Hundreds of thousands of cycling fans turned out in central London over the weekend for the final stage of the the Tour of Britain 2011. And I was one of them.

I’ve been going to the London stage for around 5 years and have seen the event mature and grow in stature each time. Having been to the final stage of the Tour de France in Paris a few times and seen how huge an event that is, I can genuinely say that in terms of set-up, London is certainly beginning to rival Paris.

There’s still some way to go before we start seeing in the UK the sort of crowds that turn out in France. That said, we’re heading in the right direction. The Tour of Britain has never seen so many spectators at the roadside.

It was a fantastic occasion, made even better by British rider Mark Cavendish crossing the line to take the win. And I was right there on the finish line to see him punch the air in celebration.

Yesterday was another busy day in London. There were plenty of places I had to be. The tube is great for getting around, particularly with a travelcard, but it was a sunny day and I wanted to potter about at ground level. So, with my access key in hand, I tried out the Barclays Cycle Hire scheme for the first time.

I didn’t let the fact I didn’t really know where I was going deter me. I inserted my key into the dock, waited for a green light and hauled (with some initial difficulty) my bike out. After testing the brakes (extremely tight), the bell (loud) and setting my seat level to ‘6’, I set off. And immediately made a wrong turning. But that didn’t matter. It was fun! The bike was sturdy, easy to steer and with 3 gears, easy on the legs.

So long as you keep your wits about you, London’s streets aren’t as deadly as some make out. I found all the bus and taxi drivers I encountered to be quite courteous and patient. Pedestrians are probably the biggest worry. On several occasions, I had to brake for jay-walkers (not illegal in the UK, but in cases like this, a problem).

After 13 minutes and 24 seconds, my first journey was complete. And because I’d docked the bike within 30 minutes, it was free. I just paid the £1 access fee. For those making the same journey day after day, the scheme is a godsend. Considering the annual access fee is a meer £45, the journey-on-journey saving is hefty enough to dust off the high-vis tabard and get biking.

My Saturday mornings are normally my laziest. I slouch in front of the tv, trying in vain to find something good to watch. Then, having found only news and the Coronation Street Omnibus, I catch up with my news feeds on my phone. Having done that, I try to find something else on my phone to keep me occupied. My first port of call is normally a webcam App (WorldView Live). Do you remember when webcams were cool? Everyone had to have one and everyone marvelled at how fantastic the Internet was in allowing us to see live and grainy images from around the world. Well, I’m still there. I still love webcams.

Last Saturday, having been through my usual Saturday morning routine, I went into WorldView Live to see what was going on. Bern was holding it’s usual Saturday market, skiers were still queuing for the lifts at the resorts, everything seemed normal. Except in Brugge that is. Something different was going down.

I quickly discovered that I was watching the start of the Ronde van Vlaanderen (Tour of Flanders), an annual UCI ProTour road cycling race. You can see the cyclists waiting at the start at the bottom left of the image. On next image refresh, the race had started and the team cars wee in pursuit.

Although I was only seeing the event in still frames, it was rather exciting. I have a lot of favourite webcam locations, but only very rarely is something interesting actually happening. in the next image, the crowds had been allowed from behind the barriers.

25 minutes later, the crowds had all but vanished and tidy-up was in full swing.

This isn’t the first time the Brugge webcam has been featured on this blog. In December 2007, I managed to capture my mum and sister in the same market square.

Welcome to the second of a two-part series of notes written during a weekend trip to Paris. In this edition, I wait patiently for the peleton, visit my favourite Parisian park, meet more Aussies and nearly get struck by lightning. If you haven’t read part one, don’t you think it’s a more logical starting point? Idiot!

Sunday

11h23 CET Morning! Sat on a bench on the Champs-Élysées. The crowds are starting to build to the sound of very loud grunge music. Can’t imagine many people are into it. There are a lot of Aussies here (with inflatable kangaroos) to see if Cadel Evans can find just over 1 minute to halt Carlos Sastre’s almost certain victory. Still a couple of hours before the Publicity Caravan rolls in. I’m gonna stick around here. Seems like a safe bet.

11h29 There are barriers and stripy tape all over the city centre, inexplicably cutting off paths and roads. This has caused there to be a lot of dead ends which are catching people out. I’m sitting in one now. There’s a constant stream of people doing uturns.

20h25 Back in my hotel room. It’s been an exhausting day. I didn’t plan the day very well, so I spent much if it just hanging around on the Champs-Élysées, waiting for the tour to arrive. The first sign of it was the Publicity Caravan, a convoy of trucks, car, vans and bikes from the race sponsors, horns blaring and lights flashing. No free stuff unfortunately ( I suppose by now they’d run out) but good and noisy as expected. About an hour later, the cyclists arrived. By then, the crowds were heavy. A roar rose when the peleton swishes past. It was an awesome sight. Due to the way the course in Paris is set out, I got to see the racers swish past 14 times. Carlos Sastre of Spain ended up retaining the maillot jeune, making it a bumper year for Spanish sport all round (that’s enough now I think). It was a good atmosphere, but I wish I’d spent my morning more wisely. I ended the day with a meal and a short wander through the narrow streets if Île Saint-Louis, where queues for famous ice cream shops wound around corners. Even at 8’o’clock at night, the sun was blisteringly hot. Too hot for me. If it were more comfortable, and my legs weren’t hurting from the the walking I’ve done, I would have stayed out longer. In all, an experience I’m glad I had.

Monday

11h04 I’m sat in my favourite part of Paris, Jardin du Luxembourg. I’ve found a nice shady spot, amongst the trees. Temperatures in the sun are once again far too high, but at least in the shade and with a pleasant breeze, it’s comfortable. Around me, people are slowly walking, chatting to one another. To my right, a man is teaching two ladies tai chi. Ahead are a herd of donkeys, silently snuffling the ground and patiently waiting to transport kids around the gardens. To my left, an outdoor cafe is selling crepes and coffee, while a group of men play petanque. Behind me, there are occasional screams and cackles if laughter emanating from a huge playground. In the distance, the typically Parisian two tone siren competes with the pats of ball against tennis racket from the nearby courts. The bells on the French senate building here in the gardens have just signalled quarter past the hour. Shortly, I’ll be off to find a brasserie, before taking a guided tour. Good times in Paris.

11h36 One of the ladies doing tai chi just lit a cigarette. The smell was too much and I had to move. What’s the point if doing tai chi if you smoke away the internal goodness straight after. Ridiculous!

19h13 On the Eurostar back. I’m hungry, but I don’t have any cash and they don’t accept my card so a bottle of Orangina and a cup of ice will have to suffice (it’s fun to rhyme). Had a cool day. After my sit in Jardin du Luxembourg, I visited a very busy Champion supermarket to get some coffee milk for my dad (you just can’t get it in Britain), picked up a delicious ham and cheese baguette from a grumpy lady and raced to the meeting point for a free walking tour of the city. It was exceptionally… My god is it chucking it down outside. The sky’s gone black! Now hailing! We must be approaching Britain… Anyway, the walking tour was brilliant. The tour guide had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the city and while some if her stories were repeats of stuff I’d heard on the bike tours, I learnt a lot of new stuff. In keeping with the trend of chatting to Australiasians, I met Daniella, a half Australian, half British, another bit German girl who was travelling on her own around Europe. We shared an interest in Europe and wanting to get into the media, so we had plenty to talk about. After the tour, we walked past The Hôtel de Crillon where the cheapest rooms are from £500 a night. Daniella wondered what It was like inside, so we marched over to the entrance. Inexplicably, I hadn’t banked on there being door men. After a moment of indecision, we were approached by one of the fellas. “Can we look inside?” she asked. The doorman didn’t speak English, but he knew if he shock his head and pointed at the way I was dressed, we’d probably understand we couldn’t. After some pleading, she was allowed to go around in the revolving door while I stood outside like some penniless t-shirt wearing tramp. It was nice inside according to her, which at the asking price, you’d probably expect. She’s leaving Paris tomorrow. When we parted company at the metro, she still hadn’t decided where she was going to go next. Perhaps Nice! I couldn’t do that. I’d have organised every detail of the trip months in advance. It showed impressive independence and guts. I’ve got both independence and guts, but she had more of it.

19h56 Just passed through Lille. Passing underneath a storm at the moment. Train slowing down for some reason.

20h08 Big flash of lightning right next to the train. Train now at a crawl after rapid, juddering deceleration. This isn’t normal. The Eurostar isn’t supposed to stop.

20h12 Train now at a standstill. The train manager has just announced there is a problem with the high speed line.

20h23 We’re moving again. Impressive lightning strikes all around before we enter the tunnel. Running 16 minutes late.

20h12 BST Back in Britain. A couple of minutes before I arrive at St Pancras. Can’t believe I’m back at work tomorrow. It’s been an awesome weekend.

Related Content

There are 106 photos taken during my weekend in Paris, now viewable on Flickr.

I’ve just spent the weekend in a blistering hot and beautiful Paris. This is part one of a two-part series of notes I wrote during the trip. In this edition, I climb two levels of the Eiffel Tower, get cast into darkness on the metro, get serenaded by George Michael, go cycling and meet lots of great people (mostly Aussies and Kiwis). Let’s go!

Friday

08h28gmt So, i’m off to Paris again. The last time I went was two years ago. That was my second visit, which makes this my third. This time, I’m going for one thing. The Tour de France. After a three week long tour, the peleton arrives in Paris on Sunday for one last race. Having experienced the tour in person for the first time last year in London, I had to experience it in person in France. So, I’m on the train to St Pancras to catch the Eurostar. Now that the Eurostar terminal has moved to my side of London, the journey to Paris is ridiculously easy. I’m just two trains away.

09h47 Realised when I got to London that I’d boarding a fast, non-stopping train. I’m at St Pancras a good two hours before the Eurostar departs. Departure lounge is lovely. Dark, wooden floors, modern, comfortable seats. The terminal is considerably smaller than the old one at Waterloo. Hardly any shops or eateries. A fat fella and his fatter wife just sat down on the same row as me. Something went crack.

10h59 On the Eurostar. Five minutes to departure. Very tatty train. Doors have just shut. The seat next to me is empty. Hoping it stays that way.

11h05 The acceleration on this train is amazing. Zero to fast in no time at all.

11h10 Through the upcoming Olympic station, Stratford. Really long tunnels snaking underneath London at the beginning of the journey. Wafts of toilet smells in the coach. Could be the fat couple’s lunch.

11h15 Just passed underneath the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge.

11h32 Just passed Sandlings. Holds a special place in my heart. Looks as if we’re about to enter the Channel Tunnel. Some sort of alarm has just sounded. Le Shuttle terminal passing to the right.

11h36 Into the Tunnel sous la Manche.

12h00 Pop! And we’re out. Not a bad crossing time.

13h24cet Passing through the suburbs of Lille. Lille Europe station approaches.

13h49 Zipping through Northern France. Just started to rain. It’s going to be a wet weekend.

15h41 Arrived at my hotel. Room slightly smaller than my last, but still nice. As I expected, I’ve been put next to the lift. Hoping I don’t hear it. Interesting view from my window of a road junction. Going to pop out shortly to the supermarket and to the Eiffel tower.

17h08 I’m writing this on the first level of the Eiffel tower. It seemed the best place to start. At only €3.10, it’s a steal. My only other plans are to go to Flunch for a meal and pop to the supermarket for some water. Really hot! Probably the high 20s. Wish I’d put some shorts on. Going to go up another level shortly.

19h17 In Flunch. Terrible décor, terrible music and underground, but good food at a low price. They’re practically giving it away. I’ve got Spaghetti Bolognese, a raspberry tart and a can of Ice Tea. Delicious! I’ll be coming again.

20h07 My god! I’m boiling! On the way back from dinner, the metro’s lights went out and the train came to an abrupt standstill. The emergency lights came on and the driver… You know what, this can wait. I need a shower…

Saturday

08h25 … Where was I? Ah, yes. The driver very hurriedly announced something. There wasn’t much of a reaction from my fellow passengers. A murmur rose as people exchanged their collective tuts. There we stayed, in near darkness, beads of sweat dripping from our faces for about five minutes before the lights came back and the train jolted forward. At the next station, a couple of people got off, including an American couple who’d “had enough.” The rest, including me, continued with the test of endurance. This morning, I’ll be finding that supermarket I keep going on about and then going on a cycle tour. Before that though, I need to finish watching this exciting instalment of Clifford, le grand chien rouge.

10h30 Sat on a bench in Champs de Mars. The Eiffel tower looms into the sky in front of me. It’s pleasantly warm with a slight breeze. At the foot of the tower, the masses throng, yet here where I’m sat, it’s satisfyingly peaceful. I love Parisian parks. They’re so well looked after. Even on a Saturday morning, there are people watering the flowers and grass and people picking litter. At 1100, I’m heading for the meeting spot for the cycle tour. Until then, I’m very happy here.

10h36 There seems to be a trend of musicians playing on the metro. So far, I’ve been serenaded by a man with a guitar playing George michael hits (well, you’ve gotta have faith I suppose), a blind man with a casio keyboard held together with sticky tape (he was awesome), and this morning by a beree’d man playing the accordion (I afforded myself a smile at this, which he seemed to notice and appreciate).

17h59 Cool day so far. Went on the Fat Tire daytime tour of the sights. After meeting at Pilier Sud, the south pillar of the Eiffel Tower, we were taken to the Fat Tire office where we were each issued a Californian Beach Cruiser bike and a tour guide. Our tour guide was a Texan. After a short briefing, we were off, cycling through the streets of Paris. It was awesome! I starting chatting to three Australian fellas. They were your stereotypical boisterous, fun-loving Aussies. In fact, they took the stereotypes to the extreme. I didn’t think Australians actually said ‘bonza’ or ‘you beaut’ but apparently, they do. A lot! When we stopped off for a spot of lunch at an outdoor cafe in Jardin de Tuileries, the table arrangement wasn’t to their liking and, to the very obvious annoyance of the waiting staff, they dragged the tables and chairs around until they had accommodated themselves and everyone else. “This is how we do things at home,” one of them said. The scowl on the waiter’s face was classic!

18h09 Currently sat in Quick, a fast food restuarant in Gare Montparnasse. In another case of unexplainable use of English, I just had a Long Chicken meal. I could have had a Long Fish or a Cheese Supreme among others. Why they weren’t called Poisson Long or Suprême Fromage I’m certain no one knows. Off to the Eiffel Tower shortly, the meeting place for the night time bicycle tour.

23h57 Just got back from the night tour. It was awesome. I saw parts of Paris I’d have never seen otherwise and met lots of great people. I’m beginning to think the New Zealand government is spying on me though. The number of kiwis I’m suddenly encountering is worrying high. The couple I met this evening were lovely. Carlton and Jo were charmingly reserved, thoughtful and interesting. Naturally, we had plenty to talk about. They were both rugby fans. We also chatted about Switzerland. Unbelievably, they had both stayed in Lauterbrunnen earlier in the year. The night tour took an entirely different route than the day tour. This time, the tour guide was a Californian, who spoke with great enthusiasm. At one point, his wild gesturing attracted the attention of some locals who mocked him behind his back. He reacted by bowing to them. Another time, when we were waiting at a red light, a couple on a moped pulled up alongside and remarked something in French. After a pause, Andy turned around to the group with a grin and said, “I don’t speak French.” With an hour of the tour left, we cycled to a dock where we boarded a boat for a ride up and down the Seine. The boat itself was lined on each side by spot lights, so the banks were lit up as if it were day as we chugged past. And I do mean ‘chugged.’ The boat had seen better days and puffed out exhaust fumes which stank and veiled one side of the boat in a dark cloud. It was a good experience though, particularly at the end of the ride when we sailed directly underneath the Eiffel Tower. When we alighted, we watched as two men had a punch-up (which, unusually for me, made me laugh), and then cycled back to the office. If you’re looking for a way of exploring Paris without having your feet bleed, I can highly recommend the Fat Tire Bike Tours. Now, go and read part two.

Related Content

There are 106 photos taken during my weekend in Paris, now viewable on Flickr.

Last Saturday, I experienced something I have never experienced before. The past five years or so, I’ve watched and enjoyed it on television, but when it made a historic trip to London, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see it in person. I’m talking of course about the Tour de France, not just the most prestigious cycle race in the world, but also one of the most grueling and challenging sporting events. Why did the Tour de France start in London this year? It’s a good question and one I’ve been asked an awful lot this week. It’s simply a case of the organising committee selecting London out of all the bidding towns and cities. And what a good decision that proved to be.

I was one of 1 million spectators lining the streets of London that day, to see the prologue, or individual time trial event, before the race proper started the next day. I cannot express the magnitude of the event. It’s organisation must have taken some doing. Almost the whole of central London was closed to traffic for the entire weekend. Hyde Park was turned into the cycling festival ground, The Mall was turned into a broadcast centre and finishing line and Horseguards became a people’s village and team preparation and resting zone. Adjoining roads were closed and turned into the race route, while other roads were used as a car park for the hundreds of vehicles brought from across the channel. It was almost as if the French had invaded. The Gendarmerie, the french military police force were present and assisted the British police in escorting the riders around the course. It was very odd indeed to see Gendarmes riding down The Mall on their motorbikes. Everywhere you looked were French registered vehicles. The food outlets were french, the big screens were adorned with “France Télévisions” logos and even camera hoists and cranes were brought over especially. While passing through Holborn underground station, the announcements were in French. Everywhere you looked, there was banner adverts and sponsorship signage for French supermarket chains and French banks. It was bizarre.

It was about to get even weirder. Before the riders roll through, spectators are treated to one of the Tour’s famous traditions, the publicity caravan. A parade, often stretching for miles, of floats, trucks and cars from the sponsors of the Tour. Five million free gifts are thrown out to the spectators from the caravan of whistling and tooting vehicles before each stage. I chose a spot on Parliament Square, next door to St. Stephen’s Tower (Big Ben) to watch the caravan roll through. The first signs of the caravan approaching were the sounds of French police sirens from the Gendarmerie and an announcement welcoming everyone to the Tour (you’ll hear this when you watch the video below). The next half hour was a noisy and chaotic time where I had keyrings, cloths for cleaning glasses, all sorts of hats, t-shirts, cuddly toys, miniature cars, lanyards and packs of sweets thrown at me. Many of my fellow spectators were caught unawares and were hit in the face, but delayed their pain long enough to swipe the freebies before anyone else did. It was great fun, but it was a bit odd. Most of the companies I’d never heard of. I couldn’t understand why these companies had any interest in the UK market and as such, why they travelled hundreds of miles to throw free stuff at us. From one of the floats, people were handed coupons for washing detergent that isn’t even on sale in Britain, and only redeemable at a French supermarket chain. Unless the recipient of the coupons were making an upcoming trip to France, they were completely useless.

It was easily one of the most unusual experiences I’ve ever had. The degree of how french London had become was alarming. For a francophile like me, it was brilliant. I’ve been to London countless times, but I’ve never been there and felt I somewhere else. Sadly, it’s highly unlikely London will play host to the Tour in a similar fashion again. So I guess if I want to experience the magic of the Tour in the future, I’ll just have to go to France. Oh damn, how awful! ;) To see the photos I took on the day, visit Flickr.