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Socrates, the sprinting snail of Sorrento (Socrates the Snail) (Volume 1) This book is an illustrated children's adventure story about Socrates, a snail who lives .
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We have appreciated your comments, which brings me to the award of the final Golden Pen I promised to give out today. The pen goes to Marc and Jud Schmitt, our friends from Andolsheim near Colmar in eastern France, who have followed us in writing and put us up twice on the actual journey. Thank you both for the support, the bed and the delicious meals. We will be back! I cannot finish without saying a huge thank you to Mary for putting up with me in the close confines of the wee caravan for all days of the adventure.

That probably deserves a medal on its own! You will also get a Statistics post with all the numbers. We would like anyone who has followed the blog to send in a final comment just so we have an idea of who was following us on the adventure. Mary and I set out last August to see Europe and try to live the dream. We think we did just that. We are now back home in the flat, safe and well, if a tad browner. Thank you to whoever looked after us. All good things must come to an end and this one just has.

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We both slept well again last night, meaning we had an enthusiastic if somewhat basic breakfast, showered and chilled for half an hour before we packed our things and went down to the car. But there he was, as large as life, stretched out of his shell home as if he knew we had stretched out of our Magic Caravan.

But what makes the whole thing even stranger is that we took a photo of Socrates stuck to the Audi using our Nikon camera. And when I downloaded all the photos from today on the boat, the picture of the snail had mysteriously vanished! Honestly, all the other photos were there but not the special one we wanted. We simply cannot understand what went wrong! Anyhow, I placed Socrates safely in the French grass, bid him farewell and we drove off in the direction of Belgium, heading for the ferry port at Zeebrugge.

The next hour was an idyllic drive through the fields of northern France, iconic in their lack of hedgerows allowing the crops to creep right up to the roadside. Lunch was eaten in the car at a motorway car park where we wasted an hour or so just chatting about the adventure which was rapidly coming to a close. We had the marvellous sight of dozens of bikers and guys on Lambretta scooters returning from some rally or other leading us onto the vessel in a roar of motorcycle engines mixed in with the put-put of 2-stroke machines.

Boy, did we sleep well last night! Or perhaps it was the or so kilometres we had driven during the day to get to Clermont-Ferrand in the Massif Central. Whatever the reason, we appreciated the recharge our batteries were given and we bounced out of bed just after eight, had breakfast, packed our things and headed north.

The first thing of note was passing Vichy, the erstwhile capital of supposedly unoccupied France during WWII and home to the administration of collaborators who shamed France during the conflict. Next it was a place we were genuinely tempted to stop at: We decided to write this one down as a definite must-see on our return journey in September, so drove on towards Paris.

Mary took over the driving just past Nevers and she did very well indeed until we started to meet the Parisian traffic just outside one of our favourite spots, the chateau of Fontainebleau. That called for me to assume the wheel again and maybe just as well because it got really hairy for the next hour until we had skirted the south of the capital, swept round its eastern perimeter and then moved off towards Rheims and our final destination for today, the small town of Laon where we had spent the night on a previous visit to France many years ago.

Unlike last night, there were no accommodation problems to be dealt with as the hotel we had chosen had loads of rooms available and we were soon settled in. While I munched on a couple of cheeseburgers, Mary called her Mum and sister Claire to let them know how we were progressing on our long journey back to Scotland.

Back at the hotel we did our own thing until fatigue started to get the better of us although we had enjoyed an evening of our favourite music which I organized in random order to keep the surprises coming. Having actually set an alarm to ensure we were up nice and early, we were both awake and sitting waiting for it to go off at All those final kind of things were done, spare food was distributed, umpteen neighbours came to say farewell and have a safe journey and I went and passed on my condolences to my French acquaintance whose wife had the stroke yesterday.

The news was not good however and her paralysis up one side has already been classed as irreversible. Our nearest neighbours, Mike and Heather, waved us off along with the big Dutch lad next to them and that was us on our way out of Vilanova Park and up the hill to the caravan storage. At least that was what we thought! When we got there, the place was deserted and no amount of horn-blasting succeeded in raising the owners, so we detached the Magic Caravan and left it at the farm while we returned to the camp site to get help.

853,11 RUB

They did contact the owner who promised to open the barn immediately, but it was a bit embarrassing to meet Mike and the Dutchman up at reception, having just wished them a pleasant summer! Back we went, and this time our beloved home was put into a nice, cosy barn along with a dozen other caravans and motor homes with whom it will share the next 3 months. We were sad to leave it there but at least it will be protected from the blazing sun and the other elements.

Finally, at just after eleven, we hit the motorway and headed for France. This meant that she became the first of us to drive across the famous Millau Viaduct at the Gorges du Tarn, an absolutely fantastic spectacle and one which persuaded us to pull into the visitor centre on the north side. From there it was up into the Massif Central, reaching well over feet at times and then steeply downhill to our destination just south of Clermont Ferrand.

Socrates the Snail

It has been an amazing experience and we are delighted to have shared it with you each day on the Blog. Some of you have been tremendously faithful to us, tuning in without a miss to read of our antics and where we were going next.

Books by George Burton

We have appreciated your comments, which brings me to the award of the final Golden Pen I promised to give out today. The pen goes to Marc and Jud Schmitt, our friends from Andolsheim near Colmar in eastern France, who have followed us in writing and put us up twice on the actual journey. Thank you both for the support, the bed and the delicious meals. We will be back! I cannot finish without saying a huge thank you to Mary for putting up with me in the close confines of the wee caravan for all days of the adventure.

That probably deserves a medal on its own! You will also get a Statistics post with all the numbers. We would like anyone who has followed the blog to send in a final comment just so we have an idea of who was following us on the adventure. Mary and I set out last August to see Europe and try to live the dream.

Adventure, Travel, Lifestyle | georgeandmaryadventure | Page 26

We think we did just that. We are now back home in the flat, safe and well, if a tad browner. Thank you to whoever looked after us. All good things must come to an end and this one just has. We both slept well again last night, meaning we had an enthusiastic if somewhat basic breakfast, showered and chilled for half an hour before we packed our things and went down to the car.


  1. Socrates, the sprinting snail of Sorrento (Socrates the Snail) (Volume 1).
  2. Editorial Reviews.
  3. Giuseppe Peano between Mathematics and Logic: Proceeding of the International Conference in honour of Giuseppe Peano on the 150th anniversary of his birth ... Mathematico Torino (Italy) October 2-3, 2008.
  4. Socrates, the Sprinting Snail of Sorrento (Paperback)?
  5. George Burton (Author of Socrates, the sprinting snail of Sorrento)!

But there he was, as large as life, stretched out of his shell home as if he knew we had stretched out of our Magic Caravan. But what makes the whole thing even stranger is that we took a photo of Socrates stuck to the Audi using our Nikon camera. And when I downloaded all the photos from today on the boat, the picture of the snail had mysteriously vanished!

Honestly, all the other photos were there but not the special one we wanted. We simply cannot understand what went wrong! Anyhow, I placed Socrates safely in the French grass, bid him farewell and we drove off in the direction of Belgium, heading for the ferry port at Zeebrugge. The next hour was an idyllic drive through the fields of northern France, iconic in their lack of hedgerows allowing the crops to creep right up to the roadside. Lunch was eaten in the car at a motorway car park where we wasted an hour or so just chatting about the adventure which was rapidly coming to a close.

We had the marvellous sight of dozens of bikers and guys on Lambretta scooters returning from some rally or other leading us onto the vessel in a roar of motorcycle engines mixed in with the put-put of 2-stroke machines. Boy, did we sleep well last night!

Socrates the Snail: Socrates, the Sprinting Snail of Sorrento by George Burton (2014, Paperback)

Or perhaps it was the or so kilometres we had driven during the day to get to Clermont-Ferrand in the Massif Central. Whatever the reason, we appreciated the recharge our batteries were given and we bounced out of bed just after eight, had breakfast, packed our things and headed north. The first thing of note was passing Vichy, the erstwhile capital of supposedly unoccupied France during WWII and home to the administration of collaborators who shamed France during the conflict.

Next it was a place we were genuinely tempted to stop at: We decided to write this one down as a definite must-see on our return journey in September, so drove on towards Paris. Mary took over the driving just past Nevers and she did very well indeed until we started to meet the Parisian traffic just outside one of our favourite spots, the chateau of Fontainebleau. That called for me to assume the wheel again and maybe just as well because it got really hairy for the next hour until we had skirted the south of the capital, swept round its eastern perimeter and then moved off towards Rheims and our final destination for today, the small town of Laon where we had spent the night on a previous visit to France many years ago.

Unlike last night, there were no accommodation problems to be dealt with as the hotel we had chosen had loads of rooms available and we were soon settled in. While I munched on a couple of cheeseburgers, Mary called her Mum and sister Claire to let them know how we were progressing on our long journey back to Scotland.


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Back at the hotel we did our own thing until fatigue started to get the better of us although we had enjoyed an evening of our favourite music which I organized in random order to keep the surprises coming. Having actually set an alarm to ensure we were up nice and early, we were both awake and sitting waiting for it to go off at All those final kind of things were done, spare food was distributed, umpteen neighbours came to say farewell and have a safe journey and I went and passed on my condolences to my French acquaintance whose wife had the stroke yesterday.

The news was not good however and her paralysis up one side has already been classed as irreversible. Our nearest neighbours, Mike and Heather, waved us off along with the big Dutch lad next to them and that was us on our way out of Vilanova Park and up the hill to the caravan storage. At least that was what we thought! When we got there, the place was deserted and no amount of horn-blasting succeeded in raising the owners, so we detached the Magic Caravan and left it at the farm while we returned to the camp site to get help.

They did contact the owner who promised to open the barn immediately, but it was a bit embarrassing to meet Mike and the Dutchman up at reception, having just wished them a pleasant summer! Back we went, and this time our beloved home was put into a nice, cosy barn along with a dozen other caravans and motor homes with whom it will share the next 3 months. We were sad to leave it there but at least it will be protected from the blazing sun and the other elements.

Finally, at just after eleven, we hit the motorway and headed for France.