In which I am hoodwinked into glacier climbing.

I'd booked what I imagined as a nice trip into the Frans Josef Glacier on the advice of an Irish girl. Lucy declined on account of both heights and lack of balance, though I assured her that it would be a tourist geared stroll on icy yet ultimatly safe and gentle paths. I was totally misguided in this. (And also in my hopes of frequent snack and lunch stops).

What it actually involved was a 4km hike to the glacier, then we attached spikey things to our feet (crampets? crimpets? anybody?) and used pick axes to hack trecherous paths through crevices, leaped hurtling drops, and basicly hung onto life by a thread. Lucy would have died. There was a ridiculous moment as I balanced on an icy ledge, inches wide, hugging the glacier face with my pick axe embedded in the wall to one side and my frozen fingers gripping the guide rope on the other, when an israeli male member of the team took the opportunity to ask me my star sign. Never has anyone received such a withering stare as I gave that lunatic.

I arrived back at the hostel seriously exhaused and clinically dehydrated. Collapsed in the sauna to hear how Lucy had simply taken a hellicopter to the top. (She does think clearly). We went out for an absolutly delicious pizza but dehydration had taken it's toll- within quarter of a glass of wine the restaurant was spinning and I was hanging on my bar stool with both hands. Lucy had me tucked up in bed by 9pm!