself allowing more typical summery days to return.

We are at the winter ski resort of Les Carroz, perched on a 1140 metre plateau high above the valley and just an hour’s drive from Geneva.

Compared to the hectic bustle of its busy winter season between mid-December and late April, life in this traditional Haut-Savoyard village is running at an altogether different pace now.

The resort’s telecabin continues to ply up and down but its tarmac car park lies almost empty, a grey and colourless expanse without the myriad of cars and coaches that boost the local population from the end of each year.

For now this is the territory of walkers, para-gliders and young bikers, the latter spending their long days ascending the telecabin and then careering at breakneck speeds down steep mountain-side tracks.

At the height of winter this snow-covered landscape is truly fit for purpose, the cable cars, ski lifts, snow machines and skiing paraphernalia a relevant and necessary part of the scenery.

Today, this infrastructure seems stark and incongruous as it clings to the steep slopes, a un-natural intrusion against the backdrop of pine trees, the pristine towering walls of rock and Alpine meadows, which even now are bursting with late season colour.

Without their winter dressing of white, the ski-runs lie naked and unromantic, while the steep slopes are cris-crossed with the metal supports and cables of chair lifts which hang silent and still.

Exposed gravel paths and tracks redefine the summer landscape in a different way too and, without any sunshine to soften it the view is rather harsh and mechanical, like an abandoned theme park where the rides have been shut down.

But, as the clouds roll off a nearby mountain top, a fleeting slither of brightness transforms the view. For a moment it is like the spotlights of a giant theatre being tweaked by some unseen engineer, and we have a glimpse of brilliance that quickly changes both landscape and mood.

Waiting to board the next telecabin are a host of lean young bikers, well kitted out with padding and helmets, and clutching their small-wheeled and robust looking bikes.

As the first cabin of the next batch swings down in front of us, the automatic doors slide open and the man in charge hauls the bikes in and stacks them three per cabin. It is routine work and he drags on a roll-up at the same time.

We follow in those designated for people and our suspended cabin clunks slowly round the boarding platform before hooking into the uphill cable circuit and whisking us steeply into the air.

Les Carroz is part of an area known as the Massif - which also includes Morillon, Samoëns and Sixt - with a total of 125 km of pistes and 42 lifts. The village itself boasts 32 trails and 15 lifts of its own and is also part of the larger Grand Massif that includes Flaine.

Our upward journey takes just six minutes and I wonder if the young cyclists in the cabin ahead can race down in the same kind of time.

It being a Sunday there are more people about than usual, families and groups from nearby cities out for the refreshing mountain air and invigorating exercise.

We were heading for the Alpage de l’Airon, a restaurant nestling in a natural amphitheatre at 1765 metres, aside a man-made lake that is used to feed snow-making machines in the winter.

There is a steeply sloping descent towards the chalet from the 1882 metre viewpoint of Point du Cupoire where our one and only chance to view the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc is thwarted by low cloud.

A conversation in a village bar the evening before had led to the recommendation to visit l’Airon, which also doubles as a small local cheese factory, for an outdoor Sunday lunch.

Our destination comes into sight as we drop towards the sheltered valley head, though looking little more than a large cow-shed from our vantage point on the track down.

Suspicions were heightened as we approached from the side, adjacent to a straw-filled doorway which was indeed a night-time refuge for the cows and their clanging bells now on out on the far hillside.

Stepping round the corner a large open air patio appeared and, along with it, a sense of relief. It was packed with a colourful array of diners, eating and drinking at several dozen tables.

The air was cool but across the valley the sky was beginning to clear, bringing the promise of sunshine and warmth as we reposed with glasses of red wine and perused the mouth-watering menu. It included, of course, the local staple Tartiflette, a rich and indulgent potato dish with lashings of Reblochon cheese.


All photos by Clive Simpson, who is the author of The Lighthouse Keeper blog - for more information, commission enquiries or to re-publish any of his articles click here

Tractors on the beach

The seaside town of Cromer lies on the UK’s east coast. Perched on the edge of crumbling north Norfolk cliffs, it is famous for tasty crabs, wide open beaches and a traditional Victorian pier complete with theatre and a seaside special variety show.

Its unique geographical location jutting out into the North Sea means that on a blue sky summer’s day you can watch both sunrise and sunset over the ocean.

This does imply, of course, that you are diligent enough to rise exceptionally early and still be wakeful enough at the other end of the day to repose on the pier, perhaps with beer in hand.

There is no quay-side or harbour at Cromer so the fishing boats are gathered on the shingle beach against the sea wall, each with its own tractor and boat trailer.

At the end of the 19th century, the beaches to the east and west of the pier were crowded with fishing boats. Now, you will see only a dozen boats which ply their trade from the east beach.

Crabs - dressed or undressed according to your state of desire - can be bought direct from local fishermen, or enjoyed at local restaurants in salads, tarts and sandwiches.

Today, it is not the crabs themselves that grab our interest but the rusty, salt-laden army of ancient and colourful tractors that line the beach head.

They are adorned and customised with all manner of fixtures and fittings - from plastic deckchairs as replacement seats to makeshift gear sticks and lashed on tarpaulins to keep the worst of the elements out of the workings.

Most look so rusted through with salt it seems a miracle their sand-blasted engines would ever start.

But somehow they defy mechanical odds and, with crabbing boats in tow, continue to chug across the shingle beach to the water’s edge and back.

The photos below are a selection from the Lighthouse Keeper's visit to Cromer on a sunny and warm afternoon a few days ago. All were taken with a Nikon D70 SLR camera.

All photos by Clive Simpson

Street lite

Photo: Clive Simpson

On the road home the night-time light has changed. We are in the heart of South Lincolnshire’s farming landscape approaching the interestingly named hamlet of Cowbit, midway along the old main road between Crowland and Spalding.

The road bends gently along a raised bank, originally built to stave off flooding from the plain of the nearby River Welland, and the lights cut through the night like harbour beacons around a vast concave seashore.

Tonight, I notice that the familiar curve of orange-glowing street lights - picking out the homeward route ahead against the flat Fenland horizon - have been replaced by the cool and dazzlingly bright light of modern LED technology.

Definitely cheaper to run - and therefore more energy efficient - these lights are an increasing part of our night-time scenery up and down the country.

But after five miles of driving along dark, unlit roads the clinical brilliance comes as a shock to night-adjusted eyes.

All this is part of local authority plans - in this case Lincolnshire County Council - to replace and update all our traditional street and road lighting over the coming years.

Energy and cost savings aside, the new kind of lighting is defined by its brightness and intensity, like spotlights on a West End stage show. But at least there is less apparent spillage into the heavens above.

LED luminance is potentially much more controllable than traditional sodium light and so one might reasonably ask the question of our lighting engineers - is it necessary (and even safe for approaching motorists) to have these beams on full luminance at the point where we suddenly cross from dark to light?

There are increasing complaints from across the country where such shiny new lights - installed in normal streets and cul-de-sacs - have cut through curtained windows to illuminate living and sleeping spaces, playing havoc for those in the vicinity.

Bright is not always best for human health and there is obviously a need for more research into the potential risks from the glare of LED lighting.

Already it is well documented that exposure to LED light suppresses melatonin production by up to five times more than exposure to sodium-based light, disrupting our biological clocks and affecting sleeping and rest periods.

Recent research in Spain has indicated that long-term exposure to LED street lighting could, as a result of the high levels of blue band radiation, cause irreparable harm to the retina of the human eye.

And last year a report by the French government stated that a luminance level higher than 10,000 cd/m2 causes visual discomfort whatever the position of the lighting unit in the field of vision.

As the emission surfaces of LEDs are highly-concentrated point sources the luminance of each individual source can be 1000 times higher than discomfort levels, making this intense glare a tangible problem.

Which brings me to reflect on the familiar orange, phosphorescent glow that has been part of our night time scene for so long.

Despite its intrusion, particularly into the night sky above, will we come to rue the day of its disappearance?

At the ending of DH Lawrence’s ‘Sons and Lovers’ the book’s central character Paul Morel is drawn ‘towards the city's gold phosphorescence’.

Signifying corruption and decay, ‘phosphorescence' was to become one of Lawrence’s jargon words in subsequent novels.

‘But no, he would not give in. Turning sharply, he walked towards the city's gold phosphorescence. His fists were shut, his mouth set fast. He would not take that direction, to the darkness... He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly.’

For Paul Morel, the ending was something of a false epiphany. That 'gold phosphorescence' was an emanation of the mechanised life of the industrialised world - the glow of false promise.

In the end Paul’s tragedy was that he was only able to move in the direction of the city, humming not with the natural activity of a hive, but with machinery, and glowing not with sunshine and warmth but with the ghastly phosphorescence of street lamps and decay.

That familiar orange glow in our night-time skies does indeed represent something of the past, industrial age - whereas the clinical, white light of LEDs is symbolic of the modern, sanitised world.

Our continued attempts to tame and banish the natural darkness and rhythms of life only serve to deepen the shadows around us. What, I wonder, would Lawrence have made of this?

The Lighthouse Keeper is written by Clive Simpson - for more information, commission enquiries or to re-publish any of his articles click here for contact information

Nine million bicycles

Photo: Clive Simpson

 

The first time I stepped onto the pavements of Beijing, the feted capital of the People's Republic of China, it felt more like nine million cars than nine million bicycles.

With over 20 million people, it is one of the most populous and ancient cities in the world, renowned for opulent palaces, temples, gardens, tombs, walls and fancy gates, as well as art treasures and universities.

It is headquarters to most of China's largest state-owned companies and a major hub for the national highway, expressway, railway and high-speed rail networks. Beijing's international airport is the second busiest in the world by passenger traffic.

For my week-long visit in October 2013 this enormous and spectacular city was also host to a number of major conferences, including the 64th International Astronautical Congress (IAC) which I was reporting on for one of the host organisations, the International Astronautical Federation (IAF).

Beijing is certainly enormous and spectacular. In the northern quarter lie a cluster of westernised hotels, a stone's throw from the sprawling China National Conference Centre (CNCC) and the Olympic park with it's Bird's nest stadium and Cube' swimming pool.

Further south is the ancient city centre and the historic Forbidden City, while to the North, the historic Summer Palace and the Great Wall.

But it is air pollution that piques my interest today - not only the appalling and choking smogs that descend ever more frequently on this city but now disturbingly close to home (Paris) and, very much closer to home, (London). What are we to make of this?

Smog has long been a problem in Beijing. Whilst perhaps better than it was in the past now that much of the city's heavy industry has been relocated, it remains a problem. In fact, most of the smog is now caused by vehicle traffic.

During my stay the smog and pollution were so bad on at least two days that the effects - stinging eyes and uncomfortable breathing - were noticeable after only a few minutes in the open.

The notion that this was a thing restricted to far off countries, or certainly something of the past in the UK, has certainly been dispelled this spring.

In March recorded levels of pollution in Paris were higher than in many of the world's most notoriously polluted cities, including Beijing.

Calm and warm spring days left a chemical soup hanging above the City of Light, choking the famous boulevards and leading the French government to implement an alternating driving ban and offer free public transport for a time.

For the past few days I too have been living in smog land (otherwise known as East Anglia) as record levels of air pollution plagued many parts of the UK.

Domestic pollution (largely nitrogen dioxide originating in traffic fumes) and emissions from continental Europe, combined with dust from the Sahara and low south-easterly winds, caused air quality and visibility to plummet.

The smog-like conditions of this week have shown that the UK is far from immune.

Even before this latest episode the country faces fines of up to £300m a year after the European commission launched legal proceedings against the government for failing to reduce ‘excessive’ levels of nitrogen dioxide despite 15 years of warnings.

Other European countries have also failed to meet the air quality directive that should have been adopted in 2008 but the EU environment commissioner, Janez Potocnik, has singled Britain out for its 'persistent breaches'.

According to the commission, air pollution limits are regularly exceeded in 16 zones across the UK - Greater London, the West Midlands, Greater Manchester, West Yorkshire, Teesside, the Potteries, Hull, Southampton, Glasgow, the east, the south-east, the east Midlands, Merseyside, Yorkshire & Humberside, the west Midlands, and the north-east.

Air pollution itself is currently attributed to 29,000 premature deaths a year in the UK and the World Health Organisation has confirmed that it can also cause cancer.

Like climate change - and there would appear to be a natural connection - this is a global problem and one that won’t be blown away by any amount of political hot air. Real action is called for.

The blog title is taken from ‘Nine Million Bicycles’,a song written and produced by Mike Batt for the singer Katie Melua's second album, ‘Piece by Piece’. It was released as the album's first single in September 2005 and reached number five in the UK Singles Chart. According to Melua, the inspiration for the song came during a visit to Beijing with Batt after their interpreter showed them around the city and stated there were supposedly nine million bicycles in the city. The Lighthouse Keeper is written by Clive Simpson - for more information or to get in touch click here

New kids on the block

Just a stone’s throw from the attractive main entrance of Norwich railway station - the northern terminus of the Great Eastern Mainline from London Liverpool Street - flows the River Wensom, a chalk-fed Norfolk river and a tributary of the River Yare that bends serenely through Norfolk’s county town.

A good choice after alighting at the station, opened in 1884 and now the only remaining of three railway stations in Norwich, is to head across the road bridge and then turn alongside the water for a pleasant riverside walk down towards the Cathedral.

The gentle stroll on a sunny spring afternoon soon brings you to the tree-lined edge of playing fields at a point called Pull’s Ferry.

Here you can continue the riverside saunter around the outskirts of the city or turn to wander down the timeless and immaculately maintained Ferry Lane - itself a former canal - towards Norwich Cathedral Close.

The close is one of the largest in England, extending over 44 acres and containing a mixture of delightful residential and commercial properties.

Pull’s Ferry, the former ‘water gate’ to the close, and the Ferry Lane canal were originally used as the final leg of transportation for the distinctive Caen stone from which most of the cathedral was constructed.

The nearby properties range from stately eighteenth and nineteenth century terraces to homes and buildings with more distinctive Dutch gables.

Just along the way, the close houses the entrance to the cathedral herb garden - splendidly attractive and fragrant, particularly in the summer but worth a visit at any time of the year.

From this part of the close the cathedral spire is impressive, dominating the view and forever drawing the eye to gaze upon its structure.

On this day we were fortunate enough to arrive at the edge of the green and stumble upon a small tent-like structure along with an array of spotting scopes all trained on the cathedral spire.

High above us, the Hawk and Owl Trust had created a nesting platform, strapped to the side of the spire and now adopted as a perfect site from which to raise a young family by a pair of Peregrine falcons.

At the time there were four eggs on the stony bedding being incubated by a patient and expectant mum and dad. It was a treat to be there just as mother, after a four hour stint on the nest, decided to stretch her wings and take flight to survey the scene 240 feet below.

The first peregrine egg hatched in the early hours on 2 May, the second egg hatched towards the end of the day and the third hatched two days later.

The peregrine chicks continue to do well and their progress can be followed live online via a webcam set up to overlook the nesting platform - Norwich peregrines.

Peregrine falcons were once endangered in the UK but thanks to conservation efforts like this one their numbers have recovered in recent years.

The peregrine’s powerful body, short tail and pointed wings give it a distinctive appearance. This is the fastest falcon in flight, capable of reaching more than 120 mph when swooping on its pray.

Postcard from Namche Bazaar

We’re on our way down. Arrived at Namche Bazaar mid-afternoon and able to post an email to guys back home from the local internet café.

The lower altitude means our bodies are alive with the 'extra' oxygen - an exhilarating feeling. But this has been a challenging journey for us normally office-bound mortals.

There have been times of great beauty and times of intense physical effort. We have gazed upon golden eagles from above as they swoop and soar below.

There has been a helicopter evacuation of our youngest member after he fell seriously ill with altitude sickness.

And we have experienced extreme cold and biting winds when it seemed almost impossible to keep warm.

Now we are on our way home. It has been a life-changing experience, a test of stamina and willpower, and all in the presence of the world's mightiest mountains.

Unforgiving and at the same time alluring in their pristine and rugged beauty. To see snow billowing from the mountain tops in the early morning jet-stream set against the clearest and deepest blue you could imagine is a sight to behold.

To trudge through a glacier that has created a landscape so alien it seems like no place on earth was both exciting and scary at the same time.

And always we have been supported by our able team of Sherpas, porters and cooks, whose cheery demeanour and willingness to serve is a lesson to us all.

They have guided and met our every need. Sometimes cajoling us along a particularly awkward path or offering to carry a rucksack when the altitude bites at our lungs and demands more than we are seemingly able to give.

We have climbed to more than 5,000 metres, and experienced emotions high and low in the process. But now we are on our way home. The place we have been dreaming of on the long, cold dark nights.

Flight to Kathmandu

Our flight from London to Kathmandu seemed dark. By the time we flew into the bright lights of Bahrain for a 1.5 hour stop-over it was early evening. Then it was on to Abu Dhabi in the twilight hours. A two hours delay in a dome-shaped terminal, with little to do in the middle of the night.

We were travelling Go Air, an Arab-based airline which serves curry flavoured meals whatever the time of day. Tasty, but lamb curry at 3 am in the morning local time was a big adjustment and just the first cultural challenge for a momentous trip ahead.

There was a delay on our morning flight into Kathmandu international airport as a bank of fog formed on one end of the sloping runway. Our pilot circled for 30 minutes then went into land - but just 30 seconds or so before touchdown, as dropping into the cloud tops, he pulled out in a steep climb, up and out and away.

We flew on to Dakar where we landed for refuelling. Just over an hour each way and about 45 minutes on the ground before returning to Kathmandu. It had been a long ‘day’ since leaving London Heathrow but at last we had arrived.

Stepping off a plane into Kathmandu is an exhilarating shock - the sights, sounds and smells quickly lead to sensory overload after the confines of several aeroplanes.

Buzzing around the crazy traffic in a local bus, trundling down the narrow winding streets of the old town in a rickshaw, marvelling at Durbar Square or dodging the tiger balm sellers and trekking touts in Thamel - it is an intoxicating, amazing and exhausting place.

As the largest (and pretty much the only) city in the country, Kathmandu also feels like another developing-world city rushing into a modern era of concrete and traffic pollution.

But a walk in the back streets and the Nepali capital's amazing cultural and artistic heritage reveals itself in hidden temples overflowing with marigolds, courtyards full of drying chillis and rice, and tiny hobbit-sized workshops.

At an altitude of 1336 metres above sea level, Kathmandu is an exotic and fascinating showcase of rich culture, art and tradition - and for us, of course, an important gateway to the Himalayas.

Late afternoon we arrived at Hotel Shanker, a stunning former royal palace full of character and charm. The weather was warm and sunny, if a little bit muggy.

Beautiful manicured gardens with potted plants, many of them Marigolds. We were all given garlands of Marigolds on alighting bus from the airport, a traditional form of Nepalese welcome. Darkness had descended by 6 pm.

Our hotel for the night had a restaurant called Kailash restaurant and two bars - the Kunti Bar and the One Eyed Bar. The former boasted a traditional setting of intricate wood carving and lattice windows.

At 21:50 local time we had a buffet meal in hotel dining room. Pick up remaining gear and back to room for bed to grab as much sleep as we could. The mountains of our dreams beckoned.

Land of great cathedrals

The ‘circus’ at Everest Basecamp was non-existent on this bright and sunny morning in early November in the heart of the Himalayas. The still air was crisp and cool, and the midday sun pierced the iridescent sky, rays of warmth feeling good on the face.

No tents, no people, no cameras – the buzz of expedition fever had dissipated along with the changing weather. Just a few tattered prayer flags every now and then, breaking the ground-level monotony of grey rock and Khumbu ice. You can’t even glimpse the summit of Everest from this fabled ‘launchpad’, and so I wondered...

In the days approaching Basecamp we had learnt from other trekkers along the way that it was now ‘empty’, the last and unsuccessful summit expedition of the year having returned to Spain three weeks earlier.

For a trek that was billed ‘Everest Basecamp’ it was now something of a dilemma – it had been our big chance to fleetingly rub shoulders with those taking on the highest mountain on Earth. But the circus and its paraphernalia had left town.

Several hours back from Basecamp along a tortuous, zig zag route of rock and ice is the remote settlement of Gorak Shep, in the shadow of Nuptse. Here the trappings of Everest expeditions past and to come can be seen – neatly stacked aluminium ladders lashed behind huts for self-keeping and a compound of empty ‘gas’ bottles.

But we jump ahead. Back in September, the Lighthouse Keeper asked ‘How high is Everest?’ and promised to enliven the dark winter nights by marking the tenth anniversary a first visit to Nepal with a retrospective blog, re-living the journey in words and pictures – from the excitement and heat of Kathmandu to the extreme cold and wilderness of the lower reaches of Everest.

So, in the words of John Ruskin, our journey to these ‘great cathedrals of the earth, with their gates of rock, pavements of cloud, choirs of stream and stone, altars of snow, and vaults of purple traversed by the continual stars’, starts here.

Tuscan delight

An unexpected turn of events. I find myself on BA’s midday flight from London Heathrow to Pisa, Italy. The Airbus 320 is packed to the rafters and I have to settle for a middle-of-the row seat between two Italian ladies.

Soon we have left the murky British weather of recent days far below and are flying at around 35,000 feet in clear blue skies and sunshine, probably somewhere over Paris.

I’m heading out for a first visit to the medieval Tuscan town of Lucca, one of the most quaint and beautiful towns in this part of Italy, about 30 minutes’ drive from Pisa and maybe an hour from Florence.

As it happens, the Lighthouse Keeper and his then young wife visited Pisa and Florence in the early 1980s. The towns were stopping off points on one of those quite popular (in that decade) 'overland treks' by minibus.

The visit to Pisa was particularly noteworthy because it was in the days before serious ‘health and safety’ rules and regulations had blighted most of Europe and elsewhere.

It meant that, for a few Italian lira, tourists could climb the leaning tower’s ancient stone steps and peer precariously out over the flimsy metal balustrade from very near the top.

Of course, we had no digital cameras or mobile phones in those days to photograph the experience, though somewhere we have faded colour prints and a few precious colour slides as a record of our adventure.

This year’s Tuscan visit to Lucca was prompted by attendance at the grandly titled ‘Third International Space Conference’, thanks to sponsorship of a dozen or so European media people by ESA and the European Commission.

There’s a bit more on the conference to come later but in the meantime here are a selection of photos I managed to shoot whilst getting lost in the streets of Lucca for a couple of hours on a sunny November afternoon.