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Having decided that my hair was in desperate need of some
care and attention, I decided to be brave and try to get my
hair done. The word for hairdresser in Portuguese is
Cabeleleiro (and no, I still can't pronounce it properly)
and because of that I decided to do the coward's way and
go to El Cortes Ingles where I thought I could wing it. Well
after prowling ladies underwear twice (very glamorous and
quite a lot of men wandering around!), I approached an
assistant and managed to make myself understood and she
directed me to a very smart hairdressing salon.

Well the interesting thing was that not one of them spoke
English so I found one who spoke French and the rest was down
to sign language and pointing at pictures in magazines (I
knew that word at least but as for tint, cut etc forget it).
There is no appointment system apparently in this country,
you turn up and just wait. I got there around 4.00 and left
at 8.00!

I decided I was sick of being my wonderful three shades of
red as it had gone a very strange colour in the sun so
thought I would go back to blonde. This was indicated to the
staff by pointing at an assistant with what I thought was a
nice shade of blonde streak! You are given the usual gown but
you have a pocket on the arm into which they put what
treatment you are having i.e. cut, colour, manicure, pedicure
etc.

The backwash is very high tech; the chair has a series of
buttons on the inside of the chair arm which allows you to
raise the lower part of the chair so you are practically
lying down. All the women are beautifully turned out as you
would expect and as it was all a bit of an adventure, I
decided to go the whole hog and had a pedicure and manicure
as well. This is quite entertaining as the manicurist follows
you around whilst you are having your hair washed, cut,
coloured etc. All in all it was a great experience and my
hair looked brilliant as well as my nails. Cost-wise it was
on a par with where I used to go in Bath, but it was a high
class department store.

Some other interesting things about the city are the fact
that the metro system is small and very efficient. It is also
amazingly clean and considering the seven months of hell I
had using the District Line, someone from LT should take a
look. You never seem to wait more than five minutes for one
either. The trams are good fun. The No.28 is one that does a
circular trip and is very handy if you are down in town with
a heavy bag – Lisbon is made up of seven hills and I live on
one of them! The fare is 1 Euro! I got stuck in a tram jam
the other week which as amusing as it means that no cars can
get by as trams have right of way. There were four No.28s in
a row. Before I got on it, I heard one of the old dears
waiting at the bus stop saying that she had seen four No. 28s
go the other way and none hers – reminiscent of the London
bus problem.

I never fail to be amazed as how silly some of the tourists
are over their personal safety here. When I was wandering
around Feira da Ladra (Thieves Market held every Saturday and
Tuesday), you spot them with rucksacks or big bags on their
backs and it is so easy for pickpockets to lift wallets and
purses from them in crowds. Women in particular seem to lose
all common sense – they wear totally inappropriate outfits
and cause great amusement when you see them bright red and
staggering around in shoes suitable for premieres rather than
sightseeing. There again men who are follically challenged
really ought to wear hats!

We went to the outskirts of Sintra (Lord Byron thought it was
wonderful – gardens, palaces etc etc) with a friend who has a
car and investigated a garden centre. Now this was
interesting. There were the usual pots etc but the plants
were fascinating. Large bougainvilleas, lemon trees, lime
trees, climbing roses, herbs etc. Some plants were the same
as in the UK and others were new to me. I settled for pots
(60p for terracotta 23″ ones!), some herbs, a climbing
rose, something called a plumbago and an amazing large
lavender. Inside it has the usual candles, pot pourri,
plastic flowers etc – it's run by an Englishman
apparently. After we had finished there, my friend took us to
Sintra to try a tearoom. Everything in the tearoom was for
sale, from the plates to the pictures. It was a very eclectic
mix and had that “I think we should whisper”
atmosphere that you find in posh tearooms like Castle Combe!
Anyway they do a mean cream tea, which consists of three
scones (warm), jam and cream, a piece of cake and a tea of
your choice – excellent! Afterwards, to walk it all off, we
wandered around Sintra.

Sintra was where the Portuguese Royal Family used to escape
to in height of the summer heat. There are some amazing
houses/villas as well as palaces on the top of mountains and
in the main square. One of the palaces, the Pena, you
sometimes see on tourist posters – it looks like something
mad King Ludwig of Bavaria would have built. It's all
different designs and colours and quite spectacular to get
to.

I have got involved with a local theatre group – The Lisbon
Players – via my Portuguese teacher. She invited Derek and I
to go to a workshop on Shakespeare's Measure for Measure.
It was a very entertaining evening and by the time we left, I
had been asked if I would like to get more involved with
them. I have now been made Stage Manager for the production
as well as Task Force Director to help them raise funds and
gain a higher profile.

They operate out of a lovely old theatre – Estrela Hall –
that originally used to belong to the British Hospital. It
has a certain faded glamour (dust) and does quite a few
productions each year. We start work on the production in the
next two weeks and then I shall be thoroughly occupied most
Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday evenings with rehearsals
all the way through to Christmas. Obviously it is unpaid but
it means you meet new people, which is great. Shakespeare is
very popular with the Portuguese and is on their education
programmes so you get a good mix of audience.

Sally can be contacted by e-mail on: Sallypethybridge@aol.com
should you wish to ask her any questions about Lisbon or
Portugal in general.

I am an artist and one who, not surprisingly, is drawn (no
pun intended) to the sun, the sea and a beautiful landscape.
Now, obviously, you don't need to be an artist to
appreciate those sorts of things. I, on the other hand, do
like to make paintings of them and it is because of that I
would like to speak of a group of islands that lie off the
north coast of Sicily. They are called the Aeolian islands
and there are seven of them, steeped in history and wound
into the fabric of myth. That, as they say, is another story,
for now I would like to explore briefly only two of the seven
islands and the first of those is called Stomboli.

Arriving at a small jetty, a long beach of black volcanic
sand stretches away to your right and the tangle of tiny
streets of Stromboli village lie ahead. Jasmine and
bougainvillaea ramble over the garden walls, the narrow lanes
are lively with scooters and “ape” a type of tiny
three wheeled truck. Walkers are there, kited out for the
rocky paths to the volcano summit. Behind you the spiky
outline of islets break the blue water.

It takes about an hour, walking along a pleasant road through
fields, from the square in front of a pretty church, at the
top of the village, to the lower slopes of the mountain.
Another couple of hours on a steep but well-marked path
brings you to the peak, 918 meters up and as you arrive the
craters explode dramatically, shooting stones and hot ash
high into the air. This happens every twenty minuets or so
and it's quite safe as long as you stay on the paths,
strong shoes are a good idea, the ground is hot. These
regular explosions give rise to the term ” strombolic
action ” which prevents pressure building up to a major
eruption.

By day the view of the other islands is stunning.
Particularly from the high ridge on the southern side. Night
hikes with a guide, or a night boat trip to the north-eastern
side of the island offer spectacular views of the red hot
lava flows and fiery explosions.

From there you board the ferry and eventually arrive at
Alicudi. On the map, if you've got one to hand, it is on
the other end of the group, the most isolated and the next
island that I would like to speak of. Uniquely car free,
Alicudi is a near perfect cone, over six hundred meters high
and only 2.5 kilometres across. The rugged slopes are covered
with huge prickly pear cactus, gorse, carob, olive and wild
apricot trees. Surprisingly, in times not long past, over a
thousand people lived on this tiny island supporting
themselves by growing their crops on narrow terraced fields.

Over the years that number has dwindled and the population is
now only about one hundred and life is quiet. Mains
electricity arrived no more than a decade ago and the major
water supply is still rainfall, caught off roofs and
collected in wells on the terrace of each house. It is
charming and quaint.

Hawks and ravens wheel high above and bright green lizards
dash away as you explore. The sea is very clean and rich with
fish, shrimp and shellfish, and, so the locals tell me, ideal
for snorkelling although I've never done it but, from the
look of it, I could well imagine.

At night you can see the lights off Sicily's north coast,
20 kilometres away and on days when the haze has evaporated,
about this time of year, the snow covered slopes of Mount
Etna are visible, the black summit streaked with red lava.
Colour seems to be the theme of these islands, it really is a
painters paradise, so much so that you don't need to be a
painter or an artist at all to appreciate it. The imagery
around you is just so strong and peaceful at the same time,
the countryside so unspoiled. It is just one of those places.
I have painted in country that is beautiful to the eye but
putting it down on paper can be very difficult. One finds
ones self inventing, a bit of red here, a bit of yellow
there, not because it's in front of your eyes but because
the painting needs it and so you make it up. Alicudi and the
other islands are not like that in the least, the place is
there to paint. The hand runs riot along with the eye. To my
mind, not only an easy place to paint but a pleasure and pure
joy, if for nothing else but to just sit and look. A tiny
little haven almost at the end of Europe.

Murray Hubick is Canadian, now living in Kent in the U.K. As
an artist his time is divided between work in the studio,
teaching art and as much travelling as possible. He is
currently in the process of organising an art excursion to
the islands for the coming Christmas/New year and would
welcome anyone interested to join him in having an espresso
overlooking the sea in the sun on New Years morning.

Murray is happy to answer any questions on Sicily, so please
e-mail him on: murrayr@onetel.net.uk

The tourist season in Oslo starts around the middle of June
and finishes in the middle of September. The
15^th of September, to be precise.

This means that going to Oslo in October is not such a great
idea. The second mistake was not only visiting Oslo in
October but also flying there with Ryanair. A very bad move
as Ryanair lands in Torp, some 100km away from Oslo where
there is only a Ryanair bus to take you the 2 hour journey
into Oslo. Torp airport is small, very small, the size if
Cork perhaps (another Ryanair destination in Ireland) and
there is little to do when your flight is delayed or waiting
for luggage. There is also little tourist info at Torp.

By October, Oslo is beginning to be cold. The first day of
the Beetle weekend, temperatures were around
6^OC and the next day it snowed. If
you don't do cold, this is not the time and place for
you. Take a hat, gloves and a scarf, plus a warm coat and
good walking shoes.

OK, what is there to see: well, the “attractions”
consist mainly of walking around the town (it's small),
seeing the royal palace, the university, the Parliament
building, the town hall, visiting the Arkhus Castle, taking
boat trips, (summer months only), and visiting the 20 or so
museums, none of which have free entrance. That is Oslo in a
nutshell. You will not want to eat, have coffee or go
shopping – it is so prohibitively expensive! Also, the
shops are closed on Sundays and the museums have shorter
opening times so that after about 3pm, on a Sunday, in Oslo,
there is very little to do – so book your return flight
for the late afternoon!

Spending more than a weekend in Oslo might necessitate
considering your finances, maybe a second mortgage: it is
breathtakingly expensive – about 50- 100% more than
central London prices!

The next mistake was to buy an Oslo card. The Beetle could
only find one guidebook in the whole of Stamfords, (the most
wonderful travel bookshop on this earth – funny, that
…), but both the guidebook and the local literature,
of which there was plenty (thanks goodness!) all said that we
should buy an Oslo card and this would entitle us to free
entrance to all of the museums and local transport.

A 2 day Oslo pass costs around £25 or $40 per person.
This allows the holder free entrance into all Oslo museums
and free transport around the city. As museum entrance only
costs around £2.50 or $4, it became a challenge to
visit as many museums as possible in order to get our
money's worth! However, our vfm did not take into account
public transport – when we added in the cost of a day ticket
for the bus, train and tram, (£5 or $8) we just broke
even.

The Kon-Tiki museum is disappointing: small, amateurish with
bizarre exhibits including polystyrene sharks. Very odd. The
Fram museum was one of the better ones: a small-ish A frame
building, built around the original early
20^th century ship used by Amundson
and others in voyages to Antartica. The Viking museum houses
3 10^th century long boats and even
if you are a Viking buff, it'll take you about 20
minutes. The Museum if the Inquisition was plain upsetting.
The Beetle's fave place was Viegland Park, a park a short
tram ride out of town with a collection of sculptures and
statues. The Oslo city museum was dire; about a third of the
exhibits were labelled in Norwegian only! The ski Museum is
one of the most expensive museums to get into –
entrance fee around £7 or $11 but you get to go up to
the top of the old Olympic ski jump. We had to go there to
get value for money and also take in the views of the city!

The transport system is excellent, frequent, clean, modern
and fast. There were many fast food outlets – Kentucky,
Burger King, McDonalds – when you see the prices in the
restaurants, you can start to understand why. Eat well at
your hotel by stocking up on the buffet breakfasts is the
Beetle's advice! The people were friendly enough, but
compared to the last Beetle visit, an embarrassing 15 years
ago, the city was surprisingly dirty, the walls had graffiti
sprayed on, and there were a few people begging on the street
– not at all the clean Scandinavian image the Beetle
had imagined, but then it is a capital city and perhaps
nowhere is exempt from these problems.

If you want to visit Oslo – go in the summer months!
Then you can take boat trips and visit the fjords. For more
info on Oslo, contact the Beetle on: Beetle@globetrotters.co.uk

It may be cheap (but not always), but it certainly isn't
clever. And it definitely isn't funny! Flying Ryanair is
not the fantastic low cost and cheerful option that it is
made out to be. First, the low cost airlines (Ryanair, Buzz,
and Easyjet/Go) have made Stansted their main hub.

Stansted is a major pain to get to and from as it is situated
some 68km north of Central London and the principal way, to
get there using public transport, is on the Stansted Express
from Liverpool St in Central London. A return ticket from
Liverpool St in central London costs £23 – not
cheap for the 50 minute journey each way. If you arrive back
into Stansted after midnight, the chances are that you will
have missed the last train, because they do not always wait
for the last flight, so the alternative to travel back to
London is by expensive taxi – we are talking £60+
(or $100+). Now that the Stansted Express no longer runs on
Sundays due to rail works, you have to take a painfully long
coach journey that takes around 2 hours.

Secondly, one of the particularly unendearing habits
practiced by BAA (British Airports Authority) at Stansted is
to be selective as to which flights they decide to put up on
the flight information screens. This lack of info seems to
apply particularly to Ryanair flights. This means that you
could be sitting waiting in the check in area for your flight
check in information to appear on screen and it never does. A
weary frequent Ryanair traveller warned the Beetle that this
happens frequently, so a lesson learned is to occasionally
prowl around the airport to check that your flight hasn't
already started checking in. This happened to the Beetle
going to Trieste, resulting in a late check in, only 15
minutes before the gate closed, reducing the amount of time
available for foraging for duty free chocolate (and other
Beetle fodder) to a minimum!

Thirdly, Ryanair do not give you a boarding pass with a
printed seat number – it is free seating. What a
nightmare, all those people with their sharp elbows.
Dignified British queuing (um, no!) turns out in reality as a
training opportunity for a rugby scrum! Is it really too much
trouble to put seat numbers on a ticket?

Once you have wrestled your way on board, you may think about
reading material to while away the excessive amount of time
spent on the runway awaiting clearance to depart. You'd
be disappointed. There is no reading material whatsoever; no
free newspapers or magazines to read. The staff do hand out a
brochure with pictures of perfumes and silly Ryan Air models
(as if!!) and then when you approach landing, you are
requested to hand them back again! (There really isn't
anything worth reading in them anyway all, unless you like
looking at pictures of grey coloured pearl necklaces.) Buzz,
by contrast have excellent info brochures with information
about your destination, what to see, where to go,
recommendations on where to eat, day trips away etc.

Fifthly, forget on-board entertainment or headphones, music
or films – the only entertainment to be had is to
observe the no frills service you are paying for, for
example, watching the faces of the uninitiated when they are
asked to pay £4 ($6) for a sandwich, and £1.50
($2) for a small and nasty coffee. For her trip to Oslo, the
Beetle took a flask of coffee, much to the envy of fellow
passengers and the annoyance of the air crew. (Buzz do the
best and very drinkable coffee if you have a choice! Also
recommended by our Webmaster!)

Even for someone of limited height, (5'2”), the
seats are cripplingly unrealistically tiny with next to no
leg room. Even the Beetle's knees touched the seat in
front.

Sixthly, presumably also to cut costs, passengers are
responsible for cleaning; whilst I agree with our webmaster
that passengers should be tidy and take their rubbish away
with them at the end of their journey, the Ryanair way is to
have 2 “hostesses” walk down the aisle with a big
bin liner open. You are required to lean over your fellow
passengers and throw your rubbish in the bin liner as they
walk by. Talk about target practice. It is one of my
nightmares that one day, someone will actually use the sick
bag provided (the only object to be found on your seat
pocket) and be too embarrassed to try and throw it into this
walking bin bag, so they'll leave it for me to find,
whilst thinking oh, that's strange there actually is
something in my seat pocket, I wonder what it is!

Seventh: the staff. My theory is that people who work for
Ryanair failed to pass the Aeroflot entrance exams. Rudeness,
ability to glare and make unnecessarily snotty remarks are
all prerequisites for hiring. As for the pilots, flying
Ryanair for them must be their first job out of pilot school.
The Beetle has never, ever had a smooth two tyred landing on
the handful of flights she has been with them.

But my biggest complaint about Ryanair: it's not just the
poor service, which is abominable, it's not the
supercilious staff, the lack of decent coffee or seat
numbers, it's the fact that to cut costs, they often do
not fly into the main airport in a city – and they
don't even warn you about it on booking! The Beetle finds
this practice offensively misleading. For example, if you
want to fly to Copenhagen in Denmark, you actually arrive
into Sweden and have to take a bus journey back into Denmark.

The Beetle recently flew Ryanair to Oslo. It was only after
she had booked the tickets when she investigated how to get
from the airport to the centre of Oslo, that she realised
that Torp airport, where Ryanair fly into is 100km away from
Oslo. At no time was this made clear when booking on-line,
even though the booking was for Oslo. Had this been made
abundantly clear, the Beetle would have gone elsewhere.

Not only is it 100 km away from Oslo, but there is no public
transport after 8pm to Oslo from Torp (and even then, it is a
very expensive taxi ride to the train station) as Torp is a
very small sleepy little town. The Ryanair dedicated coach
cost around £20 or $30 return and took 2 miserable
hours so that a 7.25pm Stansted departure resulted in the
Beetle arriving at her Oslo city centre hotel at almost 1am
– and it is a 1 ½ hr flight and a one hour time
difference. Do the math, as they say! The real airport in
Oslo, where all of the other carriers fly into has excellent
transport connections and takes less than half an hour from
Oslo city centre by train. Never again!

For more info on Ryanair, visit: http://ryanair.com/

What do you think? Do you have a fave or hated airline? Want
to get an airport or airline off your chest? Drop the Beetle
a line: beetle@globetrotters.co.uk