Real Holidays — The HIll Walker’s Dilemma

I’m writing this on day two of my stay in Leblon, a chic little seaside suburb of Rio. There’s a real problem here, one that only you hillwalkers will appreciate.

We flew in from the UK having spent a week or so living in sub zero temperatures. Here the weather is warm (30 degrees or more) and exceptionally humid. The days are cloudy and seem to follow a common pattern. Heat builds up during the day, a torrential thunderstorm brews up during late afternoon and by the middle of the might has refreshed the air. Next morning the cycle repeats itself.

Day one saw us getting over our flights and acclimatising. Day two has seen us settle into the kind of routine that — for some — would be the ideal holiday. We woke early and breakfasted and read books. Then we strolled into town and had an espresso and some fresh juice at a juice bar. Then it was almost lunch. We ambled over to Mike Pitt’s Bar Jobi for a number of beers, tapas-type plates and a salad. Now the humidity has built we have returned to our apartment for a siesta. Next up we might stroll to a lake in a park, which is probably the most energetic thing we will do during our entire stay.

While this may be some people’s ideal of a holiday it is very different from what we usually do at this time of the year. By now we would be in Snowdonia. No doubt it would be cold with snow on the high hills and maybe even on the lower ones. It would have taken ages to have hammered in the tent pegs on the frozen ground of the Bryn Tryrch campsite. The owner would have greeted us with smiles and lots of comments about how we were bloody mad. We’d have spent the day slipping and sliding on hills. most probably having to stay on lower walks through woodland rather than hitting the heights. As evening drew in we would withdraw to the Bryn Trych hotel, to drink real ale and to sample some good, Welsh, pub food. Then it would have been back to the tent. The night would have been spent snug and warm in winter down bags. And in the morning we would wake to the sharp, cold air on our faces. Coffee would be brewed to warm us up and to give us the bravery to shed the sleeping bag and jump into our walking gear. Then it would — most probably — be a saunter down the road to the Pinnacle Café for breakfast.

What I’d give — now — for the cold, sharp, frosty air first thing in the morning!