PATAGONIA, Day 10, the Last Day

Patagonia: Day 10, March 5

In which we drive from the Pacific to the Atlantic, discover a coal mine, eat sandwiches on a wall in Esperanza and have a farewell fly past over Magellan Straits and Beagle Channel

From Ultima Esperanza to our ultimate day. We have to drive from the Pacific to the Atlantic, partly on the notorious unsealed Ruta 40, to catch a evening flight to BA from Rio Gallegos.

Another picnic lunch is proposed so V and V spend some time hunting for bread and then, more importantly, tomatoes in Rio Turbo, just over the Argentine border. Exiting this mining town John spots an old stream engine, Lots of photos. Then shortly afterwards as we drive by slag heaps he spots a museum for coal railway rolling stock, plus. This is irresistible.

An old steam lorry, yes, a lorry driven by a coal-fired steam engine, absorbs a lot of our wonderment. John ponders what happened to the 50 of the 100 English trucks paid for but not delivered. I wonder why this isn't the solution to the internal combustion engine, Seems not. You need a driver and a stoker and sometimes the amount of coal used is more costly than the value of the coal you are delivering.

Then I spot a coal mine museum. Not an everyday event you have to admit! Yellow hard hats on heads and we move into the mine led by the daughter of a coal-miner who acts as our guide. I like the picture of the yellow canary which someone has painted on the entrance door, the guide ignores it, so I tell V&V that canary was used to warn the miners if they were running out of air. If the bird does a Monthy Python parrot impersonation they know its time to leave the shaft.

As the Spanish guide drones on I notice a couple of oil paintings inside the shaft, they depict miners at the coal face. This is because we saw the Pitmen (of Yorkshire) Painters play at the National Theatre just before we left for Argentina. How do you say deja vu in Spanish?!

Finally on our way again we stop half way between the Pacific and Atlantic at Esperanza (Hope), a place so small they couldn't even afford the one horse. Eat delicious sandwiches sitting on a wall. The bread rolls from Rio Turbo are the freshest and tastiest we have had in Argentina.

Rio Gallegos: drop V&V at airport, I go with J to drop off car at ACA (Automobile Club of Argentina) in town. The incredibly dusty but totally trusty Renault is driven onto the car transporter to be taken back to BA.

Flight back first heads south to Ushuaia before turning and flying north to BA. Frustrating five hours on paper turns out to be brilliant farewell fly past of the land we have just travelled for the past 10 days. Flying over the Straits of Magellan and then the Beagle Channel is just fabulous.

Land in BA just after midnight and remember that in Punta Arenas I rubbed the toe of the Indian on the plinth of the Magellan statue. This is meant to ensure you will return....

THE END?

PATAGONIA Day 9

Day 9: Puerta Natale, Patagonian Chile, March 4

In which we ride a converted fishing boat, enter the Fiord of Last Hope, see Glaciers and watch a Condor soar by

The boat we board for the trip into Fiordo Ultimo Esperanza (Fjord of Last Hope) is disappointingly smaller and older looking than the one in the brochure. But when we hit the swell and waves crash over our small converted fishing boat it handles the choppy sea very well. "A good vessel," John pronounces, which is reassuring given that he runs Argentina's leading ship repair business.

The wind drops and the sea calms as we enter the fjord and we can stand on deck enjoying the fabulous scenery of dark green mountains, steel grey water and light blue skies. As we approach the first glacier we are told it has retreated dramatically in the last 30 years. The beautiful white and blue Balmaceda glacier "used to reach down to the water". It now stops some 20-30 metres above the surface of the fjord.

Until 12,000 years ago the whole area was covered in ice, now we are sailing through water where there used to be ice. The Balmaceda glacier is at least 20,000 years old (how do they measure these things?). I am just not sure how worried we are supposed to be. Sure the glacier is melting, retreating, but isn't that part of its nature? (Green friends protest here!)

Soon our little boat glides alongside a wooden jetty where we get off and walk into a forest. As we hike around the side of a mountain we get glimpses of another glacier. The Seranno glacier. No sign of retreat for this sculpted cascade of white and blue which tumbles into the water. There are lots of lumps and slabs of ice in the water, looking for all the world like melting ice-cubes in a drink. Definitely a photo op.

After an asado (bbq) lunch, lots of grilled lamb cutlets for me, potatoes for V, I discover one of the passengers is a priest in Punta Arenas. In my mangled Spanish and his broken English we discuss RC left-wing theology and my late classmate Michael McGlade who I visited when he was ministering in the slums of Santiago de Chile.

Replete, we start the return. The promised sea-lions fail to show, but the famed condors, a bird with a three metre wingspan, soar high above the mountains and we spend quite a while trying to spot and identify the distant black dots. Then suddenly one swoops around the corner of a mountain and majestically glides close by the boat. What a breathtaking and frantic camera-clicking moment.

No wind, calm seas and sunshine all the way back. Vicky says its the best day yet.

Guess the name of the restaurant for dinner, of course, it had to be the Ultima Esperanza! Scampi is a local dish, the portion served to me must be equal to ten servings of Coquille st Jacques offered in a posh London restaurant, and at a fraction of the price.

PATAGONIA Day 8

Chilean Patagonia: Day 8, Mar 2

In which we get into the darkened theatre, see loads of wild animals in Rio Verde, an Emperor penguin cries on seeing us, are kissed by a lady mayor, and race with ostriches

Curious to find out more about the abandoned theatre, we climb the white marble stairs on the right of the building. At top turns out to be a reference library. Ask if anyone speaks English. They point to a small man in a dark suit and blue tie. “Yes, I speak a little.” Explain our interest in the theatre designed by the man who went on to create the magnificent Theatro Colon in Buenos Aires.

He is clearly delighted. “Please sit down,” indicating two chairs in front of his desk. He bustles about and soon returns with a photocopy of four pages of the history of the theatre. A quick skim reveals that the first performance, on June 1, 1899, was Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor. The theatre seated 600 in varying degrees of comfort.

Thrilled by this success, I risk asking him if it is possible to see inside the theatre. “Perhaps, please wait”. He disappears for a while and returns with a key and a gentle smile of satisfaction. “Come please”. Leads us down the marble stairs and proudly unlocks the entrance to the lobby Wow, this is much more than we had expected.

The lobby is small, fairly plain with abandoned bits of furniture and two bad paintings of ships at sea. We introduce ourselves. He is Jorge “Coke” Vargas. He searches for the lights for the auditorium. We join in the futile search. Seems the lights are controlled from inside the manager’s office, its locked, he is on holiday.

I walk into the auditorium, and as my eyes get used to the dark, I can see the stage. Holding onto the seats on my left I walk down towards the front, then turn around and declaim like a good ham: “To be or not to be, that is the question”. The till now mouse-like civil servant that is Senor Vargas is transformed by our audacity and he declaims: “Ser o no ser”. Great acoustics.

He tells us “There is a plan to restore the theatre. Work will start in April and should be completed in two years”. And then reveals his fears that his beloved library will be moved elsewhere, after being part of the building for many decades.

As we part with effusive thanks he kisses us both with great emotion, and is totally thrilled when Vicky takes a picture of me and "Coke" under the curtains at the entrance to the stalls. Back out in the street he again embraces us with huge warmth and more kisses. He has made our morning and I think we may have made his week!

We leave Punta Arenas heading north towards Puerto Natales. We divert off the main road to Rio Verde, and soon discover a veritable wonderland of native animals. We spot a primitive sign saying "penguins" and turn into what emerges as a tiny private zoo with Magellan penguins, and one Emperor penguin swimming in a pond. It emits a loud and heart rendering cry when we appear. A pair of Llamas, one brown and one white, follow us up and down the length of the fence with bright-eyed interest. And finally a family of ostriches. The dusty-grey parents are almost our height while the two youngsters only come up to our midriffs.

As we drive through this beautiful landscape of soaring mountains, rolling hills and blue-grey water we see wild ostriches, falcons, flamingos, and myriad other birds. We stop at the Rio Verde municipal building and with our usual direct approach are soon inside and talking to the lady mayor, and yes, the meeting does end with a bunch of brochures and a mayoral kiss on the cheek!

Picnic nearby as we look into the waters at what we believe at first may be whales, but later think may actually be dolphins. There are voices calling in the distance and looking at the hills behind us we can see two gauchos and their dogs driving sheep. It is idyllic and we cannot believe out luck with the weather (Did I mention that there is no wind!)

As we drive on we are surprised by two ostriches who run alongside and in front of the car. How fast can a ostrich run? We never find out as they soon grow tired and veer off to the roadside.

We reach Puerta Natales, our last town on the trip and Hotel Darwin, don't ask about the room!

PATAGONIA, Day 7

Patagonia, Chile: Day 7: 1 Mar

In which we see a heroic Magellan, learn that Picasso hated painting feet, talk to a boat-builder without design and find an opera house

Punta Arenas, Chilean capital of Patagonia, halfway through the Magellan Straits. Abandon plans for 8-hour boat ride to see penguins. Opt for day of relaxing wandering around this surprisingly pleasant town whose tree-lined square has a very heroic statue of Hernando Magellan, with four large statues of glorified natives around the base. They look more like Europeans than the natives wiped out by the colonialists.

The legend says that Magellan entered the Straits on November 1, 1520 and sailed out at the other end on November 27, 1520. It is also reported that he died in the Philippines in April. As we learnt earlier, he became very odd and began to believe that he was protected by God and therefore impervious to spears and arrows. Seems the natives were ignorant of his heavenly shield and they dispatched him with an arrow. Sic transit gloria mundi!

The Museo Regional de Mallagenes, formerly Palicio Braun–Menendez, was built in ornate French style on the occasion of the marriage of the children of the two great families of the region. Must have looked totally incongruous in the frontier town of basic functional buildings in 1903.

In the dining room there is an oil painting of two ducks. The description reads: "It was painted by Jose Jose Luis Blasco, Professor of the Academia of Bellas Artes of Malaga. As his son tells the story, as a child he was frequently asked to help his father in completing his paintings. The young man was none other than Pablo Picasso.” How about that for a surprise?

According to John this is why Picasso never painted feet on his palumbos, doves, because he hated to paint feet after being forced to do so many times for his dad. The problem is that our very tall companion John can tell very tall stories with a straight face in a most convincing manner. Will have to check on return home.

Later on we stop by a small boat yard were they repair fishing boats. One man is actually building one and when John asks if he is working to a design or a plan, he says, “No, I just build it as I have always built them.” Now ain't that refreshing! No teams of designers, engineers, consultants etc. Just do it.

Walking back from dinner at the grandly and inappropriately-named Savoy Hotel Restaurant, we pass by a run-down building with a blue plaque which says that it was built in 1897 by Numa Meyer, who later went on to design the Theatro Colon in Buenos Aires, the opera house with reputedly the best acoustics in the world.

Looks as if the final curtain for the Punta Arenas theatre was some time ago. Must learn more.

PATAGONIA, Day 6

Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego: Day 6, 28 Feb

In which I almost milk a cow, the rope breaks as we ford the river and the Magellan Straits ferry is delayed and delayed and delayed, and we learn about the earthquake death toll

Inez is in the shed milking the first cow when I arrive. She is having to fight with the calf for access to the cow's udder. Every now and again the calf gives a big lunge with its head to try to dislodge her grip.

The second cow is worse. It's mood clearly as black as its hide, as soon as Inez tries to get a strap around its neck to bring it into the shed it immediately shies away, moos angrily and then emits a stream of shit. This is followed by a veritable waterfall of pee. Inez sidesteps with the grace of a tango dancer and grabs the cow by the tail. A twist of the tail turns the cow and she gets the leather lariat around its neck and drags it into the shed. Then she has to strap its hind legs together "because this one is inclined to kick". Clearly no place for an amateur milker.

After breakfast Inez drives behind us as we head for the border, bringing the tow rope we will need to cross the Bella Vista ford.

The border policeman who processes our papers looks like he has had a very rough night with the bottle, and our friendly kissing customs officer is nowhere to be seem. Eventually he emerges, clearly straight from his bed into which he must have tumbled after sharing a bottle or two with the policeman.

We drive down to the river's edge. Here John and the customs man attach Inez's rope to our car and the customs officer's truck. V, Vero and I get into the truck, to lessen the load in our car as John starts to drive across. Did I mention the wind is so strong we can hardly open the car door?

Off we go into the water and up the other bank. Then we look back, the rope has snapped and the Renault with John at the wheel has stopped exactly in the middle of the river. This is the stuff of an Indiana Jones movie, which is only spoiled by John starting the engine and driving out of the river and up the bank beside us! Well rewarded for his failed efforts the customs man takes the rope back to Inez and we are in Chile.

Four hours of non-stop driving along unsealed roads to the discordant music of stones pinging off the bottom of the car and we reach Porvenir, where the only ferry of the day is supposed to takes us across the Magellan Straits for the second time. Having driven madcap around Bahia Inutil (the fabulously named Useless Bay), we arrive in plenty of time for the 4pm ferry. Whew!

Then it turns out there is no 4pm ferry. There is a 6pm ferry or is it 7pm and will it arrive at all because of the high wind (did I mention the wind before)? As is usual in remote places, information is at a premium and rarely precise.

Just where we have stopped there is a run-down and dilapidated shack glorying in the name of "Restaurant La Bahia". This turns out to be our salvation. The cheerful gold toothed woman running it offers us beer and then a choice of fish or meat. We choose the King Crab which turns out to be delicious and far better than the far more expensive King Crab we had two nights earlier in Ushuaia.

Time drags, and drags until finally it is confirmed that the ferry has left from Punta Arenas on the other side and is on its way. Eventually it hoves into sight at about 6pm. Then the bad news, the sailing will be delayed until 9pm in the hope that the weather will get better (yes, its that wind again). Most of the waiting cars and vans drive off. We wait.

Eventually we do get on board and the big blue ferry sails for Punta Arenas, two and a half hours away across a very choppy Magellan Straits. Wisely V puts on her iPod and falls asleep, Vero goes on deck to resist the dangers of internal upheaval and John and I watch non-stop reports on television of the earthquake disaster and discover that over 700 Chileans have been killed.

That puts our problems into perspective

Footnote for lovers of the BBC Shipping forecast: We are staying at the Hotel Finis Terrae

PATAGONIA, Day 5

Day 5: Tierra del Fuego, Feb 27

In which I identify noises in the night, we catch Roger's "End of the World " train, reach Estancia Despedida, check the border ford and meet the kissing customs officer

Ushuaia: A night interrupted by noises. Reminded me of the tales of travellers in the jungle who would hear animal noises in the night and wonder if they were lions, or monkeys or alligators or who knows what? I managed to identify a motorbike, a truck, and the hotel lift which slid up the wall behind our heads.

John's friend Roger, who we met on a previous trip, built the replica steam train engine which happened to be pulling El Tren del Fin del Mundo (The End of the World Train) which we caught this morning. We wanted to take this "tourist" ride because John is an engine buff and because it was originally the railway used by the convicts (yes, they had to build the railway, too). Short trip, lots of photos and then we leave Ushuaia.

Our stop for the night is Estancia Despedida, "Posada del Guanaco", another farm of a mere 100,000 acres and some 4,500 head of cattle, plus 3,000 wild Guanacos which they are not allowed to cull because they are protected animals. The odd one might end up as dog food from time to time, but...

We are lucky to be here because the family home burnt down three weeks ago and the family are staying in the guest house. Seems because of the wooden construction and the fierce winds, the house was gone in under half an hour! We will be the last guests for some time.

Before dinner John decides he should drive to the border crossing for Chile to check if it is possible to cross the next day as planned. Seems the border is a river, a ford, no bridge. You literally have to drive across the river. If its too high, the border is closed. Simple!

Naturally we could not miss this experience, so we all piled into the car with him. Thirty kilometres of unsealed road with stones pinging on the underside of the car we reach the border. A young, black-bearded Customs officer comes out and it's handshakes and kisses all round. First time Vicky is kissed by a customs officer. (Now she is all-square with me since I was kissed by a young lady bank executive in Buenos Aires! Mind you, come to think of it, so was she.)

"It will be okay," our kissing customs officer assures us as we all stare at the rushing waters of the Rio Grande at the Bella Vista border crossing. If necessary he will tow us through (presumably for a fee) provided we bring our own rope. Ooops.

Back to the the ranch for dinner with host Vivi and daughter Inez who share a light strawberry birthmark under their left eye. John discusses ropes. Inez tells me she is milking cows the next morning, by hand. I ask to join her.

PATAGONIA, Day 4

Day 4: Patagonia, Feb 26


In which I mistake cormorants for penguins and sea-lions for rocks, see thousands of Magellan penguins and a few yellow-toed Gentoo who wandered up from the Antarctic by mistake and return on the "Bucking Bronco of the Beagle Channel"


Ushuaia: Rush to catch a boat to take us to see the penguins and sea lions. Our boat has "J&B, Start a Party" painted on the front, which sounds promising. But suddenly we have to jump ship when it turns out that this one is not going to the penguins.

Off we go into the Beagle Channel, discovered by and named after the boat that carried Charles Darwin - you know Darwin, the guy who said we were descended from the apes.

Our boat slows as we approach a small, rocky island covered with white-fronted birds, can they be penguins? No, seems they are cormorants, hundreds of them. As we draw closer what appeared to be brown rocks on the top of the little island materialise as sea-lions, dozens and dozens of them. Huge 400-kilo males haughtily looking up to the sky and slim 150-kilo females vying for their attention, plus a writhing mass of baby sea lions who are in constant motion and kept in check by the parents giving them little bites. Seems corporal punishment is still permitted in the animal kingdom!

We move on ploughing through the grey/black waters of the channel under streaks of clouds sitting on top of dark, snow-splattered mountains.

Finally, Martillo (Hammer) Island and penguins. Lots and lots of penguins. Our ships' guide says 3,000 (how could she count that fast?). The majority are little black and white Magellanic penguins, named after that chap Magellan who we encountered yesterday. There is also a small group of larger penguins with orange beaks and feet, they are the Gentoo penguins who normally inhabit the Antarctic, but apparently found their way to the island by mistake and now as they were born on the island they keep returning to breed and then head south, while the Magellan penguins swim north.

As we head back the wind (did I mention the wind?) is against us and the sea is very rough indeed. I call our little boat the Bucking Bronco of the Beagle Channel. V is very brave and manages the two-hour ride without mishap. I dream of a whiskey when its over.

Incongruous footnote: Our friendly female guide had explained in Spanish that the Beagle is a type of dog, like the dog in the Peanuts cartoon! A far distance from my image of the Beagle as a ship with a hardy bunch of sailors braving the dangers of the unknown to discover new lands.

PATAGONIA, Day 3

Patagonia. Day 3, Feb 25.

In which we learn too much about sheep shearing, encounter "gaucamoles", reach the southernmost city in the world, discover a build-it-yourself prison and that Sir Francis Drake was a pirate.

Sleep so well we wake late and have to dash down to lavish breakfast, including bacon and eggs! Wow.

Simon takes us for a tour of the estancia. The farm is a mere 100,000 acres and they have 20,000 head of sheep. Shearing has just been completed though they may have missed a few sheep, apparently did round up 600 after completing the main shearing. What is missing 600 head in a flock of such a size?

Simon describes with huge enthusiasm the intricacies of the shearing process and the way you can tell the sheep's life cycle of the past year by the varying colour of the shorn wool. Lambing time turns the wool yellow and makes it weaker. So much detail that my mind begins to wander and I accept the tugging hand of the 3-year-old daughter who wants to show me other things in the huge shearing shed.

On the road after many more kisses and the landscape is changing from flat and boring to gentle rolling hills and loads of Gauanacos, a Llama-like creature which roams wild all over the land. They are lovely looking creatures with slim white legs and brown bodies. They run away from the road and then, from what they estimate is a safe distance, turn and stare at us, body parallel with the road and the head turned towards us with two furry, pointy ears. V calls them guacamoles!

As we drive deeper into T de F we approach the mountains which though not very high, top peak is 1430m, are etched with residual patches of snow from the winter. Beautiful lakes and mountains make this look like Killarney writ large. Eventually we reach Ushuaia, which the Argentinians claim is the southernmost city on earth. Hmmmm?

Ushuaiah is a combination of port, frontier town and major tourist attraction, with all the big-name Argentine shops selling winter clothing and lots of souvenirs. Though the town is verging on the tacky, the location is fabulous with the snow splattered mountains dropping down into the sea. Did I mention the wind?

Visit the local prison, which was actually built by the prisoners. "I sentence you to 10 years in prison, but first you have to build the prison." Great idea.

The prison now a museum also houses a naval museum where I overhear an American tourist telling his children that Magellan went mad and was killed in the Philippines while leading a group of natives in a battle again another tribe. Seems he was firmly convinced that God had made him invincible to spears and arrows. Apparently he was wrong!

Also learn that the much-honoured Sir Francis Drake, was it not he of the Armada?, was actually a notorious pirate, even having his own treasure island in the Caribbean and reputedly having sacked Carthahena six times. The other leading local pirate was a certain Englishman by the name of Cavendish. How times have changed, or have they?

At dinner in a well-known local restaurant I accept recommendation of waitress to try famous Patagonian lamb cooked in honey and orange sauce. I think there might have been a very nice piece of lamb hidden under this totally inappropriate flavouring.

PATAGONIA, Day 2

Patagonia: Day 2, 24 Feb

In which we collect John's car, cross the Magellan Straits into Tierra del Fuego and slip into the luxurious comfort of Estancia Viamonte.

Flat land and wind. Did I mention the wind before? Target: cross the Straits of Magellan, the historic route through the southern tip of the Americas which the Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan discovered in 1520.

This is really an exciting moment to be standing there at Punta Delgada in a line of cars waiting to board the ferry. A lighthouse and a closed cafe. Just a wee bit of trepidation seeing that the ferry is what could also be described as a rust bucket. Still adventures have always been our daily fare, so we happily drive on board, hotly pursued by a huge yellow mechanical digger on a flatbed truck and another truck carrying a two-room grey portable cabin.

This is one of the narrowest crossing points and really it looks more like a very wide river, except it takes half an hour to cross because of the strong current, the wind and the need for the ferry to run parallel to the coast before heading across to the mysterious land we know as Tierra del Fuego. The first European explorers called it the Land of Fire because the local natives always had fires burning to keep warm. They even had fires in their canoes. Don't ask what 'Ealth and Safety would have thought of that!

As our car bumps up the ramp and on to dry land at Punta Espora I feel that our journey has really started.

Drive through prosperous Rio Grande, where fellow Toastie Annette Pearson ended up after her motor bike accident near the end of her 50,000 km journey from Alaska, and down the coast to Estancia Viamonte.

What a great welcome at this huge farm guest house with warm smiles and kisses from the welcoming staff. This is definitely a treat. Pre-dinner drinks with owner Adrian (b 1936) and later son Simon and his two young girls and wife. Kids rule: can't eat from pre-dinner snacks without first offering them to us. Seems Simon's wife is German and rules are rules. We get to eat a lot of snacks, and thankfully a large whiskey.

Sleep in what turns out to be the most comfortable bed we have enjoyed since landing in Argentina.

PATAGONIA, Day 1

PATAGONIA: Day 1, Tuesday 23 February 2010 In which we fly to Patagonia, plane tail wags like a happy dog, visit British Club were Juan Peron first came to attention

BA Aeroparque Newberry: Joined by our companions John and Veronica "Muschy" Hampton to catch Aerolineas 15.55 flight to Rio Gallegos. Row 19, the last on a very dilapidated looking 737-500.

Fly down the eastern coast of Argentina and have fabulous view of coast and seas, inland rivers and coastal cliffs. Fly over Penninsular Valdes, where V says Assaf and Penny visited, perhaps its second most important claim to fame after its whales etc.

The landing was one of the wildest I have ever experienced, seems there are permanent strong winds and the tail of the plane whipped around like a dog delighted to see its master after a long absence. Had to laugh it was so ridiculous. Reminded me of landing on one wheel at Kabul 40-plus years ago.

Rio Gallegos appears to be mainly composed of very run down single-story houses. An atmosphere of a frontier town - wide roads and a long way from the capital. Drive past Penguino Transporte, which confirms we are headed in the right direction, and almost next to it Neuvo Penguino, fierce rivalry in the local transport business it seems! Hotel Sehuen is apparently the best in town. Slightly above a youth hostel it actually has a nice feel of people doing their best to make everything work. The room has a high, wooden, Alpíne ceiling but the double bed is as hard as a Victorian father and just as un-forgiving. A night of waking and sleeping and sweating gets me up early enough to have time to write this entry for a diary.

Before that walked in the biting cold wind to dinner at the British Club. According to John this is the place where Juan Peron first entered the history books when as a young officer he was send at the head of a troop ordered to crush the anarchists, mostly Poles and Litvacks apparently, who wanted freedom, independence or some such..... He is reputed to have gone to the British club and to have drunk a toast "to His Majesty the King" before setting out the next day to wipe out the anarchists.

Next to the wood paneled dining room the members-only bar area hosts a sprinkling of bluff and red-eyed men downing large brandies on ice as well as indulging in the rare luxury of smoking beside the leather-padded bar.

Bitter cold walk back but a treat to be in the dry after a week of torrential downpours in BA.

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