Feeling Ouchy (near Geneva)

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. This time a book in French provides a wonderful family project - and the surprising news that Charles Dickens was friends with a great great great uncle when he was living in Switzerland. This post is by Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about books and blogs)   

A couple of Christmases ago I organised for a book written in French by my great great aunt Anne Van Muyden-Baird (1855-1945) to be rebound. Anne (see pic sidesaddle above) grew up in a lovely villa, Bellerive by Lake Geneva, Switzerland. The village is called Ouchy (you need to say this in a very French accent, it shouldn't sound like you hurt yourself). Then I gave it to my mum. Two years on mum has translated the rebound book into English and printed 29 copies for members of our family as a unique present.

Like Lausanne, Ouchy used to be full of expats, including many retired ex-colonial solders, although Anne's parents were Swiss-Irish. The book was published in Lausanne in 1943, two years before Anne died at the mighty age of 90. In it she describes her young life (1855-1880) growing up in a world I know as history.


While wars spread across Europe her parents are able to pop to Florence for a ball, and wherever she visits there appears to be an Emperor (French, Italian, Austrian!) to put a pretty crinoline on for, or goggle at as they pass in a coach.

Friends with Dickens
Anne often recalls her adventures with all her de Cerjat cousins (who raised her father after his parents both died) and lived close by in various villas - Fantaisie; Montchoisi and Bellerive. At one stage Charles Dickens came to stay at Lausanne and rented a pretty "dollshouse" villa, called Rosemount, which shared a driveway with Bellerive. While at Rosemount Dickens wrote Dombey and Son (here's the free ebook link). Not surprisingly, given how close they lived, the de Cerjat uncle (William Woodley de Cerjat) and Dickens' family became friends. Anne recalls this story:

"The entrance to the house at that time was in the centre and it was necessary to go round to it on arrival and the ground was treacherous. The coach used was always a sidecar pulled by a single horse. We were waiting one day for the Dickenses to arrive for a meal; suddenly... cries... we went to look; the sidecar had turned over, trapping the Dickens family, who were lying on their backs with their feet sticking out of the windows calling for help!"

Anne also remembers (p29) that: "after Dickens left Lausanne, he and my uncle remained close and corresponded. The letters of the celebrated English writer were without doubt full of wit, and my cousins said that their father shut himself up for three days at a time to put together the ideas for letters to his friend which were worth reading."

The old lady's words ought to be enough, but I was very excited to cross-reference this in the biography of Charles Dickens by Peter Ackroyd (p523-524). Ackroyd calls the de Cerjats "a rich but artistic and philanthropic couple..."

Things change. Money gets spent. And Bellerive was sold and is now IMD business school where you can be Chair of Coca Cola lecturing and orchestrate performance improvement (picture above is how it looks now - huge!). But it is wonderful to know that I don't have to define my past ancestors entirely as a hunting, shooting, fishing set. It also seems that a great number of them were also bi-lingual or tri-lingual - skills that completely impress me. Perhaps one day we will visit Switzerland and tour Ouchy. After all Nell, my nearly 11 year old, does want to go on a yeti hunting mission although I think now all she'd find in that area is the super rich. And the Swiss trains are renowned... Nowadays Ouchy is allegedly THE place to go for rollerskating and skateboarding - as well as a stunning view of France across Lake Geneva.

Here are photos from one hotel I found that gives a taste of what those villas, that were once family homes, were like.

A special thank you to my friend Helen Burley who roughly translated Anne's story in 2009 over a long breakfast at my house when the book was falling apart. The experience provided enough hints (and not just info about 19th century hair styles) that this was a fantastic story and the book deserved to be rebound despite the £40 price tag for repair! By chance there's even a book binder in a road near me, see here.

The actual book translation was done by Fiona Baird and Anthony Parish.

Ouchy mon village by Anne Van Muyden-Baird is also available on the web (slightly puzzling with a 1989 French reprint edition made in Switzerland available on the web here). The story of who else is interested in this lady, may well be a future post. Do let me know if you've got some clues - or have made a similar exciting family discovery.

The Alps are crowded... near Woolwich

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. Here's how to get that crowded Alpine feeling in a London meadow. This post is by Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about books and blogs)   

I've written about walking the Capital Ring on a recent post, but on this weekend's bid to complete the 75-mile footpath the author Colin Saunders made me laugh with a photo captioned: "You could imagine yourself transported to the Alps as you approach the mountain hut at the top of Oxleas Meadow." 

I was looking forward to this, not least because it means I don't need to pop over to Beckton to climb the old waste spoil site from the gas works, better known as the Beckton Alps (for more good ideas about trips around London, low and high points see this interesting blog).

So when we did reach the famous view of the cafe - as you can see from my photo - it really did look like the Alps at its busiest as there were 150 walkers taking a breather at the top of Oxleas Meadows. In theory it's a good place to stop - one of the highest spots on the Capital Ring footpath boasting views over South-East London and away to the North Downs. It's just normally there aren't so many people here in kagouls and backpacks. We'd let the walkers surge in front of our modest group of four as I picked up a dog poo at the top of the wooded hill that winds down and then back up to the so-called mountain hut.

We thought we'd lost them. But even in "mountains" that are almost offering a Swiss/Italian/Austrian/Slovenian/Croatian/Bosnian/Servian/Montenegran view (see map below) this isn't easy...

I love walking, and I love everyone else walking - but crucially walkers aren't allowed to walk at the same time as me! This is a family failing: my dad was such a misanthropist that we only really went out on long walks when it was raining hard. I'll never forget the wet Sunday when this unluckily coincided with a sponsored walk (of hundreds of ramblers) heading in the other direction. How my Dad cursed them!



On this occasion I got so panicked by the crowds (fearing we might be associated with them) that I managed to fall into a muddy ditch, and lose the dog lead. I managed to find the lead but when I returned to where Nell had been guarding my rucksack was told that another dog had just come up and wee'ed over it. Lovely. And then somehow Nell's hot chocolate (fortunately cooling) got tipped over our dog...

No wonder my kids were laughing at the self-inflicted misfortunes caused by my fear of being made to step along with a crowd.

Over to you
Are there places you love but don't go to when the weather is good, simply because you too loathe the crowds, or change of atmosphere? Or is this just silly?

World food

Pete, Nicola, Lola and Nell love to travel with as small a carbon footprint as they can. Here's how they will enjoy world food this September. Post by Nicola

It's nearly the end of Ramadan and some of the mums (many with connections to Bangladesh, Somalia, Tukey and Nigeria) at my younger daughter's school are clearly looking forward to their long month of fasting to finish. There should be a big party in many homes for Eid Marabuk sometime this week - maybe wednesday, or thursday - definitely Friday (it all depends on the moon, and no doubt other details). I just wish someone would ask me to one of these celebratory parties as this will be a brilliant celebration feast.



Harvest festivals - and this year Ramadan - show that religions are clever at using our love of food as a spritual in, and an opportunity to thank too. But the UK has genius (often secular) food traditions - not just our fried breakfasts - and despite all our supermarket addictions it is hard not to miss the best autumn seasonal treats. Right now I'm loving blackberries, Conference pears, damsons, greengages, plums, cobnuts and the few grapes my one-year old vine kindly produced.



Obviously you can enjoy these treats on your own, but another way is to go to a food festival like Brighton and Hove which promises a chance to "taste the world" between 1 September and 7 October, neatly including the nationally celebrated local food week with a celebratory picnic at Preston Park on 25 September, from 11am-4pm. There's even a Regency Banquet - with dresses as sumptuous as the dishes, perhaps with even a few Indian courses given the look-East outlook of the time.



A quick look at the fascinating website of Common Ground (art merged with local distincitiveness) shows that 3 September was the opening of the oyster fisheries in Colchester, a tradition dating back to the 13th century. As you probably know tradition decrees that oysters can only be fished/eaten when there is an R in the month. This year Colchester's Mayor - a confirmed landlubber - caused outcry by doing the gin and gingerbread ceremony (yes, I know it sounds strange...) on dry land rather than a boat. She seems to have done it well though and the oysters can now be served up again.



More worryingly all blackberries are meant to be picked by St Michaelmas Day which this year is 29 September - after that the Devil has either spat on them or done something unspeakably horrible - so you have been warned. I have an Italian friend who says blackberries are considered unlucky throughout Italy making it a brilliant place to pick these delectable fruits. (And if you've got kids they are also a brilliant non-toxic face paint!).



But cutting back on your jam and blackberry and apple crumble supplies (assuming you've stocked up the freezer) does give you time to enjoy apple day and all the picking, preserving and juicing that goes with it on 21 October.



I am sure every nation has moments of food glut - the season of mangoes in the Caribbean, sardines in the Mediterranean, rich cream from Swiss cows, tumeric wherever spices grow - which you learn to love as a child and anticipate as an adult. Enjoy your autumn tastebuds and if you can't make it to a festival like Brighton's (or somewhere more local to you) you can always create your own special nature's larder celebration at home. Cheers!

Perfect mountan hideaway

Pete, Nicola, Lola and Nell love to travel but stay off planes to keep their carbon footprint down. Here's how they satisfy their passion for travel

The Wasdale Head Inn looks like a tiny white Lakeland cottage nestling in the flat green valley below the big mountains that ring it. But it's a mecca for anyone passing through this valley thanks to its micro-brewery, rooms and self catering apartments and a walkers/climbers equipment shop. As we stomp through the rain – Nell slithering in wellies as her feet have suddenly grown – the word INN in huge font gets pleasingly nearer... We will be happy here, no doubt.

And we are – the first day it's good enough weather to see that only the tops are in cloud – so we set out to climb Lingmell. There's a pretty walk along Moses Trod (good name eh with hints of tradition, poetry and anticipation?) with the river on the right but as we climb up the hillside it's obvious that we are approaching from an awkward angle. Quick change of plans and we swerve left and up the fell to the place where four paths cross. Here, there's a teeny tarn the kids start throwing rocks into (not sure this is a good thing but they are happy and recharging) while I look around for a mountain to climb. Eenie, meenie, minie, mo... There's so many tops we could be in the Pyrennes, Alps or Nepal...

Most people go up Scafell Pike (England's biggest) but we are so close to Great Gable here – it's top is just 300m up which is an hour long staircase climb. Or something like that, and soon we huff and puff ourselves to the top, which is a bit cloudy cheating us of the stunning Wasdale Head view we should have. Not that it matters at all – the kids have climbed their second big mountain – and the views as we descend Great Gable are sublime. Even when the cloud wafts out the big picture Nell is enchanted by being inside cloud. It's like flying, but more DIY.

The next day Pete walks off his stiffness by doing five tops, Pillar etc, up the other, less crowded valley, and we all celebrate with chocolate cake and pasta when he makes it down: contented albeit 50. A proper happy birthday to be alone in the mountains contemplating...

The Wasdale Head Inn is not a chi-chi place. It's the birthplace for British climbing so is filled with climbing memorabilia – ice picks, photos of men in tweed and weather reports. It feels very male with its wooden panelled rooms (and no hot water while we are there in our apartment), but it hums with anticipation and adventure, and we all want to go back soon.

Cold comforts

Pete, Nicola, Lola, 9, and Nell, 6, spent three happy months during summer of 2007 traveling around Britain. Now we’re home, but the travel bug is still there. Join us for the occasional sightseeing plus tips on how to shrink your carbon footprint. This post is from Nicola.

For the past few weeks I've been run down by a coldy virus but at last I've found the perfect repair food - Racalet, as served at Borough Market. Racalet is a Swiss cheese but in this dish the stall holders scrape melted lashings from a huge wheel of cheese on top of a heap of hot, roughly mashed potatoes and then add some baby gherkins (presumably as a sop to five-a-day demands). On a Saturday at Borough Market you have to queue to pay for this gorgeous concoction and then queue to watch it being cooked. Despite the grey weather I felt happily revived after a sit down with my plate of Racalet. Then I found a loaf of still warm organic walnut bread and carried it home warming my side as if it was a hot water bottle.

Farmers' markets may be popular but Borough Market is a foodie beacon noteworthy not just for being the oldest food market site in London and a huge draw to weekend strollers, tourists and hungry food afficianados but also because it is a charity run by a board of trustees who all live in Southwark. If you haven't been, you must. Though if you go on Saturday (rather than Thursday or Friday) don't expect to get tranced into a mountains and Heidi mood even with a dish of Racalet as the market is just too crowded to let your soul yodel off to Switzerland.

Was this Switzerland?

Nicola, Pete, Lola and Nell want to travel the world with a difference. We hope to get a taste of many countries without adding to climate change (with needless emissions from aeroplanes) or having to waste hours of holiday time in airport terminals. We hope our adventures inspire you to take a Grand Tour of your neighbourhood. This post is from Nicola (pic is of the gang on the last bit of Skiddaw, this time via Switzerland)

When William Wordsworth's Guide to the Lakes became a best seller he was supposed to be rather bad tempered that he'd managed to ruin the tranquility of the places he loved by sending tourists to all the best spots. Of course it was totally his fault - he argued forcefully that the Lake District mountains were a better colour, more favourable size and general artisitic appearance than the dramatic Swiss Alps (despite some of these mountains being twice as big). Thanks to him visitors to the Lakes liked to claim it was better than Switzerland. This is one of the reasons that Skiddaw is still sometimes dubbed Keswick's Matterhorn.