The Blue Vet Diary

“He’s a good chap in his way. Serious. Not one of those noisy bastards at the Continental. A quiet American.”

This is, how Fowler, the main protagonist in Graham Greene’s novel “The Quiet American” describes Pyle, the charcter in the centre of his narrative. It is set during the French Vietnam war, when Greene was stationed as a war correspondent for “The Times” and for “Le Figaro” in Saigon. Written between 1952 and 1954, he correctly predicted in this novel that America would eventually been drawn into the conflict.

Considered by Greene as one of his “entertainment” works, the story also contains numerous autobiographical parallels to the life of the author at the time.

Like Greene, Fowler is a middle aged man, caught in an unhappy marriage with a catholic wife who is dening him a divorce. Fowler is portrait as worn, bored and cynical. Like the author he his struggling with periods of depression. He works as a reporter for a British newspaper and he is a frequent visitor of the Hotel Continental, at that time one of the most famous buildings in Indochina.

But unlike Fowler, who has his own, very humble flat just off Rue Catinat, now Durong Dong Khoi, Graham Greene used to stay directly at the Continental and if so, then always at room 214.

Located at the corner of the building, on the second in an elevated position above the street, the room allowed an excellent view of the square infront of the Opera and of Rue Catinat – more or less the centre of Saigon.

It is said that Greene preferred this room, because he could see from there, while writing, who was coming and going in Saigon.

This is reflected in the novel, as Fowler would have had to position himself at this part of the hotel to state that : “I had seen him last September coming across the square towards the bar of the Continental: an unmistakably young and unused face flung at us like a dart.”

Most – if not all – of the book was conceived in this room and after thoroughly enjoying it as my travel companion while touring Vietnam, some parts came so much more to life, once I had grasped the opportunity of staying at this room at the end of my trip to this country.

Although most of the interior is unlikely to be the original from the time of Greene’s stay, the hotel has tried its utmost to preserve the overall atmosphere of the room.

Imagining Greene sitting by the window (probably without airconditioning), the room – facing South – must have been very hot at times. I wondered if he managed to stick to his customary 500 words a day writing routine during that time, while filing at the same time his regular reports to London.

An unusual feature – I found – were the two columns that are right in the middle of the room. How many times did he run into one of them I wondered….

Another detail I noticed, which is likely to have remained from the time of Greene’s stay, were the very low set door handles. It was the same with all the doors in the hotel. Placed in the lower third of the door, they probably reflected the average height of the builders over 100 years ago. Today’s visitor they strike as unusually low placed and this stand in a stark contrast to the height of the ceilings.

The hotel used to be one of the main meeting places of politicians, military leaders and journalists from the end of the Second World War until the end of the Vietnam War in 1975. One can imagine all the important and at times historical conversations and events that took place behind these unusual doors.

The Continental is no longer the most luxurious hotel in town. The view from the room’s window towards the Mekong is obscured by modern high rise buildings that are dwarfing the old colonial dwellings and if you are looking for a well frequented hotel bar, it is probably better to head for the roof tops of the near by Rex or for the Majestic Hotel next to the river.

However, the hotel still has its charm and staying at room 214 made reading “The Quiet American” a far more intimate affair.

There were two things that had to be done while travelling in Vietnam – taking a motorscooter taxi and visiting a veterinary clinic.

Throwing all caution to the wind, I found myself on the backseat of a Honda Airblade within 30 seconds of ordering a ride on “Grab”, the Vietnamese version of Uber. How dangerous could it be?…

Squeezing ourselves through the dense traffic in District 1 wasn’t a big issue,

but speeding with over 80 km/h over the bridge to the other bank of the Mekong, was certainly not for the faint hearted…..

The local motorscooter helmets, which resemble just a harder version of a baseball cap, offered very little re-assurance.

During our ride I spotted the first scooter riders with pets. Without doubt, most of these predominantly small dogs clearly enjoyed their ride and appeared to have adapted re-markably well to this unusual form of transport. Some even sported a safety harness and most of them were quite protective of their personal carriage.

Both small children (usually without a helmet) as well as pets were transported this way and I never saw a single scooter accident. So it probably wasn’t that dangerous after all ?

Finally we arrived in front of the British International School in Ho Chi Minh City. On the other side of the road, a 3 m tall red cat was just about to scale the side of the building,

while a young boy was sitting on the wall below , reading from a book to his Greyhound.

These two sculptures were my first inpression of the world of Animal Doctors International, a British run veterinary group operating in Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and now also in Thailand.

Will Thomas, its founder and CEO, had very kindly agreed to meet me at their clinic in Thao Dien.

The visual journey continued when I entered the waiting room area, passing on the front door plaques of IATA, IPATA, an isfm Cat Friendly Clinic Silver award plus a 2023 nomination for the Best Animal Hospital in Vietnam.

Using an appealling combination of bamboo, marble flooring, indirect lighting elements and a small tree growing through the reception desk,

I was not only impressed, but I also felt that if so much thought had gone into every detail of the outside appearance of a practice, it would be highly unlikely that this standard wasn’t matched by a similar degree of clinical excellence behind the scenes.

I wasn’t to be disappointed.

First I met Will, a Bristol graduate and certainly not your usual company CEO. Very down to earth, in T-shirt and with a large colourful tatoo decorating the length of his left arm, he welcomed me in the clinic’s board room.

As remarkable as the man, was the story of his veterinary business.

“ It all started when I travelled to Laos. I fell immediately in love with the place and I never returned home!”

This – as I found out later – was less than 10 years (including a global pandemic !) ago and since then Will had established ten clinics all over Indochina, in countries with different political systems and different native languages. All of theses clinics provide a standard of veterinary care for companion animals, that was completely unheard of in most of these countries.

In addition to this, ADI is doing a lot of conservation work, runs an elephant clinic, organises spay and rabies vaccination clinics and provides continuing education for local veterinary colleagues.

Following my visit to Will and his team, I found visiting their website at http://www.theanimaldoctors.org both entertaining and quite impressive. The website even offers a 360 degree walk through the clinic in Saigon.

Back to my visit though…..

Will explained, that small animal veterinary medicine is still very underdeveloped in Vietnam, but undoubtedly the demand for state of the art veterinary care was absolutely there.

Will’s teams consist of a combination of both local and foreign veterinarians with a huge range of different academic backgrounds.

Native vets are providing nursing tasks and are at the same time upskilled by their foreign colleagues. Postgraduate education of staff members is happening online or by attending international congresses in Asia or further afield.

The consulting rooms of the clinic were functional, absolutely spotless and fitted with well thought through features like wall mounted examination tables and climbing opportunities for cats (some of them may be a bit too high ?…..) and all rooms were fitted with anxiolytic pheromone diffusers.

There was a large, well equipped prep-area and separate in-patient areas for dogs and for cats. Modern diagnostic imaging equipment in a dedicated room, as well as an operating theatre with an oxygen generator and a lot of monitoring equipment were further features.

The clinic offered boarding facilities and had a separate physio therapy area.

Veterinary fees at ADI, with a price of about 20 $ for a consultion, are understandably higher than at other small animal practices in Saigon (where some vets are only charging for any treatment provided), but they are still considerably lower than at similar clinics in Europe or in North America.

ADI’s clients are according to Will a combination of mainly Vietnamese pet owners and understandably a fair number of expats living in HCMC.

There is a large case load of infectious diseases, including parvovirosis and distemper, but thankfully only very few cases of rabies in all of Vietnam and no recent cases in Saigon and the Mekong delta.

Another frequent problem are tick borne diseases and parasitic diseases in general.

“And trauma cases ?” I asked, wondering about all the dogs I had seen riding motorscooters.

“Ah those……Lots! We see them all the time!”……was Will’s reply, before I got ready for my next scooter ride back to the other side of the Mekong river……

It was not even six o’clock in the morning, when I opened my eyes and I knew that it was already too late…..

As the regular reader of these accounts will be aware, I like to go for a run, and – if staying in a interesting city – then ideally early in the morning, when the air temperature is still bearable and when more sensible people are still asleep ……..

But there is no such time in Saigon……

Stepping out of the door from the comfort of an air-conditioned hotel lobby, 30C and over 80% humidity will hit you and will make you sweat, even before you have decided in what direction you want to run.

This is, if you manage to run at all……

Even at this time, the roads were packed with never ending waves of motor scooters, skilfully maneuvered by both men and women, with every third rider (as it appeared) on a mobile phone, some of them clearly reading or sending text messages.

The only spot of green to speak of on the map in Saigon’s District 1 appeared to be the garden of the Palace of Independence and the Tao Dan Park right behind it.

From there I had also hoped to be able to cross over to the French colonial city hall and then to run along the pedestrianised Quang Truong Nguyen Hue to the Mekong river. But this had to be abandoned, as it would have been near impossible to cross any of the roads inbetween and I probably wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.

Instead I joined the local crowd and limited the range of my exercise to the small park and to the outside perimeter of the palace grounds.

The park was – as expected – packed with joggers, Tai Chi enthusiasts and a group of middle aged women going through sword fighting routines. A couple of times I passed a dog that was resting on a park bench.

It struck me, that he probably regarded this sea of pointless and seemingly disorientated exercise fanatics with an element of utter disdain….

When I noticed a sign board that listed so many things one was not allowed to do, I considered myself lucky that at least I was at liberty to breathe.

Finally I left the park, heading for the perimeter wall of the Independence Palace.

Sticking just to the pavement here – which was what all the local runners did – the clear advantage was, that at least no roads had to be crossed.

The building in the center of the complex used to be the Palace of the South Vietnamese Head of State. At least until a North Vietnamese tank crashed through its front gate on 30th April 1975, which was universally interpreted as the end of the Vietnam War.

Passing the gate a couple of times, I noticed

– that a full circle around the palace grounds was just short of a mile

and

– that Vietnamese runners appeared to be much slower and had more of a tendency to stop running, compared with European or American runners (it was something I had observed in Hanoi as well).

Just before feeling smug about this, it dawned on me that it was probably not due to a lack of fitness, but a precaution to avoid inhaling too much of the fumes of the nearby traffic……

It was high time to return to the hotel (and to the air conditioning), following an exercise not to be repeated in the foreseeable future.

Lao Cai lies in the far North of Vietnam, right at the border to China.

It is not the most charming place in Vietnam, but it is the gateway to the more scenic town of La Pa, to Farsipan – Vietnam’s highest mountain – and to the Great Northern circle, covering a string of formally French colonial out-posts along the borders to China and Laos.

The most exciting option to cover the distance I thought, was to make use of the old French colonial – of course metric – railway system, where an overnight sleeper train is covering the nearly 300 km in about 8 hours.

Following dinner in Hanoi’s Old Town, I arrived with good time at the Central Railway station, expecting an organised chaos, very much in line with the mostly motorscooter driven road traffic, that similar to a system of capillary bloodvessels is oxigenating even the smallest corner of this huge city. What I found though was a nearly empty station hall, where only a handful of travellers were occupying the few available seats.

Far gone are the days of Paul Theroux’s Railway Bazar scenes. No street vendors were in sight, trying to sell last minute vital provisions to excited and slightly disorientated travellers. No French nobility or American heiresses with a multiple of their own body weight in Louis Vuitton luggage and with the necessary support staff to shift it. Compared to Waterloo station at this time of the day, this was a graveyard.

Why was that? ….

Well, taking the train – as in so many other countries today – isn’t the done thing anymore, especially if a comfortable shuttle bus with onboard wifi service can cover the distance in not more than 4 hours.

The next disappointment was the train itself and the compartments: electronic displays had replaced the friendly and always helpful multilingual conductor.

Plastic and steel fittings were now the norm instead of marble and (what looked like) mahogany

and instead of an elegant restaurant service, bananas and some plastic wrapped biscuits had to suffice as sustenance for the nocturnal journey.

And while the train started to squeeze itself through the labyrinth of buildings in the center of Hanoi, with not as much as a meter to spare on either side (which in itself has now developed into a tourist attraction),

I started to wonder if the old world flair had all but gone from this railway line.

Time to take a walk I thought…….

While the train was rattling – rather noisily – along with a lot of sideway shifting because of the narrow gauge, I delved into the bowels of this slow moving reptile.

Turning left to the remaining carriages, the standard deteriorated rapidly, with both the condition of the on board installations as well as the standard of hygiene fading rapidly.

The equally poorly maintained lighting was progressively appreciated…..

In comparison to this, our compartment wasn’t actually so bad, I thought, and once I had reached the final carriage, I turned back.

Time to explore the other end …….

Risking my life by jumping over the threshold between the moving carriages, I stepped back well over a hundred years :

Here it was – the mahogany lined wall panelling, the well attended restrooms and the individually crafted compartment doors.

Even the emergency equipment gave a historic impression…..

The compartments were prepared for four or even for two travellers and there appeared to be a good mix of both Vietnamese as well as foreign passengers.

It struck me that this train was a bit like Vietnam in the 21st century – a complex mixture of old and new, embracing some aspects of its colonial past, but at the same time moving forward, no always in an expected or even appealing way, but at least with a bright future ahead.

If you want to experience both, you need to move fast and certainly more than at 40 km/h…….

It is in the small restaurant “74”, right next to one of the main railway lines out of Vietnam’s second largest city, where I meet “Tó” , one of the four poodles of Mrs Nguyen.

These much loved dogs live a typical canine urban life in Hanoi. Confined to a shop, a small restaurant or to a flat, most dogs are adjusting remarkably well to their owner’s life style and to the hazards around them.

A lot of these – usually small – dogs live right next to busy roads or – as in the case of the “74” – just a couple of meters away from a railway line.

Dog ownership, considered by communist governments a bourgeois past time and frequently discouraged as a waste of precious food resources, has in many countries increased in line with an improved standard of living. Over time, the human- animal bond has proven to be more powerful than any political system…..

On my walks through the center of Hanoi, I mostly see small poodles, Chihuahuas and a surprisingly large number of Corgies. Interestingly no pugs or French bulldogs and thankfully no larger breeds at all.

At least in the centre of this huge city, there doesn’t appear to be any stray dogs and despite their very confined existence, most of these small canine companions seem to enjoy a reasonably good life, in any case compared to their cousins on the countryside.

Having to scrape by, mostly on left overs, competing often with the life stock of the same household and with little or no hope for any veterinary care. After all, this is a country where the dog as a potential food source has not completely disappeared from the menue….

Along with an increased interest in pet ownership, mostly in the urban centers, has come not only a demand for better veterinary care, but driven by popular television programmes and by social media, for veterinary care of an international standard.

A brief online search for veterinary services in the center of Hanoi, results in a plethora of practices and clinics, with often colourful names and all with raving Google reviews, albeit usually by reviewers with not more than a total of three or less reviews to their name.

Openly displayed price lists – reminding me a bit of a black board displaying the daily specials in a restaurant… – give an indication not only of the competitiveness of the market, but also of the range of services typically provided.

Health checks for less than £ 3/ 4$ and vaccinations or X-Rays for less than £ 7/ 9 $, look very competitive and so does the neutering of a (female ?!) dog for less than £25/ 30$.

At the moment the life of an urban dog in Hanoi remains pretty much confined to the dwelling of their owner and to the very few and always busy local parks. Taking a dog (or a cat !) inside a shop or a restaurant is generally not allowed.

But even in this respect – often driven by foreign influence – attitudes might change over time.

….time again for another mountain……

Light rain was greeting me in the morning, as I stepped out of Spilios Agapitos, the central mountain refuge of EOOS, the Greek Federation of Mountaineering Club.

This was not a great day to summit the highest peak in Greece, but as the recent torrential rain had destroyed the water supply to the hut, leaving it without running water and – worse – any sanitation, this was also not a good place to stay….

Thankfully Giosos Apostolidis, the highest refuge of the massif, based on Muses’ Plateau, had a spare bed, so that I decided to spend an extra day in the mountains and now there were just 600 altitude meters to cover to reach my next stop. This was a nice change to the nearly 2000m I had scaled the previous day, when starting this trip in the small village of Litochoro, close to the Aegean Sea.

It was the beginning of October and before attending another Eastern European Regional Veterinary Conference in Thessaloniki, I had a bit of time to kill. So what better than hiking to the top of another of Europe’s epic mountains ?

The hike the previous day went through a deep gorge, most of the time in a lush forest, along a river with a lot of water falls, pools and even a natural spring underneath a rock ledge.

This for many years had been the home of a hermite and it eventually proofed to be an ideal location to build a small monastery nearby.

The walk to the refuge had taken longer than expected and I arrived at Spilios Agapitos just before sunset.

The hike from there the next day to Giosos Apostolidis was, albeit much shorter, fairly steep and because of the rain the ground was slippery.

In the middle of the trail, out of the mist, appeared suddenly a huge dog. These dogs are normally used by the local shepherds to guard their flock against wolfs and even bears and it is advisable to give them a wide berth .

Thankfully some locals turned up a moment later and I complemented them on their (thankfully) gentle giant. As it turned out, it wasn’t their dog either ….. but one of a pair that were seemingly living on these trails during the summer months. Not harming anyone and not chasing any wildlife, they were living off handouts from hikers and of left overs of the mountain huts. I met the other dog near the summit the next day.

Making this detour and spending an extra day on the mountain had been a good idea, as the weather eventually improved and both in the evening as well as during the whole of the next day, there was just a blue sky without any clouds.

This provided me with a lot of great photo opportunities of the summit from the small chapel of Profitis Ilias

and I realised, that on my ascent, I had walked right through a whole herd of mountain goats without spotting a single one of them in the fog…..

With weather like this, it meant an early start the next day to catch the sunrise over the Aegean Sea and to see the light reflecting from Greece’s highest mountain.

Followed by a short breakfast with an obligatory Greek coffee, I then set off on a spectacular traverse just below the summit.

The path eventually made a sharp turn and ascended steeply North to a high alpine plateau and to Scala, one of the nearly 50 sub summits of Olympus.

What was left, was a scamble for another half an hour and eventually I was standing on Mytikas, with 2918 m above sea level the highest peak in Greece.

Arising from out of nowhere and standing on its own with a diameter of just 26 kilometers, being just 18 kilometers away from the coast, catching the first sunlight in the morning and providing a unique navigation point to a nation of seafarers through the millenia, it is no surprise that this place was believed to be the home of the Gods.

or “the art of selling the unsellable….”

In this post I wanted to write about the castle of Óbidos, but instead I am writing about a tin of sardines….

When driving to this famous medial castle, I had no intention to buy not one, but in fact three tins of sardines. I don’t particularly like sardines and I certainly had never planned to spending 48 Euros on them.

And yet, here I am standing with my three tins of sardines and I am happy……

How was this possible?….

It all started with an obligatory visit of Óbidos – another “must see” item on Gonçalo’s list.

Óbidos is a beautiful maintained medieval castle, with a whole town with a lot of stunning mediterranian gardens within its walls, with Chinese Hibiscus and Beougainvillia in spectacular bloom.

It also is a pilgimage site for book lovers, famous authors and their readers from all over the world.

Ignoring a number of health and safety warnings and relying entirely on the firm footing of my hiking boots, I survived the nearly 2 km long walk along the unsecured parapet of the castle, featuring sheer drops of 12m and more. However, Gonçalo had been right – the breathtaking views were worth it.

Eventually I ended up on the main street of this world heritage sites, bracing myself for the obilgatory souvenir shops on the way back to my car, when a cat at the entrance of one of the shops caught my sight.

When stepping closer, I noticed that I was standing at the entrance of a beautiful old library, with professionally crafted wrought iron banisters and with rows and rows of historic leather bound volumes stacked up to the ceiling.

A young shop attendant approached me and offered to show me around. It was then, when I became aware of my fundamental misconception: I wasn’t standing in a library – I was standing in a fish shop! To be precise – in a shop that was selling nearly exclusively tins of sardines !….

The thoroughness of the guided tour that then followed, was on par just with the one I had enjoyed some years ago, when I visited a legal cannabis outlet in down town Toronto – but there, despite all efforts made, I left empty handed…..

“Normal” sardines were nicely lined up by the individual year displayed on the lid, starting from 1916 and conmemorating the birth of a famous person on the colourful tins. Then there were special editions, dedicated to different places in Portugal. Each of these with a small painting of a local event or building decorating the tin. Other sorts of sea food, like smoked cod, octopus, smoked mussels or eel in Escabeche – sauce were offered in sardine tins as well, and finally … small gold bars, filled with 140 g of the best sardine filets, sprinkled with small flakes of edible gold – at a price of just below the real thing…. – were displayed in the center of this library of sardines.

Unbeknownst to me, I had just stepped into the world of Comur, a staunchly Portuguese company, that is selling their sardines not only as a highly valued commodity, but even as collector’s items. Who says that only red wine, whiskey or coffee in aluminium capsules, but not the humble sardine, have a right to monopolise this concept ?

This place was just so far removed from Steinbeck’s portrayal of life in Cannery Lane, as a supermarket pizza might be from dinner at a Michelin star restaurant.

As it turned out, Comur has over a douzen other outlets all over mainland Portugal, Madeira and the Azores, which are all individually themed and which surely are all worth a visit.

I don’t know what it was in the end – the lure of the cat at the entrance, the friendly shop attendant, my utter surprise or my appreciation of the marketing concept, or just all of it together: three colourful tins ended up in my bag and I frankly didn’t care how they were going to taste…..

Comur – as I found out after my visit – is just one of fifteen different brands of “O Valor do Tempo” – The Value of Time company , which is limiting its clever marketing ideas not only to tins of sardines, as I found out when I entered the shop next door that was selling freshly made fish cakes.

Well…..you decide, if you might not be tempted to buy a fishcake and a glass of cava for 20 Euros in this place……

There are a few things, that have an immensely calming effect on our soul: watching a log fire, clouds drifting along the sky, farming animals grazing on a field or gently breaking waves……

The latter however, you will struggle to find in one of Gonçalo’s travel suggestions : the fishing village of Nazaré on the Atlantic coast of Portugal, about a 100 km North of Lisbon…..

It is now the end of September and following a few delays on my journey from Munich, I am arriving in the old part of the town, just as the sun is setting somewhere in the ocean between Europe and America.

Red lifeguard flags on the beach are dancing in the breeze and I am prepared that their colour is unlikely to change over the next few days..

Due to its exposed position directly on the Atlantic, combined with the presence of a deep canyon on the sea floor right in front of the beach, this place is known to produce the tallest waves on the planet and even a harmless dip into the water at sunset can turn out to be a life threatening untertaking……

I am staying in an old fisherman’s cottage with just a single room, which many year’s ago might have housed a whole family. Stepping out of the door, the next building is not more than an armlength away and that still has to leave enough room for a few washing lines running along the front of the building.

The next morning, beating the daily stampede of tourists visiting Nazaré, I am making an early start and head to one of the world’s most famous light houses, marking the Western edge of Europe.

On my way I am greeted by the Portuguese version of a minotaur – about 6 m high, with the head of a deer and the body of a surfer. According to the artist it is in reference to the devine rescue of a deer hunting knight in the 12th century

combined with the equally superhuman feats of modern day knights on their surf boards.

The beach below me is still deserted, but despite a complete lack of wind, there are already waves of not less than 5-6 meters. This however is small fry compared to up to 30m high mountains of water, which can be seen here in the autumn.

It is then, when the best and the most fearless of surfers from all over the world descend on this place, bringing with them thousands of spectators to watch these dare devils in their insane pursuit for fame and glory.

Each of them with their very own pseudonyms and their signature polyurethane and fibreglass contraptions. The most famous and the most audacious are even displayed in a hall of fame in the light house, on a cliff overlooking this famous beach.

And just when you think that you have seen it all, you find yourself standing in front of a surf board with a violin and you realise once again, that there are no limits to the bizarre wanderings of the human mind…..

Time for another mountain……

Of the few German mountains of considerable magnitude, there can be no doubt that the “Watzmann” group is the most spectacular.

With 2713 m at it’s highest peak, it is not the tallest mountain of the country, but its family group line up including a “mother”, “children” and – of course – a much higher “father”, is recognised like the Matterhorn in Switzerland or the Half Dome in Yosemite.

With my summer commitment in Zug behind me, and with a rare window of excellent weather for the Northern Alps forecasted, I was lucky to secure one of the few remaining dormitory places at the Watzmann Haus/cabin. Finally I could pay this Alpine icon a long overdue visit.

The Watzmann is located in the area of Berchtesgarden, which is a small outcrop at the Southern border of Germany, nearly entirely surounded by Austria.

Parking my car near the “Königsee”, which is alongside Neuschwanstein one of Bavaria’s most visited tourist attraction, I made my way up the mountain on a well sign-posted trail.

The first 1/2 hour I walked alongside the world- famous, but – following a recent land side – severly damaged Olympic bobsleigh track. Leaving a scene of twisted metal and broken concrete behind me, the trail then disappeared into thick alpine forest and stayed like this for nearly 800 altitude meters, before emerging on to a small plateau.

This was the Kührointalm, a summer pasture for a herd of local cattle and a great opportunity to enjoy a well earned “Apfelstrudel”.

After passing a small chapel of remembrance for whoever had died of an accident in this part of the Alps ( a surprisingly large number of hikers and climbers I thought….), a rock cornice with the cabin placed right on its tip became visible another 700 m above me.

The path became now less well maintained with a lot of large tree roots crossing the way and some sections so steep that they had to be secured with thick steel ropes.

After just over an hour the mountain cabin was infront of me and with that also a warm meal, some cold beer, but – because of a permanent shortage of water so high up on the mountain – not even a cold shower.

Signs suggesting to “Use water as if there wasn’t any….” were displayed everywhere.….

Early dinner with just internal rehydration was followed by an early night (following a stunning sunset)

and , helped by just too much company in (not only) my bedroom, a very early start the next morning.

After another 1 and 1/2 hours with some scrambling on thankfully very dry rocks, one of the peaks, the “Hocheck” was reached and with that a brilliant view over a large section of the Northern Alps.

Here the amateurs (including the author….) were separated from the serious mountaineers, who now retrieved helmets, gloves and climbing gear from their well organised backpacks, to continue the track along the whole – often very exposed – rim of the mountain, covering all the other peaks.

The rest of us enjoyed a short break, before starting an – at times equally exposed – descend of over 2000 altitude meters back to the lake, where a short but spectacular boat trip formed the final part of this Alpine adventure.

Undoubtedly, the people of Impruneta are very good with terracotta and they have been so for generations.

To be precise, heating up the soil from underneath their feet in kilns, has been a habit here for more than a thousand years and flowerpots from this little village just South of Florence, have conquered the gardens, greenhouses and window sills around the Globe.

Visiting the “Fornaces” of Poggi Ugo, Masini or M.I.T.A.L., not only gives you an idea what else can be made out of the red stuff, it also makes for some more unusuals images from a few days spent in this famous part of Italy.

And if you happen to be on a pilgrimage (which I am not….), you might also take a look at the Basilica of Saint Mary in the center of town, not necessarily for the artefacts, but to get out of the sun in August in the middle of the day…..

But what else is there to make you visit this place and not to venture further to Strada, Greve, Panzano or Castellina on your way to Siena?

This was a question that some clever people of the local arts council asked themselves a short while ago and they came up with a rather clever idea…..

Utilize the eternal appeal of cats !

To find out how they did it, you might like to take a stroll down Via del Desco……

After a few steps you might notice a cat just about to catch a small lizzard climbing up a wall.

Nearby another feline is squeezing its head and front paw through a small hole on the side of another building.

The cat in the window frame is for various reasons unlikely to get hold of the pigeon on the roof – not only is she obese, but the angle is also not great for a leap and……..as with all the cats in this street, her muscles and in fact her whole body is made of terracotta!

However, by now you don’t need to be a vet or a cat lover (like the author) to want to see more, to explore more every day feline tales, to spot another terracotta cat sitting, sleeping or hunting somewhere.

The curious tom at another street corner is just checking out

what his lazy neighbour is doing on a windowsill at the other side of the street.

Two cats are spending a very long time to deciding who is encroaching on the other’s territory.

Another one, balancing on a fountain, is unlikely to move, even if a dog is deciding to quench its thirst from the water pool below.

We will never find out if the sparrow next to the ascending body of Christ will following him very soon into heaven

or if the street cat below the wrought iron fence will eventually get help from its African cousins to catch the dove or might end up as a meal itself…..

If you want to find out, you might like to skip your visit to basilica and head straight for Via del Desco – even if you are on a pilgrimage!