Las Vegas hotel guests severely burned after windows reflect sun to cause 'death ray'

By DAILY MAIL REPORTER

Death ray: Guests at the Vdara hotel in Las Vegas have complained of receiving severe burns from the intense spot of sunlight reflected off the building


Holidaymakers at a new hotel in Las Vegas have been left with severe sunburn after the building's windows reflected 'death rays' onto certain areas around the pool.

The Vdara hotel has a concave shape which reflects the blistering Nevada sun from its all-glass front and directly onto sections of the swimming pool area below
The result has left some guests with burns from the powerful rays and even plastic bags have been recorded as melting in the heat.


No fun: Some of those trying to sunbathe at the swimming pool had to run for cover to escape the intense heat


Chicago attorney Bill Pintas felt the power of the dangerous ray first hand last week.

'It felt like I had a chemical burn. I couldn't imagine why my head was burning,' he said.

'Within 30 seconds, the back of my legs were burning. My first though was, 'Jesus, they destroyed the ozone layer!'

Gordon Absher, a spokesman for MGM Resorts, which owns the Vdara hotel, said they was aware of the issue and designers were working with resort staff to come up with a solution.

In fact it is claimed that the designers foresaw the issue with the reflecting sun but thought they had solved it by installing a high-tech film on the south-facing panes of glass.

However, Mr Absher, conceded it had not been enough and some of the guests had suffered as a result.

The Las Vegas Review Journal quotes one hotel employee as saying the building's design causes the sunshine to be diverted 'like a magnifying glass that shines down' over a space of about 10 by 15 feet as the poolside.

And as the Earth rotates, the spot moves across the pool area. The 'death ray' can increase temperatures by around 20 degrees.

While the designers work on fixing the problem, the hotel is looking at getting some larger, and crucially, thicker umbrellas to provide better shade for guests.





source :dailymail

Budget Sardinia? Why you don't have to be Flavio Briatore to enjoy the celebs' hangout

By DAVID LEWIS

Deep blue: Sardinia's crystal clear coastlines attract celebrities to its shores every year


'Doesn't Flavio Briatore own the Billionaire nightclub in Sardinia?' my girlfriend casually enquiries as she flicks through her in-flight magazine.

I try to disguise my foreboding as I confirm that, yes, the Italian businessman who buys football clubs for fun, does indeed own one of Europe's most luxurious clubs on the island.

This might not quite be the cheap break I had been planning.

Sardinia has long been a holiday favourite for the rich and famous. Cristiano Ronaldo has topped up his walnut tan in a tiny pair of shorts here and Geri Halliwell spiced up her boyfriend Henry Beckwith's life with a visit in 2009.

Keen to sample the island's delights without taking out a second mortgage, I had managed to persuade my girlfriend to holiday there out of season.

But if she keeps looking at the millionaires' hangouts the way she is looking at this magazine article, I could be in trouble.

Our destination is a luxurious villa on the Costa Smeralda which, due to our May booking, is costing us less than half its peak season price.

If I can just keep an eye out for some other off-season bargains, the 250 euros I take out from the Olbia airport cashpoint should last me well.

Of course, my first attempt at penny-pinching fails miserably. Rates on island hire cars remain pretty consistent year-round and I end up parting with 240 euros for the week (and heading straight back to the ATM to raid my already-sparse bank account again).


Spring bloom: David's villa cost a fraction of price charged during peak season


More depressingly, the spring-time heavens open as we leave the airport and we end up driving in silence through the bucketing rain.

At least the property doesn't disappoint. A traditional Mediterranean building, it is surrounded on all sides by beautifully manicured gardens, colourful local flowers, a private swimming pool and even its own small vineyard.

We are in the well-known Arzachena region on the northeastern side of the island, a quiet, rustic area tucked away amongst the mountains.

As if sensing our cautious optimism, the sun slowly burns through the clouds and we leave our beautiful villa to make haste to the beach.

The coastal sands at Liscia Ruja are only a 15-minute drive away along snaking roads and I waste no time donning my trunks for a dip.

I manage to waddle into the shimmering turquoise waters until about knee height, before wimping out and beating a retreat back to my towel. One drawback to visiting so early in the year is that the sea can be bitterly cold.

'Well, you can’t have it all,' my bronzing partner points out. 'At least we have almost the whole beach to ourselves.' She's right – it's not a bad trade off.


Deceptive: While the water may look inviting, in May it hasn't yet had much chance to warm up from the winter


In our bid to keep costs low, we had decided to cook for ourselves for the week, although my other half makes her thoughts abundantly clear as I suggest we head back to the supermarket we passed to do some shopping.

'OK, well I know you are writing a piece on this, but I am not eating muck for the week!'

Luckily supermarkets across Sardinia cater for all different wallets and we leave laden with fresh fruit and vegetables, delicious cuts of meat and inky red wines - all well within budget. My highlight purchase is a pungent island cheese, casu marzu, fermented using maggots. Well, when in Rome...

With each day that passes, warm spring sun replaces the blustery rain and we are soon enjoying - albeit bracing - afternoon dips in the pool.

The temperatures are warm enough for us to enjoy drying off in the sunshine and I can't help but think (as I pat my far-from-empty wallet) that our low-season risk is paying off.

As the days stretch on we – OK, she – soon tires of cooking so we decide to venture to a new agriturismo restaurant.

The very name - meaning agricultural tourism - conjures up ideas of rich meats, tangy cheeses and vegetables grown by local farmers. But it proves to be a bitter disappointment.



La dolce vita: Davdi enjoyed a beautiful, and tasty, stop-off at the quaint town of Tempio


The service is swift and the atmosphere pleasantly informal, but the food is shabby. My lamb - cooked from frozen - looks charred, and the oily vegetables look like they were plucked from the earth long ago.

The jaw-dropping 90 euro bill compounds our frustration, and we vow to return to home-cooked ravioli the next night.

For a treat on our last day we drive north to Porto Cervo. The renowned beachside stop-off is a favourite for the jet set (including numerous Premier League footballers, who own local boltholes).

We stroll around the swanky boutiques, cradling our double scoops of gelati and gawping at the designer clothes. You would definitely need a footballers’ salary to indulge in the Gucci loafers and Prada handbags on display around here.
Instead we slink back to the car and decide to treat ourselves to another meal out - hopefully an edible one this time.

A pretty pizzeria in the quaint, cobble-laned town of Tempio catches our eye. About half an hour away from our villa, we sit al fresco in the piazza and feel positively Sardinian.

Most importantly, my crispy frutti di mare melts in the mouth – absolutely delicious.

Boarding our plane for the return journey, I think my girlfriend has just about forgiven me for imposing a budget holiday on her.

The mercurial weather has been a constant frustration, but with a cut-price luxury villa and the beginnings of a spring suntan, we certainly look like we have been living la dolce vita.

And I haven't had an irate call from my bank manager yet...


Travel Facts
David travelled with specialist tour operator, Sardinian Places (0845 330 2050 / www.sardinianplaces.co.uk).

Seven nights at Villa Oro Verde, which sleeps six, starts from £1,480 based on selected travel dates in October.

A seven night holiday at Hotel Corallo on a bed and breakfast basis, starts from £399 per person, based on selected travel dates in September.

Flights and Car Hire can also be quoted.


source: dailymail

Blue skies thinking: The Concept Plane's streamline design would reduce fuel consumption significantly


When Airbus unveiled a dossier earlier this month that included such ambitious ideas as planes that could become invisible at the flick of a switch, the future of air travel suddenly sounded very exciting.

However, a boss at rival aircraft manufacturer Boeing has issued a realistic riposte saying that while disappearing fuselages may sound very impressive, your average traveller would be much more interested in the progression of supersonic travel, which could see tourists jetting to cities on the other side of the globe in less than an hour.

'Invisible airplanes and see-through airplanes are all very interesting, but I'd rather get to New York in 12 minutes,' Mr Thomas told the Australia Israel Chamber of Commerce.

An international consortium that includes Boeing is currently looking at developing scramjet-based access-to-space systems, which enable supersonic travel.


Supersonic farewell: Concorde pictured on its final flight into Heathrow in 2003


However, it may be a while before Concorde-style travel times becomes the norm once more. Mr Thomas said that fuel efficiency was a more pressing requirement and that the company will focus on producing in bulk the 787 Dreamliner, which is slow but more economical with fuel.

The Dreamliner is the fastest-selling passenger plane in aviation history - the company has more than 840 orders from 56 airlines globally.

'The market really wanted something that was more fuel efficient and more economically viable,' Mr Thomas said.

The Airbus 'invisible plane' design would give passengers the sensation of floating in the sky and would allow them to look down on cities and landscapes below or gaze up at the heavens above.

Engineers believe that a plane could be manufactured with a hi-tech ceramic skin, which the captain could send an electrical pulse through at the press of a button. The cabin roof, walls and floor would then become see-through, giving passengers a 360-degree view of their surroundings.


source :dailymail Scenic route: The Airbus 'invisible plane' will give passengers unobstructed views of famous landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower through its transparent floor.


Airbus' head of research and technology, Axel Krein, told German publication Der Spiegel: 'The planes of the future will offer an unparalleled, unobstructed view of the wonders of the five continents - where you will be able see the pyramids or the Eiffel Tower through the transparent floor of the aircraft.'

The plans were revealed in the company’s report entitled 'The Future, By Airbus' in which engineers at the European aerospace giant were asked to imagine what flights could be like in 2050.

source: dailymail

Ryder Cup 2010: My weekend of heaven (and a little golf hell) at Celtic Manor Resort

By NEIL ENGLISH

Blue-sky thinking: Celtic Manor will provide a dramatic setting for the Ryder Cup


The photos that have emerged from Delhi in the last week, showing the ‘rudimentary’ nature of the athletes living quarters for the Commonwealth Games, have made global headlines. But the world’s best golfers – arriving in Wales to contest the 2010 Ryder Cup this weekend – should have no such fears about what awaits them.

I can vouch for this personally. The accommodation at the Celtic Manor Resort – a five-star golfing paradise near Newport - is in pristine condition. No stone is left unturned. No speck remains undusted in order to guarantee the highest levels of comfort.

Even the Ryder Cup WAGs will surely find nothing to complain about. If the heat of competition is ramped a notch too far, they can take a break from following their beloved stars around the course, kick off their heels and summon a chauffeur-driven buggy to deliver them to one of two opulent spas for a spot of off-course rest and relaxation.

Of the pair, it is the Forum Spa that takes my vote, for its divine 20-metre pool - perfect for earnest swimming or simple floating about - with its giant Welsh-dragon mosaic floor, housed underneath a simulated blue sky which darkens at night with twinkling stars. Just feet away, a hot pool, steam room and sauna are primed to soothe tired muscles, while a weary minds can be calmed by an impressive range of beauty or massage therapies in the treatment rooms.

When I was invited to sample Celtic Manor Resort by joining a team of six English journalists pitched against Irish counterparts in a, albeit light-hearted, 'Writers’ Cup', I thought twice.

Golf is far from my first sporting love. I play seldom, and badly - though I feverishly enjoy watching the professionals ply their magic at the most coveted of tournaments on television. But my main concern was that I have many times seen the top floors of Celtic Manor looming over high trees from the M4 en route to Cardiff, and have always thought it looked an ugly institution of a building.


They won't have time to appreciate it, but the world's best golfers will be playing amid glorious Welsh scenery


Having now spent a few days and nights there, I must confess that I haven’t changed my mind on that front. But beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder (many people love the colossal, imposing exterior) - and thankfully, from my perspective, beauty is not just skin deep.

Once inside it is impossible to escape the fact that you are in a five-star establishment. Celtic Manor is spacious – a fact reinforced by the atrium that greets you at the entrance. Gazing up at all six floors of the hotel (each one adorned with florally decorated interior balconies) – right up to the giant octagonal skylight – it is impossible not to be impressed.

The living quarters do not disappoint either. The American Ryder Cup team and entourage will be especially thrilled to see the ample space afforded by each of the 362 rooms, the vast beds and accommodating wardrobe areas, plus choice of shower or bath (WAGs take note, Elemis products galore) in generous bathrooms, each boasting many square metres of Italian marble. Normally, lack of bed and bathroom space is the standard American complaint that echoes through hotels all across Europe.

The whole package – from the main sweeping driveway down to the hotel and the 1400 acres of parkland estate within the Usk Valley (graced by its peacefully flowing river, forested hills and seductive vales), to the three impeccably manicured 18- hole golf courses – is a panoramic achievement of which Newport, Wales and Britain should be proud.


Inner sanctum: A sneak view of the changing facilities for this weekend's big event


Americans firmly believe they are the masters of the world-class golf club concept - but I fancy they may learn a thing or two when introduced to Celtic Manor.

All this is the brainchild of Welsh telecommunications entrepreneur, Sir Terence Matthews. In 1980, he purchased a 19th century manor house that had been the maternity hospital in which he was born.

But his decision to turn it into an elegant 70-room period retreat, still separate from the main Celtic Manor hotel, was not based purely on sentiment. His shrewd eye for business spotted a massive leisure opportunity, not least with such sweeping countryside grounds at his disposal.

Some £140 million later (still the biggest single private investment in the British hospitality industry) Celtic Manor Resort has won so many hotel, golf-course, spa and clubhouse awards that its silverware cabinet would be the envy of a Premiership football club.

Perhaps Sir Terence’s biggest coup was securing the right to stage the 2010 Ryder Cup (the world’s third largest sporting event in television-viewing figures) – and a large part of winning that bid was offering to create a golf course especially for this titanic clash between Europe and America’s greatest golfers - a first in the event’s 73 year history.

So it came to be that the Twenty Ten Course – a par-71 with a length of 7,493 yards – was born.

Colin Montgomerie, the European captain, knows Celtic Manor inside out – since he not only designed one of the other 18-hole championship courses (named after him), but also, with his host Captain’s prerogative, made a handful of personal changes to the Twenty Ten Ryder Cup course.


Fire breather: In case you wonder where you are, the grand atrium offers a few reminders of its Welsh location


He recently said: “I’m extremely proud of the course and the changes I’ve made. It is in great shape to present a real challenge to the world’s best golfers.

“It is not just necessary to hit the fairways. You have to be in the right places on the fairways to get a decent shot at the greens.”

And that is why I, personally, hated it. I had a thoroughly miserable round of match-play golf on this beautifully prepared course, and if it were not for my superb partner, we would not have gained a point against our canny Irish opponents.

This course completely exposed my 28 handicap. It humbled and humiliated me, and reduced my already withered golfing confidence to below zero. And with every hideous stroke I made, hacking up the hallowed grass where icons of the game will tread, I could sense the wincing of the groundsmen.

I played better on the Montgomerie course, and enjoyed the hill-top views of many of the Twenty Ten course holes. But my favourite was the Roman Road course, with its generous par of 70 (over 6,515 yards), and its lovely views across the Severn Estuary, into Somerset and Devon.


Gloom on the horizon: Either America or Europe will have their dreams dashed this weekend


When I return to Celtic Manor for a weekend of leisure, I will make more use of the tennis courts, fishing, walking and mountain biking trails, as well as the spas. And I will make less of the golf - though I may give my confidence a boost with a lesson at the highly reputed in-house golfing academy. Maybe then, the Twenty Ten course will not seem quite so unforgiving...


Travel facts

The Celtic Manor Resort stages the Ryder Cup between October 1st and 3rd. It reopens for business on October 5th.

Visit www.celtic-manor.com or phone 01633 413000 for details and prices of all golf, spa or recreational packages.

For nearby attractions and all Welsh regional information see www.visitwales.com.


source :dailymail

Wednesday's Woman Redux: Maíra Britto The Unreleased Photos

I know, I know I already made a post about Maira Britto. I realize I'm probably breaking some unwritten rule. You know what though? I don't care. I really don't. If it was one of my own rules that I can't repeat a person as 'Wednesday's Woman' then fuck my rule. It's mine. Rules are meant to be broken. Not mine or anything. I don't want to give you the wrong idea. You break my rules and there will be a penalty. Trust. I'm just saying if somebody is going to break my rules it should be me. So yeah, Maira Britto is just the optimum allowable dosage of human fineness. You can't make me believe otherwise without visual and scientific proof that finer indeed exists. Most will agree with me. At least one person won't. That's cool, but unless you come at me with visual proof of someone finer than her, I won't believe you. And you better have some pie charts and bar graphs and long-hand scientific equations thereby backing up your claim. And you better have a lab coat on when you present this evidence to me or your false claims will be laugh at, dismissed and we won't ever exchange words again. You better come with it.

LOL @ me calling these 'unreleased' though. They're not unreleased but they are different pictures than I posted last time. Somebody please make this woman a household name here in America. I beg of you.

Perfect Provence: A tour of France's foodie region (with a quick search for Van Gogh)

By CHRIS STEWART

Good enough to eat: Chris ate like a king in the Provence town of Moustiers


If you've never been to Provence, it will be familiar to you in one way or another: you've read Peter Mayle's books or seen Jean De Florette; you will have drooled perhaps over improbable images of lavender fields; and, of course, you have been transported to a cafe in Arles or a starry night on the Rhone by the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh.

By all these means and a hundred others besides, I am so steeped in Provence that I can't remember whether I've actually been there or not. But this year I had the perfect excuse to go - my daughter happens to be studying in Aix, so I decided to visit her and take a look. Discarding the heaps of guides that lay to hand, I took nothing but Elizabeth David's book French Provincial Cooking, ready to go where my whims and fancies took me.

Now, Ms David is not to everybody's taste: 'Have some fine, well-hung thrushes,' she suggests, but she's good on things such as bouillabaisse (fish stew) and pissaladiere (the region's own pizza-like dish). I read out loud to the sleeping wife: 'A delicious derivation of the pissaladiere was once, and perhaps still is, a speciality of a small hotel in the dusty, sleepy little town of Saint Remy in Provence. It consisted of tartelettes, little open pastry cases with three different varieties of fillings: an onion and black olive mixture, one with mushrooms and tomatoes, and the third with prawns and green olives...'

Now I knew nothing of St Remy, but the attraction of dustiness, sleepiness and the tartelettes sounded about right for me. So, in the true spirit of spontaneous tourism, my wife Ana and I flew into Marseilles and headed over the little range of Les Alpilles, and down the other side into St Remy.

I knew it would be good, and it was. St Remy is no longer that dusty or sleepy, especially in season, when its picturesque streets run with rivers of visitors - and I sought the tartelettes in vain - but it is the perfect little town. There is almost no ugliness, and there are not so many places of which that can be said. The inhabitants are friendly and communicative and not depressingly over-groomed and smart.

It was late when we arrived, and the only place still serving lunch was the Brasserie du Commerce on the Place de la Republique. It was an ordinary sort of a place, and it was a sunny day, so we both went for Nos Salades, washed down with the most delicate rose, the colour of the palest of pink onion skins and plonked on the table in a plastic carrier-bag full of ice.


French fancy: Chris found that Provence lived up to his (already high) expectations


Soon came the salads, as recommended by the waitress, whose name, unaccountably, was Jean-Paul. These were no ordinary salads but the most divine concoctions of beasts of the field and fowls of the air and all the extraneous and offbeat bits of them.

My salad was composed largely of gizzards (in France, of course, you 'compose' a salad). Lurking among the crisp and well-chosen weeds were bits of pigs and cows, chickens and ducks, each done to perfection and complementing all the others. God, the French know how to do this stuff.

As we staggered out of the Brasserie du Commerce, Jean-Paul directed us to a hotel she knew nearby. And it was heavenly - in a matter of minutes we had tumbled into an enormous bed with crisp white sheets for a brief stretch of blessed afternoon oblivion. One of the great pleasures of the siesta is that you wake up twice to the same day, and if it's a good day and everything's going right, then you get double the pleasure.

The rooms were set around a garden, a glorious garden of extravagantly pruned fig trees, rich with the scent of roses and jasmine, and the chuckle of water from a stone fountain.

Once we were installed at Sous les Figuiers it was hard to leave. It rained one day, so rather than mope about it, we turned it to our advantage and signed up for an afternoon in the art studio with Kups (she's Dutch) who teaches painting. She wanted us to paint figs - and funnily enough there are paintings of figs all over the hotel. June is a bad time for figs, though, except for dried figs which are no fun at all to paint, so we decided to paint lemons.

We spent the happiest of afternoons dabbing away at our canvases, trying to ignore the comments of Kups, who thought we were doing it all wrong. It's not as easy as you think, painting in oils. The wife's lemons looked like a heap of turnips, I thought; my own looked more like quinces. It's hard to get the essence of a lemon.

There are scores of eating houses in St Remy. There was no way to get round them all but we made a pretty good fist of it. At Le Cigalou, where we were unable to resist the coquilles St Jacques, my glasses suddenly fell to bits - the tiny screw that keeps the things on your ears had come loose.

The waiter saw me fumbling with the various inappropriate implements that were to hand, and in an instant appeared with a plate upon which lay three screwdrivers and a red flower. Of course they were no use at all, like trying to open an oyster with a bent stick, but it was an elegant thought.

We ate the most glorious food as we grazed our way around the beautiful little town: the crispest of salads, the freshest vegetables, and exquisitely prepared meats with real taste and texture, all washed down with literally buckets of that incomparable rose.

But you can only eat so much food without the need to burn some of it off, so I persuaded Ana that a good way to spend a day would be to walk along the northern slopes of Les Alpilles to Eygalieres, where there was a market.

We set out early because, unbeknown to the wife, the walk would take the best part of six hours. We left the town, passed the Roman ruins of Glanum and headed up on to the shingly path that leads into the hills.


Arles be back: Les Arenes in Arles is still a masterpiece of architecture, 2000 years after the Romans built it


There were nightingales and bees in the flowers of the garrigue - the scrubland full of lavenders, thymes and rosemary whose scents are the very essence of Provence.

As we climbed through the woods, we were rewarded with dazzling views of the rich country to the north. There's a heartstopper of a painting by John Martin, called The Plains Of Heaven. Well that's what Provence looks like from high in Les Alpilles, with its fertile fields and vineyards, bright now with the early shoots of the vines, and the beautiful plumes of the poplars and planes that line the roads and rivers. It's a land of deep, rich earth that has furnished its blessed inhabitants with incomparable luxury and delight since the days of the Romans.

We came down off the hills and into the picture-book perfect village of Eygalieres where, true to our luck, the market was just packing up. From the remaining scraps, it looked as if it had been the most exquisitely tempting of markets. As consolation, we had lunch at the Bistro Bru, and it was the finest meal that the wife and I had shared in all our many years together.

From exquisitely crafted amuse-gueules, through the gorgeous entrees and perfect plats, and on among the dreamy desserts to the coffee and the bill, we chuckled and hooted with unalloyed delight, helped along by two bottles of rose. We staggered out of there happy as bees for the six-hour slog back to St Remy.

Apart from the tartelettes, all I know about St Remy is that Van Gogh lived there for a time. The Musee Estrine in the middle of town has a Van Gogh exhibition but, as you are told when you enter, there are no paintings by him, only postcards and posters. It's a derivative exhibition that tells you a bit about Van Gogh but has paintings by artists with some sort of tenuous connection.

The curator told us that Vincent spent 18 months in Provence, producing 300 paintings... and that today in the whole of Provence there is just one original left. Fired up by the postcards and with my youthful passion for Van Gogh reignited, we headed for Arles.

It wasn't the best day to see the place: a vicious wind charged with icy shards of rain was roaring down the Rhone and the sky was dark with menace. But Arles, even in the foulest of weather, is everything you ever wanted from a French town: elegant with a pleasing air of decay.

You can wander in the picturesque beauty of the old town with its delightful back streets, and then you burst out into the light and space of Les Arenes with its incomparable Roman theatre. You just gasp at the might of Rome, at the colossal beauty of this relic of imperial splendour, standing proud after 2,000 years and still used even now for concerts.


Food for thought: Provence is alive with charcuteries and patisseries selling glorious local produce


Beside it is the Van Gogh Museum, again with no Van Goghs, but paintings and photos in homage to him. The curator informed us as we entered that there were no originals there. 'There's only one in Provence, and it's in the Musee Anglodon in Avignon,' she said. 'It's railway carriages...'

So we crossed the bridge to Trinquetaille and ambled up the right bank of the river to Avignon where, without even seeing the papal palace, we dashed into the Anglodon just before closing time.

The Railway Carriages is, frankly, not one of Van Gogh's best. It was better than Ana's lemons, but even so it was a bit disappointing. There was a wonderful Sisley in there of somewhere in the snow, which was much more satisfying. The rest of the museum was devoted to the beautiful drawings of ruined Rome by Hubert Robert. It's amazing what a gifted man with a red pencil can do.

We struggled out of the Avignon traffic and raced back east along the gorgeous avenues of plane trees to St Remy, to arrive in time for dinner. You may think that I'm labouring the point about the eating but let's face it: that's what you do in Provence. And besides, isn't the very best way to consummate one's delight in the beauty of a place to slip a hunk of it into your mouth and rejoice in its textures and flavours? It certainly beats dragging round the shops and wasting money on tourist tat.

That night we ate Provence to perfection - I didn't think things could get any better after Bistro Bru's offerings but I shall never forget the improbably named Mon Pere Etait Patissier, set in a glorious garden just outside the village.

Later, we set out for Digne, the reason being that Digne and the Bishop of Digne loom large in the first chapters of my favourite novel, Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. We headed east towards the Alps and in the Roman town of Riez we stopped to ask the way and buy a map.

'Digne?' spluttered the woman in the shop. 'Why ever would you want to go to Digne? Digne's a dump.'

Another woman joined the fray; she said there were some nice fossils at Digne and a butterfly museum with real butterflies. But we all agreed that fossils and butterflies were no reason to visit a dump like Digne. Clearly the people of Riez had it in for Digne.

'You should go to Moustiers; it's very beautiful, very fleurie, and don't forget the Gorges du Verdon,' the shop woman called as we left.

We snaked down a wooded hill into a valley, rounded a bend and gasped at our first sight of Moustiers Sainte-Marie. The village hangs from the lower part of the most fearsome crag, with a waterfall cascading through the centre. Steep alleys with steps and bridges rise from the heart of the village and thread their way among the rocks and water courses. And as a backdrop, there rises a great mountain, ascending in cliffs and pinnacles, dwarfing the village.



In-Vince-ible: Van Gogh spent some 18 months in Provence - but left precious little of his work behind


The sheer drama of the setting is enough to take your breath away. Inevitably, there's a lot of soap and candles and lavender bags on sale, but you can put up with that for a place of such awesome beauty and, besides, Ana enjoys a bit of that sort of thing. If you eat too well - and you will in Moustiers - there are wonderful walks through the woods on the mountain.

Nearby in the Lac du Verdon, where you can swim and boat and camp, is the entrance to the fabulous Gorges du Verdon. There you can take a raft trip down the turquoise river where it snakes deep down in the cleft of the colossal canyon.

Ah, Provence, the most glorious pleasure garden of the world. This trip was but a tempting entree, we'll soon be going back for the plat.

Travel Facts
Room rates at Hotel Sous les Figuiers in St Remy start at €75 (£62) for two people. Call 0033 432 601 540 or visit www.hotelcharmeprovence.com. British Airways (www.ba.com) flies to Marseille from Gatwick from £96.10 return.

Rail Europe (0844 848 4070, www.raileurope.co.uk) offers rail travel from London St Pancras to Avignon. Return fares start at £119.

Tour operators to Provence include Travelzest VFB Holidays (01452 716840, www.vfbholidays.co.uk), and Kirker Holidays (020 7593 2283, www.kirkerholidays.com).
Chris Stewart's latest book, Three Ways To Capsize A Boat, is published in paperback by Sort Of Books at £7.99.


source: dailymail

Tourists flock to Chernobyl 25 years after disaster hit Ukraine

By TRAVELMAIL REPORTER

A Geiger counter shows radiation levels 37 times higher than normal as a woman takes a picture in front of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant


Tourists are flocking to Chernobyl, the site of the worst nuclear disaster in history, almost 25 years after the explosion at the Soviet-era nuclear reactor.

The 'zone', which lurks some 60 miles from the Ukrainian capital Kiev, has been described as one of the "world's unique places to visit" by US magazine Forbes.
The site attracted 7500 visitors in 2009.

Tourists pay £100 a day to visit the site, where radiation levels are thought to be around 35 times higher than normal.


After signing a form agreeing to anti-contamination rules such as not eating and smoking within the site, visitors are ferried by buses to the entrance of the zone, which is only open to those on tours or with special permission.

Having photographed the infamous reactor, which is now covered by a cracked concrete shell, they then head to the abandoned city of Pripyat two miles from the nuclear plant, which was built to house its staff at the power station.


Tourists from Sweden take pictures of abandoned military vehicles in the 'zone'


Fifty thousand residents were evacuated from the city the day after the catastrophe, which occurred on April 26 1986.

Soviet-era signs still hang from buildings near a rusting fun park, books and toys lie scattered around, and hundreds of gas masks litter the ground.

One visitor, Belgian psychologist Davinia Schoutteten, told the news agency AFP that she was "a little bit scared" of the radiation, and planned to throw her shoes away after the tour.

Bobby Harrington, an Australian tourist, said the experience made her sad: "It's the voyeuristic element that I feel uncomfortable with."


Abandoned: A man photographs gas masks on the floor of a school in the deserted town of Pripyat


But other tourists said they see the site as an important reminder of a historical event.

"I always wanted to see this place, since it happened. It's a very important part of our recent history," said tourist Karl Backman, a Swedish musician.

"I do not think it's bizarre. It's no different from the Coliseum, where people died... or from Auschwitz. It's history," he said.

The nuclear explosion took place on at 1.23am, contaminating the then-Soviet states of Ukraine, Russia and Belarus, with the fallout also spreading to other parts of Europe.

The United Nations set the death toll at 4,000, but non-governmental groups have suggested that the true toll could reach tens or even hundreds of thousands.


source: dailymail

What have you got down there Kim? Miss Kardashian gets searched at LAX airport

By JESSICA SATHERLEY

Security search: Kim Kardashian is frisked by airport security in Los Angeles before departing to Miami


As Kim Kardashian walked through airport security in skin tight leggings and a sheer vest top, you wouldn’t have thought there was much room to hide anything.

But security officers still decided to frisk the reality TV star and made sure to search every possibly hiding spot, including her bra and hair bun.

The female officer pulled the 29-year-old aside and double checked Kim’s famous cleavage before allowing her to catch an early morning flight from Los Angeles to Miami yesterday.


Soon after arriving in Florida, the Twitter fan tweeted: ‘I’m in Miami trick!!!! LOL [sic]

Despite arriving in the party town though, the only thing on Kim’s mind seemed to be watching television.

She posted on her Twitter page: ‘My favorite night of TV tonight! Season 7 premier of Desperate Housewives starts on ABC!!! [sic]

‘After Desperate Housewives comes Keeping Up With The Kardashians, then Spin Crowd on E! Get ready for a fun nite of TV!’ [sic]


Nothing to declare: Despite being searched, security didn't find anything on her


Jet-setter: Kim was off to Miami, just a few days after arriving home from Europe


But after catching up on her favourite shows, Kim raced off to a Miami Dolphins vs New York Jets NFL football game.

And she even bumped into fellow celebrities Jennifer Lopez, Marc Anthony and The Black Eyed Peas’ Fergie at the Sun Life Stadium before hitting Liv Night Club on Miami Beach.

Once arriving home from the club, she made sure to update her Twitter page once again, writing: ‘Fun nite at LIV! BUUUT, my pet peeve is leaving a club and my hair smelling like smoke! Shower time. So sleepy.’ [sic]


Stripped: Kim had to take her shoes off to walk through security at LAX


The curvaceous beauty seems to have become a serial jet-setter and had only arrived home in Los Angeles from Europe just three days before flying off to Miami.

She spent most of September travelling through Europe with her mother Kris Jenner and recently boasted on her social networking site that she will be visiting South Africa in December too.


NFL fan: Kim attended the Miami Dolphins home opener before hitting Liv Night Club on Miami Beach


source: dailymail

Hero pilot makes emergency landing at New York's JFK airport on ONE wheel

Air drama: The Delta Airways passenger jet made a safe landing on the tarmac at JFK, despite its right landing gear becoming stuck


A pilot has been hailed a hero for landing a packed passenger jet on one wheel after its landing gear got stuck on its approach to New York's JFK airport.

A shower of sparks was seen as the plane touched down on the tarmac but all 60 passengers and four crew on the Delta Airlines flight escaped unharmed.

It is thought that the pilot had balanced the jet on its left wheel then slowly eased it on to its right wing to slow it down.

The relieved passengers were evacuated through the main door and were taken to the terminal where they were checked over and released shortly afterwards.


** See the terrifying video below ***


The incredible feat drew parallels with that of pilot Chesley Sullenberger who landed a passenger jet on the Hudson River last year when its engines failed, saving all 155 on board.

It was on Saturday night as the Delta Airlines flight 4951 was close to landing in White Plains, New York, when an indicator light in the cockpit went on, indicating the right landing wheel would not come down.

Immediately the pilot diverted to JFK because it has a longer runway and warned the 60 passengers and three crew: ‘Brace for landing’.


Terror: Sparks are seen from a passenger window as the plane touched down


He calmly told air traffic control that his landing gear would not come down then, referring to his flight number, said what could have been his last words: ‘4951 Roger and, uh better work’.

‘Heads down! Heads down!’ a flight attendant screamed as the CRJ 900 twin-engine jet slammed on the runway and slid to a stop, leaning to its right side.

Specially trained firefighters had been put on alert - but the pilot’s landing meant they were not needed.

All the passengers were taken to the terminal and checked over before being put on a bus for White Plains, but they were full of praise for the man who saved their lives.

'I've never prayed so hard in my whole life,' said Loretta Hill, 39, from Milford in Connecticut.

‘I was just crying and praying to God that we would be okay.

‘He must have balanced it on one wheel then eased it over to the right wing so he did a great job,’ said one man who was on board.

‘I knew there was a problem when we continued circling,’ said David Freda, 49.
‘At first, I was pretty nervous, no doubt about it. It's been a bit nerve-wracking. Everyone's okay.’

The plane had taken off from Atlanta and had been on a connecting flight for Delta operated by Atlantic Southeastern Airlines.

A Delta spokesman said that Federal Aviation Administration and the National Transportation Safety Board have been called to investigate.

It is not immediately clear what caused the accident, he added.




source: dailymail

Peak practice: How Sian Lloyd reached the roof of Africa atop Mount Kilimanjaro - with a little help from 15 Welsh rugby captains

By SIAN LLOYD

Sweet success: Sian looks relieved after reaching the summit - finally


What 59-times-capped Welsh rugby international Rob Howley doesn't know about gruelling physical challenges isn't worth knowing - so I could only agree with him when, on our journey up Kilimanjaro, he gasped: 'I would rather play the All Blacks three times in the same day than do this again ...'

The climb to the top of Africa's highest mountain is brutal, exhausting and the toughest thing any of us had ever done. It is, after all, one of the famed Seven Summits, the highest peaks on each of the seven continents. It's one of the most magnificent mountains in the world - and it can destroy you.

We were taking part in the Captains' Climb, and it all came about because of a Mail on Sunday photoshoot. On a wet and windy spring day in mid-Wales, I had been photographed for a feature in the paper about potato growing. The photographer mentioned that the wife of his boss, Huw Evans, had been diagnosed with lung cancer and that Huw was taking 15 ex-Welsh rugby captains up Kilimanjaro to raise money for research into a cure for the disease.

Sue had never smoked in her life and it just seemed terribly unfair and indiscriminate. I kept on thinking about it and knew that I wanted to help in some way. My potato tubers turned out to be tiny and worthless, but my ambitions to climb to the roof of Africa, and raise money for a good cause, started to take root and grow.

I also had a more personal reason for wanting to get to the top of this majestic mountain. Three years ago, in the middle of the plains of Africa, I had experienced one of the most magical moments of my life. I had joined up with my fiance Jonathan on a classic car rally and we had stopped off at the Amboseli Game Park in Kenya.

One evening at sunset, Jonathan took me for a walk up Observation Hill, the highest point in Amboseli, to see if we could get a glimpse of the snowy top of nearby Kilimanjaro. Surrounded by grazing water buffalo, giraffes and elephants, we made our way up the hill, noticing that the bonnet of cloud adorning Kili was slowly melting away. The last wisp disappeared as we reached the summit. And that's when he asked me to marry him. We both cried. And I vowed that one day I would return and climb Kilimanjaro.

With this wonderful memory in mind, I made a few phone calls and established that the Captains' Climb initiative was indeed the brainchild of top sports photographer Huw Evans, and that the support he was receiving from the rugby community was astounding.

Fifteen former Wales rugby captains, along with the current coach Warren Gatland (a Kiwi) and rugby pundit Eddie Butler, were about to embark on an expedition to climb Kilimanjaro as part of a project to raise £1 million for the Stepping Stones Appeal organised by the Velindre Cancer Centre in Cardiff.

There were also a limited number of places for members of the public, as long as they pledged to raise a minimum of £10,000 for the appeal. I signed up with my friend Novello Noades.

We are veterans of charity treks and try to do one every year. We've walked part of the Great Wall of China for Action for Children and climbed the three Italian volcanoes for The Meningitis Trust.

This was a big call, though, demanding about three times the usual sponsorship sum. But we knew we could do it. We held a hugely successful dinner and auction at the Surrey National Golf Club, updated our vaccinations and started packing our bags.


Onwards and upwards: Sian's fellow climbers take care to keep the pace 'pole pole'


However, after stepping off the plane in Tanzania with such rugby legends as Ieuan Evans, Rob Jones and Bleddyn Bowen, we hit a snag. We had to hang around for an extra day at the Impala Hotel in Arusha - Tanzania's safari capital - because our kit and medical equipment was in Nairobi, over the border in Kenya. This meant losing that vital acclimatisation day on the mountain that had been built into our itinerary to boost our chances of reaching the summit.

Novello and I were a tad nervous, as were the other late additions to the group, genial ex-Wales captains Michael Owen and Andy Moore. We were already playing catch-up on the fitness front, while the others had been planning and preparing for a whole year. We had four-and-a-half days for the ascent, with one-and-a-half for the return.

The upside was the fact that we had extra time to get to know each other. Banter flowed among our party, which included two doctors, a couple of experienced mountain guides, a TV crew, the 15 former rugby captains and other fundraisers - making us a well-bonded team of 51 men and seven women.

Doctors Joe and Dave warned us about blisters and sunburn, crushing headaches and diarrhoea, sleeping and hygiene difficulties. Altitude sickness is a lottery, they said, with age, sex and fitness levels having nothing to do with it.

Mountain guides Dom and Chris gave us a thorough briefing about the pace and stamina required, the mental attitudes, the role of porters and chefs, the scenery on the slopes, the tiny tents, coping with a rarefied atmosphere, the piercing cold . . .
and flatulence. They explained that the constant breaking of wind actually meant you were acclimatising successfully. The rugby boys threatened a competition.

So, a day late, and with the frustrations of the lost luggage forgotten, we boarded three buses for the four-hour journey to Naremoru Gate in Kilimanjaro National Park.
The mineral mining area of Arusha soon gave way to plantations of coffee, papaya and bananas. There were clearly problems with the parched soil and diminishing crops - a sad situation in an already desperately poor region. It hadn't rained since April, meaning there were terribly dusty conditions on the mountain itself.

At Naremoru, we were welcomed by a huge entourage of 200 porters, singing and dancing and waving the Welsh flag. They would be traipsing up the mountain with us, carrying tons of equipment from cookers to chemical loos.

As we set off on the first leg of the Rongai Route - a well-trodden trekkers' path up the mountain - spirits were high. Little did the locals realise what a wealth of rugby talent was passing by. Paul Thorburn and Mark Taylor genuinely thought our gentle pace was a wind-up and that we would soon get into gear.


Summit in sight: Sian takes a breather as her eventual goal looms in the distance


But a rapid pace, of course, means a lack of time to adapt to the high-altitude conditions. 'Pole pole' is Swahili for 'slowly slowly', and it's the phrase we heard more often than any other on the ascent. That first day we walked for just over four hours, climbing 2,200ft through forests and farmland, arriving dusty and sweaty at Simba campsite at 8,700ft. As Novello and I unpacked our sleeping bags, Scott Gibbs muttered that even though he and a few South African rugby internationals had made it to the summit a couple of years ago, it remained the most terrifying thing he'd ever done. No wonder we hardly slept a wink...

After an early start on the second morning, we climbed in blazing sunshine on a narrow path through moorland, with fine views over Kenya to the north. We also had our first glimpse of the summit of Kilimanjaro, symmetrical and sublime.

As we climbed, the trees became sparser and even the heather disappeared. We devoured a carb laden pasta lunch al fresco after three hours or so, and then pushed on for another three to Kikelewa camp at 12,000ft.

But the mountain was taking its toll, with a number of our group affected by diarrhoea and vomiting. Flanker Emyr Lewis, an international veteran of 41 caps, was really suffering. I have no idea how he was able to climb the 3,200ft we had to do that afternoon. These rugby boys are made of stern stuff.

True to form, Garin Jenkins woke us on our third morning with another energetic burst of song. He used to sing in a male-voice choir and has a voice that many a professional singer would envy. Even though we were cold and aching in our sleeping bags, precariously balanced on a stony slope, Garin's songs at sunrise never failed to put a smile on our faces, likewise his sartorial elegance. Day three saw him resplendent in genuine military cold-weather clothes given to him by the Royal Welch Fusiliers, complete with camouflaged 'platypus' backpack for carrying his drinking fluid. The only thing missing was the goat mascot.

This was an even steeper day's trekking. It took us about five hours to climb the 1,900ft to Mawenzi Tarn. At 14,000ft, this is a pretty campsite, set in moraines in a glacial valley, with good views of the jagged top of Mawenzi - one of Kilimanjaro's volcanic peaks - above. After lunch, we did a short acclimatisation walk up and down a steep scree.

This proved a testing time for Scott Quinnell's cartilage-less knees. The omens were not good. The push for the summit the following day would involve six hours walking up semi-frozen scree to Gilman's Point. How on earth would Scott's knees get him to the top? Or more to the point, back down again?

So, after another sleepless night and another early start, we slowly trekked six hours across the Saddle to Kibo, at 15,400ft. Somehow Scott made it - but he couldn't go any further. His trek was over.

We saw the debris of a crashed light plane between Mawenzi and Kibo - another of the mountain's volcanic peaks - and hoped that wasn't an omen for what lay ahead for us.

From Kibo, the steep final path to the crater rim rose ominously above the bustling camp. We would be attempting this impossible-looking stretch in just a few hours' time and in the dark to reach the summit in time to see the sun rise. It threw us to learn that a climber had been killed the week before by a loose boulder near the top. We tried, but failed, to grab a little sleep before we set off.

At 11pm we got our 'wake-up call' and Novello and I emerged from our sleeping bags. But I was already off to a bad start. My platypus had leaked, soaking our outer layers and my friend's boots. We ended up rushing. As we tried to line Novello's boots, search for towels to dry our kit and refill my depleted platypus, we missed our meal, and the concept of 'pole pole' was thrown to the winds.


Trunk call: An elephant roams the plains below Kilimanjaro's cloud-shrouded peak


From the word go, the final push to the summit was hell. The trekking up until then had been like a leisurely amble compared to the relentless struggle to the top.

Within minutes, we were in a zombie-like-trance. Ahead of us was a line of head torches, snaking up the slope. We tried to find a rhythm, but the combination of exertion and fatigue overwhelmed us.

We almost cried with gratitude when we reached the landmarks of William's Point and Hans Meyer Cave at nearly 17,000ft. Here the temperature was -24C (-11F). It was almost too cold to stop, yet we desperately needed the rest. Our water supplies had frozen, so most of us were dehydrated. One of our group fed me an ice-cold Snickers bar.

On and on we went, up a series of interminable zigzags. Even when the exhausting scree petered out, we found ourselves scrambling over big boulders on a section called Jamaica Rocks. We envied Scott Quinnell and his damaged knees.

We were running on empty. People were vomiting and being taken by stretcher back down to Kibo. I had to muster every bit of enthusiasm and energy to make it to the arctic wastes of the summit - 19,330ft. The sun rose over Africa and I didn't even notice.

It's the toughest thing any of us had done, but I would not have changed places with anyone in the world - not because I found that final ascent rewarding in any way at all, but because I was part of something that could change the course of lung cancer. That feeling - and the craic with 15 ex-rugby captains - was fantastic. To quote Max Boyce, I was there ... and Duw it was hard.


Travel Facts

Sian travelled with Ultimate Charity Challenges (020 7386 4673, www.utccharitychallenges.co.uk). Their next climb for fundraisers departs on June 27, 2011. Prices start at £2,245 per person. Individuals can climb Kilimanjaro as part of an East African tour with the Ultimate Travel Company (020 7386 4646, www.theultimatetravelcompany.co.uk).

To make a £2 donation, text CLIMB to 7099 or donate at www.justgiving.com/brainssacaptainsclimb. For more details of the appeal, go to www.velindrefundraising.com.


source: dailymail

Hayden Panettiere takes the plunge at Oktoberfest party in racy German outfit

By DAILY MAIL REPORTER

Party time: Hayden Panettiere and her boyfriend Wladimir Klitschko attend the Oktoberfest Trophy party in the Hipodrom in Munich, Germany


With a giant jug of beer in hand, Hayden Panettiere looks the part as she dressed up in full traditional German dress for Oktoberfest celebrations.

The actress, who turned 21 last month, poured her figure into a racy low cut dirndl at the party in Munich, Germany, and was joined by her boyfriend, Ukrainian boxing champion Wladimir Klitschko.

The Heroes star was enjoying the festivities last night at Boris and Lilly Becker's Oktoberfest Trophy 2010 bash.


Over the top: Hayden just manages to squeeze into her traditional German dress


The couple, who attended The United Peoples Charity Event the night before, enjoyed an evening of beer and bratwurst whilst dressed in their traditional German attire.
Hayden was wearing a low-cut red, white and black dress with a trilby type hat with white feathers on it.

Her other half wore a red checked shirt and green velvet waistcoat.

Together, they indulged in huge glass tankards of beer and traditional German food.


Cheers: Hayden raised a glass at the party, possibly celebrating her new legal drinking status


Getting cozy: The affectionate couple shared a moment during the evening


The annual event, hosted by ex World Tennis Champion Boris Becker and his wife Lily, was held in the Hippodrom - one of the most famous tents at the Munich Oktoberfest which is often frequented by celebrities.

The evening party followed a charity golf tournament which benefited the champs Clever-Becker Foundation.

Participants in the tournament were then invited to join the Oktoberfest party in the tent



Host and hostess: Former tennis World No. 1 Boris Becker and his wife Lilly hosted the event


Hayden and Wladimir have been dating since Christmas time last year and unusual pairing have been on the receiving end of a fair amount of judgment regarding their relationship.

Not only does the pair have a 13-year age difference - Hayden is 21 and Wladimir is 34, by the couple have a 17-inch height difference.

Wladimir is 6 foot 6 inches tall and towers over the petite five foot star.

Hayden had previously been dating her Heroes co-star Milo Ventimiglia, 12 years her senior, but the couple broke up after two and a half years together.



source: dailymail