Leaving from Heathrow always means more hassle than you actually ever imagine there possibly could be. Where you say things like “I’ll travel down and catch the plane,” what you actually mean is “I’ll prepare to leave a full day early, carry unwieldy luggage across London and back, Kip on someone’s sofa, take public transport an ungodly hour to ensure being at the airport in time, and then hang around aimlessly looking at expensive goods and lamenting the lack of wi-fi until boarding time”

It sort of takes the magic out of flying.

Thankfully the destination nearly always makes up for this.

I arrived at Taipei despite the incoming monsoon, and quickly bumped into two Canadian friends of my cousin who were on the same flight. It turns out they were the people in front of me at the ATM cursing at it blindly in the same way that I was soon to do also.

Nick’s wedding was to be the following day, and I’d furiously tried to avoid jet lag, but any idea of catching up on sleep was quickly scuppered by the first activity after lunch - golf.

It’s been a while since I last picked up a club, but I played surprisingly well considering. That said, you do reach a point where you can’t tell if the alcohol is making your game better, or if you have simply lost the ability to correctly judge your own performance.

The whole experience was made even more bizarre by our caddies; a squad of bright pink tracksuit-clad ladies, all of pensionable age, and not a word of English between them. What they lacked in communication, they made up in eyesight, and could seemingly spot balls that seemed like they had been irrevocably lost. Hawkeye style.

These pink beekeepers (on account of their huge sunshade hats) kept us chauffeured around the course at high speed until all the beer had gone.

The next day was the wedding, and as we were staying at the golf club hotel, it was a pretty laid back morning. A key thing to understand about this event was that it was a case of east meets west - Maxine is half Chinese, half Taiwanese, and Nick is Cannuk. There were likely to be some interesting twists.

This resulted in a colourful mix of clothing and styles, as well as what may well have been the briefest marriage ceremony in the history of weddings (conducted by my aunt, as far as I could work out). I kid you not, the whole thing was over in about one minute thirty seconds, just before the combined paparazzi descended upon the newly weds for the best part of half an hour.

It quickly became apparent that main focus of oriental weddings is the meal. A twelve course affair, we were plied with a huge range of cuisines, that in some cases managed to bemuse both Westerners and Asians at exactly the same time.

Of note, jellyfish - much like the tentacle of an octopus in shape, but with a gelatinous translucent brown colour, and a delightful crunch inside - it was probably was my favourite new experience. Less so what became known on our table as “burnt bird soup”, but on the whole it was a great feast.

The whole event was well-lubricated with the local Taiwan Beer (aka Taiwaneken, due to certain brand similarities to a well known European beer). It wasn’t until significantly far into the meal that it was noted that some of the girls might like a drink too, and a small quota of wine appeared, but by this stage most of them had resorted to the hoppy stuff anyway.

The after-party was in a room upstairs, and this is something of a novelty for Taiwanese weddings as the meal usually marks the end of the affair. The bar was very well stocked, however for a period when fellow English-expat Marcus got behind it, I found that with alarming regularity that the drinks I were ordering were being consumed by him before they got anywhere near my hands. After six attempts I finally got my order, but Marcus was a little worse for wear, as were a few others once all the tequila had gone.

I met many of my cousin’s friends on visits across The Pond when I was younger, but this was the opportunity to get to know the entire contingent of Canadians who had made it over, as well as one or two of the locals. During the evening there was music, and dancing, and one stage even some golf lessons - all in all a very enjoyable night.

Once the shattered glass had been swept away from the pool area in the morning, and the hangovers had been sedated to a bearable level, we boarded the karaoke bus for a six hour exodus.

This luxurious coach was oddly devoid of karaoke (on account of the PA being broken I think) and took us directly downwards to the resort town of Kenting, which resides very closely to the most southerly point of Taiwan.

This was my first trip to this part of the island, and I was once again thoroughly impressed. This isn’t some over developed westerners’ haven (like the rest of of Taiwan also, there is practically zero western tourism), but instead an unspoilt beachside view on to the Pacific.

The highlight of this place is the night market, a shining example of one even by Chinese and Korean standards apparently. On several of the evenings we ended up here trying out the local delicacies: “cho doe-fu”, accurately translated as stinky tofu; “frying milk” - cubes of milk (don’t ask me how) on a spike and fried in milk and batter that taste like marshmallow fritters, and “Ni Hao on a stick”, a phrase which means nothing to anyone else, but essentially a whole squid, BBQ’d until the tentacles are crisp and mounted like a lollipop on a wooden skewer. Remarkably tasty if not a little strange to look at.

The string village is packed with trinket shops, neon lights and little seafood eateries. Aside from spending time here, we also took a while at the beach bars soaking up the 30 degree sun, riding scooters and exploring the area.

One trip we made was out to the hot springs not too far up the road. The sulphur-infused waters are kept in pools of varying temperatures from bloody boiling to fricking freezing. However, the star attraction split opinion down the middle; why spend your time with your feet dipped in a pool of ordinary water when you can fill that pond with goldfish-sized, skin-eating fish that swarm at your extremities and chew off any detritus they can get their mouths onto? It’s a bit of a funny feeling at first, and one that freaked out a few people initially, but after a while you become quite accustomed to their nibbling, and its actually oddly pleasant.

On one day we took some time to snorkel around the large space-odyssey style rock directly opposite our sea-facing hotel. The water was a bit choppy, but there was some colourful sealife around, and it was really quite pleasant to get a chance to swim in mild waters, albeit in fairly close proximity to the nuclear plant round the corner (a seaside tradition in Taiwan, I have discovered - Feng Shuei or something?).

We also had the opportunity to swim at a sandy beach; one that hurled up huge waves that could upend even the sturdiest of American football players. There is nothing more amusing than watching a six foot Canadian being flipped head-over-heals in a spectacular bicycle kick, then being dragged 10 metres out to sea against his will. We all emerged scraped and bruised (turns out these big waves throw up quite a bit of rock too), but I haven’t laughed harder all holiday.

If exposing ourselves to waterborne hazards wasn’t enough, the trip to the “breezy coast” was a way to ensure that any open wounds would pale to insignificance to the almighty sand-blasting we endured at this popular cliff top spot.

Driving scooters in the wind was interesting enough, but it became apparent quite quickly that the “breezy” bit in the area name had been thought up by some marketing department and a more apt word they might have appropriated would have be “typhonic”.

For some bizarre reason, a TV company had decided to film an advert up here, and I watched with much glee as they attempted to lash down a tarpaulin roof to their set in the force twelve gale.

Less windy was the southern-most tip of the island, where Jeff spotted a giant millipede but which I unfortunately missed. If you are not aware, these beasts can kill a small child with their bite, which is something to bear in mind before you pick one up.

After a week of beer, whisky and beach life, we finally made our way back up to Taipei. There had been significant deliberation on where we would spend our final night, but we were eventually dropped at the door of a rather downbeat looking brick building in the middle of a rather downbeat looking street.

It turns out that looks are deceptive. The rooms here cost a mere £30 a night, but take heed Travelodge, they were nothing short of palatial. My room was probably 5 metres square, with a stone-clad bathroom two thirds that size again. In here was a hot tub, a wall that turned into a waterfall, a second TV, a full-on wooden sauna and a wet room style shower. And that included breakfast too.

Between us we had hired out at least six rooms, and each was individually designed and styled. Dutch, next door to me, had a full on swimming pool of a tub resplendent with disco lighting, and the whole place left me smiling from ear to ear.

By 8am everyone had departed except me, my uncle and aunt (we were to head on to Shanghai together) and unfortunately in the mad scramble to wake up, try and locate both the light switch and some clothing, I managed to miss saying farewell to the other travellers. Needless to say though, the whole week was thoroughly enjoyable and great respite. Taiwan fails to disappoint once more.

Next up, Shanghai.

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Late on Friday evening I was waiting in the beach house for Nick and Maxine to return, and after a week in pretty much pure isolation, was surprised to see someone appear in the doorway of the house.

On the weekends, most of the english teachers from Jungli travel out to the coast for weekend BBQs, surfing and beach time, and with them come a total of 10 dogs. So in addition to Nick and Maxine’s
‘Coffee’, there was Chris’ ‘Lunar’, two golden retrievers, two more daschunds, a tugo (native Taiwanese breed) puppy ‘Tequila’, a husky called ‘Geisha’, a black and white border collie and another one I couldn’t identify called ‘Caeser’. It was pretty crowded in the beach house living room.

Needless to say there was beer, sand, hats and a late night.

Despite this, we had to be up early in the morning and had been feverishly hoping for good weather. Alas no. Nick, Maxine and I took a four hour road trip down to Taroko Gorge - a massive mountainous region further south east. It’s a national park, and usually packed, but we ended up with the place to ourselves - the rain was torrential and the closer we got the the park, less and less of coastal road was left standing.

Trying to describe the toll typhoon rains take on roads is hard, but if you can imagine a single lane road that winds it’s way around the headland, directly above the Pacific Ocean - that was our route. The rain swells the existing waterfalls that naturally form in the steep gullies at each bend in the road, and these often overshoot their normal path under the strain of the flow, so that pretty much a fifth of the time you are on the road, you are driving under pounding water from the streams above falling onto the road itself. The water then runs down the road, and as it flows off into the ocean below, it wears away at the edges of the tarmac and takes off great chunks of the surface with it - including crash barriers, houses and trees.

As the remainder of the water passes down the road like a river, it erodes the soft earth from under the surface, and the pressure of the flow underneath punches holes up through it, through which hundreds of gushing springs appear across the entire width of the thoroughfare.

It’s pretty spectacular, and that’s even before you contemplate the landslides which pepper the road every few kilometres - piles of rock washed down the steep faces of the mountains that litter the road and often limit passage to a single lane. Rock sizes vary from the size of your fist, the the size of three or four cars - thankfully we were on the receiving end of none of these dangerous hailstones.

By the time we made it to the hostel where we were staying, visibility was very low, and the road immediately past our stopping point was closed. We heard there had been a massive landslide around the corner and it had been sealed off completely. The inclement weather didn’t stop it still being a pretty spectacular spot - perched high up in valley that rises higher than the Grand Canyon in places, our accommodation was a simple hostel with a roofed but open eating area that doubled up as a car park overlooking the surrounding mountains.

We’d planned a BBQ, and Maxine prepared traditional Taiwanese skewers - bundles of spring onion wrapped in pork which we had alongside torn chicken breast and a healthy three bottles of red. Next door to our building, a large hotel was being renovated, and the only other people staying at our hostel were a group of Taiwanese plumbers who plied us with fruit (like a grapefruit, but less sour), beer, horsenuts, unshelled peanuts and a type of local and sweet Red Bull and coke (though it includes neither) that they knock back as though it wasn’t incredibly alcoholic.

As I speak no Mandarin (or for that matter, native Taiwanese) we decided cards would be a good option and played out until the early hours. We finished the evening solving matchstick riddles (like the ones you get in crackers at Christmas) but of course this is a general pastime in China, not some novelty plastic trick.

The next morning was no better weather wise, and Nick and I couldn’t find anywhere open serving breakfast, so we took a wander up past the sealed road block to have a look at the landslide. You could hear and see it still going even though it had started two or three days earlier - and we stood and watched from about 200 yards as huge chunks of rock cracked and smashed their way down the rock face into a shale pile that ran into the river below. It was incredible. All the trees around were stacked high and drooping under the weight of the rock dust which looked like thick ash - and on the road the rain water had congealed it into a thick clay-like paste several centimetres thick. You could taste the minerals in the air; it did choke and cloud up at each new rush of the rock fall, despite the persistent rain.

The road had been completely cut off by the rock pile - it had consumed the one end of a tunnel that started not very far ahead of us, and the failing rock face above was several hundred feet high - about half of which was unstable and still breaking away sporadically. With each audible ‘crack’ came a flurry of more large rocks which thudded down the cliff face then into the shale pile below with a puff of dust - then this was followed by a stream of loose grit and gravel for fifteen seconds to a minute after. This in turn would set off another rock fall and so it would continue.

We quickly discovered we were trapped in the valley as the road on which we had come was also now closed some miles behind us - so we drove to the train station in the nearest town, abandoned the car and took to the tracks. They are a bit funny about animals on public transport, so Coffee was consigned to a shoulder bag for the journey.

By the time we had arrived back in Jungli the rain had subsided, but it remained overcast. Being Sunday, Nick had Kung Fu in Taipei again, so until he returned for another jamming session with the band, I had a few beers with Rick who lives in the house opposite and had arrived here just a matter of weeks after I first visited Taiwan just over five years ago.

The practice room this week was much bigger, and there was a bigger audience this week too. Rob and Bear’s girlfriends came by, and Maxine also stayed. Afterwards we headed back to the same ‘breakfast shop’ we had been to last week for more hot sauce and savoury pastries. It really is fantastic food there.

Monday morning usually means work for all, but after breakfast (we have the same thing every day - a thin egg pastry cooked with onions and pork, washed down with orange juice and green tea - pretty goddamn tasty) Rick and Marcus came over and suggested as I had nothing better to do (which I didn’t) that we should take the motorbikes out to the next city to watch some baseball at TGI Fridays. So perhaps not the most cultural thing, but after persuading the barman to make happy hour start a couple of hours early and getting in a platter lunch; it turned out that didn’t matter too much anyway!

We got back to Jungli and met Nick at a bar not too far from home, and deciding to leave Marcus and Rick to their own fate there, Nick and I went and got teppenyaki. If you were wondering - yes, it was great.

And that brings us to today - my penultimate day in Taiwan on this trip. Finally the clouds parted and Nick, Coffee and I took the motorbike up into the mountains to a secluded watering hole tucked away and off the main routes. If you’ve ever seen The Beach, it’s a bit like that - a circular pool of clear water with a waterfall that plunges down ten meters on the one side. You can then float down a small outlet into the lower pool where the water is much more still and lagoon like. The water wasn’t too cold, but the river had clearly been swelled by the rain and trying to swim against the flow of the waterfall ahead was almost impossible. Even Coffee couldn’t resist joining us in the water, but it completely tired him out after a few minutes and he just sat on Nick’s back while we swam to shore.

One of the things I remember vividly about my first visit here was bin lan, or betal nut. It’s a type of nut the size of a grape, wrapped in it’s own leaf and chewed like a chewing tobacco. It quickly bleeds to produce a fiborous husk which you chew, and a bright red liquid which you have to graciously spit out at fairly regular intervals. This can be amusing when done badly - or from the back of a bike - but the net effect of chewing this stuff is a warming like natural high - and the locals can’t get enough of the stuff - partially because it’s quite addictive. You pick up the small bags from scantily clad bin lan girls, who sit in small glass and neon kiosks every few hundred metres down all major roads. It’s surreal and the whole experience is very much one that defines Taiwan to me. Anyway, getting back on the bikes allowed for more than my fair share of betal nut chewing.

So tomorrow evening I fly - another 16 hour adventure or so. I think we go for food again tonight. Looking forward to it already…

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Taiwan isn’t really a place where you can afford to allow things like natures bad side stop you. Case in point, since I got to Fuhlong - a beach on the east coast of the island I’ve had to deal with some pretty big spiders, some pretty enormous cockroaches, and a very small leech.

I won’t tell you I’m brave about this stuff - cockroaches especially are a bit freaky (especially when they decide to make a beeline for the inside of the fridge when you open the door) but when you combine it with the remnants of a typhoon, leaky beach houses, hungry bedbugs, stray dogs and completely unusual food, you realise it’s all just part of the experience. I quite like it actually.

This is the first time I’ve been near a computer since I got here four days ago (Chris, who lives next door and speaks fluent mandarin, has been kind enough to let me use his mac) and quite happily I’ve discovered the world is not falling apart. This time up here alone in the beach house has allowed me time to read a couple of books (J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye and Michael Crichton’s Sphere), take it easy, do some hiking, do some mountain biking and explore the coast line.

No one here really speaks any English, so getting by can be pretty funny. My manderin is limited to saying hello, asking for chicken or pork meat and thanking people (or thanking them a lot). I’ve also learnt about five chinese characters, but it’s not particularly useful unless I something is big, in the middle and I want to go in to it or exit it.

This doesn’t stop people trying to talk to you. Usually the westerners who are here during the summer weekends do speak some (it’s a necessity if you are here for any period of time) but I think the locals expect that. One lady appeared at the back door of the house and spoke to me for a least five minutes after collecting the contents of my bin. I have no idea what she was going on about.

Nick stayed the first night we arrived here but as he had to work he headed back to Jungli on Tuesday, but not until we’d taken out a tandem bike. It wasn’t exactly the most masculine thing to do - two lads, riding a tandem, carrying a small sausage dog in the front basket while riding through the countryside. Thankfully, I’ve seen much stranger things here, so I can’t say I was that bothered. Chris thought it was funny though.

The weather has been steady - we’ve had a couple of bursts of rain overnight, but on the whole the days have been clear, and the last bits of the typhoon have fizzled out. It’s not exactly clear skies, but it gave me an opportunity yesterday to hike up to a monastery in the mountains behind the beach.

The place was pretty deserted, and the final ascent demanded some pretty ‘rural’ travel - through quite a lot of overgrown greenery. Flip flops were never the explorer’s footwear of choice, so it wasn’t entirely a surprise that I discovered that a leech had attached itself to my ankle.

From my experience in Nepal (where I had seen a guide remove one by ripping it from between his toes) I decided against that bloody course of action. With a bit of boy scout ingenuity, I headed into the Buddhist monastery and lit an incense stick and tried to burn the thing off (pretty much the only option unless you’re prepared to wait for it to get its fill and drop off naturally). Thankfully no one was around to witness the thing - it doesn’t hurt - that is the leech bite doesn’t. But what does hurt is if you manage to burn yourself with the end of the incense. Turns out it works like a dream, but it took three separate attempts to get the bastard, who initially recoiled, but then bit again. Twice. Eventually it worked though and I went on my way, burn marks, leech marks and all.

I’ve drunk more beer and played more chess than I’ve had in a longwhile, and it’s quite refreshing being in a place so deserted and empty. The Chinese who do live here don’t really venture outside at this time of year, and with no westerners around (because it’s not the weekend) I’ve pretty much had the place to myself.

Nick’s back tonight and we’re going to make a decision about what we will do over the weekend - either stay or head south to Taroko Gorge. Anyway, time to take the bike out…

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It’s a long flight to the other side of the world. About 16 hours in total to get to Taipei airport including a transfer in Hong Kong and a fifteen minute delay at Heathrow.

It’s my second time here; the first visit just over five years ago, and although most of the people I met have moved on, not much else has. My cousin, Nick, is still living in the same building, a big and airy house near Jungli (pronounced Djong - Lee) which is in the north of the country and south west of the capital, Taipei.

Since my last visit he has taken in his fiancé - Maxine, and a excitable daschund - Coffee, who follows you around as though his life depended on it.

I arrived late on Thursday evening and after a few beers took a good long sleep which seems to have prevented any jetlag outright. With Nick and Maxine working on Friday I spent most of the day taking it easy in preparation to get back on a plane - a trip to Hong Kong organised at the last minute. Nick has to get a visa renewal every 30 days or so, and it’s a regular journey, although not generally anything more than getting a passport stamp then heading back into Taiwan. This time however we were staying for two nights and being as I’d never been before, a bit of a general exploration.

A few more beers later, it was Saturday and Nick and I headed into the centre of the city - a packed metropolis that rises up out of the edge of the water and one of the most densely populated places on the planet. It’s pretty hard to take in the size of the buildings - we were on the 18th floor of our hotel and yet we couldn’t see over any other building out of our window. Most were double to three times the height, and every one adorned with some glowing neon advertisement or video board.

We took a cab to the Peak Tram - a steep train ride to a vantage point that sits upon the mountain directly behind the main business and residential district which gives a panoramic view of the whole harbour, and Kowloon, which sits directly opposite. The clarity was fair, but despite being overcast, the clouds diffused the sunlight so brightly that it was with regret I realised I hadn’t brought my shades with me. We walked the path that circumnavigates the top of the mountain - peering through the fences that protect the opulent mansions that sit right up here, well away and above the crammed apartment blocks and skyscraping offices below.

We ate well here - and in true Hong Kong fashion - an almost entirely western experience at Bubba Shrimps. OK, so not particularly cultural, but they do make bloody good cajun shrimp with fried bread…

We got a cab to the town of Stanley in the afternoon - a trip that took us to the other side of island and past several busy beaches but deserted waters (it appears people don’t swim here, for whatever reason) and after briefly skipping through the packed market made our way to the ferry pier.

We sat and waited under the pontoon watching the locals mussel-picking and line-fishing until our trip back to Hong Kong arrived - a traditional sailing junk (powered entirely by a very noisy engine) but on which we managed to get the best seats and enough beer to take us right around the island again and then onto Kowloon.

This busy shopping district heaves with people pouring in and out exclusive shops and malls - Boss, Cartier, Prada, D&G etc but with a little extra searching, yields some truly hidden gems. Little local markets and malls which are practically unvisited by tourists or Chinese - they swarm with Hong Kong’s African and Indian communities.

We stopped harbourside to watch sunlight disappear only to be replaced by the garish glow of a thousand neon billboards and a million office and apartment lights flicker on across the city. If there is ever a place to try and gauge the size of a city population in one eyeful, this is it.

We stayed for the daily light show (and as Nick pointed out, disappointingly not accompanied by live music) then fell back into the hustling market halls to find a small Indian restaurant somewhere in the heart of a building which served a fantastic meal of poppadums, lamb on the bone, saag (spinach) chicken and naan amongst others. It’s the best Indian food I’ve had since Delhi, and cost us next to nothing.

The next morning was much clearer, a symptom of an approaching or nearby typhoon, but we had to catch a flight back to Taipei and so took ourselves back to the airport for the 90 minute jaunt back across the channel.

By the time we got back, the wind had really picked up and although we didn’t get any rain, it was pretty clear from the cloud that Typhoon Parma was getting close. It’s not hard to see the menace in the skies - the clouds split into layers and move rapidly. As the weather system revolves, the tail brings the rain, and so the further out you are from the centre, the less frequent the downpours. We remained pretty dry until late afternoon when Nick needed to get into Taipei city for a Kung Fu class - and so while he got on with that, Maxine and I braved the weather on the streets of the city - getting to Memorial Hall to watch changing of the guard, and trying a few local delicacies.

I’m pretty good with most food, and tried ‘stinky tofu’ at one of the night markets on my last visit, but there was a real mix of stuff this time - some good, some I wasn’t that so bothered about. The small fried ‘snack fish’ and shrimp (which you eat, shell and all) were nice, but I wasn’t so keen on the the peanut-powdered pigs blood lolly (too spicy) or the deep fried tofu (I don’t really care for tofu anyway, whatever you do to it). The nicest thing was definitely the white rice sausage and the luminous green sugar cane juice.

We made our way to Taipei 101 - the largest building in the world since 2004, and though we didn’t go up to the observatory (visibility was pretty much negligible at this point) the structure itself looks incredible amongst the swirling clouds and inside is every bit as huge as you might expect.

In the end we had to rush back for the final event of what had otherwise been a pretty packed day anyway. Nick plays in a band and there was the weekly jam session back in Jungli. Squeezed into a tiny little padded room on the fourth floor, it was great to get to hear some live music and meet some more long-term Taiwan-resident westerners. Following a pattern fast emerging on this trip, after a few more Taiwan Beers, we found food at a small, family run, late-night patisserie.

And so today is Monday and I have another chilled out day. The typhoon hasn’t truly struck (much to the chagrin of everyone, who it turns out were all looking forward to a day off work) but the rain is persistent and so this evening I’m heading to Fulong - a beach on the east of the island where I will be staying alone for the next few days to get some respite, read a few books and hopefully see so whatever of the typhoon remains.

Oh, and I’d forgotten how much I liked this place and how strangely crazy it all is.

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I’ve wanted to visit Switzerland for a long time. Of all the western European nations, it’s one of the most interesting politically, historically, scenically and racially and so I was really pleased when James (who I tend to do photography trips with) decided he’d like to try it too.

I gave myself the week off and we flew from Luton on a bitter Sunday morning, and were more than relieved that despite the temperature in Geneva, the weather was crisper; less sleety and less wet.

We spent the next few days as the only residents of a hotel in Interlaken (quite literally, even the staff weren’t on-site most of the time) and took time to explore Murren, Thun, Wengen and number of other mountainside/lakeside villages. Ski season hasn’t yet commenced, but the first snow is falling, which made for ideal photography conditions - unspoilt slopes, no overcrowding and complete isolation in some cases. On a couple of occasions we ended up in normally buzzing villages only to find that most of the transportation wasn’t running, let alone anyone else in sight. It was highlighted by the fact in the five or so days I was away I didn’t have a single opportunity to speak to anyone who wasn’t Swiss.

Limited German and French didn’t matter much as most people speak English, but I actually enjoy the challenge and being the only other two languages I have any knowledge of, meant I got to try both.

The highlight of Interlaken was definitely heading up to the Jungfraujoch - 3471 metres. Stupidly, despite my own interest in the mountain and it’s conquest, it had completely escaped me that the Eiger (especially the White Spider, or famous North Face) was actually in the immediate group of three mountains ahead of us. It really was stunning. The weather had been snowy and cloudy below about 2000m, but from the railway station at Kleine Scheidegg, looking up at the three mountains, we had exceptionally good visibility.

It’s expensive in Switzerland, but Swiss Pass railway passes halved the price on the few lines that aren’t ‘all inclusive’. You could feel the altitude, although it wasn’t anything like Tibet (where dizziness turned into a splitting headache), and instead made the whole experience even more surreal. Outside on the plateau the temperature was a chilling -18.8°C but it made a great platform for taking photographs. The only downside of these pre-prepared spaces is that everyone gets the same image - but unfortunately there is little other option at that sort of height without a helicopter and money to burn.

On Wednesday we returned to Geneva and had a chance to have a look around the Old Town, not before James took the hotel’s rooms to pieces (critically, not literally). As someone who designs them for a living he was able to point out some pretty clever cost saving techniques that you wouldn’t necessarily have considered before.

Historically of course, Geneva has an important role to play in both the League of Nations and the UN, and it was interesting to step in the same footsteps as some of the greatest world leaders. Inter-war European relations was one of my pet topics until A-Level and it really puts things into perspective when you see the rooms from where Haile Selassie made his impassioned plea and where the Geneva Convention was first signed in the Alabama Room at the Hotel de Ville. All good history stuff.

After getting back in time for Saturday’s rugby, I caught the train to meet with Sean before the match. I don’t think we expected too much from England’s performance, but after a fairly stale first half against the All Blacks (6-12), the second half could have provided a surprise result. It did, and we lost spectacularly.

Actually it wasn’t all bad, but some pretty awful discipline left us playing with 14 men for most of the game, and some lazy play and lazy kicking meant we we’re pretty stuffed.

When I got back at around 11pm I was surprised to find myself in the car heading over to Kidderminster to meet up with George, Tom and Gaz for a celebratory drink (George getting back from Canada). We ended up in a lock-in I think because the beer was still flowing until the early hours, but I had the benefit of a fantastically comfy spare bed and didn’t wake up until midday.

A good week off, all-in-all. Photos are here.

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A week away in Spain last week was very much deserved; a chance for some respite and to catch some rays after our miserably wet summer. I went about this with gusto and torched my chest on the first day. Result.

Despite the pain, Sean, Ryan and myself set about the Asturian town of Gijon (North West Spain) and found ourselves wallowing in seafood and the local cider, which is poured from a height and swilled down quickly. We even managed to fit in some beach prowling, tapas chewing and an eventful Iberian musical experience (which included beer, The Go! Team, a bull fighting ring and some early morning violence).

In the second half of the week we stayed with Ryan’s girlfriend Aihnoa at her family’s holiday home further along the coast in Llanes (neighbouring the town of Poo). More seafood, more cider, drinking games with the locals, a failure to grasp the language and some swimming in the sea later, and the holiday was over very quickly and I spent a further four hours in the car driving back from Essex.

It was all suitably fantastic.

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It’s been a long weekend.

I took Friday as day at the motors (mixing business with pleasure) and with a bit early morning travel managed to get down to Brands Hatch for 9ish. I had been hoping to get to see more than just practice day, but as things happened, the weekend was already booked up (I will explain later) and so I was only able to stay for the one day before having to head back home.

In simple terms, a client’s son (Adam) competes in Formula Renault (think next is Formula 3, then GP2, then Formula 1) and he invited me to come down to watch the opening race of the season. It’s been a couple of years since the last time I got to watch (at Donington) and it’s something I really enjoy so was more than happy to get down there, especially as last weekend didn’t prove to be much of a break in the end.

Will also came down and we had the full day slinking around the pits, paddock and stands. It’s great to get full access to these places, and to get really up close with the kit, especially as I’d taken the SLR down. The weather conspired against us however, and most of the day it bucketed it down so I spent a lot of time collecting puddles in my camera bag. Despite this it was still bloody great, and although not an official race day, Adam’s results were good and looked promising for qualifying on the next day.

After making an epic journey back home, the next morning Deako turned up at 10am ready to get over to Wales. After the success of our photo trip to the lakes six months ago we’d decided to plan another, this time to the Elan Valley.

We were staying in Rhayader (a place which I’ve visited/walked/camped around several times before) and made it our base to get out into the valleys. Unfortunately the weather followed, and we spent a good few hours at the top of the incredibly full and impressive dams contending with pretty heavy conditions. It wasn’t good photography weather, but we managed to get a few locations in before the evening.

Thankfully Sunday was brighter and we traced the second, longer chain of dams and reservoirs. If you don’t really know about Elan and these structures, essentially if you live in or around Birmingham, the water you drink came from here. Most of the five or so dams were built between the last decade of the 19th century and the early 1950s, and they are really impressive bits of architecture. Several valleys were flooded to make way for the new reservoirs and one lake alone contains enough water at any one time to supply Brum for up to 15 days. Eerily, several villages and substantial large houses were submerged in the process, and they still sit at the bottom of these vast pools in which you cannot sail or swim. The scenery is stunning, and after the heavy rainfall, all of these structures were overflowing with run off. It’s a very impressive sight, especially from the base.

In the afternoon we had reached Devil’s Bridge, but as the weather had started to deteriorate again we took a trip to Aberystwyth where it cheered up and we met up with Damith (one of James’ old housemates from Loughborough). We took an unplanned trip to the beach and my first ever experience of home-cooked Sri-Lanken food (which was delicious and despite containing copious amounts of chilli, I managed without a problem).

This morning required some coordination as both mine and Deako’s phones were out of battery (mine unfortunately wasn’t just out of battery it transpires) but we eventually managed to organise getting to breakfast at the right time (our hotel rooms were in different buildings on different streets) and get all the way back out to Devil’s Bridge before we realised neither of us had handed our keys in at checkout.

Thankfully we had planned to return at lunchtime for one final photo opportunity in Rhayader, so after tackling the waterfalls and Jacob’s Ladder, we returned the hotel, handed in the keys and spent the last hour filling up our final memory cards with photos of red kites - a bird of prey that thrives in the Elan Valley and can be relied upon to arrive at the right time every day to feed in a field left with carcass scraps. The hardest thing to do is convert 200 shots made in quick succession into just three or four prize photos.

And so I’m back, with a really broken phone and a very long list of to-dos.

I was finally able to find out that Adam Christodoulou finished first and smashed the Brands Hatch lap record on Sunday in the opening race which is a great way to start the season.

This week is going to be full on.

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