Day 22 – Vancouver to Hong Kong

We spend our last morning in Western civilisation looking at the super cool area of Gastown with all it's bars/restaurants/shops and a splendid centre-piece clock powered by steam, I would have thought that Steamtown would have been more appropriate but apparently the town got it's name from some chancer who used to frequent the town telling lies and tall stories  of epic proportions. So that's all right then.

We left Vancouver for the airport and our 13 hour flight to Hong Kong as you can imagine the rest of the day was a bit of a blur:

14.00  Arrive at airport.

14.10  Customs and immigration passed in record time.

14.11  Have a few drinks to steel our nerves.

15.11  Have a few more drinks to steel our nerves.

16.00  Oasis flight 818 takes off.

16.01  Yes, we are aboard.

16.02  'Oh, christ look at this selection of films' – one with that gobshite Renee Zellweger as Beatrix Potter (avoid at all costs), one with Nicolas Cage playing a man who can see 2 minutes into the future (avoid all Nicolas Cage films) and six in Chinese. I was saved by The Jungle Book which I watched twice.

18.00  Dinner served – noodles.

20.00  Bored.

22.00  Very bored.

00.00  Very, very bored.

02.00  I wonder what will happen if I open the door?.

03.30  Breakfast served – stodgy lasagne (delicious at 4am).

05.00  Arrive Hong Kong airport and re-set watch, it's now only...

23.00  Get bus into town.

23.45  Too tired to care, we book into the worst hotel room in Hong Kong (except the one we had just refused). There is not enough space for both of us to stand at the same time and it has no windows but the enormous ventilation pipe running through it at least gives us something to look at. It would fail most requirements under the Geneva convention for keeping prisoners and most EU treaties regarding the inhumane treatment of animals but at least it has a toilet, which blocks after the first use.

23.46  Look for a bar.

23.47  Have a few drinks to steel our nerves.

00.47  Have a few more drinks to steel our nerves.

03.00  Sleep.

08.00  Wake up, scream (we have to turn on the light first of course), leave hotel.

Day 21 – Portland to Vancouver

We boarded the Dirtydog and as the bus pulled out of the station I honestly thought that it really wasn't that bad, thirty seconds later a guard came running alongside the bus screaming for it to stop as another family had to get on – what a difference thirty seconds makes.

This family can best be described as close relations of the lost cannibal tribe from The Hills Have Eyes – but without the charm. Momma got on first with lenses on her glasses so thick she could see sideways cackling like a drunken hyena, followed by her youngest whose teeth could be used as a coat-hanger, next along the aisle in this catwalk of in-breeding came the elder son who (I swear) hobbled onto the bus gurning like he had swallowed a terrapin, bringing up the rear was uncle Joe who in true horror-film-cliche fashion not only looked normal but was reasonably good-looking. We were not getting off this bus alive that much was clear. 

Momma and young Frankenstein not only sat right behind us (of course) they also asked another bloke to move so he had to sit in front of me – it was then I discovered he smelt like a three week old burrito. The first thing he said to the stranger next to him was 'Did you know there is an organisation that control everything?' I could see his heart sink.

Elder Frankenstein spent the whole journey asking pertinent questions;

"Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, did the Seahawks beat the Raiders?'

"Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, are you a dingleberry?'

Young Frankenstein spent the journey eating hash browns which he didn't have to take out of the wrapper.

I know it's not big or clever to laugh at stupid people, but by christ it is enjoyable.

Day 20 – Portland

Our holiday from our holiday in Portland has flown by and we spent our last day mailing stuff home and picking up stuff we need for China, my mate Henry also got paid a special visit but the Coconut Stout fails to reach the dizzying heights of our previous meeting.

In the evening Paul & Ber throw a party in our honour (nothing to do with their having just moved house or it being Christmas) where we get to meet a few of the locals and discuss our travel plans. The over riding concern seems to be our impending 9-hour bus journey by Greyhound back to Vancouver and how by chancing our lives on the 'Dirtydog' we may well never make it Hong Kong.

Paul/ Ber/Rose/Ronan cheers for looking after us and a great week.

Day 19 – Portland

Christmas 2007:

I bought Ciara a flight to Marrakech.

She got me nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It appears my brainwave of spending the afternoon in Henry's Tavern was more productive than she first thought.

Note from Ciara: We had AGREED not to get each other anything.

Day 18 – Portland

What better day to go Christmas shopping than on December the 24th? Especially when you have no idea where any shops are. Luckily, I had a brain wave and we decided that much more could be achieved if Ciara tackled the lions share of actually looking for, and purchasing of goods whilst I took a more hands-off approach by assessing the situation from a stool in Henry's Tavern.

Unfortunately for Ciara it turns out that Henry is a little beauty as he had decided to stock his establishment with 100 draft beers, YES! ONE HUNDRED BEERS ON DRAFT, he also had the foresight to install a bar which has a stretch along it made of ice. Henry, I salute you and more importantly I salute 'Rogue Dark Cherry Stout' and 'North Coast Old Imperial Russian Porter'.

Day 17 – Portland

Today I was reminded that there is no such thing as a free lunch when I agreed to help Paul move house, he assured me it was just 'a few small things' which were left over at the old house when they moved last month. The 'few small things' turned out to be more than Ciara and I own and I then remembered nothing in America is small.

In the evening we ate a Mexican (which is a novel approach to the immigration problem) and Paul & Ber took us on a tour of Portland bars the names of which elude me.

Day 16 – Portland

We woke with sore heads in our great little apartment which is above the garage at Paul & Ber's house, under normal circumstances we would have happily stayed in bed for most of the day but for some reason the children (Rose and Ronan) wanted to see us – well Rose did, Ronan is still far too young to care.

We spent the day just relaxing (if hiding, seeking and chasing a three year old can be called that) and having a welcome holiday from the stresses of our er... holiday whilst being licked by the dogs.

Day 15 – Seattle to Portland

With our bus ride to Portland booked for the afternoon we had only enough time to fit in a quick tour of the Seattle Underground. This is not a train that runs under the streets but a network of now abandoned streets that run under the pavement as it is today. After a bloody great fire at the begining of the last century the town planners raised the street level by 12 feet to improve sanitation and hence all that was there before has been buried for nearly a hundred years. Spooky but very, very cool.

We caught our train in the afternoon and the journey flew by thanks to a pirated copy of Heroes Season 2. We met with Ciara's brother Paul and his wife Ber in Portland, but without having a moment to say 'What time do you call this, you're 30 minutes late' they had whisked us off to The Rose Garden sports arena to see the Portland Trailblazers take on the Detroit Dirty Dogs (I made that name up) in a game of Basketball. As with the hockey game a few days before the arena was fantastic plus our entry fee included a free programme and a 12 inch wobbly-headed plastic player! Beat that.

The game was something of a milestone for the Trailblazers as they were attempting to make it 10 wins in a row – a feat their team of serial slackers had not managed since indians were regularly seen running around the town shooting arrrows into white folks arses. As sure as Pakistani prime ministers explode we were sure to jinx them.

The game was tighter than a cheerleaders knickers with neither team taking more than an eight point lead throughout. Into the last quarter the crowd woke up and the atmosphere which had been reasonably tame went mental – we wondered if all the sugar in the popcorn had kicked in. The last 4 minutes lasted about 10 (those time-outs are incredibly frustrating) but eventually the Trailblazers won by a single basket. For me the real winners were the cheerleaders.

Our post game celebration was spent in a fine drinking establishment (of which Portland has many) sampling the local brewed ales, beers and stouts into the early hours.

Day 14 – Seattle

We started our day in the Amtrak station, which is not the best of places to start your day unless you like being accosted by dirt-bags wearing mismatched shoes and asking if you can 'spare a little change'. I pointed out the rip in my jacket and sent him away with a flea in his ear – which is probably the best meal he had got in weeks.

We then headed for the world famous (at least in Seattle) Pike Market which is home to the world's first Starbucks (so now we know who to blame) and lots and lots of antique (or as I like to call them - junk) shops. There was also some really cool shops selling old magazines and posters from the 40s, 50s and 60s, and some old fella who had dressed his cat up in a dinner jacket and informed all listeners that his cat could tell the future, I wondered why he didn't just get the cat to mention who will win the 5.15 at Aintree so he didn't have to be standing out in the rain.

In the afternoon we put on our anoraks and entered full geek mode to visit the Science Fiction Museum – which was bloody brilliant. I'm not sure why I got so excited about seeing big bits of painted foam rubber (various Star Wars characters) or bits of moulded plastic (Terminator skulls) but I did, and we were in there for ages. 

Our final port of call was the Seattle Music Museam which predictably had huge homages to hometown heroes Jimi Hendrix and Nirvana and bizarely another one to crap 80s soft rock 'legends' Heart – you know the band with 2 fat birds who only appeared in videos from the neck down.

Day 13 – Vancouver to Seattle

We left Canada and arrived in Seattle late in the afternoon, it took a long time crossing into America as our good friends at border control insisted we fill out multiple forms, have our photographs taken and give fingerprints from both hands. I don't suppose Ciara's 'Mohammed Springstein – Born in the UAE' t-shirt helped much.

We headed straight into the city centre as we had been reliably informed that Seattle does a mean line in tossed salad and scrambled eggs. It was a nice city, however, eating and drinking establishments were very thin on the ground so after about two hours of searching and seeing no restaurants we headed home as it had also started to pelt with rain. Five minutes from our hotel we found a street with about 10 bars/restaurants. We ordered two pizzas which when they arrived were so large that there could have been a family of Mexicans living on the far side and you would never have known.

Day 12 – Vancouver

As it was absolutely lashing with rain we decided to cancel out trip to the top of Grouse Mountain (I think we have both seen enough snow anyway) so instead we went to the Vancouver Museum and leant about the history of Vancouver and saw an exhibition on rice – I defy anyone to try and make that last part sound remotely interesting. 

There were two things I really wanted to do in Canada; the first was build and sleep in an igloo - this plan was thwarted due to the old 'wrong type of snow' excuse. Apparently if I come back in February I won't be able to move for igloo's. The second was to go to a professional ice hockey game, however, I had been warned that tickets to the Vancouver Canucks home games were as scarce as hairdryers at a Hari Krishna temple.

I managed to get myself a couple of tickets (which didn't involve the plan of rolling a couple of 12 years olds) and off we went. The stadium was like a cinema around the outside all burger stands and popcorn (the smell was a bit much on the stomach) but the stewards were helpful (imagine that at an English game), there was a fine selection of booze on offer and the crowd got well into it. Within the first 10 minutes we had 2 goals and a full gloves on the floor fight. By the end of the game we had 5 goals and more fights than outside a Mile End kebab house at closing time. Someone told me the game had been cleaned up in the last few years, I must ask the player who got a stick slashed across his throat for his opinion.

The players looked like they drunk heavily, smoked whilst asleep and had been dragged to the game from the local jail cells - they looked hard. Hard and angry. I would love to see a few of the R&B loving, Gucci Wearing, overpaid ponces in the English  Premier League come up against these fellas. During the small breaks in play (not like the interminable lengths you get in American football) they played the Sex Pistols, The Clash, Guns N Roses, Wolfmother and other rock classics. Beer, Rock n Roll, Fighting - Surely sport as god intended.

There is a popular train of thought amongst the less politically correct crowd who maintain that taking a woman to any kind of sporting event is akin to leaving the kids with Gary Glitter for the afternoon, Ciara magnificently proofed this tired old adage wrong when just before the break she announced she was 'Going to get the beers in'. She returned 10 minutes later and said 'The queue for the bar was too long I got you an ice cream instead'.

As Led Zeppelin boomed over the tannoy and the Cannucks fought for death or glory, I licked my Haagen Daas and decided there just may be some truth in the old adage.

Day 11 – Vancouver

Our first mission of the day was to find a hotel that didn't require a translator, a heroin addiction or a biological warfare suit. This was done by visiting the one next door the The Howard Johnson - fans of Blazing Saddles should be cheering now.

We spent the morning with a walk around Stanley Park looking at totem poles created by the First Nation People (that's injuns to you and me) and counting the staggering amount of Starbucks Coffee shops that are in Vancouver – a search of the Starbucks website tells me that there are 63 within a 2km radius of downtown, and I wondered to myself what is sadder; there being 63 or me knowing it?

In the afternoon we walked around Granville Island which is a nice, arty, funky area of town. As is often the case we were caught by the tractor beam of the local brewery to sample a fine selection of beers, ales and stouts. Top marks went to the Maple Syrup Beer (did you honestly expect anything else?) and the Buckfast gutrot award went to the Christmas Ale which was 9% liquid puke.

I always had the impression that Vancouver was a very clean, safe city but whilst we walked home we noticed the huge amount of bums begging on the streets. The last time I had seen this many bums was when I stumbled into that gay porn cinema in Amsterdam – and at least they were clean. 

Day 10 – Jasper to Vancouver

I can only assume that trains in Canada go so slowly as they don't want to offend any wildlife that lurk close to the tracks. After nearly 17 hours, being passed by milk-floats and injured elk on either side we limp into Vancouver Station, tired, but marginally amused by a fellow passengers story about two vagrants who has repulsed him by breaking wind into each others faces.

The first thing that struck us was the temperature, it's just 5 degrees but after a week living as Frosty the Snowman it seems positively tropical and I can revert back to just the single pair of socks and start to freely move my toes again.

We had emailed 'a funky little boutique hotel' at least that was their description, mine would have been 'a nasty, little shit-hole that last week was a homeless shelter but has been recently repainted'. I was expecting the bloke on reception to ask whether I required a crack-smoking or non-crack-smoking room, except as he couldn't speak a word of English he didn't. The saving grace of The Granville Grand is that our room had a safe - so we locked ourselves in that for the night.

Day 9 – Jasper to Vancouver

It is amazing the inner calm one can summon when on holiday, we arrived at the train station for our afternoon train to Vancouver to be met by a smiling guard who told us 'Sorry folks, the train is gonna be a little late' 'How late?' I asked, 'Oh, about 7 or 8 hours" 

If a smiling guard had said that to me at Victoria Station in London I would have had no choice other than to immediately leap over the counter and beat him to death with whatever was close to hand. As it was, on holiday, in Canada, relaxed, I simply smiled and said 'Can't be helped'. 

In yet another display of how nice Canadians are, the woman who ran the B&B we had stayed at let us back into our room to watch DVDs for the evening. I settled in with a 2 litre bottle of Ridin' Dirty (not just a beer but a beauty contest www.ridindirty.ca) and watched ice hockey and Chuck Norris commercials.

The train finally pulled into the station at about 10 but we then had to wait for a further hour and a half as there is only one track out of town and a freight train needed to get through. The annoying part is that our train ride through the Rockie Mountains – which is billed by sad, anorak-wearing, hot-flask carrying train spotters around the world as one of the true great train journeys – started in pitch darkness. An old lady in the seat in front of us stopped the guard and asked him to wake her 'When we get to The Rockies', 'Well this is it ma'am' he replied, waiving his hand in splendour towards the non-existant scenery 'This is as good as it gets'. An african elephant in a tutu playing a tuba could have been snowboarding past at that exact moment. It could have, but we'll never know.

I watched a couple of films into the early morning and crashed out at about 1am dreaming of zombies and bad Canadian red wine.

Day 8 – Jasper

Once more into the snow dear friends! With our train ticket to Vancouver booked and the thought of temperatures no longer in the minus (Vancouver is a balmy 2 degrees) we decided on one last jaunt into the snow. Saving the coldest for last we went on a dog sled armed with 3 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of trousers, 3 t-shirts, a jumper, a jacket, gloves, scarf, hat, hand & feet warmers and some thermal underwear I was ready. Unable to move but ready. 

We had initially wanted to go crazy on the snowmobiles but had been given the old British Rail classic of 'wrong type of snow, guvna', so we settled on the dogs. It was an absolute cracker of a day, I amused myself by constantly screaming 'unleash the hounds of hell!' which I think came from a 1970's Hammer Horror film or it might not. Either way, I was having fun and wearing enough clothes to keep a Sudanese refugee camp in business for 6 weeks I was warm too.

Ciara and I took turns driving the sled through 9 kilometres of snow and ice and even had time to fit in a barbecue for lunch (note: barbecues + knee deep snow = hypothermia). The dogs were great and the next time London grinds to a halt due to an inch of snow I will be visiting Battersea Dogs Home.

In the evening we dined with 3 Australians we had gone dog sledging with in the aptly titled 'Dead Dog Bar'  and ordered a plate of nachos which turned out to be bigger than the mountain we had skiied down 2 days ago.

Day 7 – Jasper

We dragged ourselves from our heated, comfortable room to another -10 day.  The bloke in the tourist information aggravated the shit out of me by punctuatuing each sentence he delivered by punching me on the arm. 

We went on a hike to a renowned local view point, however, the snow and ice combined so that not only could you not see the trail, you could not see much of the edges either and as a 100 metre drop onto the frozen lake (followed by submersion in said lake after the ice had broken) didn't appeal we were forced to turn back.

We had been warned by locals that wolves, cougars, bears and squirrels were all to be found in the area and we should take necessary precautions. For Ciara this meant arming herself with a snowball and a pointed stick, for me it meant walking behind Ciara and being able to run faster. It seems Ciara's arsenal did the trick as no beast dare attack us.

We bought a pizza and some booze and watched 3 DVDs – My love affair with the snow is over.

Day 6 – Banff to Jasper

Our last morning in Banff was spent at the Hot Springs. which was superb, The walk to the pools make you turn a shade of blue that would be enough to pass a screen test for a Smurf movie but jump into the water for 40 degree luxury. However, you are then stuck in the predicament of having to get out and freeze you chaps off or just die happy in the hot springs. It was when I asked the life guard if he would mind bringing me some food and a drink that he got a mood on and threatened to start charging me rent if I stayed much longer that I reluctantly moved on.

Later in the afternoon we took a 4 hour bus ride North to Jasper. We waited 45 minutes for it to turn up by which time my toes had long since stopped responding. 'Are you cold in the back' asked the driver, 'No mate it's perfect back here - IF WE WANT TO MAKE ICE CUBES – TURN THE FUCKING HEATER ON!'

We found a great place to stay in Jasper called The Bears Den – hot enough to boil a monkeys bum, 100's of DVDs, all the comforts of home. My love affair with the snow is starting to whither.

Day 5 – Banff

When Ciara suggested we spend a day on the piss I jumped at the chance. I was expecting Guinness for breakfast, hot rum for lunch and an evening on the Baileys and whiskey. Unfortunately my ears must have been frozen solid as what she wanted was a day on the piste. 

It's simple really, Ski, Fall on your arse, ski again. Ciara skiied, I fell on my arse. I got the hang of it (like Joey Deacon got the hang of speaking) and a great day was had by all, such a good time in fact that I may have doomed myself to skiing holidays for the next ten years.

Tired after a long day on the slopes (I know you are just boiling with sympathy for us) we headed back into Banff and went for a beer, I had taken one mouthful when the girl sitting next to us at the bar bluted out "I have just split up with my boyfriend of 5 years he was seeing someone else I came to Canada and I am having the time of my life", the look on her face suggested she wasn't having the time of her life, and for the next 30 minutes I certainly didn't.

Day 4 – Banff

With an ice hike lined up for the afternoon we had the morning to explore the town of Banff – which took considerably less than the morning (in fact it would have taken considerably less than an hour had it not been for the 3 feet of snow on the ground) as most of the shops sold nothing but cheap tat adorned with grizzly bears and maple leafs, and all the other shops sold expensive tat adorned with grizzly bears and maple leafs. We bought wedding presents for the next 5 years.

In the afternoon we headed into the wilderness (for those of you who remember the TV show Grizzly Adams – that's exactly what it's like) for a walk into Johnsons Canyon. Johnson was a gold prospector from the area who spent years looking for non-existent gold, finally admitting defeat he went back to camp showing off a nugget he claimed to have discovered (which he had bought), when the rest of the camp went scurrying to the spot he had pinpointed, he robbed all their tents and left town. What an ingenious fiend.

The scenery was fantastic (Cheddar Gorge it wasn't) and after 2 hours of walking we made it to a frozen waterfall – amazingly 3 blokes spent the next 30 minutes climbing it - now that was impressive. One of the girls with us took out her water bottle which had frozen solid – to give you some idea of the temperature I suggest you place your feet in the freezer for about 17 hours. 

The guide who had taken us into the Canyon invited us for a beer in the evening as he was meeting friends for a paper, rock, scissors competition. I hope he was joking but feared he wasn't, so declined his offer.

Day 3 – Calgary to Banff

We caught the Greyhound bus to Banff. Whenever I have caught Greyhound buses in the past (admittedly always in the USA) they have been filled with the kind of people that would fight you for a cigarette butt and then steal your shoes. This was different, it was well, pleasant. People talked to each other and when they talked to me I didn't immediately think 'oh christ, why do I always get the mentalist who wants to talk about gherkins and Jesus'

Snce arriving in Canada I have been amazed just how friendly everybody is. If it wasn't -22 degrees outside I think I could happily stay here for some time.

I have yet to see a policeman. Or a moose.

Day 2 – Calgary

Our morning was predictably spent at our local Wal-Mart stocking up on extra hats, scarves, coats and a good supply of rum. I wasn't allowed to buy a balaclava as Ciara suggested the combination of me wearing a balaclava and her Irish accent may alarm certain people.

We then headed out for the Olympic park so called because the Winter Olympics were held there in 1988, although it was so long ago everyone still seems to talk about it endlessly, I get the impression nothing much really happens in Calgary. First person to mention The World Cup and 1966 gets a sound beating.

Our plan was to ride the Olympic (Ahhh! even I'm doing it) toboggan track – '2000 metres of downhill, heart-pounding, nerve-shattering icy terror!  – the advertising poster didn't say, but would have done if it had been a roller coaster ride, which is what it is right? 

No actually, I can honestly say a toboggan ride is one of the scariest, most violent forms of 'entertainment' I have ever undertaken. We cracked a top speed of 133kmh which doesn't sound huge, but when you are sitting on what amounts to not much more than a tea tray holding just two thin bits of elastic whilst four G-forces hit you (ask a scientist what that means I just know it bloody hurts) it is. 

I was expecting the toboggan to smoothly run down the ice, shit, I was wondering whether to take my camera and take a few snaps! The thing smashes into the sides, bashing your helmet covered head from side-to-side whilst taking off from the ice and landing bone-crunchingly hard further along the track before climbing five metres into one of the corners and then dropping back to earth. The driver had told us what to do if we turn over on the way down, bloody hell I wish I had listened.

The descent lasted just 59 seconds but I got out thinking that if it had lasted much longer I would have to have gone back to Wal-Mart for some more trousers.

We decided to spend the afternoon at a more leisurely pace which was handy as there is fuck all else to do in Calgary. We wandered around the town which is unremarkable other than the fact it has a cool space-station like system of walkways that are 15 metres above street level which I assume stops the civilian population freezing to death on their way to buying a bagel.

In the evening I found myself  in a pub promising  'Live Premiership football' and settled down for the games. Imagine my shock and horror upon realising that I was 14 hours too late, English time is in front. My massive schoolboy error was only made better by watching the highlights of the laughingly monikered 'title contenders' Liverpool get spanked by Reading.

Day 1 – London to Calgary

I had only spent one day in Canada before this trip – it was bloody freezing, so cold that Niagra didn’t fall it just froze. Ciara and i are in the west for two weeks before heading into to the USA to buy guns and celebrate Xmas with the folks, finally going to China for three weeks of noodles and animal cruelty. that’s the national stereotypes out of the way lets get started.

Our flight departed Gatwick Airport with all the necessary criteria:

One hour delay? Check.

Infant with a whale-like lung capacity seated in front of me? Check.

Bad films? Check.

Films fans would do well to avoid the following: Ratatouille (fine for about 9 minutes), Stardust (DeNiro's lowest moment) and good god alive what were the producers thinking when they made The Holiday? Even Cameron Diaz in the obligatory see-through white shirt and knickers scene can't save this wretched, vacuous film.

Luckily, I had a book to read 'A piece of cake' by Cupcake Brown a story of a Californian girl's descent into drugs, gangs, violence and prostitution, however, I couldn't help thinking what a great name Cupcake Brown was for a hooker, with a name like that I don't think she could have chosen her profession any better. As with all these stories she turns her life around and becomes a lawyer, seriously, would you employ a lawyer called Cupcake? The story was written in the vernacular which caused problems when the stewardess asked if I wanted coffee and I replied 'Yol damn right mothafuckin bitch'. I read 200 pages on the plane it's a great book, buy it today.

The flight went from bad to worse when three of the five toilets stopped working which caused the kind of queues only seen outside Primark on an "All items £2' day. Luckily the bastard airline had the cheek to charge for all alcoholic drinks so I didn't have to use them as much as usual.

For whatever reason the flight from London heads North flying over Iceland, Greenland and Canada before turning South to land in Calgary this had the strange effect of us taking off at 13,00 in daylight, the sky turning pitch black after a few hours before landing 9 hours later back in daylight at 16.00.

The temperature on landing was a brisk -6. The staff at the tourist information desk told us there were two ways to get from the airport into Calgary, either a taxi for about $65 or a bus with all the scum bags for £2.50. So the bus it was. Some fella told us where to get off the bus and which train to take but 'the train will be full as it is rush hour'. We discovered that 'rush hour' in Calgary meant being in a carriage with enough room to put up a tent.

With the temperature dropping rapidly we got to where we were staying before frostbite set in. After relaxing for a while and not wanting to fall asleep at 19,00 we decided to go out for a few pints and some food. The temperature had now dropped to a ball-clenching -19 (I'm not sure how Ciara would describe it) and the difference was unbelievable. It was now so cold that after only about 5 minutes I was losing all feeling in my hands and face, we fell through the door of the first pub we got to as though we had trekked the North face of Everest.

What is that thing scouts say about being prepared? Well, I wasn't fucking prepared for this. Even bouyed by 4 pints of (incredibly fine) Canadian beer the short trip home was awful. We made two huge cups of tea to try and get some warmth back and then immediately fell asleep having been travelling for nearly 24 hours.