a tout confort

Having written last about all the things we missed while camping, we have now moved to the luxury of gites and hotels.....and I´m not quite sure that I am absolutely, entirely happy about it. Suddenly, I feel cooped up in a box. We have spend near enough 7 weeks outside, and now I have to sleep inside. Sure, it´s warm, it´s dry, and in fact it´s very nice, but I do miss the fresh air. We will enjoy it for a short time (especially the hot showers, running hot water and non-freezing toilet seats) and then we return to our canvas (er, sorry, nylon) shelters for a while longer.

We left Orpierre regretfully, in glorious autumn sunshine, as the village was closing down for the winter. Beyond 31 October, there is very little there, not even somewhere to stay, unless you happen to own a flat in the veille village. We really enjoyed our time there, and will almost definitely return at some point. I have some unfinished business with a 7a called Les bruits des nuages, and a couple more 6c technical things I want to try.

We arrived in Vingrau, just outside Perpignan, in the most violent wind I have ever encountered with sunshine. It was very sunny, but the wind was gusting at about 90kmp. The feeling that yet again the Titanic had sailed without us descended as Vingrau appeared closed and empty. A little further down the road in Tautavel we found that the lÓffice de Tourisme is only open from 1 July til 31 August. The boat had definitely sailed. Still, the Tourist Office directed us to the museum, where the grumpy old bag directed us at the Mairie´s office, where an even grumpier older windier-bag huffed and puffed here way about photocopying a list of gites. The first was full (with what?? the village was completely devoid of human life) and the second was more promising. The chap looked as though he´d smoked enough fags to win a world fag-smoking competition, and asked us whether we wanted two beds or one! Yes, we were pretty surprised at that two. While Caroline and I are very good friends, we suggested that two beds would be preferable if it was possible (yes, my French will now stretch to saying that.). We ended up in quite a nice room, with a bathroom and separate toilet and two single beds, which appeared to have mattresses with springs but no padding. All this for 40 euros a night. Ouch. Still, it was actually very pleasant..... until the announcements started.

Tautavel appears to have a Brave New World-esque way of informing residents and tourists what is going on. There are loudspeakers permanently hooked up at various points around the village, including right outside our window. First there is the Village School Fete music (trumpets, jingly jangly morris men type stuff), and then the woman from the Mairie´s office (surely it must have been her) announcing in a very School Maám sort of way that Mass for All Saints will be celebrated at 18.00hours on WEDNESDAY in the Church at Tautavel. There was also something abotu a lost dog and some other nonsense that we vaguely understood but were so flabbergasted at the concept, we didn´t really comprehend. This happens twice a day.....we think. We left.

The climbing at Vingrau is extensive and on very hard grey sharp limestone. It wasn´t polished, but it was so windy we got blown off. The following day was beautful, if still a little windy, so we wasted it by sitting on a wall having a 6 hour breakfast and sunning ourselves. Lovely.

The refugio at Vingrau, recently rebuilt and very secluded

One more thing about our gite. There was nowhere to eat in Tautavel. Everything was closed. So we ended up cooking rice in the trangia on the floor in the gite, and praying that the smell would not reach the nose of the smoked proprietor. It made me nervous doing something that I knw might get us thrown out of the room, but looking back on it, it was quite funny. It was a bit like getting caught smoking behind the bike sheds at school (or walking on the roof at school, which was what I did, since I don´t smoke and the bike shed at school was open sided). So we did eat. And we drank wine.

Vingrau's suntrap basin where the grapes grow juicy

We are now in Barcelona. It is utter madness after the tranquility of 7 weeks in the countryside, where busy meant there were more than 4 other people at the crag. Already I feel a bit grubby but not the same sort of grubby as we felt camping. That felt like clean grubby (yes, I know this is utter nonsense, but it makes sense to me - I hope you will understand!). Barcelona is exciting, bright lights, lots of food and suddenly a language I don´t understand. I was just getting to grips with French and then we came here. I feel totally at sea. My spanish is limited at the best of times, and most of all when I really need it. This week has not been climbing filled, so apologies to those of you who were hopìng to hear of exciting rock expeditions. Next week we are in Siurana, where the climbing fun will really begin! :-)

I´m out of time now, so this will have to wait. Apologies for the lack of photos too. Internet cafes don´t seem to provide any way of plugging my camera in.

Trust everything is well out there.... we still feel a little isolated, but our hotel here has BBC News 24. Hurrah!!

7 weeks in a tent

Well, ok not quite 7 weeks in a tent, but 6 at least! We have learned a thing or two during this time, one of which is what we miss and what we don't. It's amazing what you can live without if you don't really need it.

Accoutrements for camping

Things we miss most (in no particular order!):

1. Bed
2. Bed
3. Hot water
4. Emma missed pizza until she found that the wee shop in Orpierre sells it in Emma-sized slices!
5. A toilet seat that doesn't freeze....yeah, let's not finish that sentence.
6. Bed
7. A table
8. Caroline misses loud music and dancing naked around her living room (things you learn about your friends; eh?! E.)
9. Clothes that at least look like they have been washed
10. Bed
11. Emma misses Paul more than anything
12. Caroline misses her Mini more than anything

Hanging out at Orpierre's Prince d'Orange campsite

For those of you who are interested, we don't miss work. For others of you who are interested, it has been down to -3 at night, and Caroline found ice on her sleeping bag the other morning. The days are warm (if we stay in the sun) but the nights are bloody freezing. Climbing wise Orpierre is a wonderful place to just be, climbing or not. Best so far is my clean onsight of 6b. I have also decided I can't be bothered with very long overhanging juggy 6b routes, which just freak me out and knacker my arms for the rest of the day. Give me something short and technical any day. My fingers are feeling a bit stiff and achey, which is a bit worrying, but a bit of rest might help. Caroline just likes stuff she can get up (her words not mine!).

Frosty tent

There is some re-evaluation of objectives going on, since this sport climbing malarky is a lot harder than I remember it being. Let's stick with doing whatever is fun, interesting and do-able; the grades can go hang for now. They're in danger of spoiling my trip.

Gros bisous a tous (I think my French is improving...?!)

Missing: Font Magic

Since it stopped raining and the sunshine returned we haven't stopped climbing. We've been to Bas Cuvier, 91.1, 95.2, Gorge aux Chats and Diplodocus. We've climbed every day abd we have sore fingers and tired arms. But still we're missing something. We haven't found the Font Magic. Something isn't right. We're not cranking hard on steep stuff; we daren't. We sem to spend all our time trying to trust feet on edges and smears which have been polished to glass. You could almost put your mascara on using them as a mirror.

Yesterday I lost the plot. Nothing was inspiring, everything was slabby (and polished of course but that seems to go without saying), and covered in sand (how does all that sand get ontop of the boulders??). I wanted something with edges, crimps and pockets to pull on, anything that felt hard rather than just freak-out, death-slide scary! We've struggled (mentally) with everything highball for fear that feet will just slide off. It sounds a bit pathetic, but neither of us wish to see the true nature of the French health care system. We did the whole yellow cicrcuit at Diplodocus today and I realised why my arms are so tired. I am over-compensating for unreliable feet. No wonder I feel my climbing is deteriorating

In amongst all this mental chaos, I did manage a nice roof problem called Le P'tit Toit at 95.2, ahich ends in a big rock over onto a very shiny heel hook, reaching (a long way) for a sharp crimp. The book says it gets 7a+ but I'm told one key hold has been "improved" (not by us!!) and therefore it gets probably only 6c. Still, it was a good problem. We met a nice group of folks from Bristol and recommended it to them. They had several good shots at it, but to no avail. When I had my first go of the day and topped out (that was the first time I'd done the last move, although I'd got the sequence wired for the rest of it), I think the big strong boys were somewhat taken aback that a pixie like me could do what they couldn't. I was just as surprised, although dead chuffed with my little self, but as my friend Keith says, you have to believe !! It works.

The first section of the roof

The shiny heel hook; cranking hard having got the crimp

In these long cold dark evenings, while we are sitting outside we have had many conversations about why I can do some things that Caroline can't and vice versa. There are 3 bigs things we hit on:

1. you have to WANT to do something
2. you have to BELIEVE you can do it
3. you need small shoes

Caroline is now the proud owner of a small and shiny new pair of Anasazis. I am working on the Wanting and Believing. Caroline believes that judging by the state of her knees, she very much wants to get to the top, by hook or by crook, one way or another!!

On the domestic front, we are now two very grubby young ladies. Camping is fun and easy, but everything gets dirty. We know it must be bad: all the French people we meet smell very nicely of washing powder. We have a wee robin who comes to sing to us over breakfast every morning, and the acorns are still falling. It's like a drop zone for acorn-sized paratroopers. I'm surprised my car doesn't have more dents in it. And let's not even mention the spiders....

Hallelujah!

One grey and damp evening, we retreated to our tents, everything looking as it should. Except, that is, that my tent was trying very hard to look like Caroline's. Maybe it is feeling too disguised, being green and all.


But lo, next morning, we find we have been visited!

We are puzzled.... maybe this is a sign that our 2 euros in Notre Dame only bought us a day and a half of sunshine (with 50 cents for the candle)? Is this our Guardian Angel? Are we losing our sanity? Please tell me you can see something too....!

Rain vs Psyche

It has been wet since Sunday and we are very despondent. Please send us something cheery - unless it's something about how good the weather is back home. We don't want to know. I always wanted to come to France as a child, because I thought it was always sunny. Apparently, I was wrong. Very.

We resigned ourselves to wet days being time out to rest and grow skin. But then yesterday we went to L'Elephant (when it stopped raining) and today we went to Bas Cuvier (while it was still raining). Now we are psyched to climb and it's ALL SOAKING WET!!!

L'Elephant does indeed look like an elephant - it's an eerie place where one gets the feeling that the rocks get up and move during the night but return to their original position by first light. We did manage a 5b traverse, but very, very tentatively since everything was wet and slippy. Very frustrating. Fingers just slide off with no warning, which is alarming. Rather than risk injury, we looked but didn't touch.

This morning it started to rain just as we got in the car, so since no trip is a wasted trip, we went on a recce mission to Bas Cuvier. Wow...... it too is weird, but I don't think the rocks move there! We ran about like excited children, wanting to climb everything, but even those things which are overhanging were so damp, fingers just come sliding off them. ARGH!!!

This is just condensation on the wall under a massive roof.

For those of you who know that strange Scottish weather phenomenon, it's like the haar, only warm. There is a thick damp mist hanging over everything just now; there is no wind, and only intermittent rain, but everything is soaked. I feel almost asthmatic the air is so thick with moisture. The warmth alo breeds lethargy, which hasn't helped either. I've no idea how long it will take to dry out, but I am feeling that our time is limited and we were just getting into the swing of things. Ho hum.

There are lots of these plants around. Does anyone know what they are? The berries look like they would make nice juice, but they're probably lethal so we haven't tried them!

I love Paris...

It rained, so we went to Paris. It rained more there. We did the fastest tour ever, (almost) visiting 6 major tourist attractions in one day.

First we went to Notre Dame, where Caroline lit a candle and prayed for sunshine. We think that our irreverence might have offended someone in the sky because its been a bit damp ever since.

Then we stood outside the Louvre and admired the gallons of water pouring through the fountains. Lovely. The glass pyramid was pretty too, as were the queues to get in, so we we stayed outside.... in the rain.

By the time we walked to the Musee d'Orsay it was more like a monsoon than just rain.


So we relented and took a bus half way to the Eiffel Tower. We couldn't work out which bus to get next so we just walked; we were wet anyway. Climbing the Eiffel Tower was a bit of an anticlimax. It seemed that half of England's rugby fans were there with us. But it is quite an interesting bit of metal work. I reckon Monseiur Eiffel had more than a GCSE in Technology ;-)

Then we walked up to see the chaos that is the Arc de Triomphe. Wow. Suicide, is the only word I can think of. The French don't appear to be very good at roundabouts at the best of times. This was just a free-for-all. Unbelievable. We eventually decided it would be (marginally) safer crossing it by bus. I am so glad it wasn't me driving. At one pont the bus driver got out and tapped on the window of the guy in front. I've no idea what he said, but he clearly was not happy.

Our next stop was Sacre-Coeur. We were again relieved to catch a bus there; it would have been a long and wet walk. By the time we got there it had stopped raining...mostly. We wandered around Montmartre, which struck me as being a bit like Soho, but smaller and a bit more quaint than urban. Very interesting.

We thought it looked like a good place for catalogue poses...

As it started to get dark, I started to panic that my confident understanding of the "dernière train à Fontainbleau" as 22.30 might actually have been 20.30. So we ran, from bus to bus to station, and jumped on a train at 20.27 which said "Fontainbleau" just as the bleepers went to close the door. Then the train didn't stop.... and didn't stop.... and didn't stop. As we were starting to freak it stopped at Bois le Roi, which is the one before Font. Phew. I had visions of us ending up somewhere close to Nice in the dark and the rain.

But then the following day was nice and sunny. So we went back to 95.2 and ticked some 5c things which was lots of fun, as was soaking up the sunshine. We might be acquiring some reptilian traits with all this damp weather!

PS. The French cannot make maps for toffee. It's definitely not my map reading. I can forgive French cartographers for the maps of the forest, since there are so many boulders the temptation to retreat for another glass of vin rouge would have got me too. But they can't make maps of Paris either!! We are lucky to still be alive after our visit to the urban jungle that is gay Paris.

Blue No. 9 - 3c

Here is a good example of the grade madness that exists in Fontainbleau. Has anyone tried (and can recall) the Blue (or Ultramarine, as the purple book calls it) circuit at des Gorges d'Apremont? No. 9 of said circuit is graded 3c. Here are some pictures:


It starts right of the tree in this picture, then you have to hang with your right hand from the chalky white slopey pocket just to the left of the tree. Then you make a strong move (well, for me at least) left. Cross over with your right, then take a tiny finger pocket with your left hand while you sort your feet, which are tucked well under the rock.

From there, reach up with your left hand to the right-most of the two top pockets, which are also slopey. From here I can't keep my feet on and reach up for the top crimp, so I have to cut loose before going from there to the good holds on the slopey top out above.


So, sounds easy enough; the grade is easy enough. But the holds are so shiny you could apply your mascara using them as a mirror. I did all the moves, and was very close to linking them until I came flying off backwards as I went up for the top pocket, just landed on the mat and jarred my wrist where the mat wasn't quite big enough. Even without the polish of 50 years of sweaty hands, it's pretty powerful.

So why does it get 3c when other things, which I can do without encountering near death experiences (!), get 6a? Needless to say we abandoned circuits and grades, and resorted to using the guidebook purely to locate ourselves (which isn't exactly straightforward, is it!? More on maps in another post...) It's definitely a better way to go in Font.

First Forays into Font

Our first week in Font has proved very interesting. What a place! It took us 5 days to get our heads around the grading system, find our way around and work out what was where. It is possibly the strangest place I have ever climbed but also the most exciting. I also have to say that our egos have taken something of a knock. We thought we were climbing quite respectable grades but in Font it seems that you can almost halve your best grade, and only expect to be able to climb at that level. It wasnt a nice feeling at all. Still, things improved and I have hopes for Font 7a .... one day!!! Ha Ha.

4c No. 27 red at 91.1

We were surprised to find that after 3 days we still had lots of skin left on our fingers, although we wont deny that they were sore. We started off with the yellow circuit at 95.2 which was dead easy, but lots of fun. We tried some more circuits, but struggled to find many of the problems, spent ages walking between them, and got very frustrated, not knowing how to find our feet with things. By Friday lunchtime we were quite despondent about things. I certainly felt I had achieved nothing (Caroline less so, I think) and was almost ready to go home. Me and my bloody expectations....

The moment we decided to abandon the various coloured circuits was a revelation. We picked a couple of problems that looked entertaining, and just kept trying them. Success!! Having not found the 3bs as easy as we thought we should have done, we cranked through 4c slabs and 5a crimps without too much difficulty. Still only 4c qnd 5a though....

Caroline on an un-graded pockety problem at 91.1

Yesterday, we forgot the guidebook, and found ourselves a long and strenuous traverse at 91.1 (number 29 red for those of you who are interested). We spent an hour or so on it, and sent it just as our strength and energy was starting to fade. We didn't know what grade it was at the time, but it turns out it's 5b! It was hard! What I don't understand is that the 6a+ I did at La Roche aux Sabots was so easy by comparison..... This French world is very...... well, French I guess! I am looking forward to many discussions about the randomness of Font grades, and to the many explanations I might find for the variability and (apparent) inconsistencies. All comments welcome here!

The 5b traverse, which was much easier for tall people...we watched them!

Me on a 4c slab at 95.2

Andy Shanks on Sale Gosse 7c+ at La Roche aux Sabots

Apologies for the awkwardness of this post, and for the un-rotated pictures. I can't get to grips with a French keyboard; it's spoiling the artistic flow of my prose (!!). Nor have I worked out how to get my camera to rotate the pictures before I plug it into this internet cafe pc. You'll have to turn your monitor sideways to see the pictures properly!

PS. 25.12.07 I've rotated the pictures now!

Climbing Shoe Woes

Does anyone else have this problem? As soon as I find a pair of climbing shoes that really work for me, they stop making them. Why is that? Am I alone in suffering this disappointment and inconvenience?

I have had a pair of Evolv Athena shoes for about 9 months. They were small, very positive and a bit sore to start with, and now I can hardly bear to be parted from them, in spite of their filth and stench. They make my footwork feel invincible, although I know fine well it isn't. There are folks in favour of small shoes, and folks who don't believe in sore feet. I don't believe in sore feet either (mostly, and definitely when it comes to "ordinary" shoes), but I am firmly converted to the notion that small climbing shoes means an ability to stand on very small edges.

My fabulous but stinky Athenas

My Athenas are just about to go through at the toes (I blame one session on the newly-painted lead wall at Alien Rock for the accelerated thinning of the rubber) and I want a new pair. I searched every online shop I can find, across the globe, and finding a size 5.5 Athena was impossible. Then the nice people at Gear for Girls told me that Evolv have stopped producing them. WHY?? Why, oh why, oh why, oh why, oh why?

So I now have a pair of the Evolv Elektra. They're comfortable, and they fit well, but they're very soft. They're not terribly good for standing on small things, or for edging, but I think I will be able to wear them all day every day for a long while.....which is what I am going to be doing. We'll see how they stand up.

Shiny new Elektras

I also have a pair of 5.10 Sirens, which I bought as "comfy-all-day-shoes" but haven't worn very much. The rubber on them is very sticky, but I have a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that the shape and fit isn't going to be good with my feet. I hear so many people say that 5.10 are the best shoes ever, that they only wear 5.10 blah blah blah. Absolute nonsense, if you ask me. All shoes are different, and everyone will find a shoe that suits them (if only they buy enough pairs!). I like Evolv shoes (but maybe that has something to do with the asociations with Greek deities!) and I can't wear Red Chilli shoes. It's just a pain when the manufacturers in their great wisdom change or stop making the shoes that are perfect for you!

Sirens, Athenas and Elektras

Does anyone know about the new Evolv Hera shoe? I have heard it's on it's way, and I think it must be the replacement for the Athena, but I can't find anywhere that stocks it in order to work out what size I need.....without shelling out a fortune in postage. And I can only find US sizes. Any ideas?

Statistical Analysis

I have a small confession to make: I have been indoctrinated by statisticians for too long, in both my academic years and again at work. So I am going to indulge the part-time amateur statistician in me by suggesting the following.

The results of the poll are in: 6 Rock Chicks and 17 Real Men.

It looks as though my prediction was right. There are more men reading this blog than women, and if my previously stated assumption stands, this translates to there being more male than female climbers. This of course assumes that it is only climbers who read this blog, that everyone who read this blog in the last week voted in the poll, and that those who did vote were honest with their votes and didn't change them (thanks for pointing that out, Tom!).

So, in the interests of fighting the statistical indoctrination (as part of my 15-years-too-late teenage rebellion), I should also say the following:

• I know that not everyone who reads this blog is a climber
• I know that not everyone who read this blog last week voted in the poll
• I have no way of knowing whether all votes were honest votes, or whether there are some people voting who are in complete denial of their gender.

I think the non-statistician wins this argument, and we should conclude that my poll proves nothing. I hesitate to say it was a waste of time, because clearly it has provided me with some entertainment (!) in thinking and writing about it, and you with some entertainment in reading it....if of course you've read this far. If you were completely disinterested, I doubt you would have reached this paragraph. Maybe it's even made you laugh (although what odd sense of humour you would need in order to find this funny, I have no idea) which would be a bonus, but highly unlikely.

On reflection, I should probably stick to climbing, yoga and making cake, and leave the statistics to the real liars :-)

There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.

Benjamin Disraeli